Before you read on, this really is just one big fat ream of self-pity/loathing, and I've not thought about this, the whole post is not premeditated, that is to say, I'm writing as I think, so my apologies for the general chaotic nature of the writing, lack of grammar/punctuation etc. Oh and most of it probably won't make sense....
After the breakdown of my last relationship back in March, I've not been 'right', so to speak. The ol' temper reared its ugly head, the tears battled their way out and the smiles became few and far between.
Due to my increasingly uncontrollable temper, I was at loggerheads with my parents most of the time. Arguments ensued - usually over the most trivial of things - which ultimately ended up in my being homeless. Not good.
Now, homelessness appears to be portrayed in two very different lights. The majority of the general public see homelessness as being worthy of pity, or they just simply look down at the homeless. There are a few who see it as the ultimate freedom, or a time of exploration.
Me? I'm with the former. It was fucking horrible. Sleeping in a multi-storey car park in a damp, mouldy sleeping bag with just a packet of fags and an empty wallet wasn't a part of my personal shangri la ideology.
Sharing sleeping space with six addled smackheads, with theit incoherent musings and their narrow-minded view of the world was a tough experience. Coming from an affluent background, to living like this?? What an injustice!
As it turns out, I didn't have to 'tolerate' the 'scum' anymore (in hindsight, I think it more appropriate to say that they didn't have to tolerate me), as a man who I'd known for a month or two offered me his sofa until I got back on my feet...
Well I didn't did I. What did I do? Binge drink, chain-smoke cigarettes until I could hardly breathe, pump my body full of shit food and sit on my fat, useless arse all day slowly stewing away into a puddle of slusy crap not even worthy of a septic tank.
Then there was the... erm, addictions... At the time I thought it was an addiction, but as it turns out it was all psychological. I don't think I went a day without at least 6 beers for over 4 months (i never drank much beforehand). I actually felt myself "getting stupid" due to lack of intelligent dialogue, the lack of external stimulation besides the TV, and the general lack of activity in my life.
At this point the health problems began to show. I lost over a stone in weight, my blood pressure increased to dangerously high levels, and my general mood began to decline.
Bring on the tears. Nostalgia-induced bouts of crying ensued, followed by hours of self-questioning ("what if I'd...").
I was staving off the lethargy with ridiculous amounts of caffeine, mixed with generous helpings of prescription sleeping pills to try and sedate myself at night. Naturally it didn't work, so I troddled back to good ol' doc... then he withdrew my prescription. More weight loss followed, more tears and tantrums came hand in hand.
There comes a point during any crisis where one's thoughts become totally irrational. Mine went beyond this. I would analyse until I couldn't possibly extract any more 'meaning' from a subject (a subject, incidentally, where there was no hidden 'meaning' to start off with).
My thoughts became more absurd as time went on. I would think of something, turn it into a complete abstract, analyse it, abstract it again, until I had forgotten what it was I was even trying to think about. Basically I was a total fucking mess.
It's strange how things get resolved, sometimes. You'd think my downward spiral would ultimately end with me in hospital, or worse, in a morgue. Or maybe some good samaritan would come to my aid, or - less likely but still plausible - I would see sense and drag myself (albeit kicking and screaming) back to reality.
Nnnnnope. I forgot my father's birthday (I never do this), so he decided - he says out of "sheer curiosity" - to come pay me a visit (he had by this point been told where I was living). Of course, the gibbering wreck he found wasn't what he was expecting, but... hard feelings aside... this bit I have to cut short coz I get tearful... basically here I am, back home, better than ever (apart from the ever-present loneliness/tearfulness).
My outlook's changed. I no longer have such set views on class issues, issues of money (the have and the have-nots etc), I now have a new respect for those who turn their life around and make a name for themselves.
I've still got the odd few problems (namely a terrible TERRIBLE working/short memory, and the tendency to lash out unprovoked at the smallest of triggers), but I'm working through it. I've not even been through major drug addiction or any serious social/family problems, and so I couldn't possibly say I know how it feels, but I know that my own personal ordeal was terrifying (especially the feeling of...."uh-oh, I know I'm chucking it all away, but it's too late... don't think I can get out of it anymore... I'm fucked aren't I?").
Next task - get my brain working! I plan to kick-start my writing hobby again. I plan to sort out my health (recently had a few more problems with that side of things), get a job, and get on with things!
Something I'm doing a lot recently, I'm forgetting... I forgot why I even wanted to write this blog, but on the off-chance that you're still reading, if you got anything out of it, or even just enjoyed reading it... cool
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