Do Not Read This Post

Here are some things about today because nothing has happened but I have to write because I feel like I will not settle if I do not sit and write right now, so here goes.

I didn’t go to the pub today, and I didn’t have a drink. This is something of a miracle. I am pleased with myself but also kind of disbelieving – the past 48 hours that I have spent sober are probably not real. I might have made it up. Maybe I’ve been sober for a week, or a month, or a year. I don’t know.

My MRI scan was supposed to be tonight. The whole machine broke. They can’t fix it til Tuesday. I don’t care about this at all. NHS, funding, cuts, experts, Cameron’s Britain, Broken Britain, whatever, whenever, blah blah blah.

My uncle is moving out tomorrow – THANK FUCKING HEAVENS. I am so happy that he will be gone. And my brother will be home from university in a few days which makes me happy. Although I will be relegated back to sleeping on a towel on the floor. But my brother will be here so that’s fine and good.

I had 6 nosebleeds today – all of them were equally lovely, each one highly satisfying. It’s nice when your body chooses to remind you that you are still alive.


I have a lot to do on Monday and I’m nervous about it – I hope I get everything done, I have so many things to sort out thanks to multiple administrative cock-ups and the overall inefficiency of NHS. And I have my niece and nephew all day so it’s going to be tricky. I need to see my solicitor during the afternoon and I really hope that my little baby nephew doesn’t cry because then I’ll probably cry too and we’ll have to run away and I’ll have to wait a week to see the lawyer again and I don’t have time. Never enough time.

I am confused by NSK state – I just can’t comprehend it and it’s pissing me off, it’s like my brain won’t work – before (before what? before I fucked my brain with drugs and overdoses and astral projection and mind expansion?) I would’ve absolutely revelled in this NSK stuff, it would’ve been right up my alley. But now I am just scared and angry because I don’t understand it and I should understand it. Fuck.

Steven Gerrard’s send-off at Anfield made me cry. I don’t support Liverpool. I don’t particularly care about Gerrard’s departure. But the song “You’ll Never Walk Alone” always gives me shivers and makes me feel weird, so hearing thousands of people singing it at him, and his three daughters in matching outfits, and the whole bloody show made me cry. Quite a lot.

Today I went back through my blog. This is always risky for emotional people such as myself, but I needed to collate all of my posts from April-May-June of last year, as material for my novel. Jesus Christ, I was so fucking sad. I was hurting so much and pretending to be so strong and trying so fucking hard to keep it together. Reliving how sad I was this time last year has, surprise surprise, made me sad. I feel sad for myself, sad that I felt that way. I do not pity myself, not at all. I am not feeling sorry for my old self. I am merely sad that I was so sad. Does that make sense?

Tiny dead hamsters have started appearing in my dreams again – ugh, I will explain this another time.

I have run out of quetiapine. So I have no “nighttime sedative anti-psycho” meds for tonight and Sunday night. I will hopefully get more on Monday. I stole 2 zopiclone tabs from my daddy’s cupboard. I know. I know. I am stupid. But it’s only 2 – one for tonight, one for tomorrow. I will not get addicted again. I will not take any more. It’s just so I can sleep – Christ, I have not slept for a year, all I want to do is sleep. The thought of a zopiclone-induced sleep makes my eyes tear up – I am so excited to sleep. Zopiclone dreams, aaaahhhhh. Just fucking knock me out, little zop. I will wake up some time tomorrow and my uncle will be gone and it will be Sunday and I will stay out of the pubs and I will not drink and I will just be.

I have suddenly realised that I am heading towards a manic state. I cannot get manic, not tonight, not now. What goes up must come down. I have too much to do to be flying off the handle and crashing and burning and drowning and flying and laughing and dying. I don’t have time for this. Never enough time. Fuck. Breathe.

Zopiclone dreams, lovely. xx


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