If someone is struggling, don’t hand them a gun with a bullet in it. They might shoot you before working out it was meant for themselves….
My year has sucked arse with exceedingly hot chilly in it.
Cannot see kid, powerless and unable to make my own decisions on anything, getting fucken grief off everyone I know when I even try to do something half decent and every cunt out there remembers one little shitty thing, not a hundred good ones.
And, at the end of the day, we all struggle.
I admit to struggling more than ever this year. Age is a part of it, sore back, thinning hair, overwhelming sense of having missed life and love.
Have been saying this a lot lately… “I am fucked..”
And I am.
Bless me father, for I have sinned. Has been a whole life since my last confession… So here goes fuckall…
Started smoking again after seven years of non smokerville. Have a huge hole in me that am trying to fill with unhealthy doomed relationships… Can totally understand sex addicts… Put it that way…
Having moved out of the “big smoke” to a little place in the country ten kilometres from the nearest shoppe’s, loneliness set in, just like being stuck in a small flat by myself for three months. My only “friend” up this way soon turned into a stress. I only had her, and she knew it. Soon I did not want to see her any more as she was only showing up once a week to work on her car and then would not eat or drink water in the sun and refused to listen to any help offered. I met a friendly lady at the supermarket and found myself in a confusing old fashioned love triangle that should not have been. She swore black and blue she was not seeing the father of her kids. I don’t mind if she was just using me for attention from him. If only she would have been honest about it.
Having been just released from custody and being on twelve month intensive supervision through the probation service having a fight and ending up in jail again was not the best course of action.
But it is what happened. I am back home now, but with no friends or support within a 100km. The young girl has found someone else (not hard for a damn pretty and energetic young girl, let’s face it) and me, being me, is truly happy for her. Honestly, for so many reasons….
Conversely it makes me unhappy. She could be doing so many things. Creative and thoughtful things. But appears to be still too interwoven into “gangsta” land….. Never mind… Her life… Not mine….
So, father, I did some damage to someone. I don’t ask their forgiveness, but would like to apologise and try putting things right. The system (Police) just want me in jail. But how does that help the victim? I cannot do anything for them from jail.
So, life. Has gone WORSE to WORSE.
Am lost. Do not know who I am any more. If one person appreciates my efforts it astounds. One hundred good things are outweighed by one bad.
The scales of justice and human perception are truly fucked.
Therefore, so am I.
AFTER coming up here to escape drama and trouble, Narcotics Anonymous “re-acquaintanced” itself with my goodself. Have been to a camp out, and was really enthusiastic about a few of the smaller meetings in places like Palmerston North and Foxton. These have proven very useful to me, and me to them in some instances.
My higher power sometimes works well. There are multiple instances, but here is one…
A lady whom I really appreciate in her efforts with me and other struggling addicts fronted up when she heard the judge had confined me to my home, NOT to enter the local township (the only road from my place goes to the town, btw!) and that there was no provision for attending N.A or other supports. The judge, the police and the lying informants are setting me up to fail. This lady, same age as me (just saying) sends me a text saying she is at the Palmy North Christmas Majic show. Having nothing better to do for my happiness deficit that is life, I drove there. The very long way around so as to only skirt the local town by a few hundred metres, of course…
I get to the show and park right at the entrance, not knowing if it costs or anything. It costs $5 to get in, which I pay with a twenty.
I am thanking my higher power for cheering me the fuck up a little and show the couple running the stall my neck tattoo… My signature… For, fuck me and my higher power, the first stall I see at the show is this….
Yuhp. Go tell that to the grandkids.
But wait, there’s more…
Was not contemplating buying one of these things, but was interested enough to take the photo… The man behind me at the gate comes running with a new $10 note grasped in an outreached hand…
“Sir, sir – You dropped this $10 note”.
The sign said “THREE LITTLE ONES FOR TEN BUCKS”
So, thanks to the lady who runs the candy floss truck, there was some good to come of the day out the house. Upon my return to put the little shrooms next to some plants on my porch, the chickens ran out to great me.
“Food, food” they screamed in the annoyingI, for the first time in a month, found a nest full of eggs. 11 of them. Hidden between house and flowers – the dark patch in the picture…
Thank you for the Candy Floss and Foxton Fizz. You made my day.
Having just wrote four hundred words on cellphone and WordPress lost it all, I am simply going to sum up… My best mate and beauty girl has to go. Used needles, so upsetting behavior. Awake twenty hours, splitting headache, roosters crowing and I want sleep. Am not heartbroken, am truly shattered and just needing to get this yarn out. No matter how embarrassed I will be later, fuck you all. The cellphone screen is a blurry haze and my pathetic attempts at oblivion came to nothing, as they always have.
25 years of trying to destroy yourself, you think you’d have it sussed by now…
My young friend is awesome. Her future could be so great. She cares, she took me to family court, she is beautiful inside and out.
But she is complicated and dealing with addiction and mental health issues. She is also capable of some ruthless violence. I love her, admittedly.
Have tried, truly. We have had such a brilliant two days, and then seriously almost killed eachother. We faced up in public area. I admit that sometimes I see exactly what I am going to do, and it was not pretty. She had already managed to not cut me up or rearrange my skull, I could see that. But half an hour went by and she was still so shitty she was holding back from attacking me. She pissed me off so much I saw myself doing some stuff that I needed not to do. She has never seen me angry and not giving a fuck. It may surprise her. We were so close to seriously hurting eachother. I had already decided which bit of concrete her head would break on, but outwardly I was calm. I talked and joked with staff at the premises, I stole her cellphone from her lap as she went to drive off without my tools and bags. She refrained from whatever grizzly and horrid things she had planned. Even though we sat within hitting distance (oops, that was me. She kept moving away, although she was main aggressor, odd she was so keen to be violent yet stayed away..)
And, then an hour and she was still not talking and driving and stopping at gas station for hour without saying anything.
Another half hour of this driving down the motorway and I opened the door to get out. She stopped me by grabbing me, I think. No way was I allowed out.
Why would someone who wants me gone, stop me from leaving ?
Why is this crazily beautifully hearted young lady so willing to dismember me. Why aren’t I scared in the least of her? What hell will ensue if we both are bad at same times?
fuck. it is BaD enough without broken bones and blood. We would both give a decent job at that.
Fuck this. It will be jail. She cares, but everything is about her. Sometimes the world is not all about you. Hate to burst your lovely little 20year old haze of bubble.
She is lovely.
Yet I need her out my life right now.
Condemning myself to knowing no one in the area and financial and vehicle stress is not a nice thing.
She’s my best mate
And my most dangerous addiction.
I have to make her Not My Problem.
Am sorry and sad. After such a brilliant 40 hours, her Mum came out when we drove up to make sure we didn’t fight. I love this little scrawny LEGS girl.
I tried. I moved from Wellington for less drama and for a good friend. Looks like failed on both.
For I went and stuck a needle in my arm. I was crying and confused by my young friend. I was angry. I had been to family court and they treat me like shit. She was there, looking stunning in her jeans that are more see through lace than jeans.
Fucked if I know why she is my friend.
Or was my friend. For I did not her in that capacity for a while. Now it’s really fucked. Wish she would let me, or others, help. I care and we can compliment eachother. We can
Almost killing your lovely LEGS best mate and most trusted secret keeper is not the path I want to be on.
90Percent of her is great. 10Percent leads me to smoking, needles and jail.
Can’t risk it any more. I loved some of the times together, and care for her and her problems more than she will allow me to help with.
She opens up to me like no one else, she claims.
But this old ugly man is closing the doors and locking them.
She has to be let go. But I am the one taking the fall. Sad. But house is rented to me. She has heaps of friends and family here. She should be fine.
Sent my only friend a message saying we can only spend five minutes a time with eachother and asked why she decided to care and look after and be my most trusted friend.
Got no reply.
Really sad, and not like me but
NOT MY PROBLEM
I gotta stay out of jail, rescue some financial crisis and stay off drugs
I understand her past. She has good reason to be the way she is.
But can only grab what is in front of you by dropping whats in your hands…
Love you Legsies, good luck. Wish my friend will come back someday.
Aroha Nui girl…..
Time for this old worn out acne prone cripple to find some new friends.
But, no doubt, they will all be screwballs too
Sunrise. Goddam. Sleep woulda been nice.
Tried to re-break fractures in nose at Wellington Hospital yesterday…. Failed…
Now being booked in for ’emergency’ surgery.
“Is that really necessary” says me.
“Mate, it’s a bloody complicated and extreme septum deviation. It’s really not a simple operation…. ”
“Okay, thanks” says me with relief after spending the last five minutes concentrating on not passing out due to amazing pain in face and head.
General anesthesia sounds great. Pissing about trying to put bridge of nose a few mm towards the left left me with headaches and feeling pulse through nose like a hammer all night.
Knock me the fuck out and rearrange this septum…. ffs!
CCDHB is great. Although being banned and trespassed from all CCDHB grounds and environs, they continue to ignore this and provide me with world class health care.
Clarissa Broderick and her strap on are the only things at all denied to me by this “trespassing” order by the looks of it.
The trespass order is illegal in my opinion anyway, and I would love the Police to try and enforce it.
I have rung and Twitter’d #nzpolice showing them when I am “illegally trespassing” yet they have not once come to arrest me.
Clarissa and her strap on is more appealing than this headache and nose issue.
May try booking an appointment with her. I said “white rabbits” after all. Am due a good month.
Gabor Matè had some good advice to hand me when deciding giving up drugs was do-able and realising my ADHD issues where problematic.
He told me to read his books. This, of course, required me to purchase them. Upon reading, and having some eureka moments along the way, I have forever been bestowing the virtues of this man and his work. Subsequently he told me that “they” (yes, you – Wellington Addict DisServices and other backward thinking service providers) could not be pushed into reading his work, they would have to find it for themselves. I have been pushing them ever since. There are many examples of this working. People have been purchasing and reading this work of his. Gabor then suggested to me that “I should probably pay you a commission, but won’t…”
It is not for my gratification that I write his name repeatedly. It is to re-inforce the work he does, one more time. Although being a broke bum with no hope of real worthy capitalist employ, the meagre offerings of book sales commission from an old Jewish Addiction Doctor from Canada does hold little appeal.
One of the first thoughts around a little of his work is to be found here — CANCER IS NOT ADDICTION —
Like most of my work, this is basically sans editing. There is little proof reading and even less effort into producing a document the masses could be bothered with. However, this writing, and others, received some praise from people wanting to link to it, or publish it, if only I would re-write it… Do a spelling check… Not swear quite so much… Withdraw any possible sexual innuendo… And make more sense… Hell, did they really expect proper APA referencing?… PISS OFF, NO FUCKEN WAY. However, there were some subsequent messages from some people who take this sort of thing seriously… One comment of “hey look — this guy [doctor Bob from USA] has been reading your blog… [link]…” I should do some of these guys for plagarism. Or, at least, being on such a similar wavelength they are jamming my brain waves from producing more interesting thought process.
GABOR talked of his addiction of compulsively buying classical music from shoppes and avoiding the issue of time, finance and the overwhelming desire of his wife to find storage space anywhere in his cluttered shrine to classical music that his wife would prefer to call a house.
GABOR went to Narcotics Anonymous meetings and displaced the “Narcotics” for his “Classical Shopping” problematic addiction.
It seemed to make some sense. Other N.A members commented that his problem and him “were in the right place”.
I have issues with “right” place. Maybe “correct” place. Should fit better. Really… RIGHT and WRONG are incorrect terms…
If you read it all, I will buy you a joint to help your self medicating requirements… Email me when you’ve finished…
Original thought on LEFT HANDED problems and people. Turns out that no one can understand a word of what I write. Too bad.
Which brings us, finally, to the point of this post.
^^^ This is the point. An article on other addictions. ^^^
My latest addiction is, most definitely, a thing of major problematic variety and appears very similar to the much maligned “Death By Duvet”.
Have not filled out paperwork under New Zealand’s Official Information of Privacy Acts to demand information from the Police and other agencies in regards to their seemingly unlawful actions.
This latest addiction could just kill me.
Have started avoiding emails… People whom were helping me have not heard from me for a week. I feel I am letting them down. I know I am letting myself down. And yet the news show at 6:30pm – 3D #3D_TV3 – got me writing on the computer again. This 41 minutes has been good for me. But am more interested in going to bed and watching pirated MP4’s of BANSHEE and real life advert laden TV3’s WESTSIDE at 8:30. Having hacked in four thousand words last weekend discussing the dangers of home release bail compared to prison (and spent hours editing – for once the subject and writing was worthy of real effort) only to have the computer crash, I have been having very severe anti feelings to all things computer. And all things life in general to be fair.
On Friday I watched SEVEN complete films, including WATERWORLD (which I quite enjoyed). This, very similar to computer game addiction, is probably very much in line with becoming dangerously and problematically depressed.
I need help. Admitting there is a problem could be the first step. The second may well be getting out of this bloody cell I am imprisoned within – me.
Unfortunately this is outside the REALM OF THE HUNGRY GHOSTS. And probably more in line with PAUL WOOD. He may just have something newsworthy to say on this… Although, this is becoming a shameless product placement, I don’t care. For PAUL was an inspiration to me in jail. Similar ages, and he held his head up against all odds during his trial and back in jail. See, I was there…
I feel the need to switch off for a few months. Being stuck at home 24 / 7 when you live alone and run out of milk is NO FUN. Not being able to see your kid is NO FUN.
Using heaps of drugs, switching off and being able to “hang in there” is less NO FUN.
My happiness deficit will diminish with the use of drugs.
(So may the chances of me finding a life diminish equally in proportion to this drug intake)
Waiting at Wellington Central #nzpolice for thirty minutes thus far. Am here to report an assault committed against me.
Unfortunately the mother of my daughter has decided to remove all access to my kid again. I should have had my kid last night. I would have been doing paper run with her.
But the mother has all the power and makes all the rules. She gives and takes as she likes.
Last night was great. An hour into football soccer training with ten kids aged ten or eleven, my daughters Mum and her partner (let us call him plank, or timber or some shit as he is a builder) went to take my daughter away early.
More in a minute, police here
Astounding me is the ability of service providers to tell the Government that health consumers are happier than ever (etc etc)… Apparently the consumers have a “strong” input into services and the changing of the way services are provided.
What a load of shit.
I get email from readers of my blog sometimes. And all the people I talk to on the street. I just got one such email from a guy “S” whom has contacted me before. We have all the same issues as eachother. As does other people. Mr “A”, whom really hates the services in Wellington and has talked about burning the building… Same stories. Every where. ALL THE TIME.
If only 1% of service users say “they are happier with the service” the Government will be told “more people than ever are happier with our services“. The truth is NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON WAS POSITIVE ABOUT THE SERVICE LAST YEAR. 1% NOW SAY THEY ARE “HAPPIER“.
This is a positive to the people that need the Governments money.
To the rest of us, it is a load of old bullocks.
Another person whom supports me and the crap I do has been writing.
Another “S” has been in Mental Health Ward again recently. He “suicided” late last week and was taken off life supports today. He is breathing for himself for first time. Send him your love.
All these stories just don’t stop.
They keep coming. And the way the service providers deal with them has got worse.
Yet, they must show growth in this capitalist world. And that they are.
All these stories just don’t stop.
Yet, I am the only one attempting to bring them to you?
My daughter was a ball kid at the big game on Friday night. Being parent helper was awesome too. Got a pass to go ANYWHERE in the stadium, but just stood on the field near the left hand corner flag. You can see me on tv replays filling up the back of some shots with computer game tattoo’d arms.
The best part of the night… The PHOENIX event organiser comes past and asks if the kids are behaving themselves.
“YES” says me
“Oh really, WHAT ABOUT YOU?” she says somewhat too encouragingly…
“ME? I feel you need to give my arse a decent hard slapping“
After a quick look of shock passes, “Heheheeh, you may be held to that….“
Made a new friend there……… A little worried the microphones stationed only a few foot away picked it up on TV broadcast. But hey, she chuckled without ill feeling when I mentioned that possibility and we really should have swapped numbers. Although that may allow her many beaus to find ways to smash me…….
I am having a TOTALLY SHIT DAY TODAY.
Sometimes I just feel useless. I saw less of my daughter over the school holidays than I do during normal weeks. Combinations of being arrested, other childrens’ birthday party plans and football have left me feeling lonely and useless. Some friends (girls mainly) appear to have ditched me having not replied to any contact from me… One girl I really like, for she really does think and help others, has flown the coup.
So, I go and visit Dad.
The same Dad whom always argues, always tells me I am wrong. Always told me I am ugly.
Just why I would go to my parents house for the first time in months when I need some family and love is beyond me.
What a fucken stupid thing to do.
Now am just getting through the day without doing anything stupid. When your definition of stupid has widened to include “getting out of bed” you know you’re in trouble.
Lucky I have a kid and no drug addictions. Means you just have to look positively.
Self harm is not beyond us. Any of us.
Twenty years ago I was involved with doing some of the first live internet broadcasts out of New Zealand.
http://www.racetothesky.co.nz was one of them.
MONSTA HAS JUST CRASHED OUT OF THIS EVENT.
I should have been there. But, then again… Maybe not. Running around these events, using drugs, perving and inhaling jet fuel…
Better off staying at home feeling like the world sucks.
For it does.
Did not pay rent for a week or two in my Housing NZ 1940’s concrete box so my kid could pay her fee’s to play football this season.
Had a hell of a bad day with the stupid psych’ person from Sweden….
More on that another time. Needless to say our appontment was for 10am and she didn’t even come out her office until 10.40. At 11.40 she was busily trying to push me out her office and said “Although you display virtually all the characteristics of ADHD, I cannot give you an ADHD diagnosis as you will not let me talk to anyone from your childhood.” ..
But, I had said “there is no one I can think of for you to talk to.” My adopted Mum is 80 and has had her only child die and lives in a world of a little bubble. Anything upsetting or in conflict with her “perfect” memories of me as a perfect kid are not worth exploring with her. She is 80. She grows roses. She is… Well… Just leave her be for fucksake!
After a hell of a day there, I went got some crap tattoo’s on my back worked on a little. It was COLD and SORE. Really sore. Like… OUCH. Damn it. Wanted more done, but (secretly) was kind of happy when Sarge said “enough“.
So, after all of that I meet the guy who runs the football clubs junior section.
He is a C.E.O of something reasonably important to Wellington and New Zealand. He is taller than me, fitter than me and fits into society more than me. Despite all this, whenever we see each other we manage to have a very good chat. About subjects which are contained in this blog, and others, such as perceived pedestrian safety on the new Arras bridge and War Memorial precinct. He has been part of this process to a small extent and explained his thoughts that the road would bring the odd vehicle through which would help prevent the place becoming a bad spot for young university chicky babes wondering home drunk every night. A quick discussion on safety, peoples underlying grouping issues… I have researched these sort of things. Even produced a product to help with this sorts of things. They have missed a few options that should have been included in this precinct. I would really try to help with this.
But no one will listen and I am unemployable.
With all forms of self respect thrown into the nearest CCDHB Consultants asshole…