Blogs

Where have I bean? If you hadn't noticed, I've been a bit absent from Bluelight the last couple of weeks, but I should be finding more time to be around soon.

To start with, a few weeks ago I came off codeine. Up to then, and for a good year beforehand, I'd been taking it daily, usually in the evenings, with the effects lasting well into and through the next day. During December and January, while my dad was dying, I lived in a thick haze of opiated numbness. Numb to the feelings I was going through and unable to deal with the crisis and grief my family were experiencing.

When I heard my dad went to hospital on the evening of the 3rd of February, I told mum I would tell my uncles and aunties in Melbourne... right after I ate a handful of Panadeine Forte. I couldn't have survived the month of February without being completely stoned the whole time, or so I tell myself.

Seven months later, it's been like finding myself again, underneath the fog and haze. I've only now also realised that the codeine was a catalyst for a lot of the depression I'd experienced in the last year.

Waking up, the first thing I noticed was that there was something very wrong at work. My career had virtually died, and there I was: slaving away for a company on the verge of insolvency. It's taken me a few weeks to put all the pieces of the puzzle together, but what has been lied about and glossed over is now becoming glaringly obvious.

Today I found out my superannuation (equivalent to what Americans call a 401k) has not been paid for more than 1.5 years. My direct manager; an arrogant dick who everyone hates and has a penchant for compulsively lying, lacks any faith in me and my abilities. We barely talk and behind closed doors, I doubt he makes much effort to disguise his loathing for me as a person.

This is the man who, during January, when he knew what I was going through, would pull me aside for weekly meetings to try and determine why I was struggling to get into work by 9.30 every morning. He's the sort of person who'd probably not bat an eyelid at turning his back on his own parents if they were dying of lung cancer, blaming it on their "weakness" and stupidity.

Most of all though, the greatest revelation has been that I'm still here. Well most of me, and intact. After getting off codeine, one of the first things I did was put my resume together, so far I've already had two interviews and I'm expecting offers from both of them.

I've been applying for the sort of jobs I should be going for, asking for salaries I know I deserve, to do work I know I can handle; if I back myself and my abilities.

So yeah, it's fair to say things are a lot better. There's a lot of issues I haven't dealt with from the last couple of years... some I don't know how I'll ever be able to deal with, but for now, they're not things I can be bothered worrying about. I know how stupid this sounds, but I find that if I focus on the pursuit of money (!), not just with my current job but in other employment, I tend to notice that I'm too busy to worry about other unpleasant thoughts. :)

I'm not really sure how much of that last sentence was actually tongue-in-cheek.

Goal for this weekend:

To finish reading The Happiness Trap by Russ Harris, a book based on Acceptance and Commitment Therapy which I think is this season's CBT.

Thanks to madmick19 for recommending it... I got over the fact that I was reading a psychology/self-help book by convincing myself that I would learn telepathy and save on long-distance phone calls. ;)
You know, it's funny what I realized today, I have yet to wear a short sleeve shirt to work because of the scars and scabs from recent injection sites along the veins in my upper arm. I hate it. I never realized but it must have just become routine to wear long sleeves to hide my habit from outsiders. My arms look like they have healed up a lot, but not enough. The scars are still pretty obvious from a distance which, even when the more recent ones scar I'd still be too scared someone would notice if I went in wearing something that didn't cover them.

Just a thought...
Everything you do affects everything and everyone around you. Spreading hatred and ill vibes hurts you just as much as it does others.

Judge not. And if you shall find judgment directed your way, say thank you!<3
*** copied from BL journal ***

I snorted one small line of H when i was 17 (20 years ago). Now, for some reason, i REALLY want to slam some.

There is no relevance to a 20 year old experience but i'm starting to think my addiction/addictive personality is progressing.

I'm a cokehead and never really tried the opiate experience. Maybe i'm not a cokehead and just a junkie that wants ANYTHING in his veins. Coke is real easy to get so i'm guessing that this is why i'm so into it (besides the enjoyment of the rush).

My mind keeps telling me that H would be so much better. It lasts longer, provides an intense euphoria and is cheaper.

I don't listen to the part that says that it is physically addicting and that i'm the kind of person that would fall into an even greater hell if i were to slam it.

The thing is, i know that i will seek it out and indulge very soon. Laziness and fear of cruising a strange city is holding me back. I'm not that invincible teenager anymore who walked the shady streets of Philly without fear. A couple of drinks of vodka typically energize and provide the mentality i once had as a teenager. Its only a matter of time until i intentionally get drunk for the purpose of finding this shit.

Successful acquisition of H will be the death of me. Most likely, if the first shot doesn't kill me then i will suffer years of humility and degradation until it does decide to be merciful and allow me to die.

Why don't i care?
"Once I wanted to be the greatest
No wind or water fall could STALL me
And then came the rush of the flood
The stars at night turned DEEP to dust"


I want to be allowed my days to feel that pushing on is too heavy......to be allowed to lay down and surrender to the overwhelming heartache I feel.........
But I will wake up tomorrow and pull up my boot straps and march on......
My life goes on...........
I feel so alone tonight, though I am not.
I wish you were here to wrap your arms around me and help me fall asleep or we would stay up all night making love to each other, either way we would be.

I feel so alone right now, and I miss you.
... but then I thought, fuck it. Who cares about that?

Then I posted some pictures from my recent trip to Germany, to try to remember the good times.



A view of Heidelberg castle, the famous old bridge, and an indifferent swan chilling on the river. It was fucking hot that day, something like 35 C in the shade.



The start of a path not far from my Uncle's place in Hirrweiler (a tiny town maybe an hour from Stuttgart), which eventually led to an old, semi-ruined tower.



The sun, setting, through a window in the tower. The wrought iron work in the window is from the original tower, built in 1100.



A macro shot of part of a huge crystal xmas tree at the Swarovski Werke in Innsbruck.

I was going to post more, but I'm limited to 4 pics per post, so nuts to that.

I've got sorrows that need drowning. Take care Bloggers!
Day 1.


Center.


Tramadol crisis averted. I am lucky grapefruit. and here is another chance.

Yoga class

Cleaning

time to just be

it's hard because i really want this journal to be about myself. it's difficult to be sure that what i say is because i want to say it, and not because i want to show you. i want to find the separation. but i guess it's something i'll need to develop. and i hope someday this journal will something you'll be able to see me through.

it's only lonely because i'm not my own friend. i'll need to be someone i can like before i can be there for myself. and then i can be there with myself, and that won't be alone.

When you were young
and on your own
How did it feel
to be alone?
I was always thinking
of games that I was playing.
Trying to make
the best of my time.
I don't know what to do. Do I take down your pictures? Do I stop reading our stuff?

How do I keep my fucking self from looking at your pictures?

I'm terrified. How do I stop crying? If I lost you... I'm not going to lose you. I may have lost you now, and you're right, n I don't see any other way.

Really what have I done? And for what? Is this what I wanted? And what the fuck do I want

This is not who I want to be.

I made you cry. I made you cry

Your heart

I did us wrong.

I'm tired of building on shifting sand

I just have to start.

I don't know how much to say, how much to not share, so that maybe I'll take it in instead of presenting it to you, and stop caring more about what you see than what I really am.

All my pictures are falling
from the wall where I placed them yesterday

I'll go be with my mom today
ill write tonight.
I'm fascinated by the Dreamtime of the Aboriginal people.
I also don't feel I know enough about it as I think I would like to.

Really great stories! I think I would have coped well if I has have been born in the Outback, in the real red centre. I plan to drive right around Austalia and through the centre one day. I look forward to it.
Apparently at Platte Valley High School a female teacher was just treated for a illness earlier this week, come to find out it was form Marijuana Brownies that were given to her by a senior student. The students name was Christopher Archer and he is now out of jail on a $50,000 dollar bond but, looks like his graduation will be put off for awhile as he is now currently suspended and has been charged with distribution of marijuana.

Archer's defense is that the teacher gave him $50 to buy some prescription pain killers, but because the student couldn't get a hold of the pain killers he made the brownies instead. This whole incident became known at 11:00 A.M. on Monday when the teacher became very sick. Currently there are no charges against the teacher, but this could change depending on if Archer's statement about buying drugs is true.

Sources:
a tree

i should have been there
i should've been.
i should have danced in the waves
Back in the old folky days
The air was magic when we played.
The riverboat was rockin'
in the rain
Midnight was the time
for the raid.

Oh, Isabela, proud Isabela,
They tore you down and
plowed you under.
You're only real
with your make-up on
How could I see you
and stay too long?

All along the Navajo Trail,
Burn-outs stub their toes
on garbage pails.
Waitresses are cryin'
in the rain
Will their boyfriends
pass this way again?

Oh, Mother Goose,
she's on the skids
Shoe ain't happy,
neither are the kids.
She needs someone
that she can scream at
And I'm such a heel
for makin' her feel so bad.

I guess I'll call it
sickness gone
It's hard to say
the meaning of this song.
An ambulance can only
go so fast
It's easy to get buried
in the past
When you try to make
a good thing last.

I saw today
in the entertainment section
There's room at the top
for private detection.
To Mom and Dad
this just doesn't matter,
But it's either that
or pay off the kidnapper.

So all you critics sit alone
You're no better than me
for what you've shown.
With your stomach pump and
your hook and ladder dreams
We could get together
for some scenes.

I never knew a man
could tell so many lies
He had a different story
for every set of eyes.
How can he remember
who he's talkin' to?
'Cause I know it ain't me,
and I hope it isn't you.

Well, I'm up in T.O.
keepin' jive alive,
And out on the corner
it's half past five.
But the subways are empty
And so are the cafes.

Except for the Farmer's Market
And I still can hear him say:
You're all just pissin'
in the wind
You don't know it but you are.

And there ain't nothin'
like a friend
Who can tell you
you're just pissin'
in the wind.

I never knew a man
could tell so many lies
He had a different story
for every set of eyes
How can he remember
who he's talking to?
Cause I know it ain't me,
and hope it isn't you.

i wonder why i keep going...not much to do...i'd like to fight but there is no fight, i'd probably just get beat up or walk away and that thought made me sad today.

i quit my job a few days ago and it wasn't the best thing ever. it made me serene and just a void.

do these people exist?

or are they just a dream.
While going through some old word document's a found one of my assignments I had to do while I was in rehab. It was a relapse scenario where we write about the most likely way we would relapse. It's long, but I'd figured I'd post it, what the hell.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------​
I woke up for the first time feeling a little better than before. Still felt like shit, but not as bad as yesterday. I found an old rig stashed in the weight room the other night. I'm sure I had a dozen more I had forgot about in the basement somewhere, my phone goes off. I read the text, and it's one of my friends asking if I want to go to go out to the movies tonight. Let's just call her Mama's, just because it fits the story a little better. I'd been in rehab for about the past two months. Meaning I hadn't been downtown for two months. I text Mama's back to see where she wanted to go to the movies, her reply was the pavilions.

I start having flashback's of dirty metal puncturing the surface of my skin and the fifthly bathrooms in the streets that I once called home. The word "smack" slipped through my lips. Taboo I thought. I considered telling Mama's that I was in rehab. But I figure two months sober...she doesn’t need to know.

I fumbled around on the cold concrete towards the two red lights resembling eyes that would lite up the cold summer cave. I looked around and started walking upstairs. Grandma was playing with my baby sister, for the first time all morning I smile and feel like I have a decent sense of purpose in life.

I spend most of the day lying around. Most motivation I used to have is gone. I run a few errands, maybe even do a few chores. But the thought of doing anything else just seems like too much. The night time rolls around and I tell my grandparents I'm off to the movies. I start walking to the light rail, already I’m not even in the city and old memories are playing in the back of my mind. I reassure myself that I can do this and take a seat. When the train arrived at the mall, I decided to walk, besides the movies was only a few blocks up and I figured the chances of running into anyone were slim. Walking down the mall I start feeling back at home, the people and city just seem all too familiar. Passing Virgin Records I hear someone call my name. My heart stops, and with good reason. It’s Olive. She runs up to me and gives me a hug.

Her first reaction is to ask me where I’ve been, apparently her and the rest of my old friends all thought I had died of an overdose. Mama’s still hadn’t texted me so I figured she wasn’t at the pavilions yet so I saw no harm in catching up with Olive. It was a little after eight and she said she was on her way to cop and asked if I wanted to walk with her. I reminded myself that I wouldn’t do heroin, as a matter a fact the more I thought about it, I couldn’t. I didn’t even have a rig on me, so why would I even get any? We walked to the top of the mall over to Pennsylvania. While on the way I told her that I had been in recovery and was clean off dope and on Suboxone. She seemed pretty supportive, and even told me that she and her boyfriend both were planning on getting clean off dope soon. This would be her fourth time kicking the habit.

I saw her accomplice in the distance, when we got there and were done with greeting’s it all went back to old routine. He asked if I needed dope and instead of giving him the same story I did with Olive about rehab I said I was out of rigs. He handed me two. I took a deep breath and told him I was in rehab and couldn’t do dope. To my surprise he was also supportive and said it was alright. He mentioned something about my number not working and without even thinking I gave him the new number.

Then it all dawned on me…I had the chance to get high. I considered it for a brief moment then blew it off, Mama’s would know something was up. By this point the temptation was getting too overwhelming, I had to go. I told Olive that I had a friend waiting down on the mall for me and that I had to go meet them. Just as we parted ways I turned around and asked what kind of junk they were picking up. They said it was good powered dope; it was even from a new dealer because the last one they had was putting too much cut. I threw them a $20 and said “get me quarter, only because it’s good dope”. Of course they weren’t going to tell me no, it was perfect timing. Mama’s texted me as soon as I was back on the mall with my balloon of dope. I told her that I was walking from my parking spot and I’d be there in a few minutes.

I went to 7-11 to get pop can to cook up my dope in the theater. Because it was power I wouldn’t need to cook it long but I didn’t know how long it would take to find a vein and I didn’t want Mama’s getting suspicious.

When I met up with Mama’s we walked through the theater doors and I parted off and told her I needed to go to the restroom for a minute and I would meet her in the theater after I was done. This had to be at least my third or fourth time shooting up in this bathroom; I already knew that the stall on the corner was usually the best spot. I put my hoodie up on the door to cover the crack so no one would see what I was doing.
I opened the balloon with my teeth and took it out from the foil…I got a whiff of the faint smell of vinegar. My body trembled, I couldn’t wait. The surrounding people in the stalls and bathroom’s just added to rush of getting high, I took a small scoop of dope and poured it in the cooker with a little bit of water and heated it up. I dropped a cotton ball in and watched it suck up the dope just like how I would be in a few brief moments. I took the clean rig I had and stabbed it straight into the heart of the cotton, pulled back the plunger, and watched the syringe fill with a dark brown liquid.

By this point I couldn’t stop myself, I had no control over my hands, no control over my thoughts, this was how it had to be. I unstrapped the belt from my waist and tied up. I let my hand hang low so I could see which vein would be the best pick. For the first time in months…I actually had a choice for which vein I wanted. I pushed the needle in and felt it break the surface. It was time to register; I pulled back a little till a small air bubble filled the tip of the barrel. As I went deeper with the needle the bubble filled with blood. By this point I could barely contain the overwhelming feelings. I let go of the belt with my teeth and it spiraled around my bicep till it was a loose hold.

I took one deep breath and pushed the plunger down. I watched the barrel empty into my vein. By the time I pulled it out I could already feel my head spinning and legs going limp. I stumble to clean up but manage. I walk to the theater and meet Mama’s, the darkness provides the perfect cover…
The following was originally written August, 2008 and revised for Disconnection Notice...

The potential for insanity may be the first sign that we are truly intelligent beings, but it’s also the first sign that we have a lot to learn. As our society moves more toward approval of right brained activity now that we need not be focused only on survival, and as diving within the self through study and through drug movements flowers out, we will find some of the answers to our troubles. Troubles we weren't even aware we had. There is a reason most instabilities reside in the right brain. We are the ones who don’t get caught up in the details and see the world for what it is, we are the ones who know enough to go mad. How can most people not see that society as a whole is going mad? How our own creation is bringing itself down? Us nut jobs are merely a reflection of the whole, the ones who take the world personally.

The reflection is best seen in the arts. We understand society and we think nothing of it, and this opinion is becoming more and more validated.

It seems like the only thing stopping this from being realized is our own collective ego, society's defense mechanisms. Insanity exists to expose the cracks in the system.

I just can't get over the idea that the answers do not all reside in our logic, that we are emotional beings for a reason. That art, theology... angst, everything abstract, is merely a response to, well, reality. This sense that something isn't right here. That if an ideal mind is merely a perception machine, something that isn't caught up in any delusion, then it has two hemispheres for a reason and we need to acknowledge everything that comes with it, and the bulk of society is still really struggling with the idea that everything might just not be very logical. They don't want to acknowledge that logic is our own invention and that there's something much bigger outside of it, some sort of logic that we can't comprehend so it comes out as emotional and abstract.
October 1-14th (yeah, I missed it yesterday!, Sorry;))
is.............
PETS!!!!!!

Share photos, stories, or anything you want on your fuzzy little friends!! <3



Here is My Little Bitty- She is the queen.


And the little Princess- Fuzzy Buttons-
Pretty tired tonight.

For once in this long and wet British summer the sun was out today. Must have been 28c or so and I spent most of the day in the shell of a car in my yard, slowly stripping out wiring looms and the fusebox, dials, dash, alarm brain, proximity sensor, tamper alarm, rear seats, steering column, pedal box, brake calipers - okay the last one was outside the car - but I was fucking fried alive, I swear.

Spend most of the night since cleaning up said items and others from the same car and listing them on ebay. It's an old, collected, model so there will be financial gain from all this. It's still a ballbreaker though. My fingers are all cut up and my back is far too sore for a young bastard like myself.

Ah well. Sativa will comfort me.

=D
I don't want to do anything- I don't want to clean my house, make dinner, or do ANYTHING.
I just want to lay in bed and stare atthe wall.I have been trying to force myself.
I walked the beach, I did a couple loads of laundry, some dishes and went to town to get food and this journal.
Kassi bought me a dozen roses when I miscarried and Andrew put them on the dresser next to the bed for me.
I stared at those roses for I don't know how many hours.There was one of every color.
They were beautiful.
A few days ago she told me someone was walking the beach and saw rose petals in the water and on shore and thought it was me.I told her I was far too selfish to give them up. Today I decided that I stared atthem so long, pouring my sorrow into them, that I would give them to the ocean.
I walked over and did my own thing, saying what I felt, and it was like letting go of my grief.
In a small way.
There is still so much inside but hopefully with the help of the ocean and this journal, I can begin to let go.





I dreamed last night that me and my mom were chasing this 30 something year old woman around on Vespas trying to preach to her about teen pregnancy when she already has 3 kids. The dream ended with me drinking apple juice while watching ice cubes freeze in the work break room.

Weird.
It really helps to take part in the process, rather than live in focus and fear of the future.

The past will always be with me. My childhood will remain
right there where it always has been and always will be

It does no good to thrash about in the water, relax and she will carry you to the surface

and then there's the sun.

there are better days ahead
Because I love wasting away the inexorable, execrable hours that fall into the steamy shit-pile of my life, I am actually watching the Dungeons and Dragons movie, starring Sir Marlon Wayans as...yes...you guessed it! The zany black thief! He can instantly be recognized as himself due to his constant utterance of the highly original catch phrase, "dayyuuum!" When I'm 90 and looking back upon my life, I'll undoubtedly wish I had more than memories of this tripe. Fuck it, time to get going, get coffee, and go to some hc show my friend is getting me into.
So on Monday, I decided I needed to talk out what I was feeling with my mother. Andrew and I were both so miserable and had talked so much. He was throwing up from stress. I didn't want to upset him even more that day so I decided to call my mom while he was finally getting some sleep.
She couldn't handle talking to me and told me not to dwell.
If my mother, who I needed desperatley at that moment didn't want to help me, who would?!?!
So I began to bottle it.
I read online about a Grief journal but sort of dismissed it.
I went through alot of anger at the world.
Why, when I wanted my baby so badly, did I lose it?
Why was the world going on outside my door, when in me, I was empty.
I felt angry that we were mourning alone-Everyone should be mourning my child.
I felt angry that I could be shown something so incredibly beautiful only to have it taken away.
After my anger phase I thought I was accepting what happened.
I tried to just accept it without figuring out the reason it happened.
Then I realized my first day back to work, I was NOT okay. I was not ready to face the world.
I was pissed at all the people going on with their lives, so I decided to try the journal thing.
I have moments when I am angry, I have moreso, moments when I am sad. I will start crying in the car, crying in the store, crying on a walk or alone in my house. There is nothing to trigger it- I just cry.
Top