Mar 12

 The therapist called me defeated this week. Or rather. That I seemed defeated. We went through me being quiet. What that meant. What that felt like. The changes in behaviour.

And finally. If I didn't know better. It felt like an end of things.

I sounded defeated apparently.

The session ended with the hardest stare any mental health professional has ever given me. And. I've had some stares. I've had to my face deliberations about whether to throw me in the nut house. This stare was longer than any of those.

We went 5 minutes over time. That was the length of the stare. We finished on time. We didn't actually finish until 5 minutes later.

I laughed half way through it.

You find it funny the therapist said.

There is a humour in the meta of it I said. I can see the cogs turning over in your head. I can see the pattern of it all. It is like looking at it from afar, and seeing the tiny people on stage, predictable, acting out each thought process. And. It's funny. It's like being aware of the play.

The therapist understood.

I assured them I was ok. With a little tongue in cheek demonstration that they wouldn't be able to tell anyway. Not really. But. It was interesting they had stopped to ask. On reflection. The tone of the session was obvious in the end. But in that moment. I found it interesting they picked up on it. But that too. Was all meta. Like watching the play again. Seeing the next five pages of the play before they happened. Apt. We had talked this session about my default state of simulating everything. Modelling everything. This. Is my ability to "see around corners" as one of my friends puts it.

Anyway. We left it at that. The stare came to naught.

I have since - quietly, not thinking about much - thought about that diagnosis. Defeated. It seemed to me another kind of way of saying defeated was accepted. You can accept a shitty situation. Is that defeat ? Or acceptance ? Both ? And about what ? Acceptance of being chronically ill ? Final acceptance of the animal bit of me to just roll over and die ? Acceptance of just letting things go ?

None of the above ? Nothing about acceptance at all ? Just. Switched off, adrift.

But. Defeated after consideration sounds right. Even for switched off, adrift. It is a form of defeat.

No wonder I got the stare. It didn't help that halfway through the stare, and understanding where we were, I properly answered was I ok and  I said, a few sparks had started to move in the last 24 hours. And a very strong sense of just ending it had popped out of nowhere. Calm. Rational. Tired. Which of course. Makes it worse. It is not from an emotional out of sorts place.

This. Of course. Didn't improve the stare. The stare lengthened.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I can hear you thinking. And what you're thinking. Like reading your mind. I predicted each sentence as they said it. Pleased and disgusted with how very clever I was. And apologised for it. Stop. That is not what you do. The therapist is being kind. I acknowledged their kindness. That was the thing to do. The therapist said it was ok that I knew, I didn't have to apologise. No. I did. It's not ok to let the clever monster off its leash to run around the room. Behave.

Anyway. I have very slowly thought about it. Defeated.

There are some very defeated lines of thinking I have recently. When I stir myself to be aware. What. Is the point. I can't do this. I don't deserve that. Who am I to expect anything. And it's all turning to shit anyway.

Defeated theme. About a number of things. Relationships. Friends. Capabilities. Mortality at bad bits of being ill.

Maybe. All of this. A lot of things on those lines. Has hit me harder than I realise. It has accumulated. And caused me to go awol. To stop. Grief.

I Don't know.

This week. I belatedly found out one of my very long friends father had died. I knew them reasonably well. Their dad was the reason I was into tabletop wargames. His best friend was the reason I became good friends with someone a generation above me. A lecturer and researcher neuro science. In an odd way. Those two people. Particularly the latter. Even though it wasn't a great contribution. Had more of an effect on my life than my parents did. They showed an interest. They spent their time with me. And enjoyment. And of course. Me being me. Even when I was younger. I could code switch. And social chameleon into their more mature mindset. Easy. I can remember the neuroscientist asking me an odd question. What blood type was I. He had a wacky theory. That the rarer blood types saw a bump in neuro capability. He thought I was exceptionally clever. He was looking for answers as to why. Of all the voodoo juju things, he poked around blood type. I never asked him about it on a deeper level. Or talked about it at all other than in half veiled references. To me. It didn't matter. To him, it clearly did. 

In any case.

My friends dad died. I missed it. My friend invited me to the funeral. I missed it. I missed the email. Too late. Too. Late.

I failed. Something important. Bad. I. Don't really check emails anymore. There are so many of them. My energy is low. I just let them all drift. 

The last time my friend was at a funeral, was the funeral of the neuro scientists daughter. 21. Dead of leukemia. A tragedy that didn't stop at the funeral.

My friend did not do well at the funeral. He started with saying he didn't really understand them. The point. It was. A weird abstract to him. He had come anyway. With his dad. I talked about it being about closure. About everyone being mindful. Support. All those kind of things. He nodded. But only got it in an abstract way.

Until the actual service. And the words. And it hit my friend like a truck. It surprised him. And he didn't do well with it.

I wouldn't wonder then.

That he probably didn't do well at the funeral of his dad. And that I was there for him last time.

And I was not there for him this time.

So.

I failed.

I know. It's. A thing. That happens. And. He's an adult. And ok.

But still.

I take that shit very seriously. Arguably too seriously. I gather that weight to stick on my shoulders.

And once again I am at the place where I find myself disagreeing with death. It doesn't get my vote. I cannot support it. No thanks. It sounds funny. But I mean it. Properly. Deeply. Mean it. Anyone foolish enough to start forming the word natural, or renewal is going to be eviscerated by me. Fuck off with your barely concealed fucking coping mechanisms to comfort yourself over something that is truly tragic and a huge loss. Don't just paper over it with fucking sound bites.

But.

Anyway.

That's the rage bit about death. The raging at the dying of the light.

I'm ok with it. It is sad. I feel sad for my friends dad. Everything he was, winked out. Terrible. I feel sad for my friend. I have little doubt that his world feels more rudderless now. My friend has very few deeper connections.

I am super busy, frayed, burned, by work this week.

But I have vowed to catch him if I see him online and talk to him.

I sent him a short email. But. Emails. Fucking emails. A useless rump of 20th century communication technology. Spoiled by rampant fucking capitalism urging you to buy just one more thing, and thanks for buying the thing, would you now like to be told every 2 days about buying more of those things.

Stupid. Fucking. Cuntish. World.

I will see if I can find my friend. And talk to him. I want to go visit him. And check. In person. How he is doing. This is not the only cross he is bearing at the moment.

The wheel turns. The screws tighten.

That. Seems to be the way the world is trending at the moment.

No wonder I have the vibe of the end of all things.

Today I thought about the end. My end. Symmetrical. A square peg in a square hole. A relief. Overdue. Fitting.

But I am ok. I am not going anywhere. Just dancing on the edge. One of my "favourite" places to hang out.

But that too.

I am tired of.

Tired of the trope. Tired of the words. Tired of the bullshit.

Leave me alone. 

Today I have slept a little. In between bouts of work. And dreamed. Dreamed long of Athena. And Ares. With me again. I am kind to them. Mindful. Lets go for a walk. Come on. Where I go. You go. They are happy. And dreamed. Of my ex. Indifferent. Cool. Disconnected. The same trauma playing out. Losing them all. In very different ways.

And I will have none of those things ever again.

Defeat. Again.