19th Mar. 2015
(Edited 2nd May 2015 for clarity and typos.)
I hate how my life has become "just get through this week".
Get through it? For what? It's never shown any sign of getting better, no matter what I do. No matter what I change, or what treatment I go through or don't go through, the decline is flawlessly steady.
I've been 'just getting through the week' for months now. Autumn of 2014, my life clamped down on me and hasn't let go. It makes everything else I've suffered through up until now look very preferable. But there's no going back.
For the past few weeks, I got into desperately, frantically, trying to do 'creative' things, even though my brain and the rest of my body aren't anywhere close to being up to the task, mostly to try to reassure myself that I still exist. Trying to force myself to do them. Dare myself. No matter how fucked up they turn out. To try to somehow replenish my own soul, when there's nothing in my life that fills it, and an endless onslaught of things that deplete it.
I've run out of the energy now to be able to 'make the best of it'. I've spent my life doing that. My whole life, trying to 'make the best' of what I had and was still able to do. Even as I was losing my mind and my ability to remember things moment to moment, or hold on to glasses and forks without dropping them about a third of the time, I was constantly trying to find ways to make it still worth it. As much as I complain about wanting to die, I was doing my best to try to do something like live.
..."Wanting to die". I don't want to get into that subject right now. I can't handle regurgitating all of the necessary context.
What I'm experiencing now isn't 'life'.
I exist... and that's it.
They say a shared burden lessens the load, but I find myself stuck, because the only people who understand what I'm going through that I'm aware of are all people in old age homes, or people in ICU on life support who are not going to make it out again.
So as far as my limited little life is concerned, there is no one on Earth that I can really talk about this with... (At least if we take what I mean by 'talk' as meaning something that actually involves some kind of mutual understanding. Talking 'with', as opposed to talking 'at'.)
Until I completely lose my ability to speak, (always the last thing I lose, even when I start to lose my sense of sight or hearing,) no normal human being will pay attention to what's wrong with me.
It's too big and too complicated and too weird.
So, I've fallen through the cracks again.
I'm human refuse.
Oh well.
This isn't what I'd intended to write here.
I'm watching my life disappear.
I had a sort of a "bucket list" of things that I wanted to do in my 29th year. I was set on trying to do them. Somehow. Now I'm going to have to throw them out... because I can't even walk through a grocery store.
I can't even get through a trip to the grocery store without wiping out completely. Much worse, from my perspective, is that I've lost the ability to judge when I am able or "not able" to go... because I've spent my whole life 'pushing past' everything, and just bulldozing my way through everything no matter how I felt. I found ways to bicycle forty kilometers a week even when I felt like Hell had come to live in my tissues and my soul was going to disintegrate.
I live on ibuprofen now and can't stop taking it or I go totally insane. (That isn't a joke.)
I forget, entirely, why I've walked into a room, and none of my coping mechanisms, none of my mental jury-rigging is working anymore.
There's a movie called "Still Alice"... I really don't want to watch it.
I wish I could resume my life for the first time.
