Memoir

⚠️ This blog shares my personal, sometimes painful experiences with MS and mental health. My intention is to speak honestly and offer solidarity—not to harm or replace professional advice. I’m not a doctor or therapist, just someone who gets how hard it can get. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. Please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. You deserve help and hope.⚠️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and used no AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

Well, it's Sunday morning, and it seems that most things are back to normal. Yes, it has been quite a week. That is for sure. All hell has broken loose, and everything was restored. So I wish all the readers of this blog a very happy good Sunday morning or afternoon or evening, wherever you may be, or wherever you may be from .

Hacked! Oh my god!

Well yes, on Tuesday morning at one o'clock, my living hell block got hacked and taken down unfortunately. It caused me a massive stress attack and it really sent me careering downhill health-wise as well. I just could not believe somebody would want to take out a blog about multiple sclerosis. It was completely beyond me why anybody would want to do that. So yes, I spent all of Tuesday and most of Wednesday in a seriously bad place. And then on Thursday things got a little bit better. Then on Friday everything went to hell in a hand basket, that's for sure.

Good news, bad news.

So, along came Friday and I had to drive Albertine to the hospital. And as you know, I cannot stand driving a two-hour round trip drive completely screws me up beyond anything you could imagine. The concentration alone is a killer. So as usual we left a couple of hours earlier than we needed to because when you get to the hospital every single disability place is gone you only have to go to their multi-story car park now which is usually full. So yeah you've got to get there really early and spend just about an hour looking for a parking space which is totally insane. So we get to the hospital and I spend about 20 minutes looking for a parking space and luckily yes there was a space and this was just before 9 in the morning. So the outcome of all this was Albertine, got the rest of the necrosis removed from her finger. Yes, so she's got to go again to hospital in her for three weeks to have the rest of the dead stuff removed apparently. So yes, she got back into the car after about half an hour's risk and I managed to drive home. But of course, I got home and I am feeling really, really bad because the night before I had not much sleep at all and my bowels were in stressed out hell and if you've got MS and you have bowel issues with your MS, you know what that's like to become stressed. It's not good. It screws with your whole system. Yes, it does. From the tip of your head to the bottom of your little toe. So I'm going off the subject a little bit like I usually do. But yes, when I got home I felt like hell and then I had yet another day in bed. I was feeling incredibly ill. It just really screwed me up and I was quite brain-fogged every part of my body ached and it just seemed like it was a relentless, horrible thing, you know? If you experience it, you know what I mean, but people have never experienced it. You can't really explain how just a simple drive of an hour can make you feel so ill you That sometimes you just don't want to carry on.

Thank you

But the good news, the server is all sorted out and up and done thanks to the web hosting company. Thank you Zfast. And I would also like to take time out to all the people who reached out to me as well over different forms of social media. I would like to thank you for your support. It means an awful lot to me. And that is why I'm going to carry on doing this blog. If you go back maybe two, three, four months ago, one of my blog posts, I had started a podcast and it didn't go very well. But now I've decided that I'm going to do my own Living Hell raw podcast. So that should be interesting. I probably won't hold back either. I will be talking about my whole life. It's going to be quite interesting because guess what? I'm going to be talking about a lot of things that people will say, "Hey man, you believe that? You must be eccentric. Yes, I am eccentric." I'm going to be talking about things that will literally blow your minds. Yes indeed. Or is it just the MS making me think that? We will know.

So sending all the readers of this Blog, peace, healing, love and light, and may you have a most amazing weekend.

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.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

twitter@mymsjourney - warlock@mylivinghell.co.uk

⚠️ 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 help.

I used to worship the sun. Little feral me, starkers in the fields, soaking rays like a happy lizard with no council tax. Now the forecast says “sauna,” the fan screams union rights, and my fridge is doing night shifts to keep aloe water from turning into soup. Character arc, darling.

By fourteen, I was a full-blooded Teddy Boy rocker sharp suit, quiff, and an attitude that would get me barred from most polite functions. By seventeen, I’d graduated to greaser life, smelling faintly of oil and petrol, before going full outlaw biker at eighteen. The road was freedom. The road was mine.

It crept up on me early, though. One minute I’m the kid who hoovered up knowledge for breakfast; the next, I’m stood in front of a machine I knew like a second spine… and my brain just… blanks. Not dramatic. Not cinematic. Just gone like a TV that’s on but nobody paid the licence. Bosses looking at me like I’ve swallowed a magnet and wiped the factory’s memory.

Years later, same story, new management. “He’s good,” they said. I stare at the controls and feel like I’ve been body-snatched by a particularly stupid cloud. Down the road I go. Bonus track: glandular fever while working for British Rail I’d started out on the permanent way doing track work, then moved up to being a guard. Job gone, cheers. Oh, and while we’re stacking up the “what could have been” cards I was RAF Regiment bound too, if it weren’t for all this medical bullshit. Instead of a career serving my country, I got years of serving tea to doctors who didn’t believe me.

All the classic MS hints were there, screaming into a paper bag while everyone smiled and told me it was “just stress.” Gaslight like a Victorian alleyway. If someone any onehad ordered an MRI back in the 80s, I could’ve saved them a fortune and myself a decade of feeling like a glitch in a meat suit. But here we are.

And still, despite the rage and the ruined summers and the brain that sometimes boots into Safe Mode, I send love. Peace to the neuros, the GPs, the nurses, the “have you tried mindfulness?” brigade. Whether you tried to heal me or hurl me, I’m choosing mercy. Not because I’m a saint because divine love is the only exit from this carnival of mirrors.

I forgive. I keep going. I fight. I laugh. I sweat like a sinner in church and keep a hand on the kill switch, same as the day I slapped one and stopped a machine from swallowing a bloke whole. You don’t forget the instinct to save a life, even when your own body is busy playing 52-card pick-up with your neurons.

So yeah. It’s Saturday. I feel like crap. Next week’s forecast is “slow roast.” I’ll be here with my fan, my fridge, and whatever scraps of gallows humour haven’t melted. Never give up hope. Fight smart. Rest when the beast demands tribute. And when you can, forgive if only to stop the past charging you rent.

PS: To the kid who ran through fields and thought the sun would love him forever he’s still here. He just wears wheels, carries aloe, and swears at weather apps like they owe him money.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.