Howdy there
yet again brothers and sisters. I feel like a glowing vessel of light and
warmth. That may sound corny, I know, but it’s better than being a broiling
cauldron of venom and hate. I’m accepting my place in the universe, even in the
dead of night, when I wake up at Nobhead O’clock, alone and vulnerable in the
dark. The authorities are trying to get me back on my meds, yet I’m withstanding
like a well-structured lighthouse in a gale force wind. There’s no way that’s
happening. Life is totally different without them. Ever since I watched a
damning documentary about medication on YouTube several years ago I knew that
they weren’t for me. The brain is a different animal when not subjected to
them. I like being off meds.
It feels as
if something heavy and oppressive has lifted off my mind, something hard to put
a finger on. I can only describe it as a large greeny-brown splodge, a smear, a
stain, a befuddling cloud which dumbs down your thoughts. The doctor said that
the purpose of the medication was to stop difficult thoughts. Yes please! Give me
some of that! But he was talking out of his bottom. The truth is more like
this: It was making me afraid and paranoid of what it was really actually doing.
They have no idea, the people who make it, because they have never taken it. I don’t
care how many fancy boxes and side-effect lists the drug comes with. All I know
is that now it is over, I can finally be drug-free.
They say in
the fellowship that alcohol is a powerful substance, but can you feasibly call
everyone in the pub a druggie? A few pints chills you out man. When you start
necking bottles of vodka with no mixer, from morning till night, I can see
where the troubles start to come in, but a few lagers? Where’s the harm?
Personally, I don’t believe that booze is a drug. I might be in rampant denial
when I state this, because I lift a jar every day, but there’s no seediness to
it, there’s no deception, there’s no criminality, and, most importantly, there’s
no psychosis. Not with me anyway. I can only speak for myself though.
I’m finding
small pockets of joy in food. Pizza and lasagne mainly. As long as you can
still enjoy little things…it’s very important. The enemy wants you enjoying
absolutely nothing, not even a smile from a stranger, not even a happy thought
in your own head. I’ve almost had my mind taken away from me, by various acts
of criminally-insane warfare, and am lucky to be sat here today, talking to
your good self. I feel pleased grateful and glad to be able to do this at the
present moment. I’d just like to share this special occasion with you. There is
nothing all over me, in the guise of drug addiction at the minute, or graven
porn imagery, even though it’s pay day. The disease, as they call it, of
addiction, has been lifted along with the medication. I don’t feel like curling
up under my duvet and fapping in a darkened room anymore. I don’t feel like
relaying mantra upon mantra back and to with the DK either. I just feel like
walking about and staring at people for who they truly are, warm magical bulbs
and halos of light and peace.
