HI I KNOW I'VE NOT BEEN ABOUT FOR A COUPLE OF DAYS... was so overwhelmed by my National Gallery experience... what am I saying? In actuality I've been lost in thought, making a plan. I'm good at making plans -- and I do actually do them sometimes ... this one involves other people's co-operation. I was going to say "help" but that isn't it at all. But I need other people's co-operation. So I'm looking into what precisely I have to do to put this plan into operation. Then I'll get back to you. I won't bother saying what it is till I'm actually some way to doing it as so much of this blog has been hot air, I feel. I know most of my readers are nonaddicts: but the addict among you will know only too well the dreadful prevaracation of which we're all guilty. Being addicted to hard drugs puts your will in a balance, so however much you say (and mean it) that you might want to give it a rest or a break or stop doing it or come off or quit; the brain and body's instinctive urge to use (and this is how the drugs have hijacked one's system) out-pulls any rational "reasoning" we might do and the drugs win (yet again ...) Which is why stopping opiates or heavy drugs like crystal meth or cocaine, especially when one has been hooked for several years, is very often something that benefits from professional help ... or else supremely good planning and extraordinary willpower plus ideally (if not essentially) huge amounts of support from those around you. Which is why, though I have got very tired of my situation, I'm loath to say "I want to quit" because I got into "treatment" twice in one year a few years back, for all what I believed to be the right reason (to cease tormenting my family, as much as anything ...) and I daily was hitting the so-called "rock bottom" at one point, telling myself "I can't go on, I can't go on like this" ... and every day, between my morning hit and the afternoon dose I always took, however hopeless things looked by mid-evening that I was never going to make enough money to get any more to solve the crisis to hold me throughout the night and into the next morning I always somehow did (and I always had a hopeless attitude to it all. Nothing ever seemed easy, straightforward, all systems go. Even when I did have the money I went through a mental routine ... "the dealer's never going to come" (that IS how most of them make you feel, driving round delivering all over the place, lying constantly about how long they're going to be and where they actually are. Anyone who's ridden round in a car with a London dealer can vouch that this is true. (Though I hear in the United States it's not so bad.)) ... then the dealer DID come and it wasn't as if I didn't know a half dozen others I'd met that week plus ten more who for various reasons I kept only for emergencies; but it always seemed to be getting late or I was out of my normal area and would have to travel miles to meet the other guy ... which brings me to the next point, my "gear" has always been sacred to me; I WILL NOT accept tiny bags or rubbish. Nearly every time I've allowed someone else to talk me into using their "man" I've been disappointed ... once the gear had actually came my mind flipped into a new stew: "it's gonna be small, it's gonna be weak" something had to be wrong. The journey home to Nutnut's house where I was staying during the most intense period of all this, when I couldn't get up, eat, sleep or function really without having a "hit" first seemed to take forever. I'd ride the bus up to near her beautiful home (no bus ever went direct) mentally cursing the driver not to bother stopping for anybody else, ignore the traffic lights, step on it, come ON drive full-on ... finally to get there, straight to the bathroom, cursing the water now for not filling the works quickly enough, the lighter for not heating my spoon fast enough, the hit for not cooling quick enough, my veins for misbehaving ... then finally ... at long last as dark blood rushed into brown gear then brown gear was plugged back into veins ... finally, a thirty-second wait and at last, at long, long last everything was okay and I'd think to myself:--
I am worried about the goldfish - He doesn't look well at all. And I fear it's my fault. He's not even my goldfish, strictly speaking. He came to live with us when Younger Son and Nuora we...
10 hours ago