TW: Suicide, “internalised” phobias.

Running on fumes… I hadn’t understood that expression. But the last year or so has taught me what it means. It makes sense, now.

No matter where I lived, I think I would have been the same. Regardless of where I lived, my life would have been just like this.

I’d be living the same mundane life, and no one would ever be interested in me.

I felt like if I lived like this for too long, I’d shrivel up and die.

I began watching this. I know I wanted to finally get around to Fleabag, but all that talk about and scenes of…shagging, yeah, that isn’t quite in my favour. Especially now.

So, as you do, I scrolled on Netflix and found this show that’s now playing.

I’ve also managed to come out to a café to read one more essay from this heart-wrenching book (why do I do this). The third (fourth?) essay is about someone who’s dying, knows it, has told her friends, and spends her days going to doctors and meeting friends.

In the land of chronic pain, you sit down in front of your computer or notebook and try to work, but you cannot think. You try to do tasks that aren’t too taxing. But you are only going through the motions. At some point you realize that you don’t feel well. You can’t
remember the last time you woke up feeling rested and refreshed. You wonder if it will ever happen again. It’s not just the pain, it is the exhausting fact that you have been in pain for so long.

Disability Intimacy: Essays on Love, Care, and Desire. Edited by Alice Wong.

But it’s loud. And I want to go home. But I know I’ve never known home. I don’t know what home is. I’m tired of making one. I’m tired of loving people because I hadn’t been loved the way I needed to be loved.

This never ends.

And I know why some of my favourite celebrities — people — left this world. There’s so much pain, so much misery. In this world, and in my body, and in my mind. I want to leave too. I have spent so long wanting to…go.

Sometimes, these days, I feel the wind on my face, and I want to stay. But what does that mean? I know what it means.

I’m not sure I’m ready for it.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be.

Why isn’t euthanasia legal everywhere in the world? Isn’t…a few decades enough to conclude that it’s not going to get all that better? Half my life. Half your life. You would know. I would know. There is medicine to end this pain. There are doctors. Professionals. An opt-out button.

I want a normal…life. A normal childhood. A normal gender identity. A normal sexual orientation. A normal brain. A normal sex life. A normal body. A normal patch of hair on my head. A normal family. A normal career. A normal job. A normal education path.

Normalcy.