I stuck a knife in my foot

THERE WAS an abscess on my right foot. It was only about the size of a large coin but stood out hemispherical and purple and it hurt a lot. Especially putting shoes on. So I burnt off the end of my tomato-cutting knife, wiped it on my jumper then stuck the end right in, a good quarter of a centimetre and squeezed ~ oh and the bright red bloody pus that came out was gorgeous. Just when you thought it had all gone more huge globs oozed to freedom. Eventually I'd squeezed it so vigorously my abscess was flat. Unfortunately it's started filling up again, so I repeated the action yesterday and pus-water literally fountained at the ceiling. My two other abscesses are nearly healed.

I feel ill all the time in a run-down type of way that is probably called "depression". I've given up taking drugs every day as I can't afford it. I have £15 or £20 to last until the Monday after next, so I'm stocking up on baked beans and mini Hovis bread. I've also been feasting on sardine and mixed American salad sandwiches.

I don't know how to cure the depression. I wake every morning feeling like I want to pee and even when I do I still want to pee some more. So I get up and the uncomfortable feeling goes. Then I force myself in the shower. Many days I can only persuade myself to wash the bottom half. I get in there literally semi-clothed. But at least I've had half a shower. Then I wash my armpits in the sink. I know this is all terribly sad but when did I ever claim not to be a sad person?

I have a business idea that I reckon could really take off. Finally ~ my passport off benefits. But I will absolutely have to hire staff once this thing gets going. Purely because the running of the entire business will be down to me and I simply will not be allowed to be sick. Not even for one day. I worked out I will probably have to work 12-hour days in the beginning. But it's better than being on state benefits. If I don't get off benefits I will die on them. Probably by suicide. My single biggest regret in life is that my suicide attempts, which were serious, did not work. When I'm angry and down that's what I dwell on sometimes, because I had the drawer full of tricyclic antidepressants; I had the wherewithall to take them all. And I stopped at 70 pills. Pathetic. Truly pathetic. And when I woke up I felt more sick than I've ever felt in my life. Truly poisoned to my core.

Well I have to go. My foot is still hurting a bit. I'm looking forward to another session with the tomato knife. Maybe tomorrow during This Morning ~ as long as Holly and Phil are presenting.

Must go; hope you're all well. And HAPPY NEW YEAR.

Hey wasn't I stupid, thinking it was New Year's Eve when it was December 30? Just shows how much the ceremony means to me these days. I haven't been to a New Year's Eve party in a decade.

TAKE CARE EVERYONE.


WHY WE'RE BIPOLAR: NORMAL LIFE SUCKS
Thanks Buggerlugs THIS is real...

Terrible Sleep

MY SLEEP HAS GONE SO BAD I didn't bother sleeping at all last night. We have a new girl in the next room with rough friends who are too stupid to ring the correct bell so I found myself yelling at some faceless person over the intercom at 2am. I did get a little bit of sleep around six but then Everybody Loves Raymond and Frasier came on. I feel a bit hypomanic but it probably won't last. I'll crash and sleep for hours and hours and wake up feeling run down and sad. That's scenario one. Or scenario 2 is my sleep still won't come back and I'll possibly go into proper mania. I've been having symptoms like people seeming to talk to me on the street (from the other side of the road) and my head racing fast fast fast. But not too fast. And then when I close my eyes to sleep sometimes my head is lit up with the most amazing vivid dream-imagery, even though I'm wide awake and when that happens I know sleep is going to be hard to come by. By the time the images (which are random, like golden ants circling round and round on a tree stump, or dogs wearing dinner jackets like in the Michael Jackson Leave Me Alone Video.... by the time these are more vivid than the reality with my eyes open I'm in full mania and sleep is just an impossibility. I don't think I'm manic by the way. I think I am going to sleep because I feel kind of speedy and tired at the same time. I just thought I would have gone back to bed by now. It's 11:09 and I had to get to the chemist at some time between 9 and 7 to drink one day's methadone under patronizing Supervised Consumption and to pick up another three days' to keep me going over the new year "break" (which has no good associations for me ~ at the millennium I was so stressed by the pressure of it all I found myself crying before I went out and of course you have to take your Es or other drugs early so you're flying by midnight when usually I only dropped my first one-and-a-half AT midnight ~ this was so I could dose again at 2am (a single pill, making my intake for the night 2.5 pills) and my E would be coasting down pleasantly by 6am when all major dance parties ended. After that if you were in Brixton you could go to the Fridge Bar which was full of nutters; if you were elsewhere in town there was often an official after party for pillheads who want to continue taking E and speed and whatever else they fancied right into the afternoon. Then you'd end up in someone's house you barely knew kind of stuck there not wanting to be there yet not wanting to go home. Whenever I was "having an affair" I'd ALWAYS go back to their place and rarely if ever invite them over to mine (something to do with other people in my room feeling like an invasion; I never was truly comfortable with anyone in my room even when they were just coming in to see Pandable the hamster who did a teapot trick where you flipped the lid up and he appeared hands together all faye looking surprised. The Australian girl I went out with briefly used to say "Pandable's just like a cartoon character". Hamsters are banned in Australia so the poor Aussies are deprived of the joys of tubby tail-less poppy-eyed rodents. Though I'm sure isolated enthusiasts keep them illicitly. My online friend Buggerlugz has TWENTY-SEVEN teenytiny pinging roborovski hamsters ~ the tiniest and quickest (and hardest to tame) of all hammies. And she has twenty-seven. I asked whether she ever puts a whole bunch of them in the bath to run around like furry Scalectrix. I used to let Bashful, Itchy and Spherical go for pings in the bath and they loved it. I had to put the plug in as Itchy was so tiny she could, if she'd really wanted, have squeezed her head and thus possibly her body, no matter how tubby it looked, down the drain!

Well I'm off to do some research about Chronic Fatigue Syndrome being the product of an over-active rather than an underactive brain. This makes perfect sense to me. When you have M.E. as it always used to be called over here, you feel like a phone with a knackered battery. You can rest and feel fully charged but that charge just drains to nothing so incredibly quickly the only thing you can do on a truly bad day is rest up for hours on end in bed. If it hadn't been for Talk Radio UK I think I would have lost my mind because I felt too ill even to watch television (the "photophobia" made my eyesight incredibly glary. I have this theory that all my problems are down to misplacement of energy. Depression where energy is very low. Anxiety where energy is misused, clenching itself round your heart. And mania where at the truly full-on stage the energy literally shines out of you like sunbeams. I used to have a manic headgame where I played tennis with my excess energy. Batting this ball back and forth as I paced frantically along the streets. I'm so glad to have experienced mania, it's one of the most amazing experiences of my life. To go so high I actually got higher than any drug had ever taken me ~ and I've tried everything. I felt like I was turning from physicality into pure energy and spiritual form. As the mania wore off I suddenly had a feeling one day of my feet literally and physically being on the ground, whereas before I had felt like I was flying. This manic episode went on for weeks and weeks. The very most intense part was the first week of it (following weeks of stormy moods). Within 5 days I was so hyped up I was screaming incoherently and roaring like a wild animal in the middle of my room. People in my house avoided me for weeks afterwards and people in shops visibly backed away. I have never been in such an intense state in my life and like I say, it took weeks for it to fully die down, with a couple of intense resurgences. I was medicated during most of those weeks and the antipsychotic meds actually made me feel better, because it seemed to do little to dampen my euphoria, but it did quell a lot of the agitation I felt and so respiradone was very helpful in that respect. I just wish I'd known the stuff could actually CAUSE anxiety as I started having panic attacks or near-panic-attacks in the weeks following.

What am I talking about? Oh yeah ME or CFS. Which I definitely used to have and still ahve traces of (it hardly ever goes away entirely)... being a displacement of energy and my life's illnesses being obvious displacements of energy. Chinese doctors believe all illness is an imbalance in "qi" or "chi" ~ the lifeforce. But I think in my case the imbalance was more plain for all to see. My university years were ruined by an attack of anxious depression that took over three years to fade. After that I got ME (CFS) after that I started getting mildly bipolar symptoms, after that I went on heavy drugs and the heroin levelled out my mood incredibly well. And after that (thanks to methadone) the bipolar came back with avengeance and now here I am on the cusp of New Year's Eve with my resolution and goal being to get my magazine off the ground. I am absolutely determined to produce this magazine. There's none quite like it. Ever since I was at school and co-edited the UN-official school magazine I've had an eye for publishing opportunities. I never got into any industry that truly suited me because I was so painfully lacking in confidence I'd never have got the job. Nothing to do with any lack of talent. Everything to do with lack of bullshitting skills. One thing I learned during my years on drugs was some self esteem. I hit lows so bad that I absolutely had to believe in myself ~ even in some tiny way ~ against everything. Because nothing meant anything, there was a highspeed railway line at the top of my road and all I really wanted to do was to stand in front of an express train, arms held out like a cross, and get blasted into infinity. Then I realized, because I believe in Jesus Christ, that I'd not get even one single moment's rest before I woke up again to have to live over again when all I wanted was to die die die, to never think, feel, be thought or felt about, never to remember and never to be remembered. That's what I wanted. And if it would have hurt my family that bad to see me go I'd happily have killed them too. What business anybody had actually wanting to live, I simply could not comprehend. I thought all belief in life was a delusion and I only regretted having been born to see the sheer evil in the world. A world that criticized me and called me wrong for taking a drug that took the evils of the world away, if only for a few hours. Heroin fed my nihilism in a big way for a long time. But nothing in my drug addiction was ever sraightforward or easy to explain.

I'll leave it there. I didn't mean to launch into a rant about my miseries but my point, I suppose, is that I DO WANT TO LIVE NOW, that I HAVE A REASON FOR LIVING. AND I WANT TO TURN MY MAGAZINE INTO A REALITY. I'M UTTERLY DETERMINED TO DO THIS.

Now I'll take this opportunity to WISH YOU ALL A VERY NICE NEW YEAR'S EVE AND AN EFFORTLESSLY SUPERIOR 2012 ~ MAY IT BE WAY BETTER THAN THAT MIXED BAG THEY LABELLED 2011!

HAPPY NEW YEAR FOLKS: 12 HOURS 10 MINUTES TO GO!


Illustrated: I'm a Little Pandable Short and Stout Here's my PANDABLE! HERE'S MY SPOUT!




HARDCORE TECHNO VOL 1 (TIËSTO)




HARDCORE TECHNO VOL 2

Clipped Wings (Still)

I'M still feeling like a bird with clipped wings, who should be soaring on a manic high and now, bar the vaguest tinges and little flashes of it, is reduced to sheer drudging normality and laboured workaday ordinariness. This is quite beyond the pale. I know now why I threw my antipsychotics out the window (metaphorically; the only thing that literally went sailing out of my window in mania was a PORK flavoured pizza ~ ukh. Only thing it was any good for was frisbeeing...)

The reason why is I enjoy being primary coloured, bright and brilliant ~ and that's how the manic state makes me not merely feel but be. You have to bear in mind the TWENTY YEARS I spent in various grades of depression (mostly mild). I was so accustomed to feeling depressed that people who "knew" me thought my depressed self was my real self. Which it most definitely is NOT. If anything I'm far more myself as a maniac than a depressive. Which might not say much nice about me, considering how inconsiderate, irritable and overblown I am in that state ~ but it is TRUE.

Of course I don't really think sick and disabled people should be shot. I only believed I should be shot for being a drain on my country and a disgrace to my family. I'm surprised they even want to talk to me. Then I get letters off my Mum saying I appear to have no goals in life at all. This is SO untrue. I am a serious student of Mandarin Chinese and intend to speak Japanese as well as French German and Spanish. All to mother tongue fluency. French is a really good language for those into reading books. German is superior in every way. Spanish is useful. Japanese is famously whacky. And if you don't speak Chinese you're not a citizen of the 21st century world, let's face it.

I just can't believe how LAZY I have been ~ to be NEARLY 40 and not even fluent in Chinese, let alone Japanese or Spanish. I really have been a wastrel. Of course heroin had a large part to play. First thing that put me against heroin was that it made me so incredibly lazy. But what was good about it was that heroin made life, for the very first time, make sense. Then again it made me weak and cowardly. I used to be very strong. Considering how strong-willed I used to be against my weirdo self. Everybody who knew me knew I was a weirdo. And you wonder why I talk about suicide!! Heroin was the only thing that made my warped personality fit. Even my psychiatrist said this when personality disorders were mooted.

Unfortunately I it no personality disorder except Cyclothymic Personality (ie bipolar lite). I have bipolar lite whenever I don't have bipolar heavy. That is I have a mood swing of some degree almost all the time. I only speak to my family between them, which means waiting weeks to call, sometimes.

My mother, who has "major depression" says she never feels fully 100%. This is called "dysthymia" (a mildly low mood). I heard that first degree relatives of someone with unipolar depression have a 25% chance of having a major mood disorder 50:50 recurrent major depression or type 1 bipolar. I would be type 1 bipolar (if I'm not schizoaffective). Schizoaffective disorder and type 1 bipolar are almost identical and the treatments for them are the same. So there's not very much in the name. Anna Grace has bipolar I and her symptoms and mine are nearly the same. Maybe I get a bit more manic than her, but she's on more medication damping that mania down...

Schizoaffective just means I meet full diagnostic criteria for schizophrenia when I'm severely manic. It means I have Kraepelin's "delusional mania" (which is actually marked by vivid hallucinations, not delusions, but that's what it's called). I've been reading Emil Kraepelin's Manic-Depressive Insanity And Paranoia to find myself. And I don't like what I found. He diagnoses me as a moody so-and-so with manic and hypomanic attacks on top. I don't think I ever get depression, not by the standards of the early 1900s. My depression is only a mild case. And suicidality can be a rational act of someone with nothing left to live for ~ even psychiatrists acknowledge that.

Note I'm not saying I want to commit suicide. My moritorium is on. I feel about 5% manic and not depressed. I was quite manic last night but the risperidone blanked that out, when I took it. I get the daily Risperidone Mood Swing where I feel it wearing off each evening, going higher and higher until I bosh it back and am damped down like a Sucker Loach in a community fish tank. Sucking on that glass, bored out of my brainbox (don't loaches and catfish get bored? Skulking about the community tank as they do...?)

If you're reading this blog and still wondering about my personality I'd say I'm like Phoebe from Friends. Hippy Dippy on the outside, hard as nails on the inside (if you think Phoebe isn't hard, watch Friends again and more carefully...) I've been told a few times that I'm hard. Always by people who didn't know me so well, now know me better. Always with a note of disappointment. I say if I were as soft on the inside as on the outside I'd be a fucking lump of jelly. Better to be a wolf in sheep's clothing than vice versa. Anyway there's nothing wrong with being hard. We live in a hard world.

I had a yen to test my alcohol resolve yesterday. So I had a can of weak cherry flavour cyder. The one I used to knock back because it was "mandy drink". Dear reader: it took me THREE HOURS to finish the lousy stuff and I still don't enjoy drink. It reminds me too much of sad-sacks street drinkers. I met one yesterday. A woman who was too vulgar for words and thought "I used to be like that". Ukh. I LOATHE the image of alcohol and drinkers it's untennably vulgar. The big reason I preferred drugs was that I hated alcohol and needed SOME recreational substance. Ecstasy was infinitely superior in my book. E made me feel like Buddha on a transcendental cloud of peace and love. Drink never did that for me. And I was never one of those psycho people who has a complete personality change after one drink and suddenly insists on drinking the bar dry. That's my big quarm with NA; they believe any drug of any description sets off the entire disease process again and I don't. I took drugs to feel better. Not to be off my head. Only terminal junkies are so far gone they want nothing short of general anaesthesia. Heroin gave me what I believed to be an enhanced ability to cope with life. Of course I ended up not coping at all. So heroin goes out the window too... I can't believe I'm dumping heroin. You have to be truly mad or desperate or both to give up a drug as efficacious as heroin. So maybe I have finally lost it. My dr does after all believe I'm schizo...

I've swapped alcohol for Morrisons' own cloudy lemonade; 54p for 2 litres ie 27p a litre or just over 10p a can. Very good value.



Notice no Barbra Streisand!



Video version:

I love techno choirs!

Sorry if this is yet another boring post saying nothing new; my life is boring and samey, but I do like this techno track..........

I get to see Deshane tomorrow. He's getting me a pensioner's bus pass. Wahey!!
OK it's a Disabled Bus pass but I hate saying I'm disabled. It means I'm scrounging off the state. Even though I found out I've been "disabled" for years. It's that fucking mania that disables me. Makes me too lazy for words. Schizo gives me avolition. Depression makes me not bothered. Add those 3 together and you have a wreck of a person who can blog about life yet never lives it. And that's that!

Valium Marilyn and the Miaos in Laos

VALIUM MARILYN noticed I was very nervous today. She somehow can tell the difference between manic and nervous, which I'm not sure most people could because both make me hyperkinetic. Difference being I keep blanking out in nervousness. Manic goes on and on and on. So I'm not a maniac any more. I keep getting letters from bailiffs trying to push me into suicide. I haven't opened a single one by the way but I know their attitude. They try and hack and hack away at you until you give in and do one. Ingredients: antiemetics, a bellyfull of medication (which won't kill you, just knock you out) and a swirling river or violent, lonely stretch of sea. Or a plain old railway. Or a posh clinic in Switzerland. I don't want to commit suicide I want to become a children's author instead. If only I could marshall my thoughts into a book. I did write a short story but stories start and stop too quickly. I prefer novels, which gain momentum from themselves. I have written 3 in my time. 3 buckets of pigshit, but 3 done. I only know where the last one is. I know what's gonna happen: still I will have the council tax on my back even after one billion sales. Agatha Christie had tax problems her entire life. Something to do with having been resident in the USA and no treaties against double-taxation in her day. Which meant she sold rights to half her income to Booker for not much more than one million in today's money. Which cleared the debt. She lived in a very nice house near the sea. I would quite like to live in the 1930s with parlour maids and skullery maids and butlers. If you want to know about that world, read A Woman Of Substance by Barbara Taylor Bradford. The first half of that book is exceptionally well written. In the second half the heroine somehow goes from servant to multimillionairess department store mogul without ever borrowing money, losing money or having the slightest glitch in her glittering business success. Barbara Taylor Bradford should do The Apprentice. With business acumen like hers she'd be bound to win.



Why do they always put Barbra's voice too far back in the mix? I would have been 3 when she made this performance. And I don't drink alcohol any more!!

You know how I stopped? Same way I always used to give up cigarettes. Just remind myself of everything I loathe about alcohol. And there's a lot to loathe. That technique never worked on heroin as I loved the image, loved the drug, adored everything about heroin. That's me and heroin. Not heroin that kills kids in magazine articles. I mean heroin that made me beautiful inside. Heroin that made the lassitude and meaninglessness of life melt away. Heroin my lovely lovely heroin.

Now I think of old junkies and me not coping. I think I got mentally ill because heroin gives you a stress-free life. Making you more susceptible to stress. Making me get sideswiped by psychosis or bipolar or whatever it is. I no longer care for the title: it's not like a diagnosis makes me Duke of Norfolk now, is it? Or that the title distinguishes me from a mere marquess? I never did understand people who wear mental diagnostics round their necks like Olympic gold medals. What for? Probably to justify living on DLA for ever and not committing suicide.

Oh I was going to say something about suicide YET AGAIN but notice how in that clip Barbra Streisand gets such an ovation ~ and that early in her career.

By the way Valium Marilyn is dying her hair exactly the same shade as mine. Schwarzkopf 00A or A00 Absolute Platinum. Still photographs the colour of nicotine stains even though it looks near-white under stark light. I'm leaving it on longer next time. My hair looks crap now with horrible roots lurking near halfway along it. I thought that look might look superior, but I don't really like it. I'm buying another pack next week. Schwarzkopf do a tomato red which I was thinking of saving for a manic episode. If I died it that colour normally I'd just wear a hat until it grew out. If I was manic I'd thoroughly enjoy striding about looking like a lightbulb in a brothel.



This song is awful, so awful it makes me laugh out loud "Extra extra! I'm in luuurve... I gotta thank my lucky stars a-ah-buuurve! Hurreh, hurreh don't be late!" Funny grandma is throwing a partay...



What actually are bluebirds? Are they like the tiny tits we get in European gardens? (Bluetits?)

Yellowbridge Chinese dictionary: http://www.yellowbridge.com/chinese/wordsearch.php?searchMode=P&word=zuo&dialect=M&select=whole

Valium Marilyn was pilled out this afternoon. Bloody hell. I slept for hours on end when I got back. Like an old pensioner. I'm too tired nowadays. Hey you know those photochromic glasses I got, they only darken properly in the sun. Not like the old Reactolite Rapides that went dark the minute you stepped into daylight, whatever the weather...

I think I should get a job as a poet. I wanna be the Barbra Streisand of literature. Not perfect, but unequalled. Yes I hear you yelling WRITE WRITE WRITE but I can't even clean my house. How can I write. And bailiffs wanna take away my computer, the bastards. Then I will HAVE to commit suicide. Even though I shouldn't be PAYING the council tax. I'm thinking of going to my member of parliament. Then he/she can straighten this out. I bet my local MP is a tory. Tories should be shot between the eyes (I say even though if I were tied down and forced to vote I'd vote tory ahead of Labour any day! In America I would probably be a death-penalty loving Democrat. It's easier in America as everyone appears to be pro-rich and pro-low taxes. I want to be rich and pay low taxes, y'see, so that's my one political view. Low taxes for the rich and for me. Especially once my fortune surpasses one hundred million...)

the end of the world is coming, which means a lot of us may never die because we will live through the end of the old world into the birth of the new one...

Marilyn was laughing when I tried pronouncing Chinese down the pub garden. She said "is that what you do in your room" I said "yeah at top volume" that made her laugh even more. And do an impression of a cat being strangled. Which reminds me: did you know there's a group called the Miao-Yao languages? Which made me want to go and see the Miaos in Laos. Unfortunately Laos was the original source of Double UO Globe heroin, best in the world. So I can't EVER go there...

It's 2:02am I have to go... cheerybye...

Illustrated: bluetit; baby bluetits; bluebird; Chinese ethnic Yaos

PS Miao-Yao languages are also known as the Hmong-Mien group

Summer's day prattle

IT'S A BEAUTIFUL SUMMER'S DAY and I'm trying to stay calm. Anxiety came back. I think it has something to do with the risperidone pills I take. Or maybe not. I'm doggedly not doing gear. Can't afford it this week anyhow. But I sat myself down yesterday and decided now this is what I'm going to do and why. I'm not taking any heroin at all. And the reason why is that I hate being addicted to anything, hate cavorting with criminals, don't even feel at home in a room full of addicts any more and have had enough of the whole scene. Confounding factors include the horrible druggieclinic wanting to give some sort of psychological gold star for testing clean, which I'm not interested in. And stuff like that. I'd rather be thought dirty and BE clean than the other way about. Maybe my thinking had become confused but I had to remind myself what I'm doing and why.

Otherwise I would repeatedly give in to the urge to use, which does hit me from time to time. It never hit me before. I don't know why. The summer is the most horrible season to any junkie. Due to excess perspiration. Once it's over I have much better chances.

I'm more into Valium these days than heroin. Even that I haven't taken in 2 weeks yet somehow managed to test positive for. I only take benzos when I can't sleep or feel panicky. I have felt very panicky of late. Every morning I wake up thinking of the horror of suicide. You know, the actual visceral feeling of pressing your neck down on a vibrating rail or pressing blades very hard into bumping arteries or how sick you feel after a whole bottle of pills has been regurgitated yet you're still puking up.

I've managed to distract myself with Other Things today. And I think I'm much better off using one of those professional clinics in Switzerland where there's zero survival rate, when I do do myself in. It gives me something to work towards, even if I'm just walking towards death.

Ukh sorry for being morbid: just being frank. Drugs clinic are doing my brain in. NOT reducing my dose. No idea why. Well they're to blame now for it being so high. They can't somehow blame me, like Duta was doing before.

I've been chucking stuff out of my house. 2 chairs and a plug-in radiator yesterday. Eight records and a manual typewriter today (charity shop). I've endless books I'd really like to get cash for but also just want shot of fast fast fast.

I wish I had hamsters then I could tell you a furry hammy story instead of this boring truth. O yeah and GOOD NEWS I found out I'm hep B, hep C and HIV negative!!

I was convinced I was positive for one of them. Hep C especially. Being positive to that would just give something else not to get treatment for. Know what I mean? I'm taking the antipsychotics again as prescribed as I don't actually enjoy being mad, wondrous as the experience is. Something about sanity appeals to me. I can't say what or why. But it does.

And that's it for today!

Why?

THERE'S NOT MUCH TO SAY about Amy Winehouse. What can you say?

It always got me that she was supposedly signed to do the James Bond theme. But couldn't get it together to produce one single song. With all the help and backup she gets. Not even five minutes of recorded sound.

I wonder what did actually kill her. Maybe it was suicide. Or was it slow suicide? Or was it purely an accident?

Shut Up Gledwood!

"SHOOT 'EM DEAD!"... methadone stinks!... blahblah. I want to die. Blah. I've been turning into a real stuck record of late. The most positive thing I can think of is that I'm into detoxing off this crap I've been on for all these years. The downside is that I'm not sure I can hack being on methadone, and that's why ... you see that's why I end up saying I want to die because I'm THINKING. Thought is the root of all human problems. Man's greatest achievements ~ the buildings, bridges, railways of the world ~ all started life as thoughts before they were ever realized as physical constructions. Why are my thoughts so negative?

See maybe I should stop blogging because I can't THINK of positive things to say.

I'm not SO lost I know what I want. I want to get this infernal house move OVER AND DONE WITH if it's happening. Then I ~//~

See I'm thinking about the council tax again. The tax I'm NOT SUPPOSED TO PAY. The tax that has resulted in piles of letters threatening bailiffs. I just wanna kill myself. When I started fucking up my life it was done with the deliberate intent of backing myself into a corner where suicide would be the only option. ~//~

OK this is what I was saying: I want to move house so I can just give up and go in the mental hospital. I've had enough. I want to go in the nuthouse. I don't care if I'm mentally ill or depressed or not depressed. I don't care about any of that. I just want to go in that nuthouse for the longest possible period of time and ideally never come out.

I even started wondering about committing a crime so I could go in prison at least in there you don't get bailiffs on your back for Council Tax your solicitor says you shouldn't be paying because you're "severely mentally impaired". I have no idea how to sort this out. I never open my mail and haven't for years because it only ever contains threats. Threats of making me homeless. Threats of Bailiffs.

No I started thinking about prison because it's the only place they'll look after you now that the mental hospitals have been emptied out.

See it's all negative again. I don't know how the hell I'm going to come off drugs and survive.

Does ANYONE have any ideas? I see no future.

I hate methadone and want to die

OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF I WANT OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF METHADONE. OFF IT OFF IT WANT OFF OFF OFF. FED UP HAD ENOUGH. I WANT TO DIE DRUG FREE. HA! That's my biggest motivation. I wanna die and I wanna die OFF DRUGS. I'm already fretting that bitch worker won't cut my script down fast enough so I'm probably going to have to insist on seeing a doctor ~ hopefully the irresponsible one who offered to switch me straight from over 120mg methadone to Subutex ~ to INSIST on getting off this CRAP as fast as I can. I want the dose lowered every single week until it's well under 100. I'm not worried about withdrawals. I can cure them my own way and no chemicals are involved. I want OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF OFF.

My house looks like a bomb has hit it. My Mum cannot move me; she will be away. But I know someone with a car who probably will let me down but it's a chance. I'm dumping all my kitchen stuff at Paddaddaddaddadd's house, if he will have them. I have stuff like a 5ft high fold-out clothes drying rack that I am NOT taking with me, but I want to keep it. Once I've got rid of all that ilk of stuff I just have to pack these tartan bags. Once I've left my place will look post-nuclear because I'm leaving two thirds of my clobber behind. Clothes that don't fit. Clothes with holes. Books I don't want. Etc etc. I'm not fretting too much I have to GO.

I want OUT as fast as possible. I want OUT of this God-forsaken outer London borough and back IN to London. I hate living in the middle of nowhere. Soon as I get OUT of this house I get BACK to the decent druggieclinic I used to go to. The new one has an atmosphere like the cavern by the River Styxx.

It was a nice day yesterday and I slept through it. Woke up at 5:30pm. Longer you sleep the better in my book. It's too hot though.

Akkh WHY did I ever go on shitty heroin? I want CLEAN CLEAN CLEAN OFF IT OFF OFF OFF and if I can't handle it I swear I will kill myself and I'm not fucking lying like Anna Grace.

Off off off off off off off off off off off off off off off off off! Hate methadone. Goodbye and good riddance to all drugs.



THE DRUGS DON'T WORK
this is supposed to be about terminal illness ...
if you were terminally ill, would you accept anything but palliative care?



Sorry to everyone who finds this depressing. This is how I feel. Depressed.

Incurable

FINALLY I have got the computer to write Japanese 日本語の表記体系. There are 2 main ways of inputting Japanese. The main system requires knowledge of the Japanese keyboard layout because when you tap out QWERTY, you get タテイスカン (ta, te, i, su, ka, n). So I use the version for foreigners. If I want to write "mouse" I spell out nezumi I see ねずみ on screen; then I press space and the Chinese character for "mouse" appears: 鼠; finally I can highlight and F7 to get the phonetic katakana spelling for nezumi, ネズミ which is what most young children would write as the character 鼠 doesn't appear on the Japanese government's 常用漢字 official 1945-character list. So it's lots of fun typing. Far more involved than trying to find the accented e at the end of cafe.

There's no other news. All I've done re this memoir is ponder whether to start at the very beginning or go straight into the action where I OD on heroin ~ second time anyone ever injected me I ended up in hospital for 2 or 3 days. I cannot remember how many; I was too out of it.

I've wasted money on gear that was just too weak for words. I keep wondering 1: why I continue to take it and 2: why I want to stop. I do want to stop but I don't even know why. Best reason I can give is that I'm bored of it and want to try life without it once more. I lived 2/3 of my life without heroin so I'm sure I can live that way again. My biggest problem is with methadone. It's so demotivational. Knowing I'm taking something more addictive, more poisonous does nothing for the self-esteem. I don't think once they've tasted a life on heroin most people will ever find any meaning in life again. For this reason I still think the kindest treatment for junkies would be to line them up and machine gun them all down.

I don't know why I am bothering with any of this. They say a problem is just something you haven't solved yet, which means I have no problem except life. When I was little a paeophile tried to pick me up. It's a shame that didn't happen because if he'd had half an ounce of wherewithall about him, wouldn't be here now. I wanted to see my memoir as a cautionary tale, but that's missing the point and implying my problem is rooted in drugs when it's not. The drugs were just my attempt at a cure. Since birth there has been something wrong with me. People seem to assume because I'm humanoid I'm human, but even that's not necessarily true. Maybe I'm a totally different species. By human standards, there's something badly wrong I'm not willing to fix it I know I will only get blame blame blame when I do. So I do nothing, not knowing what to do...

There might be an answer. Maybe I haven't found it; maybe I have. Croutons. I need more croutons.

A Laugh

HALF MY BRAIN TELLS ME not to post this. But what else would I say? Might as well have a good laugh about dying. I'm sure lots of people would find it funny if I died.

I'M IN A GOOD MOOD because I went out to spent my last pennies on alcohol, found a pound plus some orange mixer (for cyder) then went back, shot the entire lot down and read Valerie. Valerie [2 posts down] is the only thing that cheers me up. How I can write that way when Im depressed I do not know. I must be like those stage actors and comedians who put on a bravura performance then shoot themselves dead in the dressingroom afterwards.

If you want to see someone stick a gun in their mouth and actually do it, the link's on the post below. It fills me with heart to see somebody die so easily. I wish our bastard government would legalize handguns for the "mentally ill" or restore the death penalty. Then I'd find an old lady patently in agony and dying, kill her with her consent, make it look like I'd robbed the place and write a false diary full of yucky fantasies about old ladies: all the shit you need to get hanged.

Tonkie Ears the mouse has deserted me. I have no hamsters left and am not in a state to look after pets. I keep fantasizing about going down the nuthouse but I'd rather give up looking left and right when I cross the road. Every time a car (or better still a bus or truck) whizzes past I have this moment of despair when I realize I have lost yet another chance to get smashed to smithereens.

XXX suicide ideation shit deleted XXX

I could buy a gun. I could also pay somebody to shoot me. If you can take out a hit on someone else you could surely get one put on yourself.

I have to be careful what I say about death, because although I believe everybody would be better off dead, it's probably considered immoral (by God) to post anything up that could be seen as encouragement. When I do die I wanted my body to go to medical science (to be dissected by trainee doctors) but that rules out all the best suicide methods. Ie very quick and very violent ones involving massive injury to the head. I wouldn't jump off a bridge for this very reason: your legs get it first. I want my head smashed to such a pulp there's nothing left.

I went to bed during the day to escape the world. I'm on a 500cals food (plus 2 cans cyder so that's about 2000 more) diet. I'm hungry all the time now but I'm not giving in.

The only thing that is ever going to make me better is heroin and heroin is illegal. Which means I am illegal. Which means I should die.

It's that simple. No I'm not going to do it tonight. I won't do it until I have money to buy more heroin and make an informed choice.

Early Morning Blues

I DIDN'T POST EARLIER because I was asleep. I tried the Heroin Cure for depression and it worked well enough to get some words out of Valerie, Heroin Queen of Australia (see below) but I woke up around midnight feeling sour as an unripe lime.

Valerie still makes me laugh. In fact anything I write that I think is funny I can laugh at. But nothing else seems to touch me. So you can call Valerie my therapy.

I don't think there is any cure for depression. For laziness I can imagine the drill the psychologist would tell me: write a list, do a few things every day blah blah. I really don't see the point in doing anything.

Normal people seem to take antidepressants and complain that they make them feel "flat" and at best take the edge off depression. With me they most definitely made me euphoric and the depression evaporated entirely. Nothing flat about them! Problem was last time I went on a rollercoaster mood swing that dipped so far down I lost my ability to bullshit the world with a polite happy act, the one we all do. Soon as they set eyes on me people asked what the hell was wrong. So that's antidepressants.

Mood stabilizers do nothing until you're out of an episode. They prevent mood phases recurring. Which is double depressing. Meaning the misery stays and no mania to follow it up. The thought of going manic is my only real hope in life.

Also I can't have lithium because it needs regular blood level checks. And where would they get a vein? I know the side effects and they're ones I'd find particularly disagreeable (feeling cold, tired, visual problems and poor attention span: EXACTLY what bothered me about chronic fatigue syndome. No thanks). There are other mood stabilizers and these are all anticonvulsants: oxcarbazepine, valproate, lamotrigine et al.

I finally finished the quarter bottle of vodka (found in an alleyway on Wednesday afternoon) at around 3am Friday morning. Which just shows what a heavy drinker I am. I had to put it in black coffee to take the vomitsome taste away.

The Chinese Chicken Curry from Morrisons tasted far too strongly of Five Spice Seasoning, which should only be very vaguely in the background. So they got that one totally wrong.

Now I'm craving food yet don't feel physically hungry. The thought of eating makes my head feel mixed up.

I think my problem is what saves me: I can't focus on things. So I don't focus on negativity the way you'd think I might. Stuff about me being murdered or shot to death by firing squad is half tongue in cheek. But only half. I don't know what I actually think about anything, don't want to know.

The one thing that made me focus in life was drug addiction. It focused me on heroin heroin heroin. Heroin was real. The lack of it was a desperate emergency. Heroin heroin. Such an irony that it seemed to keep me sane. Without it I go all over the place. I noticed this years ago, and noticed that in rehab type situations I got extra meds and appeared to monopolize the attention of the counselling staff. Everybody else in there seemed pretty well balanced. And in the second place, they all slept. I was wide awake despite sleeping pills and antipsychotic (given for its sedative properties). Everybody else seemed to sleep like babies.

I never thought this meant I had some mental condition. I just thought it meant I was a big baby who couldn't cope with something everybody else seemed to glide through easily, no matter how difficult they claimed it to be.

A few years ago I would have latched on to any psychiatric diagnosis as an excuse to continue using heroin. These days excuses are not an issue.

I went beyond desperation and to a state where I realized I had two demons to fight. The psychiatric one was considerably bigger and stronger than the drugs one. When you fight with drugs you're fighting yourself. So you and your opponent are equally matched. Having a full-on breakdown is like being slammed in the face by a truck. You can't fight it as such, you can only resist it in a stubborn type of way.

The only time I've truly felt mentally injured was when my mood flew then plummeted several times in the course of a week leaving me catatonic. I actually felt mentally injured then. Usually my system adapts to anything life throws at it. But not that time.

Well I have to go, it's a quarter to six in the morning and I feel like ****. I regret being awake. I'd really like to sleep for ever. I'm scared of getting psychotic depression. I don't care about being psychotic and manic as much but psychotic depressed scares the hell out of me. That would put me straight in the nuthouse.

I'm surprised my druggieworker is taken in by the idea that someone who has insight isn't ill. There are psychiatrists and mental health professionals who have also had psychosis. Their training never stopped them going mad. I knew the basic diagnostic criteria for mania so I was well aware that I was manic when my mood went high. Mania isn't so much a good mood as an accelerated state where you feel very excited, go into overdrive, stop sleeping, get irritable on the one hand and feel poetic on the other, and the self-esteeem soars. Just knowing I was in this state did nothing to make it any less intense. At the peak of it my attention span was so impaired I was basically disabled. I could sign into the computer (it seemed to take an hour to do this; I was on fastforward). I could post. But I could not edit what I said, I could only grasp the gist of comments etc and when I was really out of it I could barely understand the written word at all. I couldn't follow the spoken word either. People seemed to be talking crap all the time. But I'd still rather be manic than depressed. I know it's not much of a choice, but it's the only choice I've got. Providing the mania does come back. Knowing my luck I'll be stuck in misery for ever. The mania is just a torment. Telling me I used to be able to get high not on drugs, that I'll never ever feel happy ever again.

Being as life is torture anyhow, I have decided to have a stab at cleaning up my house and filling out the DLA form. DLA is a benefit for people who are mentally deranged or severely disabled, who need help in their daily lives. Example: if you live in a house full of rubbish, only ever eat food direct from the tin, sleep on the floor in the clothes you wore during the day and cannot be bothered to shower and your doctor thinks you're schizo you should get DLA pretty easily. I don't get it because I was so depressed when it ran out last time I just felt like a fraud. I got no support from anyone in authority: drugs workers etc. They were taken in by my sardonic pose and heroin-saturated brains and thought I needed no help.

Everything changed when I went mad enough that the dr saw it all over me the second I walked into the consulting room. He looked really shocked at the state of me and I thought I was normal! Then the council sent somebody from another department to do a home visit and this person says I have issues of self care.

They say that depression deteriorates the attention, (which it does) but nowhere near as badly as mania. As long as I'm talking (or writing), I can follow my own outpourings. I'm no good with books at the moment but I reckon I could do that DLA form. Problem is I have to FIND it first. I have about five copies but my house is such chaos I haven't a clue where a single one is.

It's very shaming filling in that form. You have to admit what a fuck-up you are. Under diagnosis I have to write schizoaffective disorder which I'm not even sure is correct. I'm not psychotic, I'm just miserable.

On the other hand, I know if they cut me off my benefits, I wouldn't go out and get a job (what employer would possibly have me?), I'd just live on the streets begging for spare change. So I suppose if I keep this in mind I can feel entitled to money. Everyone else seems to get DLA. I don't get it because I was too much of a mess to make a claim.

Well I have to go it's past 6am now. I badly need a cigarette. I really don't know what else to say.

PS: Anna posted up a video of somebody committing suicide the way I'd so it if 10,000mg Seconal weren't available (gun in mouth). He falls down way quicker than people in the movies and blood comes spurting out of his nose. I don't advise anybody watch it who's thin-skinned or easily shocked. The link is here.

Mr Misery

I AM IN A **** MOOD. I am beating myself up about whether or not to eat Morrisons industrial Chinese chicken curry with egg fry rice or to buy a tin of corned beef from the corner shop for £1.79 (cheaper than Morrisons who charge £2.49 for a big tin). When I've already eaten two and a half chicken thighs and a Pot Noodle today and am not actually hungry. I'm on a diet, remember. And I take in excess calories through my alcohol consumption. I only want to do comfort eating. "I hate myself and I want to die" as Anna Grace says. I don't want to be a waste of oxygen. Or a waste of food. I've had no heroin today or yesterday which might be why I feel so crap. Not that it's withdrawal as I have ample methadone. But because, as the nutnut nurse phrased it, it's my "underlying mood". I was only using gear to aleviate depression. I hate relying on heroin for a barely passable sense of happiness. I hate not being on it because I'm so miserable.

And yes I do realize how funny that paragraph sounds.

I keep asking myself why I bang on so much about wanting to be manic again. Wanting to be manic is wanting to be severely mentally ill. Just shows how desperate I felt when I wrote those words. On the other hand "severely mentally ill" is merely the medical profession's view and they're probably jealous of people who have a fantastically elevated mood with thoughts exploding like starbursts, beautiful hyperacusis and poetic hallucinations and all the world shimmering like a firework display. That was the good part of being manic.

I was very offended when my dr used the term "manic depression" (not to mention schizophrenia) with regards to me. Why do manic and depressed have to go together? Why does everything in life that seems so good have to be SHIT.

I stand by what I thought and probably posted at the time. You only truly see reality when you're at the very top and bottom extremes of mood. At the top you see neverending beauty and wonder. At the bottom, all is worthlessness and pain. Doctors never give painkillers for mental pain. Which is why it's up to sufferers to score for themselves on the streets.

Anna Grace is probably pissed off with me because she wrote a post about her suicide fantasy and I laughed at the bit when she said her dog might start tucking into her rotting corpse. My sick sense of humour overcame good taste and I told her. There's no point deleting the comment as I know it will have gone direct to her Blackberry. Sorry Anna I am one sick fuck. You just have to accept me for who I am.

On the way back from Morrisons I had a persistent, vivid fantasy about finding an eighth of top-notch brown heroin wrapped up in black binliner. It played over and over in my head. In my dream I ripped open the bag to be engulfed by the overpowering aroma of Fresh Afghan Gear.

Getting off the bus I took a deliberate shortcut through a back alley. I've found gear in alleyways twice before, so this was my best bet for locating this tantaliing eighth. In the alley was a discarded firedoor. Guess what? Poking out from the door was a bit of black plastic! I grabbed it and found an unopened quarter bottle of vodka. Not exactly heroin, but I'm about to start drinking right now.

I actually hate vodka and I know it will only make me want the corned beef even more, so I'll have 2 more things to hate myself for. I know it sounds petty hating myself for eating, but I got down to one single tin of corned beef per day (plus 2 cans of cider and 2 small tropical fruit juices). So I'm hardly in anorexia mode, but it feels like a triumph to be eating so much less than before.

I know everything I've written in God knows how long probably sounds desperately fucked up. I'm not going to lie, am I? If I was going to do one of those "aren't I witty and cool" blogs, I'd have taken up that pose from day one. There's nothing cool about me. Cool people only like me because I don't pretend to be cool. And don't I sound like a 13 year old talking like this.

I could say I wish I'd never got into heroin, but heroin gave me a feeling I'd never had before. A kind of contentment and a false happiness. Before that I had nothing stronger than cups of tea, the occasional Silk Cut cigarette scabbed from the secretary downstairs and packets of Maryland hazelnut choc-chip cookies and videos to indulge in when I was down. I had a gaping hole inside me, nothing but heroin ever filled it.

So now I have to live the rest of my life either empty or stoked up to the eyes on psychiatric drugs, when my real problem is hypochondria and laziness. I don't really believe depression is an illness and when I was manic I didn't feel like I existed at all. I was out of this world. Now this world is all too real and crushing me down. I so wish someone would murder me. That would be the best of all worlds. A dangerous criminal would get taken off the streets and I would die. This is the stuff that goes through my head. I couldn't actually provoke someone into killing me: that would be moral cowardice of the most abysmal kind. I just wish I didn't have to live in this world. It's not that I want some pain to end, like people like Trisha Goddard insist is the root of suicidality. I DON'T WANT TO LIVE IN THIS WORLD, I HATE IT. I hate everything about it. The longer I live, the more I will sin and the worse a person I will become. We're all in darkness. The world is dying, our societies are crumbling. I don't want to live to see it.

I need a drink.

Assisted Suicide in Switzerland

Ha! Read this about Dignitas Assisted Suicide in Switzerland. "Weariness of life" and "severe mental illness" are BOTH valid categories for DEATH. So I'm saving up my money for a trip to Switzerland. You get 15,000 mg nembutal (barbiturate) or helium (no thanks). So that's my plan from now on. I'm getting posh suicide in Switzerland. And I don't care what anyone thinks it's my life and my decision and I decide to die. Least I don't have to go in front of an express train now. If I need to do it I will lie to get my death. I'd rather tell the truth but I will lie if necessary. I need no-one to come with me, no-one to hold my hand. Oh and by the way Switzerland is the ONLY country in the world to give diamorphine to heroin addicts as FIRST (rather than second)-line treatment. I don't want diamorphine. I want death. Sorry to be realistic, but this is the truth.

Deer Hunter Music

MOOD SWINGS. I nearly had a panic attack in Sainsbury's. But I have decided panic attacks and me are NOT going to share a bed. Absolutely no way. I went out and scored 3 Valium blues (10mgs) now I feel all zonged. But way more with it than I was on meds last night.

I have been sleeping really well. Didn't want to get up at 12:30 today but I had to.

Problem with anything antimanic; it's liable to make you a bit depressed. Today I felt manic inside my skull but not outside it. Which meant my head was clanging. Saying the same syllables over and over in my brain. I'm glad I didn't have access to a computer: knowing me I would have posted them.

There is nothing else to put up. No positivity as I have done no positive things. All I want is to run away and hide from life. It's all too too much. Today I had to go home early I know when I have gone to my limit. When I push myself past it I just end up as a nervous wreck so better NOT push too far. See I am mentally disabled now. Not in principle; in practice. If I can talk and move hands I can type. I don't drive so I don't know whether I'd be able to in this state. If it's too much to do the basics it's too much to move pedals, steering wheel and gear stick. It just is.

I was googling stuff to do with death and came across someone who has said "there is no quick and painless way to die so I am going to pick up the pieces of my life and carry on; maybe you will too". You have to get out of your head that death is negative. Death is positive. I just hate being left behind. I would be very nervous facing eternity but I would still go through with it. If I could dive into a pool of infinity and execute a perfect dive, I'd do it. Then again I was too inept to do it when I really wanted to. Poisoned myself and felt really bad. Now I'm too pussy to try again. So I'm still here. Don't worry about me. Still here. Always will be. I will probably outlive you all knowing me. So worry about yourself before you worry about me.



This is what legal medication does to me:~

DOES ANYBODY KNOW THE FILM THE DEER HUNTER? This is the tune Cavatina, that makes such haunting music. I love that track. Although the film is supposed to e about PostTraumatic Stress Disorder and how it affects one character, eeen Robert DeNiro who pays hard" first and only Iie Ill see that and they were masquerading... see this is what medication does to you. Makes you forget.

Earlier on Tuesday I felt so low and depressed (physically exhausted as well as mentally "ill" I nearly went to bed. My phone kept ringing but I wouldnt answer it. heroin doesnt work. Now my mood has risen anyhow. Far more rapidly than heroin ever works. I spose Im a rapid cycler, in psychiatric termonology.
DEER HUNTER: CAVATINA

Antidepressants

I NEED ANTIDEPRESSANTS. But they don't work. They make me cuckoo (high). I have a great big crispy purple £20 note that could buy antidepressants in brown form. That one doesn't get me cuckoo. Crack and mirtazapine belong in the same category. Difference: mirtazapine (ironically) = more manic-depressive (I went DOWN on mirtazapine after going UP how crappy is that from something that's supposed to level you out?!) crack makes more paranoid. Extreme paranoia. I once thought people were climbing up the walls of the house and hid inside a home-made tent... the one you use once you're fed up of flashing at hidden cameras. That's nutnut for you. I never thougt I was a nutter despite all this. If I'd been a bit more naive I'd have blurted loads of this to psych staff years ago but I knew what paranoid/suicidal ideation meant. Knew what implied what and what they might eventually diagnose from what pattern. Because it's like joining dots. Akh I hate doctors. All I'm trying to do today is join dots of happiness. I have what they call a rapid cycle. That means I confuse myself because I don't know when Im up or down except when it's so extreme... I mean yesterday despite the nerves I was dunking biscuits while I shared at NA. All casual-like. (Manic-casual.) Not one person said anything except someone laughed knowingly. I'm not offended by THAT if I was I'd not have shared to start with. I didn't expect Absolution. Hey it would be funny if that person thought I was lying, would give me something to play up to. Sometimes I annoy myself by doing this; if somebody gets an idea of me that I don't agree with I'll show them the idea is true in the most ridiculous, eventually pantomimic way. When another person is there I never break eye contact with the first to shoot a look over. That gives you away. I do it like a professional actor, never once breaking stride, despite the ridiculousness. Usually I am pretending to be naive or stupid, my 2 favourite things I love to show people. I wear soft on the outside! Just like a tiger. All furry and cute. Nobody sees my teeth unless they rile me to it.

Did you know the lifetime "risk" of developing a substance disorder in type 1 bipolar (severe type) is 61% according to one study. I thought 50% sounded ridiculously small. I would estimate the true figure to be around 85 or 90%. 50% was supposed to be the number of bipolars who ever used drugs. Type 2 bipolar means mostly depressed with manic blips that never amount to full mania. I never got full mania until this year it's the only "up" I would recognize as illness because my head starts saying "power hour shower power shower" that's literally what I think and I say a mixture of things (incoherently, so I'm told that is with the topic jumping all over the place). I have every single diagnostic category among the 7 or so including reckless buying sprees (DVDs) I have so many they fill an armchair and they were bought mostly in 4 days. Great thing is EVERY SINGLE ONE is one I'd ring in the TV guide, so they're shit I WANT. Ben Hur I might not be in the mood for every day. Or Cleopatra. Or Dr Zhivago (a triple £5 pack) but they're there for when I do feel like watching lots of beautiful music and snow (Dr Zhivago) or Burton-Taylor (Cleopatra) or ancient stuff (Ben Hur). Shit no Gone with the Wind was the third in the treble pack, I hate that one but it came essentially free.

Does anyone care about any of this I can't think Up anything to say now so I'm going now.


Illustrated: famous people supposedly with bipolar. Vincent Van Gough is a maybe. Virginia Wolf definitely. Britney Spears absolutely no idea. Kurt Cobain: writing a song called lithium and then shooting yourself does not equal bipolar!

Plum Tree by Van Gogh, Japanese lettering even worse than mine

23:22 Schizoaffective Link. I still don't know what bloody disorder I'm meant to have or what the hell it actually is. [I got diagnosed schizoaffective.] I'm just NOT COMPLAINING that my main symptom is ELEVATED MOOD despite the fact that I had pretty full-blown melancholia this afternoon: exhaustion, Siberian low mood, suicidal thoughts, a feeling of intense guilt and wrongness and the idea that I would never ever feel any better about anything, by mid-evening I was fine by ten o'clock I felt a bit manic even..... PLUS I have "schizophrenia"..! Only fucking disease that made me cry just thinking I could have it and I fucking have it! No-one can ever say I was blowing things out of proportion again because I wasn't I was keeping something so fucking intense it was like a road drill through the head (psychotic mania) and keeping that like it was a little furry hammy in a nest, keeping that inside me head... ukk. How did all this happen?

SINEAD O'CONNOR: REBEL SONG
this is a traditional Irish ballad; despite the title it's more a lullabye than anything else

21:21 Calm

2121 I feel very manic and very calm. Don't panic not manic not knot tied up in nots not tied up in knots a lot lot of knots parking lot mot MOT MOT is a car test here in the UK. Don't panic I AM MANIC I KNEW THAT I WAS MANIC WHAT THE HELL ELSE COULD IT BE WHEN YOU GO VERY FAST AND HIGH AND FEEL HYPER AND YOU WERE DEPRESSED BEFORE? Tomblike depression entombed. Do you know I thought if I committed suicide I might stay alive for ever cold in the rain as trains rushed past? That's what I thought. When I was suicidal. Ha! Do you know that is called a "symptom"? Being suicidal. I don't feel suicidal now. I feel upwards now. I wish I could cling on to the UP forever and ever and a day no way nothing lasts for ever. In my head I feel darkness and a light shining out like the first light of the first ever dawn. AND GOD SAID LET THERE BE LIGHT AND THERE WAS LIGHT AND GOD SAW THAT THE LIGHT WAS GOOD. It's very good. That's why I believe in God. Because God is all powerful and the source of all power. I only have power because God has Energy. God is Energy and God Is Love. I wish I could sleep in God's love forever. That's all I wanted to be held in the arms of God who made me.

2131 I am dreading taking the antipsychotics hypnotics erotics support polar molar bipolar manic depressive oppressive undressive go to bed undress with the rest in a mouse's nest be the best beat the rest no less press make a money press blue diamonds

light light shiny bright light blue diamond light

did you know blue light wakes you up is that why i love the colour blue?

love you love you love you blue true blue

i can hear amazing music from the deer hunter theme and a jangly gangly gamelan sound going off in my head disco frisco disco biscuit digestives

2141 everything that i think of is transcendently beautiful how come everything comes at exact5 10 minute intervals i'm not faking the time the time is exact. i'm clearing up my mess with this manic energy. because i'm less manic than the very transcendent PEAK OF ALL HUMAN BEING everything doesn't explode around me like it does then did then now then one eternal loop of time because that time went out for ever

wow it is 2142 only one minute gone (feels like a long time) 2143 for me free to be me

2155 i feel so happy i am crying all the time thinking of New Jerusalem thats where i want to be. With God. In heaven on earth. New Jerusalem is the heavenly city descended out of the sky from God where we will all live one day. If you're reading this and don't live there then you're Eternally Dead so don't worry about it.

2159 59 time on line nine white lines straight ahead don't go red red or dead

blue i love you blue you you you u U U U U U U U U U

which is the most perfect letter? S or O...? Probably 0 because that's a zero hero zero hour rush hour RUSH HOUR POWER HOUR! HOUR HOUR HOUR FOR HOURS

2201 it's ten o'clock i should take my sleeping pill i don't want to antipsychotic

risperidone zone i have to take it i'm washing down zopiclona with black coffee

then wait an hour till 2300 and 2 risperidone ok i'm baiting my breath and doing it wish me luck


2303 MICHAEL JACKSON: LEAVE ME ALONE
this is the style of things i see when i close my eyes manic
no sleep comes!

Moulin Rouge

I WAS ASKING SOMEONE ABOUT A FILM with Kylie Minogue as the Absynthe Fairy, and Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman singing I couldn't for the life of me remember its name. I need films with constant music and this is a good one. I found it for £4 tonight. The idiot self service machine demanded an assistant, as I knew it would, to confirm I'm over 12 years old. And I bought a pile of tex mex pizzas as the other Morrisons have seen fit to clear their frozen pizza shelves empty. I chucked my basket on the frozen peas and stalked out.

I slept all day till 8pm. Got my methadone at 8:30am. Opening time. So I can avoid the world. Now with cherry flavoured alcohol and cigarettes and and ultra thin and crispy mexican pizza in the oven I feel OK.

All this clean shit can go hang. I just don't care any more. More you use, quicker you die. It's all good. Heroin can go take a hike. Crack is as relevant to me as weather patterns on Jupiter. Speed no way. Ecstasy ditto. I don't need uppers. They give a vastly inferior high to my own Natural One (I mean most of these substances last 4 hours maximum full-on, I was high for about four weeks straight on NOTHING, see what I mean?) Some people do use on top of mania but I think they're either truly cracked up or just have a piss-weak version of it. Stephen Fry said cocaine "evened him out" when hypomanic. LIAR! He means it intensified his high and THAT felt even. Uppers are way too jagged for my taste. The only drug that ever did it for me in an anytime anyplace anywhere way was heroin and heroin is unnecessary. From now on I will only consider taking multigram hits. Ie to use heroin as suicide. A Muslim once told me if you do yourself in eg by stabbing yourself, you'll spend eternity in hell stabbing yourself with a knife. I want to spend eternity hitting up the strongest hit of heroin I've ever taken. So I opt for that method. To die on heroin I need a low tolerance. To get a low tolerance I need reducing methadone. I'm already on methadone. So it's all good.

Sorry to post negative things. I'm forever stuck between telling the truth and telling a sanitized acceptable version that's basically a lie. So what you wanna hear?

No I'm not depressed. I'm nothing. I'm psychologically nothing. I'm NORMAL! PERFECT! OK! FINE!

I got a message yesterday about someone who had been through EXACTLY the same shit as me. Mood disorders. Personality Disorders. Strongly implied abused as a kid. I told them I WAS abused but only emotionally and not by my parents but this didn't seem enough. Then I told them some pervert who knew my name (but I didn't know him) said he'd come to pick me up when I was waving a flag at trains to make them go honk-honk from a railway bridge aged 9. But I just said "no that's not me". And I went away. I don't know what he did, because I didn't look. And this is all true. So no hidden trauma. Only trauma I remember.

Nursey only brought this up when dissociation rose it's head. Dissociation is cool it means you wander about and you're not real and/or the world is not real. A prissy weak person would let this bother them. What you do is go as deep into it as you can. It's a free drug after all. So vanish into it and don't come out. Same with mania but not depression. You don't go into depression unless you want it to kill you. The suicide rate in bipolar is 20%; in straight depression 9%. Schizophrenia is about 15%. So don't go into negativity, only positivity. The meaning of life is what life is. So make it meaningless or full of entertainment or both. But don't make it negative or you will die. If you do die bear in mind what that Headfucker said and use a delicious method of death. This is advice to self not you. If you want to kill yourself do yourself a favour. Fuck off and go elsewhere. I'm not into giving suicide tips.

Only thing that does my head in. I can't even say what I mean without the risk of some silly probably young and lost fucker trying to take my ideas which I will never spell out in sufficient detail for anyone else to know the Method and doing Something Stupid. You wanna kill yourself? Ring the Samaritans in the UK, ring the national suicide lines in whatever other place you may be. You're online. Google the numbers.

OK this has burnt itself out I'm going. I feel shit now I was OK before. I have a certain amount of happiness and it just goes, like a butterfly disappearing into the gloom of the evening.


Illustrated: sublime and trash. Says everything

MOULIN ROUGE: ONE DAY I'LL FLY AWAY
if i can find this i'll post it up, but my broadband will jam for the next hour so let's hope it plays
it plays. i like nicole kidman's voice
ONE DAY I'LL FLY AWAY
LEAVE ALL THIS TO YESTERDAY...

Lots of talking

I WAS SURE I posted something else but whatever I said got lost. My memory is poor these days. Chemist says I missed a methadone pick-up Monday but I'm not sure I did. I'm pretty hot at methadone and making sure I have enough. I need to be as I'm fully considering dropping the State Controlled Prescription and merely buying methadone on the strreet. Which is my option for when they start messing my head even more than presently.

Earlier today I was in the bad mood I've been in for three days. I crashed down. So this afternoon I took heroin therapy and feel far better for it. Frankly I don't care about myself or my life or whether anything is good or bad. Gear is the same as suicide so I'm self-medicating with slow suicide and it works. Doesn't stop me feeling manic and/or over the top, doesn't stop me being depressed and/or mood swinging. Stops the worst of it though. Which implies if I'm in withdrawal as y'all want to tell me I'm still withdrawing when "high" enough on gear to be in near-unconsciousness. So shove that in your expert pipes and toke it.

Baino can you please explain something what do you mean the dr says I'm psychotic? But I'm not? How so? I don't get this you're really confusing me. You think I'm exaggerating? Then you're wasting your time here if I write a ficiton blog it would be WAY less sad thatn this one come on. So what do you think is real? I don't get it. As I said I'm not a psychotic what really happens is psychic, that's how I hear other people's thoughts. Telepathy. If you can't hear the reason is simple YOU'RE DEAF.

The shrinko is the only one I trust and even him I think he is trying to kill me when I go to an NA meeting. So I trust no-one. I wouldn't post anything if you knew who I was so THAT, ANNA GRACE IS WHY I'M "HIDING BEHIND MY BLOG" as you put it
when you try and push me gently into behaviour I'm not comfortable with. You might want people to look at you; I don't need my neighbours reading my blog. That might be a buzz for you; to me it's a buzz-killer. I want to be read, not stared at. Leave a comment Anna I leave them for you and you won't even leave a single one when I specifically ask you.

Baino, Anna, Gattina, please answer in comments I cannot do email it's a total headfucker. Unless it really is confidential please everyone use COMMENTS. Comments I can do; email I just do not do. I just do not do it; ask my family. I get your point Gattina: your blog is a shiny happy blog where you don't want my heroin-talk so I'll email that from hammynutter@lycos.com. Please anyone who emails, no matter what the subject LEAVE A COMMENT SAYING YOU EMAILED or I won't be able to find it. There are no rules chez moi that anyone needs to comment on the post they answer under. If you want to tell me anything, relevant or not to anything else, just slap it under today's load of Gledwood-drivel and I'll get it. Don't email me unless you really do need to use email. OK?

I am going to ask this Consultant Psychiatrist yes/no am I in detox on methadone? Yes or no; tell me. Methadone is a substitution therapy and should leave you in no withdrawals. I certainly don't withdraw physically so how can I "withdrawl mentally" without craving? I only want heroin in depression. Depression I had for DECADES before I ever tried heroin. Question number 2 will rear its head: that being so, why on earth are you giving it to me KNOWING it turns me into a psychdedelic shaman who's not taking psychedelics? And can you please make the psychedelia stronger? Thankyouverymuch!

I can't go on I'm too sleepy to focus. Things I cannot say are seeping out of my mind so I'm leaving it here. Nutter Club report comes later.



MADONNA: HUNG UP
time goes by so slowly for those who wait; no need to hesitate...

Persecution

O SHIT. TWO OFFICIALS FROM THE COUNCIL came round and refused to enter my lair!

Fair enough it is full of rubbish bags that I'm not sure whether or not I accidentally threw my passport into.

I don't know what I did when why wherefore or what to which whatever this that or another thing. Y'know?

To cut a long story short they asked whether I was on drugs and that one confused me I said what psychiatric drugs or street drugs?

We had this conversation on the street because I loudly said my Lovely Charming Best Freind Wankers Who Share This Building Would only earwig on us.

So random dog walkers listened in instead. About yes I'm on methadone no I'm not on heroin I don't care what they know, I put heroin and methadone on the original application form so it's no secret. O yeah and my drink has gone DOWN to 4.5 to 4.7 units a day which equals 33 units a week tops which is just one can over the government's recommended limit. I've switched to strawberry (4.5% vol) and cherry (4.7% vol) flavour cider, two half litre cans a day. See I did it! Cut my drinking down by a third in one go.

Anyway they put me on a real downer saying I'm getting some Vulnerable Adult person after me for not being able to take care of myself. Me my room and my life are now in equal chaos.

I told them I wasn't sleeping at all. I had all of 5 minutes sleep last night. I went to "bed" (on the floor as per usual) for half an hour but my brain was lit up so I just watched inner television, felt irritated then got up.

I felt physically exhausted and nauseated and that was before those nauseating people made it all worse. They were talking to me like I was a 3 year old.

Everyone treats me like I'm a nutter these days. Even that psychiatrist, who's the best shrink I've ever had, judging on impressions, was visibly shocked the first time he saw me when I was "ill" rather than just self-medicating depression on heroin (the state I was in for over five years).

Anyway I'm not hearing voices AT AlL so I can't be mad.

I'm so tired I really want to sleep. I hate sleeping it reminds me of being ill, it makes me think of dying and sleeping is what I do when I'm depressed. The more I sleep the more I'm likely to be depressed and I've already decided if I do get that label Bxxxxxxr stuck on me I'm putting myself to a quick and violent end.

I feel so sad writing that, like my life is a total waste and I regret ever having been born. It would have been so much better if I'd never been born all I have ever done is hurt and disappiont.

Well I'm going to go now. And probably not sleep. I've had enough I've really had enough I wish I could press a button and disappear.

O yeah that's another good thing about being off heroin. It means if I push a quarter ounce straight into my femoral I should never wake up ever again.


1147 Just smashed a bottle open on my cooker the fucking glass is too blunt even to cut my skin open just rubbishy paper cuts can't even do self harm i've had enough i want to sleep i want to sleep i want to sleep fuck this i want to sleep i want to sleep i'm not hearing voices i am perfectly sane i just need to sleep i have no money i blew every penny on dvds i have an entire armchair full now i want to sleep i want to fucking sleep that is all i want to sleep sleep sleep

Abba to E to Mental Mania

I AM LISTENING TO ABBA. Proof positive if any was required that I am in recovery from SEVERE MENTAL BREAKDOWN. I found Mamma Mia down Morrisons for a few quid. The lurid red heart on the cover made me buy it as a FUCK YOU to sneery supermarket staff, so I made sure I went through the slow isle where a surly person serves you, not self service as I usually do.

The sneery looks make such purchases so much more worthwhile (shame I didn't get one). Same as when I pick up cig ends from the bus stop. It's always better when somebody's watching disapprovingly. One time one Jamaican man had the cheek to inform me "that's disgusting" NOT AS DISGUSTING AS THE EXTORTIONATE NEW LABOUR GOVERNMENT TAX I shot back. He shut his mouth then. He looked like a Labour voter. Sad.

I'm voting Tory next time as long as they lower taxes for the rich. I want to be rich and I want to pay low taxes so I'm voting for whoever lowers them most for Proper People. High taxes for the poor don't bother me at all. We already have them. It's called the Council Tax. The one I'm being sued for not paying. The one my solicitor wants me "severely mentally impaired" for. Now that I'm a hallucinating paranoid mood swing nutter on antipsychotics I might go for it. Unless I'm depressed again, in which case I don't believe I exist, so I don't bother engaging with forms of any description. Mainly because my depressed self believes it's natural and right that I should live on the streets anyhow. And that the answer for just about everything is a flat-fronted commuter train whooshing into London. (Trains going into go faster than out of. Flat fronts are best for maximum fatal head injuries. I was researching this issue that day when the BASTARD DRIVER actually read my mind and knew I wanted to jump. He waved arms at me! I know I've said this before but honestly how did he know??? I wasn't exactly hanging off the end of the platform.

I was blaring out this Mamma Mia movie when Naomi the Nuttery Club lady rang up re my antipsychotic problems. She said "ooh what's that music" I said "do you like Abba?" she said yeah. I said well you can borrow it on Thursday but she's already got it.

I have to say it's a HELL of a lot better than I thought it would be. I LOATHE that Dancing Queen song. The only Abba tunes I really like are Money Money Money (of course) and Take a Chance on Me. And Chickadee Chickadoo whatever it's called. I never actually VIEWED most of the film. Just smoked fags and looked at blogs. I keep forgetting to comment so y'all probably think I'm dead rude, ignoring y'all. I'm not ignoring y'all. I'm just plain rude!

Now it's blasting out at 2 in the morning with German dialogue. I love German dialogue. Double value on all my DVDs. I now have a good 16, purchased in the course of a week. Tomorrow I get Burton/Taylor in Cleopatra. I know it's crap, but I like her look and I Like the scenery. Main reason I watch films: bright colours, nice scenery, nice actresses.

I know I should be gay because I like Madonna and like musicals but seriously do you know what you have to do to be gay? Wear TUCKED IN TEESHIRTS, cut your hair REALLY SHORT. Snogging boys I've done just for the shock value but they're not as nice as girls let's face it women ain't called the Fairer Sex for nothing. So I'm plain old metrosexual. I feel desperately disappointed in this [I meant being straight is boring, but it's not boring, I was just being provocative]. Also gay clubs are FAR too sexual for my taste. I've been to a couple of gay-mixed nights, but didn't really like them. When I was a clubber my Big Thing To Do was go to Trade Club... but it never happened.

Trade Club was THEE best club in London. It ran from about 4am to 4pm Sundays. Heavy heavy banging hypnotic E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E music. Ie absolutely fantastic. But I never went. I went Sunny Side Up instead, which ran from about midday Sunday till around 9pm, meaning you could spend Friday and Saturday night actually having a sleep cycle, then go clubbing Sunday afternoon and be daisy-fresh (well as fresh as anyone on an E comedown can be)... by Monday. E comedown doesn't really hit you till 3 days later hence Friday night high: Tuesday blues. About half the people at Sunnies as they called it were spacefaced nutters who'd been going all weekend and had probably had twelve pills each by this time.


Trancy hard house: what I went there for

The other half were like me: people who appreciated a sleep cycle. The press often compared Sunny Side up to Trade because it was thee most banging hardhouse club I ever went to. But Sunnies was a normal straight club. I never liked gay clubs as I say even though most are actually mixed I didn't like the sexualized vibe. Clubbing is about being free and expressing who you are. When I was persuaded into a gay club, I stood out like a sore thumb with my long hair and non-tucked-in teeshirts and no belt. Let alone one with a huge buckle.

Maybe I should play about with y'all and do a protesting too much thing so y'all think I AM gay. Well I'm hardly out of touch with my feminine side am I.

Everything I tried just led to the usual situation in my personal life. Me in bed. On my own. Crying my heart out because I felt broken, empty, abused, confused and very lonely.

That was the end effect of Ecstasy too. Though I ADORED that drug, because it's not just a high, it's transcendently high. Cloud 9, 10, 11... going up up UP!

Everybody's happy. Everybody's smiley. Everybody free. Everybody E.

Then the E wears off and they become the miserable gits they are in real life. And after the after after after party, no matter what adventures happened between then and then I always ended up in my own bed, eventually (never brought anyone back to mine: ALWAYS went to theirs. I had a thing about other people's beds, other people's showers... much more exciting)... after all this I ended up in bed, alone and crying. Wondering why I had said what I said (E makes me ULTRA frank, to the point of friendship-damage)... why I had done what I'd done. Usually it was just me being a tit, dancing on the stage but on a comedown this feels ridiculously over the top)... most of all I felt let down and lied to. Badly lied to. So I curled up in bed, crying again.

I had been to wonderland. A paradise so high I wasn't even dancing with people, I was dancing with fractals, dancing along a rainbow. I didn't just find the pot of gold at that rainbow's end, I picked it up and showered in stardust.

And then I came down down down and reality was just too much to take.

The last few times a kind of trip kicked in as the E-rush wore off. My books were dancing on the shelves. Everything was pink, blue, pastel coloured dots. Maggots in my contact lens case. I had to put the lenses in with the writhing maggots, telling myself they weren't really there. Telling myself this did nothing to diminish the hallucination. Then I took downers to sleep. I couldn't tolerate the cannabis most people toked to come down. I was on Valium (bought on the street, of course). Then I switched to heroin ~ far naughtier.

The fact that my friends disapproved only made it more attractive. I thought they were really uptight, snorting weak coke, thinking they were it. I scored heroin via dealers I met through the local homeless (my true home crowd: they never judged me, always accepted me. Only true acceptance I ever got was from the crustie junkies. My true crowd. Not the shoplifters or the prozzies. The crusties. And nearly ALL are dead now. The only people who "got" me. All dead. I'm one of very few left. So I took this heroin in secret. Because it was forbidden. Because it worked for me. Because unlike that coke, even the dealer's personal... it was crap. Washed crack cocaine: THAT worked. Heroin worked. In the end I switched drugs totally.

Raving and clubbing burns you out in a way not even crack does. Taking eight ecstasy in a night really does hammer brains and body. I was never into multi-pilling. I did 1.5 say at midnight, so by one I was flying. By two this dose was peaking and it was time for my second dose: one more pill. By three am I felt fantastic. by four everything was going full blast. Most clubs chuck out at six, so my 2.5 pills were coasting down luxuriously from six to eight.

Usually I went to someone or other's house, but was home by eleven when a couple of blue Valium pushed me down enough to get three or four hour's sleep. I never slept dirty. Always showered first. Showering on ecstasy is like that "dancing naked in the rain" song. Showering on ketamine is like showering in a spray of diamonds. Mushrooms added extra sparkle when I wanted it. Those were my holy trinity: ecstasy, mushrooms, ketamine. Ketamine was attractive because though I couldn't tolerate spliff, ketamine was OK to me. And lots of people were scared of it, which only increased its appeal (have you noticed I can be a contrary person?)

I genuinely loved the K trip. It's quiet and sparse. Very sparse compared to acid, which is sensory overload. On ketamine you float through outer space. One time I flew through the thorax of a gigantic metalic insect each rib clang-clang-clanging as I thrummed past it. The vibrations of ketamine (you literally feel a low-pitched vibration) were to me AUM, sacred syllable of the universe.

These drugs were my religion.

But you need to discard any ideas that I was somehow a fucked up acid casualty. I used E ONLY at parties. One per weekend. Any more was just overdoing it too much, you really do fry your brains on too much E. I knew about E, knew the bad brain damage neurotoxicity publicity so I took it with care. Yeah the last couple of times I took 5, then 8 pills but that was just 2 occasions. Through most of my E-phase I was known as somebody who DIDN'T TAKE IT WHEN I DIDN'T WANT IT. Even though I ALWAYS had it on me at a dance party (only the desperate score in the club where prices are more than double what they should be).

Like most drugs, like an empty glass once you fill what's full, what's as high as can be, you don't get any higher, the full glass overflows, the drug overflows sideways. Instead of Eeeing you're tripping. This is the law of diminishing returns. Didn't Jesus counsel "moderation in all things"? I'm sure he didn't have MDMA in mind, but it's good advice. If you WILL take drugs take this advice and TAKE THE VERY MINIMUM NEEDED TO GET THE EFFECT YOU WANT. Taking more is just wasting money, wasting serotonin, dopamine etc; wasting brain cells.

So that's me and E. Me and raving. I adored it while I did it, but eventually it all got too much and I wanted to do other things. I cleared myself out for several months but the mood swings I'd experienced since my early 20s were worse. I felt like the sea. High tide (me buzzing on nothing) meant a low tide was coming (depression). Heroin squashed my moods into a flat line and I thought I was cured of this cyclothymia. Then it came back ON heroin (ie heroin wasn't working any more). And y'all know what happened lately. Those mood swings were severe even by psychiatrists' standards. I know what mild-moderate-severe mean in the context of bipolar. Now I have bipolar symptoms.

The doctor didn't use that word but he did say when handing over the risperidone script "it should damp down these mood problems". What I experienced was definitely bipolar in that I swing between two opposite extremes. Bipolar disorder is another matter and it must be carefully diagnosed. So I don't know what's wrong. But it would be just like me to be a manic-depressive junkie, wouldn't it?

I've gone past wanting an excuse for inexplicable behaviour and self-neglect and neglect of pretty straightforward responsibilities like filling out council tax benefit forms and sending them off. I got to a point where I was engaging with nothing. It all seemed pointless. I felt like an utter waste of space and a fraud. And I was usually able to put on a convincing front which confused friends and drug workers. It was Mother Hubbs, who says she was on lithium before she dropped it in favour of heroin (both are mood stabilizers) who told me I was bipolar ~ years ago. I thought she was exaggerating. Then I asked her more recently, "do you really think I am?" and she said "you know you are".

I don't know what I "know" but I know I'm up against something pretty formidable. More formidable than any drug I've ever tried. I mean this high I had not very long ago, the one that had me posting rubbish for days on end... that literally did feel better than any drug I've ever experienced. Now I'm down towards normality I'm pissed off, to be frank. Well if you got amazing free highs, wouldn't you want to keep them? It was the agitation, volatility, physical exhaustion to the point of nausea (having forgot to eat), utter inability to focus on anything longer than a few seconds, a total lack of judgement ~ not so much regarding should I or should I not do this, but judging what was or was not right for another person... I honestly had no idea... the utter inability to care for myself, the inability to think of anything without the idea popping open like a flower, every petal exploding with streamers and little ducks dancing down these streamers saying "hello! hello! hello!". Utter distraction. It was this. This mess that I could see I was in, yet didn't really care about. That I was hearing walls, cars, ceilings talk to me. I knew I was going crazy but didn't care. Yet I was angry enough at having been ignored, written off, misdiagnosed that when my druggieworker suggested I see a psychiatrist I agreed wholeheartedly. I knew in my heart I wasn't right. The psychiatrists knew where I was coming from. I wasn't complaining of feeling bad. I was telling them I felt EXTREME. And I was going very very fast. so fast I lost touch with my own thought process repeatedly. If I put food in the oven I didn't know it was in there till the smoke alarm reminded me. Well it's past 3am and I've not slept. Sorry to go on about my mental probs yet again. You must understand this is a big deal to me I have to reach some solution, some serenity, some sanity. If sanity is good then I want it. If it's boring: no thanks. I wasn't bored when I was mad. See I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. I've messed myself up so bad I don't even know what "ordinary" or "healthy" or "balanced" really are any more.

I need a Speak and Spell machine. Perhaps then I can phone home. Maybe somebody will rescue me. I'm lonely here. Nobody seems to understand where I have been. I went to wonderful places more beautiful than you can imagine. And I was tripping on my own natural Higher Power. No drugs. If you honestly do still think I'm on drugs then do yourself a favour and stop reading this blog, because you're totally missing my point.

Well this has gone on long enough. From Abba to Ecstasy to me being a nutter. What's new. Take it easy people. Sorry if this is a mess. I'm not editing, else I'll get uptight and won't want it to go. All I'm doing to this is spellchecking, paragraphing it out then BAM! It's yours to skim or pore over or have a good laugh at.

Take care, lots of love

xx

PS I can just tell someone is going to read this and assume I only took heroin to be "naughty" I had many motivations. Its deadliness was a big one. The fact it made me FEEL BETTER was what kept me taking heroin. "Self-medication" as the nurse who never medicated me (did she think heroin was a good thing?) used to spout...

The flakes on the spoon are ketamine, cooked down from medical ketamine for injection into dried ketamine salts, which are snorted up the nose. Ketamine is NOT horse tranquillizer. It's a dissociative agent used for emergency anaesthesia and pain relief where more diamorphine is not appropriate. IF YOU HEAVILY ABUSE KETAMINE WITH HEROIN AND HAVE A BAD ACCIDENT, DOCTORS MAY HAVE GREAT DIFFICULTY ADMINISTERING ADEQUATE PAIN RELIEF... YET ANOTHER REASON TO GO EASY!


MAMMA MIA MOVIE: TAKE A CHANCE ON ME



ABBA: TAKE A CHANCE ON ME
fully original version
don't anna frid and agnetha look a bit like men in drag?...??



MAMA MIA MOVIE: RED NOSE DAY SPOOF



This tune is the kind of stuff I used to go E-E-Eing to. Without the tacky voiceover. And less cheesy eurotrance. More hardhouse with trance on top. Or hard Goa (late 90s Return to the Source type clubs were my favourite parties; tranced-up hardhouse was my favourite music)
shall i add a few more dance musical terms just to confuse you more if you're not into this shit? hardcore-jungle-tekno, drum & bass, speed garage, grime, deep house, trip-hop, amyl house, psy-trance, gabba, acid techno! There ya have it!!