While Out On Leave

It’s the day before pay day. I’ve only had one can of beer since Friday. I don’t know whether to cane a few good old pints tomorrow, and buy an all-you-eat. Life isn’t that bad on porridge, mixed with Nutella and Whole Earth peanut butter. It’s healthy and cheap. I can’t afford to be spending 15 notes on one meal anymore. Although I can afford almost half a grand on coke. It doesn’t even fill you up for the day. Several hours later you are starving again.

I’m also thinking about an 8-ball of that drug. Just one. The potential is there for two. I’d like two. But I also like a bit of few quid in my pocket. If I could afford it, I’d be on it right now. You wouldn’t get a look in with this web convergence we have going. The substances blow my readers away. Isn’t that a sad thing to say, to a reader, don’t you think? Don’t take it personal. They’ve already blown my family, jobs and life chances away. What chance do you have?

If you were a nice bird, and decided to move in to help me cook and clean, with optional extra benefits, then things might be different. I had the family unit with my ex and her son, once upon a time. I kicked them both out into a bed and breakfast so I could use and view XXX. I was hiding drugs in the freezer, waiting for their eviction date. I had to wait for social services to escort them off the premises. I’ll never forget the look she gave me on her way to the door. Goodbye, girlfriend, now I can rock out.

Before that first night without them was over I was on a psych unit having a nightmare. As soon as I got some leave I would go home and get high for a couple of hours before returning to the ward. The time flew by so quickly watching hardcore in that precious window of allotted time. I was using legal highs if I recall correctly. One female nurse said she’d get me some Pink Panthers, or Charlie Sheen, before I left early at 6am. It turned out to be caffeine powder what she produced. I’d never been so disappointed in all my life, but I sniffed it anyway, and it got me there, so to speak. These were the days before impotent priapism. Priapism is a rare condition of the penis, and a one I could have lived without.

When out on leave at my home, I was limited to like say six hours off the hospital grounds. I’d usually neck some Green Beans or some such other crap and rock out until half an hour before it was time to return. The idea was to pull up my pants and ring a taxi, therefore getting back to the ‘ozzy bang snap on time. But I found myself so elevated from the legal toxins that I couldn’t stop what I was doing. The porn was novel at the time, I was a pig in shit, after spending weeks and months on a sterile acute ward with a dozen or so other mentally-retarded bozos (sorry) the thrill of sex at home intoxicated was exhilarating. Going back when I was just getting into a satisfactory state of horniness seemed stupid. F**k them for a few more hours, I thought. I was risking them sending out law enforcement for me being AWOL. One time they did, threatening to hammer down the door. It was a bluff. They left me alone in the end, after I blasted music openly to give them a message. But on other occasions, I’ve had them burst thru. It’s a gamble. You’re probably better just opening the door to them, although if you really have no intention of speaking face to face with a copper then try ignoring them, they just might go away without coming thru.

The worst thing was, when I finally decided to stop after making myself late, there would be no cabs available. I’d have to walk back to the hospital high as a kite. I’d finish rocking out on the toilet with spank memory once I was in. That nurse lingered by the door uttering mantra.

Dragging myself away from XXX with substances still on the kitchen counter is an impossibility. When they run out, I have been known to resort to drinking a cheeky shot of bleach. That sums up my mental state when I run out of narcotics. The more you have the better you feel, but the more you do the less you have, and the quicker it disappears. That feeling is dreadful. You’re still in party mood but you have none, can’t get none, and can’t afford none. If you have the funds and the dealer’s phone is still on then I’d spend next month’s pay check to finalise that deal, and the month after that, until I was selling my arse up the common for half a line.

It’s this vicelike grip I will encounter again tomorrow when my money goes in. It’s the same dilemma every time, and I usually lose out. Don’t worry, I won’t be drinking bleach. It was a very peculiar porn star who made me do that. She was like a demonic force. I wanted a hit from anywhere to spend a touch more time with her. All it did was make my teeth squeaky and give me a pain deep in my organs. There was no buzz whatsoever. I was probably self-harming in a lenient way. Graphic sexual imagery has that effect on me.

That porn star, and the aforementioned nurse, are now part of the stalking network giving me grief, wouldn’t you know. They hail from Scotland and Russia. They harass me on a daily basis with visuals in my head and vibrational auditory stimuli. When I used to get broken in psychosis they’d drive by me and stuff on stolen motorbikes. They have even moved in next door under a cloak of high clearance secrecy to torment me from the other side of a flimsy wall with plausible deniability. I am still in a kind of complicated sexual relationship with the nurse which makes things extremely overcomplex when navigating feelings like sheer hatred and weird attraction. Half of the guns and goons who currently pester me for fun I was once in love with. They do say that only true love has the ability to hurt you.

I hope your emotive feelings are a lot more manageable than mine.

This has been the 77th Piebalder, typing at the sweet spot. Look after yourselves, and each other.