I am still not okay

well ain't that a shocky docky wock.  Carbon Monoxide is a lie. 

I went silent a whole week online and in person so as not to spill my plans.

I agonized over it. Not wanting to wait but waiting on a lottery ticket.  I cried buckets of tears over killing my pets and all my lost dreams which are still lost.

Finally, on the appointed evening, i set up the propane stove. The one that was always trigging the alarm even with all the windows open. It wouldn't light, the regulator had died. It was already getting pretty near useless last time I had used it, this stove was shot and I had to wait another goddamn fucking day in hell.

Last night, finally, after having eaten all of what food I had, fed all the good stuff to the dogs all week, and finally ready to accept this terrible fate, I set up the new stove, no extra safety features, and went to bed. For nothing.

Got sweaty and hot, but even the canary is fine at 3 am after six hours of cooking.  The heat and humidity here went insane but no sign of the dreaded carbon monoxide.

Leaves you wondering why it's THAT important to have a way to convince us that celebrities like Gene Hackman died with his whole family? Like, I don't give a fuck, but how in hell does a rich man's house fill with the stuff from a minor flaw in the modern expensive equipment and kill people in separate rooms but I can't gas out a tiny bus?

Yeah, I don't know where Gene et al are spending the weekend but carbon monoxide had nothing to do with it. That shit's a lie. 

But it's  such a massive one. Wow.

Yeah, so I'm not killing myself any time soon, I have no way of accomplishing it. 

Now what?

I still don't want food, and I think I will just let that be. I wasted all credit card funds on that fucking useless new stove.  Well, I guess I needed a new one, maybe.

what the fuck?

Everyone in the entire world takes a hate on to me within hours now.  What the hell do I do?

I mean, sign the bus over to Dan, sure, but I still feel cold dread at the thought and now? Now what happens?  All avenues for hope exhausted. No way to kill myself. No way to stop being homeless.  No social, political, financial status and, no citizenry.  I am functionally no longer entitied to any citizen rights as far as I can tell.  Being marked homeless means I have no voice, no power, no autonomy of person whatsoever. Anyone who wishes can simply assault me, capture me, contain and arrest me, do pretty much as they please, and face no consequences.

But then what really kills the homeless in tents when they say it was carbon monoxide?

Was it officials on a sadism spree?

Oh just takea minute to think about the last time you heard a homeless person shouting angrily. Did you listen? Did anyone?  If they were shouting out that cops were killing people you certainly wouldn't believe it.  Yet death by cop has become one of the more common hazards in our world!

I will say I am glad to be able to complete the projects I'm working on, anyway.

But I don't know what to do about the world, it won't just sit out there while I slowly quietly do anything, whether that's starve or just knit forever. It's already squeezing us.

They're marking another block for timed parking here.

I can't kill myself.

I've tried enough times to have walked through the 9 circles of hell!

Well maybe only 7. I'm not sure. I was actually trying to remember and count to see if I was at the 9th circle perhaps  and about to walk out of hell.

I might be entering the one that's all violence by my count so that's shitty. 

Good thing it's a fantasy.  I hope. Oh Dante, you mother fucker.

I figured out my vocabulary is caused by reading too much poetry, LOL

I love wordsworth and Donne and the like, I really do.

Yeah, what now?

I dunno if I mentioned but the theatre peeps conveniently left me off the mailing list. They've gotten started by now and I've heard nothing for weeks. Glynnis txted me a nothing a couple weeks ago and it's been radio silence since.  

I spent some time thinking back to the interactions and it's not implausible they all just collectively hate me. 

I tried my goddamnist but they're just suburban normals and most aren't even artistic. They reacted to me in the normal way.

I don't even know now if my work was any good. I don't think they give a fuck if you're any good, though.  It's not for that. The talk of awards I don't get because they're not that good, but then, maybe that's how bad volunteer theatre is all over.

Because they are volunteer, not professional, and it is dead obvious in all aspects. From doing things in ways no theatre ever would, to singing so badly in a musical it would make a christian reform church hymm sing sound good. that would be a christian miracle.

How do I move forward with all these aches and pains and no health care? Because with no legitimacy of reporting, and no right to care due to social status, I have no access to health care.

My cough this week got so nasty for a few days I couldn't get much else done and my chest still hurts.  

I don't know why it stopped.  Possibly dryer air made the mold stop blooming but then last night's propane dump should have me coughing now.

perhaps the last symbicort that I dug out of my supplies and started using has kicked in and it's why I stopped.  Perhaps it's because I am not eating enough food and it's damped my immune system. Or something I hate triggered the cough and it's over.

But see, on friday yesterday, i ate 3 cadbury creme eggs and 3 lowney cherry blossoms.  all in one afternoon. So that takes care of the junk food hypothesis, the sugar hypothesis, the calorie hypothesis and the starvation one.  But then why did it go away last december when I was not using the symbicort either? the mold was going gangbusters but I was clear?  it never bothers me away from the bus so I can't prove I have a cough separate  from my cannabis activated cough. But oh it was horrible for 3 or 4 days there, just absolute misery every morning trying to clear my lungs and the tears streaming and my chest and ribs aching and exhausted. 

Came with flare ups of everything else too.If I can't die and I can't live, what happens next?

Oh and the psych assessment never came through, I won't push for it again. I had some very unnerving musings on the possible nature of the health and psychiatric system as a sadism cult funneling vulnerable people, like me, into the system to be played with, like they did to me when I was in recently. It's hard to dodge a diagnosis when they want you and you haven't anyone in your corner rooting for you and you're voiceless.

So, well, this has me 2nd guessing the assessment. Now that I am no longer planning suicide I'm less afraid of it. Unless I get a new idea, that's off the calendar for now. We'll keep trying not eating but that doesn't seem to be making much headway. Partly due to cheating nearly all my daily calories more days than not, some way, but also just it stopped. I got to the lowest weight I've been and it's stayed put, wavering up occasionally, regardless of my diet!

I have really had a lot of deep thoughts about reality and non reality and how little of what I've known all my life might be true. Like carbon monoxide being bullshit. Maybe starving to death is also?

ok, so we have these midevil drawings of starved people, and writings describing them. They always have a hollow belly, belly button kissing the spine shape. 

Yet all the modern starvation images we see have giant bellies on a bone frame? Huh?

Maybe the modern ones were induced by a plague of tapeworms in order to jump start the international charity industry.  Big fat bellies.                                                                                     

I am so glad I never told or hinted what I was trying to do tonight. Failure stings enough in private.  I won't be speaking about suicide any further expect wistfully.  I used it as a lever on the system this winter and it failed and it's a dangerous thing.

Even if I was housed and employed, that psych tag would be affecting my care quality. Letting the note get old might help if I am ever unable to avoid the medical peeps.

I mean, right now, the only verifiable thing wrong with me is a hernia I can't afford to have to operated on because i can't heal in this bus.  

ohhh, I remember what I wanted to write, because this one's freakier than usual.

Possibly the scariest freaky ever.

I lost my head scar.

I didn't just lose any indication of a back injury and therefor any chance of sympathy or care on that pain, but now, the scar from my head wound is vanished. I was 4 when that scar was made. It was always visible and sometimes i would tickle it with a fingernail. If my hair was long, yeah, you didn't see it, but on my shaved head, yep. crescent shaped, 1.25cm long and 6mm wide at it's apex, it was just to the right of my head's curve downward just behind the ear line.  Damn thing was there as recently as five years.

I haven't lost any other scars. Just the one that explains my constant drama queen tears that prevent the majority of my communication with anyone in medicine, psych, care, social work, etc.  It was a flimsy enough excuse to begin with.  But I clung to it, it was the only explanation that I had. 

What the hell happened to the scar?  you can't remove them. They don't suddenly vanish after fifty years. If I had an all new body, the other scars aren't gone.

Sidestepped into a new timeline?

And if that's what happens every time I fail a suicide, and i actually succeed but instead change realities, wha?

Yeah, that's just based on too many wild hypothesis from science fiction.

But the lost scar sure brings up a lot of them. However, rest assured, I will never be able to prove it ever existed.  Just like everything that comes out my beak, there is nothing backing me up.

I thought my painting work would speak for me.

I thought my textile work work would speak for me.

I thought any of my work would stand up and speak for me. Show some verity, allow me some validation or trust.  This has not been the case and I lack any notion of where to turn or what move to make next.

I should do these things, get the car imported, get the bus in Dan's name.

But tonight the idea seems undoable.  Just too much effort. I've spent a whole week with the pure relief of feeling like I was free of these things.  Now they're on like ever.

it's a lot like what they call pathological demand avoidance, but it's different because it's symbolic of my defeat tonight, my defeat this winter, my failure to get the divorce or shake dan, and a final giving in to him where I give him what's left of my power.

In return for this which I find such an untenable existence.  Watching my stuff rot and my dogs cough. Waiting for them to corral us into that waterless parkless cement industrial end far from any services or shops or even transit.  and that's just keeping up another year of what is becoming hellish with sickness and depression and hunger and just plain want and lonliness.  

I can't connect to anyone and it's been so long.  I'm tired and I don't want to try anymore and now there's this goddamn deadline. I guess i phone larohe macdonald and find out what they need to make it go. 

They don't scare me, they've always been really nice to me. Treated me like a real person.  

Why did that change? When did my personhood get revoked? Was it when I ran out of cash or lost my home or changed provinces?  I used to walk around the world just being me and generally got treated with dignity and some basic respect. Why does it feel so different now? I guess being always just stuck in here doing my crafts is part of it. I can't go anywhere. The community to  whom I am allowed to be social is about as touchy as they come and I'm that autistic guy, remember?  I really can't get along in the homeless drop ins or even with the rest of the RV people here.  

I just feel like I blew through all my chances at community or a future in just six months of trying to fit in, while doing my level best to be my best.

Oh and that float home? Priced down again, yeah, such a tease.

One of the paradigms I've questioned is definitely that I am in hell.  I've had that notion many times, really.  That the people around me are just demons and I'm serving time in hell.  Part of the sentence is feeling innocent, so I have no idea what I did.  makes as much sense as MK ultra, faking carbon monoxide, and Elon doing nazi salutes and bossing around the president.

And missing scars. Still no way to explain that without magic or science fiction.

It's cold in here now, the diesel heater isn't keeping up.  the propane heater isn't working right. This begs the question, do I play russian roulette with the stove again, this time mostly for heat, knowing it migth kill me this time instead, or do I bundle up in another blanket because now I'm scared of it?

Scared of what?

Oh yah, killing everyone but myself and getting cut out of here like a sardine by EMT to be poked and imprisoned in the psych ward.

yeah, that's a lot. 

I'm not afraid of dying as much as living and that is becoming a seriously challenging activity.

I went checking online to see what schizophrenia looks like because I've been feeling so intensely paranoid and people's expressions seem so negative and unfriendly even when I'm dressed nicely. Ok, could be something about my unique outfit that's doing things to their faces, on reflection, I accept that. It might be simulating demonic possession in the bigoted people going by of whom there may be many.

At any rate, my whole world view was feeling so tilted I was really wondering if I qualified technically for schizo something. 

I almost did till the part where they cancel out all of the above except for the full hallucinations, if the subject has ever been diagnosed autistic. LOL that's cute.

Even then, they recommend a deeper dive into the possible causes of the hallucinations, not a cancellation of the autism! They actually, in the DSM, recommend examining someone's environmental conditions, listing some like food and and other medications or drugs which might be present.  how peculiarly sensible.  One wishes the specialists around here might brush up on the chapter around autism.

5 am and I should give sleep another try.  It's not warm enough for knitting and the typing is chilling my digits.  My hands, and this is another unverifiable complaint, really hate the cold.

See, this is what's driving me nuts about this need for proof. I can't prove the problem enough to get what I need to prove the problem exists. The two only things I *thought* I had on my side were the fused tailbone and the head injury and both these are not currently present in this reality.

Like then I am feeling seriously gaslit but this time, nobody is behind it?

So now I have paranoia and ? false memories, I guess?  Because the insistence on the back injury and the head injury are based on memory which, it seems, is the easiest factor to discount.

And then it brings into question everything I have in my brain. Add in the carbon monoxide weirdness and we have 3 certitudes wiped out in one week with no possible agency from any person or being which is known to me, and no memory of being moved or removed or replaced or whatever. 

But then there's been a ton of surgeries and place change so that wouldn't count anyway.

Still, it's just illogical.

I also decided when 5pm thursday passed with no change in circumstances, that magic was false hope in all it's spectrum of human imagination. Whether you have an old tradition or a babyish hope, it's all still just believing in some sort of magic.

Ok, so now you point at me and say, oh, joe, you did the deed, you went through with it, you lay there breathing it, and tried to sleep and yet, you did not die.  Perhaps the "missing co" is in fact your magic? Because you are quitting too soon??

Well, my first thought is "oh fuck off already, bud." My second is, lemme sleep on that one. I still need to process so much of this week, this winter, and right now too because I am still not okay.