Doctor Chao called while I was out not getting my chest X-ray today
^[1] . I am guessing he wants to discuss my test results.

I’m guessing they’re not good. Doctors don’t call you up to talk about how healthy you are, I would think.

Should be a fun conversation.

Well whatever it is, I can take it. Go do a bunch of much scarier tests? Sure. Go directly to the hospital and check yourself into the hazmat wing? Gotcha. Start making funeral plans because you’ve only got one month to live?

I’m way more okay with that than I should be.

That’s the ugly realization that came to me while we were out. There is a part of me that is looking forward to dying. That is enjoying my getting weaker and more tired and is hoping it goes all the way to my turning away from reality entirely and hiding in death, having finally escaped everything.

That sees death as a way to finally truly get some rest. In peace, even.

That feels me fading away and says “Almost there…. finally it will be over….”

So if I truly want to live, I am going to have to deal with this dark and deadly part of me before it dooms me.

Not really wanting to live is bound to negatively effect outcomes.

Even if I continue doing what I am told to do by medical folk. You can give two patients identical treatment for identical diagnoses and one of them recovers and the other dies almost right away.

The only difference is one had a lot more will to live than the other.

And I am not sure how much will to live I have.

Heck, I am not sure how much will to not die I have.

It would be so easy to give up and die. It wouldn’t even feel like I was committing suicide. After all, I didn’t slit my wrists or jump off a roof or walk into traffic.

In fact, an argument could be made that I didn’t do anything at all.

On the outside, at least.

So I need to be working hard to connect with my primal will to live and all the things I have to live for in order to shore up my resolve.

Starting with getting good and mad at the petty forces that DARE to try to ruin all my fun by getting their dirty little fingers all over my righteous and noble self.

Well fuck that.I am going to fight back against all my illnesses and ailments and kick their bloody teeth in. I’m hopping mad at all this bullshit and I intend to do whatever it takes to get healthy again.

So fuck you, illness, disease and death.

I am not your friend.

More after the break.

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A little too on the nose

Just noticed that in Chrome, there’s a tag to the left of the URL that says “Not secure”

How inappropriately appropriate.

It is referring, of course, to my connection. Both to my website and reality.

I know that a lot of my internal insecurity – that maddening maelstrom in my mind – comes from having so little input from reality.

I ignore reality most of the time and focus on my rich inner life instead. I’m a dreamer, a seer, a thinker, a visionary. A wizard of the mind and sorcerer of the soul. Being so internalized gives me great power and insight.

But none of that matter when you are too fucking crazy to do anything with it.

What I need is balance. Or something closer to it, anyhow. I need enough ihnput from reality to balance out all the mental activity and leave me feeling grounded and secure and stable instead of feeling like I’m naked at midnight at the North Pole.

But the road to reality is littered with land mines of self-loathing, anxiety, dread, uncertainty, and pain.

This is not an accident. My depression put all those land mines there. Both to serve its own desire to keep me under its control and to make me feel better about how constrained and pathetic my life is.

I guess those are basically the same thing.

After all, what better way to keep the animals quiet in their cages than to convince them that to set foot outside their cages means instant death?

We’re not keeping you locked up. We’re keeping you safe.

And isn’t that the most important thing? To be safe?

And the answer is : no. The most important thing is to be happy. Safety, like all other virtues, is just a means to that end.

And if the concern for safety gets in the way of my happiness, then fuck it.

I’d rather be dangerously happy than safely miserable.

Besides, deep down, this particular version of “safety” only means “lack of anxiety”. It’s about feeling safe, not about being safe.

That’s how someone like me can live a self-destructive life of self-neglect and wholesale fear of reality in general and human connection in particular, where I have lost my entire adult life to depression and continue to struggle with it every day, all because that’s what my anxiety forces me to do in order to feel “safe”,. and not see the problem.

I’m not safe. My recent health issues prove that. I’m actually in terrible danger of an entirely predictable and on paper preventable sort precisely precisely because the desire to feel safe made it impossible to do the things I needed to do in order to actually be safe in reality.

The irony runs thick and strong in this head of mine.

And i don’t know what the solution is. I don’t think it’s that kind of problem, the kindI can solve with my oh so clever mind.

This is the sort of thing that only going deep and dragging all the old bullshit in my head out into the light so I can finish processing it can solve.

And the problem with that is that it takes for freaking ever.

And I may not have that long.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow,