My monochrome mind . . .

This is what went on in my head when I was Twenty . . . 1983. The date at the bottom of the picture is 1988 as this is not the original artwork. A printer I worked for in 1988 wanted to do a limited amount of personal Christmas cards using this picture . . . but wanted to make it look as though it had just been drawn (?) . . . So this is the 1988 version . . . Enjoy ;-)

New pages news

The observant among you may have noticed I've just added a few extra pages to this blog. I've only just discovered how to do it, after wanting to do it for some time . . . So I got a bit carried away with it.
Of course there's not much on those pages yet . . . bear with me, there will be.

Now I need to know, how much space is there on a separate "page" . . . is it just a page? Or can there be as many posts/articles/drawings as I want on each "page". As in, could I write all my WaW type posts under "fixing the mind" or would I need to write them on my day to day blog and just put links to them on the "Fixing the mind" page . . . . I hope this makes sense. It's probably a really obvious answer but as it's taken me Six months to work out how to add these pages . . . I thought I'd just ask this time. Talking of simple . . .

For anyone interested in the 12 steps and/or recovery and addiction in general I've just found a new blog. Hey I could put a link to it on my fixing the mind page . . . but I'll put it here instead http://12stepsmadesimple.blogspot.co.uk/   It really is 12 steps made simple . . . Simple enough for me to understand but very interesting.

OK, that's all for now . . . I'll go and put some stuff on those new pages. The artwork will be drawings that are already on this blog as a part of various posts . . . But I will scan some new ones in over the weekend . . . hopefully.

Thanks to everyone who reads here. I see Pakistan has visited again today, Hello . . . I love that we can see where folk are reading from. I wonder what brings them here.

I'm hoping to start "detoxing" this house over the weekend . . .   I intend to clear every drawer, cupboard, nook and cranny out and re-decorate. Everywhere. I might need a new page called "Fixing the house" with before and after photos . . . and the garden . . . and  . . . and . . .

Goodnight. Sweet, peaceful dreams and days  x

Ps. I just asked Geekster how much space there would be on a page . . . "A page is as big as you want a page to be . . . It's a page" (!?)

It's mostly looking good (up-date)

That's better. I pushed myself out of the door into the pouring rain tonight to walk to N/A.
I didn't really feel like going. It had already been a long day . . . Bu-ut despite my head getting a bit muddled with reading and hearing varying opinions of N/A in general, I know I'm getting something good from going there. If I wasn't so sure, maybe I wouldn't have gone. But I am sure. So I went. Simple.
It was good. I felt stronger and more positive on my way home than I did on my way there . . . What more can I ask. What more can I say.

Obviously not a lot, as that last paragraph was written about half an hour ago now. So I might as well do a general update then call this post "an update".

I have an assessment appointment on Monday with the surgeon who thinks he's going to remove my top teeth. I will go ahead and allow him to assess  . . . But then I will take advantage make good use of his expertise to question him on bone resorption, over-dentures, getting (and paying!? for) the work to be done privately (ie to a decent standard), keeping some roots, unwanted change of mouth shape, and a million other things that go round my head as I'm trying to sleep. Yes. there's a whole lot about this business that's worrying me.

I've upped my "lose the extra weight, build some good muscle and get fit" game. As I use this blog as a diary of sorts, I'll make a note of where I started, where I am now . . . and then do weekly updates for the record my satisfaction, I like seeing progress.

I have reduced from one or two bags of Heroin a day/night, to one a week. Not a planned one a week. An accidental one a week . . . OK, of course I know no-one takes Heroin by accident. I mean I don't set out on that day to use. I'm not even sure why one day has to be different to the other six days of the week  . . . . But I will find out. I dare say it has something to do with me thinking that I know best . . . When I so obviously don't. But, as they say,  Rome wasn't . . .

Sur Ren Dur. (Dur!)

So . . . from where I'm perched at the minute, on the bottom of the bed, I'd say it's mostly looking good. Including the bed . . .  Goodnight all you good folk. Sweet days and dreams be yours and mine.

Fearless

Diminishing differences

Hey, well that was all a bit exhausting, I must say . . .  I can almost see why some folk lie, I said almost.

So, I'm exhausted. It was worth it though, I came to some clear conclusions. And that's always good. The goodness of it doesn't even depend on the conclusion, the good is in being able to take a huge tangle of messed up stuff, belonging to me and others, and separate my strands from the rest; untangle them and smooth them out one by one.

Check them out one by one and work out what I'm left with.

That's always a good start. A start. Then, looking at what I'm left with, I work out the differences between that, and what I would like to be left with. The differences are definitely becoming fewer. Much less than when I started this blog Six months ago.
So that's good.

I set out tonight, for the second time, to tell the tale of  "White Boy"  (hamster on the run) . . . But Seventeen! of you bloggers, that I follow, had posted. I'm too tired to think, so I read and enjoyed. I need an early night and it's Twenty past Ten . . . I'll check the time of posting to see if this new bloggery thing gets it right. Then I'm off to bed.

I added sit-ups, press-ups and "dips" to my daily workout yesterday and I ache now. But not for long.

BBC2 has an hour of 70's reggae and Ska on right now.
"Hurts so good" is playing, for anyone who knows these tunes . . . Classic.  Goodnight all you lovely folk. Thanks, as always.

Up town (Upton) top ranking now . . . . Me strictly roots. Juju.
Monkey man now :-)
Ooo ya bugger I needed to hear that . . . Night x

Telling it how it is?

Okee Dokee . . .

I tried hard to write a lighthearted post last night about the tale of the hamster "White boy" . . .
I will finish it another day when I'm not so distracted. I've done much thinking since my second N/A meeting on Wednesday. You know, the one I was looking forward to? Should this not be a happy time?
There were four other addicts at this second meeting, three at the first. They all have between Three and Eight years clean. Two of them are clean from heroin, both male. One "leads" the meeting.

They'd each shared their "stories" over the two weeks, and it was obvious they were waiting for me to say something . . . "Anyone else in the room like to tell us how their week has been?"

OK . . . I'm not very good at talking in front of strangers, but I wanted some advice about how to cope if I found myself in another "Tuesday night" scenario, so I shared. I couldn't tell them my whole story as there were only five minutes left of the meeting. I said that I'd drank or drugged for 34 years, that I'd managed to do a significant amount of time clean since February 9th with the occasional one bag relapse . . . usually to try and kill some emotional pain. I told them that this week I had done six days clean and messed up on the 7th. I explained what had happened on the Tuesday night as written in WaW post. I'll talk to you after the meeting says "leader".
As we waited for the others to leave, the other ex heroin user said to me, in front of  "leader"
"Don't take it all on board . . . He's fucking hard-core. Take what you want and leave the rest" Ok, warning heeded.

Well that's all very well if you can leave the bits you don't want . . . but what if they stick in your head, playing over and over again. Because that's what happened. Among the words that stuck were these . . .

"So why do you expect your family to be interested or happy about this . . . They've watched you doing this for thirty-four years . . . why should they believe this is happening now?"
"You need to get off your fucking pity pot"
"Selfish little cow"
"You've hurt your parents badly . . . and now you want their approval. After all you've put them through" !?!

What??  The??  I was literally gob-smacked. I said nothing.
I went home, I cried, I got angry, NO, I didn't use. I've been miserable and distracted ever since. I've done a lot of thinking.

I'm prepared to admit every single awful, hurtful thing I have done in my past. I have messed up. The worst thing I have to live with is giving birth to a heroin addict. A beautiful perfect innocent baby girl, craving that crap within hours of leaving my wretched contaminated womb. I know, I hate me too. That's about as painful as my guilt gets. For fucks sake if I can admit that, I can admit anything.
I'm not, however prepared to admit to things I haven't done. I can face the truth head on and I have no fear of anyone telling me it how it is. How it is. Not how they imagine it might have been. I am not self-pitying. That is not in my nature. No-one has to believe me. God knows my heart. I have nothing to pity myself about. And much to be grateful for.

My family have not lived through repeated failed attempts to get me clean. I had one serious go at it eight years ago when my brother got clean. This is my second attempt and they all know this is as real as it gets.
I have never stolen from them or lied to them. I had no reason to. I'm not in denial about this . . . it simply never happened.
For the first nine years of my heroin addiction my Mum was in Cyprus and my Dad lives in North Wales. Mum came back to England about four years ago,shortly after my brother got married. In the last two years I have very occasionally borrowed ten pounds from Mum for gear, I've told her it was for gear and paid her back. No-one other than me or my partners has paid for my gear. I'm not in denial.

I will go back to N/A, I know it works if you work it, I will work it. I'm NOT criticising N/A here.
I just wish he'd found out a bit more about me before dishing out this "advice".
His advice for the next time I get a"Tuesday night" scenario . . .  Pick up the phone and call him. (?)

He doesn't know the pain that drove me to drink and drugs thirty-four years ago . . . No, I don't want pity. I'm simply saying that when dealing with someone who has managed six, ten or even sixty days with a clear head, for the first time in their (so called) "adult" life, maybe they could tread a little more carefully. I am sensitive and very emotional at the minute, they would know that. Should know that.

OK. That's all. My first two meetings. Things can only get better?

WAW's (please read intro to WaW's)

Tuesday night
I'm gonna write through this. I've no idea if I will post or not, or even what that would depend on.
I feel like my throat is closing . . . One comment is all it took. No, not here on this blog, in real life. How can I blame it on one comment, that can't be right or even truthful can it. Was the seed not already planted.
I don't know ...
I think you do, really, don't you?

I'll spellcheck this but I'm not gonna edit to make it more readable, otherwise I'll change things.
I'll re-write the past, once it has become the past.
So let's stay in the present shall we?
How about the truth here. Or can't you remember? How did it really start today. When did it really start?

Was it when you got the text from Mum saying that they were having  a great time in Wales? They being Mum and hubby plus my brother and his wife. The family. Is that when the tide turned. Feeling excluded. Did the text ask if I was doing well? No. Did it say they were missing me? No. It just said what a great time they were all having. Good. Great. Just like a holiday text/postcard should say. . . . Did it say "Wish you were here"? No. Fuck the lot of them then ... And simmer gently for two hours.

Bring to the boil.

Exclusion. Resentment ... Anger even. This will all need to be dealt with of course. I won't get far carrying that load around with me. I could honestly write here all night ... every sentence feels like it needs to be followed by "but that's another post" ... So much stuff. So so much stuff to mend.
So much to learn. And unlearn.

Anyway, if that is when my stomach started to tie itself in knots ... Why did I try to blame it on a comment that was made two hours later? OK, that's simple ... because I needed something to blame. I didn't know at that point what had brought it on. So I blamed the comment. But I wouldn't have worked that out unless I'd been writing this. This is one of the reasons that I question whether to post this type of "post" ... It's just the"whys and wherefores" really. It's only of use to me and I wouldn't imagine of any interest to anyone.

So having fought it for a couple of hours ...  Now you see, as soon as I say "fought it" I think, well that's a whole subject in itself. That's like me saying I just had a boxing match with Tyson . . . I've not learnt how to fight effectively. Just as I don't have any training in boxing. I haven't yet learnt how to use all of weapons available in this fight . . . I don't even have some of the weapons. Yet.

Ok so how come you put up such a good fight yesterday? in that state ... and won. Ah well that's different, another subject to be explored . . . that was "her" trying to talk me into it as a reward for such a hard day. But I knew the hard bit of the day was over and I got the upper hand. Tonight it was on offer as an anaesthetic. Very different matter. This was not of the "you know you want it" variety, more the "you know you need it". No wonder I noticed the sly suppressed smile last night. She wasn't planning tactics at all. Maybe letting me win the battle the night before was enough. Confidence up. Guard down. Boxing.

Where were we? We!? I mean me, Where was I?   . . . having fought this for a couple of  hours and settled down for the evening, Stropster came in tired and hungry. Ready to snap? He was much later than usual as he goes to college on Tuesdays. I got up to sort his food, wash the plates from our dinner earlier and ask him about his day . . . He picked up on something not quite right "Are you mardy?" (a bit down/pissed off)
"No just a bit tired and I've been thinking about that shit . . . trying to fight it. Battle weary"
"O Great! So what done? . . . you've been and got some!" (in a very accusatory tone)  As if every time I battle, I give in and score . . . that's how it came across. We were both tired and irritable. Not thinking. Only reacting.
I suppose he doesn't know about the many battles I've fought and won in the last two months. How would he? You see, that's another subject. He may well think that the only time I battled was when I had my relapse ... therefore lost. He doesn't know there can be several battles in a day. He presumed that in telling him I was struggling,  I was pre-empting a confession.Wrong. But not to blame. I don't talk about the battles with the kids. It's not their fight.

So. BANG!!
"No I fucking didn't go and get any . . . I was just saying it's been eating at me and I'm tired from fighting it" (and looking after you three day in, day out, alone . . . but I didn't say that)

This built up until he said . . .

"I don't know why you're bothering. It's not as if any of US are gonna benefit from YOU getting clean NOW!! ... Only YOU!! . . . Twelve years too fucking late mother!!! . . . You've done bringing me and Geekster up. We've had twelve years of it . . " and on and on it went. He needs to say this. Do I need to hear it. I already know it.

I can't remember all the words . . . I remember staring at the bubbles going down the plughole. I remember my breathing getting heavier and catching in my throat, feeling like I might burst into tears. I remember my eyes stinging and I remember picking some bits of tomato and mushroom out the plughole and throwing them in the bin. Hard. The pain was getting a bit too much.

I didn't even try to put up a fight. I swear I didn't. I didn't think how crap and tired I will feel tomorrow. I didn't think there's only THREE  hours left of this day. I didn't believe I could cope with three more minutes of this day. The text was sent. Gone. Damage done. And I knew it. 

No matter how much bullshit you try and feed yourself at this point, such as . . ." Maybe it won't happen . .  I've ordered it but I don't have to use it . . . I could throw it away . . . Maybe he has ran out and I can't score" . . No matter how much, you know it's all bullshit

So what now. Do I try and justify it. No. Absolutely NOT. A few weeks ago maybe.
No. I'll go and get some fighting lessons. Thank God I've got one tomorrow. I'll go and get tooled up. And learn how to deal with these feelings that I'm so desperate to anaesthetise.

I'm an idiot. A fool. I know I should focus on the last 6 days where I haven't used but that just doesn't seem relevant now. In the end I did not, for one second, consider the consequences.There was no clear thought at that time . . . just a muddle of pain, anger and agitation that needed soothing.  Something that needed un-knotting. I didn't un-knot it . . . I just killed the pain that the knot was causing. It needs proper un-ravelling.

I will learn how to sooth these pains. How to unravel the tangle of anger and resentment. I'll learn how to put up a good fight until I've learnt how to deal with the pain myself. I know I can do this and I will do this.

Please bear with me ... I think so much of you good people. I appreciate you all and don't want anyone to think I'm not serious about this. I'm grateful for every bit of encouragement and support. I don't want anyone to feel they are wasting their time with me. That would be awful and is another reason why I would like to not post this. But I have to be honest here . . . If I'm not then I really would be wasting my time and yours.
3am. Bed-time.