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⚠️ 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.
Rain, Kittens, Orbs, and the Question of Sanity
The rain came down like it had a personal grudge.
Not a polite drizzle. Not that apologetic British mist that says sorry as it dampens your jacket. This was proper biblical nonsense drains overflowing, gutters giving up, the kind of rain that makes you laugh and think, Well then… water shortage this summer, obviously. Humanoids are marvellous at panicking about drought while actively floating away.
I woke around 4:30am to what can only be described as a purring industrial estate. One kitten asleep on my head. Another wedged into my neck and beard like it had taken out a long‑term lease. Engines running. Vibrations everywhere. If cats are supposed to be aloof, these two missed the memo and went straight for emotional blackmail.
Then came the inevitable.
Kitten. Christmas tree. Gravity.
Yes — the tree ended up on the floor. No — the kitten did not care. In fact, she looked smug. Decorations everywhere, tinsel hanging like festive entrails. We laughed because the alternative was crying, and crying before breakfast feels a bit ambitious.
Looking Up (and Not Seeing Much)
I still look at the sky.
According to the internet, it should be crawling with orbs, UAPs, UFOs, visitors popping in like it’s a motorway service station. I look up and see clouds, rain, and the occasional star when the southwest decides to be generous. No glowing ambassadors from beyond. Either I need new glasses or I’m simply not on the invite list.
That said, I do see strange things sometimes. Flickers. Patterns. Moments that make me stop and think, Hang on… what was that? And that’s where the internal interrogation starts:
Am I seeing something genuinely odd? Or am I seeing reality through a nervous system that’s been joyfully sabotaged?
I live with multiple sclerosis. I live with brain fog. I live with an autonomic system that behaves like it’s freelancing without supervision. When that’s your baseline, you don’t get the luxury of trusting perception — but you also don’t get to dismiss it outright. You’re stuck in the grey bit, where certainty goes to die.
The Medical Cul‑de‑Sac
I did the neurological tour. Thoroughly.
Scans. Clinics. Explanations that manage to be both technical and utterly hollow. MS can do this. MS can do that. Yes, thank you I’ve noticed. Useful, but spiritually about as nourishing as a hospital biscuit.
So I widened the lens.
Philosophy. Consciousness. Vallée. Keel. The trickster nature of reality. Not because I want to declare myself special or enlightened — but because pretending the questions don’t exist feels like intellectual cowardice.
Enter AI, Wearing a High‑Vis Jacket
Asking AI was… an experience. it tried to sanitise everything.
Dietary help? Genuinely useful. When your body treats half the food supply like a personal attack, clarity matters.
Spiritually? Absolutely allergic to nuance.
Everything funnelled straight into pathology. Everything gently but firmly steered toward “this is all in your head, dear.” Not curiosity compliance. Ask a question about perception and suddenly you’re wrapped in digital bubble wrap with a warning label.
Here’s the blunt bit: AI doesn’t think. It reflects.
It reflects liability fears, cultural assumptions, and the worldview of its programmers. Which means spirituality gets treated like a software bug, and lived experience gets flattened into symptom management. That’s not wisdom that’s risk assessment pretending to care.
So Am I Mad, Then?
Let’s not mince words.
MS makes your interface with reality noisy. Signals overlap. The brain flags nonsense as urgent and sometimes ignores what actually matters. That’s biology, not a moral failure.
But and this is where everyone gets lazy neurological explanation does not automatically equal existential erasure.
Not everything is meaningless. Not everything is a cosmic message either.
The real work is discernment, which is far less glamorous than revelation.
Questioning your own experiences isn’t madness it’s grounding. Wondering whether something is neurological, psychological, or something else entirely is not delusion it’s honesty. Certainty without humility, on the other hand, is where things go properly sideways.
I don’t claim gifts. I don’t claim answers. I claim decades of odd experiences, a damaged nervous system, a functioning bullshit detector, and the right to sit with uncertainty without being patronised.
Where I’ve Ended Up (So Far)
I trust neither blind belief nor blind dismissal.
Doctors don’t have the full picture. AI definitely doesn’t. Spiritual circles often disappear up their own arse. Hard materialism leaves too much unexplained.
Reality, inconveniently, refuses to be tidy.
So I keep one foot on the ground, one eye on the sky, and both hands firmly on my own nonsense especially on bad days.
Some days are pain, fog, and unreality. Some days are kittens, rain, and laughter.
I send peace, healing, love, and light anyway to everyone not because everything’s fine, but because choosing bitterness would be the final indignity.
If this season means anything at all, it’s this: More days turning into more days. Still here. Still asking.
That’ll do.
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.)
