Bagels – Conversation stopper

Had an interesting little meeting yesterday regarding a local initiative with addiction recovery as subject.

Minor subjects missed, but required IMO – Pain, Sex and DENTAL WORK.

Bagels were bought at end of meeting. Conversation stopped. I have little teeth. Old addicts have little teeth.

Bagels – FOOD FOR THOUGHT

Interesting meeting. Did okay. ADHD me under control enough to manage in context, but still creative enough to push boundaries.

After that went to do something with day and ended up filling in time with this…

And thus, talking shit about addiction, capitalism and car tyres being stabbed filled an afternoon.

An N.A meeting filled the evening.

Read step three out loud from the book. Shared. “Hey, NZFiend, ADDICT.”

“Hey NZ FIEND”

“And suffering dickhead”

Chortles

“I am not going to share about step three, nor anything at all relevant to anyone or anything at any time”

Laughter

“I would like to say that everything I have heard tonight resonates with me. Again, everyone says something that others have been through or identify with. Apart from the first 50% of Mr X’s sharing of course.”

Laughter

Between jokes, jibes, ridicule and self depreciation, there were a few choice comments about kids truly believing they are simply AWESOME. Then there is the angry moment where N.A hears what I think of the way they did not support, and then totally back stabbed the mental health ward meeting.

People are strange.

They remember what they want to.

Addicts may know me as aggressive, empathetic, knowledgeable, helpful, rude, caring, loud, quiet.

And, in their own heads, they would all be right.

Five Worst Gifts For a Drug Addict

I have still not read any of the romantic novels about drugs and drug culture that you would expect. I should. I may like.

What I have read is stuff like this…

And the thing that sticks in my head from this… A line similar to…

“”AH, THE FEELING OF THE NEEDLE PIERCING THE SKIN, FLESH AND A HARD LAYER AS IT FINALLY BURSTS THROUGH INTO A VEIN””

I made that line up. I am currently aiming for mediocrity and not pushing the limits of the average. I am even saying “I” all the time. Just so the literary type people will scoff.

…

That line is bad. I thought it was romantic and crap. But it ain’t. It’s bloody true. As being unfortunate enough to have a lot of blood tests, the feeling is all too familiar.

Romantic it appears to the non expert. Cold hard bloody annoying fact to the likes of the Marc Lewis, PHD and NzFiend, ADHD.

 

Cut mine up. You’re welcome. No longer using it

By Elizabeth Hartney, PhD

Addictions Expert

Updated January 01, 2014.

Drug addicts are difficult to buy gifts for.  They may seem to lack interests outside of their drug use, and you might wonder whether they will sell the gift to buy drugs, or exchange it for drugs.  If you don’t want to make matters worse, but do want to treat the drug addict in your life, here are the five worst gifts for a drug addict that you should avoid giving this year.

1. Drugs or Alcohol

2. Cash

Although you know they want cash, and would have no qualms about asking for it if you ask what they want, giving cash is just one step removed from giving drugs.   You may think they will spend it on something they need, like food or their heating bill, but they won’t.  They will spend it on drugs.  Period.  If you want to pay for food or a bill, pay for it directly, and buy basics.  Anything fancy will just be sold on.

3. Drug Paraphernalia

No matter how romanticized, drug paraphernalia reinforces drug use.  Drug use is highly ritualized, so don’t imagine that fancy bongs, pipe, or chillum will be used as an ornament.  The same goes for fancy rolling papers, decorative scales, stash boxes etc.  These gifts will reinforce the addiction, and may even heighten their enjoyment of the drug.

4. Media Glamorizing Drugs

Although these items may be sought after among drug users, they also reinforce the mystique of drug use, and make the drug user feel they are part of a special subculture of sophisticated individuals.  Avoid giving books and movies glamourizing drug use, such as rare copies of “High Times,” literature on the legalize marijuana movement etc.  Also avoid giving music from famous drug using musicians, such as Lou Reed, Grateful Dead, Babyshambles, Snoop Dogg etc.   Pass on movies such as Trainspotting, even if your addicted friend or relative claims they would love to see it.

5. Anti-Drug Propaganda

You might think you are helping, but please, please don’t give a drug addict anti-drug propaganda.  It will have one of two effects.  The first possibility is that the drug addict will feel bad about themselves, will feel judged and misunderstood, and not accepted for who they are.  The second, and much more likely possibility is that it will be perceived as a joke to drug users, and will make them feel content in their addiction.  “Reefer Madness” is an example of anti-drug propaganda that holds iconic status among drug users for its ridiculous portrayal of the drug experience.  Some drug users even collect anti-drug propaganda for its amusement value, and extreme material certainly doesn’t put them off using drugs — on the contrary, it makes them feel more certain that the anti-drug movement is a futile attempt to stop them having fun.

 

 http://addictions.about.com/od/relationshipissues/tp/Five-Worst-Gifts-For-A-Drug-Addict.htm

 

Five Worst Gifts For a Drug Addict

BY NZFIEND. EXPERT by EXPERIENCE

1. DRUGS

They won’t share any with you, use them too quickly as they didn’t have to lie, cheat or sell their souls to the Police for them.

2. CASH

Fuckme. Really? Cash? Those who need cash need it for drugs. Those whom are functioning highly, even if just selling vast quantities of drugs, will think you’re lame for not getting a real present. Try a GIFT CARD from a DRUG STORE instead.

3. Drug Paraphernalia

Giving a drug addict needles is pretty dumb. Really dumb. How the hell do these people get published on the internet with this crap?

4. Media Glamorizing Drugs

Fuckme, I went to see “Trainspotting” with my best mate and his missus the night before he got sentenced for umpteen counts of supply. Saved him quite a few times, but when you use gang house phones to book airlines tickets in your own name… Well… Mate, even I cannot save your arse from that amount of stupidness. Reality was not for you, but the next five years changed you a bit…

We nodded off most of the way through. His missus dropped me off home. He said “see you in the morning”. I went to court. He got five years. He said “see you next week”. I said “fuck off”. I was in the next cell by Friday. Three months for driving offences. It is hard to do little deals around the place with the police following you everywhere. So you drive fast. They can’t keep up. You do a little deal. They catch up none the wiser. Hardly worthy of jail at all.

Anyway, TRAINSPOTTING didn’t glamorise anything. The book was better. The twin c90 cassette tape of Irvine Welsh reading his own book was the best. We liked that one in jail.

This, actually, is an interesting point. The NZDRUGFOUNDATION has posters of all sorts of things I would have considered silly on their office walls… Film posters. BLOW, TRAINSPOTTING, Naked Lunch etc.

Maybe this promotes discussion. At the end of the day all the stories don’t really end very well for most people involved. Just like life.

5. Anti-Drug Propaganda

If you got me a present of an N.A brochure I would honestly think you’re off your freaken head.

I am thinking more clearly than you completely fucked on drugs.

 

But, you know what?

I am still proud. I have not retaliated. I have not acted badly.

The mental health ward meeting is shut. That makes me sad.

I have not been back to N.A as they all simply believed MM’s crap and WHERE WAS THE SUPPORT FOR ME RUNNING THE MEETING by myself? That should not have been allowed to happen.

I am doing some good work, with some good people.

Tomorrow I am going to a  place that used to employ MM as a consultant on a new addiction initiative.

There are pro’s and con’s. I can’t afford a car really. But, with my bad back and  having a kid, can I afford not to have a car?

I am proud.

Proud I have not gone and done some really stupid stuff.

I am not proud to live in a country that allows someone to smash, steal or harm you and your property on the basis of how much the police, courts and judges like you.

 

I am going to be proud to bring attention to this sort of thing.

Once the plight of the addict within the stupid capitalist system is solved, I’ll get right onto sorting out the Police.

You watch.

POLICE sucking on MM’s

Hi again. Life has a habit of coming back and biting you right on the arse.

I really don’t know what to say. So, here goes sweet fuck all….

My car tyres were all stabbed. $300 each. Window wipers, mirrors… All broken. Etc etc.

After telling all the neighbours that I would walk up and down the street stabbing everyones tyres until someone could tell me whom the alleged perpetrator was.

I ring the police.

“Hullo, hullo hullo, whadayahaveherethen?”

[Police don’t really talk like that, but they may as well]

“Hi, my name is ……. and my car has been trashed. Mirrors, tyres, wipers… All smashed, stabbed or ripped off”

“Really sir, that is no good, no good at all. Did anyone see anything?”

“Well, not yet, only just started asking. May go let tyres down all over Wellington until something turns up though. Sounds reasonable…”

“Uhm, you best leave that to us sir…”

Not wanting to argue the slack nature of NZ Police work, I count my lucky stars this guy on the phone has not heard my name and he appears to be actually proactively approaching this predicament. Just as I am thinking it is quite neat having police whom don’t just look at me and try to find an excuse, any excuse, even a planted excuse, to tazer, shoot or break bones in my foot, a guy on the second floor about ten metres (thirty foot) from my car leant out and gave me a very good description of two females.

“4am. Two slutty dressed females, one brunette with huge tits, other small blonde. Brunette plain or ugly even, blonde fuckable”

“Ahah, I know exactly whom that is. The well known, but still alive and kicking, paid police informant and all round tell tale borderline personality disorder drug ho, MM.”

So as not to be seen jumping to any conclusions, I get neighbour to talk to police. He gives excellent description of major mental fat whore and her entirely more cash warranting blonde friend.

“Brunnette, BIG TITS. I know this. I thought they pissing on my car. They crouch down between cars. I see stab motion. She stands up and her top too tight. BIG TITTIES all squish out and flap around. I see this. If I see again, I know her.” etc etc etc

The police guy sends around a fingerprint forensics guy.

Who recognises me. Doesn’t take any photos. Tells me there are no prints even though if it was a murder he would find plenty of evidence. He leaves with discouraging shakes of the head when I ask him who the hell does he use to get his van warrant of fitnessed. “It is a wreck. If the police pulled you over, you’d be fucked. “

So, now more than a week has passed. The police have not even come to interview the neighbour. The original guy handing the call was ten kilometres away. There is a closer police station. Wellington Central. And they all know me.

And, more importantly for once, they know MM.

MM has been “star witness” in getting a lot of people in a lot of trouble. Some of whom are still in jail today.

I email the “INDEPENDENT” (yeah right) POLICE COMPLAINTS AUTHORITY with copies of emails sent to me. This is quite interesting. I did not give the police my GMAIL account. They told me they would TEXT me a copy of the FILE NUMBER. Twenty minutes later there was email with my full name (did not tell them that either now I remember – I just said my first name and phone number.) Interesting.

Then ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

I email, I call, I get stonewalled. I get “we have sent the file to someone else” from two different sources. I ask whom now has it “Wellington, it is not for me to say what they do”

I copy all this and send to complaints people. They ring back within hours. I tell them that previously my complaints have been dealt with along the lines of “look you stupid fuck, we’re not investigating that” even though they were investigating me for supposedly harassing the people who stole from me. Dickheads.

I get a letter in the mail saying that I am due for SENTENCING in the DISTRICT COURT on charges of assaulting MM. WHAT THE FUCK? Are you serious? How the hell did you make that load of shit stick? Jeeeezus christ. This MM bitch has either just found out I got “guilty” or her kid is away on school holidays and she is on the gear having a bender. Or, both.

THE SCALES OF JUSTICE ON LEFT, WHAT MOST EXPECT

ON RIGHT, MINE

So now my car is fucked. There is no money to sort it. MM got the ward meetings stopped. She has spread word to all and sundry all about it.

Turns out she has done the same to other people. When her mate Donna left her, she rung the police claiming Donna was scoring drugs from SO-AND-SO and beat her up etc.

All I can say is that unless someone high up in the police gets a handle on all these bullshit paid informants, one of them will likely end up worse for wear. It’s not on…

I am getting t-shirts made.

DO NOT ASK TO TRADE SEX FOR DRUGS
DO NOT ASK FOR DRUGS ON TICK
DO NOT ASK FOR DRUGS

AS REFUSAL WILL OFFEND

 

 

More life and death.

And, once again, I have written, deleted, added, deleted, gone out for the day, came home and simply shut the window without posting anything.

Why do I have so much trouble writing about apparently great lives and them ending?

Cannot help but compare to self. And upon the weight of the evidence, depression sets in and I do something else.

 

http://www.tetongravity.com/story/ski/j.p.-auclair-and-andreas-fransson-confirmed-dead-in-chilean-avalanche

Back then [as a child] I was stuck in the fully conceptualized way of thinking where I drew a line between myself and the others – the people who realized their dreams. My grand intent was, luckily, to smash all walls and limits I could possibly find – but still I drew a line in between them, the people who, in my world were free, and myself. I think I gave them mystical powers of strength as well as physical, mental and economical standards.

Fifteen years later I know from my own experience that the people I used to look up to where not really stronger than anyone else – they had just been following their dreams.

Where to?

Before I would have said the end, but nowadays the end mean something completely different to me and now I’m satisfied saying that they have just taken their dreams a little bit further than the normal, met their fear a little bit more than the average person.

The end means something completely different to me now. I have so many of my friends who have taken their quests to the end that society calls death, that I sometimes have a hard time appreciating the value of “taking something to its end” and to give it the right proportions.

I’m not even sure I believe in the normal concepts of life and death any more. What’s what, and which is which, and which is that? I have visited many worlds and from some vantage points, what we keep as things important and serious just seem like a game of sticks and stones between kids.

— One dead dude. Sadly died in avalanche.