The bottom of the valley

I am pretty depressed right now.

It’s that infinite retreat thing. No matter which way I turn, there is something I don’t want to face. Myh overactiver superego is running amok and I hate myself a lot right now. I feel hopeless and helpless and vulnerable and violated and very, very depressed.

But I will survive.

I will keep on trudging through life ands bury myself in my distractions and eventually I will feel better and start really enjoying my distractions (yay?) and life will, for a while at least, seem reasonably okay,

But eventually I will end up back here. I accept that.

You can either see it as a trip from peak to peak or from valley to valley It all depends on what you decide is real. If you choose to think the valleys are “real” or at least your highest priotrity, then you end up concluding that none of it is worth it because you always end up back in Hell again,.

Yeah, Fuck that. I might be in Hell right now but I know it’s just a daypass trip and soon this craxzy tourbus will turn around and head back towards Heaven.

Well, maybe not absolute Heaven. But relative Heaven. Compared to Hell, it will be Heaven, and that’s about all I can reasonably help.

I really feel like I can;t do anything to imnprove my life. I try to imagine my way to looking for work on UoWork or calling mky docor’s office and making an appointment or really anything that might make me feel better,

All I can do is skip the goddamned toxic desserts for a while and hope to dry out and go back to something like a decent blood sugar level, and hope that that will be enough to get me on the mending path.

I have lost some of the sensation in the tips of my fingers and my toes. I get weird sensations all over my body, like tingling or burning or stabbing, at random moments and sometimes I itch for no reason. Yay diabetic neuropathy. Turning out turning your blood into sludge by eating sugary things is kind of hard on the body, especially the nerves and the arteries.

What the fuck am I doing with my life.

I try to find the strength to face my problems, but I feel so weak. Like my soul in pneumatic and my compressor shut down. I can’t seem to make myself do it.

And maybe that is part of the problem. I have been forcing myself to do things by sheer force of will and that is a resource that was never meant for long term use.

There is so much chaos ibn my head. Sometimes I wonder how I get anything done with the all-singing, all-dancing monkey shit-fight orgy screamig in my head and raging like a tornado in my head all the time.

And in the center of it all is my tiny little world, filthy and depressing and stupid and messy and loathsome and lovely asnd warm and wonderful and dead as hell.

But safe. Very very safe. From outside threats, at least.

My inner demons don’t like the competition.


The usual nap happened.

I feel so toxic. Like I want to vomit from every pore on my body all at once. Kasploot. It would be horrifying beyond measure but I would feel so much better afterwards.

I am going to have to concentrate on getting myself healthy. Or at least, back to the base level of illness which I used to enjoy back when I took meds and shot insulin and did all the other things that depression has taken from me of late.

It doesn’t feel possible right now, and the urge to shove it to the back of my mind and just continue on as I am right now is powerful.

And I know I don’t have to do it. I can continue to withdraw from it all and let my health get worse and worse until I end up in the hospital.

And the saddestg thing is that, to the sick part of my mind, that sounds really good. You mean I never have to pull my head out of my ass and eventually I end up someplace where people will take care of me and all my friends will feel bad for me and be super nice to me and I get to be the center of attention?

Sign me the fuck up.

TO me, Munchausen Syndrome has never been the slightest bit of a mystery. To a weak soul like myself, dodging reality by becoming a professional patient sounds marvelous. The world is a harsh and cruel place where you are alone and abandoned in a world with which you cannot cope.

Being in the hospital means you do not have to cope. And for those of us with a vast, unmet need for nurturing, it’s a place that comes with professionals who will tqake care of you and protect you.

They may not do it with a lot of warmth. But you take what you can get.

This is why I am so scared of ever ending up in the psych ward. I would never want to leave. It woukld be too comfortable and safe for me.

I wouldn’t even have to generate my own structure any more. I would only have to go where I am supposed to go and do what I am supposed to do.

And for me, manufacturing the symptoms of serious mental illness (as opposed to boring old depression) would be child’s play. I know a lot about abnormal psychology (in the same way that a fish knows a lot about swimming) and I can be a very good acor when I decidde to be.

Because the sad truth is that merely saying you hate yourself and hate your life and everything in it and it makes you want to die will not get you into the psych ward.

Not unless you say you are suicidal, and even then, probably not.

You’re stuck coping with feeling like dying unless you actually do something about it and make an attempt.

And that might work.

You just might die.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.