Oubliette

So.

The doctor said the only thing he can suggest I do is to start taking something like Phenelzine or something stronger but I need to be monitored closely.

The therapist said she’s sorry she couldn’t help me but our allotted time is up. She is going to make some phone calls and speak to some people because one session a week is not enough and I need something more intensive.

Thats plus that sounds like hospital to me.

Hospital.

If I go in this time, I don’t know if I’ll come back out. I’m scared because I have this strong feeling that it may be a kill or cure situation.

I don’t like talking about being in hospital. Some parts I don’t actually remember, some parts I remember too vividly and some parts I remember because they were actually FUN. The food is never good though.

I’m distracting myself. Not sure where I’m going with writing this. Just kind of getting my thoughts out, I suppose.

I met someone. She’s not on the other side of the world, but she’s far enough away that I don’t get to see her. Doesn’t help that my car died on me just this side of London a few weeks ago either. She is kind and funny and beautiful and the right kind of dirty and she gets me. I think about her when some music plays, when I watched Scary Movie 2 last night, when I play with my broken mobile phone. She has been knocked and bruised as much as me and she knows how I’m hurting. I want to be better. I want to be a better man for her. She deserves a whole man.

But I pushed her away. Partly for her sake – because it would make it easier for her to walk away from me. Partly because (as my therapist tells me) I do it to punish myself because I feel like I don’t deserve to have someone as good as her in my life to make me feel… Special… Wanted… Good… Normal – like you.

Fuck. I don’t know. I don’t know. I miss her. I miss me.

Do I go in, do I stay out and try on my own? It worked for a while last time, but then stuff happened to fuck with me again.

Kill or cure. Kill or cure.

NaNoWriMo

So for those of you who don’t know, NaNoWriMo stands for..well… I’ll let them tell you, shall I?

National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30.

Although technically it’s an International thing.   I digress.   After my success with Eater of Hearts (more on this soon), I want to try and write something else and having a strictly enforced deadline and structure like NaNoWriMo might just be good for me. Expect updates!

Progress and Regress

Just when you think you might be getting somewhere, something happens to knock you on your ass and sets you back even further than you were before. It’s… stupid, I suppose is a good word for it.

Bonjour, Parlez-vous Franglais?

You can’t run away from your problems. I mean, sure – you can run away from things like the fuckwits at the DWP or the various bailiffs, but real troubles, REAL troubles. They’re the things that sit heavily in your heart and mind. They press upon your soul. You carry them with you always and you can’t run away from them.

“Impatience is a virtue” – The Samsung Jet Advert

It may be more than just a phone, but it is definitely more than just an advert.

Samsung have taken an egg from the ravaged uterus of a weekend coke snorter and injected it with the dying sperm of an insurance sales team leader and then force-gestated the resultant embryo in the sickening juices of everything that was wrong with the 80′s. The ‘mother’ who carried this abomination was the director for E4′s thinly veiled dramatised shock-doc, Skins and throughout it’s accelerated pregnancy was bombarded with sounds and images of incoherency which can only be compared to the brainwashing sequence from A Clockwork Orange. What was birthed, nay SHAT,  into the world was the advert for the Samsung JET.

Me and Mrs Peeling

I was sat in the garden with my mother, Mrs Teresa Peeling. Yes, say it out loud. Teresa Peeling. The Trees are peeling. Laugh it up, I’m grateful. When she divorced my father, she was wooed by a guy named Green. So I’m glad she married Mr Peeling.

This Time Last Year

This time last year, I was waking up in my old car in a pub car park somewhere in Worcestershire.

Sex and Semantics

So I had to do this off the cuff blog due to a ‘discussion’ on Twitter over the semantics of sex. According to said person, ‘making love’ sounds twee and makes their skin crawl. That is not how I see it. As you know, I used to be a chef and food is a big part of my life. The reason I mention this now is because what I am about to say is explained by food, so we can all get along.

The way I see it, the act of fornication can be put in three categories (good, bad and embarrassing HAHAHAH I am SO Carrie fucking whatsersexandthecityname!)

Fucking.

Having Sex.

Making Love.

and this is how it breaks down…

‘Love Me’, a Sunday Smut guest post

So once again I manage to get away with not having to write something for Sunday Smut. I know I could cheat and just copy and paste an old story/email I have written, but the idea behind Sunday Smut was for me to write some original stories. Here is something I am proud of, an established writer in their own right branching out into something they’ve never written before and making a damn good job of it. It is the naked (behave) honesty of this that gives me the good shivers and I hope is does for you.

Love Me

She looked at herself in the mirror. She was surprised to see that the reflection wasn’t nearly as ugly as she thought it would be. The bikini bottoms hugged her hips and the top wrapped itself around her breasts like a glove. She turned to the side to look at her profile and saw that her waist –contrary to the picture of herself she had in her mind– was narrow and then curved out to meet her stomach and hips. She put her hands on her hips and faced the mirror once again as a smile crept across her face.

OTC/OTT

A copy and pasting of some tweets I did the other night. When I was a kid, I would have a bath and when it came to washing my hair I would take a lid and pour tiny bits of EVERY shampoo, soap, conditioner, gel and hair product within reach. I even managed a little bit of dye once. The theory was, if this stuff was supposed to be good for your hair, then ALL OF IT TOGETHER would be EXCELLENT for your hair!

With this sort of mindset already in place, having an emotional trough night as well as being besieged by aches, pains, dodgy sinus troubles, sore throats, etc etc I decided that instead of popping a couple of tablets, I’d take a total of 7 – one for each specific ailment.

Now, these are simple everyday, over the counter medication. Admittedly, the pain killers were cocodamol and the sinus tablets were extra strength syndol stuff. I’m no junky and I’m no *complete* idiot. I figure as few as seven can’t hurt you that bad. Turns out if you mix them in a person who already has a chemically affected system, it makes for odd tweets.

Here are those tweets. Repeated in order and with no changes anywhere. I have bulletpointed them only to show their original tweetality.