u/PlatypusGuy613

Hi. I was having an issue with my snes and I wanted to see if anyone else had similar experiences or fixes. Anyway, I hooked my snes up to my tv and put in Mario Paint as a test. Booted up beautifully and worked perfectly. Then I decided to test DKC. Just stayed as a black screen, as if the Nintendo logo was going to show up, but never did. Mario World same story. Then I put in Mega Man X. Worked perfectly. Then came Bubsy, Street Fighter, and mortal kombat. All were the same black screen. My first thought was that it was a game to game issue, but for this many games across this many publishers as I have access to, it’s a bit strange. Maybe I just need to do a cleaning, but I dont want to do anything until I know it’s the right fix and won’t make it worse. Anyway, if anyone has any help, I’d greatly appreciate it

Edit: Sorry I realized I should’ve given context. The snes has been in the family since the 90s, along with Mario world, street fighter, and mortal kombat. The rest are recent games I picked up from second hand stores and conventions two years ago

Thursday, July 16th, 2026. It’s today. It’s always been today. And it has become my hell.

Today after today, I wake up to the sound of my alarm ringing at 8 AM. For the next 16 hours, I can do whatever I like, with absolutely no consequences. Because I know that no matter what I do, I will never reach July 17th. No matter what, the second the clock strikes midnight, I’ll be transported back to my bed, my alarm ringing at 8 AM, and the day will repeat again.

I’d do anything for July 17th, and I have. And yet, July 17th will never come. For the rest of eternity I am stuck within this day, hoping, praying for any sort of escape. But that escape never reveals itself. And even though I practically have the world at my fingertips, I have never felt more trapped.

Despite all of this, I still remember the first day of my predicament. The thing I remember about it was how unassuming I was. Songs repeated on the radio. “The DJ must have gotten lazy.” The same people walking down the same street. “It must be their commute.” Every clue, every instance of my situation, I ignored, or chalked up to a technological mistake.

It wasn’t until I had gotten to work that the situation clicked for me. A coworker had walked by my office, simply to make idle conversation, as he had done the day before. The same conversation as the day before, in fact. Exactly the same conversation as the day before, even down to the stutters in his speech. Confused, I asked him if we had this conversation before. I had. He hadn’t. Through my confusion, I finally asked him what date it was. His words still echo in my mind, even now. “July 16th.”

Initially chalking it up to a mistake on his part, I asked him again. His answer remained unchanged. I asked my other coworkers for the date. July 16th, 2026. I talked to friends. July 16th, 2026. I called family. July 16th, 2026. I asked people on the street, July 16th, 2026. Newspapers, computers, clocks, calendars, everyone on the planet. July 16th, 2026. 

Within my newfound confusion, I tried desperately to think about what I would do. Half of me wanted to believe that this was some sort of cosmic mistake. For whatever reason, the universe decided to repeat today for everyone except me. It was just a one-off fluke. It happened once and now I could go on with my life. But the other half of me was terrified. What if this was only the beginning? What if I was stuck here for the foreseeable future, with no escape? What if today was my new eternity? Both options weighed heavily in my head. Eventually I was able to lay my head to sleep, only to be woken up by the sound of my alarm ringing at 8 AM.

Now, I had watched several movies and shows in which a character gets stuck in this very same dilemma. A character is forced to repeat the same day over and over until they arrive at some grand epiphany with their life. And that’s what I figured I had to do. I needed my grand epiphany. Obviously, the way I had been living my life was no good. I had done something wrong, or I was going down the wrong path. Whatever it was, it needed to be corrected. And I spent the next 23,486 todays trying to make that correction.

Over that period of time, I took it as my chance to perfect myself, despite the fact that I didn’t know what needed perfecting. It took me 2,583 todays to master the piano, all so that I could play a perfect version of Brahms’ lullaby for a group of sick children in the hospital at 12:17. It took me 6,038 todays to learn and memorize the complete workings of the human heart, just so I could help save a man who was going to have a heart attack at 2:49. It took me 5,235 todays to become fluent in Min Chinese, just because a confused woman from the Fujian Province was going to ask for directions at 6:27. I just wish I could remember why any of it mattered.

The only thing I could never master was any physical change. Due to the nature of my situation, any change to my body is instantly undone by the time I wake up the next today. I can start, but never finish. If I even try to make a single brush stroke on a canvas, I can guarantee that canvas will be blank again within only a couple of hours. And forget about any relationships with other people. I can’t build upon a past when the other person is unaware of that past. This inability to cause any physical change soon became the most frustrating thing of all.

Not only can I never finish anything that I’ve started, but there’s barely any time to start. For the first few hours after I wake up, I need to plan exactly what I’m going to do for that today. And any time wasted is just something that I’ll have to redo the next today. 

Still, I was able to make the limited time I had work, despite my frustrations. And after 23,487 todays, I thought I had finally done it. After 23,487 todays, I managed to craft what I thought was the perfect today. Then after 23,488 todays, I managed to do it again. 

Then after 23,489 todays, I did it again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Something wasn’t working. I was still here. That’s when I realized that if there was a way to escape the loop, then I was doing it wrong. I never needed to do any of this. I had wasted my time.

Angry and frustrated, I had to consider my limited options. As much as I didn’t know what caused me to enter this repetition, I had no clue how to get out. I spent days racking my brain, trying desperately to think of some sort of way to escape. But eventually, I had to face a hard truth, one that was staring me in the face, only I had refused to open my eyes to acknowledge it. I had to die.

I have to admit, I was scared at first. Like any normal human being, if you can even call me that anymore, the thought of my own demise terrified me. But I had to weigh my options. I could either be stuck repeating today for god-knows-how-long, or die. And death was looking like the more attractive option.

I eventually decided a mixture of pills in my medicine cabinet would most likely be my best option. At least with an overdose, I would barely be conscious when it happened. If I mixed the right pills, there was a chance I could get it over with even quicker. It would be quick, convenient, and most importantly, painless, or so I thought.

I scoured my house for as many different pills as I could find and poured myself a glass of water. I took one of each, sat back, and waited. Before long, the effects kicked in. As my head felt lighter, my body soon became heavier, as if an elephant was lying on my chest. Objects in front of me faded from my view as my sight was replaced with abstract colors and shapes. My brain stopped, then started again, all in a millisecond. All I could feel was pain, yet at the same time, I had never felt better. I wasn’t even thinking. I was just being. My brain continued overloading as I seized and went down on the floor, foam streaming from my lips. It was a million colors all at once, and then black. Nothing.

That’s when the alarm rang.

It was then that I realized there was no exit from my repetition. There was no grander reason as to why I was put here. No secret purpose that I had needed to unlock. No greater understanding to be learned. No change. No growth. No point.

I simply am.

Soon after that, I lost track of the todays. Counting them only made it worse. I can’t recall exactly how long I spent in bed, loathing my own existence. My only glimmer of hope was when I would first wake up in the morning. There was always the hope that just as mysteriously as I entered this loop, I would exit. Then I would check the date. July 16th, 2026. 

After a while, I stopped doing even that. I didn’t want to face the world. Because I knew it was going to be that same world tomorrow when I woke up. That is, if tomorrow even existed. Soon, everything went away. All feelings, all emotions, everything. All that was left was numbness. Why even bother at that point? Nothing mattered anymore.

That’s when it hit me. If nothing mattered, then why care? Nothing could stop me. In my prison, I had finally found my freedom.

I started off by trying to steal a car. I looked around as I smashed open the window and opened the door. Using my knowledge of wires that I had probably gained at some point, I hotwired the car and sped off. Eventually, I stopped and checked the glove compartment for any registration. There, I saw my name. I didn’t even remember it was my car.

The next today, I decided to rob a bank. But as I walked in, I realized I knew everyone’s faces. Countless faces that I had learned over countless todays. Despite this, I pulled out a gun and threatened the teller. Unfortunately, she was more confused than anything. It turns out I had called her by her college nickname.

As I grew more and more bored, my mind craved creativity. I had started timing myself to see how long it would take before a cop shot me. My record is 1 minute, 32 seconds. One day, I stalked a random man for the entire day, just to see if he would notice me. At 4:58, he finally snapped. In retrospect, maybe I went a bit too far when I said the name of his childhood dog.

Eventually, even that was no longer enough. I had tried to reason with myself that as long as I never took a life, I would retain some aspect of my humanity. But as I became less and less creative over thousands and thousands of todays, it became my only option. It was the only thing I hadn’t tried.

I barely remember my first murder. I don’t remember where I did it. I don’t remember how I did it. I don’t remember who I did it to. All I remember is the feeling. And that feeling wasn’t guilt.

The most offputting part about my newfound bloodlust was that by the next today, my victims would be walking down the same street, smiling and waving at me, none the wiser to what I did to them. I found it absolutely sickening. 

Don’t smile at me. Don’t wave. Don’t you know what I did? Don’t you know how I defiled you? I’ve seen your blood, your guts, your vital organs, and yet you dare smile at me as if nothing happened? I’ve torn apart your flesh and yet you still stand, none the wiser. You’re lucky you only get one second chance. Because I have infinite.

Given enough time, even murder got stale. Eventually, it just became a part of my day, with as little thought behind it as blinking or breathing. That’s when the numbness managed to creep back in.
I found that the only thing that could consistently bring feeling was death. All I really longed for was that momentary experience of thoughtlessness before my alarm rang. It only ever lasted for a second, but that second was everything to me. Today after today, I would find new ways to end my own life, putting aside those existential fears that I had experienced when planning my first attempt. I memorized the train schedules so that I could jump in front of them easier. I drank countless poisons, trying to find which one killed me the fastest. I would repeat personal facts about people, just hoping that one of them would get freaked out enough to kill me. My one wish is the one that can never be granted. An end.

My friends and family are complete strangers to me now. People will often approach me, acting as if we’ve known each other for years. For all I know, we could’ve. But I can barely tell strangers apart from my own parents. I can’t even see the resemblance anymore. All I see on the walls of my house are unfamiliar faces, including my own. I don’t recognize the feeling behind my eyes in those photos.

All I know anymore is today. From another's perspective, I changed into a completely different person overnight, one who doesn’t even remember their faces. And explaining it only causes more confusion.

I see very little point in explaining my condition. I mean why bother when I’m just going to have to explain it again? Even now, I find myself telling my story to someone who has already heard that same story countless times before. And you never remember any of it. Nobody except me remembers. And that is my curse.

I don’t remember much about life outside of today. I’ve memorized routines, faces, conversations, but I can’t recall a thing about myself. I can look at photos and documents regarding myself, but I don’t remember any of it. I look in the mirror and don’t recognize my own face. I don’t remember my name, or if I ever had one to begin with. All I was, all I am, all I will ever be is Thursday, July 16th, 2026.

It’s today. 

It’s always been today. 

And it has become my hell.

Thursday, July 16th, 2026. It’s today. It’s always been today. And it has become my hell.

Today after today, I wake up to the sound of my alarm ringing at 8 AM. For the next 16 hours, I can do whatever I like, with absolutely no consequences. Because I know that no matter what I do, I will never reach July 17th. No matter what, the second the clock strikes midnight, I’ll be transported back to my bed, my alarm ringing at 8 AM, and the day will repeat again.

I’d do anything for July 17th, and I have. And yet, July 17th will never come. For the rest of eternity I am stuck within this day, hoping, praying for any sort of escape. But that escape never reveals itself. And even though I practically have the world at my fingertips, I have never felt more trapped.

Despite all of this, I still remember the first day of my predicament. The thing I remember about it was how unassuming I was. Songs repeated on the radio. “The DJ must have gotten lazy.” The same people walking down the same street. “It must be their commute.” Every clue, every instance of my situation, I ignored, or chalked up to a technological mistake.

It wasn’t until I had gotten to work that the situation clicked for me. A coworker had walked by my office, simply to make idle conversation, as he had done the day before. The same conversation as the day before, in fact. Exactly the same conversation as the day before, even down to the stutters in his speech. Confused, I asked him if we had this conversation before. I had. He hadn’t. Through my confusion, I finally asked him what date it was. His words still echo in my mind, even now. “July 16th.”

Initially chalking it up to a mistake on his part, I asked him again. His answer remained unchanged. I asked my other coworkers for the date. July 16th, 2026. I talked to friends. July 16th, 2026. I called family. July 16th, 2026. I asked people on the street, July 16th, 2026. Newspapers, computers, clocks, calendars, everyone on the planet. July 16th, 2026. 

Within my newfound confusion, I tried desperately to think about what I would do. Half of me wanted to believe that this was some sort of cosmic mistake. For whatever reason, the universe decided to repeat today for everyone except me. It was just a one-off fluke. It happened once and now I could go on with my life. But the other half of me was terrified. What if this was only the beginning? What if I was stuck here for the foreseeable future, with no escape? What if today was my new eternity? Both options weighed heavily in my head. Eventually I was able to lay my head to sleep, only to be woken up by the sound of my alarm ringing at 8 AM.

Now, I had watched several movies and shows in which a character gets stuck in this very same dilemma. A character is forced to repeat the same day over and over until they arrive at some grand epiphany with their life. And that’s what I figured I had to do. I needed my grand epiphany. Obviously, the way I had been living my life was no good. I had done something wrong, or I was going down the wrong path. Whatever it was, it needed to be corrected. And I spent the next 23,486 todays trying to make that correction.

Over that period of time, I took it as my chance to perfect myself, despite the fact that I didn’t know what needed perfecting. It took me 2,583 todays to master the piano, all so that I could play a perfect version of Brahms’ lullaby for a group of sick children in the hospital at 12:17. It took me 6,038 todays to learn and memorize the complete workings of the human heart, just so I could help save a man who was going to have a heart attack at 2:49. It took me 5,235 todays to become fluent in Min Chinese, just because a confused woman from the Fujian Province was going to ask for directions at 6:27. I just wish I could remember why any of it mattered.

The only thing I could never master was any physical change. Due to the nature of my situation, any change to my body is instantly undone by the time I wake up the next today. I can start, but never finish. If I even try to make a single brush stroke on a canvas, I can guarantee that canvas will be blank again within only a couple of hours. And forget about any relationships with other people. I can’t build upon a past when the other person is unaware of that past. This inability to cause any physical change soon became the most frustrating thing of all.

Not only can I never finish anything that I’ve started, but there’s barely any time to start. For the first few hours after I wake up, I need to plan exactly what I’m going to do for that today. And any time wasted is just something that I’ll have to redo the next today. 

Still, I was able to make the limited time I had work, despite my frustrations. And after 23,487 todays, I thought I had finally done it. After 23,487 todays, I managed to craft what I thought was the perfect today. Then after 23,488 todays, I managed to do it again. 

Then after 23,489 todays, I did it again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Something wasn’t working. I was still here. That’s when I realized that if there was a way to escape the loop, then I was doing it wrong. I never needed to do any of this. I had wasted my time.

Angry and frustrated, I had to consider my limited options. As much as I didn’t know what caused me to enter this repetition, I had no clue how to get out. I spent days racking my brain, trying desperately to think of some sort of way to escape. But eventually, I had to face a hard truth, one that was staring me in the face, only I had refused to open my eyes to acknowledge it. I had to die.

I have to admit, I was scared at first. Like any normal human being, if you can even call me that anymore, the thought of my own demise terrified me. But I had to weigh my options. I could either be stuck repeating today for god-knows-how-long, or die. And death was looking like the more attractive option.

I eventually decided a mixture of pills in my medicine cabinet would most likely be my best option. At least with an overdose, I would barely be conscious when it happened. If I mixed the right pills, there was a chance I could get it over with even quicker. It would be quick, convenient, and most importantly, painless, or so I thought.

I scoured my house for as many different pills as I could find and poured myself a glass of water. I took one of each, sat back, and waited. Before long, the effects kicked in. As my head felt lighter, my body soon became heavier, as if an elephant was lying on my chest. Objects in front of me faded from my view as my sight was replaced with abstract colors and shapes. My brain stopped, then started again, all in a millisecond. All I could feel was pain, yet at the same time, I had never felt better. I wasn’t even thinking. I was just being. My brain continued overloading as I seized and went down on the floor, foam streaming from my lips. It was a million colors all at once, and then black. Nothing.

That’s when the alarm rang.

It was then that I realized there was no exit from my repetition. There was no grander reason as to why I was put here. No secret purpose that I had needed to unlock. No greater understanding to be learned. No change. No growth. No point.

I simply am.

Soon after that, I lost track of the todays. Counting them only made it worse. I can’t recall exactly how long I spent in bed, loathing my own existence. My only glimmer of hope was when I would first wake up in the morning. There was always the hope that just as mysteriously as I entered this loop, I would exit. Then I would check the date. July 16th, 2026. 

After a while, I stopped doing even that. I didn’t want to face the world. Because I knew it was going to be that same world tomorrow when I woke up. That is, if tomorrow even existed. Soon, everything went away. All feelings, all emotions, everything. All that was left was numbness. Why even bother at that point? Nothing mattered anymore.

That’s when it hit me. If nothing mattered, then why care? Nothing could stop me. In my prison, I had finally found my freedom.

I started off by trying to steal a car. I looked around as I smashed open the window and opened the door. Using my knowledge of wires that I had probably gained at some point, I hotwired the car and sped off. Eventually, I stopped and checked the glove compartment for any registration. There, I saw my name. I didn’t even remember it was my car.

The next today, I decided to rob a bank. But as I walked in, I realized I knew everyone’s faces. Countless faces that I had learned over countless todays. Despite this, I pulled out a gun and threatened the teller. Unfortunately, she was more confused than anything. It turns out I had called her by her college nickname.

As I grew more and more bored, my mind craved creativity. I had started timing myself to see how long it would take before a cop shot me. My record is 1 minute, 32 seconds. One day, I stalked a random man for the entire day, just to see if he would notice me. At 4:58, he finally snapped. In retrospect, maybe I went a bit too far when I said the name of his childhood dog.

Eventually, even that was no longer enough. I had tried to reason with myself that as long as I never took a life, I would retain some aspect of my humanity. But as I became less and less creative over thousands and thousands of todays, it became my only option. It was the only thing I hadn’t tried.

I barely remember my first murder. I don’t remember where I did it. I don’t remember how I did it. I don’t remember who I did it to. All I remember is the feeling. And that feeling wasn’t guilt.

The most offputting part about my newfound bloodlust was that by the next today, my victims would be walking down the same street, smiling and waving at me, none the wiser to what I did to them. I found it absolutely sickening. 

Don’t smile at me. Don’t wave. Don’t you know what I did? Don’t you know how I defiled you? I’ve seen your blood, your guts, your vital organs, and yet you dare smile at me as if nothing happened? I’ve torn apart your flesh and yet you still stand, none the wiser. You’re lucky you only get one second chance. Because I have infinite.

Given enough time, even murder got stale. Eventually, it just became a part of my day, with as little thought behind it as blinking or breathing. That’s when the numbness managed to creep back in.
I found that the only thing that could consistently bring feeling was death. All I really longed for was that momentary experience of thoughtlessness before my alarm rang. It only ever lasted for a second, but that second was everything to me. Today after today, I would find new ways to end my own life, putting aside those existential fears that I had experienced when planning my first attempt. I memorized the train schedules so that I could jump in front of them easier. I drank countless poisons, trying to find which one killed me the fastest. I would repeat personal facts about people, just hoping that one of them would get freaked out enough to kill me. My one wish is the one that can never be granted. An end.

My friends and family are complete strangers to me now. People will often approach me, acting as if we’ve known each other for years. For all I know, we could’ve. But I can barely tell strangers apart from my own parents. I can’t even see the resemblance anymore. All I see on the walls of my house are unfamiliar faces, including my own. I don’t recognize the feeling behind my eyes in those photos.

All I know anymore is today. From another's perspective, I changed into a completely different person overnight, one who doesn’t even remember their faces. And explaining it only causes more confusion.

I see very little point in explaining my condition. I mean why bother when I’m just going to have to explain it again? Even now, I find myself telling my story to someone who has already heard that same story countless times before. And you never remember any of it. Nobody except me remembers. And that is my curse.

I don’t remember much about life outside of today. I’ve memorized routines, faces, conversations, but I can’t recall a thing about myself. I can look at photos and documents regarding myself, but I don’t remember any of it. I look in the mirror and don’t recognize my own face. I don’t remember my name, or if I ever had one to begin with. All I was, all I am, all I will ever be is Thursday, July 16th, 2026.

It’s today. 

It’s always been today. 

And it has become my hell.

Try harder.

Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself in regards to my wife. 

Of course, over the years of our marriage, things have gotten a bit stale, as things normally would. I’d never tell my wife this, but I can’t find that courage that’s needed to satisfy her. I’m drained. Empty. After years of marriage, I have nothing left to give her. Nothing to offer. And I’m just hoping she doesn’t figure that out any time soon.

I try to tell myself that it’s natural for a man my age to feel this way. But that still doesn’t change anything. I shouldn’t feel this way. It’s my wife we’re talking about. It’s not like she did anything wrong. She never cheated on me. We’ve never gone to bed angry. We’ve never been apart for more than two days at a time. We’re joined at the hip. So why do I feel this way?

I remember the first day I saw her. It was High School. Algebra. I almost couldn’t breathe with how stunning she was. Her fluffed auburn hair, ending perfectly at her shoulders. Her piercing blue eyes, looking like sapphires welded to her face. Her gentle smile, a simple flash of it being enough to make you forget about whatever was troubling you. I couldn’t even look her in the eyes. And for weeks, I stayed like that, too nervous and awkward to stop my staring and finally talk to her.

I don’t know what made me decide to first approach her. Maybe it was strength, maybe it was delusion. But whatever it was, it was the best decision I had ever made. What started out as simple conversations once or twice a week soon became longer, deeper, and more frequent. It wasn’t long at all before I finally proclaimed my love for her. And with a flash of that gentle smile, she leapt into my arms, practically guaranteeing that I would never let go.

Everything was so new and exciting. It was as if I was living my life squinting, with her love being the only thing to pry my eyes open. And once they were open, I never wanted to close my eyes again. I still remember how we would stare up at the stars for hours at a time, only growing more excited for what the future had in store for us. It was clear by this point that we had entered a world of our own, held together by our love.

Then everything changed on Prom Night. As I watched her walk down the stairs in a simple black gown, I knew that she was the one. And as we danced together, she held my chin and whispered something in my ear, that same gentle smile shifting into one filled with mischief and danger. I excitedly nodded and soon we left the venue. She took me by the hand and led me to my childhood bedroom. Surrounded by all the toys and trinkets of my childhood, I had become a man. And that man felt renewed, re-energized. He felt like this feeling would never go away. And it didn’t go away for a long time.

That feeling was what brought about a fruitful marriage, and three beautiful children. I had finally achieved that dream that I had envisioned when I first saw her in Algebra. I thought my excitement would last forever. That’s what everyone said at the wedding, at least. But now that excitement is gone.

Now let me make this clear: I still love my wife. And I always will. But by this point, there’s no more surprises left to uncover. No more little quirks to grow fond of. No more words that haven’t already been said a thousand times before. I know her like the back of my hand. And, unfortunately, the back of my hand just doesn’t excite me anymore.

Years and years of seeing the same woman stare back at you with loving eyes has grown into a nightmare. Would I do it all again? In a heartbeat. I would never choose anyone but her. But as I grow older, it’s harder for me to get excited anymore. What once was every day turned into every week. Then every month. Then only a few times a year. Then just to anniversaries and birthdays.

I’ve tried medication. If I can’t control how my brain and body work, then maybe the medication can. But it just simply doesn’t work. All it does is make me feel numb. The excitement isn’t real. Just manufactured. A product of modern medicine. A mixture of chemicals interacting with other chemicals to create a reaction. It does the job beautifully, but it isn’t me fixing the problem, now is it?

We still please each other in other ways, or at least that’s what I tell myself. But the simple truth is a relationship without that excitement is no relationship at all. It’s just meandering until we both die. That same youth and vigor I had is now gone. And nothing is going to bring it back.

I try to reason with myself that it’s just a consequence of old age. Of course people tend to get less excited as they age. But that’s no excuse. Old age doesn’t affect anything. It doesn’t matter that her fluffed auburn hair has turned into a short gray. Her piercing blue eyes dulled into a familiar hazel. Her gentle smile being surrounded by the lines and wrinkles of a full life. She’s still just as beautiful as ever. It’s clearly a problem with me.

Or maybe it isn’t. 

As I think back on my parents’ relationship, they were the same way. As I grew up, they seemed to grow apart, their resentment for each other only being sprinkled with the occasional compliment. But their issues ran much deeper than what I’m experiencing. I do have a tendency to be overdramatic at times. But my lack of excitement doesn’t come from a place of resentment. It comes from boredom. But as I think more about it, maybe that’s a worse fate.

Maybe it’s worse that I still love her. In a way, I’m almost leading her on, making her think that there’s something more than there really is. I’m promising something that I can’t give her. All I can give her is a facsimile of what I used to be able to give. I’m a shadow of my former self, simply pretending that the excitement is still there.
What’s worse is how alone I feel in my situation. I’ve tried talking to my friends about it, but they’ve been no help. They argue that I’m no longer attracted to her. That I should leave the old bag and chase after the next hot piece of ass I see. Their reductionist views only serve to disgust me even more. I’m not leaving my wife. Ever. But as much as I tell myself that, there’s still a part of me that wonders if they’re right. They can’t be. Can they?
Then there’s the ones who disagree. 

I’m somehow less of a man now. That’s what they tell me. If I can’t find that excitement, then I don’t deserve to have my wife. That I should leave her to spare her the heartbreak of growing more and more disappointed in my state of mind. It’s somehow my fault. But it could be. It is my fault. I can’t control how my brain and body work. But as much as I tell myself that, there’s still a part of me that wonders if they’re right. They can’t be. Can they?
Still, I get the feeling that they don’t get it. Neither of them do.

And maybe that’s the point. This is my issue. No one else’s. As a man, I have to learn to deal with my problems by myself. It’s what’s expected of me. It’s what I was taught since I was a small boy. It’s what I’ve believed since before my wife made me a man during that wonderful night after Prom. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know how to deal with my problem. Or why it’s even happening. All that matters is that I have to face the facts. I have to admit this to myself. I have to face the music, no matter how much it scares me.

I hate to admit it, but I’ve failed as a husband. I’ve failed as a man. If I can’t give my wife that same love and pleasure I was able to so long ago, then what’s the point? The emptiness festering within me shouldn’t even be there to begin with. The fact that it is there only heightens how much I don’t deserve her. My friends are right. Both of them are. They always were. It’s my fault. It always was.

After all of this, I simply have to come to terms with it. I have to accept what’s become of me. It’s the truth. It’s my truth. No matter how much I don’t want it to be.

The simple truth is this:

I can’t get a boner.