Self-Destruction

I didn't go to the Ford dealership yesterday. I went down to get into my truck, had some trouble, and just decided to forget about it. It wasn't worth the effort, not to mention the $175 which I can't afford, to get my radio and SYNC working. I just didn't want to do it.

I get into phases like this, where all kinds of things simply don't seem worth the effort. It's almost a kind of self-destructive behaviour, where I drink too much, eat badly if at all, stay up all night watching Netflix, and spend most of my day in bed. It's a kind of "self-pity" mode where I just feel like nothing is worth the effort, since nothing is going to get any better for me.

It's one of the most destructive parts of having this incessant, persistent, creeping incrementalism of a disease. It can, and does on a regular basis, steal your will to keep going. It overloads you, breaking your spirit and enthusiasm for life. You find yourself in a place where you just want to do nothing. It's almost like giving up, except you keep on breathing. I'm not ready to give up, but I feel pretty sad about my life right now, and sorry for myself.

People will chastise me for this. More than one person will likely advise me to "suck it up, buttercup". That's rather pointless. Perhaps the only people who will understand what I am going through are other PALS, others who struggle with the same challenges, losses, and deprivations which I struggle with.

This morning I was brushing my teeth. Well, not this morning so much as this afternoon when I finally got up. While brushing away, I developed a severe cramp in the flexor muscle of my lower arm. It was so bad that I could not move my arm, nor could I continue brushing my teeth with my right hand. I adjusted. I changed hands. I tried brushing without using that muscle, brushing even though the cramp hurt like hell. In the end, I stopped. My teeth are clean enough for right now.

My only thought after this happened was that it is a precursor to losing my arms. Try sucking that up. It's a son of a bitch. So it's no wonder I feel sorry for myself on occasion. My emotions will improve; they always do. But for now, it really sucks to be me.