So I goofed.
Totally spaced on making the reservation for FRED yesterday. Didn’t realize it until Joe asked about it last night as I was on the way to bed.
And thank Dog he did! Otherwise I might have blanked on it till it was time to go.
Easy fix. Wait till they open then call up and make the reservation. And thanks to Julian, I was able to do it quite early.
See, I figured they were not a breakfast kind of place so I wasn’t going to call up till 10 am. But Julian looked it up and they actually open at 6:30 am every day.
So I called at around 8 am, made the reservation, everything’s cool.
In the time in between, I felt pretty horrible. Felt very stupid for having forgotten the one important thing I had to do.
I was able to keep it from turning into a whole depressive death spiral of self-loathing and agony, but it was still not a happy place to be.
And it set me to worrying anew that my condition is getting worse. I feel like it gets harder to think and remember and be awake and aware every day.
Probably losing brain cells every time I sleep.
And yet, I am as smart and talented as ever. And it doesn’t really interfere with playing video games too much. Not yet.
So my stupid lifestyle is largely intact. Yay.
But for how long? How long do I have before the fog in my head gets so thick and sticky that I can’t do much of anything? How long till I am near-catatonic, just laying in bed staring at nothing, floating through life like a little grey cloud on the horizon, not really here at all.
What a tragic waste that would be. And all completely avoidable…. were I a healthy man, with a healthy mind and a healthy spirit.
But I am not. The best that I can hope for most days is to just make it through the day without too much pain or fear. That’s why I play video games all the goddamned day – because I am too weak for much else.
So I drift helplessly towards doom. Soon I will meet my end exactly as I have dreamed it so many times : in a hospital bed, with tubes and wires everywhere, freaking out hard because of the tube down my throat and the mask over my face but unable to communicate it to anyone so I am stuck in utter torment till I finally, blessedly, die.
There has to be a way out. Some way to either vitalize myself so that I can take care of myself better, or get someone else’s help.
I’d need a lot of help. Someone who will stay on me until I do the things I should do in order to maximize my health. Someone who can tell me what those things are when I am too fogged up to think of them myself. Some willing to push and prod and harass and cajole me into not frigging dying.
Can’t imagine anyone is willing to do that for free, and I sure as fuck can’t pay them.
But there has to be a way.
I just have to think hard enough to find it.
More after the break.
Tried to jerk off. Got nowhere. Frustrated. Sigh.
I suppose, if I were a healthy fag, being this horny would drive me to go out looking for some cock. Either via an app like Grindr, or going to the baths, or somesuch.
I honestly can’t imagine living like that. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be able to just leave home in pursuit of the satisfaction of your needs and desires whenever you want. I can’ imagine leaving the home not being a huge deal for me.
Even if I had a lot of money, it would still be a big deal to go out. Sure, being able to afford to take cabs everywhere, or even to have my own car and driver, would make it easier, but in my mind, the difference between being nice and safe at nice safe predictable home will always be radically different from being out in the loud, overstimulating, unpredictable world.
Sad to imagine my still being a recluse with a million bucks in the bank, but realistic.
I’ll be going out to FRED tonight, and after FRED I will be going to Felicity’s parents’ place to hang out with her and Joe and watch videos, and in between those I will be doing my Sunday shopping at the Sav-on at Ironwood, and so I will be out of the apartment from around 7:45 pm to around 2:30 am.
This is only possible because I will be with my friends the whole time (plus a few others), I will be at places I have been before, and I will get everywhere by car.
Even with all that, doing FRED every other week is still the most stressful thing I do on a regular basis. It takes a lot of spoons for me to go do it.
Even though I know I will enjoy myself and be glad I did it. Somehow, that knowledge does not penetrate deep enough to change my emotions.
Mental illness is funny like that. It’s crazy.
I hope that if, someday, my financial circumstances improve drastically, that I will make myself keep going out every night until that becomes the new normal and I finally lose some of this petrified paralysis that keeps me homebound and frustrated.
The only real cure for the bad tapes that play in my head when I try to do stuff is to replace them with good tapes, and that means taking risks.
Surely, somewhere in the world there are good, kind, and very very patient and persistent people that could give me the powerful doses of positive human interaction it would take to overwrite all the negative and erroneous crap inside me.
No idea where I would find them, though. My negatives are extremely powerful. Not even my therapist can handle them, more’s the pity.
Guess I will just keep suffering alone.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.