Did the Wound Care thing this morning.

Uneventful. The wound type thing on my foot is about the same as ever. On the previous visit, Nurse Vivian gave it a severe debridement, meaning she used her little scraper to shave the calloused part down to nearly nothing, so it’s a much smaller issue to deal with at the moment.

Nobody has a solution to make the damned thing go away forever though. That’s because that would take a podiatrist and the gubmint doesn’t pay for those.

Well, technically, it pays $25 a visit for them. Which is waaaaaaaaay less than they cost. So it’s LIKE they don’t pay for them, only more insulting.

Well obviously, if they paid for the whole thing. us dirty rotten poor people^[1] would go get foot diseases just for fun.

It honestly seems like someone just hasn’t bothered to update the amount paid in a really long time. Like, since the Cretaceous.

Well, it’s not like we’re important or anything.

The trip up from the car to the Community Care Clinic wasn’t too bad. I got dizzy and sick but it was manageable.

But the trip back down was pretty damned bad. Felt quite wretched when I got ito the car. Head and heart pounding, stomach full of radioactive bile, dizzy, the works.

My world really sucks right about now.

Gonna need that wheelchair soon. I feel like there’s the ghost of one following me around now. Waiting patiently for when it becomes obvious to all concerned that this dizziness on standing ain’t going anywhere anytime soon and so if I want to be able to actually leave the apartment, I’ll need wheels.

Assuming I continue to be able to make it around the apartment OK.

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Which is by no means guaranteed, judging by the hard time I just had simply getting up and getting my 7-11 order from the door then pouring myself a Diet Coke.

Oh god, please don’t make me a total cripple. I swear I’ll be good. I really don’t want to have to rely on other people to do really basic things like get something from the kitchen. I don’t want to be too feeble to deal with life’s basic challengesI don’t want to need help in the bathroom.

Guess I better get my poop in a group then.

Make some doctor’s appointments. I need to see Doctor Sherri again. Which means I have to get that lab work done…. assuming I can find it.

I am so bad at this life thing. Fantastic magical powers but stumped by things like sleeping and taking care of myself.

I’m a hothouse flower in dire need of a gardener.

Or a hothouse, for that matter.

Instead, I have just gotten accustomed to shivering all the goddamned time. It’s always so goddamned cold in my bare little patch of midnight tundra.

The view’s amazing. But nothing grows here.

Not even me.

More after the break.

The end of the world

I think I’m going to have to be very sad for a while.

No point fighting it. Scary shit is going down in my life and I need to process and express those emotions and that means feeling bad for a while.

Whatever. It’s not like I have anything better to do. Might as well curl up and suffer.

I feel like I am dying. Just getting up for a pee hurts me. By the time I sit back down, I am nauseous and headache-y and the rest. From a pee.

And so I am getting pretty scared. Death’s pendulum blade swings a little closer every second and I feel like I am sliding ever closer to the edge of the waterfall.

And them rocks down there look mighty pointy.

And the sick and evil part of my mind is all excited. Finally, after all this time, its evil plan is coming close to fruition. It will finally have committed the ultimate act of self-hate and killed me, and thus itself as well.

And then this long pathetic humiliating face can finally be over and I can get some peace and quiet at last.

Part of me never sleeps.

Like a lot of depressives, I don’t truly want to die. I just want the pain to STOP. I want it to be OVER. I want to ESCAPE THIS HELL.

But I will settle for not ending up a gimptard.

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed. I have a lot on my plate right now and I didn’t order any of it. I want to rescue myself from this malaise. I want to be able to rally my efforts and do all the good things and get way healthier and show the people who care about me that their love is appreciated and not rejected by my apparent refusal to help myself.

But I can’t help myself.

I’m very sick inside and that sickness keeps me from taking care of all my other sicknesses. If I could control my blood sugar and my sleep apnea, I would no doubt feel a million times better.

So why does that idea terrify me?

Deep down, the Trog feels like that would just make life far, far too loud on every level and with no place left to retreat to.

That sounds worse than Hell, to be honest.

Well that explains why I find it so hard to help myself. Part of me is terrified of feeling better in case that makes life overstimulating

Not sure what to do with that information but it’s good to have nevertheless.

If only I could raise my stimulation tolerance. But I am pretty sure that’s hardwired. I have always hated bright light, loud noises, emotionally loud people, and so on.

So what’s a poor fox to do?

There’s got to be a way out of this somewhere.

Besides the obvious, that is.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.