It was almost ten minutes into Godspeed, You Black Emperor! — Hungover As The Queen In Maida Vale when I stepped off the bus onto the damp ground. It was barely light out, and I carefully made my way between deep and distinctly brown puddles caused by car tires on a softened gravel lot. The sirens in my ears rang over and over, and it felt like the bombs had all been dropped, a post-apocalyptic aftermath on a barren, nameless day. I was among the last of the living dead making his way to work.

I’m going to make it through this day without coffee. I’m going to make it through this day without coffee. I’m going to make it through this day without coffee.

Honestly.

Last year, I went to a Halloween party dressed as a Super Trooper with Aaron and Wheaties (I have only recently acquired the image), and wound up being drunk out of my skull. I tried not to make the same mistake this year, and seeing as how I don’t really drink anymore, it wasn’t much of a problem.

Instead, Aaron and Karen hosted a small gathering, which I attended, where homemade chicken pot pie was served, and no one dressed in costume.

Tim Hortons is doing its seasonal doughnut, which is a funky looking doughnut with bat and pumpkin sprinkles.

Unfortunately, I had to miss out on a pumpkin carving party, due to a fairly stressful week causing a lack of desire to socialize. Trolley did the Cheat from Homestar Runner, and it turned out pretty well.

Many a one cannot deliver himself from his own chains and yet he is his friend’s deliverer.

—Of The Friend, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

What is it about ones own problems that can be so difficult to overcome? What blinds someone so much that they can’t help themselves? Why is it only our friends that can bring us out of the worst situations?

I’ve come to realize that I fucking HATE crying in front of almost anyone. Pat, Aaron, John are the only people I’m comfortable crying in front of. I’m comfortable around them enough that I don’t have to worry about boring them, or feeling weak, or thinking that my problems are petty. All they care about is the state-of-mind of a friend in distress, and nothing else. I can relax, be myself, concentrate on my problems, instead of fretting over how worried I might be making them, something I find extremely difficult to do.

I remember once, Trolley was having coding problems at work that was causing him to stay late and go in on weekends. I explained the situation to Aaron, and we both agreed that we wanted to show up at his work and help him out. Unforutantely, it was eventually decided that we would hinder more than help, due to our inexperience with the software, and the fact that learning the necessary code would take longer than the time we could save.

Even though Aaron and I could do nothing to help, I remember feeling good about the zeal with which we sought solutions. Not only taking great pleasure in the fact that I could do something to help a friend out, but the fact that it came so easily. That my first reaction was to drop everything, and sharing the exact same sentiment with Aaron.

Knowing I have friends who are willing to do the same for me is what makes me stoic. Knowing that I have people I can relax around when I’m crying, sobbing, at my most vulnerable, is what keeps me sane. Knowing that I have people who would put me before themselves when necessary, while not having to worry about them at the same time, is what makes me stronger. Knowing that I have people I can trust enough to depend on, is what gives me courage. Knowing that I have people to fall back on is what keeps me from falling in the first place.

And perhaps this is why I couldn’t do this alone.

I’ve never been against any form of (non-permanent) self-mutilation, as long as it’s not considered a solution to a problem. After all, some people watch TV to get their minds off things, others pull out carving knives and make designs on their arms. Neither activity actually helps a situation, but are just ways to deal with things that can’t be helped.

I always make sure that I don’t have any razor blades handy. I figure that if it ever gets to the very rare point that I want to cut, I’ll be calm again by the time I go out and buy some, sort of like a cool-down period for firearms.

I’m proud of the fact that I’m strong enough now to resist, that if I did have a pack handy, I wouldn’t reach for it as a release.

I’ve gained a certain notoriety amongst some as being a crier, but today was the first time that I actually had a breakdown. The first time there wasn’t just a single thing that brought me to tears, but several, which, by themselves, would have been tolerable. And even though I’ve long known and been an advocate of the practical aspects of lachrymology, today was the first time that I still felt like shit when I couldn’t cry any more.

This song in my head is telling me about how the stars keep shining down, the world keeps turning ’round, not to let these hardships bring me down because times like these will come around. I believe him, because I’ve been there. I’ve been to the point where I wished my interest in suicide was just a cry for attention, and I’ve been to the point where it felt like nothing could bring me down.

All I know right now is that I’m going to get through this week, but it’s not going to be easy.