Category Archives: Ramblings

‘The NHS has been destroyed’: Boris Johnson confronted by father of sick child | Politics | The Guardian

Man accuses PM of visiting Whipps Cross hospital in London for press opportunity
— Read on

Whips Cross Hospital is indeed a derelict pile of complete rubbish… Services cut to the bone, An ancient Victorian set of buildings falling apart at the seams, waiting lists too long… Has been under Special Measures yet has just become worse…

Six Years age Now… This hospital screwed with my health & helped destroy my life… 4 months for a pain management clinic referral, 9 months wait for MRI *Results*… Further 4 months wait for Rheumatology referral… 5 minute consultation to be told had “one of the worst cases of #Fibromyalgia he had ever seen, especially on a young(ish) person… Then discharged me with no follow up, care or health plan. Just… Nothing. I was left to fend for myself.

18 months in total, start to finish, it took altogether for me & my tireless GP to get the Fibro Diagnosis Of… well, Anyone… Then, Without care I ended up so ill, I lost the use of my legs through disruptive nerve issues from Fibro & Hemiplegic Migraine.

With proper immediate diagnosis & care, this would NEVER HAVE HAPPENED… 😧😰😩🥺😢😡🤬🤯

So… Whipps Cross… I have no words as to how broken, downtrodden, buggered… this place actually is. I wish I could have given the **CEOs** of that death-trap hospital a piece of my mind… They’re the god-awful culpable ones…

The Heat Is On…

Showered In Pain

A Prisoner in my own body… Held Hostage by Agonising Pain, Solid Stiffness, Physical and Psychological Exhaustion. Why? Because I still do not have what should be a human right… A bloody Shower that I can use!

Just… Agony… It’s all I can think about… Because that is all that there is

The Pain is… Indescribably Excruciating. Morphine barely hits it now, it’s that bad.

I spent a week without it. That’s all. That’s it. And yet, it was enough to be an incredible, amazing respite. But you know what else happened? It was enough to learn to live without itMeaning, that when it came back, upon my return home, it knocked me out flat and winded me like a sledgehammer to the gut and the brain. And now I have to relearn what it means to live with it – more of a shock to the system than I ever thought possible before…

And to make it all the worse… The Worst Bladder Spasms I have had to endure for a while… SLAMMING into me, and so hard that I was left utterly and literally breathless… able to do nothing against this torrent, not even scream the agony… Just silently screaming as the spasms quite literally threaten the worst... Going on for what seems like Forever. There is also what seems to be a little blood in it. The entire thing is… Not. Good.

They’ve eased off now. For now. The rest of the pain, however, still alive and kicking… As in Kicking my backside, from here to Oblivion… It’s inhumane, overwhelming, and just simply Too, Too Much.

The worst, most Frustrating thing about it all is… I Do Not Have To Live Like This… This 15,000+ level of Pain [Score] plummets towards an incredible 7 (ish), whenever I am able to safely access naught more complicated than… A Shower. That’s rightOne Measly Goddamned Shower

I’ve been a Full Time Wheelchair User for just about two and a half years now. Despite that, I had a fragment of ability to weight-bear for up to about 3 seconds, and my abdominal muscles were on the (approx) 50% usable mark. The accessories put up and/or purchased for me as a weakening-yet-still-standing person sort-of still worked… Sort of.

Last March (2018), upon leaving hospital after making it through a serious Blood Poisoning incident, I had to start coming to terms with the fact that, quite frankly, there was very little of me that was actually still there. After the Occocuses ran riot and chased about inside my blood and bowel, they demolished everything below the sternum. I no longer had direct access to any of those nerves and muscles – meaning that there was no way I could even begin to control anything there, or make use of these small adaptations that had been put in before, since they required a certain amount of muscle control.

Upon leaving hospital, we requested that OT should be involved in helping me by re-adapting the house a little, particularly in regards to the downstairs Wet Room.

It’s now 18 Months Later and… Still. Nothing.

Not being able to shower… It’s not about [just] Hygiene, not to me. I can get clean in a multitude of other ways (not one of them pleasant). But what I cannot do in any other way is Get Effective & Instant Pain Relief.

Showers save me from the Demon’s Curse of Fibromyalgia/Fibropleiga.

It unfurls and relaxes intensely spasmed muscles, it melts stressed, pained, struggling intense muscle blocks. It allows genuine Relaxation, which by now, is an alien concept to me. It also saves me from having to double-down on the liquid Morphine that I cannot stand but otherwise have to take to simply… Not. Pass. Out.

I have been using – Wasting…?time, money, effort, Spoons, mental health, on having to go to hotels to get showers, when I cannot take the pain any longer. And it’s adding up, too… It’s now close to becoming impossible to mange this… And with the summer coming up, the prices are going to be going up right alongside it.

I honestly do not want to know how much has been spent on Hotels over these past 18 months… And how much in petrol to take me to these places… and quite frankly, even just the thought of it makes my stomach turn and the nausea rise in my throat, until I feel like I’m going to be physically sick.

At HomeAll is not well… I am stuck upstairs, trapped and imprisoned in my room by a body that refuses to work. I go weeks, months, without having a real shower.

I am cleaned by my mother using wet wipes. My hair is “washed” with Batiste, then conditioned with Aussie leave-in spray and Jojoba oil, or pure argon oil. And that’s only when I can actually tolerate it. Because I’m in so much pain, I cannot tolerate touch very often… and being ASD, I’m already pre-programmed to not be able to tolerate it, as it is.

I’ve just come back from spending a full week at my favourite Premier Inn (oh, yes, I have a favourite, and it is so, because they have the best shower and shower chair – and it’s a very, very Me-Friendly area, too). That was a full week without [Excessive, Soul-Destroying, Brain-Imploding] Pain. One full week of being back in control of myself, to a certain degree. One Full Week of of Real Super-Pain Respite.

With my mind cleared somewhat of The Super-Pain, I was able to use a bit of my own brain to do what I really wanted to do. I bought and read gaming magazines. I wheeled around and went shopping – all day – and even went out to Wetherspoons a few times. I went to Costa and Starbucks and Subway a lot. I did what I did, went were I wanted, when I wanted.

I kept my own space nice and tidy in the hotel room. I dyed my hair. Put on makeup. I did a bit of writing. I updated and caught up with my Journey Journal and Daylios. I frikkin Sang (not a lot, but I did it…!).

I even went to the supermarket right by the hotel on my own to get things that we needed, and did everything there all by myself!

I only needed my normal amount of Morphine. I didn’t touch the Boosters whilst I was there. I had absolutely no need for them!

The simple Freedom of it all was amazing. It was a true gift.

And.. Well… That’s that sad thing really, isn’t it? Basic Rights, like a bloody Shower, should be anyone’s given…. Not a gift. Freedom should be a Given. It’s not a “treat”to be had.

Surviving Trauma with ASD

My Story… My Life…

The Second Time My World Imploded into PTSD…

When I was 34, literally my entire world fell apart. I was so ill I couldn’t move and was in 24/7 agony from Fibromyalgia, and after 2 years of this illness and 10 years together, my partner snapped and she sent me home to live with my parents. Actually, she asked them to come and get me.

Just one random day. She stopped texting me. Then vanished. Never came home. I freaked the crap out. Turns out she went to her mums house. I had to track her down. And her step dad was a bitch to me on the phone.

Then she told me everything was done, we were done, and she wasn’t coming back until, I was packed up and ready to go.

My. World. Died. And. Ended. In. That. Moment.

She took the last remnants of things I had left — and I had already lost the career I loved and the data migration project I was just about to start. And destroyed them. Just one random day. Just like that.

It was nearly 4 years ago, this November it will be.

It was utterly sheer hell. I didn’t know if or how I was ever going to survive. I was delirious with agony and pain, screaming and blacking out from it every day, my parents were yelling at me, screaming at me, doing other bad things at me. I had several meltdowns per day. Everyday. The worst ever kinds. I used to come round to disaster and injuries I had no idea about constantly. It was horrendous…

It went on for years… I tried to OD twice. Was in an ambulance for it. It was a waking nightmare of exceptional proportions.

I don’t know how or why I am still here… But I am. And, frankly, I’m proud of myself for that.

And I survived long enough to get a very special person back in my life. And it’s in a better way this time too …. 🤔

So… I get it. I truly undoubtedly do.

And, also, that is how I know that others can survive this. Because I have, I do. We do. Cos we’re strong and kick ass and have to take far more than anyone could ever frikkin imagine. All. Day. Every. Day.



C.A.L.L. FOR Wales

FREEPHONE: 0800 132 737

TEXT: HELP & Your Question To: 81066


C.A.L.L. FOR Wales
🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿 Community Advice & Listening Line 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿

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(In Welsh)

💜💝… With All The Love & Care That There Can Be… 💝💜

July 07, 2019 2:36 am

North Wales | 11°C


I’ve just seen the date at the top of this iPad a moment ago…

It’s 7/7 — the day things changed forever…

7th July 2015

14 Years Ago Today

And it will never “Just”… “Grow Old”… We were there. In the middle of it. SN was outside a few hundred yards away from That Freaking, Frikkin Bus… Maybe not half an hour after it blew itself up…

We watched it all as it unfurled itself on the news. Heard those Ambulances’ sirens dull on the TV as they raced further away from the scene… Only to get louder and louder outside my window on the way to the Trauma Centre in the Royal Free, Hampstead. It made it a chilling reality

The worst thing, however, was the fact that SN was inadvertently out there when the Tavistock Square Busexploded. The bomb had not long gone off, maybe only an hour or even half an hour. Entirely naïve of the situation, she had gone to meet her parents coming in to Euston from North Wales to see her graduation recital at Arts Ed.

If she had gone sooner, as she says, she decided to go take the mail upstairs to our apartment (Oakley Square, Mornington Crescent, Camden)  instead of leaving right away, she might have been there when the bomb exploded… Heard It… Saw It… Hopefully nowhere near the circumference of the shrapnel trajectory…

As she also pointed out, we would walk past there to get to town. If she hadn’t been having her Recital that day, who knows where we would have been. There’s a place close by we liked to have breakfast in, I’m certain. We could have been going there, done that… It all doesn’t bear to be thinking about… 😖😢😞

But SN was in Euston a little later, thank goodness… She says there was an air of something … wrong… there… But no clear indications — perhaps a fire down in the Tube line? That it wasn’t until I called her, she didn’t know anything had happened.

For me, it had been a very long nightmareto get hold of her. Phone networks were already being jammed (the cell phone networks in 2005 were still really in their infancy stage compared to now…), and I could not get hold of her. For ages… Minutes and Minutes… Which is forever when your best friend might be in serious danger…

I had known nothing was wrong until C (my sister) emailed me to ask how I was, if I was OK. I obviously told her I was fine and at home. And asked why she was asking. She told me to turn on the TV. Any. Channel

With that, my blood went cold and turned on the BBC… The first thing I saw was the fully exploded, destroyed and ripped out backend of the No. 30 Bus in… Tavistock SquareWhich was… Right. By. Euston. Station…. 😱😟😟😟😣😣😣😣😣😣🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯😖😖😖😖😖😖

So, I flipped and started ringing her frantically, until I finally got an answer. And I nearly wept outright with overwhelming internal relief.

She came home — walking bravely despite all the horrors going on…

Her parents had been Evacuated back home from Watford Junction Station anyhow, and all Central London was in a serious Lockdown.

From then on… Well… It just go worse and worse. We were glued to the TV to get as much information as possible about it all. It. Was . Fucking. Terrifying

SN got quite serious PTSD from it… After all, she was thereThat is one seriously Majorheadfuck…

She seems to know how to deal with it well… She has a really, really powerful internal Strength of Will, and bears such a burden with dignity and Strength, despite the Fear and heartbreaking anxiety anything that triggers or reminds her of it… She still carries it with great Power and Grace, in my eyes. 

Not many people understand this. Her parents were kinda there — after all, they themselves were evacuated from London on the train, not being able to get hold of SN and know if she was OK. Not sure if they ever did grasp the reality she was near enough to have been kinda involved in it, too, if she’d have gone any earlier, though….

So, every 7/7 we talk about it. Discuss it. Get our Trauma and Anxieties out to someone who can commiserate and empathise truly. We went through that together. We still go through it together.

The date brings things to the fore too easily, the memories still vivid despite pretty much an entire Decade-and-a-Half having come and gone hence…

It. Just. Hurts…

Powered by Journey Diary.

JUNE 2019 — Daily Mood Chart • Disturbingly Not Good… 😔

I use Dailyo diary and mood tracking app for this:

This just about says it all… 😞😖😢

When you are going through it, it’s bad enough… But to see it like this… You really do get to see “in black and white” as it were…

It was terrible to go through. It was a Hellish Month! 😰😖 … I hope that this next month will be at least somewhat better.

I’m not holding my breath or anything, though… 🥺😞

The Hair Dye Rollercoaster

Dying Hair.

I rather imagine that to most people, it’s not that big a deal… Or maybe it is, because, well, it is their hair. But whatever that truth may be, mine is that of… well, if it goes wrong, it’s a Mega Disaster of Exreme Proportions. What am I talking about? Hair dying going very, very wrong. Not the “it’s gone accidentally green” kind, mind you — for me, all it has to be is the wrong shade (especially if it’s too dark). It’s a very, very real concern for me, when I have to start using a new hair dye, because my usual one is somehow available no more.

The very words new hair dye just fills me with dread. It could mean anything — a wonderful new find, or a complete disaster of epic proportions that scar my red-hair-loving sensitivities. There have been more than enough disasters. I’m too old and too experienced, and far too Aspie now, to cope with anything other than perfection. And I cannot guarantee that if I have to use a completely different kind of hair dye, and just do more than basically hope for the best…

As an Aspie (ASD/Asperger’s), I find any change incredibly distressing… Add to that, my finding out my favourite hair dye was now unavailable and had ceased to exist. Not only that, I’d not long had to go and find it as “the new hair dye”, because my former favourite dye had been changed just enough so that it was now unreliable, even had an unstable and unseemly colour to it… and I had been using that one for years. It was not good.

All this, along with everything else, was making things not too easy to live with, when it came to my hair. My hair means everything to me, and dying it red — no matter what shade of it that I’m after at any one time — is the biggest part of it. Without it, I wasn’t me. I couldn’t self-identify in any way if I didn’t look down as see red tresses. If I looked in the mirror and saw even a small amount of “Badgering” (where the regrowth is a mixture of heavy grey and nearly-black hair that is showing well enough to be obvious), then I started getting a little anxious it was no longer red.

An Aspie’s Dilemma — Fear vs. Roots

It might sound silly, or dramatic, to others, but so much swapping and changing was all starting to feel like Trauma. It can be downright traumatic to endure any changes when you’re ASD; but something that beloved [as my hair] being forced to undergo so many of them in a relatively short space of time (for me) makes it too, too hard.

This felt like Trauma, on top of Trama, on top of Trauma. This current rollercoaster of hair colour was emotionally exhausting, always having to go and find a new one that would suffice, and then having to use a whole new dye, forced to repeat the scenario over and over again, when this recently “new” one is discontinued or no longer available for some other reason.

Not only is all of this going round in my head to deal with, but there is also the part where I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that a replacement is required at all... My mind simply cannot comprehend why it’s necessary to discontinue or change something that just works. That fact is also difficult to comprehend. When it does happen… It’s always a split second moment of being hit with the feeling of utter grief and despair of the loss (yes, honestly, that is how I feel!), soon replaced by a sense of just freefalling and panic. What to do now? What am I supposed to do, what am I supposed to use, to colour my hair? Where do I go? Who [in the hair dye universe] do I turn to now? How could this happen? Why me? … Seriously. 😐 🤨

It runs through my head, over and over again, like a mantra of pure terror, of utter panic. It usually sends me into a frantic, fevered hunt all over the internet for something to replace it. Quick. This super-fast pandemonium is only halted by finding something that will… suffice… at being my answer.

I do hate doing at that though… It’s a sensation that I would rather never experience. Ever. I was saved from it for many, many years — but then the company went and changed it, somehow, and then I had to go to find different ones. Then a few months after I managed to find its replacement, that ended up discontinued without a word of warning. Leaving me with absolutely nothing with nowhere to turn. Just Charming...

This is how I have ended up with this choice — Garnier Olia. It has some lovely reds on offer; the one I chose (after some long pondering), was 7.40 Intense Copper.

My hair was dyed a very similar colour from my last one — therefore, to me, this felt like it showed the most promising liklihood to be an adequate replacement.

So, terrified and with great trepidation, I chose it and waited to find out the fate of my hair with this one.

New Beginnings. Again.

Starting the process of using a new hair dye was a Big Step. I had to try hard to convince myself to do it. In the end, it was the Badgering — at least 2 inches of the that damned regrowth by now — that did it in the end, and pushed me over the edge. I just couldn’t take it staring at me anymore.

The process wasn’t a complicated one, about the same as all the others, but it was more elegant and better thought-out than any other one I’d come across. It was rather clever and thoughtful to make it so you could use the box itself as a steadying stand for the applicator whilst you poured the Developer Creme and Colour into it.

For someone with dexterity issues and weakened fine motor skills, who is now very clumsy from it, this Hair Dye Set/Kit was the easiest one I have come across. For me, it is the most “fingers-friendly” of them all. I really liked using it, and I was constantly surprised as to how different (read: “easy”) it was to use to the others.

It also certainly didn’t hurt that it all came in some lovely packaging, too. The box itself is very elegant, sophisticated and eye-catching, with most of the front of it showing just the hair colour, not a model with it on, allowing you to have a better idea of what shade is to be expected when using it. The bottles and tubes within are pretty and easy to use — not to mention the tear-shaped bulbous applicator that is a fantastic shape to use it, and makes applying it, even with my rather struggling hands and fingers, easy to manage.

If the Kit itself was well-made, the product — in my own opinion — was just as much so. It was easy to use the dye, because instead of it being a form of… sticky, goopy, watery, well, goo… it’s a thin but creamy-esque texture that was easy to put on. It went much further than the average bottle of dye. It covered pretty much all of my hair quite well (and I have really long hair) and I only used the one bottle to complete my hopefully-not-too-different transformation.

I leave dye on to marinade/cook way too long — but I find that it works a treat. It’s not 30 minutes, like on the box… Oh, no. Mine is more like, 3 hours. Oh, yep! But afterwards, I get a pretty great colour, better than I did before.

To add to this, I also wrap it up in a plastic shopping carrier bag, tied around my head. This helps keep it from drying out, helps keep it safe — and things safe from it! — and allows it to marinade better under there. They’re quite the rarities now, but I end up getting a few of these plastic carrier bags from some places, and mainly Subway sandwich stores, due to requiring to carry multiple items on the back of my wheelchair, and of course, I hang onto them all to dye my hair with!

Shiny. New. Hair!

The rest of it now, even for me, is a piece of cake. After the required Marinating Time, it’s into the shower and the dye comes streaming off.

The rest, as they say, is history!

Surviving Hell — Take Two…?

Returning to the scene of a “crime”… a Trauma… to put it to bed? It turns out you should first think very carefully, thrn realise what you’re getting yourself into — and that you really are ready to face the ghosts still there…

After being in the Premier Inn for 10 days… Ten awful, awful, traumatising, distressing days… The ordeal is finally over. It’s been so, so very bad. Then… It got worse. There are some things, though, that will still remain, to add even more Trauma inside me, from going back there again…

Left hotel after a very bad, very long night before and one horrific argument. Mam came to help, then Dad turned up later to take things back. We managed to get out by the 12pm deadline to leave… somehow.

Had really, really extreme hard time all day, today. Feelings of immense dread, terrifying fear, of floating pointlessly through a dark space black hole, waiting to kill me… Numbed. Paranoid. Lost. Alone. Floating through nothing into an inevitable end. Dead and dying already, and simply waiting for it to come. Overwhelmingly depressed and in despair, and zoned away from reality, almost in complete disconnect.

A lot was let out in Costa. Hiding under hood of my EMPsquishy jumper” (long story behind that name…) I cried, for the horror I’d endured since the last time I’d come. How events — and selfish decisions made by other people — destroyed me. Took the last of me away from myself. Right here. That Premier Inn. That room. Room 9.

Where Mam had a huge blow-up at me, and stormed away. Where the police were called by my father against me, when I went outside into the freezing night to feel better, like I was a vulnerable child who knew naught and was missing. Where my selfish mother destroyed my insides enough to send me outside into the night, alone, to which my selfish father called the police to fetch me like I was a frikkin three-year-old. The incident that made the c****s at Rosalin Mental Health decided to utterly utterly destroy everything inside me, cause an atom bomb in a volcano Meltdown of all Meltdowns (despite being “ASD Trained” — utter frikkin BS…!).

A Trauma To End All Traumas inside me. All of it. The last straw against any trust in Professionals.

The break inside my brain the made me refuse medical help, until I nearly could have died. The six gods-and-spirits-damned weeks I spent with cannulas in my arms to pump in IV antibiotics infusions into me, until I was safe. Until there was more Tazoan in my veins than blood, or even coffee.

I missed my first niece’s christening. Instead of waking in a hotel by Southport that day, I awoke to a bunch of lines in my arms in a hospital bed. It was terrifying. I’d been screaming my lungs out from overwhelming waves of horror agony, all day, every day. Now… They were less… But I had blood poisoning. Sepsis. Staphylococcus and streptococcus. A “Horrific” UTI (their words). A bowel infection. As well. That had also caused it. And I’d refused help because that… cow… at Roslin, who destroyed my brain. My trust. My life. My soul.

I went back to confont it… Confront It All. I went for my birthday. For the day of the Anniversary of my hospital release (8th March). And it destroyed me all over again. The agony inside. (Where there’s Feels). The agony outside. (In my body). The Desperation. The Loneliness.

I was thrown once more into the Nether World Void by “Professional” mental health “specialists” who knew absolutely nothing, who destroyed my insides without thought or care. Suddenly… I was 12 years old once again; left utterly destitute inside, once again… Devoid. Of. Everything. I went through all this; had already been through it all once before. All. Of. It. Now, after spending over Two damned Decades trying to overcome those feelings, I was thrown into them all over again… By people who did it the first time round — Parents and Mental Health imbeciles… It was Hell.

PTSD is Hell Itself. It’s haunting, tragic, terrifying, and never lets you forget. I’ve already been through it once — where I saw it take away my memories, disintegrate my life destroy my soul. All whilst I was a child. Now, as an adult, somehow, it seemed even harder to manage, especially the Flashbacks. They never seemed to stop.

I spent the entire time I was there, in that very same hotel as this all started, being haunted by my experiences, by the feels, burdened by Hate, Angry, Trauma, Destitute, Depression, Despair, Aloneness. The others with me, the friends I had taken along there, they suffered as well. Trying to keep me there with them, in the present, but instead, I simply remained trapped in my head with the Flashbacks and the nightmares, apparently there just to rain nothing but bad karma and hard times upon us.

I was processing it all. Reliving it all. Being drowned by it all.

And… Then, I realised it— It. Was. Over.

All. Over.

It was too much to bear. To be inside all of that so much — not only for that trip, but for the last year.

The Pain. The Fear. The Grief… It all came out, along with the new things I had been left with. Like 3/4 of a body I was left entirely unaware of, thanks to all this Trauma… A total of more than Five Years of Emotional and Physical Trauma, cumulating in all this. Trying to find “Life and Meaning” in the middle of it. I know of neither, right now. It helps immensely I have S. There are no words to even begin to cover what she has done and continues to do for me, inside and out. There’s also doggies Soul and Buddy. And also there’s “Universe Sister”, Boo. And my Parents… They finally Get It. That I am damaged, destroyed, have ASD and Alexithymia. And that I also still have to be a grown up, despite all this leaving me much younger in capability than my 17 month old niece.

But it’s too little, too late, now. The damage is done. Cannot be undone. It’s just… more Sellotape, more of that flimsy repair-job-paper-and-string that barely keeps me (metaphorically) putting one foot in front of the other… Frankly, I’m beyond tired of the all crappy repair jobs done to me, and really tired of people thinking that that’s actually an Okay and Acceptible thing — to screw up, to hurt, to damage and harm as they please, then just muddle a crappy, makeshift “fix” to patch up what’s left of me back together…

If my breaks were like scars you see on a vase, there would be no vase… Just endless spiderweb lines of cracks…

I’m left with the detestating consequences. My life is destroyed even more. I’m the one who can’t walk or feel her body. I’m the one who’s Traumatised.

I am the one who needs to deal with being stuck unable to move. I realise I have be “reprogrammed” to work within these new physical and mental parameters and boundaries, and be the best within them; to make the best of them. The old ones are done with. They are no longer Valid. By still putting my expectations within them, I am harming myself badly, inside and out. Emotionally, it’s draining and disappointing — and that Disappointment Dragon sitting on my head needs to, frankly, leave. Forever.

Maybe in having set myself within these new ones, to properly (re)survive(?) the horror and Tempest from Hell that these last 10 days in that Place have created, I really have done something good for myself. Maybe.

Time will tell… Even if you do not like waiting for it.

I don’t.