Virtuality is not reality is not life is not important

I regret the hospital visit.  Absolutely without condition. It did me no use.

First, I called not because I wanted medical attention. I called because I had been told multiple times that this was the correct course of action in the situation wherein I found myself.  I even cancelled and went another 24 hours agonizing over what to do.

I called the health line multiple times trying to get permission to use the medical system as I'd been told, even though I felt unworthy.

When they took me in, it started nice. They were nice. Then they did a few tests. Talked to me awhile. Got colder and colder.  

The care got less effective and the therapies more invasive and unpleasant. By the 3rd day I was as miserable as I'd been all weekend and nothing was fixed nor getting fixed.  I didn't feel like I was in hostile terrority so much as an unwelcome guest in a society with hosting rules. 

When I took matters into my own hands, by then, I was not an unwelcome guest, I was an intruding pest and they were waiting on the exterminator.  AKA psychiatrist, to give everyone permission to ship me back out. I wanted out. I was trying to be polite about it so I tried not to express this. 

Naturally I have no idea if I did or didn't. What I try to express fails to cross the barrier and what I try not to express inevitably soars over it like a steeplechase horse.

The barrier?  That weird interface that filters, edits, and even rewrites all transmissions between me and the outside world. In both directions.

I was worrying about my digestion as I usually do, and realized a: there's no need to wait for any special date to carry out plan A because it's just a simple matter of closing windows and setting up a stove and removing the battery from the co monitor. I can do that even if I have another one of those belly aches. What's more, as the monoxide takes over, I bet the pain is the first thing to fade out. Fastest cure possible, amirite? 

I hope so.

I've been wrong about everything ever, so who knows. 

I know I cried my face off the morning I gave up trying to fall asleep in the van with a half bottle of hydromorph in me. Useless shit didn't dull the pain either.

I guess because my pain is phantom, so nothing can touch it. It's not real. It originates and terminates in the brain alone.  You can't treat the body and get results because the body is fine. You can't scoop out the brain and reuse the body either. It's just a waste of food.

So yeah, I worry I'll wake up, possibly with another good samaritan sucking the energy from my face.  

Makes me think of Baron von Munchausen and his insistence that he'll recover from anything and live forever except if a doctor touches him.  But unlike the good baron, I am out of roads and adventures, ideas, heart, hope or direction.  Maybe I will wake up in his world the next morning.

I keep wondering, will I still exist in some form the next day?  Will I know I'm me? Will there be some kind of waking up?

Just as long as I don't wake up in the fucking bus with a headache and the stove is out and my animals are all dead and I'm brain damaged.  I worry.  I always worry about something.

It takes a worried man, to sing a worried song.  It takes a worried man, to sing a worried song. It takes a worried man, to sing a worried song. I'm worried now, but I won't be worrid long.

3 wks is going to pass so fast and I am so deeply itching to do it RIGHT NOW that I may not even last 3 wks. There's no good reason to wait.

Wait on what? 

It's less than faint hope to think my family will be any use. If the woman dies, she didn't put me in her will because I've been estranged and a bad child not lettting her suck my face off. 

If she put me in her will, my narc sister is the most likely executor and nobody will be monitoring her so she will be able to do as she pleases regardless what's written in a will. Not like I'm going to come roaring in with an attorney.  I won't even be told it's happening. 

So yeah, really.  Come on, that was just a daydream so I didn't have to cry all month of December and so I had something cheery to say to other people so they wouldn't hate me as hard. Didn't work anyway.

Just the one lottery ticket for this wednesday. I will wait till thursday night.  then, I can go if the impulse moves me or wait as long as the ides of march. At which point it's time to act without further delay. Because the closer I get to april 1, the louder Dan will get about signing over the bus so he can renew the plates. He doesn't understand my head space, or he does and relishes it?  I don't know but I'm tired of him using me to feel strong.   I do not want him to own me. I do not want to sign over the last power I had. I never got the divorce.  If he owns my things, he can probably start something to get me tortured and imprisoned "for my own good." 

See, that's the thing. I no longer see the world as it presents itself. I see it as a shadow realm bent on satisfying narcissistic lusts.  We victims are the fodder.  The reason is not known. Did I do something to deserve it or was I simply born in the wrong group? Who cares. Point being, this isn't life, it isn't worth the labour, it won't pay off and I'm not going to get squat out of it. I'm simply here to be vampired by others.  I don't like it.  I receive no reward or incentive beyond optimistic lies.  I do not need to grieve this because this is not real.  It may as well be a round of minecraft.