Jan 11

 Anxiety up the wazoo. Drifting into panic attacks.

Not good.

One of the cracks in the wall caught my attention last night. It looked. Worse. Everything looked worse.

I really need to get that sorted out. A mild anxiety settled around me. One of those anxieties I absolutely hate. The ones I can't shift.

I played some games with a friend. Overbright. There is an odd thing I've noticed when I am overbright. I can compensate mentally afterwards. Something towards a crash.

I briefly talked about my increase disorientation. The jolts. I didn't go into it. My friend thought that it was just age. That sometimes I wasn't as fucked as I thought.

I didn't say anything.

Crashed out soon after, exhausted. Slept.

Woke up mid early hours. Anxiety had increased. A lot.

I did some code.

And slowly. Like so many things. Sometimes when someone says something and I don't react. The reaction came slower.

I have to struggle each and every day. Super hard. I have to struggle to bring myself up to a level where I can have a moment to play a game if I'm capable in a day. I push up. Mask up. And often everything is pitched around just hitting that high, before slumping back down again.

I do this a lot with my friend. Just to play some games with him. Push up. Before coming back down.

My life is stupid hard. The house is a disaster. Sometimes I have the energy to sit and noodle with code. Better, sit upright and play some games. But that's often as much as I have. In a better moment I will clear the sink of washing up.

The house deteriorates around me slowly. Ever worse. I sit and hope that I end up dying before something critical goes wrong. A bit of a race. Because. I am not capable of doing shit about it.

And then it feels. Like all of that. Like that super hard suicidal skating. Is then dismissed by a friend. Ah. You're ok. Mistaking my desperate high point of trying very hard. For normalcy. It feels like. Being unseen. Dismissed. Told there's nothing wrong. I know he didn't mean this. But. It is brutal. He knows it is hard. He calls me nerfed. And yet. It feels like I have been kicked. It's not him. It's me. Unstable. Fragile.

But that's the minor bit. The distraction.

The fact I need to do something about the crack. I need to sort out the house. I need to do a bunch of things.

I know I cannot.

And there. Is the screeching anxiety.

Pinned between two things. I need to do this. I cannot do this.

I went to sleep jittery.

And bounced in and out of sleep. Anxiety rolled right up to maximum. And I felt the slippery hand of a panic attack. Just lying in bed. Eyes closed. Smothering. Panicking. The whole system suddenly dumping panic chemicals.

Breathe. It's ok. Breathe. One step at a time.

A subside.

Just lying there.

And then out of nowhere, back it comes. 

And. I can feel my mental state melting. Oh no. That place. Where things stop being controllable. I. Disappear. Where everything flips upside down. The truly last leg awful places. Proper crazy.

Oh no.

Breathe. Calm.

Like trying to surf in a hurricane.

What do I do, what do I do, oh no, what do I do.

No. Not that.

I mean. It would be easier.

Breathe. Calm.

I have bounced in and out of sleep. An hour at a time.

Afternoon. I am awake. Tired. Fragile. My mental state is stretched thin.

I try to make a stupid plan.

Listen. Each day. Just. Try to make a tiny bit of progress. Until. Eventually we can get someone in. And sort the house out.

But. I need to do this. And that. And everything before hand.

I can see. My capacity for dealing with shit is so low. The absolute carnage being ill for so long has done on me. I am a shadow of my former self.

Calm.

Tricky. Very. Very. Tricky.

Like rearranging deckchairs on the titanic.

A voxel world screenshot. Level of detail reduction in far off groups. Streaming. Infinite. Debug colours. Already a good engine. Halfway to being a triple A engine. 

Meanwhile. Everything else I am falls to pieces. 

I need to try and calm and make a plan.