That’s how I feel right now : oog.
It’s a combination of “oof”, “ugh”, and “argh”, with a little “ick” thrown in.
It’s a compound mood.
Finding it harder and harder to fight off the despair. My body is falling apart and it really seems to me that my life is just going to get worse and worse from here on in and it makes me want to just give up already and let the darkness take me.
Take that how you like.
It would be so much easier to stop thrusting against the pull of the black hole that is my life and finally let my little ship pass the event horizon and get kersmooshed.
That’s the proper scientific term. Look it up.
But I am hanging in there. Sometimes the best I can do is to keep myself together and wait for the break in the storms inside that will let me make some progress.
Right now my battle is with this killer chill inside that paralyzes me every time I try to make myself do the things I know I should be doing to improve my health.
Things like showering daily (don’t start), and learning to test my blood without getting errors all the time, and then actually testing my blood so I can manage my diabetes, and getting at least a little bit of exercise every day, and so on.
All of these things would help. That’s the problem. The dark and evil self-destructive part of my mind wants to die and therefore will not allow me to do anything to help myself beyond the things I already do.
And it’s killing me. My own mind is killing me. I spent a lot of years thinking I was beyond my suicidal urges, but it turns out they were just biding their time, waiting for the moment when it can truly do me in.
Then again, this urge for death has probably been behind all my self-neglect over the years, and if so, it’s not that it has been biding its time at all.
It’s been working in the shadows for all these years. What changed is that my recent health issues have dragged it out into the light.
Like I keep telling myself, there’s a lot of ways to commit suicide.
Some just take a long time. And disguise themselves as things like laziness, absentmindedness, or just plain flakiness in order to conceal what is really going on.
At least I am now fully aware of it. It can’t hide any more. I can feel it inside me like a mass of dead flesh. I can feel the terrible chill coming from it. A chill that feels like someone just opened the door to a deep freeze inside my soul. Like a cold mist coming off the glacier that is my heart.
Stupid overactive parasympathetic endocrine system.
And I know what I need to do. I just don’t know how to do it.
I need to do this :
Except that for me, it would probably take a necromancer.
Or a messiah.
More after the break.
Barely above water
The good news is that I am managing to keep my head above water, albeit barely.
The bad news is that I am floating towards a thousand foot waterfall and, so far at least, I am far too tired and numb to swim against the current and save myself.
Because part of me is looking at that waterfall with hungry eyes, seeing in it salvation via destruction and my final liberation from ever have to deal with anything ever again.
And sure, being dashed into pieces a minnow could swallow will hurt, but only for a second, and then at long last this farce I call my life will be Over.
And that’s this side of me’s mantra : Over. Over. It will finally over. No more pain. No more sickness. No more deep, cringing shame.
No more humiliation at my own rank incompetence. No more being the constant victim of my inability to handle reality. No more knife’s edge boundary between my potential and my output cutting through the sinews of my soul. No more dizzying indecision and soul deep vertigo. No more impotent rage mindlessly rattling its cage. No more feeling like I am constantly failing at everything. No more deep restlessness that robs me of good sleep and tortures me with the agony of my immobility.
No more weak and pathetic excuse for a life. No more living in my own filth because my sickness makes it impossible for me to clean anything ever. No more watching myself die from the basest of neglect and being powerless to do anything about it despite my super-ego’s constant refrain of what I could be and should be doing.
No more beating myself bloody trying to win the war with myself. No more feeling like I’ve been poisoned in both body and soul. No more feeling like the walking dead, with nothing but cold bones and dry, keening wind and broken stone inside me.
No more dragging my naked carcass through mile after mile of midnight tundra as the hardened frost scrapes my unprotected flesh bloody and the cold air feeling like a jigsaw blade sawing in and out of my lungs and my eyes so snowblind that I can’d even tell where dark land meets dark sky any more.
No more fresh body horrors. No more terror, no more dread, no more futility. No more trying to start my engine when there is no fuel, no spark, and no transmission.
No more feeling like I buried myself alive and I am running out of air. No more mindlessly clawing at the walls of my oubliette. No more guilt about the terrible toll my existence takes on those unfortunate enough to love me.
No more problems any more.
Because there’s no more me.
Not what I set out to write, but I am still glad i wrote it. I feel better now.
Thanks for reading it.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.