Death's Conundrum
Lately, more and more I think, I simply feel like giving in. There are very few joys left in my life, and not much to look forward to, and lots of pain and discomfort. I had a hard limit, and I passed it, and I made another hard limit, and I passed that too, and some days I don't think anything keeps me going other than sheer cussedness and a list of rules for how things should be done.
Because that's what I did for myself, when I started thinking these things. You see, I'd hate to off myself and have someone make it something simple to explain, drugs or depression or some failing on my part. Because I don't see myself as a failure; I refuse to see myself as a failure, although I am chronically disheartened by my doctors and deeply depressed by my own inability to maneuver the complex system toward my health and benefit. The whole system is a failure, not me. And because of these beliefs, I've made a set of rules before I do anything rash or stupid, which are as follows.
I must be sober for some set period of time, long enough for any illegal drugs to work their way out of my system and long enough past that for me to be satisfied that their lack is not seriously influencing my behavior and attitude. I'm thinking a minimum of three months, although I'd be happier with longer.
I must be taking my medications, faithfully and as directed by my doctors, for at least a month, because some of these medications can take that long to level out in the bloodstream. I must be going for regular checkups.
I must be on my diet and diet restrictions, and watching my blood sugar levels.
I must have a reasonable sleep cycle, with some form of minimal exercise-like movement.
I must be engaged in some form of meaningful activity.
In short, I refuse to let the medical profession off the hook. If I did something that led to my demise (even if unintended) but there were even a trace of drugs in my system, even if I was not high at the time, it wouldn't matter. The doctors would say it was because of drugs and wash their hands of me. If I am off my meds, they would blame me for that. If I am off my diet, they would blame me again. Only if I faithfully adhere to every stupid little thing they want without even a single step out of line could I then be held blameless, could I then present myself posthumously to them and say "see, I did everything you asked of me, I begged you to help me, and yet you stood by and did nothing, and some of you clearly said to me 'there is nothing more we can do for you' and you did nothing for my pain and you did nothing for my suffering." They don't like to give anyone who has had an addiction problem either pain pills or sleeping pills, both of which I need (especially the sleeping pills), or even proper anxiety meds which the shrink thinks I need but still won't prescribe for me (why yes doctor, I am stressed the fuck out, but it is less anxiety and more anger, what have you got for being pissed off). They haven't even given me anything for nausea, which right now I would take over anything else.
But here's the rub. Right now, I think I'm too sick to follow all of my self-imposed rules. I may be too sick to ever do everything on that list ever again; I think it's just gone too far. I manage a few days, maybe a week tops, and then some little thing happens which blows everything to shit and it takes me 2-3 weeks to recover. At which point I have maybe another good week of activity and then Blammo! back in the hole again. It doesn't take much. A migraine, a poor night's sleep, too much caffeine one day, going out and seeing friends and staying up late one night, missing a single dose of medication, missing a single health shake, eating a single forbidden food, napping too long. The list of tiny little things that can sometimes (but not always) blow everything to hell is nigh on endless, and it is so unpredictable at times that often I can get away with a behavior once or twice and think I can manage it indefinitely if I don't go overboard, only to have the third time kick me in the ass.
I have got to learn some seriously draconian-style discipline. I should know better. I can not eat meat, not even yummy, yummy bacon, ever again. I can not drink alcohol, ever again. I can not have chocolate (sob) anymore, or processed sugar, or anything made with lactose. I have got to stop the ice cream habit, and once and for all quit this nasty soda addiction, which has been tougher than illegal drugs. At least I got off the HFCS and switched to cane-sugar colas, which I feel is a large improvement. If the meals for the rest of my life are "vitamins-muffin-shake-shake" well then, so be it. Maybe that's the way it has to be; is it really worth eating meat if I spend the next day in the can and possibly another day or so trying not to puke up an empty stomach full of dark green bile? No more garlic, onions, or kimchee; no high-sulfite items like broccoli or kale chips. No Sriracha and no salsa, just select fruit and soupy rice, and the ever present shakes. No more bars; no more restaurants. After all, if you can't drink and you can't eat, what's the point? It about breaks my foodie heart.
And maybe I really will feel all better if I can do all these things. I know that proper diet and movement makes me feel a thousand percent more alive; and if I'm lucky perhaps sleep with come of that. I'll buy a lightbox to assist me. Sobriety has never made me feel a whit better about things (usually quite the opposite) but mostly I'm sober because outside drugs (especially booze) erratically affect the psychotropic meds the shrink gives me.
These are just random thoughts going round my head, nothing serious, and now it's 0400 and time for bed.