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 |  This is my blog & my hope, writing daily will help me see my progress and log supporters. |
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| Hormones...who'd have them? Because it's possible that some of the readers of my blog are...shall we say, more curious than interested in my recovery (if that sounds harsh, then please, you are most welcome to engage and retort), then I suppose I had better give those people what they want...although what exactly that is, I am still trying to figure out. So, bear with me and I'll keep on probing until I either hear an "Ahhhhhhhh," (imagine me hitting the right spot), or an "AHHHHHHH!" (if the spot I hope is pleasurable turns out to be a nerve). As I mentioned in the blog post, 'A Worthwhile Plan...Part I (06/15/23...see below if you didn't happen to catch it, or just read on or whatever, because I have no control over you and your decisions and never want to) meth makes me either super horney or not very horney at all, depending on timing, dosage, quality of product and how long it has been since I last had an orgasm. Hello...are you still with me? Anyway... Now that my emotions, mental state and hormones are levelling out, things inevitability change. Some of these changes include the desire for company, companionship, and thoughts of what it would be like to get back into a relationship. Let's call them fanciful or simply fantasies. I could tell you that I have other priorities or other pieces of crap that amount to a denial of the facts, but I won't. What I will tell you is that these thoughts are becoming a nuisance and getting in my way. I have a lot to do and simply don't have the time, or the courage (or what the cynic who lives inside of me would call intelligence) to follow through with the actions that might turn my fantasies into a reality. Now you would be forgiven for thinking that I am a typical male and all I can think about is sex. Which is impossible for me to deny, since it's true. But, in my humble experience and opinion, in general, men like me who may have been through a difficult breakup or a bad divorce (is there such a thing as a good divorce?); men who have served their time by way of sexual abstinence or celibacy...call it what you will, for any and all of the reasons a man might do this, deserve more than misattribution, or worse still, pity. Some of my trepidations are as follows...a fear of contracting an STD. Fear of having the conversation that will be necessary BEFORE I would contemplate most forms of sexual activity (even though I know exactly HOW that conversation should go...but knowing doesn't change the fact that this is seriously scary stuff to discuss with a person it is likely I will not know well). Fear of falling in love again...and of being hurt again. Fear that I may not be the same man I was before any of this took place, physiologically. And all of the fear that will invariably go with that. So much fear that I'm afraid of potentially meeting someone in this regard. All of this, and yet, I cannot deny this hormonal/emotional urge to find a mate. I miss the act of having sex, that is so very true. I have always loved sex and in my almost 59 years, have had very few one-night stands because I want...no, I NEED more than that, especially now. And whoever that lucky gal might be (if there is one lucky gal for me) deserves that just as much as I do. A prude? Not even close. A freak? Quite possibly, depending on who I am with and what she likes to do (I do, however, know when to draw the line...when things are no longer fun. A normal man who just wants someone who wants me in the same way...absolutely. What do I miss the most? Long walks along the beach at sunset? Maybe, but my dodgy knee isn't going to like that at all. Companionship? Certainly, but I have managed to get by for the last eight years on my own, so it isn't the number one point of loss. Kissing...(imagine bells and whistles). Yes, folks, that is what I miss the most...just kissing someone I could fall in love with and care about for the rest of my days. A hopeless romantic trapped in the mind of a scared little boy and the body of a middle-aged man? I don't like the sound of that at all. I almost feel guilty for these feelings that are, by and large, almost impossible to escape. My Mom is close to death and I should not be thinking about anything but her. Damn, these hormones. Damn, this addiction. Damn, my weaknesses. But, damn, I so want to feel love and know the tenderness of a woman again. Damn, I am really going to miss my Mom when she is gone...but, damn, I am so looking forward to the rest of my life...and if it is meant to be, that first kiss. One word describes this track for me...Gorgeous and EXACTLY how I feel. https://youtu.be/H6Sp0u7exPA |
| I visited my Mom tonight. I see her almost every day despite having a phobia of the places we place our old and those nearing death. My Mom fits both of those categories..cardiomyopathy, or a failing heart. She is slowly suffocating and coming to the end of her life. The drugs they administer have a dual effect...like everything in life (and apparently in death). The positive is she won't remember much of her suffering and the negative is she won't remember much of anything as the end draws ever closer. Benzodiazapams, Morphine and antipsychotics will ease the pain, but tonight, because it is so hard for those held responsible for administering the correct dosages, she had a bit too much and was feeling nauseous, so more drugs made her feel a little better. To say this is hard to watch is an understatement. Her words slur and her eyes open and close slowly, as you would expect from someone so heavily under the influence. At least at this stage, she still knows who I am, but I know this won't last as she slips further into the drug-induced haze needed to make her comfortable...as comfortable as one can be whilst trying to take in the air her body needs to survive. If she wasn't a human being, it would already be over and she would now be resting peacefully, instead of the fear she has every night as she goes to sleep. Tonight, we cried silently together. I told her how much I love her and what she means to me. We both wish we didn't have to say goodbye, but I told her that God needs her now more than I do and that she can watch down on me and see me...a happy man as my life continues without her. I don't want to lose her, and knowing that soon she will be gone is something I struggle with every day. Normally when I am struggling emotionally, I turn to meth to help me get through. But not this time. I know that meth would make coping with what is coming so much harder...and things will soon get much worse. I promised her I will hold her hand until I can go no further, and that is what I intend to do. She deserves that and I won't let her down or die alone among strangers. And as hard as that will be, that is my word. |
| My recovery, as usual, is going strong. There will come a time when the honeymoon will be over...when I will just be normal old, Neil, and not the determined person I am today. A month (a little more than a month I think, although the only day I can afford to count at the moment is today) after meth stopped entering my body and mind, is the absolute best time during recovery. I'm back out on the road on my bicycle (a no-expense-spared piece of road bike beauty and engineering) and today, I returned to my home gym to dust off the cobwebs (literally, emotionally, psychologically and physiologically). Enthusiasm sprouting from every atom in my body and exhilaration that sees me smiling at anyone who bothers to look in my direction...I'm smiling at you right now. It's a well-worn path I travel before the inevitable relapse happens...time and time again. That might sound defeatist or even negative in approach, but I have to be real here because if I try to kid you along with promises of success, who am I really kidding but myself. If you have read any of Blog 1.0, you would have read the same words back then, and I would forgive you if you think this is just the same old song I sing. I read a quote today by Steffi Graff (who is married to Andre Agassi, who at one time, was addicted to meth). Her father would tell her that you cannot know the sweetness of success until first tasting the bitterness of failure...or words to that effect. I know that bitterness well, but when I eventually do taste real success, which equates to at least two years of abstinence from using meth (along with the understanding that I can never let my guard down), will be the sweetest moment in my life. I won't be celebrating that day because, to me, this is not something that should be celebrated; only acknowledged and put where it belongs...one more day without drugs in my life. I can't look that far ahead right now for obvious reasons. That's just a dream and I am here giving my dream another crack...that's all I can do. If I could freeze time (on an emotional level to do with my decision to cease using drugs), I would stop everything today. I've said it before...this feeling I have right now is better than any drug I've ever taken. Meth somewhat stifles creativity and once the drug has finally evaporated from my mind, it is quickly replaced by a flood of ideas that is almost overwhelming...especially when I am out there on the road pedalling my bike. For some reason, probably to do with focus and clarity of thoughts, ideas come faster than I can ever hope to absorb, and it's a race to get back home so I can jot down something to remind me...key words, otherwise, they will disappear in the creative tsunami that follows. If I am quick and get lucky, something will come of them, but if not, it isn't that important in the scheme of things. I love to write, but I need to focus on this huge task ahead because once this honeymoon phase ends, it's just me vs the meth...the ultimate battle between good and evil. Will I win? Nobody can answer that question. But what I can tell you is that I will give it my all and hope that win will be mine. I have a lot to live for and a plan that requires me to be sober. And unless I can finally shake this monkey off my back, all the good I am hoping to achieve will fall into the depths of my addiction. That to me would be the hardest thing to face up to. To not save one child from a life of abuse and misery because I was so selfish, stupid and thoughtless, would be the ultimate failure, and in many ways, these children I am hoping to save, will in effect, be my saviours. This is something I will try to keep in mind when addiction next comes knocking on my door. |
| I had a bit of a run-in with a fellow poet here on WdC a while ago. I became upset with him because I reviewed one of his poems...a poem that touched me, and I thought deserved a lot of praise and gift points. The piece popped up in my recommended reading and because the title drew me to it, I clicked without bothering to look at WHO the author was. It was some time ago and I have learned a lot since then about being wary of those superior to myself, along with the expectations I used to have as far as giving reviews is concerned. As I always do, I put a lot of thought into the words I wrote to him. Regardless of this, after four days of waiting for, "Thanks, mate." I began to think perhaps something I had said in the review had upset him. Eventually, I simply couldn't resist sending a slightly indignant email. And the four-word reply read..."Do I know you?" Long story short, he explained to me in a slow voice, so even I could understand, that he receives too many reviews and emails to possibly reply to them all. To which I wondered, if my username was Trixy from Trinidad or Candy from Cali, perhaps a response might have been more forthcoming. But, this is not why I am writing about him today. The reason I am writing this is because once I did do my portfolio research on said author, it became obvious to me that he simply wasn't 'my type' anyway. And this was confirmed by the very bold statement I read declaring himself the third-best poet here on WdC. Now, whilst I can say that he is very good, I do wonder how the hell he came to this conclusion. I'm not sure if there is a competition held annually in the Ultimate Poetry Championships (UPC) and my not-so-gracious fellow author had fought it out among the best to become third runner-up for that year. Or if this is a peer-reviewed title...a title that no one as yet has asked my opinion on. Perhaps I am not yet qualified to gauge such magnificence and must first win some sort of B or C-grade event in order to move up the rankings and have the correct discipline and skills required to know what a good poem is. I mean, who knows? All I do know is that when I read something I enjoy...a piece that speaks to me in ways that I can recognise as being pretty damn special, that to me is good poetry. I think the answer is right under my dimwitted nose...I don't have the necessary clique to even BE noticed, let alone be involved in such high-stakes, artistic endeavours. I've always been quite happy to be invisible, and that's lucky for me because that is exactly what I am to anyone willing to decree themselves as third, second or first (and likely up to and beyond twentieth) best poets on WdC. I wonder how those ratings place in the top one hundred world rankings of best poets on the planet? And over what time frame the judges might look whilst deciding who are the best of these highly skilled and insightfully wordy proponents of free verse (because rhyming poetry is so 1990s...and those who do that are simply imbeciles, without any true artistic merit worth mentioning). Are you hearing the bitterness of a rhymer here? Rhetorically speaking because I know you don't need my answer to know the truth. This 'us and them' mentality is the clique within a group that I very much doubt anyone would want to acknowledge. Particularly those 'in the know'. 'The know' being, those who are in the top one hundred best all-time poets in the multiverse...ever. And of course, those who WISH they could be, but have yet to do enough crawling up the asses of anyone who might help elevate them up the charts to eventual poetic stardom. Ahhhhh...if only I could be THAT good? And hooray that I never ever could because I would kill myself if my self-esteem got so low that this became a goal. But I have to ask...what is the eventual reward for becoming the third-best poet on WdC? Because if that reward is looking down upon the inferior, from the greatest heights, and then harshly critiquing (for their own good, of course) any and all who might dare to present their stupid little poems for review by one so awesome; who probably haven't kissed his, or the even more superior, second and first place getters, asses, with the right degree of worship (or for that matter, anyone who might ACTUALLY be good enough to knock them off their high horses), then the price of fame would be worth every single jealous and envious person who walks away from all the bullshit, thinking...what a bunch of wankers. |
| I like quotes... Judge not, lest ye be judged...Matthew 5-7. Before you judge a man, walk a mile in his shoes...Mary T. Lathrap. The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong...Gandhi. You took too much, man, you took too much, too much...Hunter S. Thompson. And I have a few of my own... The only true love that exists is for the child...whose love for you can never match. And...Change is inevitable...but the direction of those changes starts with us, the individuals in every community, and not with the masses, who we are so eager to blame for it all being so wrong. Enough of the quotes. Nobody likes change unless they are suffering. Human beings are by and large, habitual by nature which is both a good and a bad thing, depending on the habits. My habit of taking drugs is if I am being completely honest (which I am), very selfish and self-indulgent. Me, me, me...without much thought about anything or anyone else. Repentance is not just a word, it's an action and I know I have a lot to repent for. Here in Australia, we think of ourselves as being the lucky country...because we are. When we turn on a faucet and drink, we don't consider that for a second, or what we would do if that wasn't our reality...not like some who live in a place where that would be considered a privilege. We have free hospitals...well, they're not exactly free but paid for through the highest tax rates in the world, but few are complaining enough to want to move elsewhere. I could go on, but I'm sure you have heard about us and why we are so lucky. I am a little uncomfortable with all of this lucky country stuff because there are so many other countries that are not so lucky. Just because we are lucky enough to live in this lucky country, doesn't mean we should gasconade about it...flaunting is unattractive, borders on arrogance and doesn't sit well with me at all. We could do better and that's exactly what I intend to do. I love to learn, especially about people, their cultures and their backgrounds...their stories interest me. When I visit my mother where she now lives, I don't just visit her, but other residents who would otherwise be, to a certain extent, ignored. Older people were once called elders and were respected for their former input and revered for their vast knowledge. Unfortunately, this admiration and respect is declining, at least in my country, and that is a sad thing to say. But, at least they do have care available and this is better than nothing. It's ironic because I would bet a dollar that in general those who live in poorer countries than Australia would be happier and more content with what they do have. We Australians (and probably other Western countries as well) are spoiled and because of that, we tend to look at what we don't have, rather than what we do. The reality is there is poverty everywhere, but the support networks are far from the same when comparing first-world and third-world countries. I would put forward the example of how often a family in Australia MUST sell a child, knowing full well that child will be subjected to sexual exploitation, in order that their community will have a better quality of life, ie; food and shelter. Here, that would almost never happen, but in a third-world country, this happens far too often. It's not that we love our children any more here than they do. It is simply a matter of necessity and those corrupt people, who have no morals or standards, will tempt them. Repentance comes in many forms and mine will be done trying to prevent these families from having to go down this path. When my beautiful mother is gone, she has bequeathed me this house I am now living in. And although I am currently an addict, I haven't spent everything on drugs. I still have a healthy 401 (we call super) and I don't owe one cent to anyone other than those I plan on helping in Thailand. There are already people on the ground doing good work in this regard and after I am settled and have found my place in life, I will begin to distribute this wealth in ways that I hope will change the lives of those less fortunate than I am...who deserve better. You could say that's honourable or even wonderful, but repentance isn't about big noting or braggadocio and the only reason I am telling anyone now is so that you might think along similar lines. When I visited Thailand in 2018, I was changed forever by the people and the culture of giving instead of receiving. That was the first time I realised who I truly am...a Buddhist in my heart and soul. I feel the need to give as much as I can to those who need it the most. When I told my Mom of my plans after she is gone, she thought it was the most wonderful thing and the best way for me to live out the rest of my days...and I couldn't agree more. |
| It's confession time. Forgive me Father for I haven't sinned...well, I have had some thoughts about sins of the flesh, but that is to be expected when you consider the last time I had sex with another person was in December 2016. Since then, I've been occupied to the point where I couldn't begin to consider dating. Some of the things occupying my time have been honourable, whilst others, have not. I would never enter into a potential relationship whilst I am using drugs. That would not be Ok on so many levels. And when a person takes on the responsibility of caring for an older person like a parent, it usually goes from a place where the level of care required is less, and then becomes more demanding over time. So, committing to another is simply not possible or more to the point, feasible. Meth causes extreme everything...when high, extreme sexual desire and when not, very low sexual desire. Happiness follows along the same lines, as does bank account balances except in the opposite. But when I am sober (after enough time has passed to completely clear the system), sexual desire evens out and thoughts of dating inevitably return. Now, I'm no dummy even if I often do dumb things and I realise that there is more to dating than thoughts of a sexual nature. And that's only one component of a very complex series of ritualistic actions and reactions that must be negotiated before having any chance of actually finding someone who might fit my personality, match my chemistry and so many other things that must go as close to perfect as possible to have any chance of discovering 'the one'. And that's assuming there really is that one person out there. Add to all of that the fear things will go awry and I will end up being hurt. Or worse still, I will end up hurting someone else. All things I am very unsure of and that in itself could set me up for failure and assure disappointment. Of course, love is life's gamble and unless you are willing to lose, then you lose anyway. With no drugs in my life now, this becomes a problem for me for many reasons. Add drugs to my life and some of these problems are taken away, but as we all know, many more are then created. Isn't it ironic that no matter what we do in life; no matter our choices, there can never be a perfect solution? If there are gains, there will also be losses. Positives vs negatives and there is never any escaping this fact. Weighing things up and making smart choices does make sense, but you can never know what you've got until it is gone, and you can never know what you will have until you do, linger in my mind long after the courage required to take the leap has dwindled. There are no freebies in life. Every decision gives but also takes away. It's not fair, but there's no point in complaining because we are all in the same boat and dealing with the same things on one level or another. The poor wish they were rich, without knowing how a rich person feels about those around them. Who loves them for who they are and who is there only because of that wealth would be so difficult to deal with. As would being poor. Lucky for me I have an alternate plan, and one that will be more rewarding and worthwhile than any search for love could ever be. |
| Recently, I was with someone I care very much about who was told she only has a year to live. You, me and no one really knows how we would react to that news...but because we are creative people here at WdC, why don't we try to imagine what those words would change in our old plans...before we knew that in 365 days, everything ends for us. Some people couldn't even go there, I'm sure, and for you, feel free to opt out. And for those who are willing to play along, good for you because this might change how you presently think about your life. The first thing I imagine most of us would do is cry. But don't spend too much time feeling sorry for ourselves because we have more important things to do than shed tears. The bucket list comes to mind...do all the things we always wanted to do but for whatever reason, never got around to. Can you imagine how terrifying it would be for some people who are afraid of heights climbing up to altitude with nothing but some string and cloth to save their asses. And when the time comes for them to jump out of a perfectly good plane, it might be very different for those of us who have less than a year to go and are busy racing through that list. I imagine there wouldn't be much hesitation...not for a second, then to leap into the abyss without any fear because we don't have as much to lose. That sensation as we plummet towards the earth wouldn't be anywhere near as frightening for us as it would be for someone who has more to lose than an already condemned person. And I imagine it would be the closest we might come to forgetting the reason why we are up there in the first place, instead of at our desks doing the right thing by everyone but ourselves. Of course, upon a safe landing, reality would return to sender and remind us that there's no time to waste enjoying that moment because we still have a lot of things to do before we are no longer. Ok, I think we can stop imagining now and consider why it is that it would take such a horrible piece of news to get us to do the things we might include on our actual bucket list? You could ask yourself why you haven't yet done the things you have always wanted to do, but always found an excuse not to? . Kids...mortgages...careers...or just losing sight in the hustle and bustle of life? A life that might just end in a year from now, like it will soon for my mom. Yes, you might live to be a hundred or you might walk out your door tomorrow morning and never return. No one really knows when they are going to die unless they are told. And even though we are creative people, we have zero idea of what that would, in reality, mean to us. Would you regret not doing the things you always wanted to do? Because no matter if it's tomorrow or a hundred years from now, you might never do them anyway. Let me give you some free advice...it's all a trap...a trap you can only get out of if you are aware that you are trapped. Otherwise you might wake up one day and go, "Oh fuck, what have I done?" It doesn't always go that way and some people can find a balance between work and life outside of work...but not many. Most either live with the reality by denial or some other way to make it seem ok. God or a bottle or suicide can help, but rarely provide a good answer. Or, you can see that thing that is holding you in place, snap that fucking binding off your leg and go do what you want to do before you are too old or too beaten down to have the balls to take the risk. Or before you run out of excuses. Of course, I could be full of shit and I guess one day you will know for sure. I hope you do make the right choice and I truly mean that. |
| One month clean after a very long and exhausting dive into the depths of addiction. It got bad...really bad and became almost suicidal in approach. "Why should I care if so few others do?" Sorry, I almost puked in my own self-pity Oh, but I do love a good sob story...or read the underlying subtext..."All I need is an excuse...any excuse will do and I will run with it until the cows come home." What about this one..."Poor me...no one loves me and no one wants to read my stories." Boo fuckin hoo is what you should all be saying to me...and I hope you do because that's exactly what I deserve. The truth...not some sweetened message of encouragement that I can then use as my next excuse. John Belushi's wife said all he needed was a reason...an excuse...if he was happy, he would go and get high. If he was sad...you can see what she was saying. We need to be accountable, but to only one person, ourselves. No one else can do this for me (I'm banging the keys in sheer disgust at my own failings). I didn't let you down...I only let one person down and that was me and I am angry, frustrated, disappointed and damn pissed at myself. And so I should be. And what am I going to do about it THIS TIME? Play the victim? Oh, my brother beat me every other day whilst I was growing up, so I deserve to get high. Fuck me dead, I sound like a spoiled brat who is trapped in the body of a near sixty-year-old man. A man who will use any excuse going to continue to get high. I'm angry and I will not use dealers, addiction, history or my own stupidity to try to convince you that I deserve another chance...because I don't. What I deserve is to stop using this fucking drug once and for all. "Can I do it?" Who the fuck cares little boy. The world has bigger problems than to pay one second of attention to yours. I still have stuff to say, but I won't sugarcoat anything...and at times, I will be downright aggressive in my approach. I'm not pulling any punches this time around. If that's not what you like then please...go elsewhere because I don't have time to waste milling around the issues that I still see in myself and in those around me. We all need more truth in our lives and if truth isn't your thing, read someone else's words who might be a little less objectionable. I'm done with that and anyone who thinks they like the sound of what I am saying...come along for the ride because it will only get better from here. On drugs, I'm a pussy MF. However, off them, I am not even close to that. But don't be discouraged people, especially if courage is something lacking in your life because you might actually hear something that will benefit you. Good luck and away I go. |
| June 7th 2022 I was in crisis. I felt unsupported, undervalued and underappreciated as a writer and member of this site. I still have no real idea if my experience with this is 'normal' or if I am the exception because of the many reasons this might be so. Without input, I naturally fill in the blanks left behind by readers who say nothing at all about how they felt after reading my words. For me, I would much rather hear that I am a terrible writer, than hear nothing but crickets. This, after knowing so many have been on my port and read my work, yet so few have anything to give in return...comments... critique...advice...encouragement...even, "Go find another hobby!" Anything would be better than silence...in my opinion, the worst sound an author can hear. I work so hard and put my heart and soul into every word I post. I want to give the reader something worth their time, but it seems the majority of the time I have to be my own judge on if I, and what I write, am worthy of their time...or if I am just kidding myself. The self-doubt I feel when a couple of hundred people have read a particular piece of my work, yet only one or two take the time to leave any comment at all, can at certain times, be overwhelming. Is that normal for everyone here? Or is it a case of my expectations being too high when it comes to this kind of thing? Are we (as I have found on another site called Tumblr) so caught up in promoting our own brand, that we see others as competitors? Or is it quite simply apathy among a group who should be doing more to support each other and promote those who ARE really special (and even those who are just trying to be the best they can be) no matter what that does to our own egos? Please, don't think I am placing myself in any elite or gifted group because those calls should never be made about our own work, but is gifted to others when we feel everything we should feel when reading someone who is awe-inspiring, captivating and who, once we have finished reading, have no doubt are above the ordinary. I understand that writing should be done for our own satisfaction. And that if we are lucky enough to get some feedback, any feedback, we should count our blessings. But, does it HAVE to be like that? Especially on a site like WdC, where we are a community of like-minded and fellow artists who I'm sure all struggle at some point or another, even the very best, with self-doubt and questions of our own worth. I cannot help but feel this message will fall on very few ears and even fewer who care enough to put their own two cents into the equation...and if this is true, then so be it. It won't stop me from adding to my backlog of work, but it certainly won't help me either and I think that is the saddest part of everything I am trying to convey here. Has the world changed so much that we must become a reflection of it...to become the very things we despise the most about it? Change is inevitable, but the direction of those changes starts with us, the individuals in every community, and not with the masses, who we are later so eager to blame for it all being so wrong. |
| When is a blog not a blog? At what point does it become a journal? Is there any difference between the two? Other than a journal is personal and a blog is out there for all to see. What are the advantages and or disadvantages of either one? These are rhetorical questions, and it is a good thing they are. I've learned not to expect answers to the questions I pose on this blog (bar a few kind people, who I appreciate very much). For the last week or so, I've been weighing up if I should continue with this blog. Am I helping anyone deal with their own struggles? Am I helping anyone at all? I simply don't know. I certainly hope so, but not knowing, for me, is something of a struggle in itself. Do I feel sad? Disappointed? Let down? Definitely, I am confused as to why so very few who do read this blog offer any kind of support...other than to read and then leave. My friend Hummingbird offered that this is not a support site, and so, to expect those who read the blog to care about me and my struggles, especially considering we all struggle with something, might be a little presumptuous on my part. I would counter that I was just hopeful, and there's nothing wrong with having hope, is there? Perhaps she is right, and I do expect too much. But, the way I feel right now is that there is something not quite right here. This blog is the vehicle I use in search of support, and, if there are people along the way who ask for my advice or assistance, I would be glad to help in any way I can. WdC is the freeway that links the towns (individual members, in other words). I used to think that WdC was the community, but, as I previously stated, I don't know if I am the odd one out, or if it's apathy or something else I don't understand. My image of what a community is must be skewed from the reality of what it really is. All I know is that from where I stand, I feel like I'm the car wreck on the side of this freeway and that most are just driving by, with few stopping to offer any form of support. The fact is that most who do read this blog have no intention of stopping or typing..."Hey, Neil...keep up the fight." For those who never review, and I'm not just talking about reviewing my work, but anyone's sweat and tears...those who read our words and leave without any show of appreciation, encouragement or word of advice because it's too hard or takes too much time or they are too afraid of repercussions or for whatever reason or excuse for doing this, I hope you change this lack of care and try more to support your fellow writers in their journey...but as far as this blog is concerned, there's no blood and nothing more to see. Do I belong here in this community of like-minded creative people? I hope so, but that's not a question for me to answer. This is my last entry for this blog...again, thank you to those who have shown me their support and care...you know where to find me if you need me in any way. |
| When I'm on my bike, it is a form of meditation for me. Focusing on my breathing, gear selection and the hill ahead clears my mind of debris, and when I get back home becomes the best time for me to think and write creatively. This is when most blog posts are born. In the past, I have given methamphetamines human qualities in my writing...'she' is how I refer to the drug. I'm not sure if this is a good or a bad thing "My Love's Reach"  Every time I try to escape her, I fail, and this is why I changed my approach this time around. The three months on and three months off plan, was me avoiding a reality that I, at that stage in my recovery, couldn't face. When I came up with the idea, it was definitely something I was contemplating in a literal sense, but only four weeks into this journey, I am slowly coming to grips with the reality of long term abstinence, or face the fact that I will die much younger than I should. For the moment, I am using this plan as a crutch...a safety net so to speak. And once the three months is up, I hope and pray that I make the right choice...do another three months without using meth or completely accept that I can no longer use this drug to escape feelings of abandonment, sorrow and loss. The thing with meth is, it's a great drug to help the user forget...we forget to live and we forget that every day we use, is taking weeks of our lives. We forget how to laugh and how to cry...although once the tolerance becomes outrageous and we can no longer afford or sustain the dosages needed to avoid these feelings overwhelming us, they wash over our lives like a tsunami. At first, we cry, and then we become fearful of not having the drug...anxiety and severe withdrawals can last for days or even weeks. Then things settle, and the only remnants are nighttime bouts of prickly skin...like someone has a voodoo doll of me and is picking it with a pin, which always comes when I am trying to get to sleep. Sleep patterns begin to go back to normal after a month. Before this though, especially during the first two weeks, twelve to fifteen hours a day of sleep is required to make up for the months of insomnia, where I recently slept for two nights in fourteen. After one particular binge, I nodded off on my bed one afternoon after not sleeping for many days, and an hour or so later awoke with complete amnesia...I had no idea who or where I was, thinking I must have been drunk at a party and had blacked out. It lasted for around a minute and was really scary stuff. As the after-effects of taking meth begin to dissipate and the drug clears the system, there comes a flood of emotions and creativity and is almost, if not better, than taking the drug as a newbie. This is too much to control in a normal manner, and as much as it is a very joyous and happy experience, it doesn't last. Week four is when these good emotions settle. The highs of the last two weeks wane and my moods begin to level out, only at a much lower level than if I hadn't taken the drug in the first place. Things that would cause anyone to feel down, cause me to feel like the world is ending. Sadness and frustration and anger come much too quickly and remaining sober then becomes a struggle to maintain. Week four through to week twelve will be my test. How much I want my addiction to end, compared to how much I want the high. It is that simple. I have given this some thought and I have a few different ideas that I haven't tried before. I hope these plans can sway that decision when it comes, in my favour. But, there are no guarantees in this battle I wage, and to say otherwise would be a pure and adulterous lie. |
| I'm questioning something tonight, and maybe it's a case of expecting too much. We are a community here on WDC...like-minded and caring people who support each other in this art that we love. I could be very wrong here, but, at least from where I am standing, there seems to be an imbalance of sorts. I have worked so hard to improve my writing in the eighteen months I've been here. One hundred and seventy pieces that I have put my heart and soul into all on my port for others to enjoy...at least, that's the hope. I check my stats regularly and can see which pieces are going well (how many have read each one) and which are not. Some items have well over a hundred reads, and yet, will have perhaps one or two reviews. Now, as an artist, this puzzles me. Does this mean the story is rubbish and out of the hundred people who read it, only a few thought it worthy of spending a few minutes writing a short review...or even just thanking me for sharing? Is it that most are indifferent? Or, is it that the majority just couldn't be bothered to give back to the artist what they took out? In Australia, when we drive in the country, there used to be dotted around the place stalls where the farmer would place fruit or produce at the front gate. No one is in attendance and there is usually an honesty box where if we, the public, stop in and take something from the stall, it is understood that a donation of sorts is placed into the box. There are no fixed prices and it is up to the individual what they think is a fair thing...perhaps just some loose change will suffice. And at the end of the day, the farmer's kids would go down to the front gate, gather any leftovers and check the box. Once upon a time, not so long ago, it would be almost unheard of for someone to take something and not leave some form of payment in the honesty box. But, times have changed, and it isn't surprising that nowadays, nowhere near as many of these stalls are about. I will leave it to your imagination why this is so, but it certainly says something about a community where people take the work of another and give nothing in return. Should I be bitter about this lack of consideration? I know I have read some works on other people's ports and not reviewed them...mostly because I couldn't identify with the work, and if this is true for everyone who has read my work, that tells me that I should take up another hobby because obviously, two or three out of a hundred or more who read me think I am worth the five minutes it takes, and the other 98% think I am hopeless. You see, that's what happens...when there is no feedback from the majority, we assume that the work must therefore be rubbish. I spend quite a bit of time and effort writing this blog. It's not just about my life, but trying to do it in a way that people will find interesting or educational. When I began this blog, it was never going to be just about me. I hoped that it might help someone else who finds themselves in a similar place...addicted to drugs. I am thankful to all those who have supported me throughout my journey so far... Simply a LeJenD Ruwth Hummingbird Buddhangela's Brave and Crazy StarLineSpring WakeUpandLive Benjamin Black Wordsmitty Jon Dakota Lilli Rapali Goswami Tina launching into the deep Sum 1 Mary Ann MCPhedran littlesong Kare Enga back in Montana Michael Jay Aich Dog Pack saving4 premium renew QP doll SandraLynn Redtowrite Addison Warped Sanity Schnujo Samberine Everose Lazy Writer Mischevious Mike Tiggy Snow is Writing Poetry Blueyez Cass--Ready for Summer Spirit Rising Tide... That's quite a list and I thank you all for showing your support. This is why I continue because without these people SHOWING me they care...even a simple click of a thumbs up is all that it takes, I doubt I would. I am going to do more reviews to try to change this apathy towards showing support for each other's work...anyone who thinks along the same lines is welcome to join. |
| Yesterday marked three weeks since I used meth, but it feels more like four or five. In the last week, I have had cravings. These pangs of want pass quickly, especially if I keep myself occupied. If I have to go from one day at a time to one hour at a time, in the hope that I won't relapse, I will. To relapse now, at such an early stage, would be a crushing defeat for me. I'm living my life in increments. Each week broken down into days, and the days into hours as addiction begins to bite down on my resolve. I know what's coming...excuses, so I can justify going back to familiar grounds. One bad day and a chance meeting with someone who would love to bring me down to where they exist...in the gutter. I wish I could say in all honesty that I will prevail. That I WILL say, "NO!" But, I've been down this road too many times before to feel or act overconfident...or even just confident. The reason for the three-month plan was to give me a goal longer than one day, but smaller than forever. Which is something my mind recoils at the mere thought of, even though I know in my heart it is the best thing for me in my life. I do three weight sessions a week, and at the start of each week, I increase the weights by a kilo or two depending on what particular exercise I am performing...slight increments that will build strength and boost confidence...all will be for nothing if I give in to temptation and use again. Common sense says I would be crazy to even contemplate going down that road again, but impulse is one of the hardest things to overcome when my adrenalin kicks in and thoughts of using this drug enter my mind. I need to avoid triggers, but even this is nearly impossible. Like today, when realised it has been three months since I last took a break from being a full-time caregiver. During the pandemic, I went eighteen months without a single day to myself, which beat me down to a point I don't even want to think about. And then, when I finally did take a break, I used every single day for fourteen days straight...only sleeping a couple of nights in between. This was why I wanted to go to Thailand...no connections to buy drugs (I am not foolish enough to try to buy drugs in a foreign country, especially there). But, I got scammed by the travel agent and didn't just lose my money, but any desire to travel OS. So instead, I went to the Gold Coast, where I drowned my sorrows with meth. And now that I need to take a break again, it has become a trigger because my addicted brain associates taking a holiday with using. I'm not down yet (maybe just a little today), and I still feel good about this decision to stop. But, I am becoming concerned that I will fail again, and even this concern could become the trigger for me to throw in the towel and accept that I am never going to be free. |
| I didn't post on my blog yesterday. Not because I didn't have anything to say...far from it. It was because I had too much to say. Last night, I began writing right here, but it soon became apparent that this was not going to be a blog post, but a static item. So, I finished the piece, copied and pasted it to create a new item, and deleted it from my blog. I then got a message from a friend, who offered to live chat and by the time we were done, it was getting late, and as I had to be up early to attend an appointment for a flu vaccine, I went to sleep. In the morning, I arrived back from my appointment and checked my emails on WDC. There were none and just by chance, I thought I would check out the newsfeed. The first item on the newsfeed was for a competition...something I swore I would never do again after feeling so disappointed with the first and only writing comp I have entered on WDC. I worked so hard on that piece, and when it was judged not good enough (there were only two entrants in that particular category, mine and one other, and deserving or not, in my mind at least, my story came last). I am somewhat ashamed to admit that it had quite an effect on my moral...I suppose you could say that my ego was well and truly dented. Looking back, this is part and parcel of entering a competition...we cannot all be winners and most will not win. I thought about how pieces of art get judged in the first place. If only one person judges, it comes down to a very narrow set of qualities that they, and they alone look for and like. Beauty is very much in the eyes of the beholder, and I tried my best not to feel down about the result, but it was in vain, and so, I resigned myself to never again subject my art to be judged in a competition. I was to be my own judge...if I work hard and am confident in my skills and imagination to tell a good story, then that should be enough for me. The competition I saw on the newsfeed was to write from a prompt, and I almost went straight past it, but something drew me to the image. Immediately, the story began to form in my head and I KNEW at that moment that I was going to write this piece and enter. As I always do, I allowed the story to tell itself. A jockey riding on the back of a beast, guiding it, but not defining its nature nor controlling its destiny. And at the end of the day, I had what I wanted...something I am proud of. It doesn't matter if it comes in first or last. I have a story that will live on long after I am gone and a body of work that I am proud of. My fear was to again feel the disappointment of not winning, but what I learned from that loss far outweighs any joy or pride I would have felt if I had won. Life is a strange and sometimes cruel thing, but we can gain more from the knocks and what it throws at us if we have the right attitude. To understand and embrace that sometimes we get more from the failures of life than we do from the successes. Of course, I hope that whoever reads my story gets enjoyment from it...but even if some don't think it is such a good piece, that's not the end of the world....and the only thing that really matters, is that I like it. |
| Today, I cleaned...meth makes a person not care...about anything. I looked at my room and thought...Ewwwww...so, I pulled everything out and cleaned the walls, the drawers, the ceiling fan, the TV unit (what is it about a TV unit that attracts so much dust?) and stripped my bed and washed the sheets. I know one thing, tonight when I get into bed, it's going to be a nice feeling knowing that I have a spotless room. I had just gotten finished with my room and was about to make myself some lunch when I heard a loud noise like something had fallen in the laundry. Turns out that when I had washed my sheets, I hadn't put the (almost full) bottle of fabric softener back on the shelf properly. It had dropped off the shelf and exploded. The walls and the floor were covered in the liquid that had by then flowed under the washing machine. Then, as I felt my anger rise, I calmed myself...realising that it wasn't the end of the world (fabric softener is way easier to clean up than if it was a full bottle of washing detergent), and there wasn't a lot I could do about it by then. So, I cleaned it all up and finally, after about an hour, ate my lunch. Things happen...but it's not the things that count, it's how we deal with them. Later, I got on my bike and let the things that bring me down go. Thinking instead about how much I will benefit from these good choices I am making right now. |
| Today was a good day. I could easily get used to this. Mom needed a haircut and since the pandemic, it's been hard to get her usual services done. Because of her disabilities (arthritis, macular degeneration and obesity), we have her doctor make house calls when appropriate (or phone consultations when it's just a script). We have stairs, and so, it's not easy to transport her to places...and the truth is, she prefers to stay home and watch her British comedy TV shows (even though she can't make out much on the screen) for the hundredth time. It doesn't matter to her and she laughs every time. This virus has caused us all to adapt... both negative and positive...the negatives we are all aware of, but for me, the positives are that I have had to learn to do the services for my mom we would ordinarily get someone else in to do. I've had to learn to cut her toenails and also cut her hair. Not one to do things by halves, I put on a routine as I gave her a haircut, acting like she is at a real salon and I am her gay hairdresser. I fussed and fluffed and chatted...mimicing the campest man you have ever met. I told her, with a hand on my hip, "Darling, you look spectacular!" And even though she is blind and can't actually tell if I do a good job or not, I took my time and tried my best to make sure her hair looked as beautiful as I could make it. I then dropped the gay hairdresser persona and mowed my lawn...not that a gay man can't mow lawns, it's just that I have my man's man reputation to uphold...Ummmm, I think that came out wrong, but who cares when the sun is shining, my lawn is singing, my mom looks beautiful and I am not under the influence of drugs. |
| I've been having trouble with my neighbours...on both sides. On one side, some young people moved in around October 2021. They were all on welfare, had no need to go to sleep at a reasonable time and were often still playing loud music and having drunken parties (even during the week) until the wee hours, then sleeping most of the day. On the other side, they have two dogs which when left unattended, bark incessantly until someone gets home, which can be all day and sometimes all night. We tolerated this because we are not the kind of people who complain, and, as I have discovered in the last few months, complaining does nothing to change their lack of care for our situation. Since I have stopped using meth, however, my tolerance for their bad behaviour and for the constant barking has dropped to dangerously low levels. So, I called in the cavalry...a fellow who goes by the name of, Mr Don.T. Farquithme. He is not a nice guy (just ask my neighbours), but he does have a knack for creating change in those who I personally, had no hope of getting to see my point. Mr Don.T. Farquithme suggested that we take the initiative and the fight up to those who have had it all their own way far too long. So, early one morning about a week ago, we started my lawnmower right next to the fence between the young folk and us. He also suggested we play some very loud and repetitive techno music with my expensive portable speaker, which we placed just near the back door on that side of our home, but not so far outside that they might jump the fence and 'acquire' my speaker as spoils of war. This action did not please the young folk, as they launched bleary-eyed complaints over the fence in our direction. At this point, Mr Don.T.Farquithme went to the fence and said/yelled (because it was hard to hear anything with the racket), in his extremely assertive way, "How do you like it, hey!?" Several sets of bleary eyes answered the question by yelling back at us with unintelligible (because of the racket) words. And, even though our question was asked rhetorically, I think it may have been a little too early for them to comprehend this fact. I figured we had made our point, and I instructed my bad-tempered friend to cease hostilities andI then offered a truce. I was told in no uncertain terms where I could stick my truce and after I explained to them that nothing goes in, only out from said place, they retired to (I assume) talk tactics or go back to bed. However, since this day, there has been an uneasy ceasefire. This may have been as a result of the actions of my fellow antagonist's suggestions or maybe it was because a couple of the enemy combatants appear to have found employment, and so, are now living with more routine in their lives. In any case...mission accomplished. So, aggression on the western front has fallen silent, but on the eastern front, the barking continued. Mr Don.T.Farquithme suggested another onslaught, but I made the decision (as Commander and Chief) to try to avoid going to war in favour of diplomacy. I typed a letter, using the skills learned here on WDC, pleading our case and begging for the barking dog issue to be addressed. Unfortunately, there was no response. They likely hoped that we would just go away, as had been the way for so long. After the obligatory, "I told you so!" from my angry friend, my very loud portable speaker was placed in my garage and the roller door left open just a crack, so no thieves could steal it and yet, open enough so the recording of a dog barking I found on Spotify, left on repeat, would find its way to the desired target. After just one afternoon and evening of this onslaught, the dog situation has been resolved. I don't know where they have put the dogs...that is irrelevant to us as we sat down to dinner...and for dessert, a lovely piece of quiet. |
| Firstly...thanks to those who helped me with this most difficult of questions...how to find happiness. Moving on...inevitability? When you think about it, inevitability is a lot like matter in that it is all around us, and yet we never see it. Buy a new car, and it is inevitable that at some point, it will get its first scratch, need servicing, gain miles and eventually, need replacing. We are born, and we will die...this is an inevitability no one can escape, and yet we don't walk around all day thinking about it. Perhaps this is because we are so aware and understand there is nothing we can do to change it. Of course, there will be moments of reflection, especially when we inevitably become sick, have an accident or become old, but on the whole, we don't tend to ponder on this, our own mortality. With these latest developments in Europe, we could say that war is an inevitable thing...that sooner or later, one group of people will attack another and fight until there is an ending to hostilities. Whether there are any gains or benefits from this thing called war is debatable, but I think there would be few who would believe that war is a good thing. I was born in 1964...a very good time to come into the world. I was too young to have been called to fight in the Vietnam war, and until the conflicts in the Gulf region during the 1990s, I had never known war. Living in Australia, so far away and with only our regular army (Australian SAS) soldiers involved in those conflicts, the effect it had on me personally was minimal. We are so very lucky to live in this country, and I was lucky to be born at the time I was. Never having suffered any major terrorist attacks and only three mass shootings, the Hoddle Street massacre in 1987 where seven people lost their lives, the Milperra Mother's day massacre in 1986 where seven died and the infamous Port Arthur massacre in 1990 where thirty-five were killed, the government of Australia made gun ownership here much more difficult. They completely outlawed semi-automatic rifles, pistols of any kind (other than police or security, and even they must leave their weapons secured at their respective places of work when off duty), and pump-action rifles. Whether you agree with this kind of ruling or not, there is no escaping the statistics that since the government buyback, which saw thousands of newly illegal guns crushed and made inoperable, not one mass shooting has happened anywhere in Australia. Since the change in gun ownership laws, there has been a steady decrease in gun deaths going from 618 in 1991 down to 229 in 2019. Common sense says this downward trend was inevitable. When you have millions of guns in the hands of ordinary citizens, it gives the impression of creating a safer place to live. Having a handgun in the top drawer is a great thing if someone enters your home with bad intent and you happen to discover the culprit before he sees you...unless of course, he has time to use his weapon before you do. But, the tragic reality of a child discovering the gun and being a child, who is without the ability to see the possible outcome of holding and pulling the trigger of this home security tool, then becomes one of the many horrors of mass gun ownership. We are proof that not owning a gun doesn't cause us to become vulnerable...on the contrary, it makes us safer. It is not inevitable that living in the US or any other country where gun ownership is as easy as going into your local Scheels, and twenty-four hours later, walking out with the gun of your choice means that you are more safe, but it absolutely makes it more likely that you will become another statistic of gun violence. Bad guys in Australia still have guns, but they mostly shoot each other. Yes, there are robberies, and bystanders do sometimes become victims of stray bullets, but this is rare. Some things are inevitable, yet some are caused, and we need to acknowledge the difference and have the courage to say enough is enough. I understand that sometimes war is unavoidable, especially when dictators decide they want more...and that one day I will die, but some things just don't make sense when a teenage kid can access guns and then go kill innocent children...and in my opinion, this is one of the great shames of a country which holds itself up as one of the greatest on earth. |
| Twenty-four hours have gone by, and so far, only one person (privately) has put forth any suggestions on what it is that might make us happier. So, I asked this somewhat difficult question to a person I have the utmost respect and faith in...my mom. She rushed her initial answer. She's in so much pain with her arthritic knees and immediately said, "New knees." I pointed out to her that at 87, she would have to undergo at least two major surgeries and many hours of anesthetic, which in older people is a high-risk proposal...and then followed by months of rehabilitation and physio. She then changed her mind about this choice. I pointed out to her, as I should have to anyone reading Part I, that this thing we think will bring us happiness needs to be something within the realms of possibility and not something beyond our capabilities or technological reach. So, she sat thoughtfully for a few moments and said, "Happiness comes from within...it is a choice we make. Circumstances do play a part, but on the whole, a person needs to love who they are, or they will never find happiness." We as a society certainly do underestimate the wisdom of the older people in our communities (I could have said 'the elderly', but for some unknown reason, she hates that term...so it is omitted for this reason). So, from what my wise old mom says, happiness is there for us all to embrace, and all we have to do is look in the mirror and love the person we see. Be satisfied and accepting of who and what we are. Easy right? Well, we all know life is complex, and simple answers to complex questions rarely fit. But is it really that hard? Is it too much to ask for us to give ourselves this gift of love and acceptance? Or do we CHOOSE to be critical...to be harsh...to hate what and who it is we see reflected back at us? Answers have an annoying way of creating more questions...which is why I prefer to ask questions rather than solve them. There needs to be a balance...we don't have to love what we have done in the past, but we do need to forgive ourselves for them (thank you, Hummingbird, for pointing out this wisdom to me). We may not like our physical appearance, but we do need to love the person within the body we have been given. And, if we find our body image is causing us issues, there are ways we can change, which will help us not just mentally, but physically as well. If we answered that we are, in fact, not happy...or that we would like to have more happiness in our day to day lives than we do right now...it requires you to make changes, which can be a difficult thing to accomplish and deal with. Humans are creatures of habit, but if these habits are causing us issues, then we, and we alone must take on the responsibility for making the adjustments needed, so we may find what it is my mom says it takes to find real happiness..to truly love who we are. |
| Today, I did the double...every second day weights, and every day I ride my bike. And after only one week, I can already feel my body changing. More muscle and less fat. More strength, less weakness...emotional, physical and mental. Today, I attended my session with my Counsellor, Vicki. We spoke about the plan ahead and where she feels I might benefit, and where I thought I might. Then the question came up...what do I hope to get from coming to see her? I answered her question with a question (a typical avoidance tactic that she saw right through and immediately brought back to the original question). Damn, she is good...perhaps even better at sourcing the issues than I am at avoiding them. Today, I conceded to a degree...she had me, and I knew it. So, I went along with her little plan (for now at least) to try and help me find what it is that is bothering me enough that I keep going back to a drug that I KNOW is going to cause me all the issues that it does. Then her next question...am I happy? To which I said, "Who is Vicki?" Another attempt at avoiding...and totally justified this time because this is a very difficult question...and there was some truth to my reply...who is happy? Really happy? Are you? I'm talking to you...the person who might happen to be reading this blog...and if you can honestly say that you are, that may be the most valuable thing you can ever possess. But, if you cannot genuinely say that you are happy...do you know why? I know that this blog is about me...my trials and tribulations, but I'm interested in people, and not just in my own life. Input from others will help me more than you can possibly know. Ask anyone you like what it is they want that will make them happy? Anything at all, and all they need do is say it, and it is theirs, I doubt that many could think of a worthy answer. Oh, in the first few seconds, we all THINK we know, but if you sit down and really think about it...don't rush because this is a HUGE decision...what do I want that I think would make me happy? My thought is to put aside material things...they are just things, and if I chose a sports car or even to be rich (financially), I have serious questions as to if these things are going to bring me real happiness. We might think they would, and perhaps for some, this might just be true, but once the novelty of the sports car wears off...or the money runs out when you will come to realise who your friends really are. What about world peace? Or a cure for cancer? So much more noble and thoughtful of those who suffer oppression or disease, but would this bring true happiness to you? So, if anyone can tell me what it is they feel might bring happiness to anyone who may have this niggling feeling of being unhappy without an affinitive reason why (spirituality is for some the answer, but is, in a lot of ways, like a drug, and not something that I would consider for myself), PLEASE share. Or, if, like me, you have no clue, take comfort in the knowledge that at least you are not alone, and there are likely billions of others who are in the same boat. Not being alone might itself be the answer because using meth creates the feeling of being alone, no matter how many people there are in the world. |
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