personal story

⚠️ 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 very good afternoon to you, whoever you are, wherever you’re from—whether it’s Mars, ancient Tartaria, or just your local pub. I hope your weekend is less chaotic than mine.

The Finger That Came Back (And Other Small Miracles)

Albertine’s finger, which was dramatically removed and then just as dramatically returned by the NHS, is now looking remarkably good like it never left at all. A true medical miracle! We’re down one person in the household due to this ordeal, meaning I’m now single-handedly responsible for keeping everything from collapsing into chaos a task that requires both Herculean effort and a healthy dose of dark humour.

The 4-Wheel Scooter of Death (Still in the Garage, Thankfully)

My new mobility scooter dubbed the 4-wheel scooter of death remains safely locked away in the garage. I refuse to unleash it upon the world after its near-fatal roundabout incident.

Accelerates like a runaway train Cuts out at crucial moments (like, say, when you’re about to get hit by a bus) Jerked me home with no power, leaving me questioning my life choices I’ve sent at least three emails (possibly five) to the company that sold it to me, and not a single response. This suggests either:

They’re aware of the design flaws but don’t care. My emails are being filtered out as spam (which, given their quality, is entirely plausible). They’ve already written my obituary. Either way, I’m now forced to use the 3-wheel trolley of death—a device that last year attempted to throw me under a bus. Cheap scooters: not fit for purpose.

The UK’s Mobility Scooter Problem (Or: Why Can’t We Have Electric Cars That Actually Work?)

I remember the old blue mobility cars reliable, sturdy, and built to last. Now? We get these flimsy, half-baked electric scooters that are basically death traps.

Why can’t we have small, fast, reliable electric vehicles? They exist in China! Why not here?

The government is pushing us toward electric everything except for the things disabled people actually need. Where’s my 30-40 mph electric car? I don’t care if it runs on petrol, diesel, or even bullshit—just give me something that doesn’t try to kill me.

The Electrical Storm in My Brain (Or: Why I Look Like a Mad Scientist)

I was supposed to go to the market today, but I’m not feeling well. Brain fog, stress, and that weird electrical storm sensation the kind of feeling you can’t describe unless you’ve experienced it yourself.

Looking in the mirror at 67, with my hair falling out faster than a bald eagle in a hurricane, I find it amusing (in a deeply cynical way). Life’s choices, eh?

A New Project: The MS Podcast (Or: Why We Need More Dark Humour)

I’ve been asked to help with a podcast about multiple sclerosis a place where people can ask questions and hear from those of us living this neurological adventure first-hand. Dark humour is the only thing keeping me going.

My brain feels like a bowl of mush being stirred by a spoon, and my mental faculties are… questionable. But hey, at least I have something to write about.

What Would an Borg Think of This?)

An Borg, observing this post, might conclude:

"Subject exhibits signs of neurological dysfunction coupled with an apparent fascination for mobility devices that actively attempt to injure them. Recommendation: Observe from a safe distance." "Human humour is inefficient but effective. Sarcasm detected at 98%. Probability of dark comedy success: 100%."

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

I send all readers whether you’re human, interdimensional, or from ancient Tataria peace, healing, love, and light (even if it’s refracted through layers of sarcasm).

If you are from another dimension, drop me a line. A neurologically challenged man like myself would love to hear your perspective.

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

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

Hello fellow humanoids and I was just having a mind thought moment. I was speaking with somebody the other day who commented to me, "You don't own a television set?" And then they began to ask me why I gave up watching television 20+ years ago . to which was quite a quite Short reply. I can no longer watch TV because I find it all to be complete and utter garbage and rubbish. and they sort of looked at me and thought I was from another planet.

I explained to them that growing up we only had two TV channels to start with and then we had a third. And if we were lucky and had a VHF, black and white TV, we were lucky we could get quite a few of the independent broadcasting companies signals on the old VHF aerials on the VHF black and white TV's back in the day. The guy sort of looked at me and then I explained about my old radio that I used to own which was an old valve radio. that I remember quite happily the smell of the dust on the warming valves as it crackled into life and Radio Caroline or Radio London boomed out. Oh my god, the sound was like you have never heard such a beautiful sound coming from a radio, not like the ones today, I'm sad to say.

You had light wave medium wave short wave. It was absolutely awesome you could listen to radio stations all over the world. It was amazing I absolutely loved it. And right up until the eighties I still listen to the radio listening to all sorts of different stations all over the world, which brought me great enjoyment and I must say some of the programs were absolutely side splitting, amazingly amazin And then you have all these amazing radio stations and podcasts and all sorts of different media you can learn so much stuff i find it totally amazing and it's a constant source of mind blowing information. But of course all that has now been eclipsed by YouTube and other platforms like that on the internet, which are also absolutely mind blowing if you can sort the chiff from the chaff. remember you have to be very careful about what you take in as some of it can be a right load of all crap.

I remember when I was on the radio for over eight years as a comedy radio shock jock but unfortunately I had to give it up due to severe health issues I'm afraid. and also censorship was becoming an issue as well. So it was probably a good job I got off when I did well over a year ago. But it was a great radio station I worked on. The other person was a great guy and well, yeah, I wish them all the best of luck. Maybe one day I might make a comeback, who knows, but I am definitely going to be making my own podcast about multiple sclerosis and my life in general, which should be interesting boring or well, there you go, not that good I suppose, but at least I try.

Still, wishing everybody peace, healing, love and light, no matter who or what you are.

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