Psycho To It

I touched upon the dungeon underneath my property yesterday. I’m not quite ready to talk about it just yet, although I am thinking about it. I’m not sure of the words to use. It’s been there since forever, since I can remember, although I was only made aware of it about three years ago. I remember the day I was absolutely made certain that there were evildoers beneath me, it was daunting, all I could do was drink and smoke cheap ciggies and wish it wasn’t happening. Since then I’ve gotten used to it a lot, and half of the time I don’t even consider the possibility. But it was a shock when I first found out, I was bricking it, and the voices in my head always say they are going to kidnap me and bring me down. They still say that to this day, all day every day, day in day out. It’s a primordial fear, to have a secret bunker full of torture underneath you. I’ve learned to control my fear over the years. You can imagine what it sounds like down there. Full of misery pain anguish and death. But enough about that for the moment, because I don’t want to depress you. I want to be a relative beacon of light and hope, not scaredy-ass dread- and jitters-mongering. That’s my hope anyway. I hate anything that depresses me.

My mate Crazy Azzy says he goes psycho to things that he hates. That’s his term, “I go psycho to it.” He has three main things he goes psycho to. One is psycho to Nick Ellison. Nick Ellison is a kidnapper. Crazy Azzy says he goes psycho to Nick Ellison. He also says that he goes psycho to a whip. And finally he goes psycho to music that he doesn’t like. He describes himself as a new-age punk.

What do you go psycho to? I go psycho, at the moment, to anything that depresses me. I go psycho to it.

I’ve just been talking with a friend named Jackie. She’s been a staunch hardcore addict for 14 years, but now she is 2 weeks and 6 days clean. I didn’t think she’d do it if I’m honest, she was too far gone. She got married last week to a husband who only has 3 months to live due to drinking. She says she cleans his excrement up every morning and has to lift him off the toilet with her Judo skills because he hasn’t got the strength to do it himself. He goes through a crate of 18 beers a day, half a bottle of vodka, and a bottle of wine. She’s just been showing me her wedding snaps on her phone stood outside Pathways in the rain. We get along really well, she keeps saying that I’m a handsome man lol. It’s nice to be complimented. She just gave me 3 fags to smoke. I wish her all the very best and hope she stays clean because the drop back from the time you have been doing well is just awful and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody, least of all Jackie.

Not much else to report. Saturday is a bit of a danger day in regard to substances because it’s now not yet 1pm and my day’s business is almost over. Reportedly, there’s a circus on at 4pm in the town park. That sounds quite interesting, but I’ve got one eye on my speed dealer’s mobile number, as is per usual. I just wish I wasn’t a TI, and could use drugs as other normal people do, and enjoy a bit of pornography. On the other hand I feel like a junkies pervert with nothing else to live for, so it’s a dilemma.

If you are having a hard time from harassers or hate groups then it might be worth reading Deuteronomy 28, to find out what God Almighty has in store for your enemies. It’s a real eye-opener. The Lord’s wrath is ferocious when people pick on his children. I’ve started reading it cover to cover, I’m making good headway and am now on the Book of Joshua. It’s taking hours and hours to get anywhere with it. Some of it is slightly boring (please forgive me for saying that), but some if it is magical. I truly believe now that that book is the empirical word of God.
 

Keyworker, And First Mention Of The Dungeon

I’ve got back into Pathways the last couple of days, in a bid to restore my heaven-sent routine. The only thing is, I end up back at home at around half three in the afternoon, maybe four, and the evening stretches out before me like a long winding road. That’s when thoughts of using kick back in, and I peer longingly at the dealer’s number on my mobile phone. I just can’t keep busy enough for most of the day. The daytime is one thing, but late afternoon and evening are another.

I’ve just been pulled by my keyworker once more. He said he doesn’t know what to do with me. He even threatened to knock me off the books at Pathways, because my attendance has been sporadic. I’ve probably been attending longer than he has been working there! What a cheeky so-and-so. I’ve never been so offended. Turned away from a free drug and alcohol clinic, which acts as a lifeline for so many? I’ve never heard such complete garbage in all of my adult life. He’s got the hump about me going to the pub between groups. He said it’s disrespectful to the service. It’s not my fault if everyone is a drunk. There are hardly any real true druggies left who use the centre. In actual fact, he walked past me and collared me as I was entering the pub today. Who’s the last person you want to witness you walking into a boozer –answer, your ruddy bloody keyworker!

He’s arranged a three person meeting with my community nurse. What’s my nurse got to do with anything? He reckons that my drinking in the pub is stopping my medication from working. I told him that the medication doesn’t work verbatim, it never has done and it never will do. I didn’t tell him about me being haunted by ghosts, as he’s got enough to think about. How can a pill stop a ghost from haunting a man? I’m always in psychosis when I use stimulants; the injection I’m on does sod all to prevent the symptoms from occurring. Voices galore, hallucinations, torture movies in my mind…the list goes on and on. When it comes to describing the madness on this blog, I am very tentative about it. I only ever touch over the surface detail. The real horror of being a Targeted Individual I keep to myself. The best stories are the ones you tell yourself. But I know that readers appreciative honesty. I’ll try and see how honest I can get here at the blogspot.

I could start with the dungeon underneath my property, couldn’t I? How’s that for horror. Yes, I live on the ground floor. I became aware that there was something underneath me several years ago, but I’ve been burying it deep within my subconscious. Now I cannot ignore it and feel compelled to write about it. Maybe describing what it’s like to live above a dungeon will help me cope with the daily drag of it, I don’t know. But more on that at a later date. The main thing is that I do intend to write about it. I’m breaking this news with meticulous deliberation, as I don’t want to startle or scare anybody. I also have reservations about being a fear-monger. But it’s been haunting me for some time, and continues to do so on a daily basis. There’s not that much to write about though really – I’ve got a dungeon underneath my flat and that’s it. There, I feel better for saying that. Please God help me with the problem.

 

God's List

Hi again, I’m feeling quite tempted to walk on the wild side again. I woke up with two strong cans of lager to help me ‘level up’. That’s what a few of the lads in recovery call getting drunk, ‘levelling up’. It’s a joy to do with the Karpackie. (Karpackie is the name of the 9.0% lager I drink.) I mean, it never ends, does it? Not with powerful stims and porn. You just want more and more of it all of the ruddy bloody godamn bleedin’ time. I wish the urge would just get up and leave me for eternity. Do I announce myself as a slave in its presence, and fall accordingly, or man up a touch and request – or demand – that it do one and leave me alone? I’ve got a foot in both camps if I’m honest.

This morning I made a mini list of what God can do for me today. There were only four elements in the lot. First up was a delicious Chinese meal, which I enjoyed for my lunch. I’m really grateful for that. It was a tasty potato, rice and pork offering. Second on the list was that I could share and talk openly in a group, which I’ve just done. I discussed the difficulty of starting again from square one, and of the hardship that comes by taking it one day at a time. It is really nice to make it to your pillow clean from drugs though, and equally nice to wake up in the morning with no comedown or hangover. I have to focus on those pleasurable feelings, instead of using on impulse and suffering in pain for days and days. Third on the list was an hour on the internet, which I’m currently enjoying as I type this. Bit of YouTube music, know what I mean. A mixed playlist like. I don’t have good music at home, as I got rid of all my CDs when I destroyed all of my belongings two or so years ago. I don’t know why I did that. I must have been off my rocker. I put my laptop in the bath and everything, in a bid to start again from scratch. Thankfully I didn’t throw my bed away. I still have my bed to travel to the Astral Plain in. Praise be to God for that much. And last on the list was a cold pint of lager. I’m off to the pub the instant that this is done. Wish me a happy beverage, and I’ll wish one to you. If you drink, that is. Maybe you don’t. In that case, you might want to enjoy a glass of cream soda, or cordial, or icy bottled water.

I’m not quite okay at the moment. I’m a tad wrong. I hope that you don’t suffer from the afflictions that I am now enduring, like being tracked, stalked and harassed by electronic weaponry. As if life wasn’t hard enough anyway, eh? Over ‘n’ out, bye for now.

 

  

All The Way Back Down To Day 2 Again

 

Hi peeps, sorry it’s been so long. I’ve been a miserable failure in all walks of life. I’ve still been using unfortunately, powerful stimulants, and I’ve only managed to string ten days of clean time together in all of the last six weeks. I’m currently all the way back down to Day 2. I’m hard-pressed on every side, crushed, flattened and oppressed, demoralised and depressed and forlorn, but not without hope in the Lord my God.

I left psychosis this morning when I woke up; the voices and hallucinations have given me a break. I am so grateful for the little relief I get. I’ve just celebrated with a fine Chinese meal for my din-dins. I’m half-planning on attending an NA meeting tonight in the local health centre. They always tell you at meetings to keep coming back, no matter what you’re going through and feeling, to keep coming back. I might try and abide by that philosophy today.

To get it out of the way, I must impress upon you that I have lost my leader, my sweet little Abbie. Abbie is a spirit, not a real person, but she has been crusading with me through my ordeal in the Seventh Circle of Hell for the last five or six years or so. Sadly, she has flipped to the dark side, and is now my enemy. I still love her, I always will, she was my pocket rocket angel, but now she hates me and wants me to suffer. Her turn of mind to me is quite inexplicable, I cannot reason it out. She’s saying that I stopped loving her. I can only presume that she never loved me to begin with, or she would never do this to me. She is only 14 years old though, just a child. I have a new leader whose name is Prue, she is an oriental spirit of approximately the same age, although she is more mature and sensible than Abbie. Abbie has always had an evil streak, that is why she was so good at fighting evil. I’m handling her departure extremely well, but now, instead of loving her, I have to fight her. And she is very powerful. The only positive note is that I gave her everything she has. I, in a sense, created her.

I also have a new ghost hovering around me who I call Geraldine. Geraldine is a very powerful warrior who fears no other ghost. She is a very sporty 17 year old. It might sound farfetched, but often I am simply sat in my bedroom coming down off a bad trip watching good and bad ghosts fighting each other on my behalf. It’s a rollercoaster ride to spectate upon. I can’t bear to watch in case the good ones suffer at the hands of the bad. Sometimes they win and sometimes they don’t. The state of my mental health depends on the outcome. I don’t mean to come across as some pioneer of spiritual madness when writing, but I’m just stipulating the truth. Thanks. Hopefully see you a bit sooner next time.

4 Weeks Away

Hello there, it’s been a long time. A whole month is far too long to be away from My Special & Precious White Voider. I apologise, I’m sorry, I’ve been relapsing on poisonous chemicals whilst viewing pornography. Duh! I feel embarrassed and ashamed to have ever left you. It’s been a rough couple of weeks, I thought it would never end. I’ve dragged myself out in public to the local hotspot library to communicate with you finally. I pray you haven’t given up hope that I would never return. A lot of stuff has happened. Mainly I’ve been isolated with hazardous waste flowing though my system, surging through my veins like fiery wax and decimating my mind as if it wasn’t even there.

It’s pleasant to be back conversing with you. I listen to music when I write, and that is pleasant too. I have no CD player back home. I have nothing back home but the filth of my addiction, lingering over my surrounds like a squalid aroma. You help lift all that and transport me to an oasis of calm. I cherish it like honey. Nothing can touch me as I’m blogging to you. It’s a shame it can otherwise.

My uncalled-for enemies have been making my life a living hell, getting really close to me as they used to do, hanging around outside my apartment and calling me names lol. If only they were just really only calling me names. That would be bearable. But their methods of oppression are off the hook. They’ll stop at nothing to utterly and totally completely destroy me. I rise up, partly, with you. At times, back in the past, only a heart of ice helped me stand again. Now, I want the suburbs of that frozen soul melted and placed on display ready for affection and sentiment. I’m sick of being hard against perp, tough and ready to battle; I want a tear and a love-struck wandering about me. I long to look at God’s Children and think Wow!

I witnessed God in my darkest hour. He dropped down from Heaven and appeared at my window. I know what you’re thinking, that I’m just another crazy nut job. But don’t forget that I’m an Apostle of The Lord, and it wouldn’t be that much of an effort for him to reveal himself to me now and again. In fact, why wouldn’t he, from time to time, if I’m in dire straits and trouble? Yes he did, Yes he would, Yes he will do. He said it, I believe it, and that settles it. Only signs, miracles and wonders define an apostle. It was devotedly outstanding and strangely striking in a unique and intimate manner. I’ll never forget it for the rest of my life. Now, for the first real time, I know that The Word is true verbatim. He’s the best story teller that has ever walked the globe. And he DOES walk amongst us. He could be a girl on the bus. That’s what I believe anyway.