Update February 17 2015

The idea that things would become more difficult was correct. Emotions swirl through my life like some sort of mental lava lamp. One moment I am paranoid, the next I am depressed then I am certain I have things correct and then back. Ideas that seemed to be clear and concise appear confused and irrational just moments later. I have to face it. Life will not let me wait in bed until everything is safe enough to be sure I am in control when I act on anything. I have to smile when I am expected to smile or people will simply abandon me or worse they will resent and act against me. I do not know which of the possibilities and behaviors is the one that used to be correct. I am enraged by the uncertainty and the pressure people put on each other to hand over the endless reassurances we require within our tribal groups. I resent the people who need it because I cannot judge it properly and all my replies pass through damaged filters. People have dropped away. I became uncomfortable.

The fight to find energy and will is on again. Simple things become mountains and another factor adds negative drag to the way I appear to those I deal with. It cannot just be the new medication. The tiny apartment smells of new electrics and plastics. These things have always made me ill. Here they cannot be escaped. The new security light is a plastic that fills the apartment with disgusting fumes. There is PVC adhesive in a pot in the back room and an open tube of silicon as well as paint and mediums and chemical cleaners. The back-pod pack from the mobility scooter absolutely reeks of solvents and getting close to it so it can be used to carry groceries has made me dizzy a few times. It has been replaced with a square back-pack that doesn’t looks so ridiculous. Despite the fact that the pod is in a bag and the scooter is covered by a cloth cover the room is solid with the fumes and it makes me nauseous and gives me a nasty headache when the day is too still to generate a breeze and carry some of it away. The front door is wedged open a few centimeters so the breeze runs along the back wall and out via the back screen door. It is chained so I can leave the glass door wide without getting burgled again. Everything is bolted so it is more difficult to break in before I can fight back

Something has to give. I don’t know what I am doing a lot of the time. That cannot go on long before I stick a screw driver in a live bit of equipment or eat a packet of heart medication just because I forgot what it was. My head wants to fall forward on the table rather than staying up so I can type. I feel so ill. I am sick of being so ill. I hate this tiny miserable shit-house that cannot be defended and which has no privacy. It has no place to put things so I sit surrounded by poisonous things watching my vigor and hope drained away.

There was a little ip video camera which is just as toxic as everything else. It sits on the eaves outside the window now just to give it something to do and get it clear of the apartment. It watches the backdoor and the antenna. It has a great infra-red for such a low res camera. I gave up trying to get the software to work. The suppliers were really good and helped me get through a half-dozen stages where I wanted my money back and they fixed the problem each time until I gave up. One step too far. I am too ill to keep sending emails back and forth while I fight the software over and over.

The new UHF CB radio has a fault in the microphone. The transmit button has a short. I contacted Selby Acoustics about it a day or so ago. There is a new one in the mail already. Something worked (knock on wood!) what a relief and thanks to them.

I cannot talk much on the radio even after all the effort and money. I am too ill. It is difficult to explain but more than one person at a time in a conversation drains me and then confuses me so I try to getaway from the conversation and off the channel and people feel it. I have no tolerance. It is an interesting thing to say when I am confused. Am I being cranky and intolerant and even unfair or what? It is impossible to tell so the final constant in all of this is doubt and anxiety.

I don’t know what to do but some of the fumes need to be controlled. Some things need wrapping in something that will hold the fumes. I don’t know if there is anything. The security lamp was in two plastic bags and it still filled the whole flat with fumes on its own. I cannot get enough airflow to blow the toxins out. The one action that would work might be to sleep in a tent outside but there is no privacy outside the apartment. The apartment is overseen by elderly people on one side and overlooks family homes on the other. Not even one inch that isn’t in sight.

I might do it anyway. The new medications have really added to the damage done by fumes… I cannot function like this. This is nuts!!!

There are projects. Each time as soon as I can see through the swirling reality I do a little more. Little bit. It gets harder though. Are you sick of hearing about it? This is everyday. This apartment makes me sick and the physical and mental battle is everyday. The loss of everything is a constant process that I watch in helpless horror. So I write about it again.

Someone asked me why they didn’t see other people like me. We hide. We are all different. Most of us die. Many of the people I knew in hospital took their own lives. Instead of being healed and cared for others were left to the forces of the streets and some ended up in jail for self-medicating. Several were killed for their insurance pay-outs. One guy was getting a pay-out and had a girl cling to his life because he was crippled and she knew she could take it off him. He had lost limbs and could barely walk. He went to jail for murdering her I think. I remember a tale where he was said to have run her down. She was greedy and tough enough to be impossible to get rid of so in his desperation he ran her down. I hope they considered that because the people who jailed him should have been the people who pulled her out of his life before it became so desperate.

Anyway. It helps a little to spill it out even if I know anybody who gave a shit stopped reading my stuff ages ago. Just hecklers lately