Sit Down & Read This For Free, Or I’ll Hit You With My Sword

I finished up ‘waffling’ at the end of yesterday’s post. I think I’m about done portraying the anomalies of viewing porn alone for so many years in the Seventh Circle. Many freakish occurrences have gone on, rest assured. Maybe I’ll never grow tired of sharing what has happened to me. I’ve forgotten a lot of it. Perhaps that’s my own brain protecting me, who knows?

What I’m certain of now is trying not to go back to it. I threw my television in the garbage can because not only was it bad for viewing porn, I thought that beings made out of electric current were teleporting through it to pay me unwholesome visitations for free. My mate Sam reported something similar to me, stating that goblins were travelling through her plug sockets. I saw these beings with my own eyes, but of course a quack wouldn’t believe me. So, I don’t own a TV. But one of my mates has said he’s got one in his hallway for me to take away. Plus the sex shop is open until 4 on a Sunday today. And I also found an old speed dealer’s phone number in my bedroom. Wahey! Party time in play!

This dealer and I haven’t spoken for years. I’d be surprised if the number was still in service. I’ve neither deleted the number or rang it yet. I’m not in two minds: I’ve decided that I’m not using. But the number has a lot of sentimental value. He was a dealer of mine for a long time. It would feel kind of nostalgic if I could get in touch with an acquaintance possessing familiar swag. I’d kick back behind closed doors to relax on my own, how I used to in the past. Except that isn’t much of a feasible option.

A useful ‘tool’ in addiction is to ‘play the tape forward’. I might score nice and sharpish off the dealer, should the number be still in use, and obtain a good result, but that pesky psychosis is only around the corner. Being a warrior of the Lord, capitulated by a drug comedown, and fenced in by sly shady spineless evildoers, is not a healthy situation, and one I could quite easily do without. They’re all over me like WiFi soup at the moment, and would be delighted if I slipped up on my mission and took my foot off the gas.

How do I steer off course? I hear you ask. Well, by trading all the love I have in this world for a night of sexual lust with a wrongdoer, which I hate to do. My enemies are virtually nothing without me on poisonous chemicals, obsessing over one of their own. I can’t see me using porn again, it’s been over a year, and I’m starting to fear what the creators of it would have in store for me after all this time. T[its] ‘N’A[rse] a plenty I’d say. Knock yourself out.

I intend to stay clean and focused, in a spiritual combative state. I’m getting psychically attacked from all sides, including novel angles, every moment of the day and night though. My friends are lining up to betray me, as it says in the bible. I am being duped by ALL members of the public, it feels like. They know my identity in full, identity In Christ, and they hate everything about me because of it, because I live in a lawless town of lawbreakers.

I think they are all jealous of a free spirit full of joy in touch with His Creator who doesn’t fear a single one of them. Now there.

Think about Christ. What chance have the rest of us got, if they executed God’s One and Only Begotten Son?

I’ve been in some sticky places in psychosis and the bible really helped me out, after scaring me sideward a little bit first, by telling me in no uncertain terms that I’d been a naughty boy and need to improve. So improve I have. I received some earth-shattering news from it last year. It told me who I was and what I was doing here. Now I am fairly sure that I have a biblical heritage to put it mildly. Whenever I go straight (on the clean and narrow) in accordance with some dates from the bible, I get rewarded spiritually. I’ve known this for some time and I’ve shared it here before. That’s why 30 days No Fap is big in the SA (Sex Addicts) community. I have my own string of important streak times and dates to adhere to. I’m on course again for notching up some decent clean time.

I have a Serenity Coin from the fellowship for abstaining from alcohol for three months. I treat it like the most special poker chip in the world. It’s such an important iconic token, I keep it in my wallet, removing it for inspection regularly. The crux is this: I have to return it to AA if I take a drink. That would hurt, as I’m getting used to showing it off to all my chums in recovery, most of whom lie about their streak length. I didn’t think I’d be able to give up drinking for so long, and I still don’t think I can keep on keeping on not drinking. The aim is to keep proving myself wrong.

It’s the same with the cigarettes. Three months away. These are even harder than the liquor. At least with beer, I can (and do) enjoy a non-alcoholic. People are always warning me about drinking this crap in pubs. They reckon I will fall for the real thing sooner or later. I’m more concerned about sharking two ciggies off some punter and chaining them around the back, or wandering to the offy to buy a 20 deck. I’m aware that I’ve expressed an interest in the solidity of my future by cancelling these habits. I’m ensuring I still have a functioning liver and set of lungs in the foreseeable. Should I relapse on these substances however, this summery unfolding of oxygenated clarity vanishes up in smog.

Pressure’s on then. Every day, as a TI being slowly tortured and murdered by state-sponsored terrorism, I feel like keeling over and reaching for the booze and fags. I feel like I’ve earned them. I wouldn’t blame myself, considering what I go through at the merciless hands of irreligious villains on a daily basis. That’s what makes it so appealing, because of how low I feel on a particular bad day, when the harassment is tuned up to full whack.

But then I simply ask myself, is being a fighting mercenary so bad? They only pick on the bright ones. My life has merit and meaning, honour and valour and dignity…if menticide can happen to me so easily than what’s to stop it happening to our kids? I have to rise up and be righteous. After all, it’s eternity that matters, not this ‘but a breath’ shenanigans beeswax down here on Earth.

Fair Weather

I’ve been complained about in group for being a sick-ass pervert.

Well, not exactly. But for making people feel awkward. Yes, talking about porn. What am I supposed to bang on about? It’s a big thing for me. There were women present, which didn’t help. I think they’re all sexually repressed, and struggling with it themselves, to be honest. Why is it still such a taboo subject? Can’t we all just talk openly about XXX material?

While you’re enslaved, it’s impossible. When you’re in bondage to a female actor, or, even worse, a male actor, then things are just too shameful to get your head around. It erodes you of your identity, as a person. It makes you homosexual. It makes you a deviant. It makes you something in the eyes of the Devil. Something unholy, ungodly, and downright filthy dirty. What, you say, a few harmless snippets of porn throughout the day? How can it do all that? Where’s the problem? I only talk from experience, as with everything else on this blogspot.

My boy Jeff from church says he hates it, it is Satan’s version of God’s love, and that he’ll never watch it again for the rest of his whole life. I thought that was an extreme opinion when I first heard it. Now, I’m feeling inclined to agree with him. I’d love to be like Jeff. But I still crave it, in a way, with the drugs. It’s a thrill. And yet I hate it at the same time, just like him. I hate its supernatural effect on me. Once I start on it, I can’t turn it off. Like an alcoholic reaching for the sixteenth rum and coke. I’ve said all this before.

I’m FAIR WEATHER tomorrow, in brighter terms. FAIR WEATHER is a mental state. I use it to describe the shape of being three months clean. Normally, I’m talking about demons and relapses. It must make for depressing reading. Please accept my apologies for the brutal gritty honesty displayed in the past here, regarding drug use. I feel grateful and thankful that disheartening demoniacs are off the menu today. I’d rather talk about how uplifting it is to reside with the Most High for a change. God. All my life I’ve been serving the other guy, watching porn and getting high, and now, once I’ve stepped out of the shadow momentarily, I can glimpse a shimmer of future optimistic light. I hope it's not an oncoming train!

So today is FAIR WEATHER EVE. This is a peculiarly enjoyable mental state I’ve invented for myself. There’s truth in it, it isn’t just fiction. I’ve been trying for a long time to achieve it. I hope I can hang around in it for some time and relish it. It’s payday today, so I am tempted to buy illicit substances as is the norm, but even I, with all my inherent bonehead numb-nut childish stupidity, wouldn’t hurt myself with my nose so close to the goal. I’m a bit of a self-masochist, but to use the very evening before the 3 month mark would be insanely ill-advisable. It would cut me up for weeks.

You watch, I’ll be back here in a few days’ time talking about fapping to the DK again! Wouldn’t you just know it? I’ll f**k up yet again, just like I always do. I’m running a risky business, because the cleaner you are, the more a relapse hurts you. And they really do sting. They are by far the most painful episodes in all of existence. For me, anyway, in my book. Bereavements, redundancies, divorces and the like don’t even come close. Nobody or nothing can ever hurt me as much a relapse does. It totally destroys my eternal karma overnight. I see it etched deep into the eyes of fellow sufferers in group, and my struggle is far worse than any of theirs. My pain is greater.

 

40 Pats On The Back

40 Days of Clean time equal 40 pats on the back, a Samaritans worker has just suggested to me. I suppose I should be kind to myself. Maybe I’ll celebrate with 40 beers! No, I’m doing really well, truth be told. I’m just painfully aware that it can all go Pete Tong any day of the week. I’m overdue a relapse, if I’m honest, this is a lengthy spell to be away from drugs and porn stars. A very long period of abstinence indeed. I miss them so badly though today, all of a sudden!

I’m getting a little tempted for the first time in this most recent of recovery terms.

Two things have got me thinking down the Use-Up road again.

One is a chance occurrence with my dealer yesterday. He’s fresh out of prison and I took his number. He offered me Fast (amphetamine) and I declined. What I’m after him for are PGs (pregabalin). They are my drug of choice these days. They hardly even qualify as real drugs, in my opinion. Prescription drugs are just medication which the doctors don’t know how to administer, that’s all. If the quacks had any sense, they would have me on a handful of pregabalin every day, instead of sticking a crappy anti-psychotic in my glute which doesn’t do jack-sh*t. So, that’s my version of it. Not even a real drug, just medication. Okay, I take ten, instead of the prescribed one or two, but I’m a big guy with a high tolerance. And they put me in such a good mood. I had some last week, walking around in a happy coma, half-asleep on my feet for much of the time, but it feels so nice. And yes, I’m still clean, because I just got done telling you that they aren’t even drugs, in my humble opinion. You might do and probably do do disagree. You might say that I’m abusing them.

Of course, the temptation to buy Fast, with his number in my phone again, is quite prevalent. What’s putting me off the obvious hedonism and horny sexuality of the drug is the fact that my perps might put another hybrid into my property. I’m not fortunate to believe in the possibility that the last two mutants have been harmless shape-shifters borne of my imagination: I believe that they were physical entities implanted in my bedroom by a shady agency, with the purposes of getting me to get up and leave, thereby evicting myself.  The eventuality of sharing your inner sanctum with hybrids who live under the bed for weeks at a time is almost too frightening to properly cogitate, and results in a fate worse than death.  You might think that I am off my head, thinking along these terms, but you haven’t made eye contact with or smelt one of these things. They are truly revolting and terrifying in every sense of the words, and I’m not too big and brave enough to admit it. Honestly, I don’t know how in God’s name I survived them. They were genuine attempts on my life. If not to evict me, they were there to kill me. They defy description.

Number two reason for this momentary bout of temptation is a sexy encounter by a positive spirit visitation last night. It beats getting raped by the Devil with a metal file (wasn’t that a bangin’ night terror), but it hasn’t really helped my sensuality for fapping. Now, I’m thinking dark thoughts about a certain Demoness Woman who has enslaved me for the last decade. I’ll talk more about her at a later date, but, apart from her forbidden delights, she brings psychosis and terror. She goes by the name of DK. I’ll discuss her after.

 

Nothing To Say

Howdy there fellow revellers in this continual procession which is life. How is the world treating you? I was so bored yesterday that I went to bed at 4pm in the afternoon. This is happening more and more, this early to bed lark, and I seem powerless to stop it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not hating it as I used to, I’m not depressed about it like I used to be, it’s just one of those things which I’m rolling along with. It could be worse; I could be locked up in a mental unit, or have no arms or legs, or be in a war zone. I’m just waiting for payday, which isn’t until next week, so I’ve got a long time to suffer brassic-ness yet. They may as well pay me in cocaine at the moment; that seems to be all I need. That, and a few meals and drinks in the pub. Unfortunately, I can’t afford both. What would you rather have?

The facilitator in Peer Support group told me off the other day for glorifying drugs. That’s a rule in Pathways (Change Grow Live): No Glorification. The saying goes that if it was all that good, then none of us would be sat here in recovery, and wishing we weren’t. I thought therapy would be like that, talking about all the good times, but apparently it’s verboten (forbidden). Who doesn’t like a decent warts ‘n’ all yarn about alcoholism and drug addiction? One time I fell asleep with my electric blanket cranked up all night after downing a bottle of whiskey, I was so dehydrated in the morning, I felt like I’d been cooked alive, only bacon butties and pop can help a situation like that.

I described snorting coke as like eucalyptus on the brain, and got told off. I was just been honest. On the other hand, drug taking is seedy and dark and nasty, with nothing positive about it whatsoever. The dealers are vermin to some, flooding our streets with poison and enslaving millions of young people by stealing away their free will and future. I know a guy in recovery, right, he’s about 16 years clean, I call him The Sheriff because he’s The Sheriff of Recovery; anyway, he says that all he would do with a bag of beak is spit on it. I wish I was like that. At the moment, I want to indulge in fat white stripes and watch porn on it. Wild, isn’t it, how two minds can vary? I went six months without it last year, I was doing really well, but I was using amphet in the meantime.

I remember the kidney pain I had towards the end of last summer, possibly through the phet use. Wow, that was ever-so bad. I couldn’t stand up, couldn’t sit down, couldn’t lie, couldn’t do nothing. It was atrocious. I was just squirming around, like an eel lying on hot drawing pins. Thanks be to God that he took that pain away from me, and hasn’t returned it since. I really don’t miss the phet at the moment. The dehydration is insane when you go into the sexual trances I enter, and it messes with your mental health something chronic. So bollocks to that happy crappy – at least until my dealer gets out of prison! Right then, okay, I’m off for a couple of pints in the pub, then it’s off home to enjoy some chicken in white sauce and rice! And bed early – again…

Apologies if it feels like I’m glorifying drugs here at the blogspot. That’s not my intention. I wouldn’t wish them on my son, and if they happened to him I’d tell him to simply enjoy. We can’t all have careers and families and other saving quantities in our lives, can we, so we ourselves, and both the godless, turn to drugs. I’m misshaping my beliefs around them at the moment, I believe that they may be just harmless comfort for the vulnerable. Probably wrong there like! The stuff we tell ourselves!

 

Addiction

Addiction is such a cunning and baffling enemy. Just when you think you have it defeated, it drags itself up from the ashes to wreak havoc moreover once again, returning like Freddy and Jason. Why do we continually go back to the crap, like headless chickens and dogs to vomit? I’ve been on this hamster wheel for over 25 years now, sick and tired of being sick and tired. When I first met a woman named Bennie I burned my collection of pornography and thought it was all over, early doors. 46 days later I had a sober fap to porn (with happy ending) and was placed instantly back on the painful carousel again. I was talking to my CPN about this earlier today (main nurse). About the drugs, the porn, and the masturbation, and about how they all link in to each other. He suggested I should split them up because it is only the substances which are harmful, not the porn or fapping. But, for me, porn is a spiritual addiction. I feel like it distances me from God, and that is never a good thing in anybody’s handbook. If I have a 5-minute knockout (wank), then I lose my clean time. This is just part of the strict guidelines I have imposed upon myself. If I have a line of coke, I similarly lose any clean time I’ve been in hard work building up. To do all three together, including using the porn, just kicks all my clean time into touch. 20 days (at the moment), does not feel like a lot, but it depends which way you’re looking at it. If someone said you can have a Zonda in 20 days time, I’m willing to bet that that time would drag like a bitch. 20 days into the future is a long time, but, going backwards, it doesn’t feel like so much of a hike. I guess that’s why they call it 20/20 vision in hindsight.

Am I still dreaming of ever getting clean for eternity? Well, I’d rather be sat on 20 days and asking these questions than not. On Day Zero, the answer is no, yeah you are still dreaming Mr. Buddy. But with 20 days, there’s a bit of hope. I’ve done 20 days, why not do 40, 60, 80? I’ve been reading my power bible, and after my last God-moment during the aftermath of my last hellish relapse, I’m starting to think that this is my last chance saloon. You’re reading someone here who has never cried out to the heavens for help, but the heavens themselves have cried out for him. I had visitations from good spirits last time proclaiming their love for me. That’s why it’s different since my last relapse, because now I’ve got God and Love in very real tangible terms. If God and Love can’t beat a problem, then I for one am running out of ideas. They are the most powerful concepts in the known universe, if you ask me. That is why I harbor an air of silent confidence, because I know I am backed up by pure raw unadulterated power.