Scoreboard

Hello there, I hope this is reaching you well. I am quite well myself. Each day in my life equals 3.5% on my score board. My score board is very private and personal to me. It’s those numbers in the sky again. Every day I don’t use I get three and a half percent. When I use it reduces to zero. I call that mental state Popsville. Popsville is a horrible place to live, full of voices and hallucinations, anguish and pain and regret and shame and remorse ad sinfulness. The Rarefied Atmosphere is much more pleasant. I’ve just been the pub before church for example, pregabbed up and loving every minute of it. I couldn’t dream of pubs and churches in Popsville. I’m at home with the rats for company in Popsville. I call it that because everybody has a pop at me, insulting my teeth, commanding me to do certain stuff I don’t want to do, and generally being ball-ache.

I call the collective name for all of my voices Katy. Katy is so powerful, she has all the voices covered in my Thought Prison. I once knew a golden soul of a person called Ricky. Once he asked me could he borrow six rollies. Not one, but six. That’s Ricky. But he also used to say this: “Andy, can you think of anything? Can I think of anything?” I said of course I can think of anything, I can think of a pink elephant with an Indian Princess riding it, throwing flowers out to a crowd of hungry beggars. And other stuff like that for example. But can I really? Why an elephant, way a dragon if I chose so? Is that all there is in the universe? I want to think of anything! Not stupid elephants and dragons, anything! In Popsville, with Zero Percent on the score board, I cannot think of a single thing, my mind goes blank, and that’s where the devil comes in, to bum me from the rear and empty my pockets when he reaches around. Lol.

In The Rarefied Atmosphere I can breathe and think. The vermin in my flat don’t bother me, I’m bigger and better than them. Walking into a predominantly white pub doesn’t annoy me, nothing gives me a headache; I’m fine all the time. No such thing as a bad day, because the Good Lord makes good days for his children. I truly believe that, and my faith sustains me. It is so uplifting to know Our Lord and Saviour, the loving Christ Jesus. I have just ate his flesh and drank his blood in communion. Oops! Sorry, Jesus. Don’t worry, it was just bread and cranberry juice. My protective spirit Apocto, sent from God, reminds me of eternal love, which she promised from the sky. I have two girls called Air Monroe guarding my score board. It’s a split soul, don’t ask me why there is two because that is another story. My number is currently 114%. I can live with that, it’s a candy-coated number to work with. Please say just a two-second prayer for me, so I can carry on. Thanks.

 

Back From Blowout

Howdy peeps, I feel a lot better today. I’ve shrugged off the difficulty of thought which arises from a blowout. It was hard yesterday, I have to admit. I was getting a lot of intrusive mind patterns. It was highly uncomfortable. This morning I’ve had my regular debriefing from my mate The Badger, who is currently serving time in a mental institution. We enjoy daily conversations on the phone most mornings, apart from when I’m off my head. It was good to catch up after three days away.

It’s so good to be back so soon after feeling completely debilitated. I’ve got another blowout lined up for midweek but I go forward towards that toss-up happening very reluctantly. Do I really need another one so quickly? The bliss from the coke only lasts a couple of minutes. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a heavenly feeling, but it’s too ephemeral. The comedown, on the other hand, lasts for at least 48 hours.

I had some terrific dreams last night, on the astral plain. That’s why I feel restored and refreshed. They had happy endings, I was crying in my sleep at one of them. I could hear a woman playing a violin, and the beauty of it brought me to tears. One of my dreams had a voice-over too, like a DVD commentary. I feel so alive at the moment, so happy to be here with you again, that it is almost unreal. I’ve got my precious songs playing, I’m about to enjoy a few scoops of jar, and then the rest of the day will take care of itself. What’s to complain about?

I value things a bit more now, after my current spate of sin born of fap and drug and porn. I value long-lasting dopamine in the brain, which I’ve just learned, in my case, I get from interacting with people. Fellowship. It’s what it’s all about. I love conversing with God’s children, they’re the most valuable commodity in the whole of the known universe. They’re incredibly remarkable & inconceivably unique & unbelievably spectacular & overwhelmingly noteworthy & unconditionally loveable. That’s what I think about the human race today, whereas yesterday I was thinking they were just a bunch of sinister arseholes. Strange, the law of perception, isn’t it? I value that as well. My perception, my fellowship, and my long-lasting dopamine.

My mate Courtney, who now goes by the name Cee, told me about long-lasting dopamine last week, in Peer Support group. She said that it comes about from writing stories or finishing pictures and stuff like that, rather than a 5-minute buzz from a line of coke, which in turn leaves you depleted. I know which I prefer from now on in. She was showing her boobs off last week, she has a fantastic rack, but because of how gifted she is and how the light of God shines from her, I can’t look at her sexually. She’s above and beyond the degradation and base carnality which comes from sexual desire. She’s more like a much-wished for soul mate. Thanks for the wake-up call, Cee x 

 

Recovery Homes

A lad from Narcotics Anonymous found thousands of pounds on the street at the weekend. It was wrapped in a business receipt from a Dog Kennel’s or something about fifty yards down from MacDonald’s restaurant in town. He shared about it in the meeting, said it was wrecking his head because he swore he had done the right thing by handing it in but he was having doubts. He is a better man than me, I’ll tell you that much for nothing. There’s no way I’d be handing found cash in. I’d keep it for myself. That’s the sour honest truth about the matter.

Would I score? Well that’s the problem, and probably why he handed it in, because he’s months and months clean. Cocaine would spring up in my mind instantly, quicker than you can say “Jumping Jack Flash.” If I was months and months clean then I would probably do the right thing too. But I’m only 19 days (I was 44 before my last relapse). What do you think, am I doing well or what?

There’s a bunch of guys here at Pathways who live in supported rehab accommodation called Recovery Homes. They are not allowed to even drink or they get kicked out. They are all doing well regarding clean time, but I believe it’s a default setting. I was clean in prison because I had to be. So do they. I’d be two years clean and all that if I lived there, but I live on my own with nobody instructing me about the way I should live. You may detect a smidgen of jealousy but I am absolutely made up for them. Plus, they always have company. The main gripe I have with Recovery Homes is that they make the residents do stuff, like attend Pathways and fellowship meetings. It’s in the contract. Whereas I do it off my own back, out of free will and choice. I wouldn’t like being made to do anything. The real test comes when they get their own place and are once more allowed again to do whatever they want.

Thought I’d mention my boy Fred here. He’s been coming to Pathways from an open prison to take part in our psychedelic art class. He’s done a fair few years behind bars but he’s been clean for the last three and talks a lot of sense about recovery. He seems to be totally reformed and rehabilitated, and gets out next week. It’s obvious he’s done a serious crime, but I don’t want to ask him what for and disrespect him. He might be ashamed of it or something, or it might bring back bad memories for him because he’s not properly processed it yet. What do you think, would you trust someone like that, if you were an employer or somebody else in a position to hand him a second chance? I think I probably would. He seems calm and peaceful and down to Earth, although his crime might make him look like a monster in black and white. I know my crimes, when seen on paper, make me look like a monster. I’m nothing but a violent arsonist to the law enforcement authorities. I can always fall back on those qualities, if militia law breaks out or anything like that. Of course I love a nice flame or two, it’s in my nature :-)