WRITING THIS BLOODY CONFESSIONAL tale of my drugs downfall is pretty exhausting I can tell you, honestly. Also I look back and just see the mistakes and bits that could have been phrased better. Loads of bits. Hmmm...
FINALLY I did get to see my worker at the clinic. The interim one I saw last week wanted my lifestory in brief. So I turned up with seven A5 sides of squiggles, saying "don't you want me to boil this down to a bulletpointed sheet of A4?" "No, no~ that's perfect," two of them said, salivating at the prospect of tucking into somebody's personal scandals for photocopied bedtime reading. I supervised the photocopying myself as I didn't want other pages "accidentally" getting copied and spiced all over the internet ... woo~hoo!!
We talked about my personal goals. And she tried to justify the head of department's fascistic decision not to allow people anaesthetic detoxes costing £4000 when actually six weeks in the Maudsley hospital South London might well cost that (as a local council-funded "private" patient, which is where you are with drugs, in a pecuniary no-man's land ...) So we've agreed that next time I return with details of this proposed detox of mine with full pricing. Then at least they can knock me back (as they're surely going to) in the full knowledge of what I actually do propose ...
I'VE NOT TOLD THEM AT THE CLINIC about this blog. That would be taken as evidence of goal-seeking behaviour and seen as a good sign. But it would also tempt them to keep trying different search-terms and urls to read my scandalous revelations and I'm not too keen on that at this point in time. (Not that they don't know the "scandal"~~ it's just kept somehow within a different frame of reference at the drugs clinic; that's all I can say ...
MY EVIL LANDLORD wanted me to produce by midday written proof of my continued extended warranty or whatever they call it~ some silly term like that~ to actually live where I'm living. I said yeah yeah, fully knowing that personal callers are no longer welcomed at the Housing's homelessness services. So he'll just have to telephone them himself or take a fax like other people do. When I left in the morning it was actually to go round the off-licence, collect mail from Mother Hubbs's and do more important things than satisfy his scummy ego.
THIS LIFE STORY, as I said earlier, is really exhausting me and I don't feel it's as well put as it might be. I churned a lot of it out quickly as I could to get the main points covered; there seem to be so many of them it's hard to keep a grip on it all sometimes. Also bear in mind that is a lifestory focused on drugs. If I'd told it via some other viewpoint it might sound very different indeed ...
If you're interested in reading times before that, go see my post From Depressed Acorns Miserable Oak Trees Grow ... (what a self-pitying title!!) ... anyway ... you might like it ... that is the story of my childhood....
OK I'm off to finalize my scribbling of today's magickal instalment of My Life On Drugs ... Coming to your computer screens very soon ...
All the best
Gleds
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RIGHT, IT'S APPROACHING A QUARTER PAST ELEVEN and I'm just about to tap in the next part of my saga. Should be ready by ten to midnight London time ...
You are really on a journey of your soul I think. It would be hard for anyone to write of this I would expect, as these journeys always seem to wind in and out, up and around before there is an "Aha!" moment. You are brave to be doing this with an audience - kudos to you!
ReplyDeleteHi Gled, just dropped in and saying hello :)
ReplyDeleteThanks Nicole. It's 10 past 11, I'm just about to post my next intstallment ...
ReplyDeleteKahshe: journey of the soul. You're right, I always have been. It's just got a bit dark for the last few years, know what I mean ...
Hi, there! Thanks for stopping by Small and Big and inviting me over here.
ReplyDeleteI can tell you put a lot into this posting. I agree: It certainly is not easy to write our life story, not easy for any of us, even for someone like me, who usually feels pretty good about life. Trying to stand back and write with some higher view or greater perspective is almost impossible, for me, anyway. Because, man, when I am writing down the stories in my life, I'm in my memories—at that moment I'm living that bit of life all over again. And it usually doesn't go so well. Recently, a news article appeared online about a book called "The Redemptive Self". If I understand the article correctly, the book talks about how our narration of past life events, our entire outlook, can be changed by tone. Haven't read the book myself. But I printed out the article and find myself thinking about it occasionally. In the chance that it might be interesting to you, too, the article is called "This is your life (and how you tell it)" and is at http://www.iht.com/articles/2007/05/23/healthscience/22narr.php. It's from the International Herald Tribune.
Take care,
Paula
Small and Big
wow i just read your old post about your childhood. I love the title. yes it is very sad but it is expressive. just beautiful. It was a hard post to read it brought tears to my eyes. I'm sorry u had to go through that with your parents. my parents divorced but lucky for me niether ever got remarried.
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