This is my day/life.
I usually go to bed about 9.30/10 o’clock so exhausted I can’t stay awake any longer. In the past I’d have stayed up watching a film or reading a book or something. I fall asleep thinking of all this shit and sleep heavily for a couple of hours. My wife says I sometimes jump or talk in my sleep. My dreams are always of old times and places I’ve not thought of for years – my past life. I’ll sleep fitfully until about 4 and usually get up to pee due to my weakened prostate. I’ll then sleep in 10-20 minute bursts until 7ish and it’ll be time to get up. I’ll lay there for a bit with a burning prostate and tinnitus, muscles twitching and it’s all back on my mind again within seconds. My wife will be singing, my little boy will be jumping about and I’ll be crying inside surrounded by happiness that I can’t enjoy.
In the bathroom I’ll look into baggy hollow dark eyes and shave my sparse beard. I used to enjoy going a couple of days without shaving, had a good beard. Now it’s patchy and full of holes, so are my eyebrows and the sides and back of my head have diffuse thinning. I chuck on some clothes but care little about how I look. After grabbing some breakfast I’ll drive my boy to school and put on an act for his teachers asking about his progress and stuff but not really listening. The brainfog is kicking in now and I’m in a dream state. I get back in the car and cry like a baby most mornings remembering all the great times I had taking him there. I’ll sob on the way to work and sometimes cars honk as I’m driving too slow. I used to have the radio or a cd on but not now, I just can’t enjoy it.
There’s no reprive. It never wanes. I think about this shit 99% of the time. I sometimes compare my life to ‘Sliding Doors’ – what would I be doing/thinking now? My mind is a big problem. It’s almost as if I feel guilty to think about anything different to this. Before this I never had enough time in the day to enjoy all the things I loved – reading, music, films, playing with my son, travel, socialising, football. Now, in this bad dream I have plenty of time. All of those things are what the old me did – there is no enjoyment now. I have no mundane thoughts. I never think of random stuff like I have no neutral gear.
At work I’ll get my head down and do whatever needs doing. Before all of this I’d sometimes browse the net or send stupid mails to my friends. Now the only browsing I do is to do with PFS. People ask me about my weekend or night and I put on a front and make out I’ve had a good time. I don’t care about other people’s lives now really – they’re all smiling and I’m not.
At lunchtime I get in the car and usually have a couple of beers. I’ve recently stopped caring about a strict healthy regime and feel that if this is killing me – which I feel like it is – I may as well have some pleasure. I half-heartedly do a couple of jobs like pay a bill or get some food in for later. Back at work I drift through the afternoon and feel huge fatigue from 2 to 4. When I finally leave I’ll pick my son up and put on the act again of looking happy but feeling shit. My prostate and balls will be burning, the brainfog in place, ears ringing, anxiety at a high and I have to carry on my dad duties. When he’s finally in bed I have a couple more beers and do a lot of staring into space and make broken conversation with my wife. She doesn’t know the truth yet, just thinks I’m a ‘bit tired’. Then I shuffle off to bed and the whole thing is repeated again, day after day after day like Groundhog day. This is my life now.
Maybe once a week I’ll masturbate. A semi-erect dick and some watery semen that trickles out – fantastic. I’m surrounded by all the remnants of happy times – everything I posses was from when I was this different, happy, confident person – not this broken man living a half life. I had so many things to do, my life was on the cusp of something great and now it’s all fucked. I might sound like I’m moaning but most on here can identify with how I’m feeling I’m sure. Even if something does come along to help us all out – as someone else has said – these scars run deep, they’ll never heal. How the fuck do you go from thinking you hair’s thinning out a bit to the verge of suicide in such a short space of time.
As I’ve said to a couple of friends who I’ve shared this with – you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.
