Thursday, June 29, 2017

Ping into the dark

A bunch of crappy crap landed and I had 48 hours of acute distress with all the trimmings—howling despair, physical pain and Mr Logic not being at home. The latter is the hardest one because when you fall into the void then reason falls away. You think things and feel things that are not true but in the moment of wrenching grief they are true—and the only truth you've ever known.

I should have munged Valium when it happened—and my back-up doc chided me for resisting using medication that is designed to address the symptoms I experienced—but I was so far down the dark hole that it seemed pointless. Why take the edge off darkness when it's all dark?

I came out of it—eventually. I still have an echo of that deep trauma. And it didn't help I had a raging ear infection from having poured a shower into the canal some days before so was caked in additional pain to the business as usual.

But it was once of the worst fits yet—I've not gone 48 hours in acute raging despair with bouts of recurring hysteria before. It was frightening. I couldn't summon the Mikey at the back of the head that says soothing words like "this is just a moment" and "you're having a reaction; what you're thinking is not normal". 

So what to do? Well I need to get the fuck back up. I've done it a half-dozen times now so I know I can keep doing it. 

As part of that I sent a ping into the dark. Like all the others it will likely be swallowed without a trace but, you never know—besides, to not to ping is to never get a bounce back. 

I fell over but I'm getting up—and I'll keep doing that until I am dead because that is what the fuck I do.


UPDATE: I sent a second ping—it's a pincer move! 

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