Deer Hunter Music

MOOD SWINGS. I nearly had a panic attack in Sainsbury's. But I have decided panic attacks and me are NOT going to share a bed. Absolutely no way. I went out and scored 3 Valium blues (10mgs) now I feel all zonged. But way more with it than I was on meds last night.

I have been sleeping really well. Didn't want to get up at 12:30 today but I had to.

Problem with anything antimanic; it's liable to make you a bit depressed. Today I felt manic inside my skull but not outside it. Which meant my head was clanging. Saying the same syllables over and over in my brain. I'm glad I didn't have access to a computer: knowing me I would have posted them.

There is nothing else to put up. No positivity as I have done no positive things. All I want is to run away and hide from life. It's all too too much. Today I had to go home early I know when I have gone to my limit. When I push myself past it I just end up as a nervous wreck so better NOT push too far. See I am mentally disabled now. Not in principle; in practice. If I can talk and move hands I can type. I don't drive so I don't know whether I'd be able to in this state. If it's too much to do the basics it's too much to move pedals, steering wheel and gear stick. It just is.

I was googling stuff to do with death and came across someone who has said "there is no quick and painless way to die so I am going to pick up the pieces of my life and carry on; maybe you will too". You have to get out of your head that death is negative. Death is positive. I just hate being left behind. I would be very nervous facing eternity but I would still go through with it. If I could dive into a pool of infinity and execute a perfect dive, I'd do it. Then again I was too inept to do it when I really wanted to. Poisoned myself and felt really bad. Now I'm too pussy to try again. So I'm still here. Don't worry about me. Still here. Always will be. I will probably outlive you all knowing me. So worry about yourself before you worry about me.



This is what legal medication does to me:~

DOES ANYBODY KNOW THE FILM THE DEER HUNTER? This is the tune Cavatina, that makes such haunting music. I love that track. Although the film is supposed to e about PostTraumatic Stress Disorder and how it affects one character, eeen Robert DeNiro who pays hard" first and only Iie Ill see that and they were masquerading... see this is what medication does to you. Makes you forget.

Earlier on Tuesday I felt so low and depressed (physically exhausted as well as mentally "ill" I nearly went to bed. My phone kept ringing but I wouldnt answer it. heroin doesnt work. Now my mood has risen anyhow. Far more rapidly than heroin ever works. I spose Im a rapid cycler, in psychiatric termonology.
DEER HUNTER: CAVATINA

Antidepressants

I NEED ANTIDEPRESSANTS. But they don't work. They make me cuckoo (high). I have a great big crispy purple £20 note that could buy antidepressants in brown form. That one doesn't get me cuckoo. Crack and mirtazapine belong in the same category. Difference: mirtazapine (ironically) = more manic-depressive (I went DOWN on mirtazapine after going UP how crappy is that from something that's supposed to level you out?!) crack makes more paranoid. Extreme paranoia. I once thought people were climbing up the walls of the house and hid inside a home-made tent... the one you use once you're fed up of flashing at hidden cameras. That's nutnut for you. I never thougt I was a nutter despite all this. If I'd been a bit more naive I'd have blurted loads of this to psych staff years ago but I knew what paranoid/suicidal ideation meant. Knew what implied what and what they might eventually diagnose from what pattern. Because it's like joining dots. Akh I hate doctors. All I'm trying to do today is join dots of happiness. I have what they call a rapid cycle. That means I confuse myself because I don't know when Im up or down except when it's so extreme... I mean yesterday despite the nerves I was dunking biscuits while I shared at NA. All casual-like. (Manic-casual.) Not one person said anything except someone laughed knowingly. I'm not offended by THAT if I was I'd not have shared to start with. I didn't expect Absolution. Hey it would be funny if that person thought I was lying, would give me something to play up to. Sometimes I annoy myself by doing this; if somebody gets an idea of me that I don't agree with I'll show them the idea is true in the most ridiculous, eventually pantomimic way. When another person is there I never break eye contact with the first to shoot a look over. That gives you away. I do it like a professional actor, never once breaking stride, despite the ridiculousness. Usually I am pretending to be naive or stupid, my 2 favourite things I love to show people. I wear soft on the outside! Just like a tiger. All furry and cute. Nobody sees my teeth unless they rile me to it.

Did you know the lifetime "risk" of developing a substance disorder in type 1 bipolar (severe type) is 61% according to one study. I thought 50% sounded ridiculously small. I would estimate the true figure to be around 85 or 90%. 50% was supposed to be the number of bipolars who ever used drugs. Type 2 bipolar means mostly depressed with manic blips that never amount to full mania. I never got full mania until this year it's the only "up" I would recognize as illness because my head starts saying "power hour shower power shower" that's literally what I think and I say a mixture of things (incoherently, so I'm told that is with the topic jumping all over the place). I have every single diagnostic category among the 7 or so including reckless buying sprees (DVDs) I have so many they fill an armchair and they were bought mostly in 4 days. Great thing is EVERY SINGLE ONE is one I'd ring in the TV guide, so they're shit I WANT. Ben Hur I might not be in the mood for every day. Or Cleopatra. Or Dr Zhivago (a triple £5 pack) but they're there for when I do feel like watching lots of beautiful music and snow (Dr Zhivago) or Burton-Taylor (Cleopatra) or ancient stuff (Ben Hur). Shit no Gone with the Wind was the third in the treble pack, I hate that one but it came essentially free.

Does anyone care about any of this I can't think Up anything to say now so I'm going now.


Illustrated: famous people supposedly with bipolar. Vincent Van Gough is a maybe. Virginia Wolf definitely. Britney Spears absolutely no idea. Kurt Cobain: writing a song called lithium and then shooting yourself does not equal bipolar!

Plum Tree by Van Gogh, Japanese lettering even worse than mine

23:22 Schizoaffective Link. I still don't know what bloody disorder I'm meant to have or what the hell it actually is. [I got diagnosed schizoaffective.] I'm just NOT COMPLAINING that my main symptom is ELEVATED MOOD despite the fact that I had pretty full-blown melancholia this afternoon: exhaustion, Siberian low mood, suicidal thoughts, a feeling of intense guilt and wrongness and the idea that I would never ever feel any better about anything, by mid-evening I was fine by ten o'clock I felt a bit manic even..... PLUS I have "schizophrenia"..! Only fucking disease that made me cry just thinking I could have it and I fucking have it! No-one can ever say I was blowing things out of proportion again because I wasn't I was keeping something so fucking intense it was like a road drill through the head (psychotic mania) and keeping that like it was a little furry hammy in a nest, keeping that inside me head... ukk. How did all this happen?

SINEAD O'CONNOR: REBEL SONG
this is a traditional Irish ballad; despite the title it's more a lullabye than anything else

21:21 Calm

2121 I feel very manic and very calm. Don't panic not manic not knot tied up in nots not tied up in knots a lot lot of knots parking lot mot MOT MOT is a car test here in the UK. Don't panic I AM MANIC I KNEW THAT I WAS MANIC WHAT THE HELL ELSE COULD IT BE WHEN YOU GO VERY FAST AND HIGH AND FEEL HYPER AND YOU WERE DEPRESSED BEFORE? Tomblike depression entombed. Do you know I thought if I committed suicide I might stay alive for ever cold in the rain as trains rushed past? That's what I thought. When I was suicidal. Ha! Do you know that is called a "symptom"? Being suicidal. I don't feel suicidal now. I feel upwards now. I wish I could cling on to the UP forever and ever and a day no way nothing lasts for ever. In my head I feel darkness and a light shining out like the first light of the first ever dawn. AND GOD SAID LET THERE BE LIGHT AND THERE WAS LIGHT AND GOD SAW THAT THE LIGHT WAS GOOD. It's very good. That's why I believe in God. Because God is all powerful and the source of all power. I only have power because God has Energy. God is Energy and God Is Love. I wish I could sleep in God's love forever. That's all I wanted to be held in the arms of God who made me.

2131 I am dreading taking the antipsychotics hypnotics erotics support polar molar bipolar manic depressive oppressive undressive go to bed undress with the rest in a mouse's nest be the best beat the rest no less press make a money press blue diamonds

light light shiny bright light blue diamond light

did you know blue light wakes you up is that why i love the colour blue?

love you love you love you blue true blue

i can hear amazing music from the deer hunter theme and a jangly gangly gamelan sound going off in my head disco frisco disco biscuit digestives

2141 everything that i think of is transcendently beautiful how come everything comes at exact5 10 minute intervals i'm not faking the time the time is exact. i'm clearing up my mess with this manic energy. because i'm less manic than the very transcendent PEAK OF ALL HUMAN BEING everything doesn't explode around me like it does then did then now then one eternal loop of time because that time went out for ever

wow it is 2142 only one minute gone (feels like a long time) 2143 for me free to be me

2155 i feel so happy i am crying all the time thinking of New Jerusalem thats where i want to be. With God. In heaven on earth. New Jerusalem is the heavenly city descended out of the sky from God where we will all live one day. If you're reading this and don't live there then you're Eternally Dead so don't worry about it.

2159 59 time on line nine white lines straight ahead don't go red red or dead

blue i love you blue you you you u U U U U U U U U U

which is the most perfect letter? S or O...? Probably 0 because that's a zero hero zero hour rush hour RUSH HOUR POWER HOUR! HOUR HOUR HOUR FOR HOURS

2201 it's ten o'clock i should take my sleeping pill i don't want to antipsychotic

risperidone zone i have to take it i'm washing down zopiclona with black coffee

then wait an hour till 2300 and 2 risperidone ok i'm baiting my breath and doing it wish me luck


2303 MICHAEL JACKSON: LEAVE ME ALONE
this is the style of things i see when i close my eyes manic
no sleep comes!

Moulin Rouge

I WAS ASKING SOMEONE ABOUT A FILM with Kylie Minogue as the Absynthe Fairy, and Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman singing I couldn't for the life of me remember its name. I need films with constant music and this is a good one. I found it for £4 tonight. The idiot self service machine demanded an assistant, as I knew it would, to confirm I'm over 12 years old. And I bought a pile of tex mex pizzas as the other Morrisons have seen fit to clear their frozen pizza shelves empty. I chucked my basket on the frozen peas and stalked out.

I slept all day till 8pm. Got my methadone at 8:30am. Opening time. So I can avoid the world. Now with cherry flavoured alcohol and cigarettes and and ultra thin and crispy mexican pizza in the oven I feel OK.

All this clean shit can go hang. I just don't care any more. More you use, quicker you die. It's all good. Heroin can go take a hike. Crack is as relevant to me as weather patterns on Jupiter. Speed no way. Ecstasy ditto. I don't need uppers. They give a vastly inferior high to my own Natural One (I mean most of these substances last 4 hours maximum full-on, I was high for about four weeks straight on NOTHING, see what I mean?) Some people do use on top of mania but I think they're either truly cracked up or just have a piss-weak version of it. Stephen Fry said cocaine "evened him out" when hypomanic. LIAR! He means it intensified his high and THAT felt even. Uppers are way too jagged for my taste. The only drug that ever did it for me in an anytime anyplace anywhere way was heroin and heroin is unnecessary. From now on I will only consider taking multigram hits. Ie to use heroin as suicide. A Muslim once told me if you do yourself in eg by stabbing yourself, you'll spend eternity in hell stabbing yourself with a knife. I want to spend eternity hitting up the strongest hit of heroin I've ever taken. So I opt for that method. To die on heroin I need a low tolerance. To get a low tolerance I need reducing methadone. I'm already on methadone. So it's all good.

Sorry to post negative things. I'm forever stuck between telling the truth and telling a sanitized acceptable version that's basically a lie. So what you wanna hear?

No I'm not depressed. I'm nothing. I'm psychologically nothing. I'm NORMAL! PERFECT! OK! FINE!

I got a message yesterday about someone who had been through EXACTLY the same shit as me. Mood disorders. Personality Disorders. Strongly implied abused as a kid. I told them I WAS abused but only emotionally and not by my parents but this didn't seem enough. Then I told them some pervert who knew my name (but I didn't know him) said he'd come to pick me up when I was waving a flag at trains to make them go honk-honk from a railway bridge aged 9. But I just said "no that's not me". And I went away. I don't know what he did, because I didn't look. And this is all true. So no hidden trauma. Only trauma I remember.

Nursey only brought this up when dissociation rose it's head. Dissociation is cool it means you wander about and you're not real and/or the world is not real. A prissy weak person would let this bother them. What you do is go as deep into it as you can. It's a free drug after all. So vanish into it and don't come out. Same with mania but not depression. You don't go into depression unless you want it to kill you. The suicide rate in bipolar is 20%; in straight depression 9%. Schizophrenia is about 15%. So don't go into negativity, only positivity. The meaning of life is what life is. So make it meaningless or full of entertainment or both. But don't make it negative or you will die. If you do die bear in mind what that Headfucker said and use a delicious method of death. This is advice to self not you. If you want to kill yourself do yourself a favour. Fuck off and go elsewhere. I'm not into giving suicide tips.

Only thing that does my head in. I can't even say what I mean without the risk of some silly probably young and lost fucker trying to take my ideas which I will never spell out in sufficient detail for anyone else to know the Method and doing Something Stupid. You wanna kill yourself? Ring the Samaritans in the UK, ring the national suicide lines in whatever other place you may be. You're online. Google the numbers.

OK this has burnt itself out I'm going. I feel shit now I was OK before. I have a certain amount of happiness and it just goes, like a butterfly disappearing into the gloom of the evening.


Illustrated: sublime and trash. Says everything

MOULIN ROUGE: ONE DAY I'LL FLY AWAY
if i can find this i'll post it up, but my broadband will jam for the next hour so let's hope it plays
it plays. i like nicole kidman's voice
ONE DAY I'LL FLY AWAY
LEAVE ALL THIS TO YESTERDAY...

Lots of talking

I WAS SURE I posted something else but whatever I said got lost. My memory is poor these days. Chemist says I missed a methadone pick-up Monday but I'm not sure I did. I'm pretty hot at methadone and making sure I have enough. I need to be as I'm fully considering dropping the State Controlled Prescription and merely buying methadone on the strreet. Which is my option for when they start messing my head even more than presently.

Earlier today I was in the bad mood I've been in for three days. I crashed down. So this afternoon I took heroin therapy and feel far better for it. Frankly I don't care about myself or my life or whether anything is good or bad. Gear is the same as suicide so I'm self-medicating with slow suicide and it works. Doesn't stop me feeling manic and/or over the top, doesn't stop me being depressed and/or mood swinging. Stops the worst of it though. Which implies if I'm in withdrawal as y'all want to tell me I'm still withdrawing when "high" enough on gear to be in near-unconsciousness. So shove that in your expert pipes and toke it.

Baino can you please explain something what do you mean the dr says I'm psychotic? But I'm not? How so? I don't get this you're really confusing me. You think I'm exaggerating? Then you're wasting your time here if I write a ficiton blog it would be WAY less sad thatn this one come on. So what do you think is real? I don't get it. As I said I'm not a psychotic what really happens is psychic, that's how I hear other people's thoughts. Telepathy. If you can't hear the reason is simple YOU'RE DEAF.

The shrinko is the only one I trust and even him I think he is trying to kill me when I go to an NA meeting. So I trust no-one. I wouldn't post anything if you knew who I was so THAT, ANNA GRACE IS WHY I'M "HIDING BEHIND MY BLOG" as you put it
when you try and push me gently into behaviour I'm not comfortable with. You might want people to look at you; I don't need my neighbours reading my blog. That might be a buzz for you; to me it's a buzz-killer. I want to be read, not stared at. Leave a comment Anna I leave them for you and you won't even leave a single one when I specifically ask you.

Baino, Anna, Gattina, please answer in comments I cannot do email it's a total headfucker. Unless it really is confidential please everyone use COMMENTS. Comments I can do; email I just do not do. I just do not do it; ask my family. I get your point Gattina: your blog is a shiny happy blog where you don't want my heroin-talk so I'll email that from hammynutter@lycos.com. Please anyone who emails, no matter what the subject LEAVE A COMMENT SAYING YOU EMAILED or I won't be able to find it. There are no rules chez moi that anyone needs to comment on the post they answer under. If you want to tell me anything, relevant or not to anything else, just slap it under today's load of Gledwood-drivel and I'll get it. Don't email me unless you really do need to use email. OK?

I am going to ask this Consultant Psychiatrist yes/no am I in detox on methadone? Yes or no; tell me. Methadone is a substitution therapy and should leave you in no withdrawals. I certainly don't withdraw physically so how can I "withdrawl mentally" without craving? I only want heroin in depression. Depression I had for DECADES before I ever tried heroin. Question number 2 will rear its head: that being so, why on earth are you giving it to me KNOWING it turns me into a psychdedelic shaman who's not taking psychedelics? And can you please make the psychedelia stronger? Thankyouverymuch!

I can't go on I'm too sleepy to focus. Things I cannot say are seeping out of my mind so I'm leaving it here. Nutter Club report comes later.



MADONNA: HUNG UP
time goes by so slowly for those who wait; no need to hesitate...

Persecution

O SHIT. TWO OFFICIALS FROM THE COUNCIL came round and refused to enter my lair!

Fair enough it is full of rubbish bags that I'm not sure whether or not I accidentally threw my passport into.

I don't know what I did when why wherefore or what to which whatever this that or another thing. Y'know?

To cut a long story short they asked whether I was on drugs and that one confused me I said what psychiatric drugs or street drugs?

We had this conversation on the street because I loudly said my Lovely Charming Best Freind Wankers Who Share This Building Would only earwig on us.

So random dog walkers listened in instead. About yes I'm on methadone no I'm not on heroin I don't care what they know, I put heroin and methadone on the original application form so it's no secret. O yeah and my drink has gone DOWN to 4.5 to 4.7 units a day which equals 33 units a week tops which is just one can over the government's recommended limit. I've switched to strawberry (4.5% vol) and cherry (4.7% vol) flavour cider, two half litre cans a day. See I did it! Cut my drinking down by a third in one go.

Anyway they put me on a real downer saying I'm getting some Vulnerable Adult person after me for not being able to take care of myself. Me my room and my life are now in equal chaos.

I told them I wasn't sleeping at all. I had all of 5 minutes sleep last night. I went to "bed" (on the floor as per usual) for half an hour but my brain was lit up so I just watched inner television, felt irritated then got up.

I felt physically exhausted and nauseated and that was before those nauseating people made it all worse. They were talking to me like I was a 3 year old.

Everyone treats me like I'm a nutter these days. Even that psychiatrist, who's the best shrink I've ever had, judging on impressions, was visibly shocked the first time he saw me when I was "ill" rather than just self-medicating depression on heroin (the state I was in for over five years).

Anyway I'm not hearing voices AT AlL so I can't be mad.

I'm so tired I really want to sleep. I hate sleeping it reminds me of being ill, it makes me think of dying and sleeping is what I do when I'm depressed. The more I sleep the more I'm likely to be depressed and I've already decided if I do get that label Bxxxxxxr stuck on me I'm putting myself to a quick and violent end.

I feel so sad writing that, like my life is a total waste and I regret ever having been born. It would have been so much better if I'd never been born all I have ever done is hurt and disappiont.

Well I'm going to go now. And probably not sleep. I've had enough I've really had enough I wish I could press a button and disappear.

O yeah that's another good thing about being off heroin. It means if I push a quarter ounce straight into my femoral I should never wake up ever again.


1147 Just smashed a bottle open on my cooker the fucking glass is too blunt even to cut my skin open just rubbishy paper cuts can't even do self harm i've had enough i want to sleep i want to sleep i want to sleep fuck this i want to sleep i want to sleep i'm not hearing voices i am perfectly sane i just need to sleep i have no money i blew every penny on dvds i have an entire armchair full now i want to sleep i want to fucking sleep that is all i want to sleep sleep sleep

Abba to E to Mental Mania

I AM LISTENING TO ABBA. Proof positive if any was required that I am in recovery from SEVERE MENTAL BREAKDOWN. I found Mamma Mia down Morrisons for a few quid. The lurid red heart on the cover made me buy it as a FUCK YOU to sneery supermarket staff, so I made sure I went through the slow isle where a surly person serves you, not self service as I usually do.

The sneery looks make such purchases so much more worthwhile (shame I didn't get one). Same as when I pick up cig ends from the bus stop. It's always better when somebody's watching disapprovingly. One time one Jamaican man had the cheek to inform me "that's disgusting" NOT AS DISGUSTING AS THE EXTORTIONATE NEW LABOUR GOVERNMENT TAX I shot back. He shut his mouth then. He looked like a Labour voter. Sad.

I'm voting Tory next time as long as they lower taxes for the rich. I want to be rich and I want to pay low taxes so I'm voting for whoever lowers them most for Proper People. High taxes for the poor don't bother me at all. We already have them. It's called the Council Tax. The one I'm being sued for not paying. The one my solicitor wants me "severely mentally impaired" for. Now that I'm a hallucinating paranoid mood swing nutter on antipsychotics I might go for it. Unless I'm depressed again, in which case I don't believe I exist, so I don't bother engaging with forms of any description. Mainly because my depressed self believes it's natural and right that I should live on the streets anyhow. And that the answer for just about everything is a flat-fronted commuter train whooshing into London. (Trains going into go faster than out of. Flat fronts are best for maximum fatal head injuries. I was researching this issue that day when the BASTARD DRIVER actually read my mind and knew I wanted to jump. He waved arms at me! I know I've said this before but honestly how did he know??? I wasn't exactly hanging off the end of the platform.

I was blaring out this Mamma Mia movie when Naomi the Nuttery Club lady rang up re my antipsychotic problems. She said "ooh what's that music" I said "do you like Abba?" she said yeah. I said well you can borrow it on Thursday but she's already got it.

I have to say it's a HELL of a lot better than I thought it would be. I LOATHE that Dancing Queen song. The only Abba tunes I really like are Money Money Money (of course) and Take a Chance on Me. And Chickadee Chickadoo whatever it's called. I never actually VIEWED most of the film. Just smoked fags and looked at blogs. I keep forgetting to comment so y'all probably think I'm dead rude, ignoring y'all. I'm not ignoring y'all. I'm just plain rude!

Now it's blasting out at 2 in the morning with German dialogue. I love German dialogue. Double value on all my DVDs. I now have a good 16, purchased in the course of a week. Tomorrow I get Burton/Taylor in Cleopatra. I know it's crap, but I like her look and I Like the scenery. Main reason I watch films: bright colours, nice scenery, nice actresses.

I know I should be gay because I like Madonna and like musicals but seriously do you know what you have to do to be gay? Wear TUCKED IN TEESHIRTS, cut your hair REALLY SHORT. Snogging boys I've done just for the shock value but they're not as nice as girls let's face it women ain't called the Fairer Sex for nothing. So I'm plain old metrosexual. I feel desperately disappointed in this [I meant being straight is boring, but it's not boring, I was just being provocative]. Also gay clubs are FAR too sexual for my taste. I've been to a couple of gay-mixed nights, but didn't really like them. When I was a clubber my Big Thing To Do was go to Trade Club... but it never happened.

Trade Club was THEE best club in London. It ran from about 4am to 4pm Sundays. Heavy heavy banging hypnotic E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E music. Ie absolutely fantastic. But I never went. I went Sunny Side Up instead, which ran from about midday Sunday till around 9pm, meaning you could spend Friday and Saturday night actually having a sleep cycle, then go clubbing Sunday afternoon and be daisy-fresh (well as fresh as anyone on an E comedown can be)... by Monday. E comedown doesn't really hit you till 3 days later hence Friday night high: Tuesday blues. About half the people at Sunnies as they called it were spacefaced nutters who'd been going all weekend and had probably had twelve pills each by this time.


Trancy hard house: what I went there for

The other half were like me: people who appreciated a sleep cycle. The press often compared Sunny Side up to Trade because it was thee most banging hardhouse club I ever went to. But Sunnies was a normal straight club. I never liked gay clubs as I say even though most are actually mixed I didn't like the sexualized vibe. Clubbing is about being free and expressing who you are. When I was persuaded into a gay club, I stood out like a sore thumb with my long hair and non-tucked-in teeshirts and no belt. Let alone one with a huge buckle.

Maybe I should play about with y'all and do a protesting too much thing so y'all think I AM gay. Well I'm hardly out of touch with my feminine side am I.

Everything I tried just led to the usual situation in my personal life. Me in bed. On my own. Crying my heart out because I felt broken, empty, abused, confused and very lonely.

That was the end effect of Ecstasy too. Though I ADORED that drug, because it's not just a high, it's transcendently high. Cloud 9, 10, 11... going up up UP!

Everybody's happy. Everybody's smiley. Everybody free. Everybody E.

Then the E wears off and they become the miserable gits they are in real life. And after the after after after party, no matter what adventures happened between then and then I always ended up in my own bed, eventually (never brought anyone back to mine: ALWAYS went to theirs. I had a thing about other people's beds, other people's showers... much more exciting)... after all this I ended up in bed, alone and crying. Wondering why I had said what I said (E makes me ULTRA frank, to the point of friendship-damage)... why I had done what I'd done. Usually it was just me being a tit, dancing on the stage but on a comedown this feels ridiculously over the top)... most of all I felt let down and lied to. Badly lied to. So I curled up in bed, crying again.

I had been to wonderland. A paradise so high I wasn't even dancing with people, I was dancing with fractals, dancing along a rainbow. I didn't just find the pot of gold at that rainbow's end, I picked it up and showered in stardust.

And then I came down down down and reality was just too much to take.

The last few times a kind of trip kicked in as the E-rush wore off. My books were dancing on the shelves. Everything was pink, blue, pastel coloured dots. Maggots in my contact lens case. I had to put the lenses in with the writhing maggots, telling myself they weren't really there. Telling myself this did nothing to diminish the hallucination. Then I took downers to sleep. I couldn't tolerate the cannabis most people toked to come down. I was on Valium (bought on the street, of course). Then I switched to heroin ~ far naughtier.

The fact that my friends disapproved only made it more attractive. I thought they were really uptight, snorting weak coke, thinking they were it. I scored heroin via dealers I met through the local homeless (my true home crowd: they never judged me, always accepted me. Only true acceptance I ever got was from the crustie junkies. My true crowd. Not the shoplifters or the prozzies. The crusties. And nearly ALL are dead now. The only people who "got" me. All dead. I'm one of very few left. So I took this heroin in secret. Because it was forbidden. Because it worked for me. Because unlike that coke, even the dealer's personal... it was crap. Washed crack cocaine: THAT worked. Heroin worked. In the end I switched drugs totally.

Raving and clubbing burns you out in a way not even crack does. Taking eight ecstasy in a night really does hammer brains and body. I was never into multi-pilling. I did 1.5 say at midnight, so by one I was flying. By two this dose was peaking and it was time for my second dose: one more pill. By three am I felt fantastic. by four everything was going full blast. Most clubs chuck out at six, so my 2.5 pills were coasting down luxuriously from six to eight.

Usually I went to someone or other's house, but was home by eleven when a couple of blue Valium pushed me down enough to get three or four hour's sleep. I never slept dirty. Always showered first. Showering on ecstasy is like that "dancing naked in the rain" song. Showering on ketamine is like showering in a spray of diamonds. Mushrooms added extra sparkle when I wanted it. Those were my holy trinity: ecstasy, mushrooms, ketamine. Ketamine was attractive because though I couldn't tolerate spliff, ketamine was OK to me. And lots of people were scared of it, which only increased its appeal (have you noticed I can be a contrary person?)

I genuinely loved the K trip. It's quiet and sparse. Very sparse compared to acid, which is sensory overload. On ketamine you float through outer space. One time I flew through the thorax of a gigantic metalic insect each rib clang-clang-clanging as I thrummed past it. The vibrations of ketamine (you literally feel a low-pitched vibration) were to me AUM, sacred syllable of the universe.

These drugs were my religion.

But you need to discard any ideas that I was somehow a fucked up acid casualty. I used E ONLY at parties. One per weekend. Any more was just overdoing it too much, you really do fry your brains on too much E. I knew about E, knew the bad brain damage neurotoxicity publicity so I took it with care. Yeah the last couple of times I took 5, then 8 pills but that was just 2 occasions. Through most of my E-phase I was known as somebody who DIDN'T TAKE IT WHEN I DIDN'T WANT IT. Even though I ALWAYS had it on me at a dance party (only the desperate score in the club where prices are more than double what they should be).

Like most drugs, like an empty glass once you fill what's full, what's as high as can be, you don't get any higher, the full glass overflows, the drug overflows sideways. Instead of Eeeing you're tripping. This is the law of diminishing returns. Didn't Jesus counsel "moderation in all things"? I'm sure he didn't have MDMA in mind, but it's good advice. If you WILL take drugs take this advice and TAKE THE VERY MINIMUM NEEDED TO GET THE EFFECT YOU WANT. Taking more is just wasting money, wasting serotonin, dopamine etc; wasting brain cells.

So that's me and E. Me and raving. I adored it while I did it, but eventually it all got too much and I wanted to do other things. I cleared myself out for several months but the mood swings I'd experienced since my early 20s were worse. I felt like the sea. High tide (me buzzing on nothing) meant a low tide was coming (depression). Heroin squashed my moods into a flat line and I thought I was cured of this cyclothymia. Then it came back ON heroin (ie heroin wasn't working any more). And y'all know what happened lately. Those mood swings were severe even by psychiatrists' standards. I know what mild-moderate-severe mean in the context of bipolar. Now I have bipolar symptoms.

The doctor didn't use that word but he did say when handing over the risperidone script "it should damp down these mood problems". What I experienced was definitely bipolar in that I swing between two opposite extremes. Bipolar disorder is another matter and it must be carefully diagnosed. So I don't know what's wrong. But it would be just like me to be a manic-depressive junkie, wouldn't it?

I've gone past wanting an excuse for inexplicable behaviour and self-neglect and neglect of pretty straightforward responsibilities like filling out council tax benefit forms and sending them off. I got to a point where I was engaging with nothing. It all seemed pointless. I felt like an utter waste of space and a fraud. And I was usually able to put on a convincing front which confused friends and drug workers. It was Mother Hubbs, who says she was on lithium before she dropped it in favour of heroin (both are mood stabilizers) who told me I was bipolar ~ years ago. I thought she was exaggerating. Then I asked her more recently, "do you really think I am?" and she said "you know you are".

I don't know what I "know" but I know I'm up against something pretty formidable. More formidable than any drug I've ever tried. I mean this high I had not very long ago, the one that had me posting rubbish for days on end... that literally did feel better than any drug I've ever experienced. Now I'm down towards normality I'm pissed off, to be frank. Well if you got amazing free highs, wouldn't you want to keep them? It was the agitation, volatility, physical exhaustion to the point of nausea (having forgot to eat), utter inability to focus on anything longer than a few seconds, a total lack of judgement ~ not so much regarding should I or should I not do this, but judging what was or was not right for another person... I honestly had no idea... the utter inability to care for myself, the inability to think of anything without the idea popping open like a flower, every petal exploding with streamers and little ducks dancing down these streamers saying "hello! hello! hello!". Utter distraction. It was this. This mess that I could see I was in, yet didn't really care about. That I was hearing walls, cars, ceilings talk to me. I knew I was going crazy but didn't care. Yet I was angry enough at having been ignored, written off, misdiagnosed that when my druggieworker suggested I see a psychiatrist I agreed wholeheartedly. I knew in my heart I wasn't right. The psychiatrists knew where I was coming from. I wasn't complaining of feeling bad. I was telling them I felt EXTREME. And I was going very very fast. so fast I lost touch with my own thought process repeatedly. If I put food in the oven I didn't know it was in there till the smoke alarm reminded me. Well it's past 3am and I've not slept. Sorry to go on about my mental probs yet again. You must understand this is a big deal to me I have to reach some solution, some serenity, some sanity. If sanity is good then I want it. If it's boring: no thanks. I wasn't bored when I was mad. See I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. I've messed myself up so bad I don't even know what "ordinary" or "healthy" or "balanced" really are any more.

I need a Speak and Spell machine. Perhaps then I can phone home. Maybe somebody will rescue me. I'm lonely here. Nobody seems to understand where I have been. I went to wonderful places more beautiful than you can imagine. And I was tripping on my own natural Higher Power. No drugs. If you honestly do still think I'm on drugs then do yourself a favour and stop reading this blog, because you're totally missing my point.

Well this has gone on long enough. From Abba to Ecstasy to me being a nutter. What's new. Take it easy people. Sorry if this is a mess. I'm not editing, else I'll get uptight and won't want it to go. All I'm doing to this is spellchecking, paragraphing it out then BAM! It's yours to skim or pore over or have a good laugh at.

Take care, lots of love

xx

PS I can just tell someone is going to read this and assume I only took heroin to be "naughty" I had many motivations. Its deadliness was a big one. The fact it made me FEEL BETTER was what kept me taking heroin. "Self-medication" as the nurse who never medicated me (did she think heroin was a good thing?) used to spout...

The flakes on the spoon are ketamine, cooked down from medical ketamine for injection into dried ketamine salts, which are snorted up the nose. Ketamine is NOT horse tranquillizer. It's a dissociative agent used for emergency anaesthesia and pain relief where more diamorphine is not appropriate. IF YOU HEAVILY ABUSE KETAMINE WITH HEROIN AND HAVE A BAD ACCIDENT, DOCTORS MAY HAVE GREAT DIFFICULTY ADMINISTERING ADEQUATE PAIN RELIEF... YET ANOTHER REASON TO GO EASY!


MAMMA MIA MOVIE: TAKE A CHANCE ON ME



ABBA: TAKE A CHANCE ON ME
fully original version
don't anna frid and agnetha look a bit like men in drag?...??



MAMA MIA MOVIE: RED NOSE DAY SPOOF



This tune is the kind of stuff I used to go E-E-Eing to. Without the tacky voiceover. And less cheesy eurotrance. More hardhouse with trance on top. Or hard Goa (late 90s Return to the Source type clubs were my favourite parties; tranced-up hardhouse was my favourite music)
shall i add a few more dance musical terms just to confuse you more if you're not into this shit? hardcore-jungle-tekno, drum & bass, speed garage, grime, deep house, trip-hop, amyl house, psy-trance, gabba, acid techno! There ya have it!!

NA/higher power (but not a whole hour)

o AM I MEANT TO GO TO BLOODY SLEEP and why is this thing set to caps all the time

wow the computer just threw an eppie and did lines all over the place. i think the computer and my brain are interwired. why did trisch li go and die? i don't obsess about anything FAR TOO much else going on and on in on around and UP UP UP i spent more time looking at the ceiling where i am going than i ever have + pointing at it unconsciously then thinking "do not point at the ceiling you nutter!"

i am a bit calmer. i went to na

i thought the last post was calm then i read back over it ti doesn't seem that way

i am trying not to spin sideways into the bingbontingtong rhymestimes imes thingsings ya know. I only put that to show you what I mean. Before I just wrote as I thought that is what was happening that is all i could say contrary to popular belief i am not into excessive self analysis the dr nurse person man yesterday forced me to give a life history kept saying "we have 45 mins to give your entire life" as a way of making me focus going fast was not the problem i went ultra ultra fast faster and faster every time i am stressed i go even faster until its a food mixer the sound of a blender going faster and faster and setting UP UP UP spinning faster and faster and louder and louder that is what i do. not just what my head does what i myself do. THAT is my HIGHER POWER.

that is why i am eternally grateful for being mad because being crazy is FAR better than being on drugs. it is FREE for a start free free free 4 me me me he heee!! EXCELLENT STUFF!!

being mad took me away from heroin, heroin had addicted me like nothing else i have ever seen in anybody else except one person my friend lucky she is the only person i ever met or knew who i culd look at and think "that one's got it worse than me". or even as bad as me. she had a 35 yr + habit, was old enough to be my mum, dealing (or sorting out deals) let her home be used as a crack smoking venue (more than a crack house, as such, there was none of the outofcontrolness of a crackhouse as i know a crackhouse (bear in mind if you don't know, these often belong to "vulnerable" people housed by the local council who let in a nasty dealer who pays them in crack and/or smack usually both. feeds their habit. fucks them around they lose the key to the door. the dealer may even leave them sick when there's a house full of peple using using using in every room you cannot get rid of them they live there on and on it gets totally uncontrollable THAT is what often IS a crackhouse ther are other patterns but i won't waste an entire post telling every in and out of every bloody thing i'll never stop.))

wow i remembered 2 brackets not one. and i remember to close them. that means i'm coming down

only i don't WANT TO COME DOWN THAT MEANS BEING DESPERATE MORE DESPERATE THAN EVER I WAS FOR DRUGS ABSOLUTELY ABYSMALLY DEPRESSED AND TOTALLY UNHAPPY AND NOT COPING

(and no professional ever giving any help though i was desperate for somebody to just do a few basic things in my favour. not give me a life. not wave a magic wand. just vouch for me on forms. say this person needs this to person x who arranges y. THAT type of thing)

you see the trouble i have i was very close to taking a shower with clothes on this morning because shower, turning on water door clothes me closed in door shower in doors all at once wet as you can get and my head going oingoingoginoginogingoingoingoingoinngoi
like that THAT is why i could would have got in a shower with clothes on i fucking despair of myself
no i didn't do that i give you an illustration
so if you hear me say i need to do this and i cannot do it
that is what i mean, i give an extreme, an extreme day but it goes on has gone on for every day for months on end years on end nothing getting done that needed doing. not properly.

do you see? what i'm trying to say is that i knew i had a problem and i tried to fix it in an adult way and somehow the fixing never came to gether and i feel bitter at professionals who i did tell about this repeatedly as somebody who feels worthless as dirt can insist on anything
even though i could smile
i can smile when i am depressed
it is called smiling depression
it is Japanese
i am japanese in culture ie: i smile when upset; when i nod my head i mean i hear you not i agree those are the 2 features i recall

this guy yesterday asked me to go through my life in some detail saying when depression, voices, too fast too high and too paranoid all started and all separately it was the voices i remember when when a thought first echoed. prozac 1995. age 23. a mild thought echo as he called it. like i think, another voice echoes it back or the last syllable. in my head. and blah blah blah ting tong

the worst thing i remember because of him is me being in a state where i was hearing voices but they were not like bad not bad i heard them i felt very negative though but not because of the voices i was very very down i went to the railway station a few times one time the driver saw me and waved arms at me don't do it in that split second he saw something in me what? I cannot could not still cant work it out. to be doing that i must have been absolutely fucking desperate. yet he says i was using heroin as a mood muffler.
WHAT ON EARTH WOULD I HAVE FELT IF NOT ON THE HEROIN?
this bothers me now because i'm not on heroin, terrified to death of being depressed when it gets that bad and went on and on for months into years
i cannot think of a single period over 18 years when i haven't had this in some way, no clear time lasting more than a month or so
so i think this is my entire life
it isn't a question of give up heroin all will be fine
i always knew this

I DIDN'T KNOW IT WOULD BE THIS EXTREME

get me now?

this is what i was scared of. i CAN FACE MY FEARS HEAD ON fear is not a big issue for me
OTHERWISE I'D BE BACK ON GEAR WOULDN'T I?

what i feel is hacked off, confused and terrified of coming down off this this i'd rather stay crazy than be like that

i know i sound desperate

at least i am surviving.

i am a survivor

never wanted to be, but knew it all along

23:52 I have well am just about to take zopiclone 7.5mg number one. there's a cup of black coffee there why did i make it. wasn't intending on sleeping. i spose i have to be grown up and try and sleepi dont want to sleep i bet this is going to back fire horribly i will end up like i was on sunday not able to face my own house through misery akkikh just swallow the stupid thing swallow it swallow DO IT

throw away the coffee. what am i saying i never throw anything away it's going in the fridge

23:57 coffee in fridge; zopiclone down throat hurrah!

(I hope!!)

I hate myself and I want to die

BEFORE I START I WILL GIVE YOU ALL ANOTHER REASON TO BE DISAPPOINTED IN ME. I scored heroin last night. I felt so depressed I didn't know what else to do. I have never felt that way before and not used. Once I had the heroin in my hand I cheered up a bit and blew the last bit of money I had on Chinese takeaway.

The heroin was crap, even worse than usual. It solidified twice in the works but I recooked and banged it up anyway. I lost respect for my body a long time ago. I only hate having to live in it.

Despite this heroin I didn't sleep at all last night. I was looking up ways of inducing a mood-switch. These are 1. stay up all night or get jetlag 2. abuse stimulants (including caffeine) 3. drink alcohol 4. (possibly) eat MSG 5. take antidepressants: I have a 28-pack of expired Prozac, which makes me hyper, agitated and euphoric. Drinking 3 cups of tea in a row on Prozac used to give a speedy high 6. stress (not much you can do about that). Stress induces racing thoughts, and sometimes "voices" (same thing, higher volume) which feel really good 7. sugar. I ate a Cadbury's Creme Egg yesterday and the day before. And the day before it was a Caramel one. Could this tip me over the edge~??

The sleep deprivation (which wasn't intentional) didn't work anyway. I slept all afternoon into the evening and woke up feeling miserable, sinful, full of guilt and wishing I hadn't seen that NutNut doctor when I did. Because I have made a reality out of what was previously dismissed as me lying to make myself look more interesting. I know what they thought of me. Well they can spit on my grave, those bastards.

A week or two ago I the same experiences I had when I went cuckoo started coming back but at lower grade. Racing thoughts, euphoria, disinhibition, less sleep etc. Then of course it just mingled into depression and I've felt miserable ever since. I know a lot of you out there want me to just do myself in, well I have a proposition for you. I'll provide the broken bottle YOU slash my throat you bastards. You want me to die, you fucking kill me. I get death you get life and I hope you get ****d every single day you're in there.

So there we have it. I am an illusion. I'm thinking of getting a job as a support worker. Most people feel miserable. Act their way through life, especially at work. Get home, don't even kick off shoes just fall into exhausted coma only to have to get up again far too early to work again to pay for things you don't want. That's what I should be doing. I'm not taking heroin today. I only had one drink.

I know I should work with the dying but I was thinking about that earlier and I couldn't handle the misery. Doesn't mean I'm not doing it though. I've pushed myself through loads of things I didn't feel up to, past tears and into complete physical and mental collapse. How come other people do stuff they don't want to and are fine, but with me I'm in bed for a week too ill to move? I sweated so bad that week the bedsheets looked covered in white wine stains.

I don't know what to do. I know no-one can help me. I always told myself if I ever felt really crap again I'm going straight in the nuthouse but the nuthouse wouldn't take me because there's nothing wrong with me except life.

That's been the problem all along.

And I don't have bipolar disorder either. The drugs worker, the mental health nurse, the social key worker all say my experience sounds very bipolar but the dr wants to think it's drugs and I'm with the dr. If I actually am a true manic-depressive I will kill myself and have done with.

Anna you bitch leave a comment under that REM song or was it really such a cliched choice? I put it there specially for you. Or are you really still feeling too shit for words? Anna has the most gorgeous blue eyes and a blue wig. I love all things blue. I love Anna.

There was a pill out a few years ago called Blue Mystic. With a name like that I'd have ran to try it, had I not already been engulfed by heroin by this point. I knew it was good as the press claimed several deaths (I've taken heroin for years and know loads of people who died on or via it; I went clubbing two years and didn't even know a friend of a friend of a friend who'd ever died on ecstasy or been put in hospital by that, blue mystic (2C-T-7) or anything else.

That bitch from QVC is on terrestrial television. How this is allowed I do not know. Home shopping! On ITV. And worse still LIVE ROULETTE for hours on end. Imagine this on ABC, NBC, CBS in America, that's what ITV is to us.

*******

Question: have you ever wept bitterly to this tune?

REM: LOSING MY RELIGION
This is way better than the official video. The official one's crap:~

Still on drugs. And ashamed.

I SCORED HEROIN YET AGAIN THIS EVENING. I wasn't intending to do it. But I did. I used. I bumped into a posh boy who grew up with every advantage in life. Privately educated. The whole shebang. He should be married by now with a trophy wife, lovely posh kids who call her Mammar and him Pappar. A job in the city (if he feels the need for a job). His wife would probably be in PR, events planning (setting up stuff like Cartier Polo) or jewellery design. I believe (or suspect) that his family have cut him off. Smart move on somebody who grew up totally dependent on the family's money and status. No wonder he's in and out of prison. Thievery is the only way he knows how to make ends meet with a raving heroin and crack habit.

He scored me a lovely £20 bag of gear. Nothing is as it was before the extreme heroin drought that thwarted supplies, reduced purity to a minuscule fraction of what it had previously been, and left multiple thousands of addicts in constant withdrawal sickness. Even now in the new year things are a mere shadow of their former selves. I used to fix up a £20 bag (0.4, 0.5g) in two or three hits. In my recent binge I've done it in one. I seriously doubt the situation will ever go back to how it was pre-drought, not for many, many months indeed.

I can't believe I've let this relapse go on and on for as long as it has done. I'm beginning to feel desperate. When I did give up heroin I was lucky. I had a psychotic episode that threw me so far off centre that gear was the last thing on my mind.

So I'm now musing on whether or not I ought to score cannabis and smoke it heavily. Cannabis makes me psychotic. My last highly "enjoyable" (not!) experience involved heavy paranoia and voices from the sky yelling down at me. I don't want paranoid psychosis, but if it stops me being a heroin addict, it's surely worthwhile. And the druggieclinic don't mind anyone smoking "dope" as it's naïvely labelled here. (Doesn't "dope" mean "heroin" in the USA? The Americans have the right idea, as in most things.)

David Chaytor, Member of Parliament is being severely punished for swizzling Us the People of fraudulent expenses claims to the tune of over £20,000, that's more than $30,000.
He will be punished in prison for a mere nine months of his poxy 18-month sentence before the idiotic justice system lets him out on licence. Unfortunately because he's not in Malaysia or Singapore he won't be whipped on the bare buttocks until they explode and blood pools round his feet. You can see the photographs here. I'm hoping the one featuring quasi-medical treatment involves rubbing sharp rock salt crystals into the rapist's broken bum. A more severe whipping ought to have been imposed on that MP. That would make those bastards think again before claiming OUR money for duck pond islands, moat cleaning and castillation repairs on their castles. Whipping should be brought back for housebreaking (definitely ~ domestic burglars are the lowest form of scumbags and I'd be well up for rubbing rocksalt into THEIR wounds), muggers, loan sharks, cannabis dealers and most especially corrupt policemen. The ones who spray CS gas into "suspects'" eyes at point blank range. The ones who perjure themselves in court. The ones who beat up "suspects" in the cells. These should be whipped without mercy.

If you want to watch a celebratory 20-cut spanking on a Malaysian rapist, click here. Be warned there is blood. But who cares what happens to a sex offender? The only disappointing thing is he doesn't scream enough.

When I was about nine years old some pleasant young man tried to pick me up from our local railway station. This bastard KNEW MY NAME. Despite the fact that I'd never knowingly set eyes on this character in my entire life, he KNEW MY NAME and insisted he was here to pick me up, and I was to come with him.

I wasn't at the main part of the station, I was on the footbridge, where I waved a 1977 Silver Jubilee Union Flag at the express trains as they trundled past. This made them honk-honk! To my juvenile mind this made it all worthwhile.

Of course when he said are you Gledwood? I'm here to collect you I said, "No that's not me," and this threw him. The fact that we were on the bridge made things, to my present recollection dodgier still. Less chance of genuine mistaken identity. More chance of a pervert willfully picking me up for God knows what. I wish he had got caught and spanked.

In my view paedophiles ought to be shot by firing squad. And none of this pussyminded crap about loading only one gun. Every single gun but one should be fully stocked with bullets. And I'm talking machine guns here. No crappo rifles. Death should be swift and merciful. Put the bastards out of their misery. I feel sorry for them. Remember I'm a drug addict. I know how it feels to have an addiction disapproved of by society. So kill the bastards. If the death penalty seems too harsh, institute a voluntary one. How many prisoners attempt suicide? Many, many thousands. All they need do is get them to fill out a little pink form, then within five minutes the firing squad is assembled and BANG! The bastard is dead!

I don't know what to do about this ongoing addiction of mine. Should I take up cannabis? Surely it's better to be crazy than addicted to heroin. Committing suicide is immoral so I can't do that. That's why I believe drug addicts should get the voluntary firing squad too. I'd have signed up for that years ago.

Happy new year everyone. The bastard from the council had the cheek to inform me my living conditions are of a reprehensibly low standard. Well he can go piss himself. It's my life. If I want to sleep in a nest of quilts like a tubby grizzly, that's what I shall do. He should FCK OFF and be soundly spanked. Or better still hanged.

How do I give up this terrible habit? I purchased some diazepam blues (Valium 10mg). They make me feel rubbery and nice. But nothing makes me feel nice enough. Is it really wrong to want to die? I never asked to live. Now people want to convince me that it's my duty to suffer. Why should this be so...?

I'm putting down my name for the Hospice Work I was talking about. It might take some time to get through the process of Reference Approval. I have no references, but the Druggie Agency ought to provide some. They are there, after all, to set druggie idiots back on the straight and narrow.

So wish me luck, please, and if you've any ideas, please pass them on. Click on "Answers" below ....

JOKE!

What do people call it when you talk to God?
Prayer.
What do people call it when God talks to you?
Psychosis.
What do you call somebody who thinks he IS God?
A psychiatrist.


HM Prison "Service" website. (A "service" most "service users" could well do without!)

Spanking in Singapore, Malaysia and Brunei

Illustrated: evil cannabis spliff; idiotic cannabis man; rapist's bum after 20 strokes of the cane; another criminal's bum after a good whipping ~ this is what they should have done to those corrupt MPs; Her Majesty's Prison Wormwood Scrubs where £20,000 fraudster MP will be punished but unfortunately not soundly caned.

To do or Die: thank Q

***THIS POST DESCRIBES MY OWN FEELINGS; I DO NOT AND NEVER WOULD ADVISE ANYONE TO TAKE THEIR OWN LIFE. WEBSITES AND HELPLINES OF SUICIDE ORGANIZATIONS ARE GIVEN AT THE END***

I have focused here on extremes in order to make my point.

I GOT A MESSAGE THIS MORNING from Q, saying why do I talk talk talk about suicide, why don't I just do it? I'm sure Q isn't the only person to think this. So this Q is for you and anyone else who wonders. My answer.

I was long attracted to heroin before I ever got involved in it. The main attraction was that heroin was deadly. The first time I went out of my way to score heroin I was dead-set on overdosing and drowning in the bath. Circumstances conspired against me and my £50 came back. I have never been so disappointed. But I still had a good go with all the drugs I had: sleeping pills and vodka, lots of clothes, bricks, planks and a bath full of water. I was alone over Xmas. This should have worked. When I woke up in a white haze (the side of the bath) I thought I was dead. For a moment I was happy. Then I realized I was wet and cold and miserable.

I did a far better attempt a year before. Also at Xmas. Also in a locked house. With no interfering bastard due back for a good 10 days. I knocked back nearly a bottle of vodka. then 8 pills of 4 different types. My memory from then on went hazy. Suffice it to say, I woke up with vomit everywhere, and pills in the vomit. Scores and scores of pills. Not a single pill lay outside the vomit. Which speaks for itself. I felt sicker than I've ever been. Poisoned to the core.

I was out of it for three days, sleeping off this overdose. Gradually what came back was a moment when I picked up a bottle of 70 or more Lofepramine, a heavy antidepressant. As far as I knew this was fatal in overdose. I knocked the entire lot back. At least 70 pills on top of this vodka and pills cocktail. To my regret I puked nearly all of it up. But not enough not to feel sicker than I ever have done. Heroin sickness in no way compares. This was deathly. I must have taken in more than I knew of this lofepramine. There was no chance of this being seen as any "cry for help" I wanted to die. I didn't have a chance to feel disappointed or anything else. I felt nothing. As I say I didn't fully come round for a good 3 days.

In my drunken idiocy I had also forgotten that lofepramine is a tetracyclic, not a tricyclic antidepressant. Tricyclics are fatal in overdose. No question. You go unconscious, then you start fitting. Then you go into a heart attack. You do not come back. Tetracyclics are a different ballgame. Lofepramine made me feel ill. Iller than I ever have been or would want to be again. But it didn't kill me.

If only that idiot had provided me with heroin a year later I might not be here now.

Q brought up a very good point when he told me I should stop talking about suicide and just do it. Perhaps I should explain a few things about suicide for the uninitiated.

Suicide usually comes in impulses. When I have felt desperate and at the end of the line, these have hit me every few seconds. That is, literally hundreds of times per day. Most people in a suicidal state actually resist these urges, even despite their insistence. As my old counsellor told me, the will to live is the strongest will of all, no matter how bad you feel.

You need to get out of your heads the idea that suicide is just a wimpy way out, an escape from pain. If I hadn't been such a wimp I'd be long dead now. This isn't how it feels when you're in the thick of "suicidal ideation" as they call it. In depression, life feels worthless and meaningless. In severe depression there is not even a glimmer of hope or joy anywhere. In this state it is easy to feel you are doing the world a favour, that everyone would be better without you, that you deserve to die.

Things don't have to go very much further along until you hit an outright delusional state. Yes plain depression ~ not schizophrenia ~ can make you delusional. You can also hallucinate, hear voices or see warped faces in the walls, the carpet, piles of clothing. All these can be symptoms of extreme depression. It's called depression with psychotic features. (We had a friend at uni, who didn't use drugs (not even hash) who got into this condition.) In this state the most far out and bizarre ideas can seem utterly realistic and reasonable. I will not give details. If you know anyone who appears to be depressed and out of touch with reality you need to get them to a psychiatric hospital and quick. In fact if you know anybody who gives the impression that they may be considering a suicidal act you need to seek help fast. Most depressed people find it hard verging on impossible to take even simple decisions. If you think they need hospital treatment you should push for this, and make it clear to the doctors you don't feel able to take responsibility for yourself. That's what mental hospitals are for. To treat people who cannot survive anywhere else.

Using drugs while depressed, especially speed, cocaine or crack can make the state far worse and even precipitate psychosis. If you know anybody in this condition you need to step in as a friend and help. Never assume anybody who's ill enough to hallucinate ~ or who's just staring blankly at a wall, rocking ~ will get help for themself.

Two weeks ago I finally had enough of gear. Crap gear full of rubbish I didn't want and hadn't paid for. I'm not talking "bash" I mean pharmaceutical whackodrugs. I wasn't the only person to lose days at a time in amnesia. But I don't know anybody else who went off like a skyroket, hearing voices, paranoid and hallucinating floridly.

The absolute fruityloops peak of this lasted only 2 days. In 3 days I got 1 hour's sleep. My mind was electrified. When I closed my eyes it was like watching television. Vivid imagery played out behind them. My hearing went louder by a factor of at least 10. Suddenly I could hear everything in every room of my house. People on the street were yelling their personal business. If I so much as cranked a door handle open, the door told me to buy a tangerine (yes I thought this was hilarious, too). At one point it sounded like radios were lying everywhere, left on, babbling, playing music. A confusing jamboree of sound. At another point I couldn't tell whether I was thinking or hearing, I was hallucinating so much. I also had visual hallucinations: spectacular lights, police officers posing as parking meters. Going outside was like stepping outside a full-on rave. Two police cars side by side, blue flashers on, took me to psychedelic seventh heaven.

I took no drugs to get in this state. I STOPPED taking them. I wasn't depressed. I was laughing my head off, singing songs I was so happy, very disinhibited. My mind was racing very quickly and flooded with ideas. Into all of this utter darkness mingled. I was closer to a desperate, impulsive suicide than I ever have been. Every other act I ever did or contemplated would have been a planned event. This was random and quick and dangerous. I speak literally when I say I wasn't very far from a state where I would not have known who or where I was or what I was supposed to be doing. Because I kept in touch with some rational part of myself I knew this, and that freaked me. The experience itself was not inherently scary or nasty. I'd rather feel that way than be in panic or anxiety. What hurt was going mad and knowing it. You'd have to be incredibly naive to hear voices, hear people spitting and swearing at you along the road, all the way up and back, and not realize: this is what happens to crazy people.

To anyone still having a good laugh from all this, I challenge you what would YOU have done in such circumstances? Would you have got there and back and home without being arrested or put in hospital? If you don't believe a psychotic-like episode can happen to you, just try smoking as much crack as you can manage. Best way I know of to bring it on. Point was here, there was no crack. There were no drugs; only a lack of drugs. That is what scared the rational me, the tiny part of sanity that remained through all of this. My head was like an echo chamber for days afterwards. One thought I thought was repeated in my head and bounced back and forth. Some thoughts flew straight in from outside. What was mine or not became confusing. Doing the simplest task: buying something in a shop, using a laundrette, going anywhere in time on time. This was extremely stressful. I only posted on my blog because I find talking and writing easier than anything else. These are the only things I do truly WELL. Anything else computer-related, e.g. signing in, was difficult beyond words.

Well I think I've said all I want to re me and suicide. I've experienced suicidal thoughts for a long, long, time. Provided they aren't acted on, that's all they are, just thoughts. Usually I do not mention them. I am fully aware that to do so can sound childish and petulant and attention-seeking. I posted some of my thoughts as they came more recently because I was in a mess, had no idea what was or was not relevant or real. Through all of this I tried as hard as I could not to cause genuine offence or upset. And yet to be true to myself. This is not an easy situation to negotiate. My blog tells the truth, no matter how nasty, sordid or embarrassing. If I deleted everything that could embarrass me at some time in front of some person almost nothing would remain. In a way I have prostituted my life story, if you want to see it that way. So I might as well go on. It means little to me any more, I'm so used to telling it. At least that way it cannot hurt me.

So that's me. This is my existence. Judge me all you like. But I challenge you to walk a mile in my shoes and still say what you say.

Over and out.

***SUICIDE HELP***
Please anyone from the relevant countries give names/numbers of organizations.
If you or anybody you know is or appears to be contemplating suicide (including dropping hints) GET HELP NOW.
The following organizations and helplines can give advice and put you in touch with mental health services:

UK: Samaritans National Helpline 08457 90 90 90 (low cost from BT landline, may be expensive/not eligable under minutes schemes from mobiles)
Central London: (probably cheaper from a mobile phone or callbox) 020 7734 2800
Eire Samaritans: 1850 60 90 90

Australia: Samarians
Befrienders: helpline08 93 81 5555
Befrienders: youthline 08 93 88 2500
Befrienders: freecall countryline 1800 198 313

Canada: Befrienders 1-888-787-2880
Helpline Vancouver (cheaper from a cellphone) 604-872-3311 (Greater Vancouver)

New Zealand: Samaritans 0800 726 666

USA: National Council for Suicide Prevention 212.677.3009
Befrienders 310 391 1253

My train-wreck life trundles on and on ...

I NEVER KNOW WHAT TO SAY when I feel the way I do today.

On the one hand, scores of people read this blog, some barely know me. I assume they will think I'm being a dramaqueen. Or writing "performance diary" ~ more about posture and pose than anything I'm actually feeling.

On the other hand, this site is the nearest thing I have to a diary. It's for that reason that I won't post personal pictures. You know me far better as Gledwood the hamster than you ever could know of my "real" image. If I posted up my face I'd be too self-conscious to reveal even half the stuff I actually do. So you're better off with Hamsters and Double UO Globe logos than my face, trust me.

Let me tell you my reality.

During the deepest pits of the drought I did three weeks on pretty much methadone alone. I continued trying to use, getting almost nothing for my money on four particular days in a row, and so over this time, and the subsequent week, when I did give up scoring and spent my money on books and socks instead, I was taking fewer opiates than at any point since the late 1990s. Yet I felt empty inside, and miserable. Barely showered. Late at night when I was tired, I chatter of crack-voices came back to my head, even though I have barely touched crack in two years.

I pray that God, who understands my mind and motives won't condemn me for not coping. Because I am barely coping at all. I haven't done any washing up except single plates, spoons, mugs, in months. My clothes desperately need laundering. They stink, as do I. I wish I could care enough to bother, but I can't be bothered. My floor is a melange of dirty teeshirts, odd socks and jeans that won't button tangled with empty pizza boxes, newspapers, carrier bags, intermingled with sacks of rubbish where the urge to tidy up has seized me, but not for long enough to make any meaningful inroads into the chaos.

My drinking got so bad last week that I was having blackouts again. I lost half a gram of gear ~ in my own house! ~ I hold out no hope ever of finding it. I was so out of it the other night I actually flushed a £20 note down the toilet.

I need glasses for reading. In some troubled corner of this fleapit they lay safe and undisturbed. But though I can barely see without them, I can't trouble myself enough to bother looking for them.

The thought of suicide haunts me every single day. Knowing that people come here in desperation to find out the latest on the Great Heroin Drought 2010 and that although I hate the Mean Green, I am at least lucky enough to be scripted methadone. Entirely at the mercy of street dealers, some have spent £100s on stuff that has little else in common with low grade Middle Eastern heroin except that it is brown. As those in the thick of this drought will know, the strength of even the best heroin has fallen to a tiny fraction of what it was some months ago. Some street gear is so bad that long-term addicts have been testing heroin-negative. A fantastic achievement, if only it could last longer than present circumstances dictate.

Last week especially people were becoming increasingly frantic and desperate. I tried to do what I could, which wasn't that much. But I did try.

Of the two gears I have been buying, one looks cloudy, like orange juice with black bits floating on top. The black bits can easily be fished out. The remaining " orange juice" contains a little B and a lot of benzos and possibly some other types of downers, too.

The effect is the same every time. The miniscule drop of B I feel instantaneously. A big part of heroin's addictive potential lies in how it almost instantaneously crosses the blood-brain barrier, creating what journalists like to call a "rush". Cocaine also crosses this blood-brain barrier very quickly, hence the super-compressed two-minute "flash" experienced when a large amount of crack is piped.

Not all drugs have such rapid effects. Good example: a cannabis bong. The paranoid schizophrenia and alzheimers that cannabis smokers call a "high" keeps climbing and climbing for a good five-ten minutes, a trickle more than a rush. Heroin and crack by contrast smash into the system like a tidal wave.

Yesterday I found some better gear that looked at first glance like crushed up paracetamol. It sparkles because it appears pre-cut with vitamin C. This stuff cooks up the colour of dilute whiskey, has about three times as much heroin as the "orange juice", but ALSO contains so many sedatives that although I started trying to post around one pm, I kept waking up having to delete screensful of ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzs.

Like an evil cannabis-bong, this mysterious sedative creeps up slowly. So I didn't even know I'd inadvertently taken it till 20 minutes later when I suddenly felt heavy-limbed and buzz-eyed and dropped off so sleep till half past five.

I think I've caught up on several days' lost sleep. I even have a crazy scheme where I'll stick to methadone 100% yet again. Because if at first you don't succeed, as the saying goes ...












PS If you want lots of confessions, methadone and Suboxone (formerly heroin) and the most luridly intimate accounts of the author's "booty calls"; Anna Grace I Hate My Face, I Hate This Place and I'm Strung Out Again from Wisconsin (nr Chicago) cannot be bettered: I particularly like the blue wig shot.

Sweating like a swine all day

AND THE HEATWAVE CONTINUES! Temperatures here are far from impressive on the Euro-scale. A week ago it was 34C on the plains of Austria. Yesterday it it was FORTY ~ that is 105F in Switzerland. But it's still 31 or 32, 32C being 90F with deathly humidity.
I was sweating so bad earlier on that my hair was running with water. I had to keep wiping my "reading glasses" (I need to wear 'em all the time but vanity STILL makes me pretend in certain situations that they're only for reading) yeah anyway these stupid glasses, which I only wear because I had a psychotic breakdown (nothing but outright paranoid psychosis could disturb the balance of my mind enough to make glasses-wearing seem acceptable)... What am I saying? These glasses, they were basically so splashed with my own sweat at one point I couldn't see through them! I had to run in the shower to cool down. I'm next to a constant fan but it's a fan heater with heat off, so as fans go it has a power of about 1/10.
Well this is a load of blah, innit?
I feel miserable as sin. I am constantly knocking back alcoholic "cocktails" in the form of the cheap and nasty white cyder British street drinkers usually opt for, mixed with tropical juice, which results in a rough home-made alcopop. It's quite nice actually.
My body feels ill. Constant diarrhoea. Diarrhoea is said to be a sign of inner turmoil (don't cackle!) I mean it's sposed to be a be a form of crying.
It's strange, with all my years wishing I was dead and manifold examples I could give that would make your hair stand on end of things I have done, not so much directly suicidal though I have tried to top myself. I woke in a white haze thinking "wow, is this what it's like to be dead?" then I realized I was freezing cold and very wet, wearing about 20 layers of clothes and the white infinity was nothing more special than the side of my bath!
Yes I tried to drug myself and drown and I floated!
Well after years of all this, and frankly believing that suicide was a way of doing the world a favour, I have finally seen the chaos it leaves behind.
Which, to be frank, has started to make me feel a bit suicidal.
O how can I write stuff like this? I always knew my blog was the saddest placed on the bloggosphere but new depths of self-indulgence are being plumbed. Does anyone really wanna hear this? Is anyone interested?
I wish I could say my life has hit some kind of turning point but it never will. A Muslim Fundamentalist outside the public library once told me that if you do yourself in by stabbing yourself, you'll spend all eternity in hell stabbing yourself with a knife (and I thought God was "merciful") but hey. Hearing this just made me clear that if I ever did do myself in I should use soporific drugs plus a big shot of heroin to put the final boot in. An eternity ODing on heroin I could just about deal with.
When I was younger I wanted so much to live. Even when depressed I didn't genuinely want to die, not most of the time, which is why depression hurt so much. In recent years I hit a far worse state because I literally gave up on life in just about every conceivable way. I was a shambling wreck, a shadow where a person used to be.
My family seemed to think this was some great tragedy but they love me. (I don't know why.) I once read something in a cod-psychology book, that stated that the depressed tend to fall into two categories. Those who feel unloved, and those who feel unlovable. Well that is me ~ the second one. And if you're reading this blog and you still wonder what makes me tick it is that statement.
My counsellor keeps banging on about low self esteem. Well why the hell should I esteem myself? And what is this crap that tells us we're all inherently wonderful people. Most people are selfish, shallow, egotistical, hedonistic, impatient, disrespectful... need I go on. Actually I was talking about myself there. The old chestnut about three fingers pointing back, that's one of the truest aphorisms (is that what they're called) sayings. Yeah. It's one of the truest sayings I've ever heard.
The only two bits of news that have brought me any genuine joy in the past decade were:
1: Earth to be hit by giant asteroid and all life wiped out. (Yipee!)
2: Jesus Christ returning soon.
I think if I have to go for Jesus or an asteroid it has to be Jesus.

REVELATION 21

3 And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God.

4 And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.

5 ¶ And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new. And he said unto me, Write: for these words are true and faithful...

21 And the twelve gates were twelve pearls; every several gate was of one pearl: and the street of the city was pure gold, as it were transparent glass.

22 ¶ And I saw no temple therein: for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it.

23 And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.

24 And the nations of them which are saved shall walk in the light of it: and the kings of the earth do bring their glory and honour into it.

25 And the gates of it shall not be shut at all by day: for there shall be no night there...

1 And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.

2 In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.

3 And there shall be no more curse: but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it; and his servants shall serve him:

4 and they shall see his face; and his name shall be in their foreheads.

5 And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light: and they shall reign for ever and ever.

I wanna take a dip in this river of life. And obviously I would like to see those famous Pearly Gates. Also I could do with a nibble on one of those leaves.

If anyone needs healing, I do.

20 ¶ He which testifieth these things saith, Surely I come quickly: Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus.

21 ¶ The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen.