Advice to oneself.

If a friend was complaining about the life that they had I’d be the first to offer advice. I’d try to help them find a way through whatever problems they had, or try to be a good ear if that’s what they needed.

I don’t really complain about the life that I have to my friends. I have a great place to live, I have my boys (dogs), friends (a couple), my family.  But one of my inner voices complains to me. The question is, is the voice complaining loud enough?

That one little voice tells me that I’m lonely. That spending almost every moment of every day and night without human contact isn’t the best thing. That, my daily pooch walks with my best buddy aside, I’m pretty much alone.

If a friend was complaining about something similar I’d tell them to get themselves out there, meet people, join a dating site, do a course of some sort, try to find a part-time job. Do SOMETHING!

But that would mean strangers, I don’t do well with strangers. I get anxious, awkward, and nauseated just at the thought. If any of my friends told me that I’d remind them that once upon a time we were strangers.  That we’d got through the strangers part and become friends. Simple eh?

Except that I don’t listen to my own advice too well. At least not usually until that inner voice becomes too loud to ignore. Mainly because there’s a louder voice shouting out about how hard that it is for me to deal with people, about all the reasons why I should be here by myself. That loud voice pretends to be trying to protect me, to shield myself from future pains. But somewhere I know it’s just holding me back.

Somewhere there’s a quiet voice whispering that you should never avoid something because you fear failure. Failure happens when you don’t even try.

Which voice will win out?

(My, a sober blog post… they don’t happen often)


Life is one big toilet. Life is full of shit. Some people learn to build boats of shit and float upon the surface. Some people learn to swim in shit and it clogs their ears and eyes, so they don’t realise how much shit surrounds them. The rest of us drown in shit, it clogs our pores, engulfs our bodies, and we know that, despite the occasional rainbow over shit creek, only death will release us from the mire of shit that is life.

What do you think you know?

I’ve been listening/watching a fair bit of Jordan Peterson and Santos Bonacci (?)… two different friends pointed them out. It’s not surprising to know that the one who pointed out Santos had a religious upbringing… it probably is that the other doesn’t consider himself religious considering that he’s quite taken with Mr Peterson.

One thing that has surprised me is that my old friend, one who’s been around for literally donkeys, has shown me a prejudice that I didn’t know was there.

Don’t get me wrong, I know that we all have prejudices… right or wrong, we have them. I’m probably one of the naive few who doesn’t think that because you’re Irish, it doesn’t mean that you’re involved in the IRA. That because you’re Muslim, doesn’t mean that you’re part of ISIS. But my long time friend has just informed me that (as far as she is concerned) all (or the majority of) right wing knuckle heads are made up of the working class.

The reason I baulk at this is because I’m working class. I am, by definition, a chav. I grew up on,  not just one, but two, council estates. I have also had a few (quite a few) periods where I have been violent. And wasn’t the term ‘chav’ made to make us despise those who needed our help the most, those who fall below the poverty line? Isn’t it a media coined term? Isn’t it aimed at dividing?

One of the most telling things during the question and answer session at one of Jordan’s lectures was when a guy stepped up to ask why the ‘left’ were so adverse to debate. It’s something I’ve heard as a ‘left winger’ about the right, ‘they’re never willing to engage in debate’. So who is it that is unwilling to enter debate?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to change ‘sides’. I just worry about the left being as prejudiced as the right. And if they are, then what the fuck are they fighting for? If, as my friend judges it to be, the majority of the working class are right wing… what the fuck am I fighting for? Because if the majority of the people the ‘left wing’ are purporting to save are right wing… where does it leave me… as a council grown individual. I don’t consider myself to be above average intelligence… but I baulk at people being judged by intelligence. The moment we start to judge that we’re better than someone else because of any factor doesn’t that make us the same as those whom we purport to fight against?

Shouldn’t the fight we have be for people? Disregarding their background, supposed intelligence, creed, colour, ethnicity, ability? Isn’t that the point?


Fucked up… me, my day, and I.

I’ve had a fucked up day. I got my letter from cmht, the main content was of my assessment which was 60% wrong. My appointment with the psychy consultant isn’t until January. I tried to get an appointment to see my GP to get the meds the consultant recommended. The receptionist said that I couldn’t get a telephone consultation today so I asked to see my GP next week. No appointments next week, she said. I told her ok, forget about it and hung up.

I cried for ages. How can I get my head together if I can’t get any help? I tried to call my best friend several times but it just went to voice mail. I texted a different friend but got no reply. But he’s been kind of radio silent for a few days. When I’m struggling the first thing I do is reach out… I need someone to cling to, to stop me going over the edge. But if there’s no one there I shut down and think they can all just fuck off as I slip over the edge. 

It’s then that I really want to have it all end! That I know I can’t deal anymore. But my dogs! But my dogs! But my dogs! 

I went out, still in tears, to buy whisky and beers and a few other things. I managed not to totally break down again until I got back home. A short time later I got a call from my GP… she left me a message and I called back. I told her through my tears about everything, apologised for crying, told her that I was struggling. I’m picking up my new medication on Monday and I have an appointment on Friday.

My best friend tried to call me a little later. I ignored it. She tried again, I ignored it. We’ve texted since, so she knows I’m ok.

I’m now in bed. I’m having serious problems with my thoughts… I can’t share the full extent of my head fuck because I don’t want my friends to read it! But let’s just say that I’m paranoid as fuck. I’ve been in bed for an hour… it’ll be a while yet until I get to doze off and wake up and doze off and wake up etc etc etc. I just want to sleep!

About a week ago one of my friends said that we couldn’t have had a relationship because we were both crazy… maybe that’s true for some. But for me, I’m drawn to the crazy I see in others because I know that they’re more likely to understand a bit of my crazy. I need to have someone out there I can talk to when I’m just too crazy for myself.

I am

I am the dark mess that others try to sweep under the carpet. I’m the wailing banshee that tears at it’s own flesh. I am the voice in your head that teaches you how to despise what you have become. I’m the white noise which you try to ignore. I am the dirty little secrets that you keep. I’m the kinky muse that fuels your darkest fantasies. I am the flower that shrinks from the light. I’m the devil who would hold you close at night. I am a hair’s breadth away from a love that I fear I don’t deserve. I’m just a heartbeat away from beautiful death. 


Withdrawal, the early days, part 2

I’m well into my 3rd day without my antidepressants. If I move my head too fast I can feel my brain swishing inside my skull. The zings haven’t started yet but they don’t feel far away. There’s a kind of pressure building in my head, it’s a constant thing now.

I’ve heard that I’ll be seeing a psych consultant soon… not sure when. But this lot of meds should be well on their way to being out of my system by the time I get new ones.

That odd feeling

The one you get in your head, or at least I do in mine. It feels like one of those bendy blades that magicians use when sawing the woman in half, is stuck in my head. About an inch or two above my fringe line… I can feel it in there and someone is wobbling it around in my brain. It’s not painful, it just feels like something jiggling in there. It does kind of make me feel seasick…