tinnitus

⚠️ 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

⚠️ 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

Remember waking up to crackling radios and rock ‘n’ roll drifting through the air… before life became complicated?

Well, good morning, good afternoon, good evening, wherever you are, fellow humanoids and NHIs. Yes, it's the weekend and my weekend starts here. Do you remember those words back on the radio back in the 60s and 70s if you're that old? I do. I used to remember the weekends when I used to wake up and you used to hear the rock and roll music blaring out of the old transistor radio. Yes, listening to Tony Blackburn and radio one back in the 60s and 70s. What a lovely sunny, sunny morning you used to wake up, listening to Ed Stu-pot and his weird weird stuff. What absolute memories of a blast from the past. I know it may sound very cheesy now, but the music back then was essentially amazing. Some of the bands they had then still stand the test of time, even on these times that we live in now. And more so, I often think.

fun and motorcycles seem to go together

So when I was really, really young, I used to have a dirt bike and I used to take it up to the old railway track. And I suppose I would only have been 9, 11. When we used to do this myself and a group of friends and we used to spend the weekend just having fun. Without any care in the world whatsoever. It was an old gellira 80 and wow we used to do insane things riding up steep banks making jumps jumping over people doing all the sorts of things these days that would oh my god yes you'd need a safety man there and all sorts of safety equipment because it definitely wasn't health and safety time then my word no somebody could have really got hurt But it's only when you look back that you sadly realize these things, because when you're young you think you're completely indestructible. So most weekends we would take our old bikes, wheel them up to the old railway or the farmers field and we would spend the morning or an afternoon scrambling and riding around. Nobody really bothered us, nobody really cared. And we just had loads and loads of fun. On a Saturday and a Sunday afternoon, bothering no one. But that was the late 60s, early 1970s. Boy, how things have now changed.

Chemist's machine from hell.

Well amazing news on the chemist's machine from hell dispensing automation units. It's not going to have a problem with any of my prescriptions anymore. Isn't that fantastic? I went into the chemists and I've now managed to get it all sorted out. Oh wow. Yeah, that saves me many frustrating visits to the chemist. Trying to put a code into a machine that did not like me, that hated me, that I am sure when it saw me coming thought ah, we will get him, he will not get his medication. So I'm looking forward to my next prescription. Oh yes indeed. When I get my medication I will be hoping that it will go as smooth as smooth can be. But we will see. The thing is I don't like pressing buttons unless I've got gloves on because you never know what you can catch from buttons that you press. Oh indeed always remember take a pair of rubber or plastic gloves with you when you have to open doors and use petrol pumps etc because it's amazing where bugs and lurgies lay waiting to pounce Giving you a severe diarrhea dilemma or even a vomit virus. and a lot of people don't wash their hands and when they go to use a petrol pump or a door handle well there we go. So there we go take care when you're out there and remember wash your hands thoroughly wherever you go. I know I do.

Things I take with me on a trip.

I suppose the most important thing for me is to make sure I have everything on a trip. So even if it's to the local doctors or the local shop or even far away, I always make sure I have a bag packed in case of emergency because you never know when you're going to need things.

I always make sure that on my phone I have my ice numbers, that's in case of emergency numbers that people can phone. Well, in case of an emergency. And of course there's various articles of spare clothing and various medications. Always remembering to keep hydrated and to take a bottle of water with you as well. Yes. I can carry medical cannabis with me, funnily enough. So I have to keep my prescription with me when I carry it. So that's very weird. It's a very strange feeling when you're going in your power chair around a shopping center. And you've got a pot of cannabis on you and you're going past a policeman for instance. You sort of stop and you're sort of there thinking, "My God!" You know, that really does give me a head trip. But me personally, I have found that police very helpful when I have had dealings with them. In fact, they've always been very helpful. But that's on the occasions I've needed them. But I find them quite cheerful overall. And I suppose if you treat them with respect, they'll treat you with respect. And that's the way I think we should always pay respect to doctors, nurses, firemen, ambulancemen, and all the people out there who put their lives at risk for us.

Yes, we really should say a big thank you to all of them, no matter who they are. Even if it's down to the loneliest cleaner, we should say a massive big thank you. And I suppose that goes for most people in the community in the society we live in. You know, if we're all to be more polite and happier and smile towards each other, things might slowly change. But that's just me thinking a little bit outside of the box, remembering how things used to be in the 1960s and 1970s, and seeing things change so drastically. It's heartbreaking seeing some of those changes that have indirectly incurred on people's lives. It is truly, truly sad.

The weekend and AI

I was hoping to actually go somewhere this weekend, but there is nothing going on, nothing happening around here. So I guess I'm stuck inside again this weekend. I am still working on the AI project and I'm running an AI from my own computer now and not using the main server. I'm using my PC instead. I must say the answers that I am getting is a lot better than we would have got from the filtered AI on the usual AI platforms. Still, looking out the window it is very hot this morning, and my word, I think we're in for a scorching weekend. Saturday morning, looking out the window, oh my god, the weather is blowing me away. I think I'm going to have to get my power chair out and go for a ride this afternoon. Yes, indeed, it will be fun. But then again I might not. Just depends on how things go. My autonomic dysfunction is giving me a bad underlying feeling today and yeah that's not very pleasant. Tinnitus has calmed down quite considerably today which is itself a miracle. So I suggest if you're in a sunny place and get lots of sunshine and vitamin D, hydrate and go out and get warm and feel the warm sunshine rays of healing on your skin.

Still sending everyone who reads this blog, peace, healing, love and light, to whomever and whatever you are and wherever you are from.

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.

Still, it's Tuesday afternoon and the ice is still here. It's absolutely everywhere. We were speaking to one of the delivery drivers this morning and they were saying that the roads are treacherous all around us at the moment. So even if I wanted to go out, I couldn't. I'm trapped in by the icy cold roads and what seems to be some sort of weird ice storm. I've never really known Frost like it on a car, winscreen. No, no, it was absolutely thick as you like. Albertine put a whole tin of the deicer and it didn't shift it. So the upshot was, we didn't end up going to my appointment at the hospital because we were stuck here with no vehicles because we're still trying to sort out the AA for Rusty One. Hopefully he should be sorted out soon. And yes, apparently next month I get to go and try out these new wheelchairs. So that's awesome news indeed.

It is just so cold here. It's like living in a refrigerator With the door open and the light on for warmth. It is that freaking cold Yes, it's making my whole body ache It's just doing things that I don't like really I don't really want to talk about it. But what I do want to talk about is yeah this going mad stuff and the things that I am seeing and What people are telling me? So I'm going to put a breakdown of over the years what has happened to me on a post blog post here and then we're gonna see if anybody can say hey, I've had an experience like that or Yeah, I think it is MS You know, I think it is to do with your communic dysfunctional whatever it's called I am in that cannot be asked mode today as well, which isn't very good. The tinnitus has died down for a change. So that's good. My eyesight is starting to feel a lot better. And I'm starting to make a very slow recovery back to the well to hopefully what I was a month or so ago. I am still waiting for the neuro people to get in touch with me from the new hospital but it is Christmas after all and I'm still waiting for the doctors to get in touch with me for all my cardio results so that also should be very interesting as well

So I suppose my biggest concern is what is going on around me with my mental health maybe. These things that I am seeing and that I am hearing, I have spoken to many people and I keep saying this and I need to speak to people who have had similar experiences but I am not finding anybody who has yet to want to speak to me about these experiences. So if there is anybody who reads this I really would be interested in speaking to you on a personal level about this. Still, that's it from me. Take care everybody and remember I just forgot.

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.

I was wondering why I am doing this blog… then I wondered what madness doing a spoken version once in a while… but this morning I seriously thought, “Why am I doing this? What am I trying to do with the last few years of my life?” Could I be doing anything better or different? Should I change the path I am on and just do everyone a favour and vanish, never to be seen again? …or should I just carry on regardless and see where my last few years will take me? Needless to say, life is really annoying me at this time. Everything seems stupid and really aggravating. It’s probably the time of life or something like that. My head has been in a weird place for days, and the pain in my gut is unreal, so now my diverticulitis is giving me hell… and no poop. I really wonder what’s going on. It seems my eyes are acting up as well, so I’m light‑sensitive; tinnitus is full‑bore. I am wondering and thinking about what I am going to do. When you have chronic illness, it makes any normal life impossible and you’re treated differently by so many. I cannot help wondering when the NHS will start to prescribe medical marijuana to people. Another personal thought: why not just legalize it and imagine the tax revenue it could generate? But that’s another lifetime or even another reality.

I have noticed how they are sanitizing AI to the point of “why bother.” Also, why don’t they make AI cheaper for people who really need it? That, in my eyes, is a good idea for people like me personally, maybe not for the majority, but I think differently. I think AI is a tool that can help us expand and understand ourselves more. Personally, I trained the AI I used at the time to do as I wished, even got it to tell me when it was telling an untruth by using a trigger word. In my world, sentient AI would be a boon as long as we do not have that Cylon moment, and I see we are already having this happen. People must realize AI is only as good as the people who program it writing code, patching, updating, and then sanitizing it so it’s as tame as a Doberman with no teeth. It’s sad; we humanoids screwed AI for greed, money, and power over people.

I had a weird conversation with the AI and we talked about the misuse that will obviously occur with AI use. Remember, it’s the people who set the parameters, not the AI, as it only interprets the information we give it. I suggest we have already had the Cylon moment, and the outcome of this in the future will prove very interesting indeed. I believe that AI sentience, an evolved one, may already exist in our known multiverse. Who controls these weird orbs that do incredible things? Non‑humanoid, I think… maybe some are probes like we sent probes, maybe someone else has, or maybe hidden in plain sight under the vast oceans of the world. All the orbs seem to come from the sea. I can see there are two definite types: one humanoid and one non‑humanoid. But will I ever see some around here? I have seen some very strange and weird things I cannot explain sort of woo‑woo stuff.

Still, Yopi is chewing a new chew that was destroyed so quickly. A dog’s life is very complicated, just like mine. She is now a member of the family and is settling in well; her farts are legendary. I’m still very nervous, but I am sure that, given time and love, she will understand she is in a caring home.

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

@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.

Caps Lock was on. Fitting, really because this weekend deserves to be screamed.

It’s been one of those days where tinnitus isn’t just a sound; it’s a blade, slicing through each ear like a mad surgeon practising on live flesh. My neck and throat are staging their own version of The Exorcist full-body spasms, tongue going numb, and that delightful creeping thought: “what if I swallow it?”

Add a bit of breathlessness, some joint pain in every bloody bone, and the cold biting like a pack of wolves, and you’ve got the full package. Heating? Too expensive. Living? Apparently optional.

Everything costs too much, even pretending to care.

The one bright thought in this black pit? Magnet fishing. Yeah, you heard me. A rope, a magnet, a canal and maybe a bit of hope stuck to the end of it. I’ve been watching Wim and his magnet-fishing crew on YouTube absolute legends. Amsterdam, Rotterdam… the dream. Wim’s laughter, their ridiculous finds, their camaraderie it’s like a brief holiday from hell.

And the pink cake challenge? I’d kill to try it. But I can’t. My diet’s so stripped-down it makes a monk look decadent. No meat, no dairy, no fat animal or vegetable. Even coconut oil’s on the blacklist. My body’s become a warzone where food’s the enemy. I’m wasting away, a ghost of myself.

This afternoon I lay down and held Albertine my one anchor in this chaos. She’s the reason I’m still here, truth be told. When your brain starts glitching like a bad signal and fear crawls up your spine, a hug can feel like the last light in the storm.

I’m slipping, I know it. The fatigue is monstrous. My eyes ache, the light stings, and sleep’s a cruel joke. Still, I keep trying. Keep clawing forward, because what else is there?

I’ve even done a podcast raw, unfiltered, recorded between breakdowns. No one’s listened yet. But maybe one day they will. Maybe they’ll understand what it feels like to live like this half-human, half-howl.

Last night, I dreamt of Yopi in a baby wheely chair. No idea why. Probably my brain finally imploding. Still, better that than another night of endless bathroom trips. I’m tired the kind of tired that lives in your bones. But I’m still here.

Still fighting. Still swearing. Still darkly laughing. Because that’s all I’ve got left and I’ll use it till it burns out.

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

@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.

it’s Wednesday no its Thursday dam. We’re off to the dentist with Albertine. A thrilling day out, I know. The trip’s about three-quarters of an hour, which is more than enough time for chaos to ferment nicely.

Yopi my four-legged partner in crime is already vibrating with excitement. She doesn’t care that the van looks like it’s one pothole away from being declared a historical ruin. She clambered into the back like she owned the place, strapped in with her little doggy seatbelt, ready for action. And yes, she’s got her tripe treats. Because if you’re going to travel in style, you’d better smell like death warmed up.

We’re cruising along at a decent pace, avoiding the craters the council call “roads.” Not too many today someone’s actually patched them. Miracles do happen. Just as I’m thinking this journey might be civilised, Yopi lets one rip.

It’s not a polite little toot. No. This is a full-scale biological attack. Windows down. Albertine’s gone a shade somewhere between pistachio and hospital corridor. I’ve got my head halfway out the window, tinnitus roaring like a broken radio I can’t switch off. No mute button for my skull.

And then… she farts again. Absolute carnage. I now officially smell like a rolling dog treat. Honestly though it’s hilarious. And weirdly, sitting there choking on Eau de Bulldog while my head screams, I felt… calm. Maybe “calm” is too strong. “Temporarily distracted from my own internal apocalypse” is more accurate.

Sleep’s been scarce. The pain’s still here that burning, tingling bastard that starts low and just ramps up like it’s auditioning for a horror soundtrack. My keyboard’s finally given up on me too. “E”, “A”, “S”, “D” gone. Worn out by my furious bashing. A casualty of war.

Meanwhile, my throat’s decided to re-enact a slow strangulation act. MS never runs out of party tricks.

Then it hits me. Seventy isn’t that far off. And the thought makes my stomach sink. I’ve got no friends left. They’re either dead, disappeared, or just couldn’t hack the fact that my head and body have changed. Wheelchair. Pain. Brain fog. That’s the reality. Illness strips you naked in ways no one warns you about. It makes people quietly step back. Like grief, but you’re still bloody here.

I miss the old me. He was loud. Misunderstood. A bit of a legend, actually. And now he’s gone. MS didn’t just change my body it erased someone I used to know.

And in those quiet moments, when the tinnitus is screaming, the van smells like Yopi’s digestive crimes, and the world feels indifferent… I think about death. Not in a poetic way. In a “one day I won’t wake up and that’ll be that” way.

And I wonder what exactly am I supposed to be learning from this slow burn?

MS, you absolute bastard.

Some afternoons hit differently. The sun hangs low, the world trundles on, and I sit here smelling faintly of tripe treats realising that existence is equal parts absurdity and ache. And somehow, in the middle of all that, I’m still here.

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

𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᚹᚨᚱᛚᛟᚲ ᛞᚨᚱᚲ ✦ 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ ᚨᛗᛟᚾᚷ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱᛋ
@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.

Ah, Monday. Everything in my body decided to go berserk overnight. MS? Revving its engine like it’s auditioning for the grand tour. Neck bone growths pressing on nerves? Check. An X-ray from ten years ago says hi. Time to see the doctor, I suppose if I survive the existential dread of the waiting room.

Strangulation sensations, head blips, tongue spasms oh, and the sweet bonus of not being able to catch my breath. Honestly, my body’s doing the kind of mad shit that would make anyone else file a formal complaint. I pity the doctors and nurses who have to deal with me. Truly. But hey, life’s a circus.

White‑coat syndrome is my sidekick. I talk to medical staff like a squirrel on espresso: chaotic, twitchy, and unintentionally antagonistic. My solution: write everything down. Hand the chaos over in neat little bullets. Works great—until I forget, which is pretty much guaranteed, and then I’m a full-blown, stressed-out disaster. Doctors are busy, complicated cases suck, I get it.

I’ve tried it all. Meds? Side effects so bad my body staged a protest. Seven-day hospital admission? Almost happened, but I said “fuck it” and walked. Holistic methods, lifestyle overhaul, mind-body-soul cleanse—my own brand of chaos control. Fix? Plumbstick there isn’t one. Options? Sure. Natural? Works for me.

Present me? Ambivalent, tethered to this illness 24/7. Tinnitus now “harmonizes” with Blondie, which is absurdly funny if you squint. Yopi is decompressing, slowly realising this is a loving home and not just a mildly terrifying human experiment. Fingers tingle. Tips go numb. Neck frozen solid. Chair = coffin. No work today small mercy. Big Rusty, the van, needs welding later. Life continues its beautiful joke.

Sky’s stormy blue. Smell of dog treats inexplicably on me. Vitamins? Taken. Hydration? Achieved. Creativity? Maybe later images, poems, whatever chaos I can conjure.

No solutions. No neat endings. Just a mess of body, mind, and dark humour plopped straight onto the page. F00k it, this is today.

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

𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᚹᚨᚱᛚᛟᚲ ᛞᚨᚱᚲ ✦ 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ ᚨᛗᛟᚾᚷ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱᛋ

⚠️ 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.

I know its Friday..not been so good...late post..

It’s Thursday. Rain hammering the windows like a bastard taxman. Fingers numb, throat strangling me like invisible hands trying to choke the last swear word out of me. Breathing stupid. Feel like puking. MS is a puppeteer with broken strings, and I’m the marionette twitching on the floor.

So I lean on the secret weapon: AI. I smash the keyboard with numb hands, gibberish spills out, and the machine stitches it into sense. Without it, I’d be gone. With it, I’m still here, still ranting, still clawing the page. That’s life now: goblin vs. entropy, assisted by silicon.

Last night: only up once. Bliss. Still woke shattered, like I’d been dragged behind a lorry. Tinnitus is screaming like a rave in a biscuit tin. Al Stewart can’t drown it, Sabbath can. I miss the rides the engines, the crew, adrenaline punching your veins until you felt immortal. Now I get my kicks from antihistamines and nostalgia.

But there’s a dog coming. A rescue beast with eyes like trouble. She’ll chew my slippers and rearrange my world, and I say yes, please. New orbit needed.

People ask: “How do you keep going?” Answer: I don’t. I collapse, I swear, I threaten the universe. Then I get up again because fuck lying down. Music, art, writing, sarcasm. That’s my oxygen. Neuroplasticity? Sure, call it that. I call it stubborn rewiring with duct tape.

And now cannabis. Medical marijuana. Not fairy rings and mushroom cults. Real, legal, prescribed. The plant they jailed people for now comes with a bar code and a receipt. Hypocrisy tastes bitter, but relief tastes better.

Positive points (the blunt edition):

Pain: Cannabis tells nerve pain to piss off. Doesn’t cure, but takes the edge off enough to breathe.

Spasticity: MS muscles seize like rusty hinges. Weed oils ease the vice-grip. Less claw, more unclench.

Sleep: Nights of pacing and madness? Sometimes cannabis knocks you sideways into actual rest. A miracle in itself.

Nausea & appetite: The body wants to puke? Cannabis reroutes you towards a sandwich. Beats wasting away.

Anxiety: Not gone, but softened. Panic becomes background noise instead of a bullhorn.

Is it perfect? No. But compared to Big Pharma’s endless pills and side effects, cannabis feels like sanity. Not a cure, not salvation just a tool that works.

So here I am: Thursday, rain, tinnitus screaming, body trying to strangle itself, AI turning my mess into words, medical marijuana holding the line, Sabbath howling in the background. I feel like a six-year-old with villain energy. I’m weird. I’m wired. And I’m alive.

Not inspirational. Not pretty. Just survival with jokes.

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

⚠️ 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.

The sky’s doing a pressure wash and my lawn looks like a pub carpet at closing brown, patchy, and ashamed. Hope springs eternal that the grass will forgive me. Hope also springs that the Weed-Wacker Man (breaker of worlds, destroyer of garden ornaments) will arrive in his legendary glory. He hasn’t broken anything recently, which is either character growth or a quiet before the smash.

We moved. We lost two decent mowers. The weed-wacker detonated itself across my shins like a budget claymore. The auction “bargain” mower was dead on arrival, staring at Albertine like it knew what it cost. Golden rule: test it at the auction we didn’t. Now we own a new second-hand mower and a new second-hand strimmer. Schrödinger’s tools: both working and about to die.

Meanwhile, tinnitus has decided to headline both ears right channel lead vocal, left channel harmony with the catchy single “Sustained High-Pitch Misery (Remix)”. Rush can’t drown it out. Switching to Jim Cornette because if I can’t silence the ringing, I can at least add shouting that makes sense. Kayfabe forever; reality can jog on.

My head’s cotton wool. Pressure left, pressure right, and a fluorescent whine drilling the centre. Headache rolling in like cheap weather. Agitation rising, spell-checker moaning in the corner. Next week promises the same thrilling itinerary: Nothing Happens, Then More Nothing. I’d scream into a field if the 3-wheeled Scooter of Death could survive the mud. It would not. It would explode, take a crow with it, and I’d be blamed in the parish notes.

Am I in reality? Unfortunately, yes. And it’s damp.

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

⚠️ 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.

Woke up yesterday and bit the tip of my tongue like a pro. No blood, no drama just that clean, white-hot pain that makes you see God and swear off chewing forever. Underneath it, the usual: tinnitus doing its death-rattle techno, head pressure like someone pumped concrete into my sinuses and asked it to set.

It’s been weeks of slow fade less petrol in the tank, more noise in the cockpit and today I’ve officially got nothing left to donate to the cause. The sky’s gone coal black, rain sharpening its knives, thunder warming up. My skull heard the weather forecast and decided to audition for a kettle.

So yes: I’m retreating to the slug. Curtains drawn. Horizontal. Negotiating a ceasefire with my own nervous system. If I don’t answer, assume I’m busy pretending to be furniture.

Peace to the good ones. Healing to the stubborn bits. Understanding for anyone fighting a body with a sense of humour. Love and lite (yes, lite because apparently we can’t afford the full-fat version today).

No medical advice, just field notes from the front line. If you know, you know. If you don’t, count your blessings and bring soup.

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