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For people who kill themselves

Posts tagged recovery

15.7.2022

I could easily walk from here. How long would it take? It was a fucken long drive bro haha. It’s at least 5 hours from the city – you’d have to camp.

The funniest thing happened, I went outside in the dark and down a few garden paths. It was hilarious. On the gravel near the fence in the wet fern I remembered who I was 25 years ago. Lying there paralysed with the horrific stars. There were more people then. And up there that’s where it happened. There’s so many things I don’t have to do anymore.

I love knowing they’re all in there dancing and some over there and up there too and I’m out here. It’s enough you know? And here and there a dog in a wooly thing will come up and you say I wish I was like you.

I could’ve been that cowboy fallen asleep on himself by the fire, or Dennis or just that beautiful polished hardwood bench they’re leaning on to be around and not a part

Using every cognitive resource to achieve the male ideal an insecure narrator invents the ultimate alias: a renegade leader and sexual athlete. Compared with reality when males generally have no distinction between self and identity this example disassociates to the point the inner alpha is an entirely seperate person. The plot is a process of uncovering this great hijacking of consciousness while avoiding the pitfalls of preaching with an entertaining obfuscative style. The ending is reminiscent of schizophrenics who believe intricate paranoid delusions and sadly even when in recovery grapple with the lure to former glory by apparitions of masculinity which they have not yet possessed the grace to throw a sheet over.

But you never know who sees you, so don’t be invisible.

I love people I don’t like for being themselves.

Pablo Picasso spent his career trying to paint like a child.

The best advice I ever got in recovery was to knock yourself out.

Let’s be honest your going to anyway.

Enjoying the ride?

When no-one loves what you do,

Love them so you can (love what you do)

And they will end up loving you anyway

Even if they don’t

Honesty

And I don’t mean confession

I mean never making a mistake

Not even one, ever.

Get it?

You’re alright!

Cya

Description: Looking head on at craving, trying to set foot in a new land of okayness. To glimpse what I have wanted ever since I remember something not being right. I feel like this is a win today.

Transcription: because he is sitting there (Kanye) and he says even after he has all the shit. Material, s. That he still feels suicidal and he’s still addicted to percosets and doesn’t even realise it. And i thought, who do i wanna be? Do i wanna be someone, do i wanna be something that is controlled by some secret power that invades every hour, or do i wanna fight? Do i wanna fight for my freedom? What do i wanna, what do i wanna experience. Do i want reality or do i want drugs? Coz i have reality right now. Am i willing to fight for it? Do i wanna be remembered as someone who, was a genius? Or do i wanna be remembered as someone who had. Love. It’s more than courage. It’s. To, to want something new is more than courage. It’s death. It’s death of: being good enough it’s, of being loved, being excited, having fun. But it’s also the death of fear. Man that old life is just calling, all the time. All – the – time. And I tell other people to wake up. And they snap at me. But how do i know it’s possible? If i wont sit. In this, apparent hell. Crow crowing. In the unknown. In that lounge. The very thing i want. Is in front of me every day. And how many days have i run. Run from it. Given up. Given up on what i want. Which is to be free. Which is to love the moment. Red eyes. Hoarsesness. To love life.

The reason I left uni last week is because I realised how stupid it is to actually pay for something I don’t want but have been convinced I do and is actually killing me. 

The reason I have come back to uni this week is because the excitement of wearing black and showing my forearms is more appealing than being strictly alive; looking out the window. The dreadful existence of being above it all. Must not be abstract must not be abstract. 

Even that’s an ideology though, letting go, giving up. I think we’re starting to get somewhere with, “give up giving up.” 

My friend recently asked me to write a monologue for one of his characters. It’s top secret but has to do with the meaning of life. He says, “You’re the only person I know who could write that.” I agree with him because I’ve seen it; most days too, right up until lunch time when the guilt of underachieving kicks in. 

I know how to get it. 

But I don’t want it.

Because I’m an excellent listener. All the shit you guys have filled my head with over the last 40 years. Even through all the chronic diagnoses and the bed sores, the lice, the footpaths and the I couldn’t possibly get any lowers. Must not be excessively sentimental must not be excessively sentimental. Still I listen and say just give them another chance.

Don’t take this personally unless you enjoy that sort of thing, a good way to measure this is how you react in online forums or watching the news. I think there’s about, actually no-one I know is beyond that. And if they are they’re judging the ones who aren’t. But I do have some associates who are above it, and they were my disabled clients while I did support work. 

I’m justifying the fire in my belly right now with Jesus’s rage in the market. But really the cause of rage is my own noseyness. I could also question that though given a story I heard from a class mate. It was during a printing studio and one of the other students was not listening to the instructions of how to use the press. The tutor flew into a quick fit of rage. My friend monitored the following moments very closely and observed a clear beginning and end to the anger. She carried on in a balanced manner without any further interruption to the cohesion of the group. He and I being both experienced in brawling were in awe of this. 

The reason I write this way is because I intend it to be read. If I were to write exclusively for my own benefit it would look like a stock take pro-forma, then again that could be interesting. 

During meditation I realised that there were people in Perth who’d made celebrated contributions to local music and had thousands of followers, were down right gorgeous and people thanked them when they were in public. The biggest factor was how many blonde haired friends they had, and how those people look stunning wearing a sleeping bag. I saw how frequently these sexy gifted people posted pictures of their heads or some ironic supermarket scene. I thought these mother fuckers have exactly what I want and behave in precisely the same manner which keeps me awake at night. What I mean is I have absolutely no evidence to suggest they are happier than me. It certainly seems that they’re getting their own way though. I know what I’m like when I get my own way. Higher than you. Way way way way lower. 

We’ve had our share of troubles; gut ache, best friends. I will not try to be positive because it’s just as intolerable. I’ve come to grasp intellectually that some humans inherently and ungratefully can discern between horror movies and reality. I have wondered how a bed wetter goes from being unable to able, and the evil from bad to good though all I really have is there word.

I haven’t been taking the aspirin. I figured through self deception that as I mostly, actually sometimes eat well, that plaque wouldn’t adhere to the aortic stent, break off and lodge in my brain. Raised blood sugar is on the rowing team with thrombis and here I am by the river with a car full of melting moments.

Trouble eating is a great marketing tool for juicers. Spinach is like an eraser for yesterday but you can’t rub out dermatitis. Skin is king, you can’t make up with bulemic tricks.

I threw a tantrum earlier deciding that life had nothing to offer me and I was going to sit on my mattress until I’d gotten to the root of why the world thinks I’m bad with my hands. You know, I muted the phone then turned off the phone then punched the floor then set up the camera to record me punching the floor and knew in my heart that I’d figure it out relaxing at the bakery.

Everything’s good again. The fisherman is pissing in the bush, cockatoos are playing, my sister got a tattoo gun and I’ve been to 3 life drawing classes in a row.

26 October 2015

I was thinking about it, but I changed my mind.

Here’s how.

Found a friend who didn’t call me selfish, change the subject or tell me it’s not that bad. Someone who could listen without giving me advice. Unless advice is offered very tactfully it will be perceived as a judgement, that the answer is simple and that I’m not trying hard enough. And basically just make me hate them.

Saw a therapist. In Australia you get 10 free sessions a year on Medicare and surprisingly when combined with the other coping tools listed here it can prove very helpful. Even if it’s just one thing they say, it has helped me move through a new door of self awareness. I was certain there was nothing more for me to gain from counselling and when goal setting was suggested I scoffed. ‘That’s one of the reasons I’m so messed up because of all this pressure to achieve something.’ But It did help me. It helped me realise that living on the street wasn’t an option anymore. That what was most important to me at that time was having somewhere safe to live. So I started taking steps towards it and am picking up keys to a studio apartment.

Faced my emotions. I read somewhere that if people could just deal with their emotions, there would be no need for therapy. Luckily I have a tool for that, Vipassana Meditation. On average I practice 1 hour a day, have done for 3 years. And I don’t have insomnia anymore. It’s like excercise for the mind, making it strong. It is not about 3rd dimensions, it is like training a very naughty dog x 1000. But like excercise which makes me feel good when I do it and enhances many other areas of my life, when I don’t do it, the benefits are easy to forget. So frequency is key.

Minimized addictions. There is no way around it, whether it’s heroin or cake, there is no truth for me in synthetic experiences. At times it’s not even about resisting it’s about knowing what I have to do to get better which is experience those difficult feelings naturally. Nothing motivates abstinence like abstinence. The feeling of being clean and not needing anything to be myself. I’ve been working on this for over 10 years and have remained completely drug, alcohol and cigarette free since the 1st day of 2013

My other demon is habitual eating. Besides my friends and even my therapist thinking it’s hilarious for me to eat 10 donuts and a jar of Nutella, I feel like it’s just as physically and spiritually damaging as other drugs. Just my opinion. I had to cut out sugar again recently for over 2 weeks because I’d been hitting it so hard I was breaking out in dermatitis and waking up in night sweats.

Excercise. Nike got it right, just do it. I know it’s good for me because I’m full of endorphins after a workout, it’s a stress reliever, it burns guilty calories, tones and keeps my body functional and most importantly gets my mind off staring at the wall trying to solve the mystery of depression. I said to my therapist, “I feel like excercise is just a distraction, like a band aid, that I’m running away from my problems and they will be right there where I left them. ‘That may be so,‘ she said ‘But is sitting there thinking about it actually helping?’ Absolutely not,‘ I said. ‘I’ll sit there for 3 fucking days drawing nooses.’ ‘Exactly, she said ‘It’s very dangerous.

Work. All of the above, helping my mate at work, djing, volunteering in the community. Even if I do feel like pulling out on the day because I’m quiet and weird and can’t hold a fucking conversation, I go get involved and usually find it was worth it. Just doing something to get me out of the house, into a routine, a reason not to stay up allnight. Developing my interests. There are times when all of this rationale is beyond me and I can’t get off that dark path but I like to think my determination has something to do with improvement. Recovery is hard work but suffering is harder. I know some people don’t have a support network and depression has often convinced me that I don’t have one either, which is bollocks. Because there is someone to ask for help, I just need to keep asking and if they don’t come I’ll scream at the top of my lungs until they do.

I didn’t always have a support network or interests to give me something to work towards. I used to drink, steal, and hate. But with continuous hard work better things came. It happens very slowly but 15 years passes quickly and there is nothing more important than my mental health. That is my job and it is so difficult, almost impossible, that’s why I don’t blame people for killing themselves or most of the population for being addicted to something. I know when I see a filthy person crouched in a street corner talking to themselves that it could have been me. I was on the start of that path, the voices in my head were taking over. So can someone come back from that? I would love to hear from anyone that has recovered or developed the tools to cope with mental illness.

Jail used to seem like something I was working towards, there was even a time I thought I’d be able to kill someone if they wronged me. Now I can’t even kill a mosquito. So I make an exception on getting advice when my therapist says, ‘Keep doing whatever your doing, because it’s working.’

Kilaheem

 

mum took this