I swear, every day I get clumsier and spazzier.

I was washing out some bottles to prep them for recycling when my right arm twitched and I ended up sweeping a bunch of other bottles onto the floor.

It’s weird and alienating as fuck to have your body do something without you telling it to.

Something that normally would require an act of volition. Like sweeping a bunch of plastic bottles onto the floor via a sweeping motion of the arm.

It’s like my arm suddenly wanted to make a dramatic gesture of rage and despair.

“And damn this bottles, too!! *flail(“.

Shit like that has been happening a lot lately. And not just like that.

I go to pick something up and end up dropping it. I try to put something down and miss the edge I was trying to put it on. I stub my toe or whack my hand because the floor and/or the surface I was aiming for is not where my body thought it was.

And it gets a little worse every day. The writing is on the wall : I am getting worse neurologically every day and soon I will be just a spastic, dizzy, twitching, flailing mess that can’t even take a crap without help any more.

Oh right. I get dizzy a lot too.

So I should quite honestly be bringing this all to my GP’s attention. right? That, and so much more. This is exactly the sort of thing that should spur me into immediate and focused action to save my own skin.

But it doesn’t. It won’t. It just makes me want to retreat even further from reality. Whatever emergency circuit is supposed to kick in when these things come up is broken and dead.

I don’t know how much more of this I can take. This falling apart is freaking me out and yet I can’t claim I don’t know what to do about it.

I just don’t know how to make myself do it. I don’t know how to defeat the part of me that wants me to fall apart and die so I can do the things I know I need to do in order to pull out of this nose dive.

If it isn’t already too late, that is. Could be that even if I would wave my magic wand and set my every indicator to its ideal level and have it stay that way forever, I would still keep falling apart until I die of neurological collapse a year or so from now.

And I feel so helpless. And frustrated. Frustrated because by all outward indications, I am not helpless at all. The things I need to do to help myself are simple and easy. Things millions of others do every day without even thinking about it.

But not my genius self, oh no. I am held hostage by a demon that wants me dead.

I’m so darn lucky. Really I am.

More after the break.

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If, at restaurants, a small appetizer sized version of a dish is “starter sized”, then an extra large version should be called “ender sized”.

Because trust me… after this, you’re done.

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My fabulous future

Call me Kreskin because here’s what is going to happen.

My health will just keep on deteriorating. But always so slowly that it is not hard for me to ignore it, telling myself that I’m being a hypochondriac and exaggerating my supposed “symptoms” when I am just fine, everything is as its always been, and I am cleared to make absolutely no changes as my burning ship drifts closer to the edge of the waterfalls and those really pointy rocks down below.

Eventually, something extra nasty will come along. A gross infection, peeing blood, partial numbness on one side, that kind of thing.

And that will scare me into going to the ER and then doing whatever is asked of me after that as long as it consists of going to appointments and taking pills and maybe doing something novel and easy enough to be fun for a while, like prepping a different kind of meal or taking a supplement drink or something.

But the moment the crisis has passed and it’s all up to me, alone, with nobody checking up to make sure I stay compliant, I will revert to my usual mode of doing nothing, neglecting myself, and falling apart piece by piece.

All the while whining about how sad it is and bitching about how helpless I feel, of course. Because I have that nasty demon holding me hostage and savouring the pleasure of destroying me slowly while I watch.

That mean old demon. Why, if it wasn’t for him/her/it, surely I would have leapt to my feet and dashed off to save myself years ago!

Sure, that sounds like me.

And each crisis will be a little bit worse until The Big One finally hits. A heart attack. A stroke. A major neurological event like a seizure or a nervous collapse. A more obviously physical type accident caused by my neurological issues. I get dizzy and fall down some stairs. I spaz out and knock something hot or sharp onto myself. Some part of me, a foot probably, just plain dies.

How tragic! Poor me. If only there was something I could have done besides anything.

And maybe that will be enough to make me straighten up and fly right, if it’s scary and/or gross and/or painful and/or horrifying enough.

But probably not. Oh sure, I will get better for a while…. specifically when I am in the hospital, and there are people controlling my diet, testing my sugars, and generally speaking running my life for me.

But when I am sent home, and I am left to my own devices once more, I will go right back to neglecting myself again.

And the clock starts ticking for the next crisis, which will be even worse.

And eventually one of them will GET me.

Because my devices suck.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.