Hypertext can be bloody dangerous, you’re correct.

When you need a good kick in the head, along comes some really random stuff to do just that.

More specifically, kick my arse out of a rather gravity laden spiral (ie- downward) and into some sort of recovery.

Without allowing my ADHD out of the confining bag labelled “making sense to you, the unwashed masses” and delving off into the world of “recovery writing” I continue….

Heading to the Doctors on one of my brief Government approved outings to the real world I see REAL LIVE PEOPLE. And some real life live people know me. They, without realising, give me reason to be proud of the person whom was once me. For they followed some advice, learnt from my mistakes, or just plain thought “that crazy old wanker has a point” about something. Something learnt via my public self deflagrations had improved their lot. This was, although not up to the standard of instant gratification and happiness most junkies aspire to, rather uplifting.

Or was it just being outside in the sun with fresh air and real live people around?

And then, today, there is, after much fretting about opening gmail on my behalf, an astounding email from someone. Someone whom has found my email address somewhere or some other. And, somehow, decided to write something.

This amazes me every single time. People take time out of their own lives to write to me. My, currently rather pathetic excuse for a life, gets a boost from this.

If only I wasn’t yawning uncontrollably and struggling not to get back into bed at 3pm. For it has been a long day, old coffee mate comes over with a coffee at 11:30 so I pretend to have been “up and about” before he knocked. Borrowing his phone to call some members of officialdom whom have more than likely put my number on “block” lists proves futile- they obviously are avoiding everyone, not just me. He shows emotion at some of the communications that have been killing any amount of mojo and turning my head into what happens when you’ve been on a childs merry-go-round half an hour too long as an adult.

If not for struggling with simple things like bothering to check my own chin for food deposits before visiting doctors offices, I would take care to head some of this advice and MAKE SURE I ENJOY SOMETHING DESPITE THE CONTROLS AND STUPIDITY (I added the “stupidity” bit, admittedly) OF THE SYSTEM.

Sometimes I cannot open emails or web pages. For a few hours today I have managed it. It feels good.

Enough recovery for now. Season Three of AMERICAN HORROR STORY and a horizontal position in bed await closely.

I know the feeling of not being able to open certain web pages out of sheer, squirming anxiety….
This was appropriate when I was on home detention/probation for 12/6 months respectively for buyin’ the drugs off the ‘net, and I wasn’t allowed shit that could speak hypertext.
Don’t feel obligated to reply, I’m just writing in support.
Channel your energies into whatever gets you through.
I started cooking really nice food spent well over 600 hours playing open-world games on Xbox.
I remember I made a stollen with a log of marzipan through the middle.  Holy fuck, it was good….

The lesson for today is…

Hypertext can be bloody dangerous, you’re correct.

Also useful, given the errors WordPress online editing adds during cut and paste sessions…. 😉
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EMAIL from a blog reader… And ball kids at pro footy game…

wpid-img_20141120_101621.jpg

Astounding me is the ability of service providers to tell the Government that health consumers are happier than ever (etc etc)… Apparently the consumers have a “strong” input into services and the changing of the way services are provided.

What a load of shit.

I get email from readers of my blog sometimes. And all the people I talk to on the street. I just got one such email from a guy “S” whom has contacted me before. We have all the same issues as eachother. As does other people. Mr “A”, whom really hates the services in Wellington and has talked about burning the building… Same stories. Every where. ALL THE TIME.

If only 1% of service users say “they are happier with the service” the Government will be told “more people than ever are happier with our services“. The truth is NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON WAS POSITIVE ABOUT THE SERVICE LAST YEAR. 1% NOW SAY THEY AREHAPPIER“.

This is a positive to the people that need the Governments money.

To the rest of us, it is a load of old bullocks.

Another person whom supports me and the crap I do has been writing.

Another “S” has been in Mental Health Ward again recently. He “suicided” late last week and was taken off life supports today. He is breathing for himself for first time. Send him your love. 

All these stories just don’t stop.

They keep coming. And the way the service providers deal with them has got worse.

Yet, they must show growth in this capitalist world. And that they are.

ASSHOLES.

All these stories just don’t stop.
Yet, I am the only one attempting to bring them to you?

Phoenix Wellington Football Soccer

My daughter was a ball kid at the big game on Friday night. Being parent helper was awesome too. Got a pass to go ANYWHERE in the stadium, but just stood on the field near the left hand corner flag. You can see me on tv replays filling up the back of some shots with computer game tattoo’d arms.

The best part of the night… The PHOENIX event organiser comes past and asks if the kids are behaving themselves.

YES” says me

Oh really, WHAT ABOUT YOU?” she says somewhat too encouragingly…

ME? I feel you need to give my arse a decent hard slapping

After a quick look of shock passes, “Heheheeh, you may be held to that….

Made a new friend there……… A little worried the microphones stationed only a few foot away picked it up on TV broadcast. But hey, she chuckled without ill feeling when I mentioned that possibility and we really should have swapped numbers. Although that may allow her many beaus to find ways to smash me…….

 

…….

I am having a TOTALLY SHIT DAY TODAY.

Sometimes I just feel useless. I saw less of my daughter over the school holidays than I do during normal weeks. Combinations of being arrested, other childrens’ birthday party plans and football have left me feeling lonely and useless. Some friends (girls mainly) appear to have ditched me having not replied to any contact from me… One girl I really like, for she really does think and help others, has flown the coup.

So, I go and visit Dad.

The same Dad whom always argues, always tells me I am wrong. Always told me I am ugly.

Just why I would go to my parents house for the first time in months when I need some family and love is beyond me.

What a fucken stupid thing to do.

Now am just getting through the day without doing anything stupid. When your definition of stupid has widened to include “getting out of bed” you know you’re in trouble.

Lucky I have a kid and no drug addictions. Means you just have to look positively.

Self harm is not beyond us. Any of us.

death

…………….

repco

Twenty years ago I was involved with doing some of the first live internet broadcasts out of New Zealand.

http://www.racetothesky.co.nz was one of them.

MONSTA HAS JUST CRASHED OUT OF THIS EVENT.

I should have been there. But, then again… Maybe not. Running around these events, using drugs, perving and inhaling jet fuel…

Triggers.

Better off staying at home feeling like the world sucks.

For it does.

 

 

Cauda Equina, but it’s all about the Football and N.A meetings, of course (splutter)

Am useless and down on myself quite a bit.

Cannot move my car parts, engines and the odd whole car out of peoples properties, can’t work on my cars and am sick of it. Seems that as soon as I start getting on top of things, the damn spine is out to get me. Evil bloody thing it is. Not that is entirely my fault the spine is crap in the first place. Who would have thought multiple motorbike crash at various speeds, including some quite high – (see what I did there, two birds with one stone and all that?)…

na_logoWent along to an N.A meeting two days ago. Was in the neighbourhood to visit something five foot ten, with legs and arse that would challenge mine for looking good in a tight black skirt (yeah yeah, send all the abuse, criticism and scoff all you like. Do your worst… Be imaginative. Draw some pictures even) when a bloody snobby nosed prick in a BMW cut me off. My god he was driving slowly. I thought BMW was the “ultimate drivers machine”. It turns out the boffins at Berlin Motorworx marketing department would not get their capitalist yearly pay increase by using a factual statement such as “BMW – ultimately for old drivers with heart machines”. One of these old geezers with a pace maker cut me off, and before I could control my middle finger, the old geezer turned out to be a character known to the good likes of I and Wellington in general. The N.A meeting is very near my friends house so, unlike me (for those not capable of reading sarcasm, that was a little example) I sidetracked to the meeting he was going to. It was a guys first birthday. Other people were there aplenty. Having met most of them before, I was not surprised when the first speaker babbled on with no discernable point at all for 13 minutes. He did this in his “bed time story” voice the ladies like. For there were some ladies present. The one opposite me openly scowled at me. She is the one whom always questions me about having had sex with a couple of N.A girl members and whom never says hello. I even say hello to her – she ignores me and puts me in my place with that nose turn up that only girls whom think their station in life is higher than yours can accomplish with any authority. But then she see’s me talking to a couple of guys she really fancies and comes up, all bouncy and smiley and says “HI NZFIEND”. So, I say “I’ve said hello already” and she gets all shitty with me. Odd world.

I kind of needed an N.A meeting– Have been taking way less than all the pain medications they are prescribing, but still. Am not in a great place. Have not seen my daughter for six days and it has been easter. I love easter and hunting eggs with my kid. Easter is the one time remembered as us kids being treated equal in my role as adopted sibling. (Not that Mum or Dad will ever acknowledge this)

So, am in pain, taking a few opiates and am quite bloody touchy and sensitive. If it happened to be my one year clean birthday I would have liked to have been asked to speak at the meeting. But the chairperson got “Mr Slow and Pointless” to open and then got “Mr Complete Do what I say, not what I do” to close the meeting. Birthday boy has shared with me many times how he hates the guy doing the closing speech.

My head is telling me —

ALL THESE PEOPLE ARE STILL SO FAR UP THEIR OWN ARSES THEY ARE NOT EVEN THINKING OF OTHERS IN THIS SMALL CLOSED GROUP. HOW CAN THEY THINK OF THE COMMUNITY AT LARGE, THE PLANET OR IMPROVING THE HUMAN CONDITION?

Seriously, that is what I am thinking. One guy sitting in front of me, whom is pretty much always the first to jump in and shout out “Hi, I am ______, and I am an addict” as soon as the chairperson opens the floor for the general riff raff to speak, jumps in to speak before the chairperson has even finished the last remnant syllable of “the floor is now open…” He talks about a guy who tried to commit suicide by jumping in front of a bus.

This guy tried to commit suicide by jumping in front of a bus” says this guy “the thing was, the bus was doing ZERO KILOMETRES AN HOUR.” (pauses whilst waiting for the hordes to errupt into thunderous laughter for his astounding comedic speech and subject matter are deserved at none less than the Royal Gala. Or, perhaps, more Ricky Gervias at the Acedemy Awards. Taaaaa-dddddaaaaaaaa, thump. A couple of snickers from the more emotionally deprived members, and a sneaky smile from the lady sitting opposite who maybe quite cannot get her head around the fact I do not find her appealing and have never made a move on anyone at N.A. Ever. Full stop.)

This sharer continues to tell us the tale of the guy who stood in front of the bus screaming that he wanted to be run over, and the bus driver would shout at him to get out the fucken way. According to the speaker this was worthy of humour as it was a rather interesting “game of chicken where neither was moving at all” (again, thankfully, the meeting did not erupt into fits of laughter). “It was over when this suicide guy sat at the side of the road with his head in his hands crying his eyes out. Everyone on the bus laughed at him. But I didn’t

As the meeting had been showing signs of being about empathy I could not suppress a cough of the most incredulous nature at this. Only just managing to resist the urge to interrupt and tell the room what wankers they were for not helping others (they say stuff like “I don’t want to get involved helping so-and-so because it will not help me with my recovery), I made sure I was next to share.

For those really interested in their own recovery – Please define, very carefully what you are recovering from, and what you are recovering to. Simple answer is to be a better person in all regards, and all your affairs. Being so self centred and greedy for your own recovery that someone actually kills themselves or goes back to drugs due to you turning your back on them makes you a complete asshole. 

Hi, NZFIEND, Addict“, as usual not waiting for the “HI NZFIEND“, I just pile on the next paragraph…. “Happy Birthday… blah blah blah… If I was on that bloody bus, I would have empathy (really identified, to be fair) with the guy and would have GOT OFF THE BLOODY BUS AND TALKED TO HIM. Just five minutes out of my day to see if he could be pointed in a better direction. MAYBE HE NEEDED A BLOODY N.A. MEETING? I would have been five minutes late to this meeting by getting off the bloody bus and maybe helping out a guy intent on suicide.

Amanda Cumming Suicide by BUS

But the N.A meeting doesn’t care. I am talking quickly and making many points. They cannot comprehend. NZFIEND must be totally fucked up on drugs. He is not thinking of others by talking quickly and getting through many subjects – it is a large meeting and many many people want to share – NZFIEND is just wasted on drugs, not “in recovery” and, therefore, not worth listening to.

Is SUICIDE worse than DRUG ADDICTION? Can you possibly be “in recovery” from suicide? How about looking at people worse off than you. No one is ever going to be perfect. No one is ever going to “recover” from addiction. You are always “in recovery”. But that doesn’t mean you are no longer a self centred ass wipe. I would ask AMANDA CUMMINGS for her point of view, but – oh damn – too late. She killed herself by stepping out into the path of a bus. 

They cut me off after three minutes thirty. But, didn’t I just hear Mr Sloth himself talk about nothing in a bed time monotone for thirteen minutes? Here I am telling the world how teaching kids football soccer is actually teaching them all about life, and the chairperson cuts me off in no uncertain terms.

Luckily I have just enough feeling left in my legs to walk out sans stumbling.

HAHAHAHAHA.
You know that is the best thing..
Knowing your legs have gone numb, you might fart and piss yourself standing up, but managing to make it out the door without losing too much dignity?!
In their eyes, probably just drunk. Or totally fucked up on something. Or something.

So, the group of N.A people close ranks and exclude the acknowledged fuckwit once more. I sure hope Mr Savage doesn’t rip off anything I said and claim it as his own in the future (as he has in the past…) Someone should teach him some ethics.

But even with all that failing, and feeling completely down on myself…  I go visit the tall blonde lady, whom gets a few of the N.A boys reversing their cars when they spot her legs. Really don’t think they were reversing to say BYE BYE NZFIEND. But, maybe they were….. A nice young lady I know cheers me up when one N.A guy says “what’s up NZFIEND” and I say “nothing.”…. She says “NOTHING INDEED, YOUR COCK IS NOT UP MY ARSE, COME ON, HURRY UP, LET’S GO” and started slapping each other on our relatively lightly clothed bottoms….

So, was starting to find my natural silly sense of humour and twinkle. Rapidly. Being in too much pain for satisfying hanky panky, home beckoned loudly.

Received a text or two, an email, a phone call. From parents of kids in my football teams. Some from last years team. Some from parents of kids I have not met from this coming winter team.

Cauda EquineThey know the coach is “bit sore”. They don’t know about Cauda Equina
http://www.spine-health.com/…/lower-b…/cauda-equina-syndrome
or how lucky their coach has been throughout his life of non stop stupidity. 

They know the coach has had issues of various kinds, they know he speaks his mind, he has always been up front and honest with them and their kids. He is not afraid of anyone when it comes to standing up for his team, or the players of teams they come up against.

The parents have sent odd messages such us “damn, our kid, xxxxx, is not in your team, hope he has a great coach like last year“… “my girl is a bundle of fun and energy, but no one can ever teach her anything, for some reason she really get’s you, she has learnt she can apply herself, THANK YOU” … “we owe you Tony for all your hard work and dealing with those awkward parents“….

People say it is not just about the football. I say it is.

If I can teach a totally autistic kid, who does not communicate, how to kick a ball reasonably well in a two hour training session with other kids, I reckon that my life is bloody well okay after all. And the kid is genuinely happy, encouraged and proud of coping with something new. His Mum has been in contact a bit, full of beans about the simple fact her kid is stoked to be taken seriously and not put in a box in the corner. Am so glad to be me sometimes.

Have been trying to convince a very nice young lady (herself a NZ FOOTBALL rep, co-incidentally) to help coach sometimes. She has earned my total respect and amazement for the way she jumped in and helped me when noticing things that I struggled with. Real things. Like, with her around, I did not have to ask for my keys as she carefully watched where I put everything down. She saw my cars and instantly started making lists “for us to get both cars up to scratch”. We were an asset in each others lives, and could have been more so. I am sad she had to run away from the Wellington scene. But totally understand. She was going through some stuff which she would not share with me. She sent me a message on Facebook last night – You are one of the best and most reliable and trustworthy people I have ever met. You are so cool in so many ways, remember that. I just think sometimes you are badly unlucky. She did not even know I was feeling down. She is on the same wavelength. Promise you.

I disagree. Sure, am unlucky sometimes. I don’t think the young lady fully understands the term “I should be dead”. Many times over. A little risk management going in my favour have meant two arms, two legs, two eyes, two ears and half a working brain are all still mine to own and abuse. It could be worse. I don’t know of many fourty something guys with little hair, no teeth, pimples and a “character nose” (at best) whom have had the honour of spending time with the likes of her and others.

We have football training today. In three hours. The coach is having trouble getting shoes on, so it is lucky he still has no football boots and is comfortable playing in bare feet. He has managed coaching a training session in worse shape. But not with a bunch of new players and brand new strange parents. The parents will probably think him stranger. Guess they may have a point.

If I let the kids play a game for an hour, my back will “warm up”. Am sure of it. A little worried to be fair. Last couple of days have been crap, but then I think of all the kids. I think of the parents appreciation. I think I do a good job in a hard environment with no money, no real support and no instant reward.

And then I think it is all about the football. Spine or no spine.

A REAL BLAST FROM THE PAST

BLOODY FACEBOOK! There is a use for it after all.

During the course of writing all this crap on the Worlds Shittest Blog (TM) there have been various outstanding members of the community at large whom have seen fit to contact me. Some of the favourites are people from the past.

Am not really the sort of chap to go for the absolute poshest club known to Wellingtonians… Since he is a member and all that, I convinced myself to put my obvious socialist leanings to one side and enter the lair of right wingers. Just for a moment.

After having a very enjoyable hour long light brunch with a man whom earns more each day than I do in an entire year (yes, it was his shout) we decided to do it again.

Well, my old Fiend, I have asked you about 2% of the four thousand questions I have for you. Therefore we need to do this again. Next time we will set aside a proper lunch or dinner. 

If you have four thousand questions, I have at least sixteen thousand answers…. Some of which will even sway you from your belief the economy is the answer to everything. In fact, in less than five minutes there was some interest in an alternative point of view.

ADHD is everywhere.

The economy is not going to fix that.

AND THEN…

BLOODY FACETUBES!
There is a use for it after all.

A really old friend / flame / hair freak contacted me.

YEAH BOI

Fucken stoked.

So fucken stoked…
Thought this, and a lot of my other work, was gone forever. 

Board Shitless ANSI graphic by FIEND

Seriously?!!!!

bs_2

When unable to sleep at night…

Sleeping and rest were / are an issue for the recovering addict.

More so, it seems, in the social economic controlling influence of the environment some of ourselves find surrounding us.

Last night the natives (hoaries as I have started affectionately calling them – or is the effectionately?) had huge arguments, women screaming, threatening and abusing. Slaps fired. Handbags at dawn. All the usual crap that comes from these idiots drinking their benefit payments away whilst the kids sit screaming in another room.

So, not for the first time since living here …

Hell, not even the first time this week. I had my daughter on Tuesday night and had to go out and “break up” a fight in the stairs outside my apartment at 9.30. She had only gone to bed at 9pm, but pretended to be asleep when I went to check on her afterwards.

Not a skill, or strategy, I would like my 11 year old girl to have in her “coping mechanism” basket.

So, not for the first time since living here there was an instance of me having to wake and fail to return to void space that is usually dreamless sleep.

Since being awake, I thought it a good idea to put on a DVD. Unfortunately the DVD recommended to me by the old skin gang guy from a block by the zoo was SPUN.spun

Although entirely enjoyable, not 100% sure any half decent psych’ would recommend this course of action.

Admitting that drugs are good and without them I would be in jail, institution or death… Admitting I am useless and handing it all over to a higher power. Hell, forget the drug scenes. They got me going.

Where there is drugs, there is, surely, sex and rocknroll.

Finally dozed off after movie about 5am. Woke at 7. Feel like a hit. 

 

Got dumped. I think. :-(

TODAY…
I need another kid,
not more adult babysitting

Saw a young couple I have chatted with at various op-shoppes in Newtown. Saw them the other day with my coffee mate, “NIGZ”. She walked slower to avoid the “boyfriend” noticing and gave me a huge and enthusiastic wave, smile and some decent”eyes”. For she has eyes. And legs. And a bloody good attitude.

Today I offered them both a lift…. For the first time ever. Don’t know why. Bored? Interest? Bored interest? I have just been dumped, of course.

I stop the car and jump out…

“How far you going, you want a lift?”  she was sweating, walking fast. The walk and the heat did not fully explain the amount of sweat.

“We’re going over to xxxxxxx to score some smack, and I’m late. So, yes” she says already having dropped boyfriends hand and sliding into front seat. An attractive slide it was too.

Turns out they were off to score some “smack” from someone I know of in Wellington. She did a little spiel, although very nice, culminating with something along the lines of “turns out I am a fucking junkie” with a classic self depreciating smile.

Look here my dear, you really think I would have talked to you about the need for safe injecting rooms and the amount of effort I went to in order to defeat hep C if I had not pegged you as a junky. 

– I did not say,
but did think all too loudly

“Turns out I am a fucking junkie” she says.

“Hope that’s working out well for you” says I…

“We’ll see” says she.

“How much is it costing you?”

“$120 a day, but only recently. Was $60 a day. But recently…..” she sighs, and loses train of thought, looks straight at me with eyes wanting help, but not wanting to quit. Just wanting cash.

I hold her gaze for a minute with the best blank look I can muster. Driving a car means ignoring passengers at 90 degrees away from the view over the bonnet.

We were almost at their destination. I have seen this sort of couple before. She is motivated, attractive and smart. She stands out in a crowd. Things will come to her, whether she likes it or not. She can manage most things herself. But her “boyfriend” is a slightly dopey guy who she can use to get in the way when she wants to. I do not know this for a fact in this instance, but in previous observations of this sort of couple, it is true that the “boyfriend” lives off her dregs and she supports them both in order for the “protection” a smelly male can provide without pre-amble. He will follow her around until she implodes or leaves his leash tied somewhere else. He may return to his bitter punk mates and take up drinking cheap alcohol. Probably won’t even go through withdrawals.

We reach our destination. She is starting to realise I am / was / is a fucken junky too. She’s looking for avenues. Obviously.

I ask if they have a safe place to shoot up and tell them both to take care. Real care.

If they had no real place to shoot up, what would I have done? Offered them my place? My car? If they had not been able to do it properly and caused marks and harm to their arms, would I have helped and shown them how to do it properly? Would I have shot them up if they couldn’t?

FUCK ME. No no no no no no no no no no no no.

That is enough to finish me off too. They need saving. When they are ready. A few dirty tastes and blocked veins may speed up the process.

 

She looked a bit rough around the edges. Sweating out skin pores that didn’t exist this time six months ago. Her boyfriend smelt unwashed. Old stinky Paul smell. These two people are a shame.

They remind me of me. TOTALLY.

And I hated older people trying to help or show me how to do things. Once there was an older lady, very petite, very sweet and (now I am older and aware) she was obviously an ex-junky. She snuck up behind me and pulled me to once side and could have said so much and taken me home and made me cups of tea and watched me withdraw and I would have loved her and not gone with stinky exhibitionist punk girls and gone to jail and had years of crap.

At least, not in her mind. Until the moment past and she looked away wistfully and off I went. I was 18, wearing black, tattoo’s coming out ripped singlet, hair a mess, black jeans, army boots, needle marks, and not giving a fuck.

Guess I was more like this young lady than the young guy.

Wish I could help this young lady in some way. So full of life and energy, yet today, hanging out, she had grown bitter. Not twisted. Not rejecting the world. But really wishing that she had given up. For a small period of time.  Before she scores and the world becomes sweet. Nice. Happy. The opiates flood her head. Feelings of accomplishment and fulfilment. I know. For I love that feeling. It’s just that it is FUCKEN FAKE. 

Real Life is spending time teaching a bunch of kids stuff that you love.

And seeing them love it.

And seeing your daughter love you for it.

2014_11_30

Damn I hope my kid doesn’t become a junky. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. I just wish she wouldn’t.

With the knowledge gained from years of trouble, both her mother and I know what to look for.

Look at my life… Or, maybe don’t….

This girl whom just left my car left me with feelings of impossibility.

Kids will do what kids do.
Even if there is a fence at the top of the cliff they will climb it.
And, eventually, need the ambulance at the bottom.

Just wish I could fight it with them. Or for them.

This is half of what happened this morning.
The rest is here. 16 February 2015.

Need a real life.

If only there was more time…….

 HONESTLY, BEEN DUMPED?

Not sure what to feel about this.

A post written in 2013 was called I GOT DUMPED. HELL YEAH. Couldn’t agree more with that old post. I got dumped. Best thing that ever happened to be fair. That person is back. At a distance. But that lovely young borderline personality disorder mess person is not the issue.

The issue is the really fun friend, whom I fucken loved spending time with… No shit. I really did appreciate the time spent with her… She is so much like me. So cheeky. So clever. So full of honest, brutal humour. The worst junky, punk, obnoxious fun possible. Without the junk, punk or beatings…

I loved spending time with her.

But then there was a serious moment or two.

And then, I can only guess, something or someone got into her mellon.

From a million texts and calls a day to ZERO over night, without explanation. I think my number is on her “blocked” list as rang it once yesterday and once today… Rung once and went straight to answer phone. Tried texting today (the text was three dots ““) and got nothing.

Guess I have been dumped. Flat. On face. Without even having a boot or bat slapped around the back of my head. Even if you don’t get a bat, or boot, it is nice to get a good-bye, an explanation, a final word.

Without this final word, some people would get really annoyed and even violent and stalkerish. Thankfully for the world I am not what you all make me out to be.

No matter how much fun being really annoyed, stalking and violent sounds, I promise you that is not me. 

Maybe it should be. Wouldn’t mind an answer as to what the fuck happened there.

Reading this blog may have done it. Ho hum. Ring me and tell me girl. You know you will see me around Newtown sooner or later anyway. Then what? You’ll run and hide for no reason? Fuck me. Who cares. I need more kids. Not more adult babysitting.

STILL BANNED FROM CCDHB etc etc

 

ccdhb

Have been onto Hospital grounds many times. This is getting stupid.

I can sit, stand, talk with Police. I can do anything on hospital grounds at all.

Other than one little thing.

As soon as I ask one little question or try discussing a persons lack of care or response they simply tell me to leave as they have called the Police.

The police have yet to turn up mind you.

I have been to a hospital building not specifically listed in the trespass order acting as official advocate for one young lady. They did exactly the same as Blair Bishop and Clarissa Broderick at Addiction (Dis)Services. That is — They followed the Capital Coast District Health Board guidelines…

  1. Ignore the advocate outright
  2. If client has properly acknowledged advocate and advocate seems to wanting to engage in a positive manner
    RING POLICE
  3. Tell client they must leave
  4. Tell advocate they must leave

This is the third time now. They tell my client to leave and my client then wants to leave for fear of losing medications or what-have-you.

I am left trespassed from all CCDHB grounds on the basis of writing this blog.

Maybe I should show them my middle finger.