Apr 23

 Sleep.

That's all I'm doing. Occasionally I wake up for 30 minutes. Refresh water. Bathroom. And then crash out. The clock just whizzes around. At this point I am basically 16 hours in bed with those small blips "for air". My bullshit rises and falls in a series of peaks and troughs within those 16 hours. Sometimes bad. Sometimes quiet.

I am in what I would class as a "semi controlled crash". In that. Overall I don't have much choice about it and am constantly asleep or extremely low energy - the crash. But. I am still coming up for air to get water and go to the bathroom. And there is a bit of a conscious gauging of time. And bathroom break - the semi control. 

At the worse end of the spectrum I can have "no control". Which is where when I turn over. I have no water. No capability to move. Just. Somewhere down in the hole. And it's. Iffy. It can also become properly damaging in and of itself. Been there. Seen that. Got the scars. I think. Some of my stomach issues are actually left over damage from one of those "no control" crashes. But can't be entirely sure.

So semi control is better than no control.

It's not good. But this is old territory at this point. I know these things.

I am awake. And in a slightly longer "coming up for air" bubble. Perhaps. This one will stick. Perhaps. I have rested enough for the time being. I absolutely cannot say. Trying to predict anything during a crash cycle is a waste of time. I am going to do my best to ... not slump back into the hole at this point however. I'm not going to push it and take the piss. Just more. Offer a strong wish to not crash out. But not an overriding one.

We shall see.

I find I am still pissed off. At everything and everyone. To some degree or another. That patience trigger has toggled to off. Rather than be accepting and tolerant of all the human bits. The lies. The micro lies. The non understanding. The taking. The not giving. The consistent mis-steps. Greed. Idiocy. And on. I am. Finding fault with all of it. No. Fuck you. Wrong. No. Fuck you. Lie. No fuck you, cheap fucking rationalisation to protect your ego. Fuck off all of you. Try. For a second. To be fucking honest. About yourself. The choices you make. That little quiver of fear you feel when confronting why you did what you just did. Don't run from it. Think about it. Don't fucking project it. Don't make it my problem.

Children.

People are children.

I too am human. And subject to all the same flaws and stupid monkey shit. But. I think. There is a difference here. And it's not in what makes me up. I have the same aches and pains. The same limitations. The same problems facing me of intellectual grasp and conceit. And I too can tell myself to fuck off with my limitations. But. The difference. I am keenly aware of it. That. Is different. Very different. Don't take my word for it. Take my therapists word for it. Take any number of professional opinions on it. For whatever worth they are. Unusual. And. What do I do with that. The brutal level of honest then applied to it. Authenticity. Not good enough. To be sure. Its roots are in a traumatic start. Shaped that way because of a survival response. A flensing of self. And then the continual reinforcing of cognitive crunch. Existential removal of illusion.

It's not magic. Or supernatural. It's a progression. Start here. Walk one pace North. Do it again. And again. And again. None of those steps are particularly remarkable in and of themselves. None of them require me to be anything but factory default human. But over time. You end up 10,000 paces North of factory default human. Indeed. This mechanism is present in everything that people are. Outliers. Mainstream. This is what it means. It is the spread of paths. Like the most dense complicated tree. Each choice at a branch, left, straight on, or right. It is the ascent or descent or wild spin into different lands. From learning more complexity as an astrophysicist. To getting deeper into the vibe of "alternative therapies". At some point, they become the shape of that person. They aren't the person. That's different. But like a well worn set of clothes. They become recognisable. Familiar. A swimming outfit. Versus a set of overalls. A different fit. A different set of expectations of outcome. Capability. The skin.

But eh. I am not going to get into it any further. You either get it. Or you don't. Probably a sign of my patience erosion. I cannot be bothered lighting the path behind me. Find it. Or don't. I don't care.

My sense of alienation stems from this. I feel like I am running around in a world full of children. It is disappointing. Frustrating. Exhausting. Infuriating. Numbing. Hopeless. Misery. Isolating.

People need to find their tribe. Be that conservative fuckfaces. Neurotic perma victims. Activists. Enjoyers of coffee. Goths. Gamers. Golfers. Whatever it is. It's part of the human requirement of social bonding. Whether you like it or not. Whether you fight against that as a loner or not - contradictory to your baseline, the fish desperately trying to walk on its fins.

I don't have a tribe. Or as I said to my therapist. It either doesn't exist. Or, more plausible. It exists in such small numbers that my chance of finding my tribe amonst 9 billion bits of hay is as good as zero.

This is nothing but math.

The further the outlier. The harder it gets to find a close data point. That's the point.

Or.

The higher up the mountain you go. The less area there is to walk around. Not because of delusions of grandeur. Just physics. Rock pile mean pointy bit at top. Fat base at bottom.

Distribution curve mean. Mainstream on curve. Outliers removed from curve.

That's it.

Some tribes are on the curve. Some are off. Fewer dwindle into outliers. The degree of which. Depends on the distance.

Anyway.

Whatever.

Therapy. I have gone full circle on this again. I am going to end it. I will leave it open. I am not close minded about it. But. That's my intent. End it. Maybe open it again later. But for now. End it.

Why ?

It's not of any greater structural use to me. It has no answers. Not even the obvious concrete answers - my fuck does therapy not have any concrete answers, it's not going to tell you the meaning to life the universe and everything. But for me - and just my context here - it has little to nothing to offer me in terms of procedural answers either. Of how to go about things. Or live with things. Or adjust. I know all that shit. I could - not that I Would - write you a 10,000 word essay on it. The list of things. The models. The behaviour tweaks. The CBT "nonsense". All of it. You're not going to reveal something to me here I don't know.

There have been some other benefits from the process beyond the Usual Therapy Ones. Getting my homework marked for one thing - what I understand and see is validated. All those models and understanding. Has had its tyres kicked. Yeah. Correct. Ok. Cool. I was pretty sure that was the case. But. External validation - for what that's worth. Confirms. I am under no illusions. So. Perhaps. An MOT of the structure of understanding I have in that regard. Passed.

Also. Just being seen. This isn't a small thing. Being a bit more seen for who I am. And being told that from an outside more clear perspective. Very hard path. Very high smarts. Unusual person. Difficult all round. You can use whatever labels you like there. But. This has given me a small amount of a different kind of validation. Ok. I am not nuts. It also offers a counterpoint to my always harsh inner critic.

The being seen thing dwindles out, but is still important, in the week to week sessions. It is a continual relate. Of the collision between Everything and The Shape Of Me. This is, if you like, a fundamental bit of human condition right there. Universal. To everyone.

Whether that ongoing connection week to week of someone who sees you is worth it.

That's the very debateable bit.

It's not that it isn't a benefit.

It's whether it's worth it. And whether it's appropriate. And on that. At least my therapist I don't think has any kind of clean unbiased opinion of this. To them. It's always worth it. But to me. This can start to lapse into unjustified luxury. Or maybe. That's just my brutal sense of having any kind of "spare" capacity above utilitarian.

To me. Just one of the many considerations is. A therapists time it spent better elsewhere than on validating me each week. That statement is highly context based. It absolutely does not translate into a general bit of wisdom. It's also highly debatable even from my position. Given where I am. The headwinds I have. It's arguable that it's absolutely not a waste of time, and is in fact more of a fundamental support mechanism.

In any case.

You have the information you have. You make your best assessment. Which is always at points going to veer off into incorrect - this is the price you pay for being an imperfect gatherer of imperfect information in an imperfect probablistic environment - but you have to do the best with what you have at the time. And make a choice. And live with the fact you can be wrong.

So.

End it.

With a hefty dose of. Ending it now doesn't mean end it forever. Or that I am 100% correct.

It means end it.

And see where we are.