Jan 6

 Predictably yesterday, by the time early evening rolled around I crashed. It had been a busy - for me - day.

My friend had coaxed me online to play a couple of games. Which I did. And I felt the first kick of it someway through playing. That shift in nausea. Oh. I feel sick.

I ignored it.

And then the deep tiredness. Voice started to shift and break. Everything slowed. Heavier. And heavier. Ah ha. Ok. This is me done.

I went to bed and crashed very hard. Black out no movement.

This is that weird exhaustion flatline that I picked up first in 2020. Not anything like I had ever experienced before. A bizarre hardcore zeroing out of energy deeper than any tired feeling I had had before, and right on its heels that horrible sense of unwellness and imbalance, and push it slightly more, you start to get to a passing out stage. This is apparently, not just a "you're tired" tick. And, given its absolute depth and dramatic consequences, it doesn't feel like that. This is the autonomic failure point. The body says, fuck you. Takes its toys. And goes home. And your usual bits suddenly screech in alarm that they don't have the blood flow, oxygen, anything anymore to sustain an upright posture, or continue thinking or talking. I guess. Perhaps. In a way, it's like the body has decided it's going to lie down and sleep. Whilst the conscious rest of you is left wondering what the fuck just happened, and getting dragged unwillingly into that position. If you ignore it. You will just pass out where you are anyway. No arguments.

It's clear it's more complicated than that. Other shit goes on as well. The blood pooling and blah. But. I think that kind of covers the gist. The body goes into some kind of hibernation low output emergency stress mode. Like reacting to having just been stabbed. But. No stab wound. At least. No apparent stab wound. Shock. In a way.

In the time I was up and online with my friend I related my day. Noted that I felt pathetic. But I had purposefully pushed myself to get a bus and navigate all that shit. Because of loss of confidence et al. We agreed that this was the slide of losing function. How old people suddenly don't have the capacity they used to. How things they didn't even think of twice when younger, groceries, travel, became difficult. Problematic. He said he had started to feel that tug. I generalised it - this is disability. The worse it gets, the more you lose. Someone who is stuck in a wheelchair suddenly finds the world full of unnavigable steps, and planning journeys suddenly becomes a major operation fraught with anxiety. And for me. I had withdrawn hard. Capability dialled way back. And with it. Loss of confidence. My push to go out via bus was a conscious - and risky and scary - effort to try and move the needle a little in the other direction.

My friend thought I had done well. Not pathetic. Not given what you're dealing with he said. You've done a thing today. Uh huh. Compared to baseline. I am pathetic. Having to angst about just taking a couple of busses. Broken.

He reflected that a big difference between me and him was that he was forgiving of himself. And I was not.

Maybe. That harsh inner critic.

Fucking therapy I said. It makes me wonder. Makes me see. Whether that relentless asshole inner critic. It's just the echoes of my childhood. Over and over again. Not good enough. Maybe.

My friend thought this was exactly it. He once again started questioning how on earth my parents could be the way they were. What. Were they thinking. How. Did they come to be like that. It is his common response to it. Horrified confusion. 

I did some thinking at the end of the year. Looked back at that therapy journey. Where I was at the end of 2025.

I did not expect what came out of therapy. I had not gone into it with the intentions of the places it has taken me. It's also clear, that despite my doubt about whether it could do anything, it has had some very dramatic consequences. It has brought the subject of my childhood and all that bullshit into very sharp and awkward relief. And. Perhaps rather than tackling the issue of, I am always sad, broken, hopeless at first impact. Has instead dived deeper to look for an origin story for that instead. Why are you where you are in the first place. Which, duh. Is also what I do. In others.

Over this process the inner critic in me gets dragged out into the sunlight more and more. I know it's there. I have confronted it and danced with it. But. This year. I don't know. It has forced it into a sharper silhouette. And it's origins. Whos voice does it borrow when it berates me. Not random. Its my parents voice.

These are all. Not entirely comfortable reveals. And. I can safely say for the first time ever, I have a lot more "new" inner material to work on than I have had before. Some of the masks have been knocked off to reveal the actual Scooby Doo villain behind them.

As ever my intellectual side grasps all of it. Understands. Can see it. No problem.

But another thing this year which has become dramatic and widespread.

That gap between what I know intellectually and what I actually live... has become separated. So many times I find myself saying I understand this, but, I am having difficulty living it. Part of me does not get it. There is a split. Very apparent. Two different animals in me. One understands it all. The other is having some real trouble in implementing and living with the knowledge. Rejecting it in some cases. Working through it in others. Metabolising it as the thinking machines term it. It has become obvious and stark those two personality shards. They are no longer joined at the hip. There is now a major fracture in me.

When I step back and look at what's happened therapy wise in 2025. I can see major landscape shifts. That therapeutic process gained teeth somewhere along the path. Without pushing it. Without being obvious. So subtle. Step by step. The gentle pushback. Thats that mean inner critic again. Yeah. It is.

I reflected that I have so much to reassess and metabolise at this point that it's no longer simple. There are a growing number of spinning plates. It all rhymes.

The lack of self worth. The absolute self sacrifice. The harsh inner judgement pushing me on harder. The consequences in excellence. Becoming the all round smart ass. The burnout. The overwhelming senses of loss. Also my unwillingness to project any trauma out, but, in a professional sphere, some of that inner critic comes out. Teeth. Sharp. Brutal. Do. Don't bullshit. Meet your expectations. Don't fail. They are all the same song. In different forms. It's me. And. It's clear. It's not accidental. It's all fucking trauma. Adaptation. Survival. Doing what you can with what you have and pushing on.

And some of it is getting more ugly. The inner critic has at times stepped up its volume and nastiness. It squeals at being brought into the light perhaps. And becomes more vicious. It doesn't like being dug out of my flesh. It doesn't like confronting that whole no self worth, not good enough, you will not allow yourself to think kindly of yourself or let yourself off. It is. Also. I can see. I can feel. It 100% mimics the feel I had or have with my parents. It is the same. I didn't really.. fully understand it as a kid. It was there. And present. But. Just part of the landscape. I could notice something was off, different when I was briefly exposed to others versions of normal.

Anyway.

As it turns out.

Therapy has done a bit of a number on me.

It remains to be seen whether it resolves anywhere. And if it does, does it then start eroding the downstream issues of hopelessness and loss and yada. I don't know.

The chronic illness circling the drain of my mortality just makes all of this way harder. Muddies the waters. Adds another layer of crap on top. And exhausts me utterly. So that I Want it all to stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Just. Put me out of my misery. Please.

There is. A rational possibility in there. That my more suicidal tendencies. Are just the squeals of pain of all that... fucked up shit. The pressure cooker of all those weights. Including always being responsible for everyone else. Because. That's what I do. Crushing me under the weight. And a response is to just end it all.

I don't know. Maybe. The shrinks would strongly point at several things that support this. I am not so sure it's that clean.

I know that all other things aside, just my physical bullshit. Is enough to make me want to pull the plug. But then again. I can't cleanly separate it. I am more than aware that if I have a more .. stimulating environment, it pushes the suicide fairy away. Whether that's distraction. Or reframing. Or different bit of brain usage. I don't know. I know it is a thing. If you talk to me. The suicide fairy tends to be quiet. Not gone. But shuts up and waits. I have always considered it a distraction process. But perhaps it isn't. Perhaps it's a reflection of general frame of mind. A lessening of the grip of the inner critic et al. Because it's someone else. Particularly when someone else gives a shit. Is kind.

Hum ho.

I don't know.

The vicious critic tells me that I am worthless. Who am I to expect such thought. Such analysis. I am a disposable one of 9 billion. How pretentious that I should be given consideration. Time. Effort. You suck. How dare you expect that level of selfish thought. You shouldn't be in theory. Wasting everyones time. Wasting the shrinks time. You selfish prick. This is not poetic licence. This is actually what crosses my mind. Hard. I am aware. I am aware. It's fucked up. It's brutal. Holy shit that's... mean as fucking all hell. But it doesn't stop it. And also. I see there is truth in it. The nihilism aspect of it. I am nothing.

This is what I mean that the inner critic has become more vocal.

There is a growing clearer sense of self despising going on. Moved from critic. To hatred.

I just don't think. It likes having to think like this. Of testing those waters of self care. It screeches.

One for the shrink perhaps. 

If I have my dates correct. We start back up again next week.

When I talked to my friend this evening he casually asked. Have you started your therapy back up again yet. Why is it delayed. Was that your choice. Casual.

But I could hear the underlying push.

You need to start talking to your therapist again. This shit is far too heavy.

Uh huh.