As I go through the final stages before the imminent end I feel the need to express the feelings I have. Mostly this is self-indulgence to clarify things in my own mind, but if it helps others that are going through similar problems then that is a bonus.
I am writing this at around 2am. My sleep patterns are all over the place. Poor sleep hygiene is what the medical types call it. The term reminds me of comedy shows with an adolescent boy being made to ware boxing gloves at night. It is rare that I get a full night sleep, but normally I manage to cope and not suffer during the day. However, this last week has been different with painful headaches and the need to sleep during the day.
Prior to getting up, I was thinking about these last few blog posts. I was thinking of ways to describe just how I felt. The term ‘dirty’ kept coming to mind. I feel physically dirty. My surroundings are dirty. My clothes and possessions are old and worn. I feel ashamed of what I have lost and what I have become.
[This is the point when the police came banging on my door]
This is not to say that I am not looking after myself. I am far better than most single men when it comes to cleaning. Equally, I am not talking about obsessive cleaning and still feeling dirty.
The key to understanding my feelings come from something I was reading during the day about loss of identity. A phrase that I keep thinking is “this is not me”. It is as if I have been forced to step back and a barrier erected. The interface between me and the world is a façade that isn’t me at all.
When I look inside myself it is not a pleasant landscape. Though it is not devoid of joy and pleasure, these are rare. What dominate are tears, grief, loss, fear and anger. I have feelings of injustice and a desire for vengeance, but mainly confusion about why this is happening. It just doesn’t make sense at any level or perspective.
What is truly terrifying is when I look deep inside myself; into what some might call ones soul. This is best way to imagine this is to recall a scene from dreadful horror film where someone is conscious as their body purifies. I feel my very soul rotting inside me.
On top of all this gets layered the insults of ‘doctor’ Jonsson and the rest of the medical ‘professionals’. They deliberately reversed causality; decreed events and aspects, such as my skill set, as being delusions even though I have documentary evidence that they are true; and distorted or even fabricated events and beliefs. When I complain all I get is stonewalled. In fact the more I protest that they have got it wrong, the more that refuse to listen. There is no hope of any resolution.
I detest everything my life has become. Along with “this is not me”, I keep thinking the phrase, “I cannot go on living like this”. I have made a few attempts at suicide in the past, but I have been too incompetent or afraid to get it right. Some have said it was because I still had hope, but I see it as being in denial. I have no reason to exist. I have no function to perform and I derive no pleasure from existence. In deed existence is suffering and that suffering can only grow.
The time has come for things to end. The questions are ‘by what means’ and ‘how should I resolve my desire for vengeance’. These are topics for later posts.
I just wish I understood why this has happened. All I ever wanted to do was to have earned a living peace. Why was that so wrong? What where they expecting me to do for the rest of my life?
Yeah, the old, "People are concerned"line.
ReplyDeleteI've been living in fairly shabby circumstances. My neighbours are generally morons and wastrels. So I come and go quickly and keep myself fit and my crappy apartment reasonably clean and equipped. But it's not right. So I need to maintain my anger and hatred. There is no fucking way that I have bought my circumstances on myself.
I do have something to keep my motivation alive. I have been able to provoke my counterpart to your Jonsson such that he has laid false criminal charges against me. This keeps it alive even if he is eventually able to have me incarcerated. He hasn't thought it through. You probably get the idea of what I'm doing. This is why I've suggested that you engage with the shrinks. It puts them in a difficult position. They've diagnosed you as crazy but they know you are not. They don't want you back in their hospital because you can too easily expose the farce. But neither can they stop you making appointments to see them in a clinic. The only way they can refuse to see you is to say that you don't have a mental illness.
So you go and see them and give them buggery. You keep up with your blog and you file FOI requests to gain access to your records as they write them. It doesn't matter if you've never seen the shrink before. He'll either side with Jonsson or he won't. I think you're smart enough to figure it out.