IN solidarity with the sufferers of CFS (chronic fatigue syndrome for the uninitiated) allow me to comment. All you fucking healthy, juiced up go-getters with handicaps of 3 and so much energy to expend that you cheat on your wives, wake the fuck up and develop something called empathy. I was a scratch player myself before being struck down. Instead of characterising the afflicted with the terms “lazy” and “all in the head” try a little harder. I know I did not. I was just as fucking arrogant as you lot. Now, after 12 years of illness, when I hear comments from the juiced up I feel like putting something into their heads, like a 9mm projectile filed down into a dummy. So that the entire head goes missing. But I’m not like that. I am afflicted with the ailment and at times spend a week in bed trying to gather energy to get to the toilet, but I have my pre-Napoleoan bayonet, honed to a razor finish close at hand, so that any fuck who comes close enough to mock me for my condition is guaranteed the fright of his fucking life. That much energy I am able to summon, fueled by anger. And then on top of that I have PTSD, not incompatible. Just makes me so much fucking meaner, ready to blow up any fuck who tries to be condescending and not empathetic with me.
If the people of the world really took these conditions seriously what a joy that would be, but when even your doctor smiles that little smile of his you know their is a long way to go.
I am now in a degressing mode, dependent on my children. They need to get me over the edge that is slowly killing me, because the fucking doctors have their heads up their arses waiting for their holidays to begin. I have been waiting a year to see a psychiatrist. I have given up.
My latest energy drain is just about total. I am bedridden with a body in pain, pain, pain. All the joints on fire. Popping tabs in desperation.When I sleep the PTSD kicks in with the nightmares. So I pop more tabs. I refrain from screaming my lungs out because the family in the apartment below have a lovely little kid whose sounds sooth me and I don”t want to wake her up.
My daughter is now going to help me with dosage on a detox program which I cannot handle, but am expected to handle alone. She is one hard-nosed, joy to her daddy. She does not give me an inch. If that does not work I am going to tackle a cop, kick him in the balls, slice his face and get him to shoot me? Death by Cop. I am too much of a coward to whack myself, and besides, I have religious scruples, as did Shakespeare in his own weird way. Now what does that tell you about the state of Psychiatry in Norway?
1st June 2012