Alexander Gordon Jahans
The past few weeks have been hell, they have made death seem like a really nice luxury that I can’t afford. Autistic people do not make good nurses. I certainly don’t. I have felt tired, worn out and beyond the point of caring about myself. I have had to sacrifice everything just to have a hope in hell of making it through and *fingers crossed* I think the worst is over. At least for one stage. I mean my abusive father is coming back home for a few days and then there is the question of moving house and all the trials that will contain but for now there is light and hope. A chance to catch a breath and relax before the next wave of bullshit breaks.
So what’s next? Well I’m watching Parks and Rec and Jonathan Creek but more importantly my copy of Getting Things Done by David Allen has at last arrived and I am hoping that if nothing else it will give me a solid place to start from when it comes to managing to be productive. And oh god that is all one sentence isn’t it? Fuuuck.
I swear with less energy my writing becomes less focused and I am so tired still. I have a finite amount of will power per day. A finite amount of good thinking and work I can do. So welcome to the run on sentence. The only reason this article is an in anyway composed is that I woke from a nap 2 hours ago. Growth Hormone Deficiency is a bitch. And I just offended a very good friend of mine when they kept probing as to how I felt about life I told them honestly that I am in effect waiting for the least bad moment to let myself die and they raged that since they felt my biological untreatable condition was like their psychological treatable condition I was therefore saying that they should die because I was too tired to think of managing to fight on forever. That is a mess of a sentence but I’m moving on. Brain’s a trashfire at the moment.
I’m not going to kill myself anytime soon and for all I know it’s like Sam Vimes freaking the fuck out about what a monster he is when Sam is the watcher that watches the watchmen and wouldn’t ever actually allow himself to ever slip up. Maybe I’m a lot stronger than I think I am. Maybe I’m telling myself fairy stories to keep going because the yawning mass of eternity seems way too intimidating right now. I don’t know. All I know is my bones ache, I feel so tired and I don’t have the strength of will to talk to my friends or eat food some days. I’m just trying to cling on until people stop leaning on me for support. Maybe when that happens I’ll have the strength to pull myself up off this ledge but I’m really not focusing on what happens after.
So I’m going to play skyrim, listen to audiobooks and chill the fuck out. I’m going to read this book and try to pull my life together. I’m going to watch good tele and try to be me again and not the wreck I have become to support people. Maybe the money will be found. Maybe I will be able to live out the rest of my natural in relative peace. Maybe. Maybe.
I don’t honestly feel like maybe’s reason enough to optimistic but the people I care about don’t want me dead so I am going to try my fucking damndest to see the beauty and love in a world that is dying and likely to take a lot of us with it. I’m sorry for being a fuck up, I’m sorry for making so many poor choices and doing so many stupid things throughout my life but I aitn’t dead yet.