So this is it then, eh, what being free and liberated is all about, being able to speak one’s mind across all the platforms? Having a safe soapbox from which to vent, only to understand, that once you have cleared your throat, there’s very little to say. Just as I start to cherish this public podium, I realise that my words have all but dried up. I think there may have been one or two attempts to have it removed. I even got it into my head that this site might be protected from such attacks. The truth is that I don’t know what’s going on. I just keep turning up and running out of things to say.
One thing I can comment on is the discussion we’re just had in SMART recovery group. We were talking about our thoughts and how they influence our decision making process. The woman sat next to me rather surprisingly stated that our thoughts are not our own. Well whose are they then? Someone replied. I chuckled wryly. Come on then, if they’re not your own, somebody quipped in. Then where the bloody hell do they come from? Mental health, the lady answered. She thought that thoughts ringing around in your head which do not originate from you come from mental health. As if mental health is a general ‘thought policing’ board which meets daily in the town square and assigns clouds of unwanted cognitions into people’s heads.
One guy, a paranoid schizophrenic and proud of it, said that he controls the voices in his head with benefits. Vodka and cannabis, to be precise. I would have thought that that would make them worse. He said his day begins with a glass of vodka on his bedside cabinet. Before his feet have touched the floor he’s rolling his first spliff. He maintains that every single morning starts like this one, and always has done, apart from when he went two weeks clean several years ago. Something to do with the birth of a daughter long ago cast off into the care of social services or something. Keep at it. You’ll get there.
Some of the groups I attend have a strange chemistry. I’m becoming increasingly aware that there may be one or two ‘community based operatives’ in them. Their primary function is to talk over me, or to keep me quiet. I can’t prove any of this of course, but certain people in the fellowships I attend around the town seem to be either butting in ahead of me or interrupting me when I open my mouth. There’s not a lot to be done about this, I can’t go letting allegations fly out at them, so I kind of simply sit back calmly and try and pick my moments and just get on with it. It just lets me know for certain that my input is valuable. You never know who might be down in the dumps one weeknight evening and in need of lifting up spiritually. I’m not saying that I’m the best mood bender in the west, but we never do truly see or understand our own power, do we? Maybe other people do see and understand it, and take great lengths trying to stop it.
As if I haven’t got enough problems, without Harry trying his damnedest to prevent me from speaking to Sally. It’s a peculiar sensation, when you first become aware that this strange phenomenon may be happening to you: People keeping you from people. It’s hard to gage the correctly measured response. It’s also hard to accept. Why the hell would Harry suddenly appear in the high street and start rabbiting on about codswallop for five minutes, practically holding me hostage, knowing I am far too polite to wave him away. Well, because I was about to bump into Sally, that’s why. Nah, you think, stuff like that doesn’t happen, surely…
What bad can occur from two people simply ‘meeting’ each other? Well, I’m fairly certain I’ve cracked the answer to this one. Do you want to know what it is? It’s JOY, between those two people. Nothing more, nothing less. They merely like being with each other. Hard to believe, I know, that others would wish to spoil this, but I have it on first-hand experience that this is indeed the case.
The Chinese Terrorists and Russian Spies and all the low-level perps who follow me around on foot all day have my JOY on their wish list. Their mind control operations create a negative reaction for every happy thought I have. Only since becoming aware of the WAR ON JOY have I began to feel it so abundantly for the first few times in my life, and also really been aware and present of it, like you know. I’ve been sat there p*ssing myself to daft YouTube videos, more noticeably the Rocky fights, lol! They try and tell me differently, saying it’s not real joy, but they’d urinate on my head and tell me it was raining if they could get away with it. But enough about them already, because they’re too depressing!
I’d just like to give thanks for having the opportunity to spill my guts here. The way my life is at the moment, it’s over and back on from one minute to the next. I’m either totally down and out or raging to go. I’m prepared to mount a challenge for my joy, and keep it very precious and valued and close to my heart. I’m aware that once you lose your ability to feel joy, life is almost not worth living. I’ve been very close to it on occasion more than once over the period of the last few months. Finding it, giving it up, being entrusted with it once more…this time I hope and pray that I will never throw anything so cherished away ever again.
They call me ‘The Angel Maker’ in certain circles. This is because, when, in times of great crisis and despair, I always make a little girl or two to symbolize my holy aspirations for fairness and justice. I just need a real human face to embody the sentiment of my love, is all. I take these faces from some very remarkable places, including flyers and posters from years and years ago. I enflesh them in my mind and embody them in my psyche until wouldn’t you know it they become almost semi-real in my subconscious.
Would you believe me if I told you that the terrorists and spies clone these girls from their appearance in my mind into physical bodies and have them fight me on the streets of England, as sworn enemies? That is the level of degeneracy which I am up against. They take my allies, and make them hate me too. From my mind to the world. But every now and again, like last night for example, I get a nice message in a dream. From my angels. Who tell me to keep going…AND NEVER GIVE UP!
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