Four Months Later . . .

That cursor has been flashing in the top left corner for quite some time now . . . I don't know what to say because there is so much to say . . . and I don't know what not to say.

To those who have been concerned, I feel I owe individual apologies. I want to say I'm so, so sorry, but if I write names, I will surely leave out some and that would not do. I truly am sorry. It must seem like I don't appreciate the love and care . . . to just disappear without a word. I've thought often of you all, going about your lives . . . tending your flowers, gardens, chickens and sheep . . . vegetables, dogs and cats. Befriending pigeons and parrots. Caring for your addicted children, staying strong. Staying alive. Hospitals. Caring for loved ones or unloved ones. Washing their socks. Searching for a vein. Making your music, listening to music. Writing your Blogs . . . or not. Going to your favourite beach and living life, loving life. Loving and enjoying your grandchildren. Teaching your children . . . and other people's children. Sitting by mountain streams and pools, listening to the water, painting the water. Staring out to sea from the harbour or from your boat. Sailing your boat. Building tree houses. Randomly, amongst the chaos, at the strangest of times, you have all entered my mind. I'm eager to catch up with all of your lives and I will.

I wont attempt to cover events since my last post; there has been joy and heartache. My Dad's death made me realise how numbed I was by the anti-depressants. I couldn't access my feelings . . . I know Methadone and Heroin are very effective at numbing emotions but this was on another level. I came home and stopped taking the anti-depressants . . . That was one of my better ideas.

Hamper G's Dad was released from prison in May with no warning and nowhere to stay. Three months later the social housing scheme and probation worker have done nothing to help and he's still here on my floor. This is far from ideal, yet I can't see an alternative. Its complicated. It's way too much to write about, or even think about, just now . . . Suffice to say that having my own space back is number one priority at the moment  . . . number two, would be to cut down my using. I may have to start on number two! He came out of prison clean and for the most part has stayed clean. The longer he stays here the more likely it is that he'll get a habit again.

So, I feel like screaming. I'd happily take a small tent and flee for a week or so but Hamper G and Geekster need me . . . Stropster? another long and complicated story. I'm so tired. I feel sick and tired. I look sick and tired . . . I just am sick and tired. I know that nothing will change unless I make the changes. I will try tomorrow to make one small change.

I think coming here and writing was another of my better ideas. I have to thank you for making me come back. Really, truly, I need to keep coming back and get a grip. Thanks for being here, and staying here and waiting for me. I'm back and I am sorry that I couldn't even come back and write one line to let you know that I was okay. As my therapist said; I'm an expert avoider  . . . I suppose ultimately, avoiding myself and my emotions meant that I had to totally avoid coming here.

I won't dwell on what I've said or worry about what I've not said. I'm glad I've been here and I appreciate you being here. I'm just gonna click on publish and be very grateful that you good folk out there care enough to still be here . . . Thanks. Sending much love to you all.