Wednesday, 15 February 2012

Final Days; Awaiting Salvation

Right now as I'm typing this I can feel it again... this raw energy, not unlike what a marathon runner would feel during the last hundred meters; the knowledge that the need to perform is nearly over and the realization that there is no chance that one'll do anything but collapse after crossing the finish line.

In my case the finish has to be the publication of this newspaper article in the TC Tubantia and hopefully many more via the GPD (Geassocieerde Pers Diensten; Associated Press Services) cooperation between regional Dutch newspapers. It's the first news-oriented article ever, focusing on the lawsuit I intend to start against the Dutch hospitals and also mentioning my new lawyer, Yme Drost. It's the best chance I have to get full media attention for my situation and finally the help I need to rebuild my life.

The past nights I have had very little sleep. I have general trouble falling asleep as thoughts keep racing through my mind. On top of that I keep waking up every time I doze off as the walls of this poorly constructed house are so thin that every night I can hear the neighbours talking, people snoring and any sounds from outside. There's nothing I can do about this, except maybe start sleeping on the couch in the living room. Which'd ruin my back for sure. I wish I could move at least to somewhere where I can get some proper sleep so that I don't feel so incredibly edgy. The lack of sleep alone makes me want to break down and cry.

Just a few more days until the newspaper article gets published. It's scheduled for Saturday. I hope by God it's the finish line as I know I can't keep running beyond it. If it's not... I already feel like hitting people, hitting myself... then it goes better for a bit again, until I start feeling so incredibly hurt and exhausted once more. This feeling of fatigue is getting so bad, it's no longer a matter of just holding on for a bit longer, but of holding on with the last shreds of energy in the knowledge that I'll soon plummet to my death. It's desperate.

I have said before that I do not want to die, but words are just that, words. They do not make things happen. I'm doing what I can, but I can not move to a place where I do feel at ease. I can not give myself financial independence before my money runs out. I can not arrange me moving out of the Netherlands and getting PTSD treatment.

What I can do is struggle on with some projects which may make sufficient money in a few months time, assuming I manage to finish them. It's a horrible, torturous struggle every day to work up the energy to do some work. With the lack of return on my efforts it's so hard to keep up any form of motivation. It makes it all so very hard to keep any kind of confidence in my own skills, or even me as a person. It makes it so very hard to put any worth into me as a person. It makes it seem like suicide would add a lot of value to my existence. Me as an existence doesn't seem like something very valuable. Not to me. Not to others.

In the end I guess that the past seven years in addition to my current unbearable situation can in no way convince me that any of this is worth it. Quitting seems like the smart thing to do.

Hopefully next week things will all start changing for the better. Maybe...


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