May 1

 Exhaustion dipped hard today. It wasn't even a "terrible" day. Just. A bad one.

It started... in a slightly more workable position. I got up. Tired. Sat on the computer. Slowly declined. Became very tired. And had to go back to sleep.

Coming out of sleep... everything had gone very badly wrong. Hardcore exhaustion had piled on top of the tiredness. 

Everything suddenly becomes incredibly difficult. Moving. Becomes a major effort. At one point. Lying on the floor of my bedroom - unable to move from that position. I reflected on the differences of this, to Tuesday when I had a "bit of energy" and went to retrieve my painting gear from Hazel.

I checked myself lying on the floor. I could absolutely feel how "heavy" I was. It felt like I was trying to move a tonne in weight. With no strength. Which. Is probably about right. It's just that typically we take that kind of thing for granted. Like Tuesday. When that feels... difficult. But workable with. To the extent it gives me a feeling of a "bit of energy".

I tried moving from the floor. Failed. Mm. Just. Wait. Waited. And with a lot of effort and groaning I picked myself up. But that's it. The energy cost has then been exceeded. Seek next rest point.

Some hours into this. My all over pains which had been retreating, returned full force. Excruciating. So. No energy. And wicked pains.

Again I reflected on how I felt. Just. Turning over in bed. Becomes super hard. And I realised that this is it - your capacity dwindles down hard. Thoughts of things like "painting" become some not thought about fantasy. Being able to turn over, find your water and drink becomes the peak you need to climb. I am not being hyperbolic there. Many times today. Being able to get to my water bottle. In the same room. Within arms reach. Becomes. Frustratingly hard. And includes a few failed attempts where you slump. Pause a while. Gather your strength. And try again.

Uh huh. 

Interesting. 

Sigh.

I think background somewhere in there. My absolute air of defeat and resignation has formed into an unyielding permastate. I have stopped struggling. Or caring. No strategies. No figuring out. Just. Waiting. And. I am not particularly mindful of taking care of myself. That too. I don't care about anymore. Really, when you stop and think about it, it's only a hairs breadth difference from the whole wishing you weren't here anymore mentality. It's just taken that one small practical step further. Oh. I am just not going to bother anymore.

There is no great sense of drama about it though. Somewhere deep in there, asleep. Is a sense of tragedy and sadness and all that shit. But. Perhaps it is the numbed out present. It's just. Quiet. Everything. Probably worryingly from an external perspective. Is waiting. We are done. We have arrived. Is everyone here ? Are we all on the same page ? Ok. A mustering of the group quietly whilst a headcount is done. Like a kids school outing before the off.

I know what it smells like. Even though. There is a wilfull silence about it. If I go looking for the faintest sign of it, it's right there. Large. Well formed. Ready. And super slippery and very strong. Almost.

One part of me recoils from how easy that is. How strong, how all the counter arguments have dropped, and everything instead is just waiting. Not pushing it. Just waiting. For that zen point.

This. I reflect at the meta. Is a super bad sign. If you were that way inclined. But. It feels like an academic point. It doesn't connect. Because it does not actually compute in the current state. It's like talking about who your favourite pokemon is whilst trying to navigate with a lost boat in a limitless ocean. It feels. Irrational. Bad sign ? Give me a break. It makes perfect sense. It is not a bad sign.

Early morning. The wee hours. I have woken up struggling for breath. Not apnoea style. Asthma style. I don't feel particularly wheezy. But I can't breathe. My capacity to get air into my lungs is... diabolically short. I realise I have skipped asthma meds for a day or so. And the atmosphere this evening has shifted. And my exhaustion. And pains. And now. I can't breathe. They are not unrelated.

I triple dose my asthma meds. It hardly makes a dent. Wait. See if it improves. This too has shifted over the last few years. A slowly worsening of situation. Managed. Still solvable with meds. But I am needing more of them. More often. And the repercussions are getting slowly worse. Uh huh.

Slowly. My breathing improves. Until it has shifted back into unconscious mode. Good enough to now sink below the threshold of conscious thought.

And I shift back to how I have felt today. Am feeling. From all angles. Physical. Psychological. 

Potentially the worst point to do a little reflective thinking. The hour of the wolf. And it is strong. From nowhere. No prompting. No looking for it. There it is. See how easy that was. So easy. It would be so easy. There is definitely an element of surprise in there. About how strong and well formed and organised that is. Not doubtful, no half things. Right there. Neat. Tidy. Well presented. A polished document ready to go.

Very briefly. My thoughts skitter to Athena. Her always curious clever face. A split second. A split second is all I can take in that space before I feel that enormous tsunami of loss gather on the horizon. It is the tiny pull tag that unleashes everythign behind it, the loss of other, the loss of me, the loss of capability, the loss of being able to sit in a green space.. and on.. and on... the premature death of me. And the lingering of... whatever it is that remains. Just. The remnant. Of awareness. And a few small sputters of engagement and life.

I let it go. I let her go.

I know. If I pull that tag. If I wanted to. If I embraced it. Right now. It would carry me over the edge.

Uh huh. I make a small note. Not for avoidance. But for engaging.

Also. Not good.

Perhaps tomorrow ( today ) my stuff will shift. And I will feel a little better. And some of this stuff will sink a little. Not gone. Absolutely not gone. But just lurking beneath the apparent immediate surface. 

There is an irony here.

About stopping therapy.

Heh.

It's not planned that way. But from one angle. It looks. Like something else. Just. Coincidence. 

Anyway.

I feel a strong pull to isolation.

I am ok with not talking to anyone. I am ok with no one talking to me. There is. A quiet sense of correctness in my assessments. That very real asymmetrical effort there often is with a number of my relationships. If I stop pushing. It stops. Period.

And I am ok with that.

Stop. Struggling.

Ok.

It is. Peaceful here.