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.
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