It’s been a particularly trying week. I’ve been feeling so jaded. Broken. Helpless. Undefined.

Both the cause and the consequence is that I’ve been sleeping terribly lately. Next week I’m going to try to have a more self-control and stay on a strict schedule. Bring some order into my life.

I tried to make an appointment with my therapist, since I have $300 mental health coverage with my work per calendar year (although this only amounts to two sessions). Unfortunately, I need a referral from my family doctor to claim the coverage, because referrals are only good for one year, and it’s been that long since I saw him.

I think of how judgmental my dad was when I told him I was seeing a psychologist. But then I realize that he’s probably the only person I feel like I can really talk to right now (my therapist, not my dad). I wish I could talk to my friends, but my thoughts are either too embarrassing to admit to them, or too complicated for them to understand.

I’ve been listening to some quiet, sombre stuff lately. Trying to acquire a taste for Leonard Cohen’s middle years, when he traded in his guitar for horns and violins, even some Depeche Mode. Depeche Fucking Mode. It hasn’t been helping.

I just don’t know what to do with myself lately. But I’m pretty sure I really need to cry right now.

Nightmare. The word almost everyone has been using to describe this hot water situation. From my friends and coworkers, to the plumbing technicians, to the sales reps, to the contractors.

When the contractor came over to make holes in my ceiling, he brushed against a pipe that went to the hot water tank, and since it was almost rusted completely through, it snapped and started leaking. Water shoots out of the hole any time I turn the water on, so I’ve had to shut off the main valve. Now I have no water. I can’t wash my hands, I can’t go to the bathroom.

The exhaust pipe that goes to my furnace isn’t up to code anymore either, so even if I get all this work done on the house, my ceiling would have to be ripped up again when the furnace goes. And since mine is 12-years-old and rated for 15 years, it could die on me as soon as three years (or sooner). So I’ll be getting the furnace pipe replaced too, which essentially doubles my pipe installation costs.

In addition to moving as much furniture out of my room as possible into my guest room (thereby robbing me of my photo studio, Tai Chi practice area, bedroom, and main computer), I’ll have to cover the remaining things in sheets to protect them from the dust. When the piping is all replaced¹, the contractor needs to come in and patch up the holes, scrape all the stipple off my ceiling, respray the stipple on, and repaint it. I don’t even have an estimate of how much that’s going to cost.

The house is my one area of stability. Where I retreat to when everything else is falling apart. The one place I need to be constant. I won’t feel settled until it’s all been resolved.

And to think that I was looking forward to the holidays. I was picturing myself enjoying my well-earned time off, eating bacon and eggs, playing a few games, and starting some new projects.

How far away the image seems now.

1. And with luck, they won’t refuse to do the job because they don’t have enough clearance. [↑]

Sometimes, you stab yourself in the hand with a point, but it’s not sharp enough to break the skin.

Sometimes, the blood comes to the surface, and this is as much of yourself as you can show the world.

Sometimes, the pavement is covered in snow outside, and you can drive over 100kph in one spot before the traction kicks in.

Sometimes, you scare yourself with your recklessness.

Sometimes, you realize that life is pain.

Sometimes, you have nothing left but numbness and resolve.

It’s times like this I wish I had someone to take care of me¹, because I’m tired of taking care of myself.

1. Pat once told me there should be a person in every group who’s always controlled, calm, and together (in case of emergency, or otherwise), and he tries to be this person. It must be true, because he’s my rock, the friend who has never let me down. I once asked him if this idea extended to his marriage, and he told me that it applied to 90% of the time. But for the other 10%, when he’s tired, unmotivated, and doesn’t care anymore, Jenny takes over, and he admitted to me that he’s become dependent on this. [↑]

When a man is full, what can he do?

Burst.

—Zorba, the Greek

Or in my case, overflow.

I started crying in class. Thankfully, no one noticed. People can get awkward around a crier. Unfortunately, suppressing a good cry is as unsatisfying as stifling a sneeze.

A lot of people having been saying the wrong things to me lately. On top of that, the abundance of interaction I have with people — a side-effect of my projects — is leaving me drained and overstimulated.

I don’t even have time to deal with this. I have to put it all aside, because there are more important things to think about right now.

At the bus stop, I realized that I have a tendency to brood. I don’t listen to happy songs to get me out of the mood. It’s all minor keys and lemon peels, so I can help it run its course.

It’s been a rough week.

Sometimes, a part of myself spills out.

It was one of those days at work. Things weren’t exactly going wrong per se, but it was stressful enough as it was. People were all over me, wanting this or that, undermining my decisions, interrupting my conversations, running around like their heads were cut off.

I kept reminding myself to breathe deeply (from the feet, as the Taoist sages are often described as doing) and calmly, kept thinking about the word tattooed on my wrist, and it worked for a while.

By 3:15, I had to get out of the building. It was supposed to be a three-song walk, but it ended up being nine. I didn’t even bring my coat; I was burning so much inside, that I didn’t need it. The winter slushed creeped up my jeans by six inches, but thankfully no one noticed.

Tyler was leaving as I was stepping back into the office. He invited me to an art show at Bablyon tomorrow¹. I told him that I’d think about it, knowing in my head that I wouldn’t go.

I had to stay late to work on the server. Fifteen minutes later, Tyler walked into my office (he must have walked part way, then turned around) and asked if I was alright. Admittedly, I’ve never been able to hide my moods very well, but I thought I was doing a decent job of it². He told me he could feel that my energy was low, so he asked if I wanted a hug. I politely declined, not because I didn’t appreciate the gesture, but because I didn’t think it would have helped. He gave me a firm pat on the back anyway and stepped out of my office.

And it helped more than I ever would have expected.

1. Which is strange, because the last thing I went to see at Babylon was a Dwarves concert [↑]
2. Something of an old habit of mine. Not being able to hide my moods is often a blessing in disguise for me, because it communicates to people that something is wrong. Otherwise, they’d never know, and it would never be fixed. [↑]

Those who rule in accordance with Tao do not use force against the world
For that which is forced is likely to return

—Verse 30, Tao Te Ching

I may know better, I may understand what I’m supposed to accept, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

Sometimes the world is crashing down around you, and all you can do is watch.

Because you can’t yell at the sky to keep it from falling.

My spirit is burnt and there’s blood on my hands
The more I’m down, the less I understand
Once so found, now so lost
I ask no questions,
It’s just one more bridge to cross

—Black Label Society, Bridge To Cross

I feel like a complete wreck. Between the deadlines at work are the constant fires I’m responsible for putting out that slow my progress to a halt. My office is a flurry of paper drafts, computer parts, miscellaneous boxes, and to-do reminders. Concentration is difficult because I’m starting to get lethargic and weak. I haven’t eaten anything decent in a week, although I seem to be stomaching certain foods better today. I left work early to see a doctor at the walk-in clinic, only to find out that the volume of patients had already exceeded the available business hours for the day. I feel so helpless when I’m sick. All I can do is put the right things in my body, keep the wrong things out, and wait for my immune system to catch up. It’s tortuously frustrating.

John changed his availability at the wedding after I already requested that Tom squeeze him in. This not only reflects very poorly on me when I have to ask Tom to change his plans again, but also means that one of the only people who could save me won’t be there. I’m going to this wedding as a special favour to Tom (the reason for which I’ve chosen not to discuss until afterward) because I respect him and want to support him, and that’s more important than anything else. Even Aaron seems to be breaking my balls today, but I’m trying to assume that it’s just me.

For the first time in my life, I snapped outright. A completely unexpected, physical, violent outburst.

 

To calm myself down, I bought an M249 Para, a Fabrique Nationale Five-SeveN (20 rounds a magazine make this a personal favourite), some kelvar, and perched atop a tactical staircase, guarding myself against an army of knife wielding enemies. I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t help, if only for a little bit. 6x anti-aliasing isn’t hard to look at either.

I’m trying to be stoic, but it’s difficult when I’m not only mentally, but physically drained as well. All I need to do is make it through the month. One day at a time.