Just got back from getting my food in the kitchen, and boy are my arms tired.
And my legs. And my heart. And pretty much every other part of me.
Dunno how much longer I will be able to make the trip, to be honest. It takes a hell of a lot out of me these days. I was starting to involuntarily droop not even halfway through making my PB&J this time. I was honestly worried I would simply drop before I got back to Mister Computer here.
So it is looking like this might be my last rodeo. Next time my mystery illness comes for me, it’s going to leave me bedridden and helpless. barely even able to lift my arms far enough to take a drink of water.
And the time after that, I won’t even be able to breathe on my own any more. Those muscles will be too weak to do their job too, and my final nightmare will have come true : I will be stuck lying helpless in a hospital bed, full of tubes, unable to move, and going completely insane with claustrophobia et al on the inside.
And all because my GP, Doctor Kelvin Chao, is too lazy and cowardly to do his job right. Like the folks at RGH, he checked for some things, it was none of those things, and so he just… gave up.
But you still haven’t solved the case, Mister Holmes. We still don’t know who the killer is. All you have done is eliminate several suspects.
The killer is still at large and acting with impunity. He’s killed many times before and he is bound to kill again any day now. Only you can stop him.
But, ya know, you do you.
I don’t want to end up in my own little hospital room from Hell. I want to get better, god damn it. I want to walk again. I want to be independent again.
I want to continue to be able to shit and piss BY MYSELF.
So I am going to have to get my poop in a group and make an appointment with Doctor Caswell to get a second opinion. I will also consult heavily with that neurologist Doctor Chao finally begrudgingly referred me to when I see him on the 28th.
Hopefully between those two doctors, they can summon up enough competence to figure out what the hell is wrong with me and maybe even put a stop to it.
If not, well, if I end up in hospital bed hell, don’t expect me to live much longer. Even if they manage to keep me from committing suicide (and remember, I am very clever) the stress of freaking out 24/7 will kill me before too long.
But my fate is not yet writ in stone. There is time yet to change my trajectory and avoid a terrible and inhumane and unjust fate.
I don’t deserve this shit. I’m a sweet guy. I do the right thing to the best of my ability every single chance I get. I am gentle, and compassionate, and kind.
And pretty darn cute, too.
So please, Whoever, don’t let me die before I have even lived. Give me the strength I need to save myself from myself. Cut through the chilling clinging fog in my mind and melt the snow off my heart so that I might live and feel again.
Do that…. and I might even find religion.
More after the break.
Afraid to want
Had therapy today, Wednesday, due to my therapist’s post-vacation scheduling issues.
And a key thing that came up is my being afraid to want things. How at some point, I made the terrible decision to deal with my feelings of powerlessness by pulling my head even further into my shell by training myself not to want thing I “can’t have anyway”.
Wow, was that the wrong road to take. Thanks a lot, BUDDHA.
Cutting off all my desires at the root was far too drastic a measure. Like, on a curing a hangnail via amputation level.
The cure was much worse than the disease.
Because those potentially unfulfillable desires are the root springs of all motivation. Wanting something you don’t have, whether it’s a hot dog or the respect of your peers, is the main thing that gets people going to do anything at all.
Ergo, it’s no wonder that I find I lack motivation.
I killed it.
And I kill it again., every day, out of habit. Shoot on sight, no questions asked. When motivation dares to show its ugly head, my whole defense system kicks in and hits it with a huge blast of liquid Freon to freeze it to death right on the spot.
As a result of all these years of suppression and denial, I find myself acutely afraid to actually desire things. I can’t yet shake the part of me that worries about what is safe to want, as opposed to simply wanting things first and going from there.
As a result, I find myself quite alienated from my own desires. I can manage a dream or two, but only about things with no real obvious path for me to achieve them.
Like, I can dream about writing for TV, because while there are known paths to get there (writing contests, open calls for submissions, etc.), realistically, that is far, far too many steps and too much uncertainty and my depressed brain could never handle it.
Ergo, it is “safe” to want that. Ditto with things like a job, a boyfriend, and my own place. None of these can lead to immediate action, so they are “safe”.
As soon as actual action taking enters the picture, I panic, and the ice hoses descend.
That means I want to turn that shit off sometimes and make my psyche a safe place for desires to plant themselves and grow into full blow intentions or even plans.
And if they are lucky, they will even become actions.
And that scares me. I fear anything that makes me want to leave my musty little socket in the arsehole of the universe.
But I want to do it anyway.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.