So ... yeah. Haven’t written in awhile. Sigh. Work crap, mainly. Also, I was at a point where I was so damn depressed every day when I came home from work that I just plopped down in front of the TV to play video games. That’s been a nice distraction. I am nearly at 35 percent completion on Gran Turismo 4 (yeah, I’m a few years behind on games). Being the methodical sort, I’m aiming for 100 percent completion.
I actually managed to get 100 percent completion on GT3 — well, technical 100 percent completion. The game had some sort of bug that prevented you from getting 100 percent; I forget where it maxed out at. But GT4, as far as I can tell, has no such bug, so 100 percent should be doable, if a bit of a slog. For one, there’s the issue of a *real-time 24 hours of Le Mans* race. Two, actually: One with the original circuit, and a second with the newer circuit that has the chicanes on the Mulsanne straight.
Oh, and workouts. Obviously haven’t been logging those, but I’ve been keeping at them, and I guess I’m getting results, such as they are. Here’s a typical workout day for me now, to show you how I’ve progressed:
50 x 4 pushups
75 x 2 crunches, 25 lb. weight
12 x 2 arm curls, 25 lb. weights
9 x 2 arm curls, 30 lb. weights
7 x 2 arm curls, 35 lb. weights
45 minutes on the elliptical
I’m about at the point where I need to go up on the weights for my arm curls. Oh, and I need to start wearing gloves — damn grip pattern on the dumbells is starting to cause blisters on my hands.
Oh, and I’ve tried to shift my workouts to the morning. That seems to give me more energy throughout the day. And it gives me more time to play video games when I get home! :)
Right now, I’m visiting my mom. That’s another thing I’ve been dealing with. Seems my mom had a seizure a few weeks ago. They had to cut open her skull for a biopsy, and the results came back this week: It’s brain cancer. The “good” news is that they caught it early, so it’s relatively treatable. She should live a few more years yet. The bad news is, well, it’s brain cancer. Oh, and she has to take anti-seizure medicine now and she can’t drive. She might be forced into early retirement. The works. I’m flying up to spend a few days with her.
Heh. That horrible terminal disease I want to develop? Looks like it hit my mom. Poetic, huh? Shit. God mocks me.
Anyway, while I’m visiting my mom, The Swan will probably enter into our discussions. I am still ever tortured by thoughts of her. I have discussed my feelings with my mom, though obviously with something far less than the fine-grained detail I resort to here. No talk of suicide, for instance.
Ah, yes. Suicide: How goes the darkness? As bad as ever. The Swan has loomed particularly large lately. It’s funny: I can go months without thinking about her. Then she’ll suddenly stumble back into my conscience and I’ll spend weeks obsessing about her. It’s been particularly bad lately. Every night — every single night — when I go to sleep, I am tortured by the same thing: I am assaulted with visions of the happiness and fulfillment she is experiencing without me, seeing all the happy and contented years she has in front of her. I see the guy who finally manages to get her to the altar — he’s impossibly perfect, better than me in every way, able to offer her things I never can. He fulfills her completely and gives her nothing but years of happiness.
Over and over. Those images, over and over, playing in an endless loop. And all I want is for it to stop, stop, stop. I want it all gone from my mind. I just want to push a button or flip a switch and completely turn it off. And then, over and over, the same thought: Putting a gun to my temple, pulling the trigger, painting the walls with my brain. It alternates: The Swan. Pain. Suicide. The Swan. Pain. Suicide. Over and over.
I wish I could say I am exaggerating for effect, but this is a literal description of every single night for me. It just keeps repeating until I sink into sleep.
Some nights the burden is so heavy that I can’t face it, and I have to get drunk to numb the sharp stabbing pain. Most nights I just endure it. Even another woman doesn’t make it go away. The other night I was sleeping with the Dove (Sigh. It’s complicated...), and even with my arms around her, peacefully spooning with her, that damn loop started playing again.
I constantly try to imagine what it would feel like: Suicide. One’s thoughts inevitably drift to what would happen afterward — how one’s friends and family would react, how the funeral would go, that sort of thing. But I have to keep cutting off those thoughts, because I clearly wouldn’t be there to experience them. Instead, I force myself back to the question: What would it feel like? And all I can think of is that one second I am consumed with pain, the next second...what? Nothing, I think. The pain just stops. Everything else stops, too, but that’s the important part: No more suffering.
I actually managed to get 100 percent completion on GT3 — well, technical 100 percent completion. The game had some sort of bug that prevented you from getting 100 percent; I forget where it maxed out at. But GT4, as far as I can tell, has no such bug, so 100 percent should be doable, if a bit of a slog. For one, there’s the issue of a *real-time 24 hours of Le Mans* race. Two, actually: One with the original circuit, and a second with the newer circuit that has the chicanes on the Mulsanne straight.
Oh, and workouts. Obviously haven’t been logging those, but I’ve been keeping at them, and I guess I’m getting results, such as they are. Here’s a typical workout day for me now, to show you how I’ve progressed:
50 x 4 pushups
75 x 2 crunches, 25 lb. weight
12 x 2 arm curls, 25 lb. weights
9 x 2 arm curls, 30 lb. weights
7 x 2 arm curls, 35 lb. weights
45 minutes on the elliptical
I’m about at the point where I need to go up on the weights for my arm curls. Oh, and I need to start wearing gloves — damn grip pattern on the dumbells is starting to cause blisters on my hands.
Oh, and I’ve tried to shift my workouts to the morning. That seems to give me more energy throughout the day. And it gives me more time to play video games when I get home! :)
Right now, I’m visiting my mom. That’s another thing I’ve been dealing with. Seems my mom had a seizure a few weeks ago. They had to cut open her skull for a biopsy, and the results came back this week: It’s brain cancer. The “good” news is that they caught it early, so it’s relatively treatable. She should live a few more years yet. The bad news is, well, it’s brain cancer. Oh, and she has to take anti-seizure medicine now and she can’t drive. She might be forced into early retirement. The works. I’m flying up to spend a few days with her.
Heh. That horrible terminal disease I want to develop? Looks like it hit my mom. Poetic, huh? Shit. God mocks me.
Anyway, while I’m visiting my mom, The Swan will probably enter into our discussions. I am still ever tortured by thoughts of her. I have discussed my feelings with my mom, though obviously with something far less than the fine-grained detail I resort to here. No talk of suicide, for instance.
Ah, yes. Suicide: How goes the darkness? As bad as ever. The Swan has loomed particularly large lately. It’s funny: I can go months without thinking about her. Then she’ll suddenly stumble back into my conscience and I’ll spend weeks obsessing about her. It’s been particularly bad lately. Every night — every single night — when I go to sleep, I am tortured by the same thing: I am assaulted with visions of the happiness and fulfillment she is experiencing without me, seeing all the happy and contented years she has in front of her. I see the guy who finally manages to get her to the altar — he’s impossibly perfect, better than me in every way, able to offer her things I never can. He fulfills her completely and gives her nothing but years of happiness.
Over and over. Those images, over and over, playing in an endless loop. And all I want is for it to stop, stop, stop. I want it all gone from my mind. I just want to push a button or flip a switch and completely turn it off. And then, over and over, the same thought: Putting a gun to my temple, pulling the trigger, painting the walls with my brain. It alternates: The Swan. Pain. Suicide. The Swan. Pain. Suicide. Over and over.
I wish I could say I am exaggerating for effect, but this is a literal description of every single night for me. It just keeps repeating until I sink into sleep.
Some nights the burden is so heavy that I can’t face it, and I have to get drunk to numb the sharp stabbing pain. Most nights I just endure it. Even another woman doesn’t make it go away. The other night I was sleeping with the Dove (Sigh. It’s complicated...), and even with my arms around her, peacefully spooning with her, that damn loop started playing again.
I constantly try to imagine what it would feel like: Suicide. One’s thoughts inevitably drift to what would happen afterward — how one’s friends and family would react, how the funeral would go, that sort of thing. But I have to keep cutting off those thoughts, because I clearly wouldn’t be there to experience them. Instead, I force myself back to the question: What would it feel like? And all I can think of is that one second I am consumed with pain, the next second...what? Nothing, I think. The pain just stops. Everything else stops, too, but that’s the important part: No more suffering.
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