[verbatim]
I guess I should talk about that fucker in the park. Everyone thinks I’ve been avoiding it; I haven’t. Just my brain knew there were bigger fish that needed frying first. Now that’s done, it’s back to showing me what need expunging.
So the flashes of suicide are back but they are just images. No emotion. It’s ptsd through and trhough and I will likely seek out some therapy if I can’t work it out.
Anyway there I am; training for the ironman world championships. Again. After burning out the year before. Because I have no idea what to do with my life. I need to chase something but have nothing left to chase. All I know is that I can’t ever stop.
So I’m at the very end of the training block and fucking knackered. Absolutely wasted. I hate this and really don’t want to go but it’s the last session and I’ve spent the last 15 years training myself to be hooked on discipline so…
Off I go. Fucing heavy legs. Clammy. Ugh. Just get up the fucking hill. Hate every second but make it like 80% up and I’m like ‘fuck this I’m done’ go home.
Down I go coasting the same way as always with lovely trees and the greens and yellows and organes of this beautiful hokkaido natural forest flying by when theres a parking space on the left and there’s a mand and he’s standing and it;s not tnormal why is he hstanding like that are you fucking serious wait what what I what you said I woudl ws
I always knew I would find one. I didn’t think it would be today.
Pretty raw still… Getting it out,
That fucker. Fucking bastard. Ramming his fucking death mask into my brain for all eternity. That fucking shit.
Anyway there he is. Like fucking Michael Jackson with his fucking neck all off to the side. I run over like fuck maybe I can help him but not a chance; he’s gently swaying there in his black bench coat.
Nondescript 45 year old man. Legs gently folded underneath him. He could have stood up at any time. Quick release knot on a new rope, dopped from his hand as it went limp. No mess on the floor; he knew what he was doing. But why here?
I pace. Call the cops. Instinct. Pace some more. Look at him. Look more. His fingers are rigored and red, with the nails tuning purple. His shoelaces are untied. The faint rocking is unnerving, as is the way his feet are resting on the floor, like he’s just sitting into a cross legged pose.
So there I am, walking around, the sirens start, 6 cars. I call my wife; she’s not too surprised and gets in the car to come pick me up. Pacing. Looking at his face. Trying not to. Looks like he’s just going to… open his eyes. The drool and snot from his face just sliding toward the floor, maybe half a metre.
And behind.. his car. And his dog. In the car. The dog is the only thing people will ask me about going forward. Everything else must be too uncomfrotable. But the dog is fine. It has toilet sheets and water and food and has pooed a couple of times. He knew what he was doing. Probably did it last night.
The cops arrive, crack some jokes, buddies, used to this kind of thing. They were good; all I mean is that this was no big deal for them. They weren’t just out riding a route they’ve done 200 times, about to see their first ever corpse. No open casket where I’m from.
Anyway. An hour or so. He’s covered in blue tarp. I am cold. We finish and go home. The police offer no support. I call to try to find out a little about the man but obviously no dice. I also ask if they have any kind of counselling or support for this kind off thing; blank looks.
So yeah shit happens and it was about 2 weeks of nothing before my wife and I both exploded at each other. But I think that this opened the pandoras box of why I was out there on the bike in the first place, and got put on hold until the big stuff was out of the way.
But now it’s time to address it.
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