Don’t know his last time.
Mike was a roommate of my friend Peace (RL name Matt) and he was, like me, a big fat dude with Type 2 diabetes.
And like me, he didn’t take care of it properly. He didn’t test, he ate all the wrong foods, never took his insulin, and totally failed to take it seriously.
And so it got worse and worse and by the time he realized hey, this shit is serious, it was too late. He became Type 1 diabetic instead when his pancreas died and from there he became a brittle diabetic and from there he got so bad he needed to be jump-started by EMTs three to five times a week and from there he got dead. RIP.
And he tried to warn me. At that point, I wasn’t taking my illness seriously either, and he warned me that I had better get my shit together or I would end up like him.
But I didn’t. And now here we are.
I’m doing what I can but it’s clearly not enough. I’m going to end up dead of my own stupidity (or rather, my depression’s) and it could happen any day now.
And I try to horrify myself into action by writing things like these. And I can feel the motivation attempting to happen. A faint but detectable spark is occurring.
Only to be immediately drowned in the icy waters of my depression.
What a long and terrible way to commit suicide.
And you all know that is what this is. The sick part of my mind wants me to neglect myself to death so it can finally pull the ultimate act of escapism and escape the pain of being alive itself. And it’s that suicidal segment of my cerebellum that fills me with paralyzing dread and terror when i even think about taking better care of myself.
I wish I could just excise that part of my mind and throw it into a medical incinerator where it can burn up for good. I wish I could will myself sane. I wish I knew where to find the powerful positive input to counteract my toxic negativity.
i wish I could believe in God. Even for just a minute or two.
But the closest I can get to that is believing that there is, in effect, a God section of the human brain that can acts like an external reservoir of positive emotion that the psyche can draw upon to provide the minimum inputs needed to keep one’s mood from going all the way down into clinical depression.
And that it’s only righteous fools like me who rip that part of their mind out in the interests of their search for clarity and the “truth”.
After all, what’s the point of being happy if it’s irrational? RIGHT?
Well I don’t give a fuck about the truth any more. Bring on the delusions! The truth is poisonous and self-delusion is the only antidote. I am willing to believe whatever it takes to make me happy and I don’t give a fuck whether it’s true or not.
If only it were that easy.
More after the break,
Slick shiny black sludge
That’s what’s in my stomach and under my skin right now.
Or at least, that’s how it feels.
Today’s been a pretty bad day, health wise. I’ve felt various brands of awful all day.
I can’t seem to stay out of bed for more than a couple hours before I need to lay down for yet another hour and a half of tormented sleep. And I can’t find my sleeping pills.
Every time I pee (which I do like six times a day), i get this terrible ache somewhere at the bottom of my bladder and/or the top of my liver. Takes a while for it to go away.
i feel this thin, biting pain throughout my body. Like I’m not getting quite enough oxygen. Which might well be true, given how much I have been sleeping and how completely untreated my sleep apnea has been for like a decade.
My hands and feet feel huge and my head is full of goo because I ran out of antihistamines on Friday and I dunno when I will get more.
I feel nervous and twitchy and cagey, like a weasel with paranoid schizophrenia.
Haven’t had the focus or energy to pursue massage therapy for my back pain, which continues to pain my back when i get out of bed.
And I have that haunted feeling again. Like there’s a shadowy ghost lurking in my nervous system and draining the life out of me as it silently floats from one part of my tortured flesh to another.
All in all, I really don’t want to be me right now.
It’s clear that my life is going to get a lot worse and then end. At least, that is its current trajectory. And that doesn’t exactly fill me with hope for the future.
i keep getting that urge to just disappear. To flee my current life and go somewhere where nobody knows me and I can start again from scratch,.
Get a job, get a man, get a life, give living a normal life a try for a while. Run and hide from my problems and my history. Try and get myself an active healthy lifestyle of some sort and see if that straighten out some of my health issues.
Become a whole new person, basically. Because the person i am now is just about done. I’ve run this persona into the ground and I need some renewal.
Of course, none of that is going to happen. My sense of responsibility runs too deep. I could never do that to those i love.
But something’s got to give. Somehow, I need to get the strength and sunshine to get myself out of the cold black muck at the bottom of my soul and up to where i belong, in the warm sun, clear water, and cool caressing breezes where my wings can finally dry and I can leap into the air and soar at long last.
I suppose as long as I can still conceive of paragraphs like that, there’s hope for me yet.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.