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.

 

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God, Grant, Me and the spaceship, Serenity

It is wet and wild outside.
Love to have a coffee and go for a walk.
I have no milk, but ate a can of tuna.
And, couldn’t help myself.

Just started waving the mouse around my old Photoshop 7…
I present to you….

God, Grant, Me & the spaceship, Serenity

You cannot see the picture that small. Click on it.

The good ship Serenity as from 2002 TV show “Firefly” and the 2005 movie “Serenity

(explanation added as people were just not making sense of it)
(which amazes me. Did you all not make sense of the Little Green Men posts I made?!!!)

Wow, I got some email from a blog reader!

Some more mail. This is excellent. It wasn’t even asking me if Lorde is on drugs. Shame. Secretly I think she is.  So there.

This guy is concerned his mate is having seizures when not consuming alcohol. He asked for a bit of advice.

I am not a doctor (and therefore have no barrow to push)… This is what I said…

Hey there mate, BENZO’s are your friend here. Valium, Halcion (my personal old friend – duh, I mean favourite…) or even the commonly prescribed recent ones like Zopiclone.

Be very careful – The GP’s are all clowns and think that Zopiclone has little abuse or addiction potential. It is more addictive, and faster so, than ValiumWhenever they bring out a new drug they say all these wonderful things about it. But then turns out to be marketing crap. FIle class action lawsuits and sign me up. Don’t tell the Doctors that Zopiclone is just as bad as their old “evils” as they may stop prescribing it and do even more damage!
 
 
It’s a bugger really. If you have seizures due to alcohol withdrawal, you will probably have similar withdrawal effects from the benzo’s. The benzo’s are easier to maintain (with a prescription) and are also less damaging to vital body organs (the brain being one of them!) but are really so similar to alcohol in many regards that your head may not work out the difference.
 
It may be a bit much to ask most GP’s, but having an injection of Propofol (the shit that killed Micheal Jackson), Lorazapam, Midazolam (benzos) or similar will help during acute episodes. (Midazolam = Awesome by the way.)
 
Using small amounts of benzo is probably not a bad idea in the slightest. 
 
Otherwise, go and check out some of the anti-abuse products (ugly, but effective by all accounts) 
 
Like I said, I ain’t a doctor. No advice I give should be acted upon without very much consideration given to the fact that I am a bona fide drug crazed psychopath.
 
 
Yours Sincerely, and with leather whip in hand,
NZFiend

Day ONE HUNDRED over SEVENTY NINE

Wow, one hundred days. And not a key ring in sight for this day. I really want to see my kid. It has been about 79 days. That sucks. Large.

There goes my anonymity…

daughter

Not happy. The family court is useless. The lawyers are too busy lawyering to care about the welfare of a fragile family unit.

I have found a support group for guys getting bashed in the ass by a large family court bat. It meets  on Tuesdays. Today is a Tuesday. If ever there was a good excuse not to go to an N.A meeting, it is going to a meeting to make progress on your real life.

I should have given up giving up years ago.

I am powerless and somewhat clueless. And somewhat depressed on a minute by minute basis. This is far from being “serene”. Or even catching a fleeting glimpse of her sexy ass from across the street.

Last time I try and be honest. You think I would have learnt by now – Honesty does not pay. Lying through your teeth for years and years seems to work fine.  Just tell people what the want to hear, tick the boxes and get what you want.

Easy.

Until you tell the truth.

Then you’re fucked.

Stay on the drugs. It’s easier. I promise you no self harm, no suicide, no sitting in your little cold flat staring at other people have fun on Facebook.

Easy.

I want an N.A alternative

. Their way or the high way. It’s interesting. The highway could be useful. Most of the world ARE NOT IDENTIFYING as drug addicts. Most of the world are doing something healthy with themselves and their lives.

I have always been of the opinion that you can do what you want if you work and think enough about it. I decided to stop taking drugs, so I did.

And socialisation is important (very). I think N.A meetings have been good, and I thank the old N.A girl who talked me into it.

But, also – I read books and I email and I talk outside of N.A. I do not agree with a few things in N.A. I do not like the “disease” model. I do not like the way they pour scorn on those who want to research and find out things for themselves. There appears to be no place in N.A for open minded philosophy or science.

I can see N.A works. It keeps people clean, as long as you follow the steps ™, their way ™, and hold hands whilst saying positive affirmations. Everything you learn is good. It is a slow process mind you.

Live in centres with a detox, a look at your life, a life skills and a university paper or two at the end would be more appropriate.

I just don’t know. I want an alternative.

CAR STUFF

Drove a hundred KM round trip to check and order a clutch and get a flywheel machined. Stopped in to see Mr Death. Had a chat about N.A. He swears that drug addiction is a disease and gets quite angry when I suggest it may not be. AAAARRRRRRG! It’s like the “alcoholism gene” they found a decade ago. Hahahahahah. AAARRRG! Idiots!

It’s a war on errorism. And I am starting it.Parts of a stencil

But first, I went all yoga meditation type and lay under a car in the rain removing sway bars. Then went to mates CNC workshop and he was busy cutting stencils for spray painting company logos onto scaffolding.  He built a heater out of some wire filament and I went and cut two bits of pipe in half down the middle so we could heat the plastic sign and push it into the inside of a pipe and push a thinner pipe into it. And then put a top on it.

At the end of the day you end up with company logo on the scaffold pipe by clipping the plastic stencil around the pipe and hitting the area with your can of dayglow spray paint.

A good design really. Me and this guy have known eachother twenty five years. Totally punk rocker at the time, he is now Mr Wife and Kids. He doesn’t go to N.A. Or A.A. But he does have kids just a little younger than mine and we have spent the odd weekend together with kids. Was good fun.

Sure has been a good day actually.

Positive stuff. Doing things. Designing things.  Making things. Zoning out with some power tools working metal and machines.

I am not going to go and remind everyone I am an addict tonight. 

Levels of deprivation

Levels of deprivation – I know everyone reads everything I write and stores it into easily reached memory, so there is no need for an explanation of how I believe in attachment as being the major contributing factor to the way we turn out.

The way we formed relationships with our primary care givers in the first two years of life – if not the last month or two before birth… Don’t under estimate that… I am damn sure my daughter showed some attachment to my voice and taping rhythms – I talked softly to her Mummies tummy and tapped out simple sequences, like ONE and a TWO and a THREE and a four and a ONE and a TWO and a THREE and a four… And spent a lot of time counting to five…. When she was in neonatal ward for a month after birth doing a detox I would spend some precious hours holding her distraught little self and counting 1,2,3,4,5 touching each of her fingers. This actually gave her some relief… Or so I saw with my own two unquantifiable eyes…

So, coming off methadone is no fun. Doesn’t matter if it is coming of 7mg’s or 70. Although I would suggest coming off 7 is preferable.  At the end of the day I would suggest having some sort of proper out patient detox programme in place. Pity Sam McBride at Wellington Addiction Dis Services sent me home and refused all help. WHY? God only knows. God lives in Sams shoes when Sam isn’t using them I presume.

The levels of deprivation.

Coming off a big dose of methadone cold turkey is not fun. But who am I to judge the people who go along to N.A daily for years and years because they smoked cannabis for a year? That is their problem. They probably have just as difficult time working out why I am who I am.

Let me help you there.

I am who I am because of various factors of being bought up adopted. I turned out to be an odd mix of left and right handed. My daughter shows some of these traits too, so you cannot discount genetics entirely. Genetics provides the playing field. Environment, mainly parental styles, define the game that is played on the field.

Whilst it is hard to have two quality teams play on a dry river bed, it is possible to have an entertaining game. Opposite to that, you could have two rubbish teams, say Wellington Norths vs Bro

Regions of the brain affected by PTSD and stress.

Regions of the brain affected by PTSD and stress. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

oklyn Northern United, play at Wembley on a totally glass surface and they’d still be rubbish.

So, again – Whom am I to judge the levels of depravity people have suffered in order to become addicts, isolators, authority haters?

Until a few years ago I would tell everyone my childhood was fine. 

But then, looking back, not every kid got his arm dislocated and smashed heads on the ground like basketballs as punishment. Not every kid chased his girlfriend with a brick at age 9. Not many kids actually had a girlfriend for three years at age 9 come to think of it. Not every kid started smoking cigarettes at 6 or 7. Not every kid had to sneak out of his room and hide quietly downstairs as he was afraid of being hit and abused every morning. It goes on and on.

You see, I thought a bad upbringing was being sent away to a home. Or having no shoes. It is amazing how many people think they had a nice loving home but then, once broken down, admit to abuse (or at least grave errors on parts of caregivers) in the very place they remember with idealistic warmth.

Some people have been sent off to boarding schools and been beaten and sexually abused by priests. Just how someone claiming to do the work of god can do this kind of thing is totally beyond me. And is something I do not wish to explore. Doesn’t mean I cannot feel empathy for the adult whom suffers post traumatic stress disorder from these events. And, by the way, he has been an addict for twenty years and in labelled in the health system as being a “drug addict” and everything that goes with that.

Then the girl who was abused by her own father. Fuck sake. The world is not a pretty place for these people. That much is obvious. SOMETHING will go wrong here. And it does…

But, at the end of the day, most in society (in particular medicinal professionals) do not recognise the value of bringing up children properly. Those who sucede probably do so DESPITE their upbringing, not because of it.

We all have some pain and emotional problems.

Through sharing with peers and those on similar wavelengths we identify and process this hurt. Mainly through hearing about others in the same boat.

But after how many years does that become drudgery and, in itself, depressing.

Escape can be a good thing.

Like a well to do lawyer going on an overseas holiday. She should not take the IPAD and email with her.

Leave the abuse at home and go do something else for a few years. It has defined you and your behaviours, but give yourself a break.

DAY59 – Counting the hours until the 60 day keyring kicks in

Awesome. Almost sixty days. That is an effort. A good effort even. Something that I should pat myself on the back for. God knows that being an adopted, ADhD drug addled mess would dictate that no one else ever would bother.

I wonder if it has anything to do with my genes?  My hereditary genes, that is.  Being adopted and growing up with my foster family was one thing.  Being told that we had a crazy gene that ran in our biological family was another thing altogether.  In all honesty, it provided an answer for me.  I can’t remember whether I was shocked, or whether I was relieved when I was first told the truth.  All I remember was jumping for joy inside because, as tragic as it was, knowing that I had crazy aunt’s and uncle’s everywhere made me feel not so alone with my wackiness.

Used without permission from http://theyoyoblogger.com

Permission is for pussy’s.

Genes? Very little actually. The psychiatrists will dissagree, but they are just drug company rep’s in drag.

It is all inter-generational hand me downs from your primary care givers. In the sense of feelings and attachment, not genes. No matter what they say, they do not show you the same kind of care as they show to their “Real” offspring. It is just not possible. On some level, way deep down, like further down than they realise themselves… Like right down… Where the sun don’t shine… That far down. And then take it further. That is where you will find the actual real attachment and development that occurs within our brains and dictates our behaviours.

You can take a person and ask them questions about their upbringing. You can predict with almost 100% accuracy how their children will behave at 1 year old (attachment or lack of to mother / father and the stressors shown when that attachment is broken and / or restored…) and then how that child will be placed and presented in society at age 21. No shit. I talk the truth here. These studies have been done many times. Always with the same result.

www.ace-study.org
(I know, I know, those of you who read more than one sentence of my drivel will be sick of this link by now …)

The human genome project is basically a pile of crap.

A book I recently read suggested the genome project is like a schools consice Oxford dictionary. It has all the words of Shakespear, Dickens or Freda Patangata, but it does not have the method, the prose, the complicated plot that makes us up as humans.

The mind controls the body. The body controls the mind. Like a muscle you use a lot, it gets bigger and stronger. My wanking hand is stronger than my writing hand. It is good to have options mind you. Although my writing is not too good with my right.

The actual results of gene research are useful, but really garbage when placed in relationship to the effects of stress (and external stressors) over multiple generations.

You could have a “breast cancer gene” but never actually have breast cancer. However, if you have environmental factors, the gene AND the stress which means your immune functions don’t work all that well and cannot be bothered attacking the mutating cancer cells then you are pretty much going to get breast cancer. Without fail really. Almost completely predictably. But no one cares until you have it. Then you die. And everyone writes stuff like “hey, awesome lady – always putting others first, was always there when we needed her, never got upset, was the best person ever…” But all this goes to show that she had repressed her anger and her lack of positive emotional attachment when being raised… Blow your fuse. Fly off the handle. It is long term beneficial.

You can get breast cancers WITHOUT the “breast cancer gene” by the way.

So the damn drug companies and corporate greed structure that support the genome project are constantly updating the news media with their latest “finds”. This insures their stocks go up, the money keeps coming in, and the status quo of “haves” and “have nots” is enforced further.

Simply put, it is ‘HEALTHY, POSITIVE LIVING.’Sounds so corny, but I want it soooo badly.  And I will get it.  I will!  Maybe not next week, or the week after.  Or even the week after that.  But in time.  All in good time.

….the-lifestyle-overhaul-challenge-update/ again, without persmission…. Sounds exactly like every “positive affirmation” book sleeve, self help book or narcotics anonymous brochure… There is something in this crap. It’s embarrasing to admit… But I would be embarrased to admit it if my Dad was not such an ass.

It is clearly demonstrated that WORK STRESS is the LARGEST CONTRIBUTING FACTOR to heart disease. Yet, go talk to your doctor and they will scan you for cholestoral build up and advise a healthy snack rather than a pie for lunch.

Nothing wrong with a health snack, rather than a pie. But hey, maybe the healthy snack actually helps you relax somewhat? Somehow? This is a true holistic approach to health. This IS NOT PROFITABLE.

War is.

Profitable.

It may even be positive.

But only if the millions it kills are those that currently “have”. The “have nots” should go hide in the hills somewhere. With Tama Iti, but without bare bums.

The biggest divider of health statistics in modern capitalist societies is DISTRIBUTION OF WEALTH.
But, so saying that =- Those with identical incomes have a different rate of early onset heart disease. And it is not those who eat more pies… The statistics show that the BOSS on the same salary as the MIDDLE MANAGER will not get heart disease. The MIDDLE MANAGER will.

It is not the pies fault.

DAY TEN, evening after N.A.ZI meeting…

I feel good again right now. Kind of a nervous energy thing though. Someone at N.A. said I was hard to be around last week as I made them want to go use. Fucken hell mate. Look at me, you want to be back like me? You’re in trouble. You will be coming to N.A. until you’re a hundred and three. I will be dead.

Anyway, I feel good enough. But over tired. Very over tired. Tired and sleepy like you should never have to be. Never. Because, unless you’re doing a lot of speed, you wouldn’t be awake this long or with so little sleep over a long period of time. It will drive you nuts. And then you’ll want to get on some drugs.

I should have kept a proper count of sleep hours on a chart.

DAMN IT. I will have to go and do this all over again with proper tests. This just isn’t good enough.

 

Well, here we have it. Strange situation, there’s something wrong with you.

Or me according to an N.A.ZI mate.

I shared very briefly bestowing my esteemed and well rounded philosophical belief that having a box of needles, a full container of dirty sharps and seeing old mates who use and lose regularly are a good thing.

What?

Well, I am big on character building.

What?

No, I hear you. You’re right. It’s borderline self flagellation.

OKay, so put it this way. Short, sharp shocks of intensity may equal longer periods of lesser intensity. Like how I took myself off the methadrone this time. A day with nothing here and there so you get a little used to the effects of not having any. Rather than tapering off slowly and then stopping. I am ahead of you. Because my body already knows what is going to happen over the first couple of days. After the first few days is open for discussion.

Admittedly people are more succesfull withdrawing a little at a time. There is a good formula for this, but Sam McBride from Wellington District Health Board Alcohol and Drug service wouldn’t know it… I would suggest he doesn’t give a fuck… I would suggest something like –

CURRENT INTAKE divided by FIFTY each reduction day. And then only reduce twice a week at most. This is to avoid people hitting the “shock”, but which I maintain is beneficial.

So, if you’re on a hundred you could by 100 on Monday, 100 Tuesday, 98 Wed, 98 Thursday, 98 Friday… It is all a percentage thing. Once you are under fifty, well I don’t know. Harden up and jump! Hahah.

Let’s say you’re on twenty and have thirty one day. You will be exactly the same level of fucked up as someone who is on sixty having ninety. You are having a third extra. Either way.

Similarly, to some extent, I have a belief that doing a crash course like mine is not so bad. You are going to start hanging one day. My withdrawal may be worse than someone jumping off 1mg, but we will both be doing it. Probably for similar lengths of time even.

It is the same with worrying factors such as being around old friends, places or events. By having them in my face they test me every day. They show me every day what was wrong with me. People have lost touch with the dreams and goals, and that is okay to look at for me. It may keep me from becoming them.

It kind of hurts when an old druggy mate doesn’t keep in contact. But then, when you think about it, you were always the one doing him favours really. He is too into his own world of bullshit. Leave him to it. I owe them nothing. They owe me, but I don’t give a rats ass. They can have whatever I’ve given them. Straight.

Consumers running meetings with the need for idiots like Sam McBride.

I  do like the consumer lead model of AA and N.A, although am amazed they still carry on about this GOD character so much. It is a stumbling block for so many, yet it the literature is riddled with it. I keep saying it… “My Higher Power” is just too much of a mouthful and is too much text to fit on simple logos. If it is possible to drag a similar model into the mental health sector as a way of dealing with specific illness then GOD just has to go. After trying to fully engage into this process over the last week (eight meetings in seven days people – suck it) there actually is scope there to move this into mental health arena. Especially if you had groups of “anxiety anon”, “depressed anon”, “I didn’t just say it, I did slash my right forearm anon”….

Eureka – Change “GOD” in all texts to “TV” ; thus

TV, give me the serenity to……….

BANG.

I like the individuals there. I always relate to what people are saying. I had a discussion with this younger lady about a few things the other week ;

“I was good at having different groups. Like four or five lives. I would have football mates, junky mates, motorbike mates, computer mates and town mates. The football mates would have kicked me out if they knew I was shooting up at half time in the toilets. The druggy mates would, and did, laugh when they saw me off to play footy. I would keep everyone seperate.”

“Really, me too…”

And then today the guy running the meeting basically said the same thing. I turned to see what the younger girl thought and she was already staring at me winking. There you go.

Proof is in the pudding mate.

WE DO FUCKEN LISTEN.

I, especially, may not look like it. But there it is.

Listening, not the drug addicts most enduring skillset.