Jul 25

 A single day after my last post saying that morning were better, they got worse.

Funny.

Since then I have been struggling against a slow declining slump where each day is harder than the last. You can feel it. Like sand disappearing underneath your feet with each wave that rolls in and eases out. A little less energy. A little less time. A few less hours of functionality a day. Until you're fighting for just a few hours out of the day. And that has become hard.

I can feel the exhaustion linked with it. Possibly for the first time I can feel the link between the two. And the subtle increase in *weight*. Everything is harder to move. Everything takes more effort to start moving.

Today I am struggling with it. Very slow. It threatens at any minute to push me under and return me to sleep. Where the day will simply pass in a blur. All I seem to be doing today is sleeping. And peeing. I haven't eaten. It doesn't seem to be making a difference lately. I will eat. I just need to.... gather the energy to go do that. It is very much like psyching yourself up to run up a hill when you're exhausted.

The mental state has been in the gutter for sometime. At times I can fake it. Fascinating in itself. You can. Shift. To a different personality. Put on your face. For a while. Before taking it off and slumping. It truly is fascinating. How the brain works. I have long considered the theory of mind. My take on it being the village of personalities. Conflicting personas. Different needs, fears, voices. Different ones get the biggest say at different times. But. A simpler model. It's like holding your breath when you go under water. You can do it for a time. And swim underwater. But at somepoint you have to come up for air. That's like putting on the face.

Feelings of lack of self worth, being unloveable, unlikeable, a waste of space, and, broken beyond repair have been going hard lately. Very hard. We talked about it somewhat this week at therapy. It was my turn to cry at therapy. The therapist got in a "cheap" shot. No worth. No value. I see the person that cared for their dogs, that cares for dogs. Instant gut punch. I shook my head and closed my eyes and clammed up fighting the wave of emotion and sadness.

The therapist wanted to know this week regarding the sadness, how I dealt with it. Don't feed it. Don't ignore it. Don't pretend it's not there. But also don't let it spiral.

What would happen if you gave into it ?

Existential. I get to a suicidal point. End it. Because everything is too painful.

How do I cope with that ? What do I do in that situation ? 

Nothing. Endure it. Walk the abyss. It is awful. 

On your own ?

Of course on my own. Always on my own.

The therapist looked at me with a mix of dismay and concern.

I could get angry about that I said. If I let it. Always on my fucking own. My life is replete with standing on my own two feet, trials by fire, doing the thing.

Why do you think that is the therapist asked in a way that said I know the answer to this question, do you.

And of course. We know at least one thread, or the main thread, or whatever it is at this point. Childhood I said is probably influencing this.

The therapist took the lead. As a child you learned there was no one there for you. No one would help. You had to do it by yourself. You weren't taught any different so how could you know.

There is an undeniable truth to it. That even in the midst of it I can see. I will not put people out. To a fault. I will rarely seek help. And if I do I pay a price for it internally. I can feel it. Like a physical block. I do understand the nature of it. A peculiar mental conditioning. 

I reflected on a positive of walking the abyss. I have walked the paths of the abyss so often, I know every nook and cranny, that I can maybe pull something of worth from it on returning - if I return - and see in others the paths they walk. Understand suffering and misery. And help. And be prepared to walk those paths with them. 

And what about the cost to you ?

Yes well. This is where me and you differ.

Yes.

No boundaries. So I will go sit in hell with someone no matter the cost.

And what's the final outcome of that ?

We both knew the conversation we were having here. We know it. We know how this plays out.

Worst case it consumes me I said. But. I don't want to be here anyway. I get to help and die ? That's a win win situation. A plan with no flaws.

I smiled. An acknowledgement of the dysfunctional setup there. A touch of crazy. Absurd. Fey. Comedy. But also. The truth.

The therapist said they worried about what the cost to me was, not only physically but emotionally. They explained about why therapists do what they do the way they do it. We have had this conversation before.

I know I said.

I know you know. The therapist went on with explaining it anyway. And that I should think about ways that I could protect myself. Put it in a box.

I don't function like that I said.

Yes. I know you don't. But think about it. 

The rest of the session beforehand was taken up with being so very sad. Broken. Dysfunctional. The therapist opined that my physical condition made recovery from grief very difficult. Because the things someone would do, could do, to build beyond the point of grief were hard for me. Trapped.

I could see what they meant. Frozen in time. Not able to build meaningful things beyond that break point. Grieving for myself, the loss of person I was, grieving for all the things I love, now gone, out of reach. Grieving for the world at large. The sadness I see. Also a problem. My context circle expands out. I feel the misery in the world. The kids that die. The grind that people have. The decay of everything.

I related that many years ago, the one GP I had who was decent at mental health noted that I lived in a permanent suppressed mood state. And that my capability to see all the things that caused problems, suffering, sadness was a gift. A gift to be able to highlight them, understand them and in doing so possibly get something done about them.

The therapist said, funny, the same thing went through my head. A gift, which I know you see as a curse.

At some point, being on my own. The therapist said. I want you to know. That when you are here. I am here with you. You are not alone.

I know I said quietly. I appreciate what you do. And who you are.

But I cannot live in this office. I cannot live in this one hour of time. I have to live in the world.

I know what you mean about being alone the therapist said. And I know that this isn't what you mean. But. I am here.

You are weird I said.

Thanks.

No I don't mean it like that.

I'll take it.

Weird is good anyway. Weird people are cool. But that's not what I meant. I meant the relationship is weird. The therapeutic relationship. It's this office only.

The therapist got what I meant.

Anyway.

Today I am struggling.

Struggling so much I wrote this blog. Where I haven't been writing them for months now. Because I know it can very subtly - sometimes - smooth off the edges. Take a little bite out of the suffering. Focus. Mind switched. A way perhaps to be active through the pain and get to a state that is less.... awful. But also something about getting it out there. Communicating. A very faint cry in the dark. The psych studies show that vocalisation changes things. Ups your capacity to endure pain for instance. There is something in communication. That turns on different bits of your brain. Alters the signal. Perhaps in the end, it's just layers of distraction. Rather than a single focused source of pain. A number of other sources that must be paid attention to, plates kept spinning, just by having limited focus, means the single source of misery diminishes. Sometimes. Just a bit.

I would still. And haven't stopped. Knowing that if offered a pill to end me, peacefully, quietly, no pain. I would take it. And drop out.

Damning.

I am a broken toy.