Plug Hole

6:22PM I'M IN A GOOD MOOD. Finally. I just took a £20 bag of gear. It looked more like a 15 and didn't smell too strong, but in tis day and age you gotta be grateful for whatever you can get.

I tasted a micro-drop and sure enough the strong acrid taste of Afghan B beautified me back... Which wound me up all the more veinstabbing wise.

I had a lucky feeling and sure enough after a handful of sticks in the usual places (legs only: arms dried up donkeys years ago)... I found a beautiful barely-touched surface vein at the top of my left thigh. And pyoinnngg! in it went like a yellow-arsed hornet into its paper-nest. I'd already skinpopped about 40%; in went 60% straight in and it's beautiful gear.

I needed that gear I really needed it. All the things I'm supposed to do to cheer myself up from depression: they just don't work. Or they even make me worse. I gave up drinking for over a month several years ago when that "alcohol is a depressant" line was being hammered into me over and over. No difference. I don't drink myself into a morose stupour; I drink mostly in the morning, to give me a lift. And it works. I drink in moderation because I don't want to be out of control, dislike being out of control and plan someday to keep to Narcotics Anonymous's vision of "clean". And that means no drink. No drugs. At all.

When I went downtown earlier on to score myself some roast chicken and cheese coleslaw and roll-on antiperspirant-deodorant rather than pushing up, my mood went down. The other people on the streets made me feel slightly paranoid. I don't clike crowds and I don't like people any more. I far prefer being on my own. I know it's "symptoms" of my "illness" but it's felt very deeply in fact.

So all these people were irritating me. I found what I wanted in the shop and used the electronic till. Their self-service counters are far better than Morrisons'. When my mood was yummy and "elevated" (as my shrink called it) I got a real buzz out of the boing boing pipp! sounds Sainsburys' machine makes in comparison to Morrisons' dullardly ones. Also Sainsburys don't insist something like ten washingn up sponges doesn't weigh the wrong amount because it practically weighs nothing. Only hitch was an electronic reprimand for putting my newspaper in with my coleslaw before I had paid.

I tried my #1 man but he was switched off. Still unable to reload on half-decent gear. Sad situation.

For all of 30 seconds I was wound up about this. Then I scored myself a white cyder instead. 85p for a little buzz seemed worth it.

Then I got home and stewed all over nothing. I mean literally there was no irritating or negative thought in my head, this was emotional not cognitive. Some film called The Princess Diaries or some such crap was on (Julie Andrews playing the queen). It's always a fictional version of Monaco named Bolvania, Molvania or something else that all sounds the same.

I couldn't get the negative feelings out of my head. I was irritated at Anna Grace's blog not because of Anna baby but because she's getting messed about by someone promising heroin who may or may not come through with what was offered. Also I am pretty sure she's being ripped off on price. I know very little about American heroin but nowhere I know of has gear weak enough that someone who not long ago detoxed and came off all opiates completely has gear weak enough that you'd have to contemplate hitting up eight points (0.8g) in one shot. Not even hardcore addicts take hits that big. My friend had a 3g a day habit from dealing years back and she took six half-gram hits. I've never known anybody take more than that in a hit which is why I mention taking 0.3. That was my old binge-mode dose and lately I've been hitting up that amount as a matter of course because we've had a Heroin Drought that still hasn't restored back to normal; the gear which used to be lovely. They said it averaged 46% in December 2009 ~ went down to 13% earlier this year.

Eventually after feeling sheer anger, just this miserable unfocused dull rage, I rang up a dealer who sold me absolute rubbish a few weeks ago when I was too mentally ill to care. It literally had no gear in it and he had the cheek to inform me that nobody else had complained. Probably because nobody else was low enough in his estimation to be sold trash like that. That's what I thought. Anyway this one finally said he had something decent so I had to go to a road near my house so his friend could drop it off to me.

I stood there feeling irritable, down and paranoid in a generalized way. I actually felt like I'd been piping (crack) which irritated me even more when I recalled how my old wellmeaning but typically uninformed druggieworker promised me my paranoia would go away when I gave up the pipe. And has it? No crack in weeks*. No crack at all during that psychotic breakdown. And paranoia worse than ever. Hallucinations most spectacular off drugs of my entire life. Manic mood swing so intense I felt literally on top of the universe and higher than I ever went on any drug, ever. All this on nothing. And they never listened. Never listened. Not one of them. When I told them again and again that I wasn't feeling right. And I was not right. For years and years.

So I took my irritable jagged jangling cracked out except not at all on crack self home and hit up this heroin and BINGO!! I'm magically cured. Heroin won this battle for me, but it's up to me to win the war.

So thats me done posting for today. I was partly annoyed because I was thinking of myself as mentally ill. Remember when I was having an "episode", rushing to get ready in time for NA and I heard 2 voices, one in each ear, saying "nervous breakdown" and "schizophrenia". I didn't cry then; but merely thinking seriously that I might have schizophrenia was enough to make me cry. And now I'm told I have not only schizophrenia but bipolar on top of it! That's what schizoaffective means. At first I just accepted that's me. Partially, as anyone would be, I was relieved just to have a name for this thing that has been bugging me for years that I knew wasn't depression, wasn't depression with psychotic features (as one dr suggested it might be), wasn't drug-psychosis (the dr who diagnosed me is a consultant psychiatrist who specializes in drugs cases: if anyone can tell the difference between drug-induced and "real" conditions, he can)... that it wasn't a personality disorder either... I was glad just to have a name, any name. I was ill enough to think it reminded me of a night-club ("schizo-disco") but too paranoid to post that little baby online. He explained to me "it's like manic depression and schizophrenia together" and I did cry afterwards. Because I'm scared of schizophrenia. I have never known anybody with bipolar well enough to have actually been with them and known they were having an episode.

But I've known a couple of people pretty well who had paranoid schizophrenia, so I knew what schizophrenia entailed and knew their medications worked. But they were never going to be normal, either one of them. They would be on medication on life and mentally disabled for life. And stuck on sickness benefits, for life. And I suppose it was right then that I saw any sense of any true recovery to what you would call good health... I saw it drain down the plug hole.

And glug glug glugg away, like the Devil laughing at me.

Illustrated: special sorts of donkeys

PS I hope this all makes sense, I'm not up for reading all my crap back. My attention span is going pretty dire. Again.

*I gave up crack for new year 2009 and have had a handful of pipes since mostly because i was weak enough to give into circumstance (someone else wanted to smoke it in front of me). i hate crack and never intend to do it again. the mere thought of crack makes me feel physically sick

RICHARD MARX: HAZARD
This is for you Anna Grace. Only song I can think of that you might like.
It's was going round my head at some time....



this version is far louder, for anyone who just wants the tune but no video



heroin? what am i doing on heroin? that's sad, sad, sad

21:02 INSPIRATIONAL LINK: American doctor Elizabeth Baxter, a psychiatrist who has schizoaffective disorder:
http://pn.psychiatryonline.org/content/37/2/5.1.full?maxtoshow=&HITS=10&hits=10&RESULTFORMAT=&fulltext=psychiatrist+with+schizoaffective+disorde%2520r&searchid=1098657466879_889&stored_search=&FIRSTINDEX=0&sortspec=relevance&journalcode=psychnews

Is schizoaffective disorder a gift:
http://www.experienceproject.com/stories/Have-Schizoaffective-Disorder/108188
I like the last comment where the guy locks his furry doggie in the shower-room for protection. I wonder if it bays at the ghosts..?

i like the comments on this story
http://www.experienceproject.com/stories/Have-Schizoaffective-Disorder/1187238

Regicide

THAT'S RIGHT. LAST NIGHT I KILLED ROYALTY. It was a Queen wasp to be precise. Last year I had a nest right along the eves where I live. At c.4am, attracted by my light (which always stays on; I'm v often awake at that hour) and able to infiltrate my never-quite-shutting properly sash window through the middle or the bottom these horrible blighters entered my room with an ominous buzz and proceeded to persecute me by divebombing the naked lightbulb. It was impossible to ignore them; every so often they would smack into the ceiling for no apparent reason and drop to the floor. I had no intention of getting stung and so armed myself with a newspaper (when I was too broke to buy chemical weapons) or (ideally) cockroach spray. (Why the cockroach version? This works on wasps and roaches; fly spray doesn't kill cockroaches very effectively at all. It's too weak. A direct hit of cockroach spray can zap a wasp in five seconds, which is far quicker than fly spray. It's the indirect hits you have to be careful of when the buzzing gets lower, the evil sting-with-wings circles haplessly, threatening to crash into you until you zap it yet again. And the room stinks of insect killer. I had weeks on end of this experience until finally the weather got too cold and I was sincerely hoping the entire colony had been wiped out. This seems now not to be the case. Hardly being an expert on the life-cycle of the common ("yellowjacket") wasp I looked this all up on Google and was told in late autumn new Queens emigrate from the colony setting up home elsewhere. The original Queen remains behind with most of the workers. All the workers die. Next spring she wakes (supposedly alone, according to "expert" sites) and sets about founding a new colony; chewing paper, laying new eggs, etc ... The old nest is always abandoned.

So why this plague of enormous wasps? They are not hornets. The European hornet is about the same size as these monsters but markedly brown-&-yellow in coloration whereas these are black-&-yellow. These look exactly the same as the wasps I had last autumn (I killed enough to know!) except they're nearly twice as big in some cases ...

What is the meaning of this plague?? Already I have killed two Queens in the last month. A third flew in during the day but fortunately left via my then-open window. Am I going to have five nests in buzzing distance of my bed come next autumn? Please no!!