Punchy

I slept twelve and a half hours, last night. I woke up, had some coffee, some lunch and then went straight to the boxing gym where I successfully completed a little more than half of the most intense drill I have embarked upon, yet. Very, very tough and very, very exhilarating.

Sometimes when I work out, my emotions rise to the surface and then I need to purge them. That’s what happened today. I punched the heavy bag twice, for five minutes straight each time and the more I hit the bag, the more my anger floated to the surface. I kept punching and punching but I was not feeling relieved. I remembered reading a psychological study in class a couple of months ago, where the results showed that punching and yelling did not successfully assuage anger, yet increased it. People who hit things actually got madder and madder and wanted to hit more things. That’s what happened today. I was exhausted when I decided to stop the drill. I never stop when my brain tells me to. I wait until my body will no longer perform. That’s how I know I’m really ready to stop. Finally, I got so tired from punching that I got even madder that I couldn’t punch anymore, so I had all of this unreleased anger pushing up from my core.

I took off my gloves, did my sit-ups and left, got in my car and began to drive away and then I began to cry and I kept crying as I drove toward home. This time, I decided to detour through Teele Square and down the street Chris lived on when we met. I stopped in front of the apartment house he lived in and glanced up at the third-floor porch, remembering how we used to sit up there and kiss. I barely knew him, then. We had just met.

There was too much snow on the ground for me to find a place to park, otherwise I would have sat across from the house and cried for as long as I needed to. As it was, all of the spaces were filled, which was probably for the best. I drove back up to the main street, still sobbing, and brought myself home where I cried, freestyle, until I was finished. I showered, made myself up and went to dinner with my friend.

I really enjoyed this evening, dining out, having coffee and attempting to shop at Pier 1. The store was closed, though, so I brought my friend home and tried to arrive at a decision about whether to go sing at the open mike, or not. I wanted to go, but I had begun to feel sad, again. I talked with another one of my friends, who tried to talk me into coming out. He almost succeeded, but ultimately, I came home, cried again, dropped half an Ativan and began writing. I’m waiting for the pill to kick in.

I made the right choice. I’m glad to be home, even if I am feeling great sadness.

I am going to miss Chris for the rest of my life. I miss him. I wish he was here.

I suppose I had a good enough day, for somebody who is experiencing as much depression as I have been. I worked out, enjoyed dinner with a friend and I think that writing this tonight, I have finally let go of today’s anger.

Tomorrow will be a much better day. I’m spending good part of it with my fellow Burrages. They always make for a good day.

Safe and warm at home,
Shneed