In the midst of a pretty bad allergy attack – of the nasal explosion sort – despite having taken my Reactine Complete Allergy and Sinus this morning.
So instead of allergies, I now have allergies and resentment.
Thanks a ton, Reactine!
I guess all clearing out my sinuses did for me was to make room for more pollen.
Because this is an attack of above average intensity. Not by a huge amount but by a notable (and noteworthy) amount.
And it’s annoying, painful, and gross.
Annoying because I have to blow my nose all the time or risk drowning.
Painful because when it gets this bad, my nasal cavities get inflamed to the point where it feels like I am snorting fire.
And gross because snot.
Meanwhile, I am still pretty pissed off about life and the world and everything. It’s horribly unfair that I am going to die before getting to live at all.
Is there a Make-A-Wish foundation for people who are (technically) adults?
And there was nothing I could have done to prevent myself from ening up this way either. I know it looks like there are millions of things I could have done – exercised, taken care of my diabetes WAY better, pushed my emotional boundaries more. taken up an active hobby that included social interaction, and so forth and so on forever.
But looks can be deceiving. All of those things require having a mind, soul, and spirit strong and healthy enough to sustain them and I just plain don’t.
I’ve been very psychologically ill for far longer than I have been physically sick. Its a pervasive spiritual sickness that drains my very soul of vitality and coherence and makes it hard to even be alone with myself sometimes.
Hence my constant need for distraction. If I keep my mind overstuffed with stimulation and diversion, there is no room for the predator within to creepy in and then leap out of the shadows of my mind and GET me.
So whether or not I could have done better and not ended up trapped in a burning capital ship of a body that will likely die before he’s 50 is highly debatable.
Arguably I did the best I could by just making it through the day without having a nervous breakdown and/or killing myself.
Nothing guarantees that if I had just stayed out of my head more and learning how to get along with people I don’t know that I would have made it out there.
I am not built for survival. Which is why I will not survive.
At no point did I really have a chance. The game was rigged from the start. When you are too sick to do the things that will make you well, you are just plain fucked.
So now I am stuck in this slow, heavy death spiral headed for a huge crash and unable to pull up.
Because maybe I don’t want to.
Maybe I want to end it all.
Maybe I want for it all to finally be over.
And maybe that conflict is what will kill me in the end.
More after the break.
None of this matters
Guess I am at the “violent apathy” phase of my breakdown now.
Because at this moment, I just want to tell the world to fuck RIGHT off. Nothing has meaning, nothing matters, and the whole is just one nonstop out of control rolling shitshow to end all shitshows anyhow, so why the fuck should I care about anything?
I am sick and tired of life. My life in particular – I’m sure yours is fine. And unlike pretty much everyone else in the world, I know the difference between “my life” and “Life”.
For one thing. only one of them is a cereal.
I feel so god damned frustrated. I yearn for so much and yet it is all out of reach. I feel like a dog tied up in a back yard who can see and hear and smell all the exciting and stimulating things going on in the world outside the reach of his leash, but can never actually experience any of it.
All the poor pup can do is bark and howl in frustration, which is what I do here I guess.
The most frustrating thing is knowing how much I am capable of doing. I’m a wizard, Harry, and I can do wonderful, magical things that could make the whole world smile if given the chance, but my fears and my damage and my disintegrating infrastructure are holding me back like a ball and chain.
Only not as kinky.
The thing is, I can’t do this alone. I need help. Lots and lots of help. I need people who believe in my extraordinary potential who are willing to be patient and persistent with me as we work together to haul me out of this god damned hole.
But those people do not exist, in my experience. People might want to help in theory but when it comes down to the wire they see how much blood sweat and tears helping me would actually costs them and they vanish like they were a hologram the whole time.
Not that I blame them. I am a lot to deal with. I might be a sweetie (I am) and all, but I am also a very sick animal and thus not exactly a prime candidate for adoption.
Nobody can handle the real me anyway. Fruvous Uncut is too full of anger and depression and sickness and too socially distorted and diseased for mere mortals to contend with without risking their very sanity.
I have made it the tiny distance I have made it by showing the world a highly filtered version of myself. Everything you see is real but you by no means see everything.
Nobody does. And nobody ever will. Not even my shrink does.
He can barely handle the version I show him now.
The real thing would damn near kill him.
And even if there are people who could handle me out there, my issues keep me from reaching out and finding them anyhow.
I don’t even know how to let people into my life.
I’ve been cold and alone and abandoned since the first day of Grade 1.
I don’t know how to be anything else.
And that is the saddest thing of all,.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.