Running on empty

Understand, if you can, what has become of me in the nearly two years since my diagnosis. Today, almost nothing works. The two most devastating developments have been the loss of speech and the inability to separate myself from my predicament, whether through distraction, meditation or anticipation. In the past I could direct my thoughts to a place of tolerance, imagination; I could extract my core being and create a life full and improbable, where I could pass as healthy. Today, that ability is infused with continuous flashes of reality, shredding contentment and elevating depression. I cry. Despair is my dark passenger, he visits me too often. Until now, he has remained peripheral, presently he has taken the helm. I have heard it all. I have discovered that nothing is to be believed without considerable thought. Early on, God and prayer took center stage. I now see it as appropriate that this was the opening act, undefined and undeveloped. Any focused definition of God is one of imagination. I'm still waiting for my wrong to be righted, not holding my breath, aware of His perfection, precluding any correction on his part despite any amount of prayer. Lacking any reason to continue with dogma driven fantasy, all the while aware that I could be stricken down for my sarcastic blasphemy, hopeful at some level, knowing at all levels it's absurdity I continue on. Desperation takes on many branches as it creeps along, parasitic, all the while obscuring the real damage, blinding the real truth -that the root is despair and the tree is already dead. In no way do I intend to train my focus on western medicine. Western doctors and their brethren comprise the only group that has admitted failure. All others continue to vow cures, replete with detailed karma and ritual. If a pill does not work, take two or three. If a chant doesn't work, do it again. Again. Again. Ad nauseum. The bottom line here remains the same : I must create my own internal placebo effect. I must believe. I fear I am too exhausted to offer energy to a theory as I battle to survive what consumes my body and has taken a front seat in my head. Currently, I am a hindrance to Amy as she drags me toward her confidence that I can be cured. I try my best to understand but in the end  I remain nearly dead weight. I will conclude by saying that while many friends and family offer prayer and support, none are in my shoes, for which I am eternally grateful.