mahiwaga

Coherence is probably a little too much to ask at this hour, after this much to drink. Today I have come to another bitter revelation, and I have a good idea of what my trajectory is going to be.

As I walked down the hall between the ICU and the wards, I actually shivered a little, with the cold, hard realization that as each second passes, the probability that I’m going to find The One™ diminishes. The likelihood that I’m going to die on my own increases ever closer to complete certainty, and all I’m left with is this useless thought: this sucks.

There was some point in time that this all became irreversible. That I was actually never going to trust another person ever again, and that I would never be moved to actually pursue someone with all my heart, without preconditions, without fear, without expectation.

In the end, it’s all half-assed. Blundering, clumsy, idiotic, foolish bumbling. Senseless, ridiculous, and hopeless. The last, what, four months have passed without me learning a single goddamn thing, and I’m pretty much done. Sayonara. Arrivederci. Hasta la vista.

Maybe next lifetime.

Seriously, though. I stare numbly at the woman who OD’ed on God only really knows, and I can’t help but wonder, just how easy would it be? Everything at this stage in the game feels so fixed, so static, and no matter what sort of emotions rage inside me, nothing ever changes. I can’t even get myself to do anything about it. I’m a goddamn gimp.

How easy would it be to take the exit strategy?

But I recognize that there is always a third way out. Something that I haven’t thought of yet. Something so bizarre, arcane, convoluted, and perplexing, that you’ve got to ask yourself, is it really worth it?

Of course not, but it’s certainly better than the alternative.

Still, it’s like choosing to suffer for a long time, until the inevitable finally overtakes me, or suffering for a short time, with me taking an active role in ending that suffering.

I am stuck forever living that final moment of torment, never recovering from it. It is a cancer that has gnawed through my soul, a festering wound that will never, ever heal.

I can’t fucking win unless something inside of me somehow changes for the better. I don’t know how to do it on my own. I’m like a blind paraplegic crawling around in the dark, hoping for a fucking miracle.

I can’t save myself. The writing is on the wall. And if this cup will not pass, so be it.

I just crave sleep. I’m so fucking tired. The entire last decade and a half just decided to fall on top of me, and I can’t even crawl out of the debris. I’m just so fucking tired. All I want is to sleep, goddamn it!

I need to count the number of times I’ve used the phrase “Tomorrow is another day.” I keep hoping that each day will bring some magic change inside me, that somehow I’ll manage to snap out of it, and somehow all the things broken inside my soul will have mended themselves.

Physiologically, this makes no sense. If you break a bone and fail to set it, it’s not going to miraculously reknit itself. Scar tissue weakens the structure of organs, and while most people are focused on the scar tissue that forms on their skin, applying various products of dubious efficacy to get rid of them, there’s really nothing you can do about scars in your heart, your liver, your lungs, your brain.

In the end, all modern medicine can do is delay the inevitable. And if you keep poisoning yourself with alcohol, nicotine, and/or McDonald’s, no amount of medicine can protect you from their effects.

We have not yet gotten to the point where we can perform some kind of imaging study of the brain to confirm psychiatric diagnoses. While we can see scars in the brain, we can’t see scars in the psyche. And even if we could, could we really do anything about it?

Are there simply wounds that won’t heal? Or at least injuries that are irreversible? Sometimes the best you can hope for is that the bleeding stops, maybe.

I’m a spiritual amputee, perhaps. Maybe it’s time to accept the fact that some modicum of normalcy is basically impossible for me at this point, and that I just need to get through this life accepting my significant emotional limitations.

Hope has never regenerated a limb. It’s probably even too much to ask that hope regenerate parts of my soul that have disintegrated over the last decade and a half.

Turn me over, I’m done on this side.

Random links: Famous last words

The current meme circulating on these internets is whether or not we should trust someone who can’t use a computer to lead the nation.

I have to confess, I’ve actually never really thought about it. I don’t hold it against anyone to not be familiar with the technology, but if you’re gonna be sitting behind the Shiny Red Button, you better be damn well-versed with technology, man!

Especially with technology that is now as essential as the telephone and the radio has been.

And this isn’t agist. My 72 year old uncle who happens to be an dyed-in-the-wool, Fox News-watching Republican knows how to use a computer, for God’s sake. As do both of my parents, who are in their 60s.

If you don’t know how to use a computer, you’ve got serious problems that should disqualify you from important positions.