I keep finding myself wanting to cry but I can't. Each time thar I lose something life affirming, it feels as though the bottom of the pit must be closer. Normally, that wouldn't bother me because I have a fondness for trampolines. Now, I'm like the player who has survived a game of Russian Roulette that has gone on for dozens of rounds. Getting back to my original metaphor, I know that one of these pits has gigantic poisoned metal spikes in the bottom instead of something to get me out of the pit. Depending on how you look at it, life should either have to stop demanding things of me until I'm feeling better or I should get an extended break from the pain and stress to deal with those facts of life.
One problem is that I can just hear my feather's criticism echoing from the past. "John, you're already getting an unreasonable amount of help. It doesn't matter that your health keeps getting worse. I've decided that you can deal with everything because it must be done. It must be done so you do it or get your wife to do it." Forget that it is impossible to do certain things and just do them. It's a great movie plot but it's more like being up shit creek without a paddle in real life. Getting my wife to do it is my favorite line. She has her limits, too. Somehow, she exceeds them every day functioning while at least as frustrated as I am.
A good friend wrote me and told me that her nightmares about her father still bother her 30 years after his death. It doesn't surprise me since my father has been as good as dead to me for a couple of years which is a huge improvement but the nightmares didn't stop. Death doesn't fix the issues you have with someone in life. All it does is make it impossible to gain closure. Then again, another friend advised me of the cold hard truth a long time ago: I will never gain my parents' approval. It wasn't cruelty in its proper context. My suicidal ideation was based on frustration about being about to win their love and approval. Taking away the impossible goal helped me be more realistic about my own expectations.
Life is not all bad even on my hellishly painful days. On my very good days, I can spend a number of hours here at my desk being productive. These days are rare but one can help me get more out of the reasonably good and average days. We're talking a couple of hours at my computer where I might salvage one productive hour of work by combining all I wrote. There are two generally unproductive modes for me to be in and they both involve me being downstairs. If I have some energy, I can use the Playstation which requires me to sit upright to do well. Finally, I can use the tablet well into a state of collapse. My tablet might be the best gift from Melissa since she married me.
Recently, I've installed some new games on the tablet. One is "Cooking Fever" which Melissa enjoys as well and the other is "Star Wars: Uprising." Uprising is unbelievably good so it's a shame that it doesn't run on the old (Melissa's) tablet and she's filled her phone with games. Even on the worst of days, I can divert myself without adding to the wear and tear which is a good thing. Keeping with the "logic" of life back when I was living with my parents, anything I enjoy has to be taken away or, at least, threatened. After all, there is an inverse relationship between the amount of frustration in my life and my grades. (Near flashblack there. I wouldn't be able to write during a true flashback but I want anyone going through similar things to understand. Damage done early on is the worst and most difficult to fix.)
Anyway, I've been having trouble keeping my tablet charged. Sometimes, one of the connections comes loose usually out of my sight. Other times, it just doesn't seem to be taking in much of a charge. I know the battery is the whole point and I'm supposed to hate wires but I'd very much like a cord that plugs directly into a wall that carries more charge than my favorite games use second to second.
This post started when I couldn't keep enough charge in the tablet to check my email and learned that the charger was unplugged at the wall. It was a simple fix but I wanted to do my evening writing. One thing led to another and I found myself ready to detonate in pain and frustration. I never did manage to shed a tear just like I've never been able to mourn the years that have passed since I was 25. On the other hand, I'm guaranteed major pain today/tomorrow because I haven't been sleeping right. I predict screaming, hollering, yelling at a cat who scratched up a Pearl Jam CD in an attempt to be fed ever earlier. I wonder if Maddie sabotaged my tablet.
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