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.

** 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.

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.


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.


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.


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.


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.



Board Shitless

Stuck at home, ankle bracelet attached, house a mess, bored. Some people come to visit… Which is awesome. Without them would have no food or happiness… But some random girl at 8am in the morning demanding breakfast and coffee when you’re asleep in bed?

Note to self – Start remembering to shut the front door…

Family Court papers need to be done, but have issues with that too . It is so upsetting that taking a million valium and sleeping until my kid is sixteen is a consideration. Right now it is my football teams training. And this… Well… What the hell…


Cannot go to the court in order to get their new requirements for submitting affidavits and the like. My criminal lawyer has all the paper as he used part of it to help get bail. I have to learn to put my foot down. Have two days to file 100 pages and don’t even have the documents that I am supposed to be replying to.

Have finally got appointment to get a Winz benefit... Having no income at all for 7 weeks before this happens is not good.

And then the 0800 EMBail “team” did not answer the Winz ladies telephone advances, so have not been able to confirm any of this. The Electronic Monitoring Bail requires all appointments to be confirmed and approved with days notice.

You know what… ?
(You don’t know what…)
almost guarantee it…

Being a druggy and having no life outside of drugs seems quite attractive just now. You may not deal with life on life’s terms, but at least you’re numb to all the pain.

I am lying in bed, pretty close to throwing in the towel.

Am used to confining myself to this flat to avoid trouble. Now it appears being confined here could result in worse.

Wonder if my old Spiritual Advisor (TM) is still talking to me?


Life is a shambles. 

With, or without, the gear.

All these little moods, depression and feelings of being worthless will pass.

The shambles may not.

I am a real brother.

KATEAlthough currently listening to BROTHERHOOD OF MAN by MOTORHEAD quite loud at 8am in my block of flats, I feel this is somewhat tame.

Today is the deathday of my sister, Kate. Her birthday is later this year.

Dug up this graphic I did for the cover of the memorial service prints. Also did the inside, the back, the inserts. But, this graffix will suffice for these crappily written and ill thought pages.

You can see the house we grew up in behind the beach. You can see my car (most importantly, of course) too.

We had some good times on this beach.

I am a real brother.

Life was starting to take a new turn before Kate came back from the U.K weighing something like 35kg (she should have been 60 I would say). Kate ran, she biked, she walked, she sailed, she toured the world.

She is scattered in New Zealand.

Gabor Maté once corrected me when I suggested us ADhD types had “SHATTERED MINDS”. He was quick to point out the differences between SHATTERED and SCATTERED.

Kate is shattered.

I am attempting to spend the day SANS-SHATTERED myself.

Football training last night did my head in. Pulling my hair out. Twenty boisterous ten year olds to control. Is it wrong to diagnose ADHD, ANXIETY and other personality disorders whilst coaching your teams? I think not. WHY DO I HAVE TWENTY KIDS TO LOOK AFTER WHEN I HAVE TROUBLE WITH MY OWN ONE TEAM ANYWAY?!!! I got annoyed. I could not get them to listen for fourty five minutes. Finally they started getting it. One group of kids (my daughter was in this group)  started doing it properly almost straight away. The worst listeners… Well… The drill was to only kick the ball twice and PASS. The worst listeners were still dribbling the ball (one kid kicked 17 times!) AFTER TWENTY MINUTES. The worst listeners got their football taken off them… I then kicked the football as far as my back allows (about 60 metres) and they had to run and get it. If they did not run there and back, I would take it off them and kick it just as far the other direction. 

Something to be said for military style ADHD interventions.

Any Comments Gabor? Am sure my spiritual advisor would kick my arse. With a potentially penetrating appendage on her toes.

This took away my happy mojo. Went to a social gathering, did not see anyone I recognised immediately, so turned and left. Was only there thirty seconds. If that.

Guess I am a real brother.

Guess I do have some stress around my sisters death.

Guess I am okay.

Guess life and time changes.

Guess I am healing.

Guess I am recovering.


It’s not ALL bad news

So, I got HEP C in jail about twenty years ago. The NZ Health Dep’ used to issue pamphlets and advisories to the effect that you could re-use syringes if you boiled them for a while and / or sunk them in a bleach solution. They even provided little packets of bleach for you to do just this.

Turns out they are full of it.

Didn’t work in the slightest. Luckily half of us more clever people didn’t believe them anyway.

But then, when in jail, needs = must. We even went so far as to take days to source all the stuff. Bleach from the washroom, boiling jug with removable top… And then it took us another day to get into the same cell for long enough to swap drugs, cook, use and contract HEP C.

Good effort lads. Ten out of ten.

I always tell people I got it from razors in jail. They were overlooked by the health department too as it happens. What’s the difference?

Today I went for a Fibro-Scan. A thumpy thing thumps on your ribcage and it returns results ultrasound style. I have scaring and death to some of my liver, but not as bad as the original liver function tests would have indicated. This is what you get for not smoking cannabis or drinking for ten years. A healthy dying liver. Not an unhealthy dying liver. Awesome.

Thumping your ribs with a little piston doesn’t find little cancers mind you……. (ahem)

The genome type of HEP I have is the type that responds by dying in 98% of the people on this new NZ designed drug. It has no side effects of interferon (death being a major side effect) and is almost twice as succesful. Quite happy to give that a go.


I may not even start a class action lawsuit against the Health Department now. But twenty years with this thing surely has caused some problems. Trouble is that I have had it my whole adult life. So I’ve no idea of how life could be without it.

Hope to let you know sometime.

It turns out drugs aren’t the problem – The problem is……………….

Lack of drugs might be the problem mind you… Uhm… I reached this stunning momentous thought, somewhat eureka like even, early daze into this withdrawal process. Someone with a few years clean time who meditates and has been studying a bit of neuroscience lately… This someone said “I have worked out that drugs aren’t the problem, the problem is me….”

I smiled from ear to ear and threw my hands up like a black preacher in front of his congregation. I hope no one noticed.

I have had this exact some conversation with many people now. And we all agree (eventually…) Luckily I am happy to have “here lies NZFIEND. Re-inventor of the wheel” on my headstone. No funeral thanks. Not really interested in funerals. And please fill me up with Aardbalm, not formaldehyde. Thanks. If you would pass that onto Mum and Dad or whomever is left when I kick the bucket… Good on you.

And feed me back into the environment. Once the medical people have cut me to small bits finding miniscule cancers in my prostate, liver and left testical.

Maybe I will finally get a diagnosis of ADhD after all – They will cut my head open, flip the skull to one side and find a large left frontal lobe and an extremely undeveloped right area.

Luckily they will find a large insula area and a nice, almost sexy, amygdala.

This will prove, once and for all, that I was not a psychopath. 

ANXIETY, DEPRESSION, Cognitive Functions

Well, I don’t know really. To be honest I am more down than up at the moment. Just how much of this can be apportioned to drugs, or lack thereof, is hard to get a handle on.

This is where life gets complex.


A rotating animation of the human brain showing the left frontal lobe in red within a semitransparent skull. The anterior cingulate cortex (ACC) is sometimes also included in the frontal lobe. Other authors include the ACC as a part of limbic lobe. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

If I wasn’t labelled an “Addict” I would be able to get pain relief for my back. But then I would become an addict. Can’t have that. No f’ing way. For only $30 NZ PESO I could get a ten minute download from Tony…. $30 NZ PESO is half what I get each week for food, haircuts and everything. I live of $60 a week. So, although eleven quid seems like a good idea, it isn’t happening. A ten minute MP3 for $30. That’s three dollars a minute. If a hundred of us got together, we could fly him to NZ and SAVE MONEY!

By having to move slowly and do very little you cannot help but isolate and get depressed. There are many roundabouts in life. Some go in figure eights. Some move in rollercoaster fashion. Mine a more like large spirals with random deviations thrown in.

My brain is to blame. Maybe those large hunks of wood it has run into at high velocity don’t help. But when you get off to an “interesting” start in life, I figure the right frontal lobe and particularly the bits that do impulse control, attention span… (can you see where I am going with this?) … probably don’t grow that much.

That leaves the left side to over develop. This gives the impression of the human being more intelligent or gifted at certain activities.

Has anyone ever done a study into how many ADhD, dyslexic, autistic people are LEFT HANDED?

And then cross reference the results with left handed psychopaths just for giggles.




I just found many studies online of LEFT HANDED and ADhD crossover studies. Some studies actually started suggesting that ADHD was a “LEFT HANDED DISEASE!” hahahahah!

The thing about us “lefties” is that almost all of us have different skill sets.

    • I write left handed, draw left handed. But I use a computer mouse in my right hand.
    • I kick left footed, but actually have scored more goals with my right. The left is just more natural feeling.
    • I play cricket and golf right handed.
    • I play baseball or softball (batting) left or right handed (equally badly) but prefer right handed, although the grip gets confusing and sometimes my thumbs get in the way of the follow through…
    • I butter my toast with my left hand (knife in left). I cut a loaf of bread with knife in left hand. I cut a chicken or roast meal with fork in right and knife in left. But then I swap to left hand on fork when actually eating a meal and have become used to using the right for chopping steak or toast or whatever.
    • I punch right handed. That is, jab with left, punch with right.

Others who write with left, do a lot of things differently. When you meet a “leftie” you must always ask what else they do left and right. Most will not even realise they do shit all over the place. Until I said to a receptionist at the mental health ward last month about putting butter on toast with left hand and then swapping to right to cut the bit of toast, she didn’t realise she did that as well!

So, where does the line of “ambidextrous” and being left handed start and stop?

If humans brains all developed “properly, according to science” we would all be right handed. So, to some extent, there are no “left handed people” but people whom are more ambidextrous and those whom are “non right handed”. I am laughing at myself now, but…………. Being ambidextrous, in the medical usage of the word, means you have a severely high rate of autism, ADhD and related brain (dis)function DSM diagnosis heading your way.

There is *definitely* something in this line of inquiry. I am brilliant. I worked out something all by myself (again).

You really are going to have to get a “re-inventing the wheel” headstone for me. Take a photo of it, and then shatter it for me. Cheers.

Drugs aren’t the problem. The problem is being left handed.

Sixty Daze

It is now official. In a completely unofficial way. Sixty days. Went to the library, got out some more books… Looked up a few books on their computer system and then couldn’t find them on the shelves. Walked over to lady behind desk. Asked for help. Found books. Titles such as “The Wisdom of Psychopaths” ( Your Psychopath Challenge score is high: 25 out of  a possible 33 ****) “Is there a PSYCHO in your life?“, “The Tender Cut” (self harm), Dyslexia and ADhD – The Miracle Cure started to pile up on her desk. She looked at me sideways.

“These are just random books”, I explained somewhat truthfully…. “I was actually here looking for stories about shipping movements…”

“Hahahah” says library chick, not at all convinced I am in the least sane. I smile. She looks scared. I remember my missing teeth and lack of shaving recently. I go sit quietly and make note to ignore her quietly from now on.

  • **** When most people think of psychopaths, Hannibal Lecter typically springs to mind! But actually, being psychopathic doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re a serial killer – or even that you’ll break the law. Actually, within the framework of clinical psychology, a psychopath is someone with a distinct cluster of personality traits including charm, charisma, fearlessness, ruthlessness, narcissism, persuasiveness, and lack of conscience. Sure, these traits may well come in handy if you aspire to be an axe-murderer. But they can also come in handy in the courtroom, on the trading floor, or in operating theatre. It just depends on what else you’ve got going on in your personality, and the start you get in life. Another misconception about psychopaths concerns diagnosis. A lot of people think that you’re either a psychopath or you’re not, that it’s all very black and white. But this is not the case. In fact, psychopathy – like height, weight and IQ (to take just a few examples) – lies on a spectrum. Sure, at the sharp end you may well find your serial killers and axe murderers. But at the same time, all of us have our place at some point along the continuum. Some of us may score higher on some psychopathic traits than on others. But unless you score high on all of them, you don’t really have anything to worry about! (FROM
  • I like this Kevin Dutton guy. A lot more than I like the sound of HARE. Argh. Why do I have an opinion on this? Maybe it is as I scored over thirty out of fourty on the HARE PCL-R test and now I have got 25 out of 31 on this test too. But at least this guy recognises a sliding scale. I always score “well” for empathy and “consideration of others” sort of scores. So I figured this means I am capable of psychotic behaviours in the context of stressors being met. I have now found someone who agrees with this thought. Maybe… (THOUGHTS from my own blog…)

And then Mum rings, she wants to have lunch “together”

“Together” with Mum is an odd thing. Together never really happens. It sounds nice in principle but is never fully 100% achieved. She talks to you. You talk to her. She doesn’t listen. You get annoyed. You get reminded why you have issues in the first place. A Dad that openly claims “nothing I did could have changed the way you grew up, look at your sister…” is not much of a help. But Mum. Well, she is special.

She can tune out half way through a sentence.

The lady sitting next to us in the cafe was astounded. I said (and I have learnt over the years to use very short sentences and constantly make sure Mum is still pretending to be paying attention…) ….

“Hey Mum, this Irish surgeon doctor I know just organised a strike back home in Ireland as some of the junior doctors over there have been committing suicide due to work stress..”

Oh my, that’s terrible. Where? Here in New Zealand? That’s terrible.”

You see — Mum hears me say “Hey Mum” (see focuses on me and gives me some attention). She then hears “garble garble garble doctor garble suicide garble stress”.

Her brain then flicks in and thinks “hey, you could be interested in this, say something to show you’re interested” and out pops “oh my, that’s terrible” (not really understanding what is terrible) and then remembers I said something about a location… “Where, in New Zealand?”

This happens EVERY SINGLE TIME I CONVERSE WITH MY MUM. She seems to treat me special with this.

The lady next to me looks at me sideways.

“No Mum. In IRELAND. I wish you would listen sometimes.”

“Well, too bad. I can’t have a personality transplant you know”

The lady next to us looks away somewhat wide eyed now. I stand up and find a toothpick. I return and decide to broach the subject of ADHD.

“Hey Mum… I finally have an appointment to see someone who knows about adult ADhD”


“ADhD Mum. Maybe if I had worked it out or even been diagnosed with something years ago the system could have got into gear, saved millions on court costs, jail and drug addiction treatments. The only trouble is the psychiatrists in NZ think it is hereditary.”


I decide to forget 90% of what I said and answer the “Huh?” with what I want to say.

“Turns out that you don’t get ninety odd criminal convictions for some really stuffed up stuff if you’re all okay Mum…”


“Turns out a lot of it is attachment theory in origin.”

“I got you these brochures for a cancer grief counsellor….”

Mum hands me brochures for a cancer grief counsellor. The lady next to us is probably thinking about ringing DOCTOR PHIL, JEREMY KYLE and OPRAH.

 I thought seriously about telling her about the two old junky mates I have who are currently in hospital having their livers radiated, sliced and diced. They both have liver cancer. They have advised me, ever so helpfully, that I am not far behind.

I reckon Mum can go to the U.K and see her 99 year old Mum who is going to die any day without this knowledge.

That is interesting. Although me and my sister talked about death a little (she never talked about it with anyone else I found out after her death) we always talked as though it was us both dying. I conveyed my out of body and death experiences. She was more concerned about my liver (Hep status) and me getting treatment than I was.

But we had some good laughs about Dad surviving all of us. The old chain smoking, alcoholic, controlling, blood pressure ridden, unhealthy, lazy, white man who has had two ruptured bowels, most of his joints replaced and is constantly winging about everything.

Yes, him.

He is going to out live us all. He will then die as no one will be around to cook diner.

Self Esteem, Addict, Cancer & Stools

N.A daily reading is annoying me this morning. Might be time to stop sounding like a stuck record and either join N.A or fuck off from N.A. But this perch on the fence is still quite comfortable. Even with the wind and the earthquakes…

Over sensitivity, insecurity and lack of identity are often associated with active addiction.

Many of us carry these into recovery; our fears of inadequacy, rejection and lack of direction do not disappear overnight…

One of the miracles of recovery is recognition of ourselves… We need to let go of our masks and trust ourselves.

Okay, so I missed out a lot of the stuff, but the general jist is there.

They (N.A Führers) have covered their arses with “often associated” in the first line. And everything from there on in makes sense. It all comes back to self esteem for N.A. They are suggesting that ;

  • Addiction is a DISEASE (it isn’t)
  • Self Esteem is a SYMPTOM (*) we need to fix to recover

Interesting really. Self esteem issues follow us into recovery (according to N.A).

* — This is where their clever little “often associated” comes into it. They make this “programme” to suit as many fucked up individuals as they can. Some of whom are very clever, some of whom are not so. Covering bases and covering arses on such tricky topics is complex, and they have done a good job.

I would say that, if we blame self esteem for everything – and they are not far off the mark ;

  • Self esteem is the DISEASE
  • Addiction is the SYMPTOM

If we treat the self esteem by clearing the mind of its underlying mental health “pain & suffering” then we cure the addiction.

This does not mean the addict can go using again. The idea we can go using for a few days a week here or there is good, but risky. I ain’t willing to try it, and I have reasonable will power. Would an ex-smoker be allowed to spend a weekend smoking? I think not….

Let’s take all this a step further. Let’s say that mental health issues caused via attachment (or lack thereof) linger throughout life. They are what make us US. Without these little issues, we are completely different people.

The woman who devotes her whole life “selfishly to the causes of others” may have a nice funeral and a great headstone. But was she really happy doing this? Is it possible her need to help others was because she was not whole inside? YES YES and YES.

This would probably mean she developed undiagnosed breast cancer and died from related illness at age fifty.

I kid you not. The immune system responses to mutating cancer cells would be limited by the effects of the more than apathetic responses her internal systems would be able to create after years of being switched off, or switched on wrongly.

The saying “only the good die young” was used at my sisters funeral by one of her best mates when talking to me quietly afterwards. I nodded. This saying is completely apt actually. My sister was good. Well liked, would go out of her way for others. Etc etc. She died of lung cancer at age 37. She never smoked. She did over excersize in London and suck in a lot of horrible car fumes in the process. She may have had a lot of repressed emotions – god knows she was always active and doing things all the time. What drove her, I don’t know. She was popular, pretty enough and very hard working. In other words, GOOD.

She died young.

She died single. She died with no child. She died owing about half the cost of her house. Her house needed a lot spent on it. She died after coming back to New Zealand and not being her usual 100% self. I noticed it, she was a bit slower, a little out of sorts. She was dead a year later. But, typically, when diagnosed and prognosed, she decided to hang around for her best mates wedding (made that, and looks beautiful in the photos even though she was doing chemo and had scars all over her neck and chest from surgeons cutting) and then wanted to do a few things in Europe, did those. Then wanted to come back to New Zealand. She did that. Then she went and died. I think we could have got another six months out of her if my daughter was ten years older and had told her she was getting married!

I cannot quite join the dots on her mental health and her death. But I saw enough during her death to see that she was still wanting to be in control all the time. She would not relax, she always put on a brave face. She would be annoyed at having to ask for help. She always had time for her friends before herself. These are traits that her friends admired greatly – we both have these in big quantities. And yet I am adopted.

This is where I think it is time to admit my saving grace.

Thank god I was on opiates and benzo’s for twenty five years. Without hiding my emotions behind all of those I would probably have contracted and died from prostate cancer by now. No shit. Tell you about this another time.

That isn’t to say I am healthy, far from it. But far from dead too…

So, being angry, having too much hormones. Not enough hormones. All these things, and plenty more, have effect on the bodies immune system. Not to mention the well being and health of the organism we live in – Our bodies.

There are so many auto immune type problems that may be caused simply by problems of the brain. The brain effects the organism via various routes. If you are high strung, for example, are you fat or skinny? High strung is a good phrase too – High strung in brain, and high strung in tendons I would say! It’s not rocket science for fucksake. It’s neuro science. It’s all sorts of science. But it’s really common sense. If you are high strung, you are going to end up with a high strung problem. If you are lazy, you are going to end up fat and with heart disease. Maybe. Is being overweight and dying of related illness a disease, or is the fatness caused by some mental difficulty? Just saying.

No rudeness intended. I am a Scottish Irish Maori (1% Maori) who is pretty white and has red hair. I have a bit of a blood pressure issue and a short fuse. Stereotype much? Dead at sixty from cancer or heart failure. Will have arthritic hands and joints by fifty. The skin on back of hands will grow scaley. Bald spot by fourty, long eyebrows by fourty five and no hair by fifty five. Will get red nose, split vains and have major joint, tendon and cartilage issues. Will lead a life some consider mad unless finding a good woman to control him. How’s that for stereo typing? And, at the end of the day, it is probably about right. Everyone knows the red haired kid is a time bomb waiting to go off. Everyone.

I cannot say his name, but a famous actor used to come to N.A all the time. He got Parkinsons. Some would link his underlying mental status health with this disease. 

I would too.

Without re-writing another book (I am excellent at re-inventing the wheel – this has been proven) I will cut myself off here.

Please feel free to ask questions or tell me I am loony. But I do think my sister died of lung cancer because of the way she lived her life through the effects of her upbringing. Even if it was being overly health concerned.

Riding a bike and running marathons every week in London traffic is not that healthy at its most obvious level.

Why she thought it was is another question.


And now it is time for me to collect some stool and get needles stuck in my arms for blood taken out. GP thinks a stool test will show what is wrong with my stomach region.

Wow – A legit reason to talk about poos. I could go on for hours…