I have encountered a great many problems recently. I am fast running out of gas.
I have been working for over a month now, trying to complete the work required to implement a pilot program. This work includes the creation of two web sites, together with pilot program evaluation and training materials. This activity commenced around January 27th.
Today, I have given myself a day off. I realized yesterday that I have been working harder than most people who have jobs. And I earn no money for my efforts.
My frustration stems from code projects. Prior to the injury, I engaged in coding as a form of recreational activity. During the long night shifts at Gargantua Computer, when the call volume dropped off to nothing, I messed around with js and css, built web sites, and hacked this and that (with hacking understood in its original positive sense, rather than its current pejorative, or malicious sense).
Playing with code was a form of relaxation. I never before encountered the level of frustration in which I wanted to throw something. I never had to undertake 20 attempts to achieve a relatively simple task. I never had to spend hours and hours and hours trying to teach myself something, and then forget everything almost immediately. I never got up from my desk and stomped about the room in anger and frustration. I never felt this overwhelming degree of antagonism toward myself, toward the inability of my body to co-operate with my will. It seems as if my body works at cross purposes with me, that it acts to undermine me, to introduce error into even the simplest of undertakings.
Yesterday was a day of huge anger. Anger at the driver who hit me. Anger that he destroyed my life, and my ability to generate an income, yet gets off scot free. Anger that he is fully indemnified by the province of Québec, and held harmless, despite the fact that he was speeding well above the limit. Legally, he is beyond approach, untouchable. I suffer from his actions yet can do nothing to obtain restitution. If I want any form of restitution I must fight the infinitely deep pockets of the government of Québec.
The response of government functionaries increases my anger. Anger at these so called public servants, their secure employment, and their overly generous pensions, programs that will result in each government employee earning more in retirement than they earned whilst working. Anger at the social worker who, on first interview, filled out a form and asked if I was suicidal. When I answered no, she lost all interest. When I became suicidal and called her for assistance, she failed to respond to phone calls or emails. When I followed up again, and again, she finally consented to leave me a message with a number to call. The number reached a location in Sherbrooke, Québec. The person in Sherbrooke could not help me. They could not explain why their number had been provided to me.
I ask if this form of life is worth it. And I am unable to arrive at a positive answer. What I do know is that this is the same form of struggle I first experienced when writing the insurance claim appeal. I believed I had to exert myself to the utmost to complete the process, that once it was done I would obtain assistance and succour. That belief was a mistake.
Today, over four years later, I engage in exactly the same form of struggle. I embrace the same belief that I must summon the courage and energy to keep going, to continue to climb the insurmountable hill ahead of me. That once on the summit, I shall enjoy respite.
But there is no summit. There is no assistance, no help, no respite. Nobody gives a damn. I am struggling with an injury that has little improved in the past four years. Why should I continue the struggle to reach next year’s anniversary date? To face an identical struggle in the year after that? And again in the year after? And yet again after?
This is the issue that Camus asserted was the single fundamental question facing all human beings. I believe him to be correct.
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