Misanthrope
Mage
- Oct 23, 2018
- 557
I secured supported housing for one of my loved ones. Seems a good place that can attend to his complex needs in my absence. My happiness at this though was an entirely ugly one. One down and ticked off the list. One to go. What an ugly creature I have become...
I do feel I have an obligation to the people most important in my life. My grandmother is last on my list. When I was growing up she was who I fled to from my abusive stepfather. She was there for me when I was scared and in pain. I owe her so much so I will fucking see this through. I am busy battling social services on her behalf. Its awkward because she is telling me she does not need them because she has me. My situation though has got worse and I have every intention of exiting early. It does not help that most in my life view me as somewhat foundational. My fault really I guard my emotion and do not put my pain on them but assist them to better handle theirs. But erroneously that leaves them viewing me as ever dependable.
They all think I am coping well with physical illness. Just another challenge to overcome like the Bipolar. Like I have gained enough quality of life despite sickness. Just because I am writing a book and still gaming and going out on occasion. That is not the case though, I am just going through the motions. Gaming is literally a tool to outrun the sickness. Writing is just me channeling my pent up emotion where all grammar standards have gone to die because I can't think any more or even be bothered. It will never get published as I won't be around to see it through and honestly it is more of a deflective topic. So it seems like I am doing something more than vomiting in bucket and wishing for death... That sort of truth though would not be a good response to, 'How are things?'
I won't get to see the Doctor sued who has accelerated this decision through their negligence. I am sure my father will maintain proceedings and my death will likely worsen her day. But I have no faith in justice regardless.
It all feels like that magicians trick where they rip a tablecloth from a fully set dining table. But I am not a magician and my death is going to be like flipping the table. The best I can do is put down a mattress and hope some crockery does not break. But that mattress is taking months to procure despite my best efforts. I will also have to drag it into place resenting every step required and manufacture energy from nothing to get it there.
I made the mistake of having my method on hand. So I am battling impulsive desire to just do it. Because every second is a second beyond what I want any more. I am also aware I have got to get through Christmas aware it will be my last. I hate Consumermass at the best of times but this is going to be emotionally hard. I have also gained a fear of food. Not surprising really.
January 12th will merely be the moment I get confirmation the mattress is being delivered. Beyond that though it could take even longer. So I am feeling so resentful and some of my mask is beginning to slip with just how irritable I am being with them. I am also actively aware I am lying, aware that the plans being made and offered by the people I value will never be realised. I truly hate this on every level.
I remember my early twenties after an attempt and my father getting me to promise he would not have to bury his own son. Ever since that day he has remained anxious when I don't get back to him. I can't help but think on how I am going to break that promise. His own mother and father passed not that long ago and I am his only son. I am just ruminating on all these sad things imagining the reactions and just how bad it could become. My brother could relapse after kicking hard drugs. My youngest friend I guess views me a bit like a father figure. My grandmother despite hopefully adequate social care and housing will be devastated. I am pretty much her world. My own family neglect her chronically.
But I just can't do this anymore. Love alone is not enough. I am really struggling to make this remaining time frame bearable. Because it really isn't and I don't know what to do about it. Or how to smother this resentment so I don't take it out on people around me. My carer lately has been copping a lot of flack from me. I apologised, said I was barely sleeping and pain was making me irritable to her presence. Still no excuse but my frustration is just so high. I am not myself and haven't been for several years now.
I am immensely fortunate to be surrounded by such wonderful loving people but weirdly I am so painfully alone. I just want it to end. I am so done but must endure just a bit longer. But it is so hard when I spent the better half of my day lying on the bathroom floor because it was cool down there and the toilet was close. With days like that ahead just a bit longer feels like an eternity.
I do feel I have an obligation to the people most important in my life. My grandmother is last on my list. When I was growing up she was who I fled to from my abusive stepfather. She was there for me when I was scared and in pain. I owe her so much so I will fucking see this through. I am busy battling social services on her behalf. Its awkward because she is telling me she does not need them because she has me. My situation though has got worse and I have every intention of exiting early. It does not help that most in my life view me as somewhat foundational. My fault really I guard my emotion and do not put my pain on them but assist them to better handle theirs. But erroneously that leaves them viewing me as ever dependable.
They all think I am coping well with physical illness. Just another challenge to overcome like the Bipolar. Like I have gained enough quality of life despite sickness. Just because I am writing a book and still gaming and going out on occasion. That is not the case though, I am just going through the motions. Gaming is literally a tool to outrun the sickness. Writing is just me channeling my pent up emotion where all grammar standards have gone to die because I can't think any more or even be bothered. It will never get published as I won't be around to see it through and honestly it is more of a deflective topic. So it seems like I am doing something more than vomiting in bucket and wishing for death... That sort of truth though would not be a good response to, 'How are things?'
I won't get to see the Doctor sued who has accelerated this decision through their negligence. I am sure my father will maintain proceedings and my death will likely worsen her day. But I have no faith in justice regardless.
It all feels like that magicians trick where they rip a tablecloth from a fully set dining table. But I am not a magician and my death is going to be like flipping the table. The best I can do is put down a mattress and hope some crockery does not break. But that mattress is taking months to procure despite my best efforts. I will also have to drag it into place resenting every step required and manufacture energy from nothing to get it there.
I made the mistake of having my method on hand. So I am battling impulsive desire to just do it. Because every second is a second beyond what I want any more. I am also aware I have got to get through Christmas aware it will be my last. I hate Consumermass at the best of times but this is going to be emotionally hard. I have also gained a fear of food. Not surprising really.
January 12th will merely be the moment I get confirmation the mattress is being delivered. Beyond that though it could take even longer. So I am feeling so resentful and some of my mask is beginning to slip with just how irritable I am being with them. I am also actively aware I am lying, aware that the plans being made and offered by the people I value will never be realised. I truly hate this on every level.
I remember my early twenties after an attempt and my father getting me to promise he would not have to bury his own son. Ever since that day he has remained anxious when I don't get back to him. I can't help but think on how I am going to break that promise. His own mother and father passed not that long ago and I am his only son. I am just ruminating on all these sad things imagining the reactions and just how bad it could become. My brother could relapse after kicking hard drugs. My youngest friend I guess views me a bit like a father figure. My grandmother despite hopefully adequate social care and housing will be devastated. I am pretty much her world. My own family neglect her chronically.
But I just can't do this anymore. Love alone is not enough. I am really struggling to make this remaining time frame bearable. Because it really isn't and I don't know what to do about it. Or how to smother this resentment so I don't take it out on people around me. My carer lately has been copping a lot of flack from me. I apologised, said I was barely sleeping and pain was making me irritable to her presence. Still no excuse but my frustration is just so high. I am not myself and haven't been for several years now.
I am immensely fortunate to be surrounded by such wonderful loving people but weirdly I am so painfully alone. I just want it to end. I am so done but must endure just a bit longer. But it is so hard when I spent the better half of my day lying on the bathroom floor because it was cool down there and the toilet was close. With days like that ahead just a bit longer feels like an eternity.