I don’t have a title for today either but that’s not because I couldn’t be bothered to come up with one, more that the sticker and cards I got provided no inspiration. It’s fitting I suppose, getting a player I dislike on what is usually the worst day of the week. I didn’t like Sebastian Rudy when he played for Hoffenheim and I still don’t like him now that he plays for Bayern. It’s not because Monday is the start of the week that I dislike it (though obviously that doesn’t help), it’s more that the routine I’ve fallen into on Monday’s is not a helpful one. I didn’t have to get early today so I decided not to, but ended up waking up at 6:00am anyway, and after that getting back to sleep wasn’t easy. So even though I caught up on some sleep I may as well not have bothered. Thanks to that and yesterday I have something of a hangover, not alcohol induced of course – I don’t even drink. No, it’s more of an anger hangover, the lingering side effects of rage. And now I’m angry at myself for even being angry in the first place.
It never occurred to me before but my appointments are usually on Tuesdays, and now that’s got me thinking as to whether or not that’s why Mondays never go very well. I don’t suppose I’ll have to worry about such things for much longer anyway, after a few months they always kick you off the list, regardless of whether you’ve gotten any “better” or not. This is just like anything else in life, it doesn’t matter what you do or say, the outcome will be the same anyway. And even if you do tell them truth, that doesn’t help either. You share your thoughts of death with them and they judge it to be serious or you actually try to hurt yourself then you’ll get seen by what they mockingly call the “crisis team.” And they are the most useless human beings you could ever hope to encounter. So much so that it makes you wonder if that’s part of their plan, to be so useless that you never bother seeking help again. Or to think even darker it’s to ensure that you see there really is no help there and everything really is pointless. So much so that death is the only realistic option. If only I wasn’t such a coward that is. Because that’s what I’m really angry about, that I could have done it and I didn’t. Right at the last second I changed my mind and I don’t know why.
I did accidentally get an answer to a question I didn’t even know I was trying to answer though. It’s weird how you’re reading the exact right book at the time you need to. After seeing The Snowman I decided to read the book again, partly to cleanse my mind of the disappointment that the film was. Also because I couldn’t remember the details of the plot to work out how much of the details they’d changed or streamlined to make the film work. The chapter that gave me the answer was when Katrine pays Arve Stop a none too pleasant visit, she almost kills him in fact. She almost ended up strangling him and in the process explained to him what the rushing sensation he felt was, that the oxygen deprivation he’s experiencing actually feels good. I answered my own question without even realizing it, the book didn’t give me the answer, just made me see that I had done so. I wrote about that in my death story, about a feeling of not only relief but something more akin to pleasure when the scarf is tightened. A few days ago when talking about stories and writing someone said (well typed if you want to be pedantic about it) that the best stories are often true. I guess in that story there’s a lot of truth and that explains not only why I have two versions with different endings but why I’m so fixated on the one where he doesn’t die. It’s not because I’m glad I’m still alive, more that it’s my expression of anger at that fact. It’s why I’m so fixated on writing about him being angry about having failed and still being alive. In one way or another it often feels like I’m the last one to know about my feelings or why I’m thinking/writing about a particular subject. I will admit one thing, it does feel good in a way to be posting on here again. Even if I am just ranting and feeling sorry for myself it feels somewhat of a relief to be honest somewhere.