Proof that I am no longer in control, or never was...

That morning, around 8:00, after a one hour physical fitness session with the squadron, where we lay in freezing wet grass and contorted our bodies, where we flexed our fingers and faces in synchronized agony, pushing the ground against all hope that it would ever stop pushing back, fighting slowly, a strong, constant force against our palms, the ground, ever pushing to lay flat against our panting faces, our heaving chests, a cold, flat, grassy, and yet somehow comforting embrace. The sun came up slowly as we heaved and dragged our pathetic selves across the grass and up and down. Every push from our puny arms pushed the ground downward in space until we had fully uncovered the glowing orange flanked by clouds on fire. Nobody was talking. I tried to talk to the one person I knew. It was like trying to talk to a paramedic driving in traffic. Responses only barely fit the criteria of responses. I was alone, but my muscles were grateful for the pain. Why? Because that morning, at 5:00, right before I woke my son up, I had swallowed a small capsule of a drug designed to stimulate my brain, to make me awake and motivated, to make me more in control. I had driven to drop my son off, cheerfully drinking coffee and singing loudly. I had dropped him off exactly as planned, at 6:00. I had made it to squadron PT early. I had waited in the cold and kicked a soccer ball around to stay warm. I had expected somebody to join me in this, but the people only looked sideways at me.


After PT, I was excited to go shower and get in my nice warm uniform. After exercise, getting clean is a great, refreshing feeling. On my way into the gym locker room, I thought about how little we'd run at pt, and how I really needed to keep up on my run. Logically, since I was sweaty already, now was a great time to do a workout on the exercise bike. Good for the back, good for the legs, good cardio. I didn't question myself. I got on the bike and pushed myself for 10 minutes. I got my heart rate to 171 and kept it there. I was impressed and energized. I was miserable, because cardio is miserable, but I won in the end. I walked away having completed the task at hand. I felt much more worked out now. 


In the shower, as I relaxed, my brain opened up for business and started greeting guests at the door. Of course, there was me, who strutted in having just worked out, and felt pretty refreshed, didn't feel like I had slept only 4 hours the night before, and had done for a few weeks or months or years. I sat down and just asked for a water, because it's really the most refreshing thing. Then in strolled me, the me that dragged myself like a water-logged wedding dress- the me that felt like he was always just waking up, because he was always just waking up, who knew for sure that one of these days, those little naps I took in the car was going to lead to a sudden and pivotal point in my life, who sometimes forgot to shave and sometimes forgot I was in the middle of shaving when I blindly,  brainlessly and sleepily walked into the living room and fell asleep on the floor again, only to realize what I had happened only after I was already late for work. He walked in having forgotten his socks and his pants at home. He was covered in spilled coffee and smelled like he hadn't showered in a week. He walked in and looked at the me who had just finished working out after working out and said "What the fuck is wrong with you?"