It’s hard for me to know exactly what I am capable of.

You know, given my health issues. Latelty, what with being sick, I have not felt capable of one heck of a lot.

Although I am feeling somewhat better today, which is good. I still feel icky and sticky and I still got goop in my lungs, but the feeling of energy-destroying malaise has slackened off quite a bit.

And that’s always the worst part of illness for me. Things like a cough or a running nose  are irritating to deal with (not to mention gross), but they are really no more than a nuisance and I can deal with them pretty well.

It’s the energy-draining malaise that gets me. It triggers my depression hard then kind of teams up with it to make me miserable.

I have been spending a lot of time sitting on the edge of my bed feeling lost lately. That is never a good sign, other than being a good sign that I am a lot more depressed than usual. It’s like I sit up to get out of bed and end up just stuck there. All my motivation disappears and this strange warmth comes over me.

It would actually be quite peaceful and relaxing if it were more…. optional.

Instead, I end up feeling trapped and lost. I wish I knew exactly what the fuck was going on there. Clearly, my mind/body needs something and grabs the first opportunity to get it that comes along and is not interested in giving my conscious mind the chance to fuck things up by suppressing it.

But what is it? Rest of some sort, I suppose. The kind I don’t get from sleep or my super low impact lifestyle. And it must have something to do with the specific posture that sitting on the edge of the bed involves, seeing as this doesn’t happen when I sit in a chair or on a couch or anywhere else.

Hmmm.. That suggests that it may have something to do with my lower back. When I sit on the edge of the bed, I am sitting without back support and forced to balance on the fulcrum of my lower back.

Maybe that stretches something that really needs stretching and it feels so good that my body is like, “Forget whatever we were planning to do next, we’re doing THIS now!”.

Sounds plausible. The smart response, therefore, is to plan this shit. Make it part of my day. Tell myself that it’s time to go sit on the edge of the bed and let my mind go blank now. Viewed properly, it could be quite the boon.

Of course, now that I am conscious of it, it might stop workin. Score one for the dangers of living consciously. But if that turns out to be the case, I will simply shrug and move on with my life.

It’s not like I have become attached to the phenomenon already.

Or maybe what I need is some sort of cushion or other appliance that pushes my back forward in just the right spot when I sit.

Or hell. Maybe I need to be sitting on a stool or some other form of backless chair. That goes against every comfort seeking instinct in my body, but if it means less lower back pain, I am willing to do it.

After all, it would be a net gain in comfort. Lose the back of the chair, but gain a big reduction in my constant back pain.

The hedonic valence is overwhelmingly positive.

Anyhow. Back to the topic of what I can actually do. It’s nearly impossible to know because there are so many dishonest players in my psyche that it’s hard to tell genuine realism about my capacities from the dirty and underhanded messages from the usual suspects from the Do-Nothing Gang.

So it’s tempting to call upon my arrogance and say “Fuck it, then. I can do whatever the hell I want. ‘ And it feels very good to say that, At the time. \

But hidden within that seemingly positive message is the new expectation that because I can do whatever I want, if I still don’t get things done, it’s all my fault because I suck and I am terrible and the world would be better off without me.

Depression is a fucking minefield.

So I dunno. I have to at least try to do more than the bare minimum. I can’t stand the thought of my life being nothing but video games, blogging, and hanging out with my friends for the rest of my so-called life.

I want to do things. Things that matter. Things that count. Things that make some kind of difference in the world. Things that mean something to me.

Survival is not enough any more. Survival is easy. Actually living life is the hard part. My default mode has long been to remain detached and apart and safe in my little bubble of reality where I can control what I experience and all the stimulation is mental and thus does not trigger my anxiety.

But that mode sucks. It’s easy, and it’s even comforting, but that doesn’t make it good. I can only heal my self esteem by actually doing things.

Especially the things I can get paid to do.

Right now, it feels like every now and then, the stars align and my biorhythmns sync up and I get some precious, precious time when I can be positive and push forward and get things done.

The rest of the time, I am my usual limp shadow of a human being who can do very little except make it through another day of this prison sentence of a life.

And some would say “well that’s all that is expected of you, dear. ”

Yeah, but it’s not all that I want.

What I want is to rise like a shiny, shiny star and radiate to the whole damned world so they can bask in my brilliance.

But all this other bullshit gets in the way.

I really wish I could just start over again. And get it right this time.

But all I can do is muddle through.

Pity. I deserve better.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.