Snapping Out Of It

My promise to the mirror failed me and let me down. I have since reopened the Celluloid Corridor and used about ten times since. Until today, the day when I decided to snap out of the looming depression, my life has been boring yet chaotic dismal disarray. I’ve just walked out of church, and I needed it. The sun fell through the leaded glass during fine song and lifted my spirits. I need lifted spirits to keep on facing what I need to face.

I’ve just, recently, since the last time I blogged, over the previous two or three weeks, been mad gung-ho for bombing illicit drugs. I call it poison, not a drug, due to the negative effects it wreaks upon the body. I mean it is amphet, what else can it be, but it’s just so strong and dirty. I’m ashamed and embarrassed, obviously, writing of this nature has no good reason to be on any blog associated with my name. But as we keep saying here, we’re always dead honest about the news feed we put across. Aren’t we, boys and girlies? Yes we are!

It’s sad and tragic. Or maybe you’re thinking: What’s this guy’s problem, it’s only a thumb of speed? If you think I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, then you should see me crying in bed. Only messing, I hardly ever cry. You know what I mean though…sad in bed. Not functioning. Not doing the things I was doing only last week. Not even eating. Wishing I didn’t have to breathe. Clinical depression does my bleedin’ head in. the word ‘depression’ makes me want to cry – not just for myself, but for the many sufferers currently going through it also. If you are one of them, or if you have any other kinds of mental difficulty, or if you are or know of someone who is going through technological harassment, then please accept my nod of condolence across the airwaves.

I may be a failure to myself sometimes, feeling sorry for myself with the Celluloid Corridor (those god-be-damned interracial babes!), but I don’t deserve this life of perpetual bedevilling aggravation. The lower I feel spiritually, in myself, the harder my perps stick the boot in. My kidneys are burnt out (immense pain), my throat has a presence inside it (not that far off the kidney pain), and my parasites have been breeding by laying and hatching eggs (where do you talk about that one?). Not to mention the reappearance of rodents in my flat (great). I’m half-inclined to believe, alongside my perps, who deliver permanent 24/7 voices into my private skull, that my life isn’t fair to me.

Where do we go from there though, into wallowing? I’d rather get G-UNIT again, and back into my training. The weight has fell off me lately, as that awful poison has stripped my appetite. Today has been the first day I’ve chomped on a brekkie in over a month. I’m hoping this is the start of something new. As you can probably tell by the writing, it was only six or seven weeks ago that I was bouncing around in a rarefied state, looking a little barrel-chested, large and in charge. Now I feel like a junkie whippet with a workload ahead of him. I’ll try and let you know how I’m getting on in a week or so, trying to reel back in the losses and transfer them into gains again somehow. Wish me luck in prayers and I’ll send one straight back at’cha.

Recovery has been over too. There’s no bonding there. I realised on my way over here to the library that you are possibly my best bond. I’ll say anything to you. I hope that your problems are nothing like mine. If they are worse, then please pray into any available light for strength. If they are negligible, then count yourself lucky and appreciate the rest of your day (or night). Perhaps you are a bullet train driver who burns the candle at both ends and never leaves the ‘DeStruCt’ button alone. If so, we should have a drink together – and that’s another thing…8 weeks off and then back on it because of Charlie. It used to be decent fun and pennies well spent but now it’s a terrible disgrace to mankind. Whenever I waste cash on that nose garbage I want to batter myself for months afterwards. Don’t forget to remind me…it’s only money…but for crying aloud, when’s it ever gunna stop? I was 44 the other day. I really should know better. I swear I’ll be in a better place the next time we (I) talk. You too x