Blood Test Day

A SURLY NURSE took my blood this morning. First thing she said, upon examining my right arm, was "this may take some time; you've used all this up". She then examined my left and was in a vein first stab. "It's so slow it may well coagulate before it's all finished," she said. The draining took so long my hand was going numb.

When I saw the tiny test tubes, each with only a trickle inside it, I wanted to heave. I dashed outside for a cigarette then had a Cadbury's Creme Egg in consolation. I'm eating Chinese takeaway tonight as my reward for undergoing that ordeal. Last Chinese had undercooked chicken, so I'm going to the one I really like that closes early. The lady writes out Chinese characters on the ordering slips especially for me.

Valium Marilyn has lent me The British National Formulary "the book of life" she calls it. Every prescription drug is in there with full details. Of course I had a good read of the diamorphine page.

Following this mornings pukesomeness I'm put off gear for good. Yes I did relapse yet AGAIN on Sunday but use is down now to ONCE PER WEEK. This is the best I've ever done except those 10 weeks or more when I used nothing at all. I was drinking still during that period. I now have just under a pint of white cyder and tropical fruit juice in the fridge. Reserved from last night when I simply could not get anything more down me. I had to do a 12 hour fast so I stacked up as much nutrition inside me as I could possibly manage.

I'm going to have to ping. I hope you all had a decent weekend. And bank holiday weekend for those of you in the UK. The Notting Hill Carnival was "quiet" this year. Surely a contradiction in terms. The Notting Hill Carnival once made me the second illest I have ever been in my life. A physical, spiritual and mental breakdown all at once. It was like a fuse had blown in my head and I was sweating bottles and bottles of white wine (that's what it looked like) onto my sheets. This was before the heavy drugs episode so heavy sweats weren't the usual me at all.

I don't eat that much Takeaway, Baino. Usually once a month these days. Twice in a week is unusual and basically my way of Bribing myself into that Blood Test Clinic.

You know I nearly ended up in Nuclear Medicine by mistake. I felt so sorry for the people crowding into oncology. I might have a supposedly serious illness but it's psychiatric. I'd rather be mentally ill than physically any day. I was offended by EastEnders last night calling bipolar (in so many words) a terrible condition passed down by bad blood. I'm the only nutcase in my family so explain that one. There is a small amount of ordinary depression, some gambling and some drinking on ONE side of my family but I'm the biggest junkie nutter by far. Explain that you geneticists!!

Well I've gotta go. Make it a good one!

The Michael Jackson of Literature (truly BAD!)

IN WHICH Gledwood speaks of health and social issues and the Chinese language yet again as well as:~~~~~~~

MY INTELLECTUAL BOOK is brewing in me like finest beer. I can't reveal ANY points of plot, character or setting but suffice it to say it shall be the finest and most amazing book ever written. I have to big myself up. Let's face it if I levelled my ordinary standard of self-esteem at my book I'd think it the worst thing since unsliced bread! I am taking inspiration from Michael Jackson and Barbra Streisand. Two entertainers at the top of their game. When they perform a song, everybody else's version becomes redundant. I've always seen my writing as the way of turning the sour old lemons of my personality into artistic lemonade. And the sour grapes of my past into finest wine.

There shall be NO heroin in my children's book. No social problems. No divorce. No lesbian single parents battling the social worker. No miserable children passed like an unravelling parcel between parents at mind-wrenching "access" weekends. I might one day write about an unhappy child because I was one myself. But it won't be my first go.

Duta my druggieworker asked me the secret of my plastic surgery-style skin improvement. I admitted to her it's just a £3 tube of "soap with bits of sand in it"... Otherwise known as Facial Scrub. Use it five times in a row after not bothering to wash your face properly in months and the effect is as drastic (if not more so) than dermabrasion or a chemical peel on a rich and overpampered female. I would have imagined that exfoliants work better on male skin than female as men have tougher skin that needs smoothing. Take a look at a middle aged woman, compare her soft skin to a craggy old man's and you'll get my drift.

The recent London riots were fuelled by Facebook and Twitter ~ so Channel 4 News was claiming tonight. I'm a bit behind the time as regards both of these social networking sites I'm afraid. Twitter appears to be like Blogger with an extraordinarily stingy words limit (how could someone like me blog in 150 characters?). As for Facebook that is not a "blog" at all. A blog is an account what one ate, of one's bowel movements and what colour toilet paper they buy. A blog is linear. Not spider-shaped, as Facebook appears to be.

A 27 year old man died after being sprayed in the eyes with chili pepper then shot and tortured three times with an electrocution device. Now this is why so many people have grievances against the police. Not necessarily that they have been abused and nearly killed in this way, but that they know that in the wrong circumstances they might be. CS spray and Tasers are used against the mentally ill with impunity ~ usually in the name of bringing a "disordered" person to a "place of safety"! Torture them first, then give them the psychiatric care they need. And wonder why they have lingering paranoid ideation and issues of trust! Mental hospitals chuck people out far too early. I remember meeting a manic woman my doctor's car park. We were both pacing frantically. I because I was detoxing off heroin (on nothing) and so was slightly "agitated"; she because she'd just been discharged from hospital following a bout of psychotic mania. If this was considered fit to go home, what on earth was she like when she was "ill", I wondered. I heard an Indian doctor, who practises in India spouting off on the benefits of care in the community. But did anyone ever ask the patients what they want? Most long term mentally ill ~ and I'm talking of severe ongoing conditions here ~ actually prefer being in hospital to the cold wide world that shuns them so cruelly. But does anyone ever ask the mentally ill what they think? I think not. Tht's why I'm only half joking when I talk about a nice retreat to the nuthouse being easier to arrange and cheaper than a CitiBreak to Paris or Brussels!

By the way I found out my local psyche unit (and I have no idea where it's actually located) is a building on the grounds of a general hospital. I'm far less put-out about the prospect of going there now. It means when I go out for a ciggie break I can go for a wander amongst the population with broken legs, drips and haematomas and those who have just given birth. I once saw a man take his drip down to the smoking area. He looked like a troll dragging a parrot's cage.

Today I learned the numbers one to ten in Chinese they are: 一二三四五六七八九十 that's yī èr sān sì wǔ liù qī bā jiǔ shí. I had problems with wǔ, liù and qī especially. I am not very good with numbers, days of the week or months because there's little to visualize when you learn the word. I don't have a numbers brain. That's why I never pursued a career in medicine ~ my absolute ideal vocational job. I cannot describe how much pleasure I would get lancing and draining abscesses, cleaning wounds, not to mention banging up old ladies with morphine! Seriously I adore medical stuff. But I'm just too thick by far to get accepted on a medicine course because not only do you need A Level biology and chemistry (and if you don't have biology you need MATHS ~ ukh! ~ but A Level PHYSICS is a necessity. I'm absolutely lost with physics. The only subjects I was any good at were English literature, modern languages and law. Law, interestingly, was the only subject I was outstanding at. I'm only averagely good at languages and literature. I persevere with the language studies because they motivate and inspire me. You are, after all, only learning to speak, listen, read and write. I know I will succeed in Mandarin Chinese, not because I'm brighter than anybody else, but more persistent. Just remember that 500 million Chinese speak Mandarin as a SECOND language and you realize there really is no excuse for calling Chinese "difficult". Different would be the operative word. German, on the other hand, is not that different but extremely difficult. As is French. Every single word is male or female in these languages and the Germans have a neuter gender on top! Now THAT is HARD. Learning pretty pictures to go with every word inspires me to eat more Chinese food. And I love Chinese food.

I'm eating Asda's own Chinese chicken curry and egg fried rice. They've made the mistake all the supermarkets seem to make; they douse the curry in five-spice to make it Chinese. This is NOT what takeaways do. Why can't they just copy the takeaway? Every single time I buy frozen takeaway-style supermarket food I have to add my own monosodium glutamate. Indian food and most especially Chinese food without MSG is like nonalcoholic beer: a total waste of time. I absolutely love MSG and have just finished a half-kilo packet. I also heard somehwere it could have triggered my manic episodes. As mania and psychosis are linked to dysregulation of the brain's glutamate receptors. So whether Chinese food drove me potty or not, I'll probably never know in this lifetime, but it does make an attractive theory...

WITH ONE LOOK




NIGHT OF MY LIFE (Freak Brothers mix)




Illustrated: Michael Jackson ~ didn't look so terrible with the original nose, did he?; the taser: officially sanctioned torture; Chinese chicken curry always contains onions and peas and lashings of monosodium glutamate!

Bipolar disorder and glutamate: research link
"The gene, GRIK2 (glutamate receptor, ionotropic, kainite 2), encodes for a glutamate receptor, specifically glutamate receptor 6 (GluR6). Glutamate is the predominant excitatory neurotransmitter in the central nervous system."

Back on the (legal) drugs ...(!)

I DECIDED to go back on antipsychotics tonight.

I keep hearing voices in my head jabbering in Northern accents. Jim Royle saying "my arse!" over and over. They're not hallucinations, they're kind of really loud thoughts from outside. But they didn't happen when I was sane. And I know they're supposed to mean I'm mentally deranged. The pills can block them out.

Also the risperidone has some sort of blockading effect on the heroin hit. It doesn't stop the nasty stuff working but it somehow makes taking it not seem worthwhile. So that's a good thing for me.

The reason I stopped taking it was that I was feeling incredibly flat and I thought risperidone was responsible. Then I began feeling depressed on top of that and risperidone is not a mood stabilizer as such. It did make me feel a lot less manic, but I'm not manic any more. So I wasn't sure whether or not to continue with risperidone. So I stopped it. And slumped into a pit of depression.

I was remembering what happened in full-on mania. My brain did everything bar melt on me and drip out of my ears down my neck, hissing, popping and fizzing as it drooled in luminous fingers down my back! Not good. The in-between hypomanic stage was good. That went on for several weeks and prompted my doctor to write to my GP telling of my "elevated mood". The only other detail I remember from that letter was "paranoid ideation".

My Mum wrote to me threatening that I'd get chucked out on the streets. My head was confused enough that I kept thinking she wanted me out on the streets. Or thought I was supposed to go and live there. She thinks that because my doctor mentioned schizophrenia I must have at least 2 personalities. She says some course she went on many years ago taught her this. Whoever taught that course needs shooting between the eyes. I only have one personality. That person might be quite warped and I don't like it very much. But it's only one person. If I could turn myself into somebody else I'd be overjoyed.

Originally I wanted a manic episode back. This had as much to do with being depressed and despairing of ever being "normal" as actually wanting to be so-called "ill". I didn't see much choice in the matter. So I wished the mania would hurry up and come back.

But now I'm feeling out some dimly-lit middle way that might somehow lead to happiness.

I woke up this morning with my head still dreaming. The Royle Family were having a loud conversation in between my ears as I wondered what on earth I was supposed to do. Life seemed so overwhelming. Then I told myself I just had to keep clearing and cleaning my house. Every day. Do a bit, every day. Don't think. Don't think too much. Don't think about it. I only think when I'm unhappy. Unhappy thoughts. So don't think. Just do it. Then when it's done you can think up something else.

So that's my plan. I've been spending hours asleep. Yes the sleep pattern has come back. I slept all afternoon, then went to bed around ten at night and slept through till nine in the morning.

So here's my plan for today. I'm still fighting unhappiness (if the truth be told). And if the truth be told further, I could do with some of that hypomania back: heightened mood and energy. Trust me to get it back only for one bloody day! That has happened before. I costed out how much it would've cost me to go that long on cocaine: £2-300. So that's a good coupleof hundred pounds worth of free high. You've got to look on the bright side.

I'm wondering how Anna Grace is. She was detoxing off heroin in her parents' empty home last I heard. Only her tiny terrier Elle for company. Then she started going manic. But her mood cycles quickly so she's either stuck to the ceiling or feeling a bit down or very down by now. Being as no post has appeared since Friday I'd assume she's down rather than up.

She's taking all these meds for bipolar disorder and they still don't seem to sort her out. Taking an Addreall (dexamphetamine) prescription from another doctor might have somethig to do with this. My own doctor said taking speed on top of bipolar was highly unadvisable. (I only asked this purely for Anna's sake; I haven't bought any speed since 1993). O yeah apart from Dexedrines purchased on the street in 1999. But I'm not into speed. It never agreed with me. Sent a clinically depressed me into comedowns so bad I could barely function at all, at the worst of it. Then the last time I did it, having found a great lump of it at a bus stop, a few lines taken on Monday evening had me speeding away into Wednesday and beyond! That was several years ago when I was still living in a crackhouse. Drugs like that and me don't mix so I stay away from them. So I don't know why Anna takes it. Something to do with an attention-deficit diagnosis as a child. ADHD and bipolar are said to present fairly similarly in children, with bipolar being more severe. She was taking uppers in her childhood (amphetamine and ritalin are supposed to calm down hyperactive children)... then surprise surprise had severe mood swings in adulthood. In fact 50% of bipolar 1s have a known history of substance use disorders. As do 50% of schizophrenics. So drug-use and mental illness are inextricably intertwined. You're only diagnosed after several weeks of symptoms while drug-free.

Well it's my goal to break away from all of this. I'm fed up of being arguably mentally unwell. And unarguably a drug addict. I'm trying to focus my head on more positive things. I'm pondering how I might make a book out of Valerie, the China White Heroin Queen of Australia. She has plenty to say for herself. If I can get a 300 page manuscript out of her, I'm sure Harper Collins would be delighted... wish me and Valerie luck with the inspiration..!

PS I just read this back and it looks like I don't know what the hell I want. I want to be OK and I want to write some amazing books that make me a fortune. And I don't want to be addicted to any substance at all. So those are my goals in life.

PPS I just went down Morrisons for corned beef and cheese coleslaw. It’s my first tin of corned beef in three or four days so I’m doing really well on that score. I was hoping for the Royle Family to accompany me down in my head. But they didn’t. Deserted me just when I wanted them most? Does anyone else get that? Voices in their head repeating catchphrases, telling jokes? I only remember it happening to me after I’d been in the nuthouse at least once. The first 2 times I only stayed in a week, then they chucked me out. I’m scared if I ever go in again they won’t want to let me go. But I could do with a little holiday sometimes. “A retreat” as Bipolar Becky once called it. I don’t want to go in the nuthouse now, but if I get offered it again I think I’m going back in. My head is too confused about what I’m doing with my life. That “breakdown”, if you want to call it that, really threw me on my head. I only use phrases like “mental illness” because it sounds so insightful and grown-up. Really I didn’t feel ill at all. I felt like finally I was in touch with my real self. I was in a really good mood. And the world felt unreal. Which is all, if you think about it, a pretty idyllic state to be in. You could argue that medication has ruined my life and brought me back to a sallow reality. Like waking up in the bath of near-freezing cold water you tried to drown yourself in, floating in a white haze, miserable and still alive. That’s how I see reality. And I want a better life than that.

SO COME ON you nutters! (Or normal people. I heard normal people hear voices too, there's even an international Voice Hearers movement for those who do; link given below...) I want to know whether you get voices in your heads? Or outside your heads? Or both? If so where and how loud? Do they come in from outside? Or do they hover in the air floating? What do they say? What do they sound like? When did they start? How often do they come to you? And is it supposed to be to do with any sort of so-called illness? If so what label? And do you wear the label round your neck like a Jim’ll Fix It medal? Someone I knew with a borderline personality disorder used to do that and I saw other people seemingly confusing diagnosis with identity. Put me off divulging anything of note to a psychiatrist for years, did that.
ANSWERS PLEASE!! + Y'ALL CAN TAKE PART IN MY NOSEY SURVEY (ABOVE)...


LINKS:~~~~~~~
Hearing voices movement: Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hearing_Voices_Movement ~ with links to national orgaizations
Hearing Voices Network (UK) http://www.hearing-voices.org
Interational Movement: http://www.intervoiceonline.org

01:01 hrs. I hope Anna Grace is all right. Not a peep from her since Friday....

Just gabblling (as per usual)

0220 WELL I WASN'T HALF RAMBLING on earlier. I was going into one because Deshane who is a mental health type personnage is coming to my house tomorrow (actually today, this afternoon) and I know I'm not feeling "right" so all that confusion with vivid references to mental disorderedness is me stewing because I'm stressed out.

I don't know whether to go to bed tonight or not I feel a bit "high" as doctors call it. (I don't really call it high but in the nuthouse the nurses used to say "we think you're getting a bit high" as an excuse to give a pissed off person with bipolar disorder who was JUST A BIT ANNOYED AND JUSTIFIABLY SO just as an excuse to wrestle him to the floor and slam a needle full of haloperidol in his arse.

I'm allergic to Haloperidol if they gave me that I really would get upset and sue. No kidding. I was in such a state on FIVE milligrams I got carted into hospital in an ambulance for not being able to walk any more. It was that serious, no kidding. If they DARED give me that I would take every measure of legal action, including assault charges because I know they will try and play mind games with me in there and I know I will probably end up in the nuthouse sooner or later. I don't feel like I'm coping that well and I get tired of looking after myself the way YOU would be tired of looking after a young toddler who keeps turning on the oven and leaving taps on etc. I don't do those things but that's the point it's what I DON'T do that causes problems. I don't do anything unless it's absolutely essential so this is my issue with "self-care" as they call it. Just being able to tell you doesn't make things any easier, any better or any different. Ill-informed and ill-trained people hav been taken in by my impression of normality for so long now I'm not about to start acting "ill" to be taken seriously they can either believe me or not I'm not putting any effort into any kind of mental health "performance".

You have to bear in mind I'm diagnosed with thee most complicated serious mental disorder there is with the widest range of symptoms of possibly ANY mental disorder so being happy can mean I'm actually manic, being quiet could mean I'm depressed or withdrawn, being normal might mean I'm plummetting in mood and just happen to me "euthymic" (in a normal mood) during the snapshot of time for which they see me. I'm getting tired of myself like I say and if anybody does make the offer again I will take them up and go in the nuthouse. I almost regret not going in when I was asked before but they would have medicated me away to nothing. British hospitals seem to be heavier on meds than American ones. You hear stories of physical restraints etc in America they are VERY seldom used here and only when absolutely necessary and only as a last resort. The first resort is medication, always medication and I don't want to be on heavy meds. I don't really want a mood stabilizer. He gave risperidone, I think, to establish whether I had a schizo-thing going on with my affective stuff. I think that was his reasoning.

I decoded what he said in Psychotic Appointment Number One when I was saying I didn't fit into diagnostic criteria and he himself said "what do you know about schizophrenia?" which did my head in so much I cried. Just thinking I had schizophrenia made me cry which is very unusual for me I wouldn't usually cry over something like that but I did over that one. Anyway he also asked whether I'd been OK for any length of time in the past 6 months. 6 months is the diagnostic time you need to have been ill to qualify for schizophrenia (or schizoaffective). I didn't realize what he was getting at and naively said "no I haven't been OK? What you mean all day? No." Bear in mind I had dealers ringing ME asking where I was! Not the other way round.

I'd lost it so bad I couldn't even score without a big load of stress. Literally everything in life stressed me so I avoided literally any engagement with reality outside going to get methadone, going shopping for essentials and going to horrible but essential appointments for methadone.

I have had problems that I now realize are this illness for a good five years straight. Severe problems coping with day to day life which both I and my drug workers just thought was can't be bothereds. But every single time I tried (and I did try) to snap out, to do a new thing, it just fell flat, didn't work, led to more distress, disappointment, dysphoria. And I was depressed enough already. That's why they started believing I had a personality disorder. I had a mental disorder I was self-medicating pretty successfully. Heroin really did work as a mood-stabilizer and antipsychotic. It was particularly good at levelling out my mood. I remember when I first got addicted, realizing there were no more hills and valleys just a flat line. But that flat line wasn't entirely flat it inclined downwards and I did go into the pits, just more slowly and I stayed down there a long, long time.

So this is more of me spouting on about mental shit I know. Think of it as unedited autobiography. I want my family to have stuff Ive written in case I die. Then they can assemble it into something publishable and hopefully get tons of cash from my death. That's what I'm hoping. A dead junkie makes a junkie's life story SO much more saleable. Hey imagine if someone made a film of my life?! I want Brad Pitt to play me.

OK I'm off now. I might even sleep ~ woo! Take care y'all...

Risperidone Problem

NAOMI, the Dual Diagnosis lady, who isn't medical (so I wasn't asking medical advice) rang me back about my risperidone problem. I am on 4mg daily. 4mg is half the usual maximum dose. The usual starting dose is 2mg according to the leaflet, but the dr. probably gave more as I was getting symptoms that were severe enough to be losing it pretty completely. I don't lose it every minute of every day even when I'm ill. Everything with me is episodic, variable and changeable, like tides of the sea. A hurricane doesn't last forever, neither do my mood swings. So you need to understand this if you think I'm calling myself "mad" then seem sane. This is the crux of the problem!

Anyway I was put on risperidone 2x 2mg pills at night for the first week (when they are strong enough to make you feel almost concussed, not inherently nice at all, but I was pretty manic so they made me sleep at night and slowed my body down daytimes. They cut out voices though I still hear the murmurs. They stop me pacing, dancing and acting hyper most of the time, even when my mind races and rushes. They also probably slow that down, though they were prescribed on the tail end of a mood swing and the dr. knew that.

From week 2 onwards they're to be taken 2mg by day, 2mg by night. It's the daytime one I had problems with. It gives what you might call drowsiness but it's not sleepiness (it feel way better with Valium on top and I don't want to be scoring Valium on a street corner because of antipsychotic side effects). So I didn't take it yesterday or today.

I said to Naomi I was going to take it nights only (ie 4mg at once) until my dr appointment on Feb 24th. I though this was the most responsible course of action.

I CAN make emergency appointments but don't want to be one of these neurotic complainers going through every single medication until I find one that satisfies my hypochondria. This ISN'T hypochondria. It's not a listed side effect. It feels like the brain-fog and photophobia (lights glare at me in a nasty way) from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and THAT is not something I would relive for anyone.

Another issue is if I do go cuckoo again I WILL go in hospital. Considering those nurses' bizarre idea of misbehaviour I can foresee if I'm a bit "manic" I could easily get into a situation where I get wrestled down and needled. (Not that there's not something secretly funky about that, but it's not really what I want. Y'know...?)

I NEED TO KNOW AN ANTIPSYCHOTIC THAT CAN BE GIVEN IN EMERGENCY HIGH DAYTIME DOSES THAT AGREES WITH ME.

If I left it until I did get needled in hospital, my complaints will be interpreted as insubordination. So I NEED to cross this side-effects bridge NOW.

Naomi has the ear of 3 psychiatrists who work in my area and will bring up my issue with one of them tomorrow. I see her at Nutter Club Thursday anyhow. But I have to sort this problem out. If you went as off the planet as I did NOT ON DRUGS you'd want something you could rely on to bring you down. Being "high" on a mood swing is not all hearts and flowers. It involves being extremely agitated, very volatile, unable to follow simple conversations (sometimes) and being incomprehensible to others (at times). I have to sort myself out. I absolutely have to.

I got a very pertinent comment about my search for a diagnosis yesterday pointing out that maybe I ought to be thinking on nicer things. Problem is I HAVE to answer to the government who are paying me money. They ask for a diagnosis. And my problems have gone extreme enough 1. to put me off heroin and drugs (the high, when it really gets going is WAY BETTER THAN ANY DRUG) and 2. I absolutely have to take responsibility for myself. If I don't, and follow my mood-induced whims I really could get in extreme trouble. I could do anything from chucking my possessions out the window and setting them on fire to... stuff I don't even want to think about.

So you see I'm dealing with what has turned into a serious problem here. And it has to be dealt with properly.

I have to ping out now. Take care everyone. I'm TRYING to take care of myself!

Energy

ENERGY FLASH!

IS this an energy-saving lightbulb of a tune... so SLOW. That's what hacked me off about Opus III last night TOO SLOW i want fast fast faster fast fastererr something faster than me. Which is hard to find as I was going to fast yesterday I was incoherent.

Somebody phoned me right while I was going into one big time. Not upsset. Just ultra hyper high high sky ong ong pingpongtingtong bong bong ongongong between uproariously laughing and doing a noise like a food mixer rourourourouround what what what what what? Who is this who who who? All that. What DO I DO KEEP IT SIMPLE.

That upset someone so much they CRIED WHY WHY CRY GO HI HI HI HELLO HERE NOW WHAT IS ALL THAT FUSS ABOUT

Well that's what happened. I feel like I'm on Magic Speed you know that ADHD stuff that calms people down. Note the LACK OF A FULL DRUG SCREEN* this is making me para that I got spiked somewhichwise. What can I do not to be spiked? Not eat? Not drink. Not ever sleep. Not ever let anyone near me. Not breathe the air as fentanyl gas can flood the air, as was used in the Russian theatre raid. I wished I'd been in there. Fentanyl is an ultra-strong opioid. I'd have got a real nice hit outta that. When I was into drugs.

Now it's just me on ME FREE (hee-hee!!)

[I'm adding this afterwards: re the drugs screen it wasns't "full" in that it "only" tested for Opiates (heroin/morphine/codeine etc), Cocaine (including crack), Amphetamines, Methadone, Benzodiazepines and THC ie Cannabis. Methadone is what I'm on!]

O man this wasn't meant to rhyme it was meant to be all cool and chilled and coherent. I did actually get 3 to 4 hours' sleep on that zopiclone. The minute it started wearing off I was BL-IDDLE-DIDDLE-PING-NG-NGGGGGGGG!!! AWAKE!!!

And raving in my kitchen. Raving mad. Dancing. Eh. At a rave, in my kitchen. At one time I found a knife I started dismantling a cardboard box then chucked it into a corner. "I AM A KNIFE-WIELDING MANIAC!!" that one thing was too much. Being a maniac and wielding a knife. NO!!!!

I'm not into headfucker stuff. Enough is enough. I thought I was OK then my mind started playing games or I started playing games with my mind and we both started racing together very very quick quick

(how can I POSSIBLY be on drugs? no drug ever makes anyone rush that fast. ever. only one to come near it (on me) is Hard Acid. And I do mean a full-on trip, tripping enough to have trouble with your name, to interdimensionalize so you don't know what dimension you're in. In this state the number of thoughts, impressions, illusions and all that can alter so very many times a second it's impossible to follow. SPEED DOES NOT DO THAT. NEITHER DOES COKE. OR CRACK. OR E. So what fucking drug is is?? Except 2 cups of black coffee. Yesterday when I thought I'd had 2 I'd actually only had 1. Cup 2 had gone cold, forgotten about as I pinged all over the place.

everybody thinks i should be in a mental hospital. everybody thinks i am mad. i am quite sane. i'm only going in there if i totally break apart, in which case i will need an ambulance i won't be able to get there myself

or if i'm so very hacked off and/or despairing or tired or just WANT TO GO IN it's not that terrible. it's GOING in i don't want not BEING in BEING in is fine. lots of people don't want to leave. why do you think care in the community is such a disaster? half the people don't get cared for, the other half do, but would rather be in a nuthouse because at least in there if you're going cuckoo there's not the headfuck of trying to have to inter-decide between howevermanylines of illusions and delusions and what is what from this that and some other angle what you should or should not be doing at any given time you can just DO IT. people who annoy each other have space to avoid one another. it is not prison.

there are no locked rooms. there are locks on the ward doors, mainly to prevent people wandering aimlessly outside, not perhaps intending to be there.

people who can organize, decide know what they want and why (and it's not self-harm or suicidal) are free to leave

other people who cannot do these things, they don't and nearly always don't actually want to.

the only locked room i know of is a cool-down room and that's in the ward for people who misbehave (that's basically why they're put there). in a mental hospital misbehaving means being violent to a person (not an object). violence to an object might well get you wrestled down and needled with something yummy like quetiapine or olanzapine or whatever

the last time i saw it i remember it was a patient who rushed across and told the nurse how many mgs of what shot to make up, i'm sure it was

the nurses come from downstairs or upstairs. other wards. they're probably on that duty that day, know they're free to go. the buzzer goes off so out and in they pile.

what was the point of all this? o yeah the entertainment of watching it happen. best time i recall was a bipolar pensioner with "the fbi want me as their number one spy" style paranoia. he was told he was "too high" though doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING re racing about, rushing, kicking anything throwing ~ nothing except irritable if i remember correctly WITH A SPECIFIC MEMBER OF STAFF

it is possible to be psychotic, not by any means ravingly, and justifyably ANNOYED

anyway because of his paranoia this guy who told lots of funny stories about driving very rapidly up the motorway between London and Manchester, never getting punished for being bipolar (ie treated) until his 60-something-th year he said "i want a witness for this" M and I were more than happy to be witnesses.

we were in the smoking room anyhow, not smoking (for a split moment, that's all most nutters do) but eating m&ms I wish we'd had popcorn it would have been highly appropriate

so we had feet up on chairs, probably entertained looks on faces as the highly confrontational male nurses did their confronting

some bastard turned to M and me and said " you two had better go" AARKKHH ~~ kind of any thought of "but we were asked to be witnesses" went as indulging pensioner-paranoia was only an excuse. Entertainment was the reason for being there I think we all knew that. Apart from the paranoia pensioner who was spiked up so intensively he was snoring all afternoon. with a faintly guilty/bored looking nurse having to stand watch.

not because there was any chance he would wake up and do anything remotely "manic"

(despite the one female nurse's first words being "we think you've gone too high" (that ain't high. saw that at the time. know it now. bullshit. be psychotic and/or manic or paranoidly "ideated" as they say and ANGRY and you get this delicious treatment

which is no motivation but an attraction an "it's not that terrible" it's on that list

the "I will be made homeless" list is the opposing one as that basically is what shall happen to me if i ever end up in that nuthouse.

So I'm avoiding it like several plagues.

My reason. Not mine. Druggieworker's reason for my being in an emergency assessment had nothing to do with hospitalization or being sectioned (which means committed) it had everything to do with a trained doctor witnessing who i actually AM that is the point and when the other one said why are you here i said because I am in a mess and I want help and I need a social worker. That is what I need more than a hospital. A person who knows me and knows what absolutely irrelevant forms are informed upon me blah blah blah blah you see this is

this is my coping mechanism.

when something bothers me i smack it right out of my head. successfully.

i also smack stress and negativity (that is negative thoughts, not the feeling) OUT of my head.

i whack them out using no chemical at all. no heroin smack. nothing but the force of my own will gets rid of these things so i do not worry, don't turn anything over and over my head worrying. not my style

(as anxiety leaflet given out by nursey who HADN'T LISTENED WHEN I SAID ITS NOT ANXIETY (which I KNOW I once had it for years I KNOW THAT FEELING it's a gripping of the heart, a trepidation)... I felt IRRITATION which is like sunburn on your arm or any burn. You can stroke it with a feather and it's still IRRITATING and IRRITATION was my response to the world and my reason for avoiding it. And a feeling of overload. NOT anxiety.

and here's a point i can at last follow through 3 paragraphs. anxious thoughts you can SLAP OUT OF YOUR HEAD. irritation is not a thought as such, but a feeling, it's much less cognitive than anxiety

anyway this coping mechanism might also be my disability as something is stopping me engaging. i am disengaged. if i DID engage i couldn't cope. Engaging means engaging with stuff I can't deal with.

Geddit now?

Trying to explain makes it clearer in my head. I've got to know what I'm up against to be able to cure it. Get round it. Bend it. Change it.

See successful self-analysis. And my big "I DON'T NEED COUNSELLING" reason.

Counselling is too much too soon. Not what someone going 3691q3476t51234124097y076799900 miles per hour needs. I have had it before. I resent accounting my life to somebody i know nothing about. I "have" to do it. I don't "have" to do a blog I choose to. I might feel I owe people an explanation or an update because they are my freinds but I don't "have to go" because it'll look bad on some care approach plan form. Y'know?

Hope this hasn't been too rabbitty. I'm leaving it there. I am going to NA tonight but am TRYING to get there on time this time. I never know the exact time. Never know. Just get there. Usually late. I can't do anything on time there's too much in between.

OK I'm off now because my head is going too quick again. Bye!

JOEY BELTRAM: ENERGY FLASH
This 1990 tune was represented to me as "really old". In 1992.



FANTAZIA MAY 1992 "GURN TIME" RAVE FOOTAGE
gurning is pulling "high on stimulants" faces, characteristic especially of ecstasy-type drugs.

note a distinct lack of energy in that crowd. what's wrong with them all?? the less cheesy more abstract ketaminey 2nd tune is way better than the 1st one



DJ SEDUCTION STARLIGHT RAVE
this style of breakbeat + the "bad boy" crap the MC keeps up is the origins of jungle aka drum & base

wow this music is fantastic. breakbeat hardcore almost definitely 1992. it says it dunnit: 21st August 1992

1 min 50 seconds "ride the fucking rush" where the music saying followmewannabewhatever i wannabe THAT is the vibe of my brain insane ha hahahahahaha!! and 7 mins 7 seconds where its bleepy on top of breakbeat that is it that is itititititititit thatsit!!!



Illustration: Castlemorton 1992 huge illegal Spiral Tribe etc rave. Spiral Tribe were very abstract. Chaos Stuff which works better in visuals than music. True chaos visuals are screens of black and white lines or dots and your own mind makes the illusion. Doesn't work quite so well with music in my opinion

Healing leg

I KNOW THESE aren't exactly my legs pictured, but mine are as clean as this woman's jeans are white and tight fitting.

The abscess on the right leg is going down nicely. No longer does the calf look like a red bowling pin with an erupting volcano upon it. It looks mildly pink with a post-eruption Mount Saint Helens (minus flattened pine trees for miles around...)

I'm feeling much better in some ways. But of course I'm still depressed, so I'm really enjoying that. Drinking lots of hot cups of tea in front of morning television, dreading going outside and pigging out on Mr Kiplings mixed fruit selection cakes and vanilla ice cream...

I really miss not having internet at home (thank you, cable-nibbling goblin) and I miss y'all. Sorry to make everyone worry. (What's new.) I really am better...

... BUT I have a medical question. This is serious and real:

Does anybody know what it means if you have splitting migraine-style headaches for weeks on end, accompanied by severe double vision and one of your eyes becomes mis-aligned, so instead of looking directly at me, it's looking down and to the right. While the other eye functions as normal.

This isn't my problem, but a 65 year old friend of mine has it and I keep telling her to go to the doctor, not to waste her time at Opticians (the optician she did see deserves to be shot). As far as I know she STILL hasn't been to her doctor or to Moorfields Eye Hospital, which is quite easy to get too from here (remember I had to go a few months ago when I had a smut in my eye all night and all the next morning and it just would not wash out...)

I have tried not to mention things like "brain tumour", but I'm dead worried about her. And she's one of these people who the more she worries the LESS she's likely actually to go in and get it looked at (who does that remind you of?)

Answers please! I'm dead worried...

A NEW COSTUME DRAMA hit our screens tonight. Downtown Abbey on ITV. In common with the BBC's dreary, bourgeois Larkrise to Candleford, it's an original, not based on any classic novel.* But it's quite good. A modern Upstairs Downstairs. And it stars Dame Maggie Smith. If you're reading this on foreign shores, keep a look out for it. If you like historical drama, you'll probably like this. I think historical is the only stuff produced for British TV that's in the same league as the best American telly.

My one gripe with the genre is its tendency to reinterpret the past in the light of modern (politically correct) outlooks. For example the master of the house objects to a war-wounded servant being referred to as a cripple. "I hate that word." But in those days that was the expression; nothing condescending or insulting was meant by it. Here's the trailer. Perhaps someone'll load a longer extract to Youtube by next week ...

*that statement isn't quite true: according to the BBC's website, Lark Rise is based on Flora Thompson's memoir of her Oxfordshire childhood...



THE WOUND ON MY LEG is less manky since I stopped covering it up and have been cleaning it with alcoholic ("pre-injection") swabs every few hours. It isn't oozing chocolate sauce, just a hint of strawberry. It still smells like a drain, just not as strong. My wound and I are off to hospital tomorrow to see what the emergency doctors think of it...

I hope y'all had a cheery weekend. What are you doing next week? I'm making a start cleaning my life up in a literal sense. My house is a mess. I have that festering sore on my leg. Not a clean stitch to wear. I have to wash my jeans as they've absorbed pus down the leg. So I'm starting by laundering my clothes so I can skulk into casualty (that's the ER to you Americans) looking at least vaguely respectable. Then I'll get the wound seen to and hopefully dressed. Then I can set about cleaning my house. It was cleaning my house that set it off last time, with things knocking into it making it bleed. It's been itching lately. Itching is a good sign with these things; in my experience it tends to mean they're healing.

After the eye hospital...

I SLEPT FOR ABOUT 18 of the last 24 hours. Maybe I had sleep deprivation before, who knows? (I don't know and don't care.) My eye seems OK now. I still have to put drops in. I don't want to, but I have to. It is surrounded by scabs that I'm not vain enough to pick out (well I'm a drug addict, I don't care do I?)

If I hadn't been a contact lens wearer in years past (not vain enough to bother now: I'm old and clapped out so I might as well wear glasses too) ... if I hadn't been a contact lens wearer I don't think I could have kept my eye open through all the poking, prodding, dropping, shining and inspection it had to endure. Contact lenses harden you to this and break down barriers to unnatural acts (like drug injecting ~ not that much more repellent than contact lens insertion, surely?)

It is 7:25 hours. I have been up since about 3. I am not very happy.

I hope y'all like the picture of the dog. I found it by googling "bluey-green eyes"...

Motes get in your eye

Either how canst thou say to thy brother, Brother, let me pull out the mote that is in thine eye, when thou thyself beholdest not the beam that is in thine own eye? Thou hypocrite, cast out first the beam out of thine own eye, and then shalt thou see clearly to pull out the mote that is in thy brother's eye.
Luke 6:42

I HAVE JUST GOT OUT OF MOORFIELDS EYE HOSPITAL, where a kindly Filipino nurse removed a dot that has been bugging me since last night.

Bugging is hardly the word. Out on the street, around midnight, something blew into my eye. I looked and looked and could not see it. No amount of washing seemed to get it out. So I closed my eyes and slept with it in... woke up crying. Cried all morning. It was a bright sunshiny day. I nearly got run over as I could not see in the bright light.

The situation was so bad I could barely keep my eyes open.

At midday I took a bus to Old Street. You cannot get there by tube so a bus it had to be. Because I had to close my eyes, I slept most of the journey.

At Accident & Emergency I was told it was a two-to-three hour wait but I was seen in under an hour.

I was hoping they would use some sort of contraption rather than get you to tilt the head back, and they did. The Asian lady put in three types of drops ~ the best were the anaesthetic ones because they made me feel cured. She looked at my eye under various coloured lights. Got out the speck, which was the tiniest thing ever ~ a dot of dust. Checked my eye again and said it was scratched. So now I'm taking antibiotic drops and my eye looks like the incredible hulk's.

I have to go as it still hurts to keep it open, but at least it's no longer crying. It doesn't feel that much better than this morning, but the "smote" or whatever it's called hss barely been out for a couple of hours.

Got to go and close my eyes...

What Happened

I HAVEN'T BEEN AROUND FOR A FEW DAYS: I have been indisposed. It all started out at the weekend, when I tripped on a root. No I have not been pestle-&-mortaring "shamanic" Amazonian herbs. I mean I literally fell over on my chin, nearly broke my nose off and got bruises all over me, because of an inexpertly shorn-off 2" stub of root sticking under an evergreen by the library. I could barely move for 15 mins I was seeing so many stars. And I had headache all day and felt sick. People told me to go to Accident and Emergency but why bother? Last time I went and definitely did have concussion I got discharged! Then spent the next week wandering around not knowing what I was doing!

Then three days afterwards, I realized this pain in my side that got worse after I got up and it clicked notably and then I poked it really hard like a disbelieving doctor ~ it really started to hurt then and I realized I might actually have broken a rib!

So now I have to write to the local council telling them they're lucky I'm not an old age pensioner because I might be on a drip now if I was. I mean what kind of idiot person gets rid of humungous fricassing bushes and then thinks ~ o no! I can't be bothered to pull that last bit out. I'll just leave a 2" high stub and another section trailing like a tripwire. That'll make my employers REALLY HAPPY!

Hmmm... Yes and there's more. A couple of days later the phone rang. It was an old acquaintance offering a free sample of some "legal high" thing he said was "like E(cstasy) mixed with coke ~ you'll love it". Well I did try it. 0.2g of a white powder that smelled uncannily of candy. I snorted half up each side of my nose because he said swallowing it produced more uneven effects among different people and snorting was more reliable. But it killed my nose! Then just three minutes later the most incredibly pleasant high started off. It was far nicer than snorting cocaine and way quicker than MDMA (ecstasy) ever came on up my nose. 20 minutes later I was diving deep in my own brains and feeling like Buddha, a feeling that lasted a good 2 hours, followed by about 4 hours of quite some speediness. I took it at 6:30pm and got no sleep till nearly 5am.

Now of course I feel more run down than ever before. And I don't even know what that stuff was. He said it's called "Rush" ~ I suspect he selected that name as virtually Google-proof. And I'm not at all convinced it's legal.

When I was much younger and far more impressionable I shelled out £20 or so on a vast tome called PIHKAL by Alexander Shulgin. The title stands for Phenylethylamines I Have Known And Loved. Phenylethylamines are drugs in the ectstasy-mescaline category and run a spectrum from quite speedy (MDEA) to very entactogenic or empathogenic ~ or even entheogenic ~ as they like to say (MDMA) to trippy (MDA) to very trippy (2CB, mescaline et al). This man had a licence from the United States Government to manufacture for personal use and experiment with these otherwise illegal substances. There are about 150 of them. He tested all and wrote up notes, complete with dosages and remarks. Now I suspect this stuff was a rarer one of these. I know that stuff called PMA (paramethoxyamphetamine) was going around in the 1970s, and it was then, long before MDMA ever became an issue, that the entire family of these drugs were banned in Britain.

Phenylethylamine, the substance after which this entire druggie family's named, naturally occurs in chocolate. It's also known as PEA. Women's magazine articles will cite this and it's supposed high-inducing properties. But Shulgin found it to be orally inactive in any dose...

... (Unless, that is, something else in chocolate kicks the stuff in!!)

And also, I just realized, of course, he's a MAN ~ it's WOMEN who get off on chocolate... so maybe that's our PEA-mystery ....

Now I've little more to say, and apart from all this I've been totally absorbed in my book. I read the entire thing; now I'm ploughing back through with dictionary and notebook, so I can read yet again ~ and every single word with which I was unfamiliar's been translated ...

And how was YOUR week ..??!?

PS If you're interested in any of those mysterious substances mentioned the best place to read about them is EROWID.

PPS: read Dr Shulgin's write up on PEA, the supposed "active" ingredient in chocolate here.

MADONNA TUNE
The UK top 20 was playing last night and MOST of the tunes had this Ibiza-trance sound. I've never heard the British charts sound so ridiculously similar ever ...

And all else I can say is: Madonna, you're a 50-year old woman. Really!

CELEBRATION

Moving House Yet Again

YESTERDAY MORNING I got an unexpected postal missive marked URGENT in enormous red writing. "Ring us [the property agents] immediately."
So I did.
And got through to a cheery young girl who said "oh we're moving you to another address".
"But I can't do this till after the weekend, and where is it?" I replied.
"Oh if you can be out by the beginning of next week that would be lovely."
(Lovely my ****.) "No, I mean I have to ring my family and I don't know what they're doing. So I might not be able to do anything till after this weekend," which is May Day public holiday weekend in this country, just for added inconvenience.
And they would not tell me where it was until I came in. "I'll come in this afternoon," I assured them.
Then I took three hits of heroin in a row and knocked myself out. I was in a very bad mood and utterly convinced they were moving me from my laminated floored paradise into a dirgy garret hellhole, like certain past accommodation in passed years in...
Having sulked all night I reluctantly turned up at the landlord's this morning expecting the worse. Signed papers and demanded this time a copy so I can at least inform the Council properly (no-one told me last time I was meant to piff-paff-puff around with housing benefit forms/etc. I only found out about the last set of computational problems at the council when I was informed 1: I did not exist on the computer and 2: I was being sued by the council tax into the bargain. "But how did you know I was living there if I don't exist on the computer?" I asked, wide-eyed and stupidly. "Oh that's because your landlord told us you were living there," the Desk Operative replied. Lovely ...

To cut a long story short all my sulking was wasted energy. Far from being a rat-ridden fleapit, the new place is just as nice as where I am now. In fact this time I actually get a separate bedroom with actual door and double bed! Plus a living room with two blue armchairs! Plus fully working cooker (I checked) with oven that I failed to check (knowing me I'd forget to turn it off ~ this in highest of Costa del Cockney summertime weather. London doesn't half get sweltering on occasion and it's like that now. All blue skies and Outstanding Council Tax bills...

Mumzy says she will move me in on Sunday. Thanks Mum!

Mother Hubbard is in hospital with pancreas-itis. She says they promised her a medical procedure "in near-unconsciousness". Instead they passed a python-size slither-implement down her throat with bitey ends. Gave her NO analgesia but her ordinary dose of methadone (all methadone does is keep you sane, there's no drowsiness, certainly no high). As the snake's mouth started biting through stomach to pancreas she nearly hit the ceiling, only to be "assaulted" (held down).
"I've had a lot of experiences in my life and I'll never, ever forget this one," she seethed.
I tried not to rub it in but I was angry just listening. Anaesthetists specialize in the effects of various knock-out drops on individuals. Absolutely basic to their study is that opiates build tolerance in habituated "patients". In certain individuals with 20 year ++ habits, that tolerance can be sky high ...

Well I won't go on. I have to go to Iceland to obtain strawberry flavour ice cream cones, 6 for £1, if they've not sold out ...

My new house smells of my own piri piri hotpot cooking, by the way...

I'm not sure I'll be able to reply to messages till after the long weekend, but will try my best...

Have a charming weekend, y'all ...

Treats for the Tubby Trotters

I HAD TO THROW OUT THE OLD TEABOX as I thought it was full of mites. The bedding in there was months old and raggedly falling apart. My robbies used to stash their seeds in there and then sleep on top of them some nights. A highly sensible security procedure with those wild sewer-mice roaming so closely nearby...

I have given them a new "granary"... this one's a lightbulb box, taped shut and with holes cut at the front and back top. This I slotted inside a slightly larger box with correspondingly cut openings. This was mostly as a mouse-deterrant as I'm genuinely scared something will sneak in and leave its nasty germs and droppings about the place... I filled the inner box to the brim with Bill Oddie's luxury bourgeois birdseed, plus some "hamster mix" (though the coloured "scones" are too big for my little robos' tiny pouches...), then I added Weetabix and Cheerios breakfast cereals and half a broken up custard cream biscuit. Spherical really liked the scent of this and was frustratedly nibbling away for hours making the entry big enough for her tubby frame!

The righthand picture of the robo on the spoon came from a web-page on some of the world's smallest pets... if you clickonit and scroll down you'll also see the world's smallest Golden (or Syrian: that is a "normal") Hamster. Who looks quite raggedy but is apparently quite healthy despite having stopped growing at only a few weeks of age...

I hope your weekend is going well. I have been in agony with a sore on my leg which I will have to take to hospital if it gets no better. I have to sleep with my leg up and bent and it can't touch against anything else I would say "yaroo!" and hit the ceiling!

Have a cheery weekend (what remains)... it has been minus five degrees (C) here in the Big Smoke...

... and how's things at your end..?