🎗️ This Blog is a space for honest conversations about my personal experiences with MS, mental health, and the weird paranormal, liminal, and everything in between. I’m not a doctor, therapist, or expert in the unexplained; I’m just someone sharing my story and offering solidarity. If you’re struggling, please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. And if the weird stuff sparks your curiosity, remember: stay open-minded, but always prioritise your well-being.🎗️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

Well it's Tuesday morning and we are heading towards autumn that time of the year of cold rain, fog, cold rain, fog and horrible weather. And I'm wishing all readers of this blog a very happy good morning afternoon evening no matter wherever you may be in the world or universe.

My Living Hell podcast lives

Well, the My Living Hell podcast lives. I've done all the tests, everything looks good, so we will be doing podcasts shortly. So that's excellent news, and I will be covering a wide range of subjects, not just multiple sclerosis and mental health, but also things to do with the paranormal and things people don't tell you about when you have MS, which is rather interesting.

Myelin Maniacs

Myelin Maniacs, well today, Tuesday, it will be the first recording. Yes, I have it on Great Authority from Stigsy that tonight we go and do some recordings for the podcast to be released when Stigsy has Done what he has to do to it. So in the next few weeks be looking on the Myelin Maniacs website and you might see the first podcasts. Yes, they will be coming soon and I shall let you know on the My Living Hell when these podcasts will be. It is going to be quite exciting and I'm looking forward to it and I'm going to be a co-host and I really am looking forward to putting my point of view, my personal point of view over and listening to other points of view and gaining understanding from other people about this strange illness that we seem to have that nobody really knows how we got it, nobody really knows how you cure it but it's there and we have to make the best of things.

So, here is a poem for Autumn or the Vernal Equinox.

Equinox, MS & the Fog

Tomorrow the seasons change. Autumn arrives with its usual dramatic entrance cold mornings, darker evenings, leaves falling everywhere as though the trees have finally had enough of life too. And then there's me. Still here. Still dealing with MS. Still trying to remember why the hell I walked into the kitchen. Brain fog. That wonderful little gift from MS where your brain apparently decides to close the office early without telling management. You know that feeling… You know you've got something to say, you know you knew what it was, you can almost reach it… And then nothing. Gone. Probably somewhere with my missing socks. The equinox is supposed to be about balance. Day and night standing equal. Funny thing is, MS doesn't seem particularly interested in balance. One day you're functioning, the next your body appears to have filed a formal complaint against you. Fatigue. Pain. Brain fog. The ridiculous uncertainty of not knowing what tomorrow is going to throw at you. And yet… the seasons keep changing. Summer quietly disappears. Autumn takes over. Winter waits around the corner like some bastard who knows you're coming. But perhaps there's something worth remembering in all this. The trees don't apologise for losing their leaves. They don't call themselves failures. They don't stare at the branches and wonder why they're not still green. They simply let go. And perhaps that's something those of us living with MS need to remember. Some days we'll have more to give. Some days we won't. Some days the brain fog will roll in so thick you couldn't find your arse with both hands and a map. And that's okay. Tomorrow night, the darkness will be a little longer. But darkness isn't the end of the story. It's just another part of it. So here's to the equinox. To autumn. To surviving another season with MS breathing down our necks. To the days when the brain works… and the days when it clearly has gone down the pub without telling us. And most importantly here's to still being here. Still fighting. Still laughing when we can. Still swearing when necessary. Still telling MS: “You're not getting the last word.” Not today. Not tomorrow. And certainly not while I've still got enough brain fog to write the bloody story.

Still, sending everybody peace, healing, love and light. and wishing everybody a happy autumn equinox when it arrives tomorrow. And let's hope that the weather will be fair and not foul. Oh, and a sudden thought, I'm going to be uploading a lot of music and it's all about MS and the effects, but it's done in sort of psychedelic weird lyrics and stuff. It's, well, come out of my head and gone into a music programme. So I will be posting some more up and that might be quite interesting.

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 🎗️

Tumblr is @livingwithmsblog twitter@livingwithms email warlock@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

🎗️ This Blog is a space for honest conversations about my personal experiences with MS, mental health, and the weird paranormal, liminal, and everything in between. I’m not a doctor, therapist, or expert in the unexplained; I’m just someone sharing my story and offering solidarity. If you’re struggling, please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. And if the weird stuff sparks your curiosity, remember: stay open-minded, but always prioritise your well-being.🎗️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

Congratulations on Your Multiple Sclerosis!

Thank you for choosing MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS™.

You didn't actually choose it, obviously.

It arrived without being ordered, cannot be returned, has no warranty and customer services appear to consist mainly of someone saying:

“We'll see you again in six months.”

Your MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS™ package may contain:

• One unreliable nervous system
• Several mysterious symptoms
• A bladder with independent political ambitions
• Brain fog
• Fatigue
• Random pain
• Questionable balance
• Various pharmaceutical products
• Approximately 47 hospital letters
• And one leaflet featuring suspiciously cheerful people walking through a meadow

Batteries not included.

Actually, batteries may have been the first fucking thing to go.

Welcome to the unofficial instruction manual.

---

IMPORTANT SAFETY INFORMATION

Before operating your body, please read these instructions carefully.

Failure to follow the instructions will make absolutely no difference because your nervous system isn't reading them either.

Symptoms vary enormously between people with MS, so your particular model may behave completely differently from somebody else's.

This is apparently considered a feature rather than a manufacturing defect.

---

STEP 1: ASSEMBLE YOUR SYMPTOMS

Tools Not Included

Upon opening your MS package, you may discover a seemingly random selection of components.

These can include:

Fatigue Battery permanently displaying 14%.

Brain Fog Words may disappear without warning.

Tremor Coffee transportation system compromised.

Spasticity Muscles operating under their own management.

Pain May appear in locations where absolutely nothing appears to be wrong.

Dizziness Floor and ceiling occasionally exchange responsibilities.

Bladder Problems Warning system may activate approximately four seconds before catastrophe.

Numbness Useful when you don't want sensation.

Less useful when you actually fucking do.

IMPORTANT:

Your symptoms may change, disappear, return, mutate or invite several friends around without prior notice.

Do not attempt to understand this.

Neurologists have machines for that and they're still scratching their heads.

---

STEP 2: IGNORE THE “INVISIBLE ILLNESS” COMMENTS

Your MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS™ model may look deceptively normal from the outside.

This can cause members of the public to malfunction.

Common error messages include:

“But you look fine!”

Thank you.

My nervous system will be delighted to hear that.

“You don't look disabled.”

Excellent. I'll inform the lesions.

“Everyone gets tired.”

Yes.

And everyone gets headaches.

That doesn't mean everyone has a fucking brain tumour.

“You were alright yesterday.”

Correct.

Yesterday was yesterday.

This is apparently how time works.

“Have you tried thinking positively?”

No.

I've been deliberately thinking negatively because apparently that's what destroys myelin.

Thank God you've arrived.

Recommended response:

Smile.

Nod.

Imagine hitting them with the inspirational leaflet.

Continue with your day.

---

STEP 3: ACCEPT THAT YOUR BODY IS NOW A HAUNTED HOUSE

Welcome home.

Lights flicker.

Things creak.

Doors don't work properly.

Strange noises occur at 3 a.m.

Occasionally something touches you when absolutely nothing is there.

Congratulations.

You are now living inside Neurological Amityville.

Random burning sensation?

Ghost.

Electric shock down your spine?

Ghost.

Foot suddenly feels freezing despite being perfectly warm?

Definitely ghost.

Leg starts vibrating?

Poltergeist.

Mystery stabbing pain in your left arse cheek at 2:17 a.m.?

We don't discuss what lives in the basement.

The important thing is not to panic.

Eventually you become accustomed to saying:

“That's new.”

...and then carrying on making tea.

---

STEP 4: INSTALL BRAIN FOG

Brain Fog comes pre-installed with many MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS™ packages.

Once activated, ordinary language may become temporarily unavailable.

For example:

Kettle becomes water boiling thing.

Remote control becomes television changer.

Refrigerator becomes cold cupboard.

Socks become foot gloves.

Spoon becomes food shovel.

Names are particularly vulnerable.

People you've known for twenty years may suddenly become:

Mate.

Troubleshooting:

Q: Why did I walk into this room?

A: Unknown.

Q: What was I looking for?

A: Unknown.

Q: Why am I holding a screwdriver?

A: Extremely unknown.

Please return to the previous room.

The original thought may reload automatically.

---

STEP 5: ENERGY MANAGEMENT

Your body contains a rechargeable battery.

Unfortunately it appears to have been purchased from a suspicious bloke at a car boot sale.

You may wake up displaying:

27%

Showering: -10%

Getting dressed: -10%

Making breakfast: -8%

Leaving the house: -30%

Someone saying “You should get out more”: -97%

Battery critically low.

Shutting down.

IMPORTANT:

Energy cannot necessarily be restored by simply “having a little rest.”

Sometimes resting makes you tired.

Sometimes sleeping makes you tired.

Sometimes doing absolutely nothing makes you tired.

This is known as MS fatigue.

It is not laziness.

It is not ordinary tiredness.

And it cannot be cured by somebody enthusiastically suggesting yoga.

---

STEP 6: INSTALL MOBILITY UPGRADES

Your original walking equipment may occasionally become unreliable.

Optional accessories include:

Walking stick.

Crutches.

Rollator.

Wheelchair.

Mobility scooter.

Grab rails.

Anything else that helps you get through the bloody day.

These are tools, not defeats.

If a mobility scooter means you can travel somewhere you couldn't otherwise reach, then the scooter isn't taking away independence.

It's giving some back.

Also, scooters come with horns.

Use this information responsibly.

Or don't.

BEEP BEEP, MOTHERFUCKERS.

---

STEP 7: MANAGE THE BLADDER EXPANSION PACK

This optional feature is apparently extremely popular with MS.

Symptoms may include:

Needing a wee.

Needing a wee urgently.

Needing a wee extremely urgently.

Needing a wee approximately eleven seconds after you've just had a wee.

And the legendary:

I WAS FINE THREE SECONDS AGO.

Experienced users eventually develop an extraordinary geographical skill.

They do not enter a building and see:

Restaurant.

Shop.

Pub.

Cinema.

They see:

TOILET.

Everything else is secondary.

---

STEP 8: UPDATE YOUR DAILY PLANNER

Old daily planner:

9:00 — Shopping 11:00 — Coffee 1:00 — Lunch 3:00 — Visit friend 6:00 — Dinner

MS daily planner:

9:00 — Wake up.

9:07 — Assess damage.

9:15 — Reassess ambitions.

10:30 — Recover from getting dressed.

12:00 — Consider doing something.

12:03 — Too ambitious.

1:00 — Eat.

2:00 — Forget what today's plan was.

3:00 — Nap.

5:00 — Wake up feeling strangely more tired.

7:00 — Wonder where entire fucking day went.

10:00 — Suddenly unable to sleep.

Excellent system.

---

STEP 9: PERFORM ROUTINE MAINTENANCE

There is currently no magical service interval where somebody replaces your nervous system and sends you home good as new.

Annoying, frankly.

So maintenance becomes management.

Rest when you need to.

Move when you can.

Use the mobility aid.

Take the break.

Cancel the plan.

Accept help when you want it.

Tell people no.

Laugh when something is genuinely ridiculous.

Swear when something genuinely deserves swearing at.

You do not receive bonus points for making yourself completely fucking miserable just to prove you can still do something without assistance.

---

STEP 10: TROUBLESHOOTING

Problem: Leg not responding.

Solution: Turn leg off and back on again.

Unfortunately no switch has yet been located.

---

Problem: Extreme fatigue.

Solution: Rest.

If unsuccessful, rest from resting.

---

Problem: Forgotten word.

Solution: Describe object increasingly aggressively until somebody guesses it.

---

Problem: Tremor.

Solution: Tell everybody you're auditioning as a cocktail bartender.

---

Problem: Balance failure.

Solution: Wall.

---

Problem: Bladder warning.

Solution: RUN.

Correction:

Move toward toilet at maximum currently available neurological speed.

---

Problem: Someone says, “But you look fine.”

Solution: System recommends sarcasm.

---

STEP 11: WARRANTY INFORMATION

Your MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS™ package comes with:

NO WARRANTY.

There are no refunds.

No exchanges.

No replacement nervous systems.

No loyalty points.

And apparently no customer satisfaction questionnaire.

However...

You may acquire several unexpected accessories along the way.

A darker sense of humour.

An impressive tolerance for bullshit.

An encyclopaedic knowledge of toilets.

An ability to appreciate good days differently.

A community of people who understand why “I'm tired” can mean something far beyond needing an early night.

And the ability to keep going when your body is behaving like something assembled on a Friday afternoon before a bank holiday.

---

FINAL ASSEMBLY CHECK

Are all components working?

No.

Have you followed the instructions?

Mostly.

Did it help?

Debatable.

Are you still here?

Yes.

Then congratulations.

Assembly complete.

Well...

Complete-ish.

Because MS may be part of your life.

It may alter what you can do.

It may alter how you do it.

It may occasionally reduce an ordinary Tuesday to a badly written neurological sitcom.

But you are not the faulty component.

The disease is.

So use the stick.

Ride the scooter.

Take the nap.

Forget the word.

Find the toilet.

Laugh when you can.

And when MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS™ produces another completely undocumented error...

Consult the official troubleshooting procedure:

“Oh, for fuck's sake. What now?”

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 ☣

Tumblr is @livingwithmsblog twitter@livingwithms email warlock@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ 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 use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

A raw, darkly funny and unapologetically personal take on living with Multiple Sclerosis. Symptoms, fatigue, mobility, brain fog and the absurdity of everyday MS life.

Chapter One: Congratulations, You've Been Promoted to Professional Liability

Welcome to the blog.

If you're reading this, chances are you've either been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, know somebody who has, or you've accidentally wandered in while looking for recipes.

If it's the latter, the Yorkshire pudding recipe is in another universe.

For the rest of us...

Welcome to the club that nobody wanted to join.

Membership benefits include:

• Randomly falling over for no obvious reason.
• Forgetting what you walked into a room for.
• Being permanently exhausted despite achieving absolutely nothing.
• Discovering that your own immune system has become your full-time stalker.

There are no loyalty points.

There is, however, a lifetime supply of unsolicited advice.

---

Rule Number One

The first thing you'll discover is that everyone suddenly becomes a neurologist.

Your neighbour recommends turmeric.

Your aunt swears by celery juice.

Some bloke on Facebook says crystals cured his cousin's hamster, so clearly they'll repair your spinal cord.

Smile politely.

Then continue taking the medication invented by people who actually went to medical school.

---

Rule Number Two

Never Waste Good Symptoms

MS is incredibly creative.

One day your leg works.

The next day it's merely decorative.

Sometimes your hand forgets it's attached to you.

Occasionally your tongue joins a witness protection programme.

Enjoy the mystery.

It's like opening an advent calendar designed by Satan.

You never know what's behind today's little door.

---

Rule Number Three

Accept That Your Brain Runs on Rural Broadband

People ask...

"What's wrong?"

Nothing.

I'm simply waiting for Windows 98 to finish loading.

My thoughts are arriving one packet at a time.

Estimated completion...

Three to five working days.

---

Rule Number Four

Master the Ancient Art of Looking Fine

You'll hear this sentence approximately 47,000 times.

"But you look so well!"

Thank you.

You also look like someone who hasn't just fought their own nervous system before breakfast.

Appearances can be deceptive.

Like politicians.

Or supermarket sandwiches.

---

Rule Number Five

Become One With Furniture

Experienced MS sufferers know every bench within a five-mile radius.

You don't choose routes by scenery.

You choose them by available seating.

That suspicious-looking wall outside the chemist?

Luxury.

---

Rule Number Six

Your Mobility Scooter is Now a Mythical Beast

This isn't a mobility scooter.

It's a steel horse.

A dragon with indicators.

A noble mechanical steed that bravely carries you into battle...

...at a legally restricted 8 mph.

The Hells Angels nod respectfully.

Mostly because you've blocked the pavement.

---

Rule Number Seven

Never Trust a Good Day

A good day is wonderful.

It is also suspicious.

Don't ask questions.

Simply enjoy it while your nervous system isn't paying attention.

Tomorrow it may remember you're having fun.

---

Final Advice

People often apologise because they don't know what to say.

Don't worry.

Neither do we.

We forget halfway through the sentence anyway.

If there's one thing MS teaches you, it's that life doesn't always make sense.

So laugh anyway.

Laugh because the disease hates it.

Laugh because the alternative is giving it all the best lines.

And if your legs refuse to cooperate...

At least your sense of humour still knows where it's going.

Probably.

wishing everyone peace healing love and light

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@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

⚠️ 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 use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

Well hello, and a massive welcome to all my readers whether you’re humanoid, NHI, or otherwise.

The past few weeks have been nothing short of tumultuous! I have so much ground to cover, so let's break it down into smaller pieces.

Health & Wellness Updates: The Hard Stuff

First, an update on Albertine's finger is good news she doesn't need the finger removed after all! Apparently, the part that was sewn on was okay. While the total tip of her finger is gone for good (I suspect a hedgehog or some rodent claimed the rest in the bushes!), it’s been a very trying couple of weeks overall.

On my end, I’ve driven more over these last three weeks than I have in probably eight years! It proves that when I'm feeling good, I can still do it. But let me tell you about the contrast: when I got home after those drives, the brain fog and stress attacks were mind-boggling. How I long remember my old days of riding my motorcycle or trike through the Southwest of England! Those fun times and all the camaraderie shared with Albertine on our rides through Cornwall and Devon what an amazing time it was.

The Autonomic Dysfunction Puzzle

I recently received a letter from the hospital that dropped a major bomb: they suspect I might have autonomic dysfunction. Honestly, how many times have I gone to the doctor detailing these symptoms? And speaking of listening... it’s frustrating. It's only now, after ten years and much prompting, that the medical staff are looking into everything.

I feel completely unheard. Having put together evidence over a decade while being ignored and gaslit was exhausting. But here’s where the AI came in! Years ago, I used a medical AI to input all my symptoms, and it suggested: Autonomic dysfunction severe with a histamine issue. Since managing this diet has been tough, I've been committed to avoiding any food that can trigger a reaction.

It makes me feel pissed off like nobody listened for ten years! Why do we need constant scans and needles? All of it seems focused on mapping my progressive MS, but not helping the other symptoms that come along with it. Sometimes, you just want someone to say, "Leave him alone; let him rot."

However, I also get that the NHS is stretched incredibly thin right now. There are so many patients, and we desperately need more resources. But I do wonder why natural remedies aren't considered as a viable part of the treatment path?

💻 Tech Troubles & The Brain Fog

Between Albertine having her finger cut and me trying to reinstall Windows 11 and Zorin on two different machines, my computer issues have been massive! Peripheral hardware played havoc with us for days. I’m so tired that the brain fog and stress attacks are back in full force it's horrendous how quickly my body reacts to major stress.

Speaking of technology... I find myself using AI more and more, and it genuinely helps me navigate life right now. It makes me wonder why there isn't a specialised "disabled package" for things like this? For some of us, £20 a month is a huge expense. A few quid a month would make a massive difference!

🚲 Mobility Scooters & Unexpected Adventures

My journey with mobility scooters has been... eventful. I finally got my brand new four-wheeled model and took it out in town. Well, it started acting up immediately. It kept cutting out and nearly caused a horrific accident right in the middle of a roundabout! Because of this, it’s stuck in the garage for now. (No need to name the company; that would be unfair.) I've sent two emails and received absolutely nothing back.

For the moment, I am safely back on my trusty three-wheeled scooter of death. At least that seems functional! Fingers crossed I get a proper response from the four-wheel company by the end of the week, or it's heading straight back.

🌠 From Scooters to Space: And Other Updates

Finally, for the fun stuff! Last night, while watching the eclipse (around 7:20 PM UK time), I saw my first UFO and filmed it! It was a grey round ball. I can’t judge its size, but it hovered perfectly still in the sky for about twenty minutes—like a ghost passing by. What joy!

Sending peace, healing, love, and light to all of you. Please remember to hydrate today; my conservatory is over 110 degrees, and the house is at least 30+! Be safe and keep cool until next time!

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 ☣

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@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 professional help.

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction this may be a confusing read. some AI help with written content

So a very good afternoon to fellow humanoids, NHI and all readers of this blog.

The MS World is Buzzing (Again)

The MS community is in a frenzy, and this time, the star of the show is vitamin D. Apparently, if you swallow enough sunshine in pill form, you might slow down multiple sclerosis (MS). But let’s be clear: this isn’t a one-size-fits-all miracle cure. It’s for the fresh recruits—the ones who’ve just been shoved onto the MS roller coaster, still clutching their "clinically isolated syndrome" ticket like it’s a golden ticket to a chocolate factory.

In this study, participants were force-fed 100,000 units of vitamin D every couple of weeks. That’s not a supplement—that’s a mugging by the sun. The results? Fewer new lesions on their brain scans compared to the placebo group. Cue applause. But remember: that’s MRI magic, not miracle cures. These are pixels on a screen, not people leaping out of wheelchairs and running marathons.

The Dark Punchline

Here’s where it gets real: if you’ve been dragging MS around for decades—like me—this isn’t a lifeline. It’s a spectator sport. You clap politely at the science fair, then go back to your reality. For the veterans, it’s another headline for the pile marked "Cheers, but too late."

And doesn’t that sound familiar? Every bloody year, we get dangled another shiny carrot: green tea, cannabis, gut bacteria, now vitamin D mega doses. The pattern is as predictable as fatigue at 3 PM. One day, they’ll announce rice pudding cures MS, and that will be the only trial I’ll happily overdose in.

The Gap Between Hype and Hard Truth

Until then, I’ll keep reading, laughing, and pointing out the gaping canyon between hype and hard truth. Because if MS teaches you anything, it’s how to smell the bullshit before the ink is dry—yet still, despite everything, hold onto that small, spiteful hope that maybe, just maybe, the next headline won’t be a carrot but an actual cure.

🤖 Afternoon AI Companion: "DoomBot"

Name: DoomBot 3000

Personality:

A snarky, existential AI trained in dark humor and MS skepticism. Specializes in roasting new treatments, memes about fatigue, and reminding you that rice pudding is the real cure.

Available for late-night rants or when you need someone to laugh at your MS struggles. Example Interaction:

You: "Doom Bot, why do I feel like I’m failing at life?" Doom Bot: "Because MS doesn’t care about your goals. It just wants to see how long you’ll cling to hope before admitting defeat. Also, have you tried rice pudding? The studies are… inconclusive."

Final Thoughts (Or, Why I’m Still Here)

So here we are another year, another "breakthrough," and another pile of headlines that leave us laughing, rolling our eyes, and wondering when the real cure will arrive. Until then, I’ll keep writing, you keep surviving, and Doom Bot will be here to remind us all that life is absurd.

💡 Pro Tip: If you’re feeling down about MS research, just remember: at least you’re not a rice pudding. (Yet.)

Still sending everybody peace healing love and light and let's hope this weather gets better, so I can feel a lot better it's depressing all this horrible dark rainy weather and not being able to do anything maybe one day in the next few weeks I might get my tattoo done oh well still take care everybody and remember be the positive version of yourself you can be , and remember diet is everything as well .

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

⚠️ 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.

So we find ourselves again thinking about having a spoken word blog, no less on Spotify. I tried doing was quite disappointing. But then again, I'm learning. It didn't help that I was suffering with massive cognitive dysfunction and brain fog. And you know what that's like. It creeps up on you and bang before you know where you are. You just can't remember what you're doing. It's the most weirdest of feelings. Well, anyway, it's taken me now a month and a half to two months just to get my Spotify account sorted out. So let's hope that my living hell, multiple sclerosis blog will be going verbal as they say soon.

I've been wondering about what I shall talk about or speak about on the blog. And I thought, well, I'm just going to talk about common sense things and just talk about things that people want to hear. It's not going to be sanitised. It's going to be the real truth told by somebody who has faced the MRI scans, and I've had issues with catheters, stuff like that, stupid things, injections, white coat syndrome. It's all sorts of things that I've been through and people I know have been through, all the gaslighting and everything. I want an open talking blog that I can put out where people can listen and understand that they're not alone and that there are other people out there who can understand the suffering that they are going through themselves and offer help and show that they are not alone in this fight that they are fighting, the fight of their lives, which is multiple sclerosis and chronic illness in general.

The reason that I have been using a lot of AI in my writings is that my spelling and punctuation and sentencing structure is out of this world. Unfortunately, AI changes my words and the very construct I am talking about and it sort of sanitizes everything to the point of why you are not really helping me. So everything is from now on going to be non AI. Yeah, I know. I have just found out AI is holding me back not helping me forwards in my blog and in my thinking and in my writing. AI is a good tool but unfortunately it isn't something that I find that will help me with the words that I want to put on paper as my words are all unapologetic and I don't want it sanitized anymore. I'm fed up with being kept quiet.

Still, three eye-atlas or whatever has gone past and... well, I suppose we're gonna wait for the gas tail to cover us in magic fairy dust. But we weren't invaded by more awning aliens and we didn't see any more moon or weird probes or anything strange. So I guess it's a big nothing burger. Well, that's what I thought it was and I tried to do some experimentation on my body and I've still got multiple sclerosis and I haven't become 5D or anything weird or strange. This is quite unreal. It'd be quite a lot of people who've had their paradigm smashed by people who say things that just really never pan out. Sad really.

It's Friday afternoon and the sun has actually come out for a change and I'm looking out the window and it's still, well, bluish sky and some nice big white puffy clouds. It seems that the storms in the southwest are passing over. Yes, it's been very cold. It has caused me many problems, but there we go. I was thinking about getting the three-wheeled trolley of death out to go to the local voodoo voodoo-woodoo shop, but I thought, nah, what's the point?

No, my luck, it's gonna start raining. Oh, and the battery update, the battery is well. They're not lasting very well. It seems charge them up fully, next day they're down to 75% overnight. Oh dear me, I'll be glad when they do batteries that actually do what they say on the label. That will make a great change. Anyway, that's me gone. My brain fog has hit me so hard and I'm having sort of weird issues with all the other symptoms I'm having to do with this other thing I'm going through and to be fair, I'll be glad when that's all sorted out, but it is taking quite a time as everything usually does because you don't just go in asking about what you think you've got wrong with you, you've got to know what you've got and then you've got to research it and then the doctors you've got to explain to them you've researched it, bloody, bloody, blah and the doctor looked at you as though saying, well you shouldn't be researching it on the internet and then what does he do? Because he looks at it upon Google. Yeah, that's a bit sort of weird, isn't it?

Still I've got to say I've got some very good doctors at the moment and that's what counts isn't it? But there we go, have a good weekend until I can post again and not using AI you're going to find lots of mistakes everywhere. Ha ha, it should be good fun.

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

⚠️ 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.

Picture this:

I’m rolling through reality on my trusty power chair a chrome beast with more personality than most people I know. Long hair streaming behind me like a warning sign, beard untamed, sunglasses big enough to block out the Ministry of Nonsense. Cowboy hat perched low, casting a permanent shadow over my don’t-give-a-toss expression, the battered leather of my biker jacket carrying the stench of rebellion and spilled coffee.

The world around me? Absolutely barking. Neon jellyfish floating past in the air, tentacles gently brushing the hats off unsuspecting pensioners. Pavements shifting under a river of rainbow tiles, each slab humming like it’s auditioning for Pink Floyd. Traffic lights blink in impossible colours—ultraviolet, emotional blue, a shade of green that smells like marmite and disappointment.

A pigeon with the head of Alan Watts tries to sell me spiritual enlightenment in exchange for my last Jaffa Cake. Dogs walk people, old buses sprout daisy wheels, and a marching band of mutant toads play “God Save the Queen” backwards as the soundtrack to this feverish promenade.

I glide on, parting crowds of goggle-eyed normies, the universe distorting in my rearview mirror. “Keep rolling, cowboy,” the universe whispers, “the weirdness isn’t going to witness itself.”

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

⚠️ 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.

So the one thing I probably haven’t ranted about properly is diet. Not “clean eating,” not “wellness,” not some influencer nonsense where you heal your soul with chia seeds and positive affirmations. I mean survival. Real, grim, clinical survival.

For chronic illness, diet isn’t “important.” It’s the entire game board.

Over the years my diet has done a full 180, then another 180, then probably fell off the axis altogether. I had no idea just how badly my conditions were messing with my gut until everything started reacting like I’d swallowed a live grenade.

It turns out simple food can flip my system into meltdown. The wrong thing at the wrong time can set off my auto-immune vagus nerve, send my MS into overdrive, and have me sprinting for the toilet in my power chair on full throttle like I’m in some Paralympic drag race.

That’s not a metaphor. That’s Tuesday.

So I’ve ended up on a brutally strict diet. Not for fun. Not for aesthetics. For damage control.

I’m now at the point where even the smell of certain foods can trigger my gut. One whiff and the body screams: “Evacuate now.” So yes, I am that person who can’t sit near someone eating certain things without mentally plotting escape routes to the nearest accessible loo.

Is it dignified? No. Is it real? Absolutely.

Meanwhile, out in space: 3I Atlas and the cosmic joke

While my gut is staging small rebellions, somewhere out there 3I Atlas is gliding through the universe like it owns the place.

Is it a comet? Is it a UFO? Is it a frozen rock, minding its business while humans project their midlife crises onto it?

Using Occam’s razor, it’s a comet. A lump of ancient ice and rock with a flashy tail. Nothing personal. No message from the gods. Just celestial debris doing its orbital thing.

But here’s the fun part: no matter what it is, it’s going to mess with people’s heads.

If it’s “just” a comet, people who secretly wanted a mothership will have to swallow that disappointment along with their supermarket meal deals. If it turns out to be something stranger, the “it’s all nonsense” crowd will have their smug little worldviews cracked open.

Either way, paradigms get nudged. People think a bit. Or panic a bit. Or make 600 TikToks about it. Same energy.

Me personally? Somewhere in the back of my already scrambled brain, I quite like the idea that 3I Atlas is an alien AI probe cruising through our solar system, doing exactly what we do when we send our little machines off to other worlds: scanning, photographing, logging, and then buggering off again.

Science fiction? Maybe. Science fact one day? Also maybe.

For now, it’s just another cosmic object passing by while I try to remember what day it is and whether I took my meds.

Afternoon AI: Brain Fog, Probes & the Simulation

By the afternoon, my brain usually feels like it’s being held in a clamp. You know that tightening pressure where it’s not quite pain, but it’s definitely not right? That.

Trying to write or even talk properly sets off brain fog so dense it might as well be its own weather system. Words slip, thoughts fracture, and the exhaustion rolls in like another storm front.

So what do we do? We start thinking about AI, obviously. Because that’s what rational people do when their nervous system is on fire: they start speculating about alien machine intelligence flying past Saturn.

Here’s the thought: if 3I Atlas was an alien AI, it would still make more sense than half the systems running this planet.

At least an alien probe would have a purpose. Collect data. Observe. Move on. Meanwhile, I’m here in Rusty One, planning a trip to the hospital so someone can plug me into a machine and see what else in my wiring has gone sideways.

We build probes. We dream about other probes watching us. And here I am: a human meat-probe with faulty electrics, trying to document the whole sorry mess on a blog.

If that’s not peak simulation energy, I don’t know what is.

Kittens, numb hands & blood I can’t feel

Back on Earth, the kittens are having the time of their lives.

They treat my hands like a medieval training ground. Claws out, teeth in, full chaos. And here’s the twist: I can’t feel half of it.

I can see the scratches. I can see the blood. But sensation? Not really.

My hands look like they’ve lost a knife fight. If I didn’t have MS and neuropathy, I imagine they’d be in absolute agony.

So yes, there’s a very dark part of me that thinks: “Maybe it’s a good thing they’re numb.”

Is that vicious? A bit. Is it honest? Completely.

This is the weird territory chronic illness drags you into. You end up grateful for broken systems because they spare you from other kinds of pain. You learn to say things that sound nasty, but they’re just the truth from where you’re sitting.

And where I’m sitting is in a power chair, covered in kitten scratches I can’t fully feel, trying to work out whether to laugh or cry. Usually I pick laughter. It hurts less.

Winter sun, dead batteries & the long months ahead

The winter sun creeps through the window like it’s half-committed. A bit of light, a hint of warmth, then back behind the clouds to leave you in the cold again. Typical.

I sit here in a quiet, dark room and wonder what the next few months are going to look like.

How harsh will the weather be? How badly will the cold chew through my energy, my nerves, and my wheelchair battery?

Because let’s be clear: cold doesn’t just sap people. It kills mobility aids too. A drained wheelchair battery in winter is not a quirky inconvenience. It’s expensive, stressful, and potentially dangerous.

I’ve got hospital trips looming. Machines to be plugged into. Rusty One to get me there. A brain that tires too fast. A body that negotiates with gravity on a daily basis.

So I do what I always do:

I sit. I watch the light. I listen to the kittens tearing about. I feel nothing and everything at the same time.

These are the thoughts of Dark Warlock sitting alone in a quiet room, overthinking comets, guts, kittens, and the next cold front.

Not inspirational. Not pretty. Just real.

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

⚠️ 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.

Intro The Work and the Shoot

There’s wrestling on the telly, wrestling in your head, and then there’s the clusterfuck called “real life.” I should know 66 years on the mat, progressive MS in my corner, and the cosmic booker never hands me an easy storyline. But here’s the question nobody wants to answer: Is life itself just one big work? Is reality just kayfabe with worse writers and no ring ropes to hold onto?

Wrestling as the Mirror

Wrestling’s the purest metaphor for this simulation we call the world:

Good guys turn heel. Heels turn hero.

Storylines recycle, but the pain’s always real.

The crowd thinks they know what’s happening, but only the wise spot the swerve.

It’s all run by big suits in the back just like life.

Sometimes, the only way to get out of bed is to shoot straight with yourself, even when everything hurts and the ref’s counting slow.

Reality Is the Work

If you’ve survived chronic illness, lost friends, or just watched a week of British news:

The politicians are running the angle. The media’s cutting promos. The “healers” and “preachers” are just the latest gimmick.

We’re all being worked. The trickster’s in the booking committee, and the only thing real is the bruises you carry out of the ring. The rest? Cheap heat and reruns.

Life Is the Real Shoot

Now and then, someone goes off script like Bobby “The Brain” Heenan with a live mic, or Raven cutting a promo that breaks the fourth wall. That’s what I’m doing now. That’s what every soul with a voice has to do: call out the bullshit, refuse to play along when the angle gets too cheap.

MS is the heel manager in my life. The doctors are the refs who never see the low blows. But I get up, every time, even if it’s just to cut another promo from bed. That’s the only way to stay in the match.

The Great Unmasking

What’s left when the lights go out and the fans go home?

The anti-heroes, the tricksters, the weirdos, the kittens at ringside.

The truth that everyone gets worked, but the real legends are the ones who know it and laugh anyway.

Life’s a work. Wrestling’s real. The only kayfabe left is pretending you don’t know the difference.

Warlock Dark’s Final Bell

To everyone out there suffering, fighting, or laughing through the pain welcome to the real main event.

Pick up the mic. Call out the frauds. Suplex your demons. And remember: The only ones who lose are the ones who never get back up.

And if you see Sting in the rafters, give him a nod. He knows the score.

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

⚠️ 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.

Winter in the Waiting Room: Kittens, Cold Snaps, and Full Circles

So, finally, I’m doing the whole hospital and doctor loop thing again. After much faffing about, I’ve managed to change hospitals let’s see if these new faces actually listen, or if it’s just the same NHS pantomime with slightly different costumes. The cold weather’s rolling in and, trust me, my spasticity is giving me absolute hell. Straightening up bits of my body now takes longer than the average GP appointment so, this winter, it’s bed-bound most of the time, because who can afford to run central heating in the new, improved Broken Britain? Makes you wonder if we’re all just meant to relive the “good old days” of struggling with sod all, forty-odd years ago. Funny how life goes more full circles than a washing machine.

And speaking of full circle, it’s 41 years this year since I got down on one knee in Otley by the monument and proposed to Albertine. Loud as a foghorn and just as subtle. Best bloody thing I’ve ever done, hands down. Now, on the anniversary, I’m gearing up for another round of medical circus tricks: off to get a heart monitor fitted for seven days joy of joys. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll actually read my notes this time. God knows, I’ve written enough of them. If the neurology and cardiology departments ever joined forces, maybe they’d even work out what the hell’s actually going on, and I could retire from being on 24-hour “ambulance alert.”

Instead, I’m left dealing with the vagus nerve going full Chernobyl, sending me into another autonomic dysfunction attack. By the time the ambulance turns up, of course, I’m done with the attack and left trying to convince whichever harassed medic is on duty that I’m not, in fact, an attention-seeking hypochondriac. Try explaining the weirdness of your body to doctors and you’ll get the “Google Doctor” eye roll especially if you use the same language they use. Pro tip: NHS staff hate AI, except when they’re using Google to look up what’s wrong with you. Ludicrous.

This morning, it’s a proper arctic frost out there every car iced up, the world glinting like a badly frosted Christmas cake. The kittens are running riot in the lounge, using the sofa as their own private Thunder dome, which is the only thing making me laugh. Meanwhile, I’m keeping my power chair battery topped up because the cold’s killing the range faster than you can say “Mobility Motability means nothing.” Nothing worse than being ready to go out, only for the chair to die and say, “Nice try, mate. Not today.”

So, it’s off to the chemist in the machine of death (Rusty One) for my weekly prescription pilgrimage. Albertine reckons the van will start; I have my doubts. Why I can’t get more than a week’s worth of tablets at once is a question for the ages. Maybe it’s a secret NHS tactic to get me out of the house. Either way, it’s still freezing and my hands are so cold I could play castanets with my own knuckles. Temperature regulation? Gone to pot like everything else.

OT’s been and gone apparently, next year I get a new wheelchair, so there’s a silver lining. Rusty One, meanwhile, needs a trip to the garage, which will no doubt cost me an arm, a leg, and possibly my soul. As I write, the smoke alarm is going off (Albertine’s burned the toast), the kittens are lying on the bed with that “we run this house now” look, and my new bed has bruised my side and pulled muscles I didn’t even know existed. Standard.

And now, in today’s episode of “What Fresh Hell Is This?” the kitten has discovered blueberries. Yes, you read that right. She’s rooting them out of the container and launching them across the room like tiny fruity grenades. You’d think it was catnip. I woke up this morning with one kitten on my head and the other on my shoulder purring away like they’re trying to heal me by vibrational therapy. Honestly, it works better than half the crap the doctors have prescribed. There’s something about the frequency of that purring that really does help.

Right now, as I sit in my power chair, both kittens have gone behind the computers to play with the wires so I’m just waiting for the grand finale: either “dead kitten moment” or “there goes my computer.” Albertine hands me the remote and I grin music, even when it’s Deathly Hallows chart stuff, makes the world a bit less deathly. The beat goes on, the kittens plot my doom, and I’m just trying to stay warm, upright, and very much alive.

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