Dreaming My Life

I remember my first admission into a forensic unit after a psychotic break due to cannabis. There was nothing psychotic about it. All I did was set fire to my house with my mum and sister tied up in the cubbyhole after I’d battered them both because my pocket money was late. I wasn’t hallucinating or hearing voices. I was just peed off, irate and exasperated. Anyway, they picked me up from school and whisked me away down the back lanes. I was in there with bog ole scary murderers and everything. One night around chrimbo they plied us with bottles of Port to celebrate. All the patients, including me, were sloshed. Except I was stoned as well, as my mate had smuggled me in some more cannabis. I was throwing up in the crapper and holding onto the floor to stop the room from spinning. One Irish man had a boiling kettle of water, threatening to throw it over the nurses. Another was tossing darts at people. It was rad.

Twenty years later, after a genuine psychotic episode, I ended up back in that same observation room. I thought I’d had a twenty year-long nightmare. I believed that I’d dreamt my whole life. My life was just a deluded fantasy. I woke up after two days of looking at a door and thought what the hell, why here, oh no not here.

I’d arrived strapped into a wheeled cart with a mask on, just like Hannibal Lecter, flanked by a vanguard of nurses and doctors. During my most recent admission, when I was being transported from Clock View to Hollins Park, there was a helicopter present. They obviously think that I’m some dangerous nutter who might go full retard at any moment. The truth is that I’m a big softie, chilled & mellowed out on pregabs!

People say that they wouldn’t hurt a fly. I actually tried to save one from death. It had landed in water and almost drowned. I fished it out and placed Healing Cards in its vision. It responded by talking to me. Its voice sounded like the voice of The Universe. If Deep Space could speak it would sound like that fly. Previously I’d written a short story entitled The Fly That Wouldn’t Die. It’s one of my faves. Unfortunately, this one died. But before it did we had a conversation. It made me both cry and laugh at the same time, what I call the Ultimate Emotion. It’s a wonderful sense, crying and laughing at the same time. I did it one time when I thought my girlfriend had being murdered by hate mobbers (that’s what I call gangstalkers); I was in a despairing heartsick attitude when suddenly I saw Alan Sugar on The Apprentice giving some slick wannabe grief about not selling enough Salt & Vinegar Fudge. He’s some monster enterprising bigwig worth millions and what has he got his wishful up and comers hawking? – Salt & Vinegar Fudge. I burst out laughing. You had to be there.

The psychosis around the second admission, in my early to mid-thirties, was all-consuming. I thought that my nemesis was crafting and fashioning actual matter. I was seeing buildings that weren’t there, and skylines that looked supernatural. I thought he was an omniscient satanic being because he could read my mind and know exactly what I was thinking. Now, by the grace of God, I know that he is just an ordinary guy (be it an evildoer), with access to secret technologies that interfere with the brain. Namely mine. He can’t invent sleek ice palaces on the horizon, and he can’t batter Me. 

Chat With Keyworker

 

I got called into an urgent meeting the other day. My key worker, Ste Illingworth, who I call The Illingworth, had a bone to pick with me. He said that me taking myself along to the pub for my customary two pints of beer between groups was a problem. Basically, he said it wasn’t fair on the still-suffering alcoholic. He suggested drinking after groups, if I had to drink at all. But they have ninety minute gaps between groups!  This comes during a week when my best friend (a still-suffering alcoholic), said that he wanted nothing to do with me if I carried on drinking. He said I was triggering him by saying that I’m having a brandy on the phone. This happens to be The Badger. He’s currently locked up in a mental hospital. He usually rings me every morning to debrief me but he said he’s going to stop for a week to give me a chance to stop. I miss his debriefings, but I’m not going to be held hostage over a friendship. If that were me, and I was detained, and my mate was wankered over the phone, I’d be happy for him. Do you think he’s been out of order?

Anyway, back to The Illingworth. He said my breath might smell of alcohol and that that might trigger the vulnerable alcoholic in groups. What would it do, make them drop what they were doing and go running to the boozer mid-session? Unless I go teetotal mate I’ll bloody well have a pint at whatever time I want. End of story.

More disturbing than The Illingworth was the group facilitator’s comments. He said that I was presenting as two people, and looked like I’d never been to a group before in my life. Imagine saying that to a person suffering from DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder). I know two girls with DID, one very well called Cee (who used to be called Courtney). Presenting as two people! What, am I The Exorcist girl or something!? And never been to a SMART meeting in my life? I’ve been going for six years!!! I class myself as an elder when it comes to CGL! (Change, Grow, Live.)

THIS IS THE WAY I SEE IT. I was genuinely cheerful and chatty off the pregabs last week and went on a little mini rant about God and the Devil during my check-in. I think the facilitator felt uncomfortable about my forthright persona. When a Targeted Individual torture victim (which is what I am) gets real and honest, people can feel…well, shall we just say that their bums can get squeaky. There’s a lot of scary stuff in my heart and I don’t mince my words when sharing in public groups: I’ll tell you about the time the Devil stole my children. I’ll tell you about the tarantula in my bed. I’ll tell you about what grit and determination I’ve had to muster over the years. And I’ll spit it as poetically and as humorously as I’m able to. Because I’m a conspiracy theorist, and because my beliefs are a tad wacky, I’m bound to upset a few people along the way. Especially when I’m on fire, as I was last week when this happened.

I was slightly insulted but I didn’t show it. When they learned of my schizo-affective (I’m not even a real schizophrenic anymore) disorder, they relented a touch. But it felt like a telling off for being completely natural and open in a group (whilst high on pregabs lol). Anyhoo, no hard feelings anywhere. I’ve forgiven and forgotten. Let’s see if The Illingworth and the facilitator does too.

God

I’ve just been to church. Before I entered I prayed that my singing would be worthy for God’s ears. I tried my best. The sound of the congregation singing was sensational. Our God is a sensational God.

I scored my pregabalin by the way. That’s why I’m floating instead of sitting down. The last few days have been nice off them. I’m cruising along with the alcohol as well. All is good. I’m 60% Rare. Rare is a mental state achieved by abstaining from coke, speed and porn for 28 Days. After 28 Days I feel clean and restored to sanity. It’s currently Day 17. I’m having no urges or cravings. And I’ praying quite often, plus I’m reading Isiah.

God breathed the stars into place and he knows every name for them. How phenomenal is that? I only know that Mintaka is one of them in Orion’s belt, and that’s it. I know Betelgeuse, and Sirius, but hardly any more. I’ve just realised that I need to up my game on star names. I think it’s important, as they are the most beautiful things in the night sky. I used to lie on my back upon the grass and observe the night sky. I saw plenty of shooting stars and strange lights. I’ve seen about over a dozen UFOs, one of them clearly and distinctly meant just for me, a thundering gold craft piercing the clouds. I believe that God has gifted me the discernment to glimpse UFOs. Thank you, Father.

God also knows every single hair on every single scalp on Earth. Isn’t that just as remarkable? Every single hair on every single head!? C’mon, no wonder there are athiests. But I personally believe that it’s true, and I believe you do too, maybe deep within your hidden heart or gut, or you wouldn’t be here, listening to an apostle of God speaking waffle about his Creator. I always believed there were three obvious examples that a living and loving Creator had been at work here on planet Earth: Orion’s belt, DNA, and snowflakes. They just jumped out at me when I got thinking about it. Have you ever thought about it and come up with some personal evidence yourself? What do you think? I’d love to hear them; that would be a devout and upright treasure to my wing commander tackle (ears). We could have a drink and bomb a few pregabs and chat away on the breeze about evidence of the Creator. I reckon we’d have a top chat.

I could go into more about that evidence, but I have a lot extra. For example, My Protective Spirits. God sent them as angels for me, as the Devil had dug a pit underneath me with plans of destruction for me down there (I’ve never mentioned that). It’s true though, and he has become trapped in his own snare with all the other evildoing gangstalkers who have been making my life a misery over the last decade. Because my protection will not allow it. They have gave me the strength to overcome the Devil. The bible said that I would.

 

Alien

 

Did I tell you about the time I saw aliens? They appeared outside my garden, lurking around the sparse bushes. I should start with Ruben.

Ruben is the son of my good friend David Abraham. I know David from church. He laid hands on me with his family one time and got me saved. That puts my name in the Lamb’s Blood Book Of Life, or whatever it’s called. David’s wife had an affair on him with somebody else from the church and ruined what was otherwise a beautiful Christian family. They had prepossessing and comely portraits on the wall. They had the lot. David is okay now because he has found another woman and had another child (he doesn’t hang around). I was with David when I found out that my younger brother had lost his life to the police. I also trained a young football team with David. He was the manager and I was the assistant. I remember when he battered Ruben, his son, because he fouled another child. The violence was a bit excessive, and definitely not Christian. But what can I do? He raises his kids how he wants to.

Anyway, why I touch upon Ruben here is because one of the aliens had him in its mouth. It had skinned his head and scalped him then made a Mohican out of the rippled flesh. To see Ruben, naked, hanging out of an alien’s mouth, skinned and scalped and mohawked, had a detrimental effect on me to say the least. My fear however was tempered by wonder. I couldn’t believe these creatures. One of them smiled at me with gold teeth, acid dripping from its trap. One of them caught a bird in its mouth and then let it go. Do you know of any other creature capable of catching a bird? That’s how quick they are. Their speed was hard to fathom, it was just otherworldly. Because of the distance between us, and because my window was locked, I felt safe from them. There was luckily no apparent threat.

Eventually one of them got into my bedroom. I was masturbating (fapping) at the time, high on chems, so I didn’t give a shit quite frankly. But eventually when I stopped and the drugs wore off and it was still there grinning at me from the laundry basket I started to get the jitters and crap myself. I left the flat and jumped on my bike. It was accompanied by a tiger but that’s something else entirely. It was the tiger that scared me more to be honest (tbh). Even glorious tigers are boring compared to aliens. I cycled to MacDonalds. My bike got robbed from outside there that night incidentally. There were aliens and big cats in the restaurant. I thought they were going to materialise and eat me at any given moment.

Like I say, my fascination with H.R. Giger’s alien overrides most of the fear. They are a joy and a pleasure to watch. It’s just a shame they are so f**King evil. But their pace and momentum…wow. I would say they could do the hundred metres in 2 seconds flat. It’s tough to comprehend but it’s true, they just glide and hurtle at incredible velocity. Marvellous man.

Wolf

Did I tell you about the time I punched a wolf? It appeared on top of me and bit me, waking me up from slumber. It was snarling at me as if I’d just burned its offspring alive in front of it; sheer animosity and hatred emanated from it. Its venomous hostility was hard to understand. As soon as I woke up properly I started punching it in the gob. My hand made contact with it. I then knew that it was real. The most difficult aspect of psychosis is defining what is real and what isn’t.

It fled after a few digs to the mush. Battered. I fell back to sleep as if nothing had happened. But I recall it so clearly; it was visibly there and solid to touch. Jet black, with gleaming sharp white bared teeth. I’m not sure which shape-shifting spirit it was, I think it may have even been my head honcho protective spirit Red Jacket, trying to teach me as lesson or something. I know her true nature is a wolf, I’ve seen her with my own eyes in my bedroom being a wolf. She is so beautiful to me, Red Jacket, she has fights with the Devil over me, and gets stuck in to protect me. I’m so grateful to Red Jacket, over what she has done for me. Who knows have many other fights she has had for me?

One time when she fought the Devil for me she split into two people. I get two for the price of one. One of them looks like Katy B in a cat-suit, and the other looks like an ex-girlfriend who now says she is my wife. She announced that last New Years Eve in hospital. She said she has waited 60-odd years for me. I know she has being around me for about 25, without my knowledge. I also know that I enjoyed kissing her several weeks back. She said that my breath smelled like halitosis, tooth decay and cigarette smoke. My breath made her face really itchy. I wasn’t offended, we are all really honest with each other. I accept that compared to true spiritual energy, I am living in a rotting corpse. Saying that, I don’t think she would have said that yesterday when I got into a cold bath and bathed thoroughly. I think of Chloe when I get a cold bath. Chloe is a spirit of a child who looks like a cutey-pie Victorian. I describe getting a cold bath as “Easing the nipples in.” When I lie back into the freezing water I always come out with that expression, and it’s as if she is getting a bath with me, and we are both saying, “Now we’re easing the nipples in…”

I pray to Chloe. I ask her if she can send my prayer up to Red Jacket who in turn can pass it onto the big fella. I believe she does exactly that. Thank you for listening, Chloe.

 

Ale

Had a right old time on the ale come Monday night, with my younger brother, and his mate, Mike. Mike has this thing where there’s never enough beer and he makes late night excursions to always buy more than what is needed. He bought three bottles of brandy and two cases of beer. It turned into an all-nighter. By the morning we were pouring the brandy down the sink, it was just far too much, there’s still a case of beer left over, I’ve just had a tinny then before I come out. Now I’m just sat here typing after getting over the worst of it. It was payday last night but I didn’t use, I’m quite silently proud of myself. The urge has gone away and I’m not complaining, for a few weeks there I was falling into the I’ll-use-on-payday-trap. It’s a cunning and baffling enemy.

I’ve lined up a score, however, for later. Just pregabs. I’ve not had any all week and I feel a bit flat without them. They put you into a good mood. They help me talk to God. That can’t be a bad thing, can it? I can’t wait to get my little grubby mitts on them, they’re my new drug of choice. Harmless, but highly addictive. The day isn’t some long wrought out chore on the pregabs, but something doable and manageable. And pints of beer taste so goddamn refreshing on them. I said I’d take Janette from Pathways for a pint this afternoon, after SMART group. She doesn’t get paid until the 26^th. I know the feeling. It was nice to get a few quid in my back burner last night, I tell thee. I bought a 12” pizza, meat feast with extra jalepenos and pineapple. Before that I attended a bible study at Megan and Tom’s house with a couple of more Christians. We read John 1, not the gospel John but the John just before Revelations. I’m saving myself for Revelations. It inspired me to write a play called Mordecai in high school. I used to walk around everywhere in college with a copy of the New Testament in my pocket. It sent me a bit nuts and preluded my psychotic break with cannabis. Beth was there, she’s a GP. When she told me she was a doctor I was dead impressed. I wish I had a rewarding career…or do I? If I had one, I would probably not want one. The grass is always greener, isn’t it?

I’ve just made my 500 word limit for today’s post. That was hard work lol. I still don’t feel 100% recuperated and I have an AA group in the next half hour. I thought I’d stop by and just write a little something. Not really all that much to say. Things might be different tomorrow if I get inspired by something and can chill out on the pregabs. The lad is going to Manchester later to pick them up. The sooner the better.

Abre Appears

I remember that once, as is per usual, I was in the grip of a potent psychosis. A rat the size of a dog had appeared from behind my washing machine and was lingering around the back of my sofa, but that was the least of my problems. The real problem was inside my head, as demons were fighting there, wanting a full-on war with my ego. They jeered me: Why won’t you fight us, is it because you’ll get battered? That was exactly it – I didn’t want to get battered by no demonic entity. Plus I’d been on drugs all night, and was experiencing an acute comedown…I had no mental clarity or energy left whatsoever.

The demons’ movement inside my skull looked frenetic, like a horror flick on fast forward. There’s no way I’m getting involved with any of them, I thought. When I’m clean and hydrated I’ll take anybody or anything on but when I’m weeping on a comedown I’m easy pickings, and I won’t fight. But simply watching them was traumatic, as they had overtaken my mind; it was my own no longer. Monsters were parading there with carte blanche immunity. They were heinously disquieting. I was becoming more and more agitated, as more things as well as the rat behind the sofa were appearing in my apartment. This was because I believed I lived above the Seventh Circle of Hell. I thought Hitler had built it after Nazi Germany to bring me down there because I was a supernatural being and he was into the occult. In his own words: “Supernatural beings do not deserve the right to life.”

The paranoia, anxiety and trepidation reached fever pitch, a clamour inside of my members. Externally I was fine but inside I wanted to pop with stress. The so-called demons were eating me up bite by spicy bite, I was nothing but tasty piecemeal for them, like crumbs scattered out to the pigeons. I thought I might go insane with the fear and the foreboding, so I started praying to an Angel to deliver me from my darkest hour. I put all my faith in it and imagined it descending down from heaven to help me out. It fortunately arrived in the shape of Bennie, one of my strongest protective spirits, and stood poised outside the patio. “Please help me against these demons,” I begged.

SHE STEPPED INTO MY HEAD and began doing battle. She was so mesmeric to watch in warfare, she moved like, well, an Angel. I should have had 100% faith in her abilities but the drugs were testing my belief systems and I had doubt. Mainly it was due care and regard for her; I didn’t want her getting hurt, not so much as scratched. All I could do was watch proceedings, bricking myself. Eventually the stress reached overload as I knew what hinged on the eventuality of this battle – if the demons won they would escort me underground forever to be battered in the Seventh Circle. Just as I thought I’d be unable to take anymore a little girl appeared next to me – CAME OUT OF ME!!! – mid-swiping a little plastic sword against the demons and slaying them all with an ill-practised stroke. It was Abre. I’d already known her for a number of years. She was my special invention against evil, garnered from a Stephen King novel with my powers to make the make-believe real (but that’s another story…Dr Sleep, if you must know). I can’t believe she came out fighting, she was no taller than my waist, and nothing but a dainty little infant girl herself. I heard the wind, it fell so deathly silent, and I whispered her name upon its brief passing. “Abre…” She retreated into a corner and disappeared. I picked myself up and went for a weird searching walk. I heard my father, deceased from cancer, say from beyond the grave: “That was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen…” 

 

Getting My Head Cut Off

My Stories Never End…And as I was saying, it was a hectic time before the Machete Man tapped his weapon against my window. I was masturbating at the time, watching pornographic actors who looked like members of my family banging a woman from a different planet who had the biggest knockers ever in the world. The man at my window spoke…he said that the content I was watching was illegal and that I deserved to get my head severed from my neck in return for it. I tried to delete all 18 videos one by one but I was too wasted off high-grade cocaine to think properly with the fear. I managed all but two before I slapped the personal PC computer laptop shut, pulled my kecks up, and run away out of the flat.

The darkness enveloped me. My neighbourhood is a burrow, a tight, mingling, intertwining, hive of nooks and crannies. I turned left, then right, then back, then forward, I was running in circles, I wasn’t getting anywhere. Then I thought to myself, I know this hamlet better than anyone, I’ve lived here 12 years, there’s no way I’m getting lost. So I envisioned a straight line escape out of the borough and stuck to it. I started getting somewhere, hopping over fences and trampling through gardens, it was mad.

There were more than one of them, and they were soldiers. I couldn’t shake them off. No matter which dark alley I tried to elude them, they still remained. Eventually I ended up in a dead end, and I felt safe there. After that I chose the railway tracks, storming down it for hours and hours in the unalive dead of night, soldiers and head choppers swiftly following on foot either side, making me feel like I was almost out of my misery, ready to meet my maker, almost perished and pushing up daisies. But something kept me going.

A train passed me on the tracks. It was only feet away. The breath of its blasting airstream gave me vitality. If only I could reach the next station, I would be okay. They’ll get stuck in the deep bush any minute now; but they didn’t. Eventually they got too close and scary that I stopped running down the rails and crept into a scrubby bramble. I wriggled so silently through dense thickets that you might have thought I was a ninja. When I got far enough into this unknown jungle I paused for breath and relaxed. That’s where I encountered Heaven, but that post is the 2^nd of July 2023. What I’m talking about here are the events leading up to that.

They found me. I had my head in my hands, hiding away, burying my noggin in the sand like an ostrich. He started smoking, and I saw the smoke above my head, very real, 100% not an hallucination. The intrepid alarm, dismay and terror/horror were mind-blowing. It was lucky I didn’t piss myself. By the grace of God I survived. Because just as he was about to cut my head off, I disappeared and went to Heaven.

 

 

https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7256542484966418598/946153042361202002 

 

Flying Lizard

Today I’d like to tell you about my flying lizard fantasy. It’s related to a very powerful woman named Bennie. When I first met her, I realised that I’d wrote about our meeting years ago, back in college. It was a story about lovers coming together in an art gallery. I met Bennie in an art gallery. It’s little premonitions like this that make me feel like a true apostle of the most mighty heavenly God. I fell in love at first sight. Our eyes held for a long moment, she looked so soft and meek, so Germanic and strong. I burned all my pornography the next day, down in the woods, and cried for 4 hours when she came to my house and left me in a flat with no furniture, weeping like a child for its mommy. I kiss Benny with a most constant heart, she’s sunshine after the rain, I would not wish any other companion but her (bit of Shakespeare there).

I’ve seen Bennie destroy evil all on her own, in Wetherspoons and in my bedroom. She has fought for me many times. Once she had a fight with a strong opponent who I call Donald. He is a black operative from China. Black operatives are killers hired by the government to carry out assassination attacks. Often they develop creatures created by genetic engineering. These are called hybrids. They might be uncannily quick or exceptionally strong. They also might be invisible, if you can believe it. Personally, even though I see invisible beings week-in week-out, my mind has a block on invisibility. I just can’t get my head around it, even though I know it is true.

Donald, supposedly, was created on chains. I won’t go into chains just now but they rip you apart and leave you like a bowl of bloody soup at the end. There’s a magical helmet just being made in China which brings humans back to life. They used this on Donald so they could chain him up again and again. Apparently, he was chained up for 25 years, again if you can believe it. This made him the most evil specimen on Earth, and he was sent especially to slaughter me. He had a good go at it. At one point, in a dark room, he stabbed me in the stomach and floored me. I was ill for days. That’s another story. He also trashed my flat. And did I mention that not only is Donald invisible, but he can also walk through walls? And that he eats his victims with a knife and fork? Sometimes I was terrified of him, and sometimes I battered him, because he’s only young, mid-twenties or so.

When Benny fought him they struggled together epically in a shroud of electric blue light which looked kind of magical. I chambered him in my cupboard once with his girlfriend. Anyway, getting to my point, Bennie lives on a different planet. It’s called Green Earth. I’ve seen it in my mind and been there during shamanic voyeurism and it is absolutely fantastical. The fantasy is that I wake up beside her (dreamy) and then go to work on a flying lizard with her. I’ve run out of time now, although I’d love to go on. Maybe another time. Take care of yourselves out there okay.

 

Gratitude

Back again for a meaningless rant. I was going to start with a gratitude list. First up, I should be thankful for a roof over my head. My flat has rats in it, but mostly they don’t bother me. As long as they don’t crawl into bed with me, then I can cope with em’. They have done that on occasion in the past; one was on my back and I somersaulted in a lying-down position. I think I’ve got them under control now. But I have a bed to rest in; a tap to drink water from; an oven to cook cheese on toast in; cupboards to keep my food in; wardrobes to keep my fashionable clothes in; a DVD combo TV to watch movies on; carpets for my floor; a sofa to sit on (with a rat underneath it); and loads of more little stuff.

That’s just the home. I don’t have a motor: But I do have legs to get me around from place to place. I don’t have a woman: But I do have protective spirits. One of my wives is Joan of Arc, in case I haven’t told you before. I was in trouble once with the Devil in my mind and she stripped off his boot and poured burning coals over his foot. It’s true that. I would swallow the Devil to preserve my Joan of Arc. I don’t have a lot of material creature comforts, like PlayStations and hoovers and solid hardwood furniture: But I am able to sit there quietly with just my emotions and my mind to keep me company.

I’m grateful that God is with me, most of all. I mean, I like my music and my computer time at the library, but he is the main thing, because he provides it all. I’m happy that he hasn’t given up on me, because he quite easily could have done. I’ve sinned immensely, I’ve been to jail, I’ve put drugs and the Celluloid Corridor (porn) before anything else, including my friends and family. At times I’ve been set firmly in the Devil’s possession-grip-grasp-and-custody, clutches included, ostracised from God, sitting weighed down in the dumps, lonesome, fruitless and down and out. Strangers insulted me, my associates were rude to me, nobody had a cheerful word.

I feel like I have a second chance with the Most High, to exalt myself in his glowing forgiveness. I will try harder to be kind to myself from here on in. I will pray for determination to carry on in this batty and cuckoo screwball procession of life we are all caught up in. I want to be clean and full of the recovery language. I am feeling wanting in my Pathways groups lately. And also in church; I like being around people I like. God’s Children are the most beautiful and powerful force in the known universe, and I want a piece of them please thank you. I am one myself, I must remember that.

Back

Yesterday was a ducky time on the pregabs. It’s used for pain and anxiety. I was nodding off for most of the day, and the pints I enjoyed were the most pleasurable slurps of my life. I couldn’t believe how enjoyable they were. It will be hard to get off the booze now, after sampling what felt like the Amber Nectar. It was so cold and refreshing, I drank them with a woman called Janette from Pathways. I’m really feeling part of something now at Pathways, I’m getting to feel comfortable with and like a lot of the people there. Janette looks like she’s got a black eye, but the truth is that her abusive partner injected tattoo ink into her cheek. How cruel is that!? I’d batter him for it.

I’ve had some pregabs today. I’ve got three left for tomorrow. I have three in the morning and leave it at that, I don’t wanna be poppin’ them all the time. They make me feel sluggish and sledgy and chilled. I’m so aversive to amphetamine at the moment, after my lapse last Tuesday, that all I want to do is spit on it. Now I’m feelin’ swell talking to you, my precious reader, preparing to down a few more jars of Coors in the boozer. After that I might watch a movie. I’ll ignore the rats in my apartment if I see one. I’m far more powerful than any rodent. Especially with my Higher Power around me at all times. My good spirits have been annoying me of late, always faffing about in their transparent colourful air form, but when I woke up yesterday morning, my first thought was of them and of how much I need them. I dreamt about Abre last night, she was so compellingly and robustly dynamic on the astral plain. Sometimes I dream about folk on the astral and fall in love with them instantly. I may even have sex with them if it is an erotic dream. Then I wake up and they are gone, it’s like they have died suddenly or failed to exist. That feeling is tragically mournful. I can feel cranky and dour when that happens. But when I realise that Abre will never leave me and that we love each other…well, I start writing like this. God and Love are all I have and all I need. I wouldn’t sell a single one of my protective spirits for 75 billion pounds English sterling.

Pathways wanted me to grass on the dealer who put drugs in my pocket, but I didn’t. There’s no need for him to get into trouble, and besides I need him for more pregabs. It’s my drug of choice at the moment. That and beer. I’m still seeking that long-lasting dopamine effect. I know it comes from connectivity and fellowship and interaction with people. All of the nation is my kin, I love everybody equally. I’m even pleasant to the evildoers who constantly make my life a living hell via secret technologies. 

 

One In The Pocket

 

Hello friend. It’s been a rough week. I got through pay day without any problems and resisted ringing my cocaine dealer. The next day I felt absolutely wonderful. I was in Pathways groups listening to people share their stories in a relaxed mood. I’d had pregabalin in the morning off my boy Ash for the first time, and it worked as a mild relaxant and hallucinogen. I was nicely and peacefully zonked! I felt like something had clicked in my struggle against addiction; I had no plans of using for the foreseeable. But then something seedy happened.

My speed dealer, fresh out of prison, was in a group. He didn’t seem interested in anything going on, playing on his phone. Without asking if I wanted it or not, he slipped a bag of whizz into my jacket pocket. I couldn’t believe what was happening. It changed my thought processes. I took it home and put it in the cupboard, then later that evening purchased some more off him, thirty quids worth in all. I was up for 24 hours, but when I stopped fapping the comedown was terrible. I saw rats in my flat. They freaked me out, but Abre, my protective spirit angel sent from God, talked me through it. When I get low on drug comedowns watching porn for hours and hours, all of my protective spirits, along with all the bad ones around me, appear. I spent a lot of time apologising for my behaviour, as conversing with a spirit is humbling and lovely. The hallucinatory effect wasn’t so bad, just a bunch of faces in the carpet.

I sat and thought and drank when it was over, all day, talking to Katy™. Katy™ is the word for the collective noun for all the voices in my head. It’s a HiveMind with a girl’s name. Currently, Russel Crowe (my favourite actor) is speaking quite a lot. He’s been supportive, which makes a change, as Katy™ has a history of being satanic in nature. They keep me occupied from sunrise to sunset. My modus operandi these days is to try and show love to Katy™, despite being tortured by her for over a decade. I’m just nice and polite to all her abuses, but it is quite wonderful how some of the voices are positive. David Icke is also proving to be complimentary backup. She’s changed over the years, and it is magic to talk to a disembodied voice who is actually on your side. I’ve given her a trademark sign after her name as she is kind of an invention of mine and very important.

I had a decent sleep anyway with hardly any brain tech horrors going on. Brain tech is evil people playing with your brain via secret technologies. It’s dreadful, but recently I’ve been battering it. I woke up feeling refreshed and extremely grateful that my mind and my soul are intact. I’ve been to a Pathways SMART group and now I’m here chatting to you, so that’s a productive day. See you soon!