chainsaw

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction this may be a confusing read. no AI written content

I used a power chair and a chainsaw to take down a tree. I did NOT consult my body first.

Good afternoon fellow humanoids and N H I , Well, what can I say? This weekend I've completely overdone it. I've used every last spoon up. I've completely exhausted myself in the garden, trying to do some work. Now, you may laugh, but a tree surgeon costs quite a lot of money. And I got it in my head that in my power chair, I can sit in it with a chainsaw and chop down the offending tree thing. Well, the power saw, chainsaw arrived yesterday, and of course, I'm sat in the garden. And guess what? Even in my power chair, and also chair that I used to sit in the shower in I used, I managed to chop down half a tree. And loads of other things with a bloody great big chainsaw. Oh my God, I must say, I was as nervous as hell. And my God, I'm surprised, Albertine, let me loose with a 12-inch plus inches of chainsaw. Oh my God, I know a lot of people would say, "What the fucking hell are you doing?"

Some would say not in my right mind

Well, I think it comes as no surprise really that I do some very strange things. And this is probably a sign of stranger things to come, I would have thought. But yes, you can have a power chair and you can have progressive multiple sclerosis. No feeling in your arms and legs and completely tatered and operate a quite lethal power saw, chainsaw, it's unbelievable. And I did it what I perceived to be quite safely with my very focal glasses and my, well, trusty leather motorcycle gloves. So, yes, if you'd have asked me 20 or 30 years ago to use a chainsaw, I would have given you a categorical, no bloody way. But as they say, needs must when the devil drives. Unfortunately, I'm not a rich man. I'm only on a state pension, unfortunately. I can't afford a tree surgeon and I don't know anybody who will chop it down for free. So there we go. So the cost of a hundred quid for a cheap electric chain saw from Amazon. Hey presto, job done. I'm feeling really good about myself at this moment in time because I've achieved a milestone and something I never thought I would do.

At the expense of my health.

Well, as the adrenaline wears off, yes, you've guessed it, I'm coming crashing down. Yes, yes, yes, I have completely overdone it. Tinnitus is getting louder, the brain fog is, well, starting to cloud in and I can't feel my arms and legs anymore, and I can feel my throat and it feels like I'm being strangled. So the old auto-immune is giving me some crap as well now. So pins and needles in my hands ferociously now and of course all offs as well in the neck. And I've also got the belt as well, which is really tight and is always making me feel sick for some unknown reason. But still, there we go, fellow humanoids. Let's just say it's a win for me today.

Thought for the day.

"Remember, goblin." "Don't overdo it." "It doesn't end well, but you cannot be told, can you?" "No, you can't, and you won't even listen to yourself."

so I'm sending you all out there peace-healing love and light, no matter whom or whatever you are, or wherever you are in this world.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

Good afternoon from the disaster zone formerly known as my neck.

Yes, today started with that familiar electrical storm in the spine — lightning bolts of agony shooting through my vertebrae like Zeus on a three-day bender. Can’t look up, can’t look down, can’t look sideways. My neck has all the flexibility of a rusted garden gate. I must look like one of those haunted portrait paintings that just follows you with its eyes, because that’s all that bloody moves — the eyes. Stiff as a Victorian corpse and twice as charming.

And then there's the tingling. Lips? Tingle. Hands? Tingle. Feet? You guessed it — tingle. Like my whole body's been plugged into a cheap fairy light circuit from Poundland. If this is what becoming bionic feels like, I want a bloody refund.

Sleep? Oh, sleep was a laugh riot. I spent the night spasming like a haunted marionette and woke up every two hours for a command performance in the Great Lavatory Tour of 2025. I swear, I don't drink after 6pm, yet I’m peeing like a champion racehorse on a hydration binge. It’s like my kidneys are in training for a relay race. Every two hours, like clockwork — up, shuffle, sit, curse, flush. Repeat. Lavatory luxury, five stars. Soft toilet roll and existential dread provided.

Of course, while lying awake in this perfect hellscape of pins, needles, pain, and peeing, my brain decides now’s the perfect time to go full hamster wheel. Spinning at 500 billion miles per hour, running through every bad decision I’ve ever made, plus some I probably haven’t gotten around to yet. Cheers, brain.

This morning, I managed to drag myself to my throne — my battered old chair — and gaze out the window like some Victorian invalid. And there he was. The Manic Weed Wacker of Suburbia. Out in the garden again, whacking everything in sight. I swear he’s part weed trimmer, part chaos demon. I watched, sipped my drink (through a numb mouth, because yes, my entire face is numb now — why not?), and chuckled remembering the time he electrocuted himself lifting my wheelchair ramp smashing it into the light tube. Classic. Man vs. light tube. tube won.

And yes, I asked my beloved Albertine — the saint, the legend, the long-suffering wife of 40 years — if I could buy a chainsaw. An electric one, mind you. Eco-friendly and all that. You should’ve seen her face. Absolute horror. Like I’d just announced I was auditioning for "Britain’s Got Terror." I mean, can you imagine? Me, in a knackered wheelchair, chainsawing through hedges like Leatherface with mobility issues. I'd make the evening news before I got through the first shrub.

Suffice to say, the chainsaw dream is on pause. Possibly forever. Probably for the best. Wouldn’t want to give Mr. Dark too many ideas.

Anyway, today’s tally:

Numb mouth ✅

Tingly everything ✅

Brain fog thick enough to get lost in ✅

Blood pressure reading so high it qualifies as an emergency broadcast ✅

It sucks to be me today. But hey, at least I didn’t accidentally decapitate a geranium or myself.

If you’re reading this and having a better day — congrats. If not, welcome to the club. Bring your own toilet paper and existential dread.

Until next time, The Chainless Warlock

looking to buy a second hand q100 wheelcair or similar in the devon cornwall area as mine has gone completely to the breakers yard in the sky ... many thanks sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

       “The views in this post are based on my personal  
          experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.”