Walking not Talking

Day 19.

–––

Because a typhoon was passing almost directly overhead, I didn’t get out much. Which meant that I was trapped inside with my thoughts and emotions for most of the day.

In the morning, as the typhoon was still offshore, I took a walk to buy something like food. I stayed mostly dry in the heavily-overcast mist, until one sudden gusty downpour rendered my umbrella useless and me soaked. But I kinda forgot how much fun that can be after the absolute discomfort of it fades.

It was Saturday, but most of the shops were closed for the approaching storm. Fortunately, some convenience stores were still open. (They, too, closed later, not at all long before the storm started getting angry and close.)

In the mid-afternoon, I went out again. I should’ve bought more things, but I’m glad I didn’t. Boredom-eating has always been a problem for me. I managed, even with the primarily-sedentary day, to lose .1kg. Almost certainly because, as midnight approached and the storm moved on, I got out and walked for about 90 minutes

–––

I slept late last night and woke up early this morning to watch the Astros get absolutely shellacked by the Yankees. I think I slept for 3 hours. I’m not sure. But it wasn’t enough.

–––

Last night, as the storm was at its blustery and rainy loudest, I managed to fall asleep for maybe 5 minutes. In that 5 minutes a dream started. I was in a room, someone mentioned to me that a man in an adjacent room sounded like my dad but wasn’t. I could hear his voice – my dad’s own voice – and I collapsed into tears.

That was the extent of the dream as I jolted awake, surprised to find that I wasn’t actually crying. But tears didn’t matter because the effect was the same. I felt crushed, just as if I’d been actually crying. Many hours later, it felt as if I’d cried. A brutal dream, an unpleasant experience, and another lesson learned: the physical effects can follow psychological trauma just as they do physical expressions of grief.

Dreams are brain garbage, but this was surely another case of my brain teaching itself about this new world I find myself, unhappily, in. I hope it was sufficient. I don’t want another such experience.

–––

I still haven’t returned to looking at e-mails. I need to do this, but it’s just too soon. I’m worried because I’m waiting to do it in the space between whenever the knife-edge of memory isn’t so sharp, but before my inherent laziness takes over and it never gets done.

–––

I asked my aunt about the cremation and the ETA for his ashes. I’d been putting it off for obvious reasons, but also out of fear that it may expose a fait accompli on the part of my family. It doesn’t seem to have, and I’m not sure what percentage I’d attach to the possibility, but I didn’t exactly want to deal with it.

She said, he as been cremated and his death certificate has been issued. But his ashes are out of the way for her, so she won’t get to them for a while. I’m in no hurry.

Knowing it’s done – that no real part of him remains – that is absolutely brutal.

I needed to ask. I got my answer. It was not a good time to have gotten the answer I needed. It was the answer I expected, give or take, but it fucking sucked. Still sucks.

–––

The same aunt asked if I’d seen his obituary, written by another aunt, and published in their hometown newspaper. I hadn’t, so I went and read it.

It’s filled with factual inaccuracies, is badly written and spelled, includes a couple problems he'd find funny, but gets the general sketch about right and I’m glad I didn’t have to do it, so I’ll deal with its problems. I just really wish they’d sent it to me to give it a once-over. I could’ve corrected its mistakes and errors, provided a couple other important and worthwhile details. Primarily, it bothers me as a reference, which is the purpose obituaries serve: to provide a snapshot of a life and contain biographical information for anyone who may one day go looking for it..

The worst mistake is they got his age is wrong. The one thing they didn’t need to check with anyone. All it required was simple math. This actually bothers me. It implies a lack of care the obit’s existence should demonstrate the presence of.

–––

I’ve still only gotten two cards. I assume that’s the total number. Again, mostly I just wondered how many, if any, I’d get.

–––

My loneliness is killing me. There’s no one to talk with and I can’t handle this continuous and continuing suffocation.

–––

It was Day 19. And I’m tired.

終

The Remains of this Day

It’s still Day 18.

–––

I asked my sister if she had a copy of my father’s signature around. He had the most stylish signature I’ve ever seen – totally original, really artistic, and kinda timeless while also seeming to be from another time. Maybe all beautiful signatures have that distinction, especially as people seem to write less and less often, signing things electronically or without care. (I limited my own signature to a vaguely artful version of my initials as soon as it occurred to me that I could. He wrote his full name.)

She found some copies on her 3rd grade report card and sent a picture to me. Seeing it again, so confident and clean, with the flourishes controlled just so, filled me with happiness edged with burning sadness. It’s a glimpse of how he was. I wish I could go back there and see him move and talk youthfully again. I was too young to see it with mature eyes and it was too long ago to fully imagine or remember unstained by time and his ill-health. His signature changed slowly over time, and ultimately became unsteady and rough, and so did he. And now, like him, it’s gone.

–––

She also sent a card he wrote about her and sent to my (maternal) grandmother. I don’t recall ever seeing it and I wish I had its like written about me. A beautiful card, thoughtfully considered, artfully expressed. His brothers could make things, he’d often say, while all he could do was write a memo. But it wasn’t quite right. What he could do with words they could never match with their own skills.

–––

I walked home from Starbucks earlier today, in the drippy rain of an approaching typhoon. More substantial rain will come later; it may already be picking up – I can’t quite tell by looking through this window out into the night. I relaxed for a while. Tried to watch another episode of Succession, but still can’t lose myself in anything without feeling uncomfortable and guilty. So I waited until his time of death came and went, another full day come and gone, grabbed my shit and I’m back in the Starbucks. In a while, after I finish this, do a bit more work perhaps, and some more remembering, I’ll head back home, maybe stopping one more time at a convenience store to make sure I have drinks for the long boring day tomorrow as the typhoon strikes (if it strikes).

I’ll try to be productive – do some work, organize a few hundred/thousand more photos, maybe clean/organize a bit more – but mostly I’ll try not to feel trapped with my emotions while the weather goes apeshit outside. If I can, I’ll wake up early and take a rainy walk before the weather takes a turn for the terrible, which is forecast to happen around mid-evening.

–––

There are three things about the time of his death that I’m grateful for. One, is that it happened the same day in America as here (September 23rd, it turned out). I didn’t want to have to make a note that his actual death date was a day behind when I learned of it on the other side of the Date Line. Another is that he died near the end of the month. This lessened the impact on my paycheck of the work days I missed, and allowed me to take more days off than I would’ve been able to otherwise. I should probably still be off, but the situation worked out slightly better than it may have. And perhaps last is that it happened in late Summer as the weather was less infernal than it had been and not yet as cold as Winter. This has allowed me to more comfortably escape my prison-cell room and walk. And walk. And walk. Without also dying.

(I’m also glad that I still live within walking distance of this late-night Starbucks. In a city where everything closes early, it’s someplace for me, a teetotaler, to go when night closes in and becomes too much to handle alone.)

–––

I’ve said a couple times that I’ve aged more than the number of days which have elapsed. That continues to feel both true and irreversible. There will come a day, I suppose, when I have energy to cycle again, or walk with more speed and with my head raised. There will come a time when energy that isn’t aided by extreme amounts of caffeine returns and I feel some sense of life, of verve, maybe even something in the realm of untainted happiness. But that time seems far off and not a little bit fanciful – and also kinda scary. Now, the sorrow, as painful as it is, feels like the connection with him is still there, still strong, strained but not yet severed.

I feel older than I am. Older than I just was. And not by a little bit.

–––

I keep thinking I’ll end this and head out into the night with my thoughts and the rain, and I keep not wanting to leave. This place will close in an hour and four minutes and nature calls. But nature also cries. I’ll sit here a little while longer.

–––

I don’t have much else to add, at least not that I can think of as I avoid leaving. It’s been 18 Days. And that doesn’t seem possible.

終

Work's Done, I'm Done, Day's Not

It’s Day 18. I worked.

–––

I only had four lessons, and each of the students was easy and nice, but the fucking lessons absolutely dragged. Each time I’d check the clock there’d be twice as long remaining than it felt like there should be. But everyone was nice and I survived.

I still feel underwater, like the performance first requires me to come up for air, but I was able to perform a bit today. And once, somehow, even made myself laugh. But I really wish I’d taken the month off.

–––

There’s a typhoon coming, so my ability to go out and walk has been limited. Right now, as I type this in the early evening, it’s just wet. But the heaviness is increasing, and tomorrow the wind will set it. Store shelves are (apparently) empty and the stations are filled with people heading home early.

Work on Sunday, which I was worrying about because it’ll be the most lessons I’ve done in ages and I’m not ready for that much playacting, has been canceled because of the coming typhoon – cancelled, that is, with pay.

Which is to say, something has turned in my favor….

–––

There is more to say about today, I suppose. There’s a lot of the day remaining. But I’m tired, and there’s walking I need to do – and maybe a little shopping, too. I’ll finish this tonight, after I have a better idea of what deserves mentioning, and what lessons, if any, have been learned.

–––

It’s Day 18 and I’m worn out and sad.

(To be continued.)

Back to Work, Attempt 2

It’s Day 17 and I had to work.

–––

I was dreading today, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I still have no appetite, and get too little sleep, so I was tired all day. I took a Xanax anyway.

Tomorrow will start unconscionably early, but it shouldn’t be too much harder than today, save for the considerable lack of sleep I’ll get tonight – even compared with the paltry sleep I’ve been getting.

Rain has already started falling; tomorrow will be worse. Saturday, a typhoon should hit, possibly directly. This saves me from having to work, as luck would have it, at all on Sunday. However, Saturday is shaping up to be so violent that I may not be able to leave my room. And that’s gonna be hard. The walks, the very long walks, are the only break I have from the desperation that sets in while I’m alone in my prison-cell-size room.

I don’t know what I’ll do. But I suspect a very wet and windy walk may be in order. Even if it’s just to a convenience store and back.

–––

One bright spot: The Dodgers lost to the Nats today on a Game 5, 10th-inning grand slam. So sometimes, even if only metaphorically, the Sun shines.

(Tomorrow the Astros-Rays Game 5 happens. I’m dreading that….)

–––

Now I’m in the Starbucks where I just finished some Job 2 tasks. Soonish, I’ll walk back in the light rain, likely after buying another umbrella. Then maybe I’ll try to sleep, I dunno. I’m gonna hate tomorrow and Saturday just like I’ve hated the last 17 days.

–––

It’s been 17 days.

終

No Sleep 'Til Brokedown

It’s Day 16.

———

At this point in my daily blogging, I’m not sure what I’ve meant to say vs what I’ve already said. Part of that is I’ve written a not-small number of words (and posts). But a bigger part is this:

I am so fucking tired.

For 18 or 19 days, I’ve averaged about 4.5 hours of sleep a night - maybe half of what I need. A couple of those nights I got substantially less than that. And naps, when they’ve happened, have been extremely short. 10-15 minutes, tops; save for one 45 minute sleep so long ago I could only hope to ballpark when.

I said in one of my early posts that I felt like I’d aged more than the number of days that had passed. This is a trend that has continued, perhaps logarithmically. And I don’t see how this is gonna change anytime soon, unless I either just pass the fuck out one night and sleep for 15 hours. Or I collapse and wake up in a hospital (or dumpster).

I can’t lay down until I’m sleepy because the laying down is quiet. And the quiet kickstarts the thinking, the remembering. And I don’t like where that goes. Especially at night; especially alone.

A couple/few times I’ve forgotten this and have just collapsed onto my bed as usual only to have the heartache immediately sing. It’s like laying down on a bed of sharp knives. Except the knives are emotional, existential.

Today, I’ve been awake 17 or 18 hours. I’m so fundamentally exhausted that I can barely remain upright. But I’m not sleepy. And it’s the sleepiness that’s essential. When it comes, I lie down and quickly open the YouTube app on my phone and watch whatever immediately grabs my interest.

———

In the last two days, I’ve done an absolute shitload of second-job tasks. This has been a healthy and welcome distraction, while it lasts. Last night I walked. Today I walked a lot but less than I intended to. And, looking back, I’m not even sure of what I did once I got back home. A lot of Twitter. Too many messages with friends. A bit of reading. Took some painkillers for my irritating and irritated hip. And some more work-tasks. But mixed in there someplace was a walk and… some shopping… I bought a doofus of ham and individual cheese things and ate those as my dinner. And lunch. My Breakfast was a scone at Starbucks.

My appetite continues to be absolute shit. And I lost more weight today. Again: this is the only positive aspect to this fucking disaster of a half-month.

———

Just took a break in writing this to walk and make sure I haven’t missed any mail. There is one way in which this really matters, but I’ll get to that another day. Until then, I’m just curious, as I noted before, to see how many people send me cards. So far it’s two. If it ends up being much more than that, I will be surprised. (I don’t require cards. I’m just curious — and keeping a list of people to thank, of course.)

———

I work tomorrow. For about 5 hours. Not a long day, not a difficult day. But I’m dreading it anyway. I’ll make it through, but it’ll be a slow grind at best, a long panic at worst. Friday, two days from now will be busy, and will start early and that’s a day I may not survive. But we’ll see.

———

I’m still walking — and a kind of incredible amount. And while walking I’m either listening to podcasts to zone out of real life or I’m looking for memories. As things come to mind, I’ve been adding them to my previously-mentioned “Eulogy” file (and now the Moleskine).

The other day I thought of one of his two favorite graffiti, but I cannot remember the other. This bothers me. Many aspects of this bother me, but the forgetting is one of the tentpoles. (Then there are the memories I don’t even know I’ve forgotten, the awareness of this also bothers me.)

———

If I live long enough, there will come a day when I’ve been alive longer without him than I was with him. It’s now more that 16 days closer to that point and I’ve aged more than those 16 days while he stays at 72 years 350 days old.

終

Too Many Losses

15 days. Half a month.

–––

I didn’t get back to this yesterday because my second job had an amazing amount of work – and I will need the money.

Because, after getting home the night before, shit got hard, I woke up early and called in sick. If I can remember to, I’ll take my father’s birthday off from now on. It was the right choice.

–––

My Australian friend hopped aboard a big old jet airliner and returned (I hope) to Australia. That added an extra sting to the day, in addition to it being my father’s 73rd birthday.

And the Astros got destroyed, 10-3, which didn’t help. (Today, they lost 4-1.) After having the best record in baseball in the regular season, they’re .500 in the postseason. The regular season also started off rough (I think they were 2-5 at after the first week) before being incredible for the rest of the year. Hopefully, Games 3 and 4’s stumbles are a slight echo, and not a sign of doom.

–––

I’ve forgotten most of what I wanted to say. Because I think of things when I’m walking, and don’t want to deal with pulling out my phone, opening the iA Writer app, finding my “Eulogy” file, scrolling to the bottom, etc. So I bought a Moleskine (softcover, black) to keep thoughts about him in. I bought it almost totally with points, which was a nice plus.

–––

I ended the night by taking a really long walk that ended up being so warm I stopped to remove the pull-over I was wearing. Yesterday included a couple really long walks, and two visits to this Starbucks. Today likely will, too.

–––

I started the day by having lost a little bit of weight, which is the only benefit, as I said, of all this.

–––

Half a month, already. 15 days. Dammit.

終

Made a Call to Walk and Call

Yesterday was two weeks.

–––

I worked. It was hard. I only had two lessons, and I made it through. Both people were interesting, both were nice. That helped. But it was hard.

–––

After work, I washed some clothes, and, later, walked to pick up the second card I’ve received. From my dad’s oldest brother (well, actually from his wife, my aunt…). It included a nice note, was appreciated and unexpected.

–––

Last night was brutal. Saturday and Sunday had periods of lightness that caused an erroneous sense of things being a little easier. There are always snap-backs, reversions, corrections so overconfidence doesn’t set in. Last night one came.

I was waiting for the Astros game to start a couple hours later – 2:05am Tokyo time. And started to think. I finished a bit of work then got to the point where I was either going to take a walk and be sad, or lay down and cry so hard I’d die.

I quickly gathered my shit and my umbrella and walked. In total, about 9km. After I settled into a rhythm, I sent my sister a message. It was midday her time, so she was up. I asked if she wanted to chat, and we did for… I just checked… three second shy of 48 minutes. I would’ve thought it was longer.

The chat helped. And so did the walk.

I got back home and started the Astros game (#3 in the ALDS against the Rays) in time to see them give up a disappointing number of runs, before finally taking a 4:30 am shower. I fell asleep around 6:30.

–––

I think in an attempt for it to give itself breaks, my brain (but probably everyone’s) will become momentarily distracted mid-pain. What’s the word I’m looking for? What was that lady’s name? Who was with us when we went there? What time to do I work tomorrow? Will it rain again?

This happened once last night, and was the point I decided I had to walk. My brain said what the hell is today’s date. It was after midnight by this point. It was today. October 8th.

My dad’s 73rd birthday.

The tears came fast and hard and they came armed and looking blood.

–––

It’s been two weeks, nearly 15 days. Today’s his birthday. I love him. I miss him.

–––

Happy birthday, Dad.

終

The Night Before Work

Day 13.

–––

Today is my last unplanned day off. Tomorrow I’ll work. It’ll be a light day, and short.

One of the things I’ve realized while being off is that I hate my job. I’m not social and the last couple weeks of basically being alone have reminded me how uninterested in being artificially social I am. I like people. I like spending time with people. I don’t like being alone. But having to meet new people, often multiple times daily, and pretend that I’m anything other than anxious and uncomfortable has always been really hard for me. When I first started the job, it was a source of pretty strong anxiety. But I made some friends, had some really fun students, and countless lessons that were pure joys. But the job. It is not difficult. There’s no heavy lifting or late nights. But it’s stressful as hell for me. And the idea of going back (not back to work, but back to it) is distasteful.

So, as I reassess my life and my plans now that I’m alone, I will put serious thought into this, too. Sometime before the end of the year, hopefully sooner, I’ll start looking for something else to do. But first, I need to continue recovering; see if recovery is even possible. We should tend to the bleeding patient before getting to the one with diarrhea.

–––

Today, like yesterday, I spent some time with my soon-to-depart Aussie friend – and a couple mutual friends who joined us. It was a gorgeous day, overcast and slightly chilly. Afterward, I headed back home and watched time pass before, once again, coming to this Starbucks to do some work from my second job.

–––

I mark the time, each evening, between when my dad likely died and I received the call – something like 9:07 to 9:25pm – thinking about him. Today, I didn’t cry – not yet, at least. I just became misty. I’m still extremely sad (the source of more than a little anxiety as I don’t want to cry at work), but maybe I’ve achieved a sort of stasis: the sadness seems to have evolved from overpowering, to merely ever-present. And I’m able to think of him and smile more. This always leads to tears, sometimes to outright crying, but first I’m able to smile, sometimes laugh.

This, while natural, is also a source of guilt.

–––

The Astros won again, in a game that was on when I awoke, 5.5 hours after I fell asleep (~40 minutes after I intended to try to wake up). That helped start the day on a positive note.

–––

I can’t really recall last night. I walked home for about 90 minutes, maybe 2 hours, listening to some funny podcasts, trying not to think. I can’t recall if being home was particularly awful or normal, but I do know I arrived home too early, with too much energy remaining. At some point the lack of sleep will start to cause damage. Perhaps it already has.

I did cut my hair before showering. That needed doing and is done.

–––

At the party yesterday, I munched on food the whole time, partly because that’s what I do, partly because the foods were good (lotsa cheese), partly because I’d taken another Tramadol and wanted to remain upright, and partly because of whatever other reasons apply. As a result, I gained a little weight.

But I also focused on drinking more water. My new scale also provides a “total body water” (TBW) measurement, which shows daily that I am insufficiently hydrated. I suspect that, even tho this percentage increased today, it was actually the food that caused the slight uptick in weight, not the water. But maybe?

–––

Out of the blue, shit like this happens: I just updated my “For You” musical tastes in Apple Music. A playlist was created for me. I’ve been listening to it. A Nick Cave song starts playing. This causes me to think of his song “Into My Arms”. Then, I remember that it plays in the magnificent movie “The Zero Effect”. Then, that my friends and I played that for my movie on one of my birthdays. And that my father came and watched it with us. And that he also loved it. And we talked a little about it afterward, before we all headed back to our respective homes. And now I’m trying not to god damned cry in this god damned Starbucks.

(There will come a point when I avoid this place because of how much it reminds me of this time and these experiences.)

–––

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.” –Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

–––

As is customary, I’ll walk home in about an hour. I’ll try harder to exhaust myself than I did last night.

13 days have come and gone and he’s still gone.

終

The Benefit of Outings

Day 12

–––

Last night was indeed shitty. I got home earlier and with more remaining energy than I’d planned. I (self-distructively) read more of his e-mails, laughed, remembered long since forgotten exchanges, spent a while growing hopelessly sadder, increasingly lost and desperate, before finally deciding my only chance of escape was to go walk more. I needed to buy some water, so I planned, insofar as I planned, to end up at a nearby convenience store. I walked slowly for about an hour silently, just thinking. The movement, the escape from my prison-cell apartment, helped distract me enough that, by the end, I felt less like I was drowning in misery.

Getting back to my apartment, I checked the box score of Game 1 of the ALDS between the Astros and the Rays. Thru four innings, Justin Verlander was throwing another no-hitter. I found a stream of the game and watched a couple innings. I took a shower, and then watched the end of the game before finally falling asleep at around 7:30. (The Astros won, which helped.)

I woke up, as is now customary, about 4 hours later. But this time I managed to fall back to sleep for around 30 more minutes.

–––

One more thing about last night: my maternal grandma’s card arrived. I suspected she’d be the only person to send me one, and – so far, at least – she now is.

–––

My only plan today – the only plan I’ve made or not canceled since he died – was to go to a going-away party for a friend of mine who is returning to his inverted home country, Australia. I went. It was a good time. But I spent the whole time feeling incredibly run down while trying not to seem it.

For the first time since my dad died, I took something to help. I haven’t been taking the Xanax or sleeping pills that typically power me through social situations or help me fall asleep. For some reason, I haven’t wanted them to impact how I feel. I’m already incredibly low, so the Xanax isn’t necessary. And taking the sleeping pills… I don’t know how to express this. It feels like they would rob me of time, of emotions, I owe him. That’s insane, I know, and he’d find it absolutely ridiculous, but it’s how I feel. I’ll sleep when it comes and I’ll get up when the thinking starts. Anything that alters my experience, even for the good, I’ve avoided. This feels, more than ever, like a time for which I need to be present.

But social situations… those pretty much require a Xanax for me. They are work and the nervousness makes me so uncomfortable that I’d often spend the whole time thinking about how I felt rather than relaxing and having fun. Xanax helps mitigate that. So, out of habit as much as uncertainty, I took one today. I didn’t, it turned out, need to do that. I’m so sleepy from my four-or-five-hour nights that the Xanax just slowed me down to a point that wasn’t easy to overcome. I drank an unreasonable amount of milk tea and it barely made a dent – or I assumed it did, but I didn’t feel it.

After the party, I walked back home, relaxed a little, then headed back out to this Starbucks, which I’ve done nearly every night for the past 12 days.

–––

Today didn’t seem like an improvement, but it included a nice respite. I hope the remainder of the day will too. I’m frightened of the night. Of the silence. Of the times I’m alone.

It’s been 12 days.

終

Another Reason E-mail Sucks

Day 11.

–––

Today was largely indistinguishable from the last two days, except that I made the mistake of thinking. I’ve been meaning to look back at old e-mails to see if there’s anything I want to make sure I keep and back-up. I looked back through my earliest e-mails sent from my current address, written about 15 years ago, and had forgotten that, partly out of necessity but mostly out of a desire for this to be true, my first e-mail was sent to my dad.

I looked through some unimportant messages where we forwarded each other links and the like before finding one that reminded me of him. Enough time has passed, and his health degraded enough over time, that I couldn’t remember how crisp, clean, and confident his writing could be – was. It was startling but good to read his voice again and re-experience a bit of how he wrote. The message itself wasn’t important, just him passing on a funny anecdote, but it was perfectly him. And that broke me.

For the first time since the devastating tears of a couple days back, the breakdown that hurt so badly I still feel beaten from it, I cried real tears. My eyes well up, as I wrote, at the slightest push, but this was more than that; it was uncontrollable. (And I fear there may be more before I sleep.)

–––

In his prior message he mistyped (or autocorrect did) “élan” as “Alan”. After noticing the error too late, he sent this as a second message:

It's élan. Alan was a guy I worked with at Mutual of Omaha. He would write too much in his letters just as he'd say too much when he tried to make a point. The antithesis of Okam's [sic] Razor. Once, we received an envelope of letters back from the steno pool to sign and send. Alan had a beautiful letter -- small paragraph, bigger paragraph, small closing paragraph. The letter had a PS; it was on the second page. The second page was 75% covered by one huge paragraph. I can't recall Alan's last name today, but I will later.

[….]

Thanks for the picture. I enjoy looking at it, and am glad you became taller than I haven't.

HEATH! Alan Heath!

Pop-up and out.

I miss him an unreasonable amount. And I don’t have anything else to say.

It’s been 11 days.

終

And on the 10th day, he slept

It’s Day 10.

–––

I fell asleep last night around 6:45 am. I woke up at 1:30. When I awoke, I had no idea at all what time it was. I seem to have reached a point in my lack of sleep that my body could no longer tolerate. I don’t remember moving. I don’t remember waking even momentarily. Interestingly, even though I got more than six hours of sleep for the first time in well over a week, I was still so groggy that I felt like I needed several hours more.

But I was up, and returning wasn’t a choice.

–––

I stayed in bed, doing iPhone things, until the sadness really started to kick in, about an hour later. I got up and showered. As with yesterday, I had no plans. I took a walk and bought some milk teas for my refrigerator. Not much of an adventure. On my walk, I realized with increasing discomfort, that I must’ve slept wrongly on my right arm. My elbow felt like I needed to pop it, but hurt kinda bastard-like each time I extended it. Back in my room, I took a Tramadol to hopefully alleviate the pain.

I have a prescription-amount of these because my right hip is jacked up. I’ve probably taken fewer than 10 in the couple months since I saw my doctor. Before today, I would’ve argued that they likely help, just not a discernible amount. Today, tho, without food, holy shit: It’s been almost 6 hours and I’m still groggy, woozy, and uncomfortable as fuck.

Taking one without food is not a mistake I’ll repeat.

–––

I remembered a couple things my dad liked today, including a couple that I would’ve thought were impossible to forget. Perhaps I overlooked them. The better end of remembering is wistful but not fully unpleasant. Each one is tainted with deep sadness, but there’s also an aspect of these memories encouraging of smiles. Even in the darkness there are joys to recall. They’re just less joyful than they once were.

–––

I also thought of a couple more learned-lessons I was able rearrange into relatable English. But I was walking, and, new to nightly blogging, I’m not in the habit of writing things down, so they’ve slipped my mind. They’ll come back to me, surely; I’ll make note of them then.

This may be the first time I fully understand carrying a small, paper notebook. Years ago, I tried for a while, but I actually bored myself. But, going through this, thoughts and memories come to me that I’d like to record. I have an iPhone, of course, but there’s something about making quick notes on electronic devices that doesn’t record them as fully in my brain. If I write something down, I don’t tend to forget it. Typing doesn’t work quite like that for me. Maybe I’m not alone; perhaps this is why so many people still use paper schedules and diaries.

–––

Today largely resembled yesterday, minus the long walk and the phone call. I still have no appetite, but I ate rice again (and quickly, at that, as the Tramadol began to kick in and my regret grew). I felt mostly numb again. I forced myself out of bed again. Then had no idea what to do again. I called work again and canceled my next shift again. I didn’t gain weight, like yesterday’s slight increase, but I didn’t lose any either. The mere maintenance was unexpected and not unwelcome. But I wish I’d’ve shrunk a bit.

–––

I’ve always dehydrated easily, which is one reason summer and I get along so poorly. Using my new scale this morning (afternoon), I checked its “total body water” reading and learned that mine was 44.2%. Evidently, the normal range for a normal man is about 50-65%. I drank more water.

–––

I don’t know what tonight will bring, and am even less sure of tomorrow. But today wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. But it wasn’t at all good, either.

–––

This update is as wordy as it was inessential.

It’s been 10 days.

終

Hangers – and that's about all

It’s day 9. Today was an odd day.

–––

They’re all odd.

I started the day feeling about the same as yesterday – empty, depressed, tears just below the surface. After about 5, maybe 5.5, hours of sleep, I woke up so deeply tired that I was effectively still sleeping. But once I’m up, I’m up. There’s not really a choice. The sadness is at the door and I’ve gotta prepare for visitors.

I responded to a couple messages, looked at a couple things online, had a fleeting but barbed thought, nearly started to cry. Fuck this, I gotta get up. I got up.

I didn’t know what to do after showering, so I settled on what I always do: head to a Starbucks with my MacBook to do some work. But I remembered that I’ve needed to buy hangers for way longer than anyone should need to buy hangers. So I walked to a hardware/home supply store about 5km away and did that instead. I also got diarrhea – inexplicably because I ate almost nothing yesterday. But it was hotter than expected today. I don’t handle heat or slight dehydration well at all. Maybe that caused it.

Actually, I don’t handle almost anything well. Maybe I’ll put that on my tombstone: Here lies [me]. Dude could not keep his shit together.

(Literally.)

–––

I walked there while talking to my sister on the phone and walked faster than I would’ve liked because it was so warm. Walking home more leisurely (read: slowly because I don’t have it in me anymore to walk with any speed), I grabbed a donut, because I started to feel lightheaded. It seemed like a good way to get some energy into my system quickly. But it was like donuts are for me recently – donuty, and not much more. I probably had to eat something; I should’ve chosen anything else.

As I got closer to home, I decided some light, but more substantial, foods might be necessary. Strangely, yesterday, I gained .1kg. I have no idea how that’s possible, but it happened. Perhaps having something (rice and… whatever else I ate) will reset whichever survival mechanism has kicked in. Tomorrow, I’ll return to spartan, ascetic eating. It’ll probably feel better.

Gotta say – eating was not fun. I didn’t care that it was happening, but it did feel like it was something I needed to do. I hope the weight loss continues. It’s the only part of waking up I’ve been at all happy about….

–––

Life has settled into a just-above-crying state of depression, filled with numbness. I don’t get much enjoyment out of things. I listen to podcasts again, but mostly just for the voices to fill the silence, the sadness, and to pass the time. I tried to draw for the first time today, and it did nothing at all for me.

–––

Thinking about the future is still a third rail. I just did it. It hurt. I gotta not do that.

–––

I did manage one other productive chore today: I called my work and extended my absence until next Monday. I’ll call, tomorrow, and cancel work at another place (for Sunday). If I had more savings I’d cancel the next few weeks and just live for a while. Recover. Try to find my footing. But I don’t, so I’ll go back to work and try to seem like a human for a few hours everyday. And somehow live anyway.

–––

The playoffs have started. Playoff-baseball is my favorite baseball. But I don’t have a desire for entertainment. Maybe someday. But not yet. Not this day.

–––

Saturday, I have to go to a party for a friend who’s about to return to Australia. I’m already sad. It’ll be sad. I’ll have to pretend to be happy to see other people. Pretend to be engaged. It’s gonna be hard. But I guess that’s why we call them parties.

–––

For a little while today, I had a song my dad loved stuck in my head. It was torturous each time it came around. Proofreading this, just now, I thought of another.

God dammit.

終

About today

It’s Day 8.

–––

Last night, I slept around 7am, again. I woke up at about 11, again. And I stayed awake because of the thinking, again – but this time trying to place last night’s collapse into a framework I can understand. I didn’t stand up until about 2:30, and only because I needed to pee. I showered, and then returned to bed.

Weighing myself, I found that I dropped 7/10s of a kg, making my total weight loss something like 5 or 6kgs in the last week. Today, I barely ate anything; I’ll lose more weight tomorrow. (I forced in an eclair and I just had a scone. Perhaps that’s all I’ve eaten.)

–––

After leaving this Starbucks, I’ll head to the main post office to pick up a camera accessory I ordered almost exactly 1 month ago. Back when my dad was still alive, and I still had hope. It’s been downhill since then.

I’m so exhausted, from the lack of food and sleep, and from last night – primarily from last night – that I imagine I’ll sleep easily. Perhaps it won’t follow a total collapse. Perhaps tonight will be okay. But I doubt it.

終

About Yesterday

It’s Day 8.

–––

But let’s revert a day, first. I said yesterday wasn’t weepy and it wasn’t. When I walked, I seemed to be walking faster. Not my up to my usual speed but an increase over the slow movements I’ve had since. I stood a little more upright. Not fully, but closer. While still unmistakably sad, I didn’t feel quite so harmed or abused. Perhaps a semblance of life leaked into the darkness. This apparent change arrived alongside new regret, of course, but mostly there was curiosity. I’ve never been here before. I don’t know the lay of the land, or how one travels across it. I don’t know the timeframe, either.

The guilt was also mitigated by the understanding that more pain will come. That my emotions will rebound, again, to the other stages of grief. They may be passing visitors, but they’ll return, uninvited and armed.

And late last night, they did.

–––

I left this Starbucks earlier than planned after doing some work and writing that post. I didn’t want to go straight home, but my hip hurt, so I did anyway. I arrived ahead of my estimate and with some energy remaining. That concerned me.

Laying in bed with nothing to do, I started to think. And the pain that followed, the tears that came from somewhere extremely deep, existentially deep, hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. I sat up, because laying down was worse. And I folded in half. I cried for about 30 minutes more intensely than I ever have. I felt emptier, more alone, more scared, more desperate, and in more agony than I thought was possible.

In a week-plus of bad days and terrible nights, I had the worst night of my life. The pain has lingered all day. The total depletion of energy has, too. Today was as bad as any day I’ve had since he died. It’s one of the worst days I’ve ever had. I feel alone, beaten, depleted, destroyed. I have neither energy nor appetite. I feel crippled.

Last night hurt so bad that if I knew who to call, I would’ve called them. If I knew what to do or where to go, I would’ve done it. And it seemed so hopeless that, were I suicidal, I would’ve ended it.

I don’t know much, but I know I won’t survive another one of those. Especially now; especially after.

If it happens again tonight, I don’t see how the same distance can be traversed: it would travel beyond the seafloor. And I can’t imagine life exists there.

I feel like irreparable harm was done. Whatever follows last night will be different because of it. I don’t see how I’ll ever forget it. Or recover from it.

–––

When I first got married, my wife had two cats, an asshole and an adorable, talkative kitten. The older one was ultimately hit by a car and killed. I worried about the effect this would have on the younger one. She was youthful and fun, energetic and friendly, and she talked so much I would have minutes-long conversations with her. I worried that his death would change her. That she’d slow down, sleep more, grow older earlier than nature intended. Now I feel that way about me.

Last night was damaging, but what will the longterm effects be? Will it merely be impactful? Will time paper over most of the damage? Will the scar tissue fade as I age, visible but fainter? Or will the effect be grander? It’s much too soon to tell. Likely the damage will continue to come, the wounds continue to be forced open. I don’t know how much more of that I can take.

–––

I couldn’t think of what to do last night. I sent some messages, frank messages, to my sister, who means well. But the idea was ineffective. Ultimately, I decided to write a long note to a friend who no longer responds. Because I didn’t know what else to do, and maybe talking, even one-sided talking, would seem enough like conversation that it would occupy me. It would pass the time while my batteries continued to drain.

I don’t think it helped, but it did allow me to focus on something slightly different. To make points that were unmade. To explain. And, ultimately, I became so tired that I could lay my head onto my pillow. And sleep.

終

Total, endless, abject emptiness

I honestly don’t know how I survive this.

I’ve never been this sad. This scared. This regretful. This broken. This alone.

The pain is so brutal that I can’t imagine there’s a way out unless I choose one I don’t wanna choose.

I didn’t know it was possible to hurt this bad. To feel this helpless. This desperate. And to be without anyone to talk with. I’m writing this in a blog literally no one knows exists.

The pain is unimaginable. I didn’t know it was possible to hurt this bad.

I’m absolutely lost.