Dairy of how to become a junky ADHD mess…

Anyways…Work it out for yourself…

Was going to ring you earlier but then just went to bed again… Been spending more than the usual amount of time in bed recently. It is the time of year for it – nothing to worry about. Just a little cold and winter bringing onset a wee depression, no doubt.

Promised Mum I would make her a new compost bin as Dad is dying slowly along with the rotted out fence she has been piling compost against for two decades.

Aren’t we all. Dying that is. His clock took on a new rhythm for a while recently… Just to be clear, this was not a old sixties dance hall classic number. More drumb and base poured into a blender with Motorheads final Ace Of Spades renditions…

Went down to Mum n Dads to measure up previously mention compost bin… To be made from wood, with my own hands. Would prefer to cut one from alloy and weld nowadays. Am enjoying my new tools and skills always need sharpening. Tools need sharpening and new skills? Half a dozen of one, six of the other. Some shit anyway…

Told Dad I was being operated on within four weeks of the doctor seeing my bum. Dad, as usual, without fail, without preamble, without thought for anyone outside his one square foot of universe,

“they have always got me in real quick, like the time I showed up with…..”

(sure,
my judgement and memory may be clouded
with time, space and
interesting neurological experiments gone awry
nonetheless, seems like this is a reoccurring theme one cannot discount my memory and feelings as completely inaccurate)

“Dad, they only get you in quick if there’s emergency or something serious” was the somewhat necessary interruption.

Yet still he carried on about HIS operations.. Oblivious to fact, his fiction weighing heavily on the judge and jury of his own mind.

Having actually had more operating table excursions over my fourty years younger span of life, he doesn’t bother to remember anything about my issues, health or happiness. Nor, it seems, going so far as to suggest others problems have been trivial.

When he sees me wince with pain just standing still he says “oh, your back is getting like mine, hahahaha”. Yeah right, like he has had emergency spine surgery and pissed and poo’d himself walking to the hospital… Fuck he is such a self centred fuck…. Unbelievable… This is going to require a breath, a thought of something happy and a lot of self restraint. Would be nice to have that loverly Clarrissa here with some restraints, but she was already booked and tied up elsewhere…

So he tells me all about HIS for the hundredth time in as many visits. Tiresome in itself.

Interruption time again….

Must record one of these conversations. You may, even the most die hard retard apologist among you,  be sympathetic to that at least. He sure ain’t.

“So, you have any idea why they would get to me so quickly?” 

“I presume as they are quiet at the moment and I was seen in that amount of time after a doctor saw my collapsed viens in my……”

WTF? Are you serious? Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuckme, fukme, f’me….. Relaaaaaaaxxxxxx…. He may be just about dead and nothing is going to change the guy now, even if he did think anything about himself and his life was not perfect.

FUCK UP DAD , NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU.

(well, I tried. Honest)

Dad, chastised for once. Not a pretty sight as it happens…
“I never said it was about me”

DAD, EVERYTHING YOU HAVE SAID IS ABOUT YOU. NOT ONE SINGLE GENUINE QUESTION, OR SO MUCH AS EVEN FAKED INTEREST IN WHAT IS GOING ON FOR ME. AM BEING OPERATED ON TUESDAY MORNING JUST FOUR WEEKS AFTER A DOCTOR SAW THE LUMP IN MY BUTT CHEEK DAD. THAT WOULD SUGGEST IT IS IMPORTANT, WOULD IT NOT?

“I don’t know son, they see everyone as fast as they can…”

Remaining the calmest possible, given fourty years of this sort of conversation… Hell, you people reading it are bored of it already. Imagine the effect this has on a kid growing up, or indeed the fourty year old man still trying to grow up…

THE FUCKEN SPECIALIST GUY I AM SEEING AT HOSPITAL IS THE SAME GUY WHO TREATED YOUR DAUGHTER

(funnily enough, also known as my sister, who died of Cancer May7th a few years ago aged less than me)

“Oh yes, he seemed nice… Although your sister argued with him, he knows his stuff. Top guy, really really clever…” …OMG

Really not bothering to remain calm in face of this much narcissistic stupidity DAD, WHY THE FUCK WOULD I BE SEEING THE SAME GUY AS KATE ? WHY WOULD THEY OPERATE ON ME SO QUICK ? WHY AM I BOTHERING TO TELL YOU THIS AT ALL ?

 

“I don’t know Tony, they are a good hospital though…..”

 

Oh for fucksake, if he wasn’t already on the waiting list for the cremation table I would kill this bloody idiot…

DAD, THEY THINK I HAVE FUCKEN CANCER FOR FUCKSAKE. WHY ELSE WOULD I BE SEEING THE FUCKEN CANCER SPECIALIST? THEY *DO NOT* GET YOU INTO OPERATING ROOMS IN THIS BROKE ARSE HEALTH SYSTEM IN FOUR WEEKS FROM FIRST SEEING A DOCTOR WITHOUT IT BEING DEEMED IMPORTANT.


Just in case he managed to avoid the point (as proven, he is quite bloody well capable)

 

THEY THINK I HAVE CANCER DAD. But I don’t. The really really really clever people and their two times through the MRI, the X-Ray, the Ultrasound, the various specialists including a muscular skeletal guy have it wrong.

However, I am going in Monday to sort out the procedure and am in Tuesday to have half the weight of my right arse cheek cut out… Will be good to get the bloody thing out. Even though it’s not cancer, it is annoying me more and more recently…

 

“Oh, why didn’t you tell us?”

 

FUCK ME.

 

Work it out yourself. Seriously.

 

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October 8th, awesome day, but 9th totally fucked me.

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
complicate eachother.

.

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

WHITE RABBITS. Sunrise. Sleepless again. Shit.

image

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.

image

Nose. Hard to tell, but it's fucked, although wasn't actually fucked...

Lost

image

After three full weeks with no ankle bracelet confining me to a shiity little flat in central Wellington I am lost. This young lady has been awesome, but there are always buts. Our paths cross and run parallel for whiles, but not continuously, or even long enough, to help with my feeling of lost.

Taught her to drive manual stick shift, flew in a plane, have had some excellent times. We are great together when she’s able to hang out..

Am struggling today with who I am. And the answers are blank, dull and not all that helpful.

I am not a father. I am not a drug dealer. I am not young and hot or pretty.

I almost got up and drove to Wellington to buy some methadone just an hour ago. But I don’t want to be that person.

I am a old guy and a reasonable person.

It’s not enough.

Am lost.

Moved all my stuff finally, little to no money left, and know no one living in this small place. 10Km away the young lady lives in a town of 20,000. I know only her, and she’s doing her own thing, or her family thing anyway.

Have no belief in my ability to socialise or try new things. Live a hundred metres from a great beach and have no interest in it at all.

Am lost.

Am not looking forward to finding a new me.

The path ahead looks too tiresome for this old man who has walked many similar in the past.

Feel too tired to start again all over.

But can’t go back.

Patience. If I last long enough.

Very depressed, giving up, dying, watching TRUE DETECTIVE and my high higher power….

Have been so depressed lately. Mentioning possibilities of, or the proximities to, self harm or suicidal thoughts would get me in trouble with the people whom I always say “NO” to.

HINT FOR NEW USERS —
** always say no to all questions regarding anything to do with hearing voices, having suicidal thoughts, having been committed to any institution or having been a drug addict.
JUST SAY NO

I walked to probation expecting to be shafted. The lady who saw me was very dubious at first, but I played her a couple of telephone recordings that had been made between myself and the mother of my daughter. The probation lady looked at me in a new light. There is a long story about this meeting to be written, but will reduce it to – FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE HANDING MYSELF IN TO POLICE TWO AND A HALF MONTHS AGO AND BEING IN JAIL, SOMEONE WITH A REAL SAY AS TO MY FUTURE LISTENED TO ME.

My lawyer, Val Nisbett, has been completely class A fucken USELESS. He expects to be paid a lot of money. WHAT ON EARTH FOR? Piss off Val, you are proving yourself worthy of trailing in your kids Mums wake as she heads up the capitalist law ladder.

I talked with this nice probation lady for over two hours. Did warn her that we may need a whole day. For the first time I talked about the role my beautifully hearted young lady friend had in the situation. The probation lady was astounded, and probably thought maybe she should have ticked the boxes for me “hearing voices” and having “irrational thoughts” after all.

This young lady (call her Legs) legged it away from Wellington mid April as she was having addiction issues of her own. She rung me when I was at the mother of my daughters house. The mother of my daughter heard me talking to her, heard me being very understanding and supportive. Heard me being a very nice and thoughtful person. Upon showing the mother of my daughter a photo of the girl concerned, there was an instant pang of some odd chemical smashing it’s way through my head. OOOOPS. There was a spark of something there. My kids Mum … well …. MAYBE I SHOULD NOT HAVE SHOWN HER THAT DAMN PHOTO. 

Upon arriving home from probation at 1:40, and having been talking and thinking hard about “Legs” half an hour earlier…. There was NO SURPRISE AT ALL when GMAIL showed me she had emailed me at 1:27. Legs, to my knowledge, did not even know my email address.

Somewhat shamefully, we have sent and received 66 emails since. Some of mine have been five thousand words. Some of hers have made more sense and been more concise (!!!)… 66 emails in four days sounds like a lot. But then, having thought it was getting out of hand, there were no emails for two 20 hours periods. So,  66 emails in four days with almost two days off. This is embarrassing. I think I bloody well like this girl. Bugger. She is far too good for me, but there are things we should learn and teach eachother. And, at the end of the day, we are able to just have some stupid shameless fun. I can, admittedly, do this with almost anyone, despite their better better sense of self worth. Whatever, it was as surprising to me as all holy fuck when I started wishing this beautiful young thing was old and ugly so we could have a relationship and fly under the radar.

Was so happy to hear from her. When last seeing her she was a little confused and walking off. No hug, no wave, no goodbye from me, as was running late to get my daughter on the Tuesday evening. I will always regret not being a little more forceful with her in some ways, but then when she rang crying her eyes out and needing a talk, there was relief in me as she re-assured me she was in a good place. 

I then spent six weeks in jail and am now stuck at home. Have been very depressed.

As has she.

Upon hearing about jail and everything, she started blaming herself for my predicament. Honestly, I have never met anyone quite like this one. I like her way too much and sending some honest emails such as “when you were asleep in my flat that morning, I took off and had a quick bonk with someone else, and you thought I was on Facebook the whole time,….”

We were never a couple at all. But, later that afternoon, when sneaking in to wake her, I sat there and thought how much I trusted her and how damn cute she is….. And…. What is this? An emotion of some sort?

I was very close to giving up and using a lot of drugs and just not giving a fuck on Monday. Then there was the drug and alcohol psych meeting on Thursday. This is part of the NZ Court system, as they consider virtually every problem in my life, or offending, to be drug related.

The drug guy was suspicious of me (forewarned maybe?) but after two and a half hours (the meeting was only two) he gave me a lift home as my ankle bracelet was giving off alarming dangerous vibrations and scheduled another appointment for Monday. AT MY HOUSE.

This time last week there was no way on this planet I would let a strange A&D psych guy into my flat. But now I am okay with it.

I had not heard from “Legs” for the last twenty hours. You guessed it – I get a nagging email from her about getting rid of my clutter, tidying my flat and doing some positive carpentry or painting or drawing. This email arrives just as the A&D guy ushers me to his car.

It is now Friday evening. And, having done nothing all day, I am excited.

TOMORROW IS GOING TO BE CRAZY CREATIVE DAY.

I know this, I can feel it. It’s like my ADHD is in control slightly. My motivation has come back. The old feeling of having “ants in the pants” has returned.

Today was freezing. Got into bed and watched the whole of TRUE DETECTIVE. Was busy contemplating if I had annoyed legs a little too much as she had not emailed since 1am… When…. 7pm arrived and she emailed. She emailed during a very interesting little bit of the last episode of TRUE DETECTIVE where the guy basically dies, goes into a coma and then is sad and annoyed when he is woken up as he was with his dead three year old child whilst dead.

MY HIGHER POWER…

is People on the Same Wavelength. I have explained how this works elsewhere. But it is science based, not faith based.

The very fact that “LEGS” is being discussed and she emails for the first time within ten minutes shows that she is on my wavelength, and that all these “co-incidences” are mathematically not random events.

THE FIRST TIME I DIED….

Was many years ago. 26 or 27 years. This is not the second time where the out of body experience has been described….

When I died the first time it was just “stopping”. There were some drugs in my system, yes. I was laying on my girlfriends bed and just “stopped”. For a few seconds it felt like the most amazing opiate sensation. Then my mind lifted out of my head, and barely noticable in time differential, the spine and all other nerves followed suit. I can never explain this bit, but you do not feel yourself turning upside down, but every time I have had this, you are looking down at yourself, although your physical body is laying face up on the bed / floor / road / river.

And then again, I cannot explain this, but the sensation of moving AGAINST gravity (ie – UPWARDS according to Einstein) and TOWARDS a bright white light is overwhelming. Yet, the sensation is more like gently closing your eyes. So, you are moving upwards, towards a white light, whilst looking downwards. Come on Einstein. Explain time, space and this little mess then.

This is where things get interesting. That white light is filling up all your vision now. The rods and cones of your eyes tell you so. There are no gates, and unfortunately not even Clarissa Broderick in skin tight red lycra and suggestively clutching a designer pitchfork make cameo’s.

THANK YOU SO MUCH TRUE DETECTIVE.

You reminded me of something…. The white light fills everything. It is a three dimensional space with no boundaries. There are soft mumblings, which become distinct. It as if EVERY SINGLE CONVERSATION IN THE WORLD OF ANY TRUE WORTH is in this white space.

I could tune in to any of these conversations. Just by paying attention, or attuning to the conversation. There were some very serious feelings. Serious ebbing and flowing. Serious waves of communication. A few conversations stopped. Although being able to understand them, I felt unable to contribute and make the conversation more worthy. There were multiple examples of this.

Although being worthy, and welcomed, a few dissenting wavelengths helped make up my mind.

To be truly happy being here with these subjects the only thing to do was to come back later.

But, hey, just a few more goes at hearing what that beautiful voice is saying. Yes, that beautiful sound – the soft pink glow to the East. The dawning of a chorus which, when proper tuning on my old transistor radio in my noggin was acheived, was signing my name softly.

Upon leaving the white space, somewhat reluctantly and still undecided as to going back for another look straight away, there was my body. Again, I could see my body, but it was very close. I knew I was facing upwards, and yet I could sense where my body was.

A little like landing a lunar craft in a very early Atari game, the final docking to get back into myself was a little skilful and took my last dying gasp of available energy.

The beautiful voice turned into a thousand decibel shreeeeeeeeakk.

The pink glow to the East turned into a blood red cheek and swollen eye.

For my girlfriend had rung 111, thrown buckets of water over me, thrown me to the floor and had been jumping up and down on me SCREAMING my name at me for minutes on end.

 

This white light is my fucken higher power.

Unreal. It took me how long to work this out again?

I am great at re-inventing the wheel. But when it was my wheel in the first place?

What a cock.

 

FOOTBALL. Making me broke.

Told the kids that if someone took a corner kick, and someone else headed it into the goal I would buy everyone a chocolate bar. Thought I would be pretty safe… NOPE, a little 10 year old kid took a corner kick, landed it just in front on penalty spot where another ten year old was running EXACTLY as I had told them. And BOOOM… Beautiful header straight into the goal. Unreal. Stoked. Happiest guy, me.

And then I do this thing where I stand still and get the kids to boot the ball at my face. If they hit my face they get $5. The same guy who took the corner drove a shot beautifully right into my nose and top lip. I did lift a hand and punch the ball so it hit him back in the head. But hey, NO ONE has ever managed it before. And he had only started to learn drive shot technique two days ago with me. He also refused to kick with his left foot as it “was useless”. He is now, after just three or four hours with me and the team, using his left foot to chip and drive. Hasn’t got swinging or spinning the ball well yet, but—–

Teaching kids things and seeing it work is awesome.

Stuff what the parents think of me bossing their sprogs around.

My kid ended the training session when the other team played the ball too far in front and into her path. We had no goalies, but she put the ball into the exact middle of the goal, bouncing it on the goal line from about fourty metres. She just turned 11. Some parents and kids were surprised. Comments like “wow, there will be a few interesting goals this season” came from a few of the more knowledgeable crowd. I was more disappointed that the other team had given her the ball.

The team with the ball has the fun. So, once they stop giving it to the other team and find their own players, the coach stops interrupting and the parents may start understanding. Or not.

But hey, sometimes the kids have to actually have fun. And they manage to, despite the coaches constant interruptions.

By managing to spot some skills in each of them, we have a good little team structure. The autistic kid runs and tackles like a demon, so he has total license to run everywhere in defence. And boy, at training last night he did well. Just getting him to last a whole game could be difficult… Bloody proud of the little guy. He is fitting in well.

You know when I was a kid, the different ones got left out or teased. Nowadays kids seem to be more aware of others mental issues. I have seen almost all the kids cater to others difficulties. My daughter even gave a child a present once. Even though he had stolen her stuff and was a pain in the arse. She figured he wasn’t getting proper attention at home so was playing up and just needed to know people at school actually noticed him. My daughter was ten at the time. 

So, I have my work cut out getting these guys to work as a team.

Kicking the ball forwards all the time, even though the other team gets it, is an issue.

“HEY EVERYONE. This is a bit like life. If there is a big mountain in front of you, what do you do? If you are walking through a city and a building is in your way, what do you do?”

Ten year old boy looks up, a look of “WOW” on his face and says “you go around them”.

“Yeahp, dead right. See that player behind you, that player has a way around the team in front. You don’t. That player should have the ball”

Some of the kids really started passing backwards, even though that is not what comes naturally.

We will win some games early this season. A bunch of small individuals working together to put a stupid ball in a silly net. Feeling proud of themselves and happy to see their mates and their parents giving them attention of the best sorts.

And the coach? Well. When kids do what he says and it works, he’s the happiest guy there. He may hide it until later, but the improvements in skills, running and positions does not go unnoticed. When kids do something awesome and they look at you for approval before they look at their parents it shows you’re appreciated.

Had a bath and went to sleep after last nights training feeling good. This should work out okay.

Even though meeting with the CCDHBDSM ADHD SPECIALIST tomorrow has my undies in a twist.

(they imported someone from Europe whom wants drug urine samples from me and has made me fill out a drug and alcohol self assessment… the writing is on the wall here. I think I am going to be shafted somehow this time tomorrow…. Even the mother of my daughter thinks I am vastly better with the ritilan than without. Which is true in the sense of dealing with kids and parents whom are from a different planet than mine…. Ah well.)

Kids football training leaves my back fucked. May just go get my back tattoo’s worked on and forget about everything.

..

Most of the kids I trained last year are in a team three divisions above us in the grade 11 leagues. If we win a few games and win one or two by big margins, we should be up in their league by the end of the season.

WHERE I REALLY WANT TO BEAT THEM
AND
THEIR NEW FLASH FANCY PANTS COACH!!!!

Me? Competitive at footy? Nah… Never.

First game this weekend.

http://tickets.fifanz2015.com/shows/showtickets.aspx?sh=FIFA3W&v=FFW&p=EFWC0000003W

PCL-R PSYCHOPATH TEST. This post proves I am totally insane and should qualify for all sorts of state funding.

I was looking at this sites statistics, and ten people looked at fifty pages in one hour. That does my head in. Would I be labelled totally paranoid if I thought nine of those people looked at two pages and the other one person viewed 48, downloaded all of them and is contemplating some sort of court case?

Anyway, one of the pages clicked on and downloaded was the above test –

http://arkancide.com/psychopathy.htm

Since I was using my cellphone at the time, I clicked on the link having long ago forgotten what it was.

I did the test again. Today. 1st April 2015.

I gave myself a ZERO for a couple of things.

But – FUCKIT – I still scored 31. 

What is silly is that I have the stupidity and balls to tell you about it.

I also have a theory that IDENTIFICATION and EMPATHY could be used more effectively in this sort of test. Being VERY good with mental people, kids with autism, teaching people things with learning issues, it COULD be that I identify with them. I see myself in them. At night time I can’t sleep much. I chose not to dream as I kept seeing my daughter die. So dreams are rare now, but they are good and useful when they are allowed. I cannot switch of my brain. I think about the kids and how to get them playing football. It is hard when you have a lot of kids and some have real issues to deal with. A few ADHD, a DEPRESSION case, definitely more than one diagnosis for a bunch of them lacking in any form of self confidence. Teaching them they CAN kick with both feet. Taking the total AUTISTIC kid by the arm and SHOWING him where to run. Trying to get the kids who are good at something to show the others. NEVER GIVING UP until kids, parents and ME are happy. When the kid finally gets something right, he or she may not see me react straight away but they will see me proud as punch congratulating them and then telling their parents loudly how they have done something special (unless you’re autistic or really lacking in self confidence – ten year old girls have some real things going on!!) … When kids who are too young to understand a guy covered with tattoo’s, acne and missing teeth is a bad person, they all look at me. I look back. Today there was a kid crying. She had fallen over. She puts her arms out to her Mum, whom lifts her up, comforting. I wish I had that. I look at the Mum, and the kid, and I identify with them as a whole. The Mum and kid pass me. The Mum doesn’t notice but I had winked and poked my tongue out at the kid. I glanced at the kids knee. The kid saw me and stared into my eyes, half way through letting out another scream of hurt. I glanced at the knee. Pointed at it even. I looked back into the kids eyes and smiled. I had turned and was walking backwards. The kid was looking at me over Mums shoulder. Her other kid was older and saying “she should be more careful, she’s useless Mum.” The other kid has issues of her own. But, right now, I was trying to sort out a crying kid before she made a problematic scene in the shoppe they were about to enter. The kid was looking at me, non blinking. Just fascinated. I know, I know, this whole thing is narcissistic. But, if you think that, you can piss off right now. Go on, piss in a bottle and drink it. For you have not understood a word of me, or whom I am. The kid is three, at a guess. Possibly two. She is staring at me. I am staring at her. I give her knee a glance, I look back into her eyes. I give her a thumbs up, a huge genuine smile and, although kids may not understand “thumbs up” she got the message that everything would be okay. I waved at her. She waved back. I waved with both hands and smiled again. She had stopped crying and was grinning as her mum patted her back and held her close. All in the space of four or five seconds. Maybe eight. Counting the time it took to get into Mums arms, maybe ten. I may be completely mental, I may need little white jackets with no arms. I may have to stop being so open and honest with my writing. There are a number of things I could fill my days with that would not end with people wanting to practise their guillotine skills on my pimply neck. I may be totally imagining things. My ears may be prone to audible hallucinations. Synesthesia anyone? But no. Fairly sure I heard the Mums exasperation at her child for yelling so loudly and stopping instantly. The kid must have been faking it for attention. The kid is two or three. The kid deserves your attention. The kid may even deserve your identifying with its plight.

More than one parent of the football teams I coach has said “my kid is impossible to teach, yet for some reason, she has latched onto you and …..”

More than one parent has expressed their disappointment when their child is no longer in my team.

Other teams coaches and parents let me be referee for the whole game as I seem to do a good job of helping coach, teach and encourage the kids from both teams.

In the crowd the kids parents are mostly professionally employed.

I see doctors, lawyers, a judge, the odd person I know from school, and even the odd POLICE MAN / WOMAN. Some high ranking. They are all pretty impressed. I say this not from narcissistic tendencies, but from simple observation.

NZ POLICE
I also note, with interest, that when in the police cells, a couple of the kids parents will come down, in police uniform, and give me a little wink and I nod in recognition before ignoring and forgetting them.

I also note the lawyer whom stopped in his tracks when he was applauding the referee and laughing with his wife as I asked his daughter “how many fingers am I holding up?”

But, it’s my ankle, not my head” she says

Oh, bugger. Well, if I pick you up by your ankles.. ” I pick the kid up by the ankles… “now I can pretend it’s your head. So, how many fingers?

Two… Two… Two. Put me down…” laughing and fighting and embarrassment.

See, you’re fine. Off you go…

 Turns out I am clever. Embarrassment is a ten year old girls magic cure for all pain.

The kids Dad, the well known and prominent lawyer, saw me at court the other day. He stopped in mid sentence and just stood. A little like the kid in the story opening this post. He just stood. In Court, surrounded by Police, prosecutors and criminals. He stopped, stood and tried to get my attention. I was trying not to recognise him, or anyone else. I am not interested in court, criminals or lawyers. I want IN and OUT. In the end, although it was only a couple of seconds that most people would have thought was just him having a thought or clearing his vocal chords, I gave in and made eye contact. He then knew I recognised him, had recognised him at football, his kid had said at the end of the game “that coach is cool Dad” and the soccer mums from his team had all come and chatted after previous game days. A split second look gave away the simple fact he knew a lot about me from paperwork, criminal proceedings and sitting in court whilst I represented myself and attempted to turned the court into a jesters stage. He has seen judges, astoundingly to most, look me up and down, blink and re-align their thought patterns as to the ability of the criminal in front of them. This lawyer has seen me with his kid and other kids. He has seen me deal with the official football delegates with no regard for them, or their rules, but with the kids best interests at heart. For I, seeing the kids could all kick very far, moved the portable goal posts and took the corner flags out about ten metres making the field bigger. The kids had a more open game where they could pass and have space to make decisions for themselves. The OFFICIALS CAME WITH THEIR NOTEBOOKS AND CAMERAS AND REPORTED ME TO THE NZ FOOTBALL (FIFA) PEOPLE. The lawyers, the doctors, the pretty trophy wives who wear skin tight pants and look slightly annoyed when ignored by the dodgy tattoo’d ref with a drug habit and no money. At least I don’t smell that bad. They do want to be looked at. They want attention. Even the two other things they want – affection and appreciation – are really just code words for ATTENTION. They are all so perfect, so showing off their assets, so oddly intrigued by the stupid ref who will swear at officials in front of the kids and simply put the goals back when the officials try moving them. This guy then stands in the middle of the field and says quietly, to no one in particular, “the kids are loving it, the game is brilliant, the girls are learning to play in positions, there have been some good goals, some good defence, the other coach and spectators have all backed the idea and yet some bald old man with a notebook and a carrot in his bum is upsetting kids and seems happy to cause disruption and problems. He couldn’t even wait until half time. He had to do it now. This guy is psychopathic. Luckily, I know a bit about this. I will take his psychopathic and raise him a hundred criminal convictions.“… Another lawyer heard this and absolutely burst out laughing. He had to hold his hand over his mouth. And even then there was spit coming out. The official guy turned, looks me in the eye, and left promptly offering only mutterings as to his reasoning. Coming back and complaining to the mother of my daughter when noticing the fields for other games had started becoming larger. She told him “the other team did it this time, and everyone is happy, including the kids – Look for yourself”. I have not seen him since. Nor his notebook. Nor have I heard from the club I coach for, nor FIFA or anyone else. Although supposedly being a volunteer at the YOUTH WORLD CUP, they have not contacted me. But, fuck them. The kids in my team, and some others, had a great game in the sun that day. And no one watching said one word against it. Everyone whom spoke to me supported the concept, if not the confrontation the ensued. One parent of my team is a well known psychiatrist character. He commented I was correct in some ways, but could choose “not to engage”. I said “yes, thank you sir.”… In my head I thought “fuck mate. I don’t mind making a total cock of myself and getting an undeserved reputation as a problem as long as the kids have learnt something new and had a bloody good time doing it.” Really, that sums up my sort of personality.

I can pour beer all over a strangers girlfriend, and then clean her white mini dress almost entirely with my mouth. If you have issues with this, or don’t believe me, read this….  

This is not a random thing. This is a split second of looking at her, her legs, her dress and him. This is a conscious decision to liven up the night club. This is fully understanding that things could go very badly. My breathing does not speed up. My heart doesn’t either. I go calm. I take someone elses beer (why waste mine) and look her in the eyes. Totally ignoring him, sitting slightly behind and to her left, I walk slowly over after telling the girls I am with (blonde sisters, wearing tight mini skirts as well) to “watch this”. I put one leg on each side of her crossed legs, looking down into her eyes. I don’t look at her legs, crotch or breasts. The jug of cold beer is poured slowly onto her up turned chin. She opens her mouth. Allowing one single drop to hit her mouth, the beer moves down her exposed neck, is poured over half a jug onto her chest. It runs down, covering her tights white dress with liquid. Everyone can see everything about her, if it wasnt for me standing over her blocking their view. The guy who was with me and the girls yelled “fuck mate, jeezus”. I ignored him. Had to maintain eye contact with the beer soaked young lass in front of me. Otherwise her boyfriend might actually realise he wasn’t dreaming and this odd looking red headed prick was actually standing over his girlfriend covering her with someones beer. And the someone was a little annoyed with his beer going missing. About thirty seconds of this ensued before the music is no longer worthy of my attention, the barman is shouting for the bouncer and I consider the options… The last third of the jug was just dumped into her lap, where it formed a beautiful looking pool in her crossed legs (crotch). Without removing eye contact, I hand her boyfriend the jug, who just reaches out and blandly takes the jug from my hands. I drop to my knees, and quickly lick her bare chest, she instantly shakes (trembles even?!!!) and I drop my stomach onto her knees and my face into her crotch, I drink beer by the mouthful until I have to reach around her legs, put my hands between the back of her knees and pull them apart whilst my mouth and tongue attempts to prevent any beer from being wasted by running down her and landing on the seat. I AM NOT GOING TO SUCK BEER OUT A SEAT CUSHION AT A NIGHTCLUB. You must think I am stupid! Although losing a little bit to the seat, the seal between my cheeks and her inner thighs, my chin and her perineum, my bottom lip and her libia majora… My nose was not part of the seal allowing the consumption of beer, but it was not entirely left out of the action. Not at all… So, all too quickly, the puddle and flow of beer had stopped. I started thinking the boyfriend needs to pour his beer on her. We could all take turns. The other girls could be convinced to participate in some way… But the bouncer was approaching rapidly. Her clit was starting to appreciate my nose a little too much. And there was limited time before the boyfriend awoke and smashed the big glass beer jug over my exposed skull. I pulled her skirt bit out and up. She lifted her bum as one hand was under it and lifted her. Guess she did help with this, she wiggled. Allowing me to lift her soaked dress above her waist exposing the world to her small, bright yellow G-String which had amazingly returned to it’s proper position covering her modesty. As deemed not dry enough, it had to sucked of the beer before it got sticky and messy. I sucked that thing harder than anything sucked before. For about one second. I swallowed and got a half mouthful of beer and… What was that?.. Pheromones?!!! Heheheheh. The bouncer, although ready for a certain fun time of throwing a skinny white man down the steps of the second story nightclub, had slowed somewhat. This girl had an awesome body. The best in the club I would say. Her boyfriend was a big boy and could look after himself. Besides, he was holding the jug of beer, and the girl was covered with beer. And she was obviously really enjoying herself. Everyone in the club on that side was watching her before her boyfriend tipped beer on her and this ginga guy with pimples was, for some reason as yet unfathomable, entertaining him by turning his girlfriend into some sort of drink dispenser. The bouncer slowed down. The bar tender had jumped the bar, but had stopped at the edge of the dance floor. The girls I were with her squealing girly type squeals of delighted and fun. The guy I was with was just staring. Along with most of the club by now. Some girls on the dance floor had stopped and were looking over the frosted glass barrier – right down on her breasts and the back of my head. I knew all this as I moved tongue, lips, nose and reluctantly, my chin. Moved them up, not all that quickly, making sure to keep pressure on, keeping the seal intact, keeping almost all the beer of drinkable quality. After finished the cleaning of skin from clit to ribcage and putting her slightly misshapen clothing back over her waist (having removed hand from bum, it was not possible to return the bottom skirt part to correct and socially acceptable position without risking serious stretching to garments involved…)… Holding the material slightly away from her skin, the beer was sucked out of the skin tight white dress. I pulled the top down, exposing one breast to my beer cleaning mechanisms. About one second later it was the other breasts turn. A quick fully open mouth, a huge suck, and then pull your face away. Makes a large popping sound as suction is broken. A quick flick of lips and tongue on the nipple, just to show I was sexually interested, and, just in case she hadn’t noticed, that I could be capable of more than just cleaning her from some stupidly spilt beer. I look back into her eyes, she is totally “away with the fairies”. She is not communicating anything with her eyes. Having half stood up, I finished standing up. See a spot of beer on her forehead and gently brush it with a finger and lick my finger. I reach out, take the beer jug from her boyfriend and apologise for not cleaning the top of her clothing where her breasts are. He finally thinks about smashing my head into his knee and for a brief moment he was going to. Being bigger than me, and better placed as I was still supporting my weight by leaning on his girlfriends legs, the only thing to do was suggest he suck the beer out of her bra and top in that area as I didn’t want to offend them. He was probably more angry than he has ever been. He was now over his dormant shock and was close to ending in jail on a murder charge. Figuring this would happen sooner or later, I kissed the girl quite gently and her eyes focused on mine. I looked at the boyfriend, she looked at the boyfriend. The kiss was over instantly. Hands on each side of her head, I turned her head to him. Blinked and jumped. And walked slowly back across the open space between cubicles to my table with the sisters and the motorbike racer friend whom was now looking as though he wished it was him and probably has been trying stupid things of his own ever since. I don’t know, I got a lap time on the track the next day on a bike slower than his. I had over taken him. When we got back to home after the next fortnight spent with the girls and spa pools, motel rooms, running from bikers, doing some fucked up stunts… Well… He told people MY LAP TIME when asked his times by his sponsors at the bar we frequented. I overhead this. My girlfriend overhead it. Other people did. No one corrected him. My girlfriend (who was always pretty keen on the guy, he was awfully good looking, rich as fuck and had many nice motorbikes, V8 cars and small european sports cars to entertain her with. I entertained him by pulling her swimsuit right up places it was not intended and having prolonged contact of a sexual nature with her in front of him having told him that if he touched he would be in trouble. He loved it really. She liked turning him on and using his stuff. No one could work out why the hottest bodied blonde in the area was with me. Maybe it was the way she sanded and painted my bike for days on end. Maybe it was the way she baked me cakes. Or maybe it was the way she came, played with my only working thing, and gave me Jack Daniels bottles every day when I had smashed myself into a car at over a hundred kilometres an hour and could not walk for quite some time. Getting to the toilet after drinking myself to a pain free stupor was an issue. She even held the thing whilst it pissed into a bucket and emptied the bucket and hid everything from my mum. I was 16 at this point. I loved her. Just why the hell I thought it was okay to tour the south island with two horny as hell sisters (one of them was a virgin who had never even seen a guy in a g-string. She purchased a tight pink g-string for me, I put it on, wiggled and waggled and her eyes popped out her head as she ran from the room, down the hall and out the house. Although the g-string was a little small, it looked the part, so she was soon being chased by a badly tattoo’d teenage ginga male with a bit of an issue requiring one hand to slip bits back into package. We got about a hundred metres down the road before she couldn’t run, squeel, and breathe consistently any more. Don’t know why they say females can multi-task. Shit. Upon catching up, she was doubled over with shame, shock, fatigue, loss of breath, but not looking anywhere else.. Just at my waist…. The traffic had a green light, but everyone had not noticed and was still stopped at the red it once was. She was double over, and at waist height. To get her completely over her shame, the pink g-string hit her near enough to her mouth. The hands holding her hair and head may have helped her overcome her fear of the male anatomy and she rubbed her face back and forewards and then, between giggles, said “okay, okay”. Picking her up and slinging her over my shoulder I walked slowly back to the block of flats they stayed at. The slow walk prevented the need for package re-adjustment and maybe helped convince the local red neck population not to ring the police. Spa pools, shared camping cabins with all the mattresses thrown onto the floor and standing at the roadside over motorbikes with the sisters and the friend were just what a seventeen year old needed. But you know what? It wasn’t enough. I was also hiding a syringes filled with opium treated with “AA” and filtered down to a real nice opiate hit in the seat of my bike. There were majic mushrooms (saved in the freezer from mushroom season eight months prior) in the lining of my helmet. A sheet or two of LSD had been waterproofed and put into the end of a handlebar. I carried nitrous oxide and a system to dispense it of my own design. The motorbike, though, had no kick starter to save weight. Clever guy, me.

Today though, I’m stuffed. My life without using opiates all day, every day, is not turning out to be all that brilliant. Spent a few hours in a police cell being very uncomfortable and having trouble co-ordinating movements most would take for granted – walking, sitting, standing, leaning. They all required EFFORT and patience to achieve. And all became very annoyingly pain ridden quite promptly. Life like this is hard. People are very annoyed at me for leaving car parts, whole cars, beds… Stuff… All over their properties. I am annoyed at myself. I am spewing at myself.

For the first time since finishing the acute withdrawal process from methadone street addiction, I caught myself saying “I am going to kill myself now” as stepping out the shower saw someone looking back in the mirror whom I did not like and did not want to be. This person was stuck in a bad posture. His stomach looked like it was fat. He looked really stupid and lazy and out of shape and really really worn out and worthless.

The man in the mirror did not look like he could enjoy life. He looked twenty years older than me. Without thinking, I said out loud “I am going to kill myself now.” I heard me say it. Instantly I was concerned others had heard me.  What do I care if others heard me? I care because I don’t want them to think anything is wrong. I want my sore back and unhappiness to go without notice. I want to be known for giving a glue sniffing, broke and lonely lady a couch and seat for her bare flat. I have noticed she has a few visitors nowadays. She has somewhere for them to sit and act out a proper community pass time – stopping over for a cuppa or to watch a DVD. For she will only ever act out these things. These proper community and social things look good on tv. You do them to socialise and gossip. If you eventually find people annoying or unable to discuss the meaning of life with conviction and purpose… If you possibly just really want to spend your life wasted or sniffing glue… These silly humans sitting on your seats, consuming your coffee, are rather surplus and irritating. Possibly me and her identify with each other at some level. Although I love having people stay, I love it when she goes into town and spends time happily getting drunk or wasted with her mates whilst I sit on the computer, watching sport or shooting up drugs.

You see – Life without drugs is life changing. You have to change things. People. Places. I only have sitting on the computer or watching sport now. It leaves a huge hole.

Oh my god. This is story time again…….

My young friend, “Karma” from a recent post, moved out of Wellington as she was getting too much involved in a lifestyle and path that were obviously dangerous and not really all that good with long term prospects. I wish I could help her. I could if she bloody had told me and allowed me. I was and am confused as to this situation. We get along so well. She doesn’t want to tell me she’s in trouble. I don’t want to push her. I want her to stay here, eat some food, get up before 3pm and we can help eachother with so much. She makes lists. She understands my ADHD and only the second night here she saw me looking for something and said “keys, sink, bathroom” in a matter of fact, no nonsense tone. Fuck me. The girl has seen the mess in my house, my car and my life. She started making lists for her to help me do little tasks. She had started taking mental notes of where I put everything so she could find it for me. She is one of the prettiest females whom currently give me the time of day (that list is pathetically short…).. If I showed you a photo of her or the others whom there is some type of “wink wink, nudge nudge” possibilities you would ring the mental health team instantly, as I obviously am disillusional. There are so so many things I like about her. Her beauty is just something I have to deal with. For she is. When others see her with me they cannot work it out. They don’t believe it. Their brains do not allow them to compute this data. I should be with really ugly old chicks, whom are broke, smelly and have three large incontinent dogs that sleep on her bed. There is no way this beautiful young lady could spend time with the likes of me without free will being destroyed and a large amount of duct tape and chloroform. Somewhat ironically, the longest relationship I have ever had is with a slightly older lady than myself. I was never attracted to her looks, but then I consider myself ugly, so being put off by her looks would be entirely two faced, shallow and rude. What, arguably, is equally shallow and rude is that we met just for quick sex. I sometimes promise people that I will do something, or will not do something, before meeting them. I promised her a half decent massage and tease, and six or seven years later she kicks me out as she couldn’t trust my lies about other females any more. I am useless. I am an addict. But I have been learning to say no. Have even said no a few times. Although I love the challenge of giving orgasms, there lies a problem. 

My god, I really could do things with this lady. She is awesome and impresses me in ways she is not aware of. I have not told her either.  I, believe it or not, am reasonably astute sometimes. And I am impressed. She was not even the preferred option on any of  the lists such as “I need a regular, no drama, person in my life”, or “I need someone to hang off the ceiling and watch as she has multiple orgasms at my control.”  But she is the one whom has gone out of her way for me AND has not been overbearing. IN fact, the opposite. I’d love her to share her problems and difficulties. But she truly doesn’t want to burden me. And I don’t want to burden her with mine. When together, she does creative things. She impresses me. Left alone in my house she uses the tools available and creates positive things. Art and Humour. Music, and, Facebook. Well, she is a girl with a facebook account after all. Grrrrr….

SO WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?

She is less than half my age. Why on earth a beautiful 19 year old who everyone wants at their parties spends a single second of her life with me is open to interpretation. All I can say is that she trusts me, has enjoyed everything I’ve thrown at her or tested her with and is not shy. We get along too bloody well. In a number of ways. I can’t think of any reason not to settle down and tie her to my bedpost. Other than her spirit is such that it needs freedom to explore and travel. And I am, just quietly, lacking in energy to left my own arse out the computer seat. Never mind keep up with her. 

I like her. I like her a lot. Stupid old me told her that if “you are really upset about me calling you bitch, you can fuck off…” She didn’t text or ring for over a week. And then rung and texted which I replied. We then called twenty times in one hour. Hahahahahaha. Love, is it?

She saw a card and small teddy bear in the car. She turned, no longer self aware of the need to pull her tiny skirt down and keep her modesty. Who cares?. Naturally she thought it was for her. She is a very clever young girl. She does not know that I know anything about dopamine, receptors, neurons or whatever. She knows I am half cripple and can kick a football pretty good, splitting my skin open from kicking a flat football with no shoes on. Slide tackling her on concrete and not even blinking or looking at my skinless knee. She started talking about drugs. I let her tell me about receptors, dopamine, deficiencies in things causing unhappiness. She told me about Ritalin missuses. I, carefully, was prodding and encouraging her to tell me more. One annoying thing about young people is that they think they know it all. She has tried to show me many things she thought she knew better than me. I let her show me. Then, sooner or later, she see’s me do it better than she could, and better than she described. She has yet to comment on this. And I don’t comment on it either. Tucking her into bed with a teddy bear and treating her like a three year old is great fun. She takes it on the chin. But, like all girls, attention is her number one thing in life. And, although I am taking the piss, giving her grief… Although my tongue is in my cheek, I can pat and caress and hold and massage and stroke and care for. Some people have never been treated in such a way. Some of them come out with stupid things like “I love you” and wrap themselves around me. You don’t love me. You love the idea of being loved, and although my hands and caring and soft tone are loving… Very loving… They ARE TEMPORARY RELIEF FOR YOU DEFICIT OF LOVE AND ATTENTION. I will make you feel as perfect as possible for a time. You may get away with saying “I love you” once or twice, but then you may get rudely dropped off and the texts and phone calls may go unanswered for days on end. Loving me is not an option unless you show empathy (identification even, if you can control it a little), are very much a person not to say “no” until you have been shown, tried or researched the idea or proposition. If you come back to me time and time again, I will really appreciate some of the same from you. If I have to ask, you’re probably going to find a wet spot right on your forehead. The lady with whom I spent six years or so had no job when we met. I had never been with someone of that weight. Or with HUGE BREASTS like she had. I am more of an arse man, and titties never interested me. I was there for sex. So was she. We must have done something good for eachother, as after a few sexual plays, she was at my place during the daytime having walked two kilometres in about five minutes to get there. Without any ado whatsoever, she initiated some pretty good sex. The curtain wasn’t even shut, it was daytime and, my god, she had her titties reduced many years later. They were perfect large breasts for a time. They gave her a crook neck and back. Although never being able to fix this for her, there were many hours spent trying to ease and help with this. All the other females I had sex with during our time together were told that I was with someone else with kids and that I did not want to lose that. I also told them my real name  (I only ever use my real name, although about 50% of girls call me different names in the morning and probably 25% call me different names a week or two later. Some even call out the wrong name when they orgasm… And then they ruin it by apologizing and losing the buzz… I don’t care who the hell you think I am. If you love MARK or TIM then just imagine it’s their tongue on your clit and make the most it. Besides, it makes it easier for me to get you cumming…. ).. Does this make it any better? I can claim I am an addict, or something. I can say all sorts of stuff. But, at the same time, I actually love providing females with things they love and cannot get enough of, I would do the opposite and go out of my way to show them I was a wanker not worthy of their respect or attentions. For I truly hated myself.

 

Am constantly finding more about myself and trying to do positive and creative things for the world.

I am still a fuckwit. But have really learnt to laugh at myself. For I can. You can too.

Am a fuckwit who owns being a fuckwit.

I really don’t mind if you don’t like me. I am not writing this for you. I am writing it for me. And hope that by highlighting some issues, YOU will spend a couple of nano seconds thinking about them.

By writing this, it helps me process and sort out some headaches induced by inability to make sense of all the data coming in.

The likes of N.A get you to  write stuff down. It is a good thing. Try it.

Although, be prepared for all sorts of shit if you do it in public. Even some young hot girls deciding you’re truly mad.

You lot, my esteemed followers, occasionally send me emails. Have had support from the most unexpected quarters. Anonymously, of course. 

Unlike most of NARCOTICS ANONYMOUS members or most stupid gossip ridden addicts, I really can do ANONYMOUS. 

I think a little control on your tendency to identify with others, rather than empathise, is a special thing.

I also think most people would just think “an apple fell on my head.”

It takes a pretty special mental condition for someone to think “an apples fell on my head, I am going to explain that via mathematical formula.”

It is not easy having a
little bit of an I.Q and
no sense of self preservation. 

I would be the first to throw my life away for the chance of saving a group of others. I may take a couple of you with me, but then the group will thank our corpses later.

And, really, who the hell else would talk like this publicly? Given that my doctors, psychiatrists, friends, enemies, occasionally even I tell a sex partner or two about this blog. I have met people through this blog who love it. They are surprised when they finally put a face to the words. They always say hi and are good people.

It’s just plain idiotic, publishing things like this for people to actually read. Not that anyone does…… Unless I mention sex and big dildos. Or provide details of great sex with ugly people. Or crap sex with beautiful people. Fuck sex. Long term, it is the way you talk. They way you listen. The consideration. The help. The way you finish eachothers sentences. The fact you are PEOPLE ON THE SAME WAVELENGTH.

Most people think jumping off buildings, jumping buses (with a motorbike on the road in traffic), playing soccer football with broken bones in your foot…. This is all idiotic… But fun. And dying has to happen at some point. A little pain along the way is okay. If it provides happiness to others, entertainment to a few or saves others hardship, count me in. If I kill you in the process, sue me.

And that makes me a good person to have on your side, or your team. Just not the figure head, or the person to promote your not for profit health trust.

You may hate me. You may not invite me to your wedding. But years later you will remember me for something really good. Probably you will remember me for a hundred really fucked up things, but the one good thing is what makes me proud of myself.

I am really sorry if you were on the other team when we were losing and spent time in hospital or I found another way to win which upset you and your grandad for years to come. There were some pretty hurt and disappointed faces on other teams. Some grandads even try hitting me with their walking sticks to this day. My team was happy, but would avoid the back of the bus if I was sitting there.

So, WAS I a psychopath?

The 200px-The_Psychopath_Test_(Jon_Ronson_book)_coverNew Zealand probation service may have thought I was. Given the tests they tried to put me through.

My original response to a Doctor thinking I may have ADHD was to visualise putting my fist through his nose into the back of his skull.

Turns out he was pretty correct. Bugger him. Must sneak onto the CCDHB DSM against the TRESPASS ORDER they have given me and apologise to the guy one day. Yeah right. He also decided to stop giving me strong halcyon (two a night) and 60mg Codeines (over a hundred a fortnight) just because, according to court and police documents) I hacked into his computer to find information about my daughter when estranged from her.

I did it, yes. But only as he broke the law be denying me information on the health of my child. The law is pretty clear on this. He wasn’t. I took it upon myself to find the information myself. I withdrew from Halcyon and Codeine a little bit. I returned to buying drugs on the street. 

What a wanker.

I could be labelled a psychopath. But anyone could be, given certain events, stressors.

I feel everyone has mental illness. It is like a graphic equaliser on your expensive Yamaha amplifier from the nineties.

If you’re listening to old school metal, you will wind the bass up. If you’ve got Talking Heads going you might add a bit of mid range and tweeter.

Same with life and mental states.

Given the fact someone just about ran over your child and your morning drugs have not kicked in – you are in pain and broke and have not even paid rent for three weeks due to buying food and paying for your child to do things… Given those facts, when the guy whom just about ran over your kid is ridding his motorbike on the footpath exactly where your kid got run over. When you stop him and ask him politely to slow down. When he ignores you, looks at you like you’re a fuckwit and then revs up his bike and tries to push past you.

Does YOUR HAND COMES OUT AND GIVE HIS HELMET A BIT OF A CLIP AS HE TRIES TO PUSH PAST YOU?

If you answered YES, then fair enough. If you had to think about it for a split second, you are possibly not, currently, psychopathic. And yet you read this far?!

You can identify with me. You imagined yourself in this circumstance, didn’t you?

Did you feel empathy? Anger at the unjust way this situation unfolded?

Or did you stop reading this shitty blog about a seven thousand two hundred words ago?

one_year

 

And you know what is really annoying me lately?
The fact is that, given a subject matter other than “myself and drugs and wankers at methadone clinics” there is, on occasion, some acceptable writing of creative and factual variety. I am getting sick of writing “I”. I am getting sick of using short sentences and a limited vocabulary.
I am not getting sick of being open, honest and willing to accept new ideas and others input. I am never sick of really good co-incidences and people on same wavelengths connecting at whatever level.
If you can find any errors in any things I claim to be fact, please advise. The foundations of my thinking are pretty sturdy, even if the delivery is too much for your sensible shoes.