20.03.14 (Day 88)
Just a summary, as I’m working on other things, including a gig in a kitchen starting tomorrow. And Andrea, who I posted pictures of yesterday. As I always say though, I have so many people (who give a shit) to tell so much to that it’s just easier to repeat the mantra, “Read the blog.”
I’ve been busy with various things and therefore I’ve not been to CRI for a while. This is for various reasons: I’ve been busy and would rather concentrate on the things I’ve been busy with. If I’m occupied, I don’t drink. I’ve been getting better quicker than I would on CRI’s drawn-out programme. I’ve shot myself in the foot though by doing what I thought was a good thing: one of the housing organisations phoned and said that because I’ve not been “engaging” with CRI, they’ve cancelled my application. Damned if you do it seems. Also, I’ve been spending a lot of time looking after one of my housemates: he’s in a bad way and in my bed. Admittedly alcohol has played a part but knowing what he’s been through and had to do, I can sympathise. I’ll not share the details until I’ve gained his permission as the things I speak of are really quite gut-wrenching, graphic, disturbing and sad. Now is a particularly hard time for him as an anniversary approaches. Again, I need to seek his permission before I elaborate. So I’ve been pretty much his full-time carer, sitting up most nights while he sleeps (in my bed). I’m getting very little sleep as a result. But I’m helping. I’m not professionally qualified but he only seems to trust me. I’m trying to persuade him to come with me to the kitchen I’m cooking in tomorrow, so I can feed him. And to a curry night I’m invited to – with guests – next month. He’ll probably prefer to drink though. It blocks things out for him. He has PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) and you’ll not wonder why if I’m able to reveal further details. I’ll talk to him tonight, as I always do. And he’ll cry on my shoulder and me on his. We’re brothers.
The other reason I’ve not been to CRI is a fellow “client” who blames me for an ex-girlfriends problems. I’ve not spoken to her for weeks but this guy has it in his thick head that I’m responsible for her relapse. He’s smacked me round the head. CRI is supposed to be a safe environment but I don’t feel secure there. That said, my helper has opined that I should return and on her advice, I probably will. And so we start again…
Then there’s my mum: I thought we were building bridges but when I phoned her two days ago to wish her and dad a happy wedding anniversary (because it was their wedding anniversary), I was told it wasn’t a good time. And she didn’t phone back, so I can only assume that “they” have got to her and poisoned her little mind again with theirs. Shame.
And one of my little friends has gone missing: run away. This is one of those who “they” think it inappropriate that I associate with. This friend – like so many others – gravitates toward me. I’m not going to run away. The police have been in touch with me as a “known associate” to see if I know where this friend is: if I don’t then I can tell them nothing; if I do then I know this person is safe and where they’d prefer to be given the alternative, so I’ll still say nothing.
In other news, I bought a load of new stuff for our concrete bunker: table cloths, plates, candles; just things to make the place nicer. And it all got wrecked. So I had to start again. Having a gallows sense of humour in the house and having a ladder leading up to the roof terrace and some rope, we’ve installed a design feature: a gallows.
I bought lunch for a homeless guy yesterday. And the day before. And the day before. If I’ve got it, I share it. Shame nice guys finish last.
Some people appreciate me though and it’s not just the people / youngsters who’ve just met me and see me as some sort of freak show or circus act, as “they” believe (note the lack of respect in the lower case “t” of what should be a proper noun). Those people are ganuine friends who care. We look after each other. There are also people on the other side who remain friends. Then there’s my very, very good friend Becca, who I saw last night after far too long and whom I’m hoping to meet tonight for a drink. Yes: a DRINK! I can do that.
I love my friend: she’s sweet (and short, like me).
PS: I got the netbook – love it!
PPS: I recovered one of my old notebooks (not the ones that were stolen). Pictures from the former, drawn for me by those I met on my travels, to be scanned and uploaded soon.