So... I got the call.  The call that I reckon I've been waiting for ever since I moved down here.  My sister called to say that my old man was in hospital.  Turns out they reckon he's got lung cancer.  I knew it would come.  That call.  But I had hoped it would be in a long fuckin time.

So, I packed up my shit, and boarded a train and found myself back in Glasgow again.  It was tough seeing the old boy, he looks fine, apart from his sore shoulder (he's had the sore shoulder for a while, they thought it was "frozen"... turns out it was a tumour, which has eroded the bone and he's somehow broken it.  The least wee touch could have done it they say.  But I could see that he's scared, and that was fuckin hard.  It's a bad enough day when you're growing up and you realise that your dad isn't superman, but to see fear in him was horrible.

I think he's more worried about my mama, there's no way she can live on her own.  She doesn't know whether she's coming or going.  I'm not convinced that she's even taken in what's wrong with my dad.  Fuckit... what ye gonna do.

I came back down to Engerlundshire for a few days on Friday, I wanted to sort some stuff out here.  Go into the office and speak to people there about what to do.  They've been great, told me to take as much time as I needed and offered to get me a flight home the day I found out.  But I still figure that I should give them their place and go and see them.  I think part of me just wanted to get away from Glasgow again and just forget for a wee while.  I don't think that worked out too well.

It's interesting.  I've fuckin complained so much about living here, how much I hate it.  But I've got a life here.  My life now is here, I missed my mates from down here, I missed work, I missed playing guitar and the whole musical social circle that I've formed here.  And now the thought of having to move home is fuckin scary, but I have to do it, right?  I can't leave everything on my sister and family up there to deal with it.  But, would my parents want me to give up my job, my career, my life down here to go back to a place that I really don't want to be?  I don't think they would, but then, could I live with myself down here.  Just waiting again for that inevitable call that my old man has been taken to hospital for the last time, or that my mama has got worse and really can't remember anything. 

Fuck knows... I guess there'll be lots of "wait and see" type conversations in my head for a wee while.  But there's gonna come a time when I need to do what I need to do.

Am I cunt for it even being a tough decision?  This is my family, my fuckin auld man and mama.  Two people in the world that I'd do anything to make sure they were ok.  They know everything about me and the fucked up way I've been for the last wee while, I brought that to them, that stress, worry all because I thought I had problems.

The one thing that has been a complete result is I've been off the booze for 32 days now.  (well, there have been 2 days I've had a drink once was 5 pints and the other 4 pints.  But they don't count really do they?  I mean, I'd usually have that before I even left the house on a night out before.)  But I reckon had I been drinking how I usually do when I found out about this then I'd just be a complete fuckin wreck.  But I haven't, I've been as solid as I could have expected to be, and I don't mind saying I'm quite proud of myself.  The desire to have a beer last Friday (when I found out) was the most fuckin unbelievable thing I've ever experienced.  That's what I do, bad news - go and get blitzed and forget about it for 2 or 3 hours and then deal with the fallout the next day.  Until I have another drink, and so on and so forth.  But I didn't do it, I even went to the pub, I went to see the band of the woman who gives me singing lessons.  She got me up to sing with her(after much persuading).  It's a 9 piece soul/funk band.  4 piece horn section etc... And it was fuckin amazing.  I remember just standing there and singing, thinking "I really don't want this night to end, because tomorrow my life is never gonna be the same.  Tomorrow I need to meet people and say 'my dad has cancer'.  Tomorrow I'll need to meet people who'll constantly be asking me how he his.  Tomorrow I'll need to reply to text messages from everyone, who of course mean well and are just concerned, and give them an update on anything that's happened."

But for that time, I could forget about it all.  I could stand and sing and know that my old man and my mama would be fuckin proud as fuck to see me there, singing in front of all these people.

Anyway... I should go to my bed.  Although sleep is a bit of an enemy right now.  I've still got my own bollocks "problems" running around my head at the speed of light with a big banging drum booming out that my old man has cancer.

Fuckit...

Things are good... Or, they should be good.  On paper everything is great.  Work is going well, I had my song played on the radio on Sunday night, which brought subsequent requests from fans/nutters wanting more music.  Incidentally if you want a listen you can do so here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p004glcd/The_Session_27_09_2009/ Skip to around 45 minutes for when my part of the show starts.

Everything is going well, everything is great.  So why do I feel like this?  Why do I feel so shite? 

Is it because I had to tell the girl that the song was going to be on the radio, and got a reaction that I didn't really expect? Not that I'm sure I know what reaction I expected.  I didn't *really* expect some kind of Dawson's Creek (why do I always use Dawson's Creek as an example of bullshit drama?).... anyway, I wasn't expecting her to come rushing to me declaring her undying love all of a sudden.  But maybe I expected a little... gratitude?  Maybe she could be the tiniest bit flattered... Instead she just made me feel like I was a cunt.  It's hardly as though I fuckin wrote she was a complete cow, or I slated her in any way.  Fuckit... Whatever... I'm done with that whole business, her hearing the song is the end now.  I can let it all go.  She's tried to speak to me the last couple of days, but I've just batted her off, without being nasty.  And today I haven't heard from her, so I guess she's taken the hint now.

I'm pretty sure though that she's not the reason I'm feeling like this, because it's not as though anything has really changed.

I want to feel like I did on Sunday night.  That high, that fear, the excitement.  I'd told everyone I knew that it was happening, then all of a sudden it hit me that the song might get fuckin slated, they'd say it was shit, middle of the road fuckin garbage.  How the fuck could I deal with that?  I would fuckin hate all the people coming up saying "ahhh don't listen to them, what do they know" etc...

But I fuckin loved it, I was almost in tears when the presenter said.. here's "John Condron... You've Got Me"... fuckin hell, it was amazing.  But it doesn't last long enough, or at least when it's all gone I'm down in the depths of hell once more, trying to claw my way out.  Why can't I just come down to a normal level and think... "cool, that was great... let's make that happen again" and just kick on from there?

Fuckit... fuck knows... Anyway, on Monday I could feel the "ache" inside me all day.  I just kept my head down, didn't say much to anyone and after work decided to walk home.  It's around 4.5 miles and took me around an hour and 10 mins.  I thought that would help clear my head, listened to a Spike Milligan audiobook.  Audiobooks are great, you can just get lost in the story, there's no memories associated with it like there is with music.  There's not the same emotion involved as there as with music.  So you can just wander along, no need to think.  Just wander.

But it didn't really work.

I done some cutting business that night.  I lay in bed in tears, just crying for no real reason, so I just done it.  Fuck it.  They weren't very good ones in all honesty, no proper "tools" around the house now for such activities, so it's not as straightforward as it once was.

I feel not too bad now, I didn't go to work yesterday.  I cited the shits as the problem, which wasn't a huge lie.  But I just couldn't face anyone, I couldn't deal with seeing anyone or speaking to anyone.

I just really don't want to feel like this anymore...

Fuckit... Moany cunt.

Inevitably I went and got pissed last night. It was pretty good in all honesty, apart from calling friends and boring them to tears with my woes. Before I got pissed though, I phoned a friend of mine to see if he can get me a job. He didn't reckon it would be much of a problem. Job would be based in Buenos Aires. But he made it quite clear "Argentina... It's not the place to come for money man"  

Fuckit, I've had enough of chasing loads of money. Whatever money I have, I waste, so what's the fuckin point. If I go there, I'd probably have a better standard of living than I have here. I also emailed a mate of mine who is working in Sydney, maybe that would be a better option.  

Ahh fuck knows... it's all a fuckin crackpipe dream really. Isn't it? Is it?

Is it really outrageous to think I could get a job in Australia or Argentina? Other people do it right? And 4 or 5 years ago, who'd have thought that I'd move away from Glasgow? And here I am, moved away for 6 months, 3 and a half years ago.  

Of course I have friends here, a good job that I enjoy, a proper career really. I've got myself into a whole new "scene" with the music stuff. But I hate living where I live.

But this is just another sack of shit that I come up with every now and again. I guess if I read back through these posts I'd read all about my big plans to fuck off somewhere else, and here I am. Still fuckin here.

It's fuckin killing me, living here. It's not in my head anymore, I'm not depressed. I'm not bi-polar. Or any other fuckin label that doctors and psychiatrists and all those cunts fuckin *love* to hand out regularly. I'm just fuckin normal. I'm just a run of the mill guy who is sometimes happy and sometimes not so happy. Maybe I overdo it with the not so happy side of things, but so fuck. What does that matter? I'm a miserable cunt... is that a disease? This is when I always said I should make the decision on what to do. When I wasn't making it based on being depressed or manic or fucked up in some way.

Of course everything I've just written is complete bollocks. Because the only reason I'm talking about this is cos of a fuckin girl. So that's hardly the right circumstance to make a life changing decision is it now? See... I told you I'm not fuckin mental. I'm definitely going to make enquiries, but no rash decisions.  

I know I'll look back on this time and be embarrassed by the ridiculousness (is that a word?) of the whole business. It is fuckin *mental* to behave this way. But the fact is, I can't fuckin help it. I just can't fuckin deal with it, so here we go, this is what I do. Run away from it. Do I wanna be here when she comes in saying she's ditched her boyfriend and has a new one? Or she gets engaged? Or she comes in being delighted she's pregnant? Do I really want to deal with that?

It's almost like a break-up... but only from my side. How fuckin pathetic is that?

Bottom line?... I need to get the fuck away from her.

I need to get fuckin out of here.  I know it's mental to quit your job over a fuckin burd, but so fuck.  I can't deal with it, what the fuck am I doing here anyway?  Why fuckin stay in this fuckin shithole?  Kidding myself on that everything is ok.  Letting some daft wee lassie play me like a fuckin fiddle.

It's a fuckin joke.

I've got shitloads to do so best get back to it.

Fuckit...

Am I happy that she spoke to me?  Fuck knows... I wanted to speak to her all day, but I never.  I stood firm.  And I got that wee excited summersault in my stomach when she did speak to me.  I just don't fuckin know how to get myself out of this mindset.  It's a waste of time, I've turned the whole thing into a big fuckin joke with everyone.  I've become a fuckin clown, a fuckin pathetic cunt that people will just take the cunt out of.  And that's all my own fault, from how much I've gone on about her to the number of people that I've bored with the same empty stories that mean nothing except in the fuckin warped reality of my head.

She had a good time by the way, for anyone that's interested.

And tomorrow I'll listen to how much of a good time she had, and worry about the work "Staff Day" on Friday where I'll get pished and play guitar and feel shite, lamenting on how wonderful she is and how my life is so tragic because I'm not with her. 

WHAT A USELESS CUNT!!..

How can I get out of this?  I don't want to be friends with her...  But I don't want to be a cunt about the whole thing.  And really any facade of being her friend, is in reality, playing the long game and hoping that one day she'll realise how wonderful I really am and how much she wants me.  Yea... something like that.

Apart from that the weekend hasn't been too bad.  Went out on Friday night for a girl at work's leaving "do".. (I fuckin hate that phrase a "do"... what the fuck does it mean?...)  Anyway, it was cool... At the end of the night it was me, the girl who was leaving and another girl from work in the pub.  I must have looked quite the homosexual with my 2 fag-hags.  It was a good laugh though.

Yesterday I had a friend come over, we watched football, drank beer and ordered takeaway.  Proper man shit.  My housemate was away to London to see Coldplay, Jay-Z and Girls Aloud.  Fuckin result if you ask me, a Saturday at home without him around.

And today I tried to finish off some work.  Didn't manage to finish it, but not too far off.  And it was good really to just spend time on my own, doing something constructive instead of wanking myself into oblivion.

Anyway... The leg is still sore, although I haven't been taking the pills.  I took one on Friday night just for the craic really, I know that's daft so no lectures please. 

And that is about that... Same old boring shite that I seem to be writing in every entry these days.  I guess I could start hacking bits out my arm or firing down more drugs to colour things in a wee bit.  I'm just kidding... no more of that business, claret just isn't my colour.

Not really sure how I'm feeling today.  The pain is back in my leg, not horrendous today (although I have been popping pills, I forgot how fucking good they were).  But it's coming back for sure.  Played at the open mic the other night.  The mental guy that comes along - he is proper fuckin mental, with lines such as "I've got bats in my semen, and I see them, everytime I make love"... Fuckin bonkers... anyway, he took some pictures that he posted on his facebook.  Fuckin hell man, I hate myself.  I was scared to look at them, but really wasn't surprised at what a fuckin hideous cunt I am.  It's all to do with the weight though.  When I look in the mirror, and I see my "headshot", I don't think I'm *that* bad... but fuckin hell, the full picture just show's what a fat cunt I am.

But as always, this can be fixed, sorted.  There's no big secret, I don't have a thyroid problem, I'm not big-boned.  I'm just a fat cunt that doesn't exercise enough, drinks too much beer and eats too much shit food.  Ergo... If I don't eat shit food, don't drink so much and exercise more then I'll lose weight. 

And *this* is the reason I hate myself, not simply because I'm a fat cunt, but because I can "fix" that, but never do.  I'm weak and lazy.  Fuckit, get a beer... get a pizza, get a takeaway.  It's not as though I don't like cooking, or I don't like healthy food.  A lot of the time it's more a case of I just can't be fuckin arsed.  And then the over-indulgence on one day turns to "what's the fuckin point?" on the next... And so it goes on and on and on...

How do I do it?  I don't fuckin know... I just say the words, and don't do fuck all.  I think about going out on the punchbag for a bit, but I'll make myself a bacon sandwich while I think about it.  What the fuck is that about?

Ahh fuckit...

But as I said at the start, I'm really not too sure exactly how I'm feeling.  From seeing the picture, and boozing over the weekend I *should* be feeling shite, pretty regular "depths of hell" business.  But I don't. I feel ok-ish... oh fuck, I just thought.  Maybe it's these pills?  Like I said earlier, I'd forgotten how fuckin good they are.  I spent much of yesterday pretty mashed out my face.  I guess that must be it.  Problem solved.  Just call me Columbo.  Although, now I've figured that out I feel a bit shit, there was a wee part of me was thinking maybe I was just gonna be normal, like normal people who can go out for a beer at the weekend and not spending the rest of the week wanting to just disappear into oblivion.

That's a bit of a cunt... Fuckit...

Anyway, in other news.  A girl at the open mic the other night asked me to play "You've Got Me".  That made me feel pretty fuckin good.  Some wee girl, that I don't know at all asks me to play one of my songs.  I felt like a proper musician then.  It's fair enough getting asked to play a cover, but getting asked to play your own song.  It felt really fuckin good.

We'll see what happens... Tonight I'm planning to try and go for a 4 mile walk.  We'll see how that works out.

Pat on the back for me today I think.  Watched the football last night with a couple of mates, they drank my beer, I drank coke.  Who'da thunk it eh?  I feel good for it though, I'm pleased I didn't drink.  I'm gonna see if I can go until the 25th of September without drinking.  That's the date of the company "Staff Day" where they give you free beer and it's pretty much expected that you'll get pissed.

Fuckit... we'll see if I can do it.  Weekend is always tough, just cos I've got fuck all else to do, and it's just generally accepted that getting pissed will be on the agenda.  I guess if I can do it during a big football game, then I can do it anytime, right? Right??  Fuckit... We'll see...

I'm trying hard to make things cool today, no more moaning about shite that's irrelevant to people who don't give a fuck.  I feel pretty weird if I'm being honest.  Just a wee bit... fuck knows... strange maybe?  I just wanna go home and disappear for a wee while... come back when everything is great.  Life is good again. 

Things aren't *shite* really I don't suppose.  There's just always the feeling in me that something is missing.  I need something else in my life, I need something to make it all worthwhile.  I feel like I'm fed up being alive... getting up in the morning, driving to work, worrying about shit that in the grand scheme of things is fucking pathetic, going home and then doing it all again.  It's all pretty depressing, and made worse because I can't think of a single thing that would make it better. 

I want a hug... I want someone to give me a hug and tell me everything is going to be ok.  Even though I know I won't believe them.

What a wanker..

Back to work today.  Went to see my mates family on Friday, what a fuckin mess he's left.  2 girls distraught, one who thought she was "the one", loses her man, finds out he was cheating, then has to fight with his family over pissing, stinking money to make sure she doesn't lose her house.  I can't imagine my parents contesting any life insurance money with my fiance, who I'd been with for 6 years, and had bought a house with - which was the reason for the life insurance anyway!  Surely there's no reason that the money should go to the parents?

Fuck knows...  The law is an ass.  I can understand to some extent how they are feeling.  They want to blame someone, I guess they didn't like her much beforehand.  They see it as, she's young, she'll move on, and some other guy will move into the house that their son bought.  It's a fuckin mess, and I'm glad I'm not the one to try and figure it out.  My mate wouldn't have wanted this though would he?  Regardless of what was going on, or what they think of her, or anything like that.  6 years, a house and an engagement would suggest that he thought a bit about her.

I don't wanna get in the middle of it all.  The problem is I'm an opinionated cunt, so I can't help but take sides.  I managed to do my best though to just keep it all to myself on Friday and just do my best to try and make everyone feel a bit better.

I went for a pint with his dad, that was cool.  He looks loads like Mike, but much quieter.  Maybe he was just struggling a wee bit, I was struggling for sure after meeting his missus, so I was a wee bit pissed.  Fuckit I thought...  Just get through this.  It's not gonna be easy, so I guess I reverted to type and got pissed.

After meeting up with them I continued up the road to Glasgow.  My parents were on holiday until the Saturday so I just went straight to a mates house and got more pissed, sat up until around 8 in the morning, drinking, singing and talking shit.  It was a good time but too much boozing.  Glasgow, like always, ended up with me spending too much money and not doing the things I want to do.  I resisted the temptation to go and meet a girl that would have been a mistake.  But I was a bit disappointed that another one didn't fancy coming for a drink.  But I guess that's just normal isn't it?  I shouldn't read too much into it...

One of the toughest parts of the whole weekend though, was finding a pile of letters, cards and shit from the only 2 girls I've had real, long term relationships with.  Even though I knew it would be horrible, I couldn't help but read them.  There was one card with a poem in it titled "Why I Fell In Love With You" with a long poem in it, and at the end, "But you knew all that anyway... x x x"

And I can't fuckin shake that out of my head.  If all that is true, when did I become such a cunt?  All this love bestowed on me, all the cards and wee fuckin bits of paper and a napkin from the night she fell out with her parents and she stayed at my parents in my single bed, with just a JL "hearts" JC on it.  And it fuckin kills me. 

It fuckin hurts to think that somebody has ever felt that way about me.  It seems like such a long fuckin time ago that I felt like it was ok for someone to feel like that about me.  That I'm fighting every day to convince myself that I'm not a horrible cunt and that I am "loveable" in some way.  And here is the proof, it's all there.  And I can't believe it.  Either that or I won't believe it.  I'm still not able to accept that someone could give me the love that I know I will give them.

What the fuck is that all about?  Why do I do this to myself?  Why is it so hard for me to accept?  Is it the old Ricki Lake, Trisha and Jeremy Kyle bullshit that "you can't expect anyone else to love you if you don't love yourself"  If it is then I think I'm fucked.  I think I need that validation, the confirmation from someone that they love me.  And then I'll be better at loving myself.  Do I really believe that?

WHAT THE FUCK AM I LOOKING FOR!!?!?

Fuckit...

As it goes, I feel fuckin' absolute shite.  Just huge fuckin' hatred for myself.  I'm trying to be cool about it all, but my mind feels like it's just a fuckin mess.  I'm getting the whole "I just wanna go to bed and hide" way about me just now.  But I'm not gonna do that.  I can't let that happen.  I got a call from the boy today saying we have a gig tonight in a pub in Oxford.  If this had happened yesterday or probably more likely Tuesday then I woulda been right fuckin up for it.  But as it stands, I can think of nothing worse than standing in front of a bunch of the Beautiful People that frequent bars in Oxford, having them just talk about what a fuckin fat, useless, horrible cunt stands before them polluting their ears with his shitey guitar playing.

Fuckit... I need to do it though, I need to force myself out the fuckin door into the car and get myself there.  Force myself to play, I know once I start I'll realise initially it's not so bad.  And then I'll start to realise that it's actually fuckin good.  And by the end of the night my head will be buzzing, racing around like it's on an adrenaline fuelled motorbike flying at 100 miles an hour.

The girl went on holiday today, she's off to New York.  We spoke for a bit last night, again to me it seemed like she wouldn't be having this kind of goodbye with everyone.  But fuckit, that's probably bullshit. 

Fuckin fuckit... why do I let myself get so into this?  Maybe there's something wrong with me and I just fall for girls who have boyfriends, because then that's the reason they can't be with me.  Because they're already with someone, and not because I'm a fuckin fat, useless, ugly cunt. 

My head is fuckin bursting today, just feels fuckin horrible. 

Fuck knows...

Fuckit... I'll be fine when I'm better.

Once again it's been a looooooooooooong time since I posted anything.  Yesterday, I read back over everything I've written since last year.  Some of it I can't believe is the same person that I am today.  It was weird and interesting at the same time, and made me want to write a wee bit more.

Things are starting to get a bit better.  There's lots happened in the time between the last post and this one.  I guess the major thing being a friend of mine dying.  I'd known him for around 3 and a half years, he'd started work with my company not long before me.  But it was only recently that we'd become what you'd say good mates I guess.  We would share our stories of women troubles over a few drinks, moan about work and football and generally have a laugh.

One day he asked me to go for a beer with him, his head was a bit all over the place because of a girl.  He wanted to have a beer and a chat.  I'd just come out of hospital after having surgery on my back to sort out the pain I was having in my leg.  But I didn't really want to let him down.  We went out for a few beers locally, then drove down to the next wee village to another couple of pubs.  He wanted to drive to Oxford after that, but I convinced him that we should go back to the hotel he was staying in that night, ditch the car and have a few more there.  I was still pretty anaesthetised so I didn't really want to drink too much.  We got back to the hotel, sat in the bar and had another couple of pints.  By around 10 O'clock I was fading, so I thought... fuckit... I need to go home and called a cab.

I gave him a hug and a kiss and I told him everything would be cool. 

For some reason, a couple of hours later he decided to get in his car and crashed into a parked lorry on the A34 in Oxfordshire.  He was 26.

The next day I tried calling him, but the phone just kept going to answerphone.  I was worried that he'd slept in and was gonna get busted from work.  But as the day went on I started trying to find out if anyone had seen him or anything.

I found out later what had happened. 

Obviously I went and got fuckin blitzed on my own.  My parents were down looking after me because I'd just got out of hospital, but I couldn't deal with it.  I had to be on my own.  Was it my fault?  Should I have stayed longer? Not gone at all? Is there anything else I should have done?  Did he do it on purpose? Or was he just a fuckin drunken idiot who thought he could drive.

Was I just making it about me?  Was I just being a cunt?  I just didn't know what the fuck was happening, what to do, or how to deal with anything.  So I do what I do best, got fucked up with booze and the prescription pills that I was on. 

It's been tough, but I guess I've dealt with it not too bad.  I have to meet his fiance this week, she found out about him seeing someone else down here, and wants to meet me and two other people from work.  I met his mum, dad and sister last week too.  This is it though, one more meeting with his missus then I'm done.  I've become pretty good friends with the girl he was seeing down here.  The whole thing was fucking with his head, but not enough for him to want to do anything ridiculous.  Fuckit... Anyway, I figure that there's nothing else I can do for him, so for the next wee while I'll look out for the girl down here.  If I can speak to his family and missus and make them feel better then I'll do it, but I can't be fucked getting involved with the fighting between his family and his missus.  I understand that they just want someone to blame, some reason to try and understand why this shit has happened.  But I don't know any of them... All I know is I went out for a beer with my mate, and now he's not around.  And it fuckin kills me.

I just feel as though I want the world to give me a wee break.  This whole business with my back, in agony for months, popping prescription pills for months.  No further forward to figuring out why my mama is becoming more and more forgetful by the day.  Which is killing me too.  I hate speaking to her on the phone, she's so passive now.  Scared to speak in case she says the wrong thing, every question you ask she asks or looks to my old man for the answer.  That's not my mama.  My wee mama, that I'd fuckin die for in an instant.

Then there's woman business... This fuckin girl.  It's all just doing my head in.  I spoke with the loonball doctor who reckons that it could be because of all this bad shit that's happened recently, that I've been feeling so vulnerable that the fact a good looking girl was nice to me has made me fall for her.  All I know is I can't fuckin shift her out of my head.  She has a boyfriend, but with recent events I got pissed and thought, life is too fuckin short.  Sent her a text telling her just how amazing I thought she was.  I spoke to her the next day and apologised for sending the text, but not really for what I said.  She said she thought I was amazing too, but she wanted to stay with her boyfriend and work things out (they'd not been getting on well)...

The thing is... I know I'm a fuckin idiot, I know she's out of my league, but there have been times when I've looked at her and I feel like I've got *that* look back.  You know the look I mean.  When you both know that there's *something* there.  Fuck knows.. maybe I'm just living my life too much like Dawson's Fuckin Creek and I need to just cut that bullshit out.  I also know though that the things I see as being something there, can also be easily explained away.  Things aren't great with her boyfriend, she has a fight with him, she can come to me and know I'll make her feel better without her feeling like she's done anything wrong.

There was a time when I was lying in bed around midnight, and I got a text from her not saying anything in particular.  But is that normal?  She's at home with her boyfriend, at midnight and decides to text me to talk about the weather?  Fuck knows... Maybe I read too much into it.. she's young I guess.  But she's amazing.  Everything I'd want in a girl, good looking, good fun, loves music, wants to travel, same sense of humour, wee bit mental.  I-fuckin-deal.  Apart from the boyfriend and the fact that she probably doesn't feel anywhere near the same way as I do.  The other day I was just sitting at home, and I noticed it was sunny outside... that reminded me she was going to a barbecue that day for her brothers birthday.  Then I just started thinking, I wonder if she thinks of me?  I wonder if I come into her head for no reason.  Probably fuckin not was the conclusion...  So I went upstair, probably with the aim of just looking at internet porn and turning my room into a wanking furnace once more.  But I checked MSN, and she was online, with her "show what I'm listening to" thing on.  And she was listening to me... listening to my songs.  I was so fuckin happy, I didn't even bother having a wank.

On the positive side of things, I've been playing loads of guitar, writing, recording and playing live loads.  It's amazing.  An absolutely amazing feeling to play live and to see people enjoy it.  Been taking singing lessons and met some really cool people from doing it.  One guy that I'll likely start a band or record music with for a long time to come.  Him and his family have been great in helping me progress and get better at what I want to do.

So there ye go... that's about it for now.  I've been to see the loony doc a couple of times, but nothing really to report.  I kinda feel like it's a waste of money now.  All I'm really doing is going there and offloading, so what's the fuckin point in spending the dosh for that?

Fuckit...

I haven't posted an entry for ages.  I guess things have been good.  Been playing in a lot of open mic nights around here, made some new friends on that kinda scene.  It's all been pretty good.

This leg is still fuckin' killing me, I'm either "living in pain, or mashed out my face" to quote myself from one of my songs. 

I guess I feel like writing because I feel like cutting myself.  She got married on Saturday.  The Ex.  I knew it was coming, but still...  What a cunt.  Dunno why it still affects me so much.  Why the fuck I let it get to me I don't know...  I guess it's because I'm on my own more than anything.  And on Saturday I was out with a girl that, either just wasn't into me.  Or has pretty major relationship issues.  I think from our conversations that it's the latter... or at least I'd like to hope so.  Either way, SHE has moved on, got married... and what the fuck have I done except become a fat cunt with a dodgy leg that can't even take a burd out for the day and sit down for half an hour.

I just came back from London that day and got fuckin hammered, conscious decision... Just decided that was what I was gonna do.  And I accomplished it pretty successfully.

FUCK... I want to break something....

I'm fuckin sore... physically sore from this fuckin leg... But I want to hurt myself because I feel like a fuckin' fat useless fucker.  I've been singing this song "Substitute" recently... "...Music is my Substitute for love..." and "...I've had many different girls inside my bed, but only one or 2 inside my head... these days I cuddle up to my guitar instead.."  But when does that just become wrong?  When I'm 70 years old and thinking about dying, will my guitar be there to look after me?  To tell me I'm a daft old cunt?  To give me a kiss when I'm lying, dying on some fuckin horrible hospital bed.  Will it fuck... it'll sit there laughing at the fact that I can't play it anymore... and I'll be lying old, and fucked and bitter... fuckit...

This is part two of this entry, written a day later.  I'm not so worked up about things today, but I did cut myself this morning.  It was 3 pathetic wee scrapes in all honesty.  More to do with the fact that I don't have any decent paraphernalia for such a task than anything I reckon.  Because I really, really tried to do it.

I know I'm an arse for doing it, but so fuck.

Going to play at the open mic tonight, so looking forward to that.  Not sure what I'm going to play, but I have a few hours to practice after work so I'll decide then. 

Fuckit... can't be arsed writing anything else...

So I'm on the train.  I see this cunt over there with his can of Stella.  Could go a drink myself in all honesty.  The train is fuckin' mobbed as it always is.  We pay all this fuckin' money and you end up squashed in the train like a fuckin' sardine.  Cunts.  We're getting close to Paddington.  Grim. As. Fuck.  What a fuckin' shithole this place is.  And people bust their arse, spend weeks on boats, or smuggled in a van with 100 other peoples farts for company to get here.  Where the streets are paved with gold...  Sorry mate, the gold on the streets was ripped up, stolen and sold in the pawn a long fuckin' time ago.

There's a wee honey sitting with her office attire on listening to her iPod.  I fuckin' love that style so I do.  That office wear.  Magic. 

Then I see him. 

Fuckit, yea... It's gonna be him.  He's a big cunt.  He could easily kick my fuckin' head in, but this tool in my hand levels things up a bit.  I look down and he's been eating a tuna and cucumber sandwich.  I fuckin' hate cucumber.  The half eaten sandwich is sitting on his British Army issue rucksack.  A fuckin' squaddie.  Hahaha... I-fuckin'-deal..

He's kinda half squatting down, I can't do it when he's like that.  That's taking liberties.  I'll wait 'til he's up.  Then I'll do it.  I feel "the thing" in my pocket.  I've got a lump in my chest the size of a football, the likes of which I haven't felt since Lucy Turner showed us her fanny in second year.  My heart is going like fuck.  Here it is.  He's standing up.  He's fucked now. He's gonna fuckin' get it.... CUUUUNNNNT!!!

 

I used to be alright you know.  Hard working, fun loving generally happy guy.  I'm getting back there I guess but the last wee while has been some crazy times.  I guess too much boozing, drugs and general bad living has taken it's toll.  I guess I should start at the beginning though.

I'm sitting in the office of the head lecturer at The Glasgow College of Nautical Studies.  Yer man, I forget the cunts name, is telling me that I'm a fuckin idiot.  Because I should have coasted this course.  But I'm not giving a fuck.  I'll take my bollocking here, then I'll catch up with the rest.  He's rabbiting on a bit, but I'm no' really listening.  Until he says "so that's it John, you're out."

Eh?  Did he just say...?  Fuckin' cunt...  Can you fuckin' believe that?

I kinda half heartedly plead with him for a wee bit to see if I can have a go.  But he's not for budging.  He's not a bad cunt really, but right there and then I coulda smashed his fuckin face in.

But I don't. I go and meet Jim for what *was* our daily pint, but what now will be our final pint.  We play the wee game of "aye, we'll keep in touch, meet up for a pint still" etc etc... We both know it's a sack of shit but still it's not the first and won't be the last time that it's played.  I like Jim.  He's a good cunt, despite his football affiliations.  I probably should have kept in touch with him, I sometimes do wonder what he's up to.  But fuckit... I never and that's that. 

So there I was, fucked up with school, then fucked up with College.  That was a bit of a cunt.  Fuckit... What can you do.

I phone a friend of mine and get a start in a data entry place, inputting applications for Barclaycard Credit Cards.  It was the most mind-numbing shitey job you could imagine.  But funnily, it was probably one of the happiest times of my life.  I met some good people there, and I met a girl who would become my "first love" on the same day.  Good times really.  Meeting this girl was good for me, I stopped drinking so much.  Became a bit more straight laced.  But not being pissed all the time showed up that job for what it was.  How the *fuck* could I do that for the rest of my puff?  Fuck that.  So once again I found myself in academia.  Back in a fuckin classroom.  Jesus Christ.  I made sure I didn't fuck it up this time though, still boozed but at a more acceptable level.  And it was ok. 

My girlfriends family hated my guts, but I could live with that.  We were happy, doing ok and progressing in life.  I talked her into going back to Uni and getting herself sorted. I "fixed" her... (I don't even get a bi-annual blowjob in thanks for dragging her confidence from the depths of hell to a place where she's able to excel in her career.  Bitch.)  And then one day she realised that she didn't really want to live that life anymore, and I got binned.  I'd been with her for almost 5 years, and here I was now.  23 years old and fuckin' lost.

Fuckin' hell... I didn't know how to deal with it, so I dealt with it the way I always dealt with things.  I got fucked up.  For a good 6 months I spent shitloads of money on coke, strippers and boozing.  I hated myself more and more each day, waking up feeling shit every single morning.  Assuming of course I managed to get some sleep.  It was crazy times.  The final crunch came when I was sitting in the VIP lounge in a strip club that I'd been going to far too much.  I had 3 girls kneeling in front of me, all with coke on their tits.  I'd just spent £600 on 2 bottles of Champagne.  Living like a rockstar.  It's everything you'd want... right?

I snorted some ching, and slumped back on the comfy, leather chair.  A million thoughts running around my head shouting and telling me to pick them.  But one is much louder than the rest.  One telling me that I don't want this anymore... I can't do this anymore.  I want to be at home, cuddling with my girl watching shit Saturday night TV, having bad chinese food.  I feel like I have nothing at my back anymore, I'm falling... and there's fuck all there to catch me.  And this thought, clear and concise.  Cutting through the madness, the riot in my brain.  Telling me this isn't what I want.  Isn't what I need.

So I bunker in for a few days at my parents house, I know they're worried as fuck about me.  And that makes me hate myself even more.  I feel like I've done alright with covering up the cuts on my arm from my own personal handiwork.  Explain to my mama it's from carrying boxes at work.  That's plausible right?

I know both of them know it's a sack of shit, but so fuck.  I can't deal with knowing that both of them know the real story and then having to face up to those kind of conversations with them.  I've been playing the game of the happy, fun good time guy for so long with them now that I don't even know how to converse with them on any kind of level, without it being a fuckin charade.  But I know I can't.  I know they'll blame themselves for this putrid, bleak fuckin' outlook on the world that I have.  I can't fuckin' have that now can I?

I get a job in London.  The big smoke.  Big John, leaving the fuckin' dredgery of the housing schemes of Glasgow for the bright lights of London.  It's good for a while... I meet good people.  The English aren't half as bad as people think.  They probably have more than their fair share of wankers, per head of population.  But they're good people really.  I get my head down, work hard.  Make my company love me.  Meet a girl, start having some fun again... it's all good. 

But it's not right.

Fuck knows why.

It's just fuckin not.

I play the game, move in with the girl.  This is what I want and all that business.  Then we're lying in bed cuddling, and I'm thinking about the girl from Glasgow.  What she's doing, is she happy?  Am I happy?  What the fuck am I doing with my life.  Fuckin' poor me, Dawson's Creek bullshit.  Teen-Angst I should have grown out of a long time ago fuckin' consumes me.  There's just something missing right now.  I'm not sure what it is.   But whatever it is, it's not fuckin' there.  A big void in my soul that I've tried to fill with every single kind of nonsense that I can possibly think of.  Snort it, drink it, pop it out and throw it down your neck.  Take a wee trip from this fuckin' mundane reality of life.  We're a fuckin' nothing generation.  We're likely the first generation that have grown up with everything handed to us.  No struggling, no battling for stuff.  Even the poorest families have enough for Playstations and big fuckin tele's.  Sky TV.  Fuck... some of these kids don't know anything other than Findus Crispy Pancakes and Jeremy Kyle in glorious High Definition.  Sprinkled with some 18 certificate computer game that'll turn the wee fuckin cunt into a junkie or criminal by the time he's 15.

And that's why people like me are the way we are.  We're products of our environment.  Some people are too fuckin' stupid to realise it, but they are all the same as me.  They're fuckin' bored with their loveless, sexless marriages, high paying jobs that they're doing because it's what their parents wanted for them.

People who don't need them, throwing anti-depressants down their neck, because some fuckin' doctor can get a new car from the pharmaceutical company if she prescribes enough of them.

It's all a big fuckin' con. 

We need something to happen.  Some kind of drama.

And that's why I'm doing what I'm doing.

I'm on the train, and I'm going to make some drama.  I'm going to make one of these fuckers miserable fucking lives interesting.  I'm going to give everyone a story they can tell to their uninterested spouse when they get home and have their Marks & Spencers ready meal for 2, with a cheap glass of plonk.  I'm doing them all a favour.  Yet I'll be the bad guy.  Maybe one day they'll see it, they'll realise this was all for them.  This is everything they needed to happen to stop them dying of fuckin' boredom. 

I'm gonna save the cunts. 

It's just a case of who's going to be the lucky one....

 

Am I just a miserable cunt?  Is that what the issue is?  Fuckin' comic relief.  It certainly feels like the office has been relieved of any comedy.  Cunts dressed up as pinhead, gorilla's and most bizarrely a middle-aged man wandering around with only a towel wrapped around him?  What the fuck is going on there!?

Feeling pretty fuckin' shit.  Could be down to a couple of smokes last night.  I'm pretty sure I don't want to smoke, but I can't help it now.  I think it's much like most drugs that I've tried.  None of them are ever as good as the hype that surrounds them.  Yet, I want the feeling that the hype promises, and I go back every time.  It's fuckin bizarre. 

Funny things drugs... Maybe it's just me, but I never enjoy myself enough to justify the extreme low that follows.  I guess the same with boozing, but I generally do have a good time to justify the hangover.  Well... at least to make at almost justifiable.

So yea... these people, dressed up... this pretend camaraderie in the office.  The smiles after bitching, the disapproving looks followed by "I love your outfit"... Fuckin' hell.  Everyone is a cunt.  Are there any proper genuine people in the world?  Who the fuck knows... Not that I'm any better.  I'm not going up to the half naked man and telling him he should know better at his age and that he looks ridiculous am I?

No I just fuckin' moan about it here.  To no-one...  write all this shit down for anyone/no-one to read and perhaps cheer themselves up safe in the knowledge that there are other people who are miserable as fuck with no real problems or logical explanation as to why they are miserable.  Other than poor me, life is shite... melodramatic, Dawson's Creek... "I'm so misunderstood" bullshit.  Fuckin teen-angst at 26?... gimme a fuckin' break.

My "lets get my head down and work hard" head has been replaced by a "let's just fuck off somewhere, (although not too far, because your leg won't be able to handle the journey) but yea.... let's go.  Just get to fuck"... But then, money comes into the equation.  How do you "fuck off" without the appropriate funds in place?

So you work with the intention of saving, for this fucking off business, but the monotony or the mundane reality of life drives you to seek some solace in a bottle of beer or whisky, and instead of the saving up for fucking off fund growing, your beer gut is the only thing to show for your hard work.

How can I be skint?  I earn good money, I don't have *that* many outgoings?  But it's because I wanna go out and through money around and pay £40-50 in a taxi instead of getting the train and try and live way beyond my means.  I'm so shite with money.  That's why I need to be rich, so I don't need to think about it.

Fuckit... what can ye do?

It'll be a quiet weekend for me this weekend I feel.  Although I have some friends coming to watch the football at the weekend.  I hope I can shake this shit off and try and be a decent host for my guests.  Ahh fuck 'em, they know what I'm like by now.  I'll try though... not much boozing, good living.  That's the key as established in previous blogs.  Fresh air and healthy food may not quite be the complete answer to making yourself happy.  But I'm guessing it must be better for your mental wellbeing than Findus Crispy Pancakes and Jeremy Kyle.

 

 

Once again I find myself standing up writing this shit because of the extreme pain in my leg from this fkn nerve problem.  And once again I'm not 100% sure why the fuck I want to write again today, but I do.  It's interesting knowing what I'm allowed to write, or maybe more what I should and shouldn't write about, because I've told so many people about it now I'm not entirely sure who still reads it and whether I'm going to say something I shouldn't or something that will offend them.  Fuckit... What can you do.

Got a bit fucked up over the weekend again, following on from the previous weekend where I got fucked up with a friend of mine in London.  It was a fuckin great day, spent it in Camden Town and bought myself a hat.  It's cool as fuck.  I've never really been one for hats, but I just thought "I want a hat" and I saw it and bought it.  Proper man shopping.  I want another one now though, although I think people think I'm a wanker for wearing it.  Who gives a fuck though, I fkn like it.

I went out on Saturday into Oxford with a group of friends, including the wee girl from the other week.  It was cool, things seemed pretty normal... It had been pretty awkward (probably more on my part in all honesty) for a few days.  And even today, been speaking ok... having a laugh, all that business.  Just like it was before I made an arse of it all.  But I'm just thinking now.  Is this what I want?  Can I deal with this?  Can I deal with the inevitable conversation one day when she comes in talking about some guy that she's met, or her new boyfriend and all that shit?  Would it be better just to say now, fuckit... We're not mates, I have mates.  I don't need any more mates.  I now really do think that it is definitely possible to be friends with a girl, but only if that's all both of you want.  If one wants more, then they can only ultimately be hurt by the friendship in the end.  The jealousy or disappointment or whatever it is that comes when the other person finds someone else.  Or do you just hang in there, hoping one day she'll change her mind, or that the feelings pass and when the day comes, you can deal with it all without too much fuss?

Seems like a pretty dodgy game to play to me...  Especially trying to play the long game after the rejection.. Fuck that.  And yet, as I type this... I'm offering to lend her money I don't really have to pay for some stuff because I don't want to see her stressing about it the way she is.  I guess the question is, what part of the game am I playing?  Fuck knows.... I'm pretty sure it's the "hoping the feelings pass game", because there's no way I think that anything will come of it now.  I think it was all pretty much decided when we had the wee chat that we should just be friends. 

Fuck knows... Fuckit...

Although, I do feel ok about the whole business as it goes.  I feel ok about most things right now, I don't feel particularly down at all.  Just a wee bit "where to now" kinda way...ya know?  Like I'm trying to get somewhere and going the long fuckin' way round to get there.  Not that it's bad, it's just, almost frustrating that I'm still in this limbo of "almost"...all the time.  Almost where I want to be, almost have what I want... Almost am who I want to be.  But always never quite there...  Mr. Average.

Ran out of pills the other night, so spent yesterday evening clucking like a fuckin junkie.  Un-Godly sweats and shivers were the order of the day.  I guess throwing down more pills than you should every day for the last 4 months and then cutting them off completely will do that to you.  It was fkn horrible though, and a wee insight into what awaits me upon my recovery I guess.  Surely it would be bad for them to just cut me off completely?  What a fuckin' junkie...

Got some more this morning and still feel like I have a proper sweat on, and still in fuckin pain.  Not to mention a bit fuckin mashed.

I feel like I could fuckin' lose it with someone today for sure, poor cunt.  I hope no one tries to be a smart arse today cos I'm really not in the fuckin' mood.  Cunts...

Fuckit...

Oh well, at least I tried eh?  Back in the game and all that business, but ultimately a futile attempt.  I really should have known better.  I know I'm a good friend, and a nice guy and all that shite.  And I'm a much better friend than "boyfriend".  And that's just the way it's gonna have to be.  I don't really know what I expected in all honesty.  But there were times that I felt it was right, that it was what we both wanted, but I didn't do anything.  I guess I'm just not fuckin good at the game.  Fuckit... 

In all honesty the rejection wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, I survived.  It's not that bad, I don't feel like running home and getting out a kitchen knife.  I guess that's progress.  I *did* however snap at some useless cunt in the office.  Fuckin wanker.  And then had a bit of a ding dong on the phone with my boss.  So maybe it's affected me more than I think, or maybe it's just a bad day.

Nah, I'm cool... dented ego, sore leg and pissed off with work.  Nothing I can't deal with though.

Fuckit...

I feel like I'm 15 years old and at school again, it's fuckin pathetic.  But at least it's dealt with I guess.  And I guess it's better to regret the things you've done than the things you haven't done.

Fuckin hell, I've just realised really how irritable I am today.  A guy just walked past and I thought "what a fuckin cunt" just because of the way he walks.  Maybe not just that, but not enough to warrant him being a cunt.  This whole business with my mama too is fkn getting to me, fuckit... I just wanna fuck off somewhere for a bit.  Just get on a plane and disappear somewhere, work in a bar, play guitar...fuck knows...anything... I need something in my life other than worrying about shit - money, family, work, how a fuckin site template is supposed to work with parameters in Sharepoint and then explain to my boss that it's not as easy as he fuckin thinks... Cunt.

Ahh fuckit, I guess I'm not ok, writing all this shit down proves that I think.  I'm a fuckin shambles, I feel like breaking something.  Fuckin' anything.  Just give me a fuckin excuse.

Fuckit...

Cunts

[edit] In fact... fuckit, I am ok.  This is normal right?  I've had a wee shit day and I'm pissed off... It happens right?  This isn't because I'm ill, or depressed or anything dramatic like that.  It's just been a shit day so far.  I'll get over it, I'll go home watch the football, have a tommy tank... try and do some work.  Shake this all off and get some sleep.  Maybe play guitar and write a masterpiece. 

Fuckit... Yea, I'm ok.  I done the right thing, it didn't work out, I'm gonna feel shite about it for a couple of days maybe, but so fuckin' what.  It happens to everyone.  I'm not a unique, delicate snowflake.  I'm just another wanker that decided he liked a girl but it wasn't right.  Big fuckin' deal... I'm sure it'll happen many more fuckin times in my life.

Fuckin' deal with it. Yea?

Yea...

Good... Cunt...

[/edit]

Why the fuck do I bother?  Huh?....  I'm just a useless fuckin cunt.  I can't make a decision on what to do about something, what I want from something... Or more likely, what I think the outcome of something will be.  So what do I do... make a decision and go for it? Maybe think about it some more before coming to a decision?... Or do I just sit in the fuckin office and cut my arm with a pair of scissors(in my defence, I didn't think they'd be as sharp as they were).  I think that single act just proves that I'm too much of a fuckup to face a proper grown up relationship right now.  Nothing has even happened and I'm still a fuckin' mess.  Still I'm not able to deal with things rationally.  The fear of rejection is the overriding feeling right now.  If I do nothing then there's no chance of rejection and everything drifts along just nicely and I can drink and cut myself and moan about how unfair the whole business is and how I could have whatever I wanted but I'm choosing not to, making excuses not to and blah blah blah fuckin blah....bollocks, bullshit...useless bollocks cunt...

I know I'm not alone in this game, I don't know anyone who is an expert.  But at least some people have the balls, the arrogance, the...whatever, to at least take a punt.  Have a go, see what happens.  I just pop more pills and moan about my sore leg and how things would be different is x was like this, or y was like that.  And I just go on and on and round and round in this fuckin' shitey circle that never ends. 

It's true what I said before, I'm going to end up an old bitter, creepy man that lives on his own and scares children with his nasal hair.   I'll probably have a dog, even though I hate the fuckers, just because I will have failed in my attempts to have any kind of relationship with my own species. 

It's a big sack of fuckin' shit, and I have no one to blame but my own useless, putrid ineptitude as a fuckin human being.

Fuckit all to fuck...

Fuck knows why I think posting an entry now is a good idea.  I just feel fuckin' pissed off and feel like I want to write something.  Had an appointment with the hospital today about my back/nerve/leg problem.  Apparently the best course of action is to have some cunt stick a needle into my spine and inject me with something that'll make it all better.  Fuckin excellent eh?  A great way to spend an afternoon and no mistake.  I didn't enquire whether said procedure would require me staying in hospital for any length of time.  I guess at worst it'll be overnight, but I'd imagine they'll be happy just to get you back out the fuckin door.  Fuckin' cunts.

I'm at a "what the fuck is wrong with me" or probably more a "what the fuck am I doing with my life" stage again right now.  Just when I think that things are getting a bit better, here I am on a Thursday night thinking that the best course of action is to go and get my paraphernalia from the garage and etch-a-sketching something on my body.  I'm not going to do it.  I'm just fuckin' bored.  Frustrated.  Fucked Off... Fuck knows... I'm just fuckin' fucked.

I think that it could all be down to a fuckin' woman again.  Things have taken a wee turn for the better on that front, but now in my fucked up head I'm just looking for and coming up with excuses as to why it's all a bad fuckin' idea.  Mostly revolving around how if anything were to happen with a girl, that because I'm such an awkward, horrible, miserable cunt.  Difficult to be around sometimes and just generally a cunt, that I'd end up ruining some poor girls life. 

I've become friends with a few girls recently, and it's nice to have a different kind of chat with them than the chat that you have with guy mates.  It's cool, but it's made me realise that I'm probably a far better friend than boyfriend.  I would do my absolute best to not let my friends down, I can't say I always achieve it, but I try not to.  But at the same time, the expectations are lower.  I mean, if I want to just disappear into myself and not speak to or hear from or see or whatever any of these people then it's cool.  I can do that.  But when it's a relationship, I can't.  And that's what makes me a cunt.  Because there's that poor person that has to deal with me and my fucked up mind and my fucked up ways.  And that's why I'll just end up with shit relationship after shit relationship with some poor cunt that'll put up with me as long as they can and eventually I'll get old and die a lonely, old, bitter, miserable fucker.

Fuckit...

What the fuck can you do.

I hate this fuckin' feeling.  More because I don't know when it'll pass.  I'm supposed to be going out on Saturday with a load of people for a friends birthday.  If I feel like this though there's no fuckin' chance I'm going.  Fuck that.  I've had enough of pretending I'm happy and having a good time when all I really want to do is go home and get fucked into oblivion on my own.  I never do it though... Cos I'm a fuckin' cunt...

Fuckit...

What a whole load of self indulgent fuckin' bullshit. 

May You Never Lay Your Head Down, Without A Hand To Hold... John Martyn - 11 September 1948 – 29 January 2009 - RIP Big Man...

So yea, I think yesterday I took too many pills.  I was proper fucked when I got home from work.  Crashed out on the sofa for a couple of hours and woke up like I'd been on the piss for 3 days.  Feeling not too bad today other than this bird flu/man flu/whatever the fuck has taken over my body the last wee while.   It's probably something serious, but nevermind.

I had a brainwave today, yea.. another one... (I think this could be the start of some sort of mental episode, but let's hope not).  Anyway, I decided that I wanted to learn more about music recording and production.  So I thought that I'd find a wee studio locally, and offer to do them a website in order for me to pretty much work for them for free and learn how to do the whole thing.  Ultimately ending in me recording more of my stuff.  On that note actually, I'm going to a friend of a friend on Saturday to record some of my stuff, as well as a couple of songs that I didn't write the lyrics for from a couple of friends.  Really looking forward to it.

Anyway, back to the main story... I managed to find a studio around here, and suddenly remembered a drunken conversation with another friend who told me she knew a guy with a recording studio.  So I figure that given the size of this place it must be the same guy, that would be a result.  Sure he wouldn't knock back a free website (his current one is a bit shit), with me working there for fuck all (although I'm not a fuckin tea boy) as well as the fact we have a mutual friend!?  Surely...yea?... maybe... We'll see...

I'd love to learn more about the whole recording thing, I know next to fuck all and I still really enjoy pissing around with different things.  Plus this would be a hobby that I could enjoy without going to the pub and getting pissed out my tree.  Then when I'm a producer extraordinaire I'll make a fortune from that.  Fkn easy innit...?

Like I mentioned before, I don't think I'll ever be a rockstar anymore... But I'm fuckin' loving writing, recording, playing and all that business.  Surely that's what it's all about?  Doing something you enjoy, because you enjoy it.  Not to try and get you somewhere else.  Of course I'd love it if everyone else loved the music I made too.  But so fuck if they don't, I'm doing it for me.  If one person gets something out of it, then that's amazing. 

I've changed for sure.  I'm more content with myself in terms of material things.  I'm not as concerned with having loads of money anymore, I'm don't have a need to be adored anymore. I don't want to be a Mafia Don anymore, well...maybe... just for a wee while.

It's all positive things I reckon.  And now that I'm sitting here typing about it, it gives me a wee bit of hope that I'll maybe like myself a bit more one day too.  See what other people see in me.  Understand why people want to spend time with me.  Because right now, all I see is that I'm a cunt.

One step at a time though eh?

[edit] Yer man emailed me back and said that he'd be delighted to go ahead with that idea!  Whoohoo!! I feel all excited, like a kid at Christmas! [/edit]

I had another appointment with the loony doctor/counsellor type woman today.  I think it might have been a wast of time.  She's still harping on a wee bit about the whole cutting thing.  She was saying how I was reluctant to "surrender it" completely.  What I was trying to explain to her was that, I don't think I'll do it today, or this week or even this month.  But to say I'll *never* do it again would simply be folly... wouldn't it?  I can't say for certain that I won't do it.  I know for sure that I'll want to do it.  I guess it's just going to depend on how strong those feelings become.  And how well I'll be able to deal with it.

Thing is, I know everything that I'll ever know about cutting.  I know why I started, I felt shit and it's what Richey from the manics did "I hurt myself to get pain out"... I know that's a proper pathetic reasong for taking blades to yourself but that's the reality.  I didn't do it *just* because Richey did it, more to do with the fact that I needed something to make me feel better, and I gave it a try. 

But in all honesty, and I know this is a pathetic thing too.  I sometimes look at my arm and thing the cuts look pretty cool.  Like some sort of badge of honour.  Something that "defines" me maybe?  Fuck knows... fuckit...

I'm going back to see her in 3 weeks.  Although I'm not sure if it's worth my while anymore.  I feel "ok", which was all I was looking for really.  I know the reasons why I am the way I am now.  And I know what I need to do to fix everything.  And in a word.  It's booze.  No question.  I drink, get pissed then don't feel like cooking, order shite food.  Wake up, feel shite, drink again, order more shite food, don't exercise.  Then want to cut yourself cos your a cunt.

Hardly fuckin rocket science, and I don't need to pay someone to tell me that cutting isn't really conducive to a happy life do I?  We'll see...  I do like going if I'm honest.  Like a wee oasis in my week or month, I can go and moan and have someone tell me it's ok to feel the way I feel. 

Fuckit... We'll see...

I feel a bit mental right now.  I think I might have overdid it with the painkillers for this sciatica business.  It was fkn agony earlier, eased off a bit now but my head feels a bit mashed.  Not really a good thing I guess.  I'm not really a fan of painkillers, surely they can't do any good for you.  It's not like they "fix" you.  Is it just to make you a bit more comfortable until your body fixes itself?  I mean... surely pain is an indication that something aint right somewhere.  So you should maybe try and deal with the cause, and not the symptom? 

Or maybe I'm just mashed.

 

So here I am, back.  It's been a while, I wasn't sure whether I should make a post or not.  But I do feel like writing something down.  Had a party at my house on Friday night, I was blitzed would you believe.  There wasn't as many folk as I had hoped would turn up, but it was ok.  And everyone seemed to have a good time.  I don't want anyone to think "shit, I'm not going to his for a party - they're always fuckin shite!"  I hope they didn't think that anyway.  Then I went out on Saturday too, which was a mistake.  Not that I didn't have a good time, just that I spent more money than I should have, and I felt shite on Sunday and even worse today.  Once again there's not any need for deep analysis, I drink too much.  I eat shit food.  I feel shit for days.  Ergo... if I don't drink, I won't eat shit food, and I won't feel shit for days.

I was feeling like doing some cutting business last night, I never in the end - More to do with the fact that my "equipment" is out in the garage, rather than anything else.  I managed to just watch mind-numbing TV and try to just completely switch off from reality for a bit.

I read this article http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/jan/12/charlie-brooker-relationships from Charlie Brooker.  And it pretty much sums up how I'm feeling about the whole relationship business.  I miss having a cuddle for sure, I miss female company and conversation.  In saying that though, I've become quite friendly with a couple of girls from work, and did end up having a cuddle with one on Friday night.  I'm easy that way, and willing to share my bed with anyone without automatically trying to fuck them.

It's good having a bit of chat with a girl, no question about that.  But similarly, I feel myself thinking that either A) I don't wanna fuck them or B) I want to fuck them but I don't want a relationship with them.  Whereas before I've always felt like, A) I wanna fuck any of them or B) when I fuck them I'll just try my best to hold onto them and marry them to make sure I have something rather than nothing.

The Charlie Brooker article also hits a pretty close nerve. "2) Find someone you admire or like, rather than love, and try to make do, rendering both of you miserable in the process." 

I think that's pretty much what I done with the latest ex, I did like and admire her a lot.  Did I love her? I dunno... I can't say for sure that I did.  Lying in bed with her cuddling into you and thinking of being with someone else?  How the fuck can that be "love".  I'm beginning to come back to the opinion that "love" isn't a real thing.  Just something that "civilised society" has created and said is the way things should be.  And when it all goes wrong, and "it kicks a hole in your ribcage and voids its bowels in your soul."  That feeling is more to do with the fact that something that was yours is now either someone elses, or pretty soon will be someone elses.  In time you'll learn to live with that fact, but isn't that about possession than anything else? 

Fuck knows...  I don't even know myself what I'm trying to say.  I'm beginning to feel like I'll never, ever be in a happy relationship.  Because I expect too much from a potential wife.  Either in terms of how pretty they are, or how I expect them to just "be".  I definitely try and "punch above my weight" in terms of good looking girls.  I could easily compromise looks for personality.  No question.  But I've been speaking to more and more friends who are saying that their wives/girlfriends just don't "do it" for them anymore.  They have sex out of duty now.  Fuck that.  They're 26 years old, potentially going to be with this person for another 50 fuckin years!  And already they're saying they have shit sex.  So they cheat and fuck around behind their "loved" ones back and I then find out that the wife of one of said friends is also fucking around.  Is that what love is then?  One big house of fuckin' cards, waiting for the time when you're wife finds something she wants more than you, or you find that you don't want her anymore.  And out of duty, you either stay miserable or fuck around. 

True love right enough.

Bollocks to it all.

 

I'm standing up as I write this, I've had to take to standing at work with this dodgy Sciatica, sore leg business.  It's a fuckin nightmare in all honesty, as soon as I sit for 10 minutes my leg is in agony.

I don't really know why I feel like writing, maybe I just wanting to pass the time as there are 38 minutes to go until I can leave the office.  Realistically I can leave at any time, I'm not convinced anyone will notice. 

I've had proper shit work to do for the last few days along with calls from my boss at around 9pm saying that there was proper shit dropping on us and could I deal with it.  And it hasn't really got any better than that in all honesty. Meaning that I've had to let down PK once again, but what can I do?  I feel shite about the whole thing, but all I can do is try and get it done and dusted over this weekend.  I'm pretty sure if I don't finish it then either him or his boss more likely will tell me just to forget the whole gig.  Which would be the easiest thing for me in all honesty, but would be yet another thing that I've failed at recently.  I can't let it happen.

I've no real plans for the weekend, so it's best that I just get my fuckin head down and get it published.  That's pretty much all that's left.  Getting everything on to the server, making sure the database is all fine and we're away.

Just need to hope no more "brown stuff, hits the whirly thing" (sorry for stealing that Lola).

Been writing and recording loads of shit.  Some might say "shit" is the operative word.  But I don't give a fuck, I love doing it.  And I'm doing it because I wanna do it.  Not for anyone else.  It's fuckin' great.  Went and played guitar with Old Gandalf the other night.  He's a sound old guy, and a really good guitarist.  I played my songs and he played over the top of them, I felt great hearing my "creations" come to life with another musician involved.  It was great.  And really, it's just made me want to do it more, play more, record more... join a band.  Become a fuckin' rockstar...hahaha...

Fuckit...it's great, maybe not a rockstar then...  Maybe a "pub" band.  That'd do... I'd fuckin love to get involved with something like that right now.  I can feel myself getting better too which is good.  I mean in terms of the quality of what I'm writing and as a guitarist.  I think hearing yourself does a lot for self improvement.  I've got the enthusiasm I had when I first picked up the guitar, and it's great.  I feel like a kid again when I pick it up, and the hours just fly past as I belt out song after song, not giving a fuck what anyone thinks.

Proper Liberation my friends...

...just pick up your guitar and play.

“Information is not knowledge.
Knowledge is not wisdom.
Wisdom is not truth.
Truth is not beauty.
Beauty is not love.
Love is not music.
Music is THE BEST.” – Frank Zappa - RIP

 

Sooooooooooooo.....

That didn't last fuckin long did it?  I can't help it though.  I've been trying like fuck not to write anything.  Then I got an email from a girl my ex in Glasgow.  Just really to tell me that her Granda had died.  I always liked her Granda, probably the only person in the family who didn't hate my guts.  But he was a good old cunt.  He was interesting, worth listening to about a subject and would listen to what you had to say to.  So... I'll have a wee dram to you tonight, or maybe I shouldn't.   They didn't really approve of drinking.  Oh well...

Anyway, so... dum dee dum...what was I saying?  Yea...  I felt like doing a bit of slasher business on myself after I read it.  Just a lot of, "You useless fucking cunt, you fucked that one up.  You could be happy right now, but noooo.... you decided you wanted to be a fuckin 'lad' and go and get pished and just expect everything to sit and wait for you didn't you, you pathetic useless fuckin cunt"... Something like that anyway.  But instead of that, I thought... I'll write a blog entry... Then I thought, fuck... I can't do that either.  Fuck fuck fuck...  So, I wrote her an *epic* email back.  It was actually really good just being normal with her and not like "Hi, I love you.  Please let's forget the last 5 years and let's get back together.  Thanks... Me x"  So I just wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote...

Most of it was probably bollocks, but who cares.  It helped me.

It couldn't have been too bad though, cos she replied and seemed pretty happy that I hadn't just sent her a one line email back saying either "Marry Me" or "I fuckin hate you, you've ruined my life.  Thanks... Me x"

So, again... I replied with reams and reams of shit.  But again, it was good.  I said to her that one of the things I missed about her was just talking to her, she's a clever girl and has something to say.   But I feel now, after...pffft....5 years?  That I can deal with the fact she ditched me.  Not bad eh?

Anyway.... Had another appointment with "the woman" today.  I think that'll be my last one, I feel like I'm better equipped to handle whatever is thrown it me (within reason!) right now...  I can deal with the black clouds, the horrible feelings a wee bit better now...  Just by not letting them take root.  Not indulging in them.

I think I'm going to be alright.

I dunno what to do about the blog now, I missed writing down all this shit.  Not because anyone wants to read it.  But because I like writing it.

So...  We'll see how it goes.

I got a wee 4 track app for my iPhone, and done some recording.  Obviously the quality is pretty shoddy.  But I've done a couple, one is from the words I posted here... The song is Stranger In The Mirror.  The other song I recorded last night, I tried to write a Happy Song, but it didn't *really* end up like that.

Have a listen, if I become a rockstar you might have some bootleg material you can make money on.

HappySong.mp3 (2.05 mb)

StrangerInThe Mirror.mp3 (2.71 mb)

Over a week of no new post and not one email from my 30 or so dear readers to see if I've topped myself.  Can you believe that?  Pfft....After everything we've been through?  Haha....

I've been feeling pretty good in all honesty, and have decided that this should be the end of this dear blog.  It's been hard going a lot of the time, and it's upsetting reading back through all this shit.  So... Friends, readers and general mentalists...  This is it...

That's not really why I haven't been posting, I was working on site, staying in hotels etc and working until 11pm most nights, then I managed to get myself to Glasgow for the weekend.  It was an amazing weekend, far better than the last time I was there.  It was really difficult to leave in all honesty.  Seeing my parents for the first time since the found out I was a mentalist wasn't exactly easy either.  So I dealt with it the way I always do, I got pished and did it.  But it was good... 

I staggered in around 3:30am on Friday, my dad had been waiting up and had actually just given up and gone to bed when I called to ask him to open the door.  We sat up until around 7am just talking.  It was good.  But seeing them, looking older... obviously not gonna get any younger.  It's made me think about what I should do for the best.  Maybe back to Glasgow is exactly what I need.  I need to be around my family, my friends...my people.  I am worried about my mama, like I said, she's looking older... and people are starting to notice her memory going a wee bit.  She's only 53 FFS!! And that fuckin' worries me.

But I'm thinking more rationally than that, I need to make sure I don't make an arse of my own future for the short term benefit of being in Glasgow.  Changing jobs in the current economic climate would be a mistake for sure.  I may not have a great reputation here right now, but I have been here for almost 3 years now and that must count for something...right?

So... sit tight for a bit longer, see what's going to happen.

I was feeling shite on the way back down the road, but I've learned to distinguish the difference between that and depression.  It's normal to feel down about leaving Glasgow, especially after such a great weekend.  But it's important to know and remember that it'll pass, if you don't indulge it.  If you don't nurture those horrible feelings then they'll leave you alone.  It's not easy to stop yourself from falling into that black hole, but it is possible.  And it's important to keep in control of it.

For everyone who has read the shite I've had to write, I dunno what to say... Thanks I guess...  Especially to those who contacted me and said that what I had to say helped them in some way.  And anyone who might come across this blog who wants to email me then feel free, I'll always pick up and respond to the emails.

To my mates, who have put up with the tears, the late night boozing, the bleeding, the stained shirts, the moaning, the self indulgent bullshit, the hysterics, the crazy ideas and general mentalism.  Fuckin' hell, I dunno how I can ever thank you for still being around.  You all know who you are, and forever and ever I won't forget it.

To "the woman".  My Therapist... I think she was just able to kick me in the right direction.  She was exactly what I needed.  Someone who wouldn't pander to me, who would question me and someone I couldn't just dismiss as bullshit.  I think I'll still keep going to see her every couple of weeks, just to keep me right. 

I know that I'm not "cured" of this shit, I know that I'm not walking off into the sunset to live happily ever after.  But I feel in a better frame of mind than I have for years, and I'm going to try and nurture that.  Build on that, and try and keep it as long as I can.  This blog has helped immensely, and reading it back I think has been really important.  I can see the "waves" of feelings, and remembering the way I was feeling at a given time is an important part in trying to notice when it's happening again.

So...  Fuckin' Hell... this is it.. 

Maybe I'll be back one day....

...But I fuckin hope not.

Cheers...

Me

I'm sitting in the office just now been here since 1 and it's now half 9,[edit] it was 22:50 before I actually posted this[/edit] need to get this project finished and website live, so it was agreed that we'd come in to the office today.  On the Sabbath as well, can you believe that...  I guess I wouldn't have done anything very exciting in any case, so may as well come in.

I'm feeling not too bad again today.  But I do feel that everyone is annoying me.  I can feel that my fuse is pretty short and one or two have already come close to feeling the full wrath.  I feel like a cunt for feeling like this though, it's not like they're doing anything unreasonable.  It's just I can't be fucked with the cunts.  That's not right is it?

But it's ok...isn't it? To feel like you want to smack fuck out of someone just for the way they said something, or asked you something?  Especially when you've been in the office for 8 and a half hours on a Sunday, and there's not really much hope of getting home any time soon.  But we've ordered pizza so those guys are away eating that and playing pool.  So I thought I'd come and write this shit. 

In all honesty I feel fuckin' shite... I'm worried about money.  I don't have enough, and I owe a fair bit out.  I know there is money waiting when I finish the site for PK's company, but trying to get that finished is turning into a nightmare in itself because I'm in the fuckin' office trying to finish this other project.  Can feel everything getting on top of me again so I just need to make sure that I just deal with one thing at a time and don't just bury my head in the sand again and make everything even worse.

Heard from the ex again, more of the "you're a cunt, why haven't you dealt with this yet" type emails. 

I feel like such a fuckin useless, fat, ugly, waste of space cunt.  Fuckit man... I feel like bursting in to tears right here in front of these cunts.  Storming off... jumping in my car and fucking off somewhere.  That makes me even more of a cunt though doesn't it?  Running away from everything, leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces...  My ex would be sitting with her smug face saying "See, I told you that you were a cunt that thought of nobody but himself"...

Fuckit...

Fuck Fuck...Fuckin Cunts...

I need someone around me, with me.  My mates... My family... My people...

I need someone to tell me I'm not a fuckin cunt...

Fuckit....

Couldn't face posting an entry yesterday.  Felt pretty weird all day.  Think it was the communication with the ex that caused it.  Anyway, last night she replied to my email.  It kinda went along the lines of "I'm not gonna ease your conscience, I do hate you and I don't think fondly of our time together.  Those memories are overshadowed by the bad ones."  It was a pretty long email, but she could have saved herself a lot of typing by just sending....

"Me, You're a fucking Cunt

Regards,

Her"

So yea, I felt fuckin horrible reading it.  And in true fashion this wee guy inside decided to laugh at me, tell me how much of a horrible cunt I was and that I'd probably be better of cutting myself, or going and getting fucked up. 

But I never, I just sucked it up.  No cutting, no boozing no nuffink or nuffink....innit....

I rationalised.  I was in a situation I wasn't happy with, and I dealt with it.  OK, my state of mind at that time wasn't particularly great.  And I didn't deal with it very well.  But I did my fuckin' best...  I tried.  I knew something had to be done and I fuckin' made it so.  I'm sorry to the people that I hurt along the way (she said she doesn't believe I'm sorry), I am truely fuckin' sorry.  It's not in my nature to fuck people over (she thinks I screwed her over).  I go out of my way to accommodate people, to make sure everyone else is ok.  Probably more so I don't have to think about how much of a fuckin' mess I'm in myself than anything else, but still... It's good to not fuck people over.

And then I rationalised again, I tried to talk to her... explain that I know that I dealt with things wrong, but ultimately it was the right thing to do.  I was going to reply to the reply, but fuckit... I don't need to.  I tried to offer her some kind of explanation and she wasn't interested.  I don't need to explain myself anymore.  I can let that whole thing go.  I'm out.

So today, I feel pretty good.  Getting through loads of work.  And generally enjoying being alive again.  Not had a drink since last Friday, been eating much healthier and I feel fuckin' good for it.  I'm gonna have a few beers tonight, but that's ok right?  One night a week, and not getting too fucked up is a healthy attitude to booze right?

Fuckit... it's healthier than it was!  That's for sure.

Progress... one step at a time.  Innit?

I'm learning too... On how to "catch myself"... to not wallow and let this wee "friend" inside me get the better of me, and drag me into the depths that I've let him take me all too often.  I feel like I can control him, notice the signs when he's coming out to play and make sure that I'm in control of how he behaves.

I dunno whether people reading this prefer to hear how shite I'm feeling or that I'm doing ok.  I guess it's pretty boring to read that someone is doing ok.  But then it starts to become shite, lies to keep readers... when all this is, is a vent... somewhere for me to lay down all my shit.  And maybe give one person a bit of hope, that even when there seems like there's nowhere to turn, and that nothing matters and that you'd be better of harming yourself or topping yourself... That one day, it gets better.  Accepting that in general, life is shite.... bad things happen that you have no control over, and you need to deal with those when they come.  But sometimes, things happen that make it all worthwhile... you make someone smile, you make someone happy. 

And you know it's worthwhile being alive.

 

 

 

If I had written this an hour ago it would likely have been pretty upbeat.  I went to see The Therapist today, went pretty well.  Feeling pretty good and we agreed that I didn't have to go everyweek.  So we decided that we would leave it 3 weeks until the next appointment.  Spoke about alternative things to do, rather than spending my life in the pub.  Spanish lessons are definitely high on the priority list, but she also recommended a Creative Writing class or something.  All sounds a bit gay to me, but fuckit I thought... Why not?  Do something different perhaps, meet new people.  Yea...fuckit, I think I will do it thought I! It was all going pretty swimmingly if I do say so.  I left, drove back to work... Singing away to myself.  Everything was great. 

Got to work, in all honesty pissed around a wee bit.  Struggling to sit down for 5 minutes as my leg was fuckin' killing me... But got going and started getting some work done.  Everything was fine.

Then I started thinking about some stuff I'd ordered that hadn't arrived yet.  Hmmm... been quite a while since I ordered so thought I should check out what was going on.  And prepared myself to start shouting at someone.  I'm good at that shit... Arguing, shouting...all that kinda shit...

Found out eventually that the stuff had actually been delivered to an address that I'd used before, and not my current address.  The address being the workplace of my ex.  My heart fuckin' sunk.  I knew that meant I would have to deal with talking to her, either by phone or email, maybe even carrier pidgeon.  But regardless of the method of communication, it had to be done.  I decided to bite the bullet and call her, I still remembered her mobile number despite having deleted it from my phone.

Fuck... Fuck... Fuck Fuck Fuck By Fuck.... Why did this have to happen?  I was doing ok?!! 

So.... I called her, it was cold as fuck.  Turned out she's already returned the stuff.  So fair play to her for that.  I think I've mentioned before, that I don't hate her at all.  But she obviously fuckin *hates* me.  That gets to me a bit.  I came off the phone and sat for a while trying not to burst into tears at my desk.  I started writing her an email along the lines of: "I'm sorry you think I'm a cunt, I didn't mean or want to hurt you.  I want you to be ok and happy and I hope you are.  I don't want you to think the time with me was shite, cos it wasn't.  We had some fuckin' great times together."

Or words to that effect.

Then I couldn't help but blub like a fuckin' kid.   Started as I was finishing the email, hit the send button then had to disappear to the toilet to let the steady stream of tears begin.

Why was I crying though?  That's the question...  I'm not crying because I want her back.  I don't even think I'm crying for me.  I think I'm crying because I'm sad that I've hurt her.  That because of me, someone else feels shite.  I feel bad that she had to deal with me the way I was before we broke up.  That she had to deal with me while we were together.  In all honesty, I did want to contact her around this time.  Because of the whole abortion business, but fuckin' hell... This all seems very elaborate.

I guess that's just something else that I wish I could go back and do differently so that no one had to suffer.

That list is getting too fuckin' long though...

What a fuckin idiot.  Useless cunt of an idiot.  Schoolboy error.

Due to my general feelings of goodness, and in my rush to get out the door this morning, I picked up a T-Shirt I haven't worn in a while and just threw it over my head.  Stuck on my coat, jumped in the car and drove to work.  I said my good mornings to everyone and went to get a coffee.  And all was well.

I sat down and took off my jacket, then as people started walking past I was getting the odd funny look.  Hmmm... maybe I shoulda brushed my hair, had a shave perhaps said I to myself and thought nothing more of it.

Then I went for a piss... And I realised first of all why people were staring, and secondly why I don't wear this t-shirt anymore.  The sleave doesn't come down far enough.  So there I was, happy as fuck... talking away to everyone, with my handywork on (almost) full display!  What a cock.

I've only had one "what they fuck happened to your arm?!" so far, but I think to anyone apart from this fuckin' idiot it's plainly obvious what happened.  It's quite good though, this guy... it wouldn't even occur to him that anyone would even think of doing anything like that.  I mumbled something about carrying boxes and scraping it on the wall.  (Incidentally that's the same story I gave to my parents when I used to cut my forearm.)

Just waiting for lunchtime, and I'll go change my T-Shirt.  Or should I leave it?  Is hiding it wrong?  Should I just be open about the whole gig with everyone?  What the fuck do I care what these cunts think of me? 

Hmmm... Nah... I think I should go and deal with it.  Especially down here.  I reckon that in Glasgow people would be more open about it, would just take the piss out of you for being a bit of a loony.  And I could deal with that.  But I couldn't deal with all these cunts gossiping and then talking to me like I was a nutcase.  "Oh hiya Me, how are you?....you sure you're ok?".... Go away with your faux concern you useless fuck.

Anyway... In other news.  I've been thinking about this tattoo business.  I think I'm gonna get a Celtic design of some description with Irish Gaelic writing to tell me to be a good cunt.  The Celtic Design and Gaelic is obvious really, something to remember my heritage and all that business.  And having it in Gaelic means that it means something to me and fuck all to anyone else (unless of course the speak Gaelic).  I just need to be careful that I don't get something that lumps me in with all the other bampot football fans/pro IRA sympathisers who get such things. 

I also thought about "The World Is Yours" but I remembered that is from Scarface, and people would just assume that I wanted to be some kind of criminal drug lord.  Which, while not being totally wrong... isn't something I want to portray really.  To me it would mean, I am fuckin' good at what I do.  If I focus and give 100% then I can acheive anything I want.  But I couldn't be arsed explaining that every time someone saw my tattoo.

Then I thought about this Ojibwe Saying - "Sometimes I go about in pity for myself, and all the while a great wind is bearing me across the sky." Which I think is ideal, but again... I only know it from The Sopranos, so I guess they'd assume I wanted to be Tony Soprano.  And again, while this may not be far wrong... it's not ideal to steal something from a TV show and tattoo it on your arm forever.  Yes I'm looking at you all you fuckin' Tweetie Pie having fools.

So... The Celtic Design and Gaelic seems fitting.  I'm not going to rush in to anything though, I need to get this right or it could just end up as something else to do with my body that I fuckin' despise.

This is probably shite, but I recorded a version of this song the other night.  Maybe if I can listen to the song and not find something wrong with it I'll post the mp3 sometime.

Anyway, here are the words:

I see him staring at me, Who is this guy?
I see him every day, no matter how hard I try.
I hide all reflectors, I try and stay away
Cover up that stranger... Make him go away

His hair's a mess, his beard is long. I try and stare him out.
Make him go away, a silent scream and shout.
His arms are cut and red, his shirt is stained
And all the joy and love and the life is drained.

Cos I don't know the man I see in the mirror
His face has changed, his eyes are cold, and he's looking older.
I knew the one before.  The happy, smiling guy.
But I hear he's gone

I asked him to tell me what it is I should do.
But he's no fuckin' use to no one, he has no fuckin clue.
I hear him laughing at me, as I walk away.
I hear them laughing at me, every fucking day.

Cos I don't know the man I see in the mirror
His face has changed, his eyes are cold, and he's looking older.
I used to know the one before.  The happy, smiling one.
But I hear he's gone far far away.

Mood is low tonight.  Been thinking about my ex quite a bit today and feeling pretty down about the whole thing.  It was 2 years ago around about this time that we had the abortion, and I feel pretty shite about it.  I also think part of my low mood is because I haven't done as much work over the weekend as I wanted to.  Ahh fuck it... I'm gonna try and not get too down about it.

I'm gonna stay up late tonight and do as much as I can and try and forget about the whole thing. 

It's been good though, 4 days of general happiness.  And knowledge that I am at least capable of feeling good means that the future doesn't seem quite so bleak. 

Been thinking about getting a tattoo the last few days.  I'm not really that into them in all honesty, but I figured that if my cuts serve as some method to remind me to be depressed, then I could get a tattoo to remind me that things can also be pretty fuckin' good.  I'm not sure what I should get, so I'm going to make sure I take my time and don't end up with something tacky and shite.  But I think it's something worth doing.

The whole abortion thing is never going to leave me is it?  This time every year it's going to creep into my head that I was a horrible bastard isn't it?  I can only try and deal with it as best I can I suppose.  And try and remember all the reasons why it was the right thing to do at the time.  Would it be a good thing to have a kid living with my ex girlfriend somewhere else in the country, with me feeling like this and then "locked in" to living in this part of the world.

Ahh, who knows....

My head is really troubling me tonight, my leg is in fuckin agony and I'm struggling to concentrate on what I'm writing so I best just leave it there.

Can you fuckin' believe it!?

Oh the fuckin' irony!!

I've been fuckin' shite for ages.  Fuckin' ages!  A long fuckin' time!  And what happened during that time?  Fuck all... we all drifted along our merry way.  Picking up our pay checks for very little return.  And all was right with the world.  Well... You know what I mean.

Then...THEN... I start feeling good.  Great even you might say!  And what happens?  Obviously my work improves, I start contributing much more than before, and at a fuckin' good standard too.  And then I get fuckin' busted!?! Yesterday, around half 4 I get called in to the BIG bosses office.  Not my boss, his fuckin' boss...

This may or may not have been *exactly* how it went. 

"Me, you're coasting aren't you?"

"Erm...yea...I have been, but I'm getting better"

"Let me be honest with you, if you don't pick it up you can fuck off"

"I see...ok"

"This project is 300 days over spec, the work you are putting out is shite, and the customer is going ballistic"

"Yea...that's not good"

"No Me, it's fuckin' not and...."

"HANG ON A FUCKIN' MINUTE!!...300 days?!... I know I've been shite, but fkn hell not 300 days worth of shite!!"

"I know Me, but you've played your part."

"OK.... we finished?"

So I left that particular meeting and sat at my desk for a bit.  I couldn't believe it, just when I'm getting good again, feeling good again I get this shite.  Fuckin' cunts...

So anyway, as I sat there I thought.... Fuck It.... I'm not having this.  So I went down and spoke to him and told him the whole gig.  Told him why I'd been shite, told him that I'd told HR everything that was happening.  That I thougbt I was doing everything right... Not going long term sick like everyone told me I should.  Try and fuckin' get through it.  Do my fuckin' best.

Then I told him about the other day, and how I felt so much better.  How I knew I was fuckin' good at what I do, and that I'm on the road back.  That my first goal was to make the company love me again.  And to go ask my direct boss what the difference had been in the last 2 days compared to before.

I don't really think it was worth it, but it made me feel a bit better. 

I wasn't questioning what he was saying to me, just explaining why things had been the way they had.  The thing is... I was already on my way back.  But now when I deliver all my wonderful work, this cunt is gonna think it was because of his inspirational talk.  Fuckin' cunt.

Anyway... I went out and got pished last night, I know it was a mistake.  But it wasn't too bad, and I'm not gonna let this cunt get me down.  I still feel pretty good about things, and I'm determined now to become indespensible at the company, and *then* fuckin' leave.  Hahaha...

Fuck 'em.... Cunts...

Day 3 of general fuckin goodness.  I feel fuckin' *amazing*... Better than good.  It's like a wee holiday from depression, not sure how long it'll last but fuckin hell I'm gonna make the most of it.

I had 2 Weetabix this morning (is it Weetabix's? or Weetabii perhaps, hmm... I'll need to find that out.)  Then a 357 calorie prawn andwich and a mixed fruit type thing from Sainsbury's for lunch.  So gonna try and keep that generally decent eating pattern going.  I also thought about braving the weigh in.  But it's remaining a thought for now.  Pretty worried about the result of that.  But fuckit, I need to face it, so likely this weekend.

Ordered myself a punchbag too that I'm gonna hang in the garage, I had one before when I lived in Glasgow and it's a great way to exercise.  Just knocking fuck out of someone.  Haha...

ANNNNND....while I'm on this whole "fuckit I'm gonna get healthy thing"... I spoke to a boy at work about coming along to training with his Sunday League team.  I reckon I'm good enough to play at that level, but I'm quite happy to go along to training for a wee bit and get down to my fighting weight before getting a proper game.

But yea, on the whole....not too fuckin bad at all...

On another note that boosted my mood slightly, I was walking into the supermarket last night and this good looking girl's face lit up and she said hi.  My brain rifled through the files to see if it could figure out who this could possibly be, and eventually we got the relevant dossier.  She was one of the Polish girls from the other night in the pub.  I was talking to her for quite a bit, making her laugh etc... she'd been sitting with her boyfriend looking pretty fucking miserable.  So when he fucked off I slithered in like a snake. 

I'm not saying that she wants me to fuck her or anything, and in all honesty... she wasn't as hot as I remembered her.  But she was still really nice, and on Friday night she was wearing *amazing* footwear.  A pair of Red Boots... Oh My Soul... they were fantastic.  I must have mentioned elsewhere in the blog that I like a girl with good shoes... But anyway, yea... it was nice to have someone I'd spoke to in the pub look genuinely pleased to have bumped into me and obviously didn't think I was as much of a useless scum of the earth cunt that I did on the Saturday morning.  So yea... I'm coming round to the idea that I'm not as much of a horrible cunt as this wee guy inside keeps telling me I am.

AND THEEEN I got a text message from a girl I used to work with in Glasgow who I love dearly, and probably who I should have been with if I wasn't such a useless cunt.  But anyway... it was along the lines of "Hiya Darlin', how you been doing? Haven't heard from you for ages. Miss you loads xxxX D"

Again, I don't think she wants me to fuck her, she has a boyfriend and stuff, and maybe I wouldn't want to ruin the friendship by fucking her.  Aye... maybe... haha... But it's nice to know that people are thinking about you and that people do think you're a good person.  I miss her too, she's an amazing wee girl.  One of the best... And I do regret not at least seeing if we could have had a run at something.  But them's the breaks.  What you gonna do huh?

But yea, I'll definitely meet up with her when I go home in a couple of weeks.  And this time I'll not fuck it up by getting too pished that I won't want to see anyone ever again.  I also think that last time I was worried that I'd just ask her to run away and marry me because I was such a fuckin' wreck.  But I'm beginning to warm to the idea that it's ok to have friends that are chicks.  Even if sometimes your hormones kick in and you want to fuck them, like I do on a regular basis... That's ok too.  But a friendship can become worth more than a shag.

Did those words actually just come from me?

Fuckin hell...

Maybe I am ill after all...

I thought I should make an entry in the morning to keep track of where I am after yesterday's wonderful day.  I'm sure that no one will be surprised to hear that I'm  not quite feeling as good as yesterday, but I do feel that my "default setting" has gone up slightly.  I felt a wee bit shitty this morning when I first woke up.  I hated myself for eating that dominos pizza watching the football last night, but I only had 2 bottles of Bulmers, so can I count that as some kind of trade off.  I've been reading Lola's blog here http://operationlola.wordpress.com quite a bit, and was contemplating whether if I can shift this depression/mentalism/whatever the fuck is wrong with me, then developing an eating disorder might be a suitable replacement?  It will get rid of this fuckin' beer gut *and* I can still label myself as a mentalist.  It's a win win situation.

I'm kidding btw, so please... no outraged emails about belittling ED's.  I have enough on my plate...

Anyway, yea... I feel good today.  I was speaking to my cuts today, proper mentalist behaviour I'm sure you'll agree.  But I was kinda saying goodbye to them.  Goodbye to that time in my life.  It was quite sad to think that I won't do that again.  I know that sounds mental, but that's how I was feeling.  It's nice though to feel like you've made some progress.  I was thinking about getting a tattoo to remind myself of this time, but not in the same way as the cuts remind me to be a mentalist.  But to remind me when I'm feeling shit that it's ok to feel shit, and that I can get through it.  I can look at my arm and my tattoo and remind myself I'm a fuckin' top guy.  That I can do anything I want and that I won't let some fuckin mental illness take all that away from me.

I've always wanted to "be someone".  And I think it's within me to do just that.  But this fuckin' bleak outlook on life has kept me in my place.  Taken away my drive to be something.  I want to be a revolutionary.  I want to change the world.  Don't worry... I'm not hitting some "manic-phase" and thinking I'm Che Guevara.  But I think I can make a difference to people.  Probably the most realistic way is by going back to my old way of thinking and tweaking it slightly.  Make lots of money, and when I'm at a reasonable level, use it to help people.  Of course I understand that this may *never* happen.  But if it never happens it doesn't matter, because the journey trying to get there will be enough.  The goals along the way will be stimulating enough for me to be able to enjoy my life.  Not like before when all I could think about was how I could cheat my way to that level.  Miss out some steps along the way to building my wall.  And it all came crashing down.  Now I'm starting again... And it's gonna be the best fuckin wall you've ever seen.  Solid foundations, built fuckin high...  And one day I'll sit at the top of my wall and look down on my empire.

And I'll fuckin love it... Cos I done it right...

So.......

This fuckin' therapy business.  I was thinking about twanging the whole gig.  It depressed me that I was paying for someone to let me talk shite to them.  And what was I really getting out of it?  Hmmm...  I was in tears on the way to my appointment.  "Oh woe is me, everything is shite", "I'm being allowed to leave my well paid job which puts me in a position to be able to afford to pay for therapy, driving along the road in my BMW worrying about the fact my £50 notes are too big for my wallet"

Then I got there, and me and "the woman", in fact, let's call her my Therapist.  Yea, My Therapist and I had a wee ding dong argument.  About cutting.  I was doing well, a wee jab here and there.  It makes you feel better, how can that be bad?  Had her on the ropes with my "it's not any worse than drinking or smoking puff... Harming your body for the short term benefit you get."  That rocked her, I thought I was seconds away from the kill. 

Then...

She came flying back with a knockout blow.  From nowhere.  And it was a fuckin' cracker.  She pointed out that the scars on my arm are from months, some even years ago.  And that when I look at them I'm reminded that I'm depressed.  But I think they almost remind me to *be* depressed.  Fuckin' hell.  That's amazing, she's so fuckin' right and it was the tiniest wee thing.  I should have worked that out myself.  But I'm pleased that she beat me, it was a cracking debate.  And she beat me.  I never lose, if I'm losing I'll make shit up to make sure I win.  But there I was.... Helpless, beat and I fuckin' loved it.

How can I cut myself now when I can't justify it anymore?  It is worse than drinking or smoking... No question. 

We also went over the things that I do with regards to "goals" or "targets" that I set myself.  Always thinking that if I get there then I'll be "happy".  And then being disappointed when I do eventually get there and I'm not happy.  Today we spoke about how my targets were actually sound.  It was my attitude of thinking that once I got there I'd be content.  She explained that she thinks that I'm the type of person that's always going to try and strive for more.  To keep on going.  And that, that's ok.  It's a good thing.  That I should keep setting these targets, but set them as stepping stones.  Set realistic targets, achieve them, and kick on from there.  Decide what the next target will be.  Maybe that will never stop, and the targets keep getting achieved.  Or maybe one day I'll get somewhere and say.  OK... That'll do.  I'm happy here. 

Either way it doesn't matter really does it?  Just enjoy achieving these goals... Take things as they come and ride out the highs and lows that come with being a human being. 

I know this might sound like new age, hippy bullshit, but I really feel I have some clarity today.  Who knows how long it'll last.  Maybe I'll watch that fuckin' football team tonight and find myself in the bowels of satan desperately hoping to crawl out his asshole.  Who knows, but at least I know now that I am capable of feeling good again.  I feel better than I have for ages.  But not in an unhealthy, out-of-control way.  In a normal.... light-at-the-end-of-the tunnel way.

Life is pretty simple really, things come along and you deal with them as best you can.   But you make sure you deal with them, don't just bottle it all in and hope that something else will deal with it in time.  I have some work I need to get done, I explained all *this* shit to my mate PK who got me the work.  I had to tell him really, I didn't want him thinking I was just being a cunt and fucking him around.  I did feel like I was a cunt though.  Because I knew he'd be the one taking all the flak for it.  There are a few people owed a pint when I go home, and PK is definitely one of those.

Anyway... enough of this happy nonsense...

Ha...

Cheers...

Me

Before I start I want to give this link to a great idea by  http://chuckwestbrook.com/ to get some really deserving blogs more exposure.  In the last wee while I've started reading loads of other blogs, and as Chuck points out, some of them are fuckin' tremendous.  So I've agreed to try and spread the good word!  Who knows, maybe there'll also be some more people who want to read the pish I write too!

Anyway.... Still feeling the negative effects of the weekend's drinking shenanigans.  Although, a visit to the doctors today (I feel like I'm never fuckin' away from there these days.  They should just put me down.)  yea... a visit to the doctors has found that I have Sciatica.  That's why my leg is in fuckin' agony.  At least now I know what is wrong with my leg, which is nice... I guess.  I told her about my head as well, but like the other doc she kinda dismissed it as an anxiety/depression thing.  I'm happy if it is that, but it's quite sore today.  And it's not usually sore, just "there".  Fuck knows...

Apparently the sciatica can't be "cured" so a course of anti-inflammatory pills has been prescribed as the first measure.  If it continues then physio is the next step.  Fuckin' nightmare...  Fuckit...What ye gonna do...

Playing football tonight.  The doc said that if I can keep playing then I should, so I will.  I was discussing with a mate the other day that the only things I get a "kick" out of these days is playing football and playing guitar.  So I guess I should do everything I can to force myself into doing them.

*PART 2*
Never finished this before I went.  We lost 2-1.  Really enjoyed it though, think I played ok and everyone really tried.  They had a wee old guy in goal who was fuckin amazing.  Old fuckin' cunt.  But like I said, I thought it was a really good game.  Want to play more.  Wouldn't mind starting with another five-a-side team, maybe a Thursday night or something.  Might see if some of the other boys are up for it.

Fuck knows what I'm feeling today.  I feel like I'm kinda consumed by the fuckin pain in my leg.  It's ok if I'm up and about, but when I'm just sitting it's fuckin' agony.  There must be some sort of Karma in that.  How do you punish a fat lazy cunt?  Make it fuckin' impossible for him to sit on his fat fuckin' arse all day.  I guess that's what I get for taking the cunt out of everyone I come across.  Oh well... if that is the case then I have a whole fuckin' world of pain to look forward to for the horrible shit I've joked about. Ha...

Been indulging in a lot of pretty melancholic music again this last wee while.  I'm still not sure whether it's a good thing.  Especially Arab Strap.  I kinda feel when I listen to it that it's not so bad to be a fuckin' depressed cunt who gets fuckin pished all the time.  That it's ok. 

But it's not...

I'm gonna get out of this shit.  Enjoy melancholic music for the good music it is without using it to wallow in.  Not use it as some justification for the way I am.  I'm not a "flawed genius".  I'm not gonna be a rockstar on the back of me being depressed.  I'm gonna ruin everything if I don't take control.  Sort it out... Take it all back.  Get rid of these putrid feelings that run around my body.  Get them to fuck and make a good life for me and my family.  A good life in terms of happiness... Not monetary happiness... Just happy being me, happy with my lot... maybe even make someone else happy.  Who knows...

Although, I'd rather be loaded and happy.... Hahaha....

So it's arrived.  The Hangover Horn has been replaced by the hollow emptiness and hatred.  You are an ugly fat fuckin' loser.  You can't fuckin' help yourself.  Eating shite food, drinking too much beer.  You're a fuckin' weak useless cunt.

I'm fuckin tired...

Fuckin...Fuckit...

As expected Cousin Joes arrival heralded 2 days of boozing.  It's been really good though.  Never made it to Oxford on Friday, fuckin Worst Great Western to blame for that particular debacle.  Useless cunts, I sat on a train for about an hour that went nowhere.  Eventually a friend of mine agreed to bring Cousin Joe here and we just stayed local.  There was a band on in the pub, they were a bit shite in all honesty.  But it was a good night, met a couple of Scottish lad's who seemed alright.  One of the barmaids in the pub was in with her boyfriend, first time I've seen her in her "civvy" clothing.  Fuckin' hell... She was fuckin *amazing*.  I liked her already, but seeing her "done up" was fuckin' tremendous.

Struggled out of bed yesterday morning and went for some McDonalds (I know, I know...) back home, back to bed for a wee while.  Then headed in to London to meet a friend of mine from Glasgow.  Ended up having a really fuckin' good day.  Good chat and a laugh.  Singing on the tube, talking to people, telling them that everyone should be more friendly on the tube.  Thinking that I could start some sort of "movement" where I told everyone that next time they're on the tube, just say hello to the person next to them.  Talk about the weather, the news, the football..  Fuckit, anything.  Just try and act like human fuckin' beings and interact.  Instead of this fuckin' white cables from your ears, head down.  No one says nuffink or nuffink innit...

Sack of fuckin' shite....

Spoke with Cousin Joe about my cutting, he didn't get it, but people generally don't "get it" do they?  After all, in the cold light of day you have to admit chibbing yourself is a bit fuckin' mental...  He was cool though, making jokes about it and stuff.  I like that.  Everyone should make fun of everyone, at least things would be a bit more interesting.  Incidentally, I think I'm going to hell...  I made fun of a guy in a wheelchair the other week.  My mate thought that was a step too far, even for me.  Fuck 'im... I never "hurt" anyone.  And even if he did hear me, I reckon I could outrun him(that was offside... one step closer to the big fire methinks).  But I tend to make fun of everyone.  Tall people, short people, fat people, thin people, blacks, asians, everyone.   They're all fair game.  I'm not racist, I fuckin hate every cunt.

So yea, apart from having major hangover horn and a wee bit of a sore head, I'm actually doing alright considering 2 days of alcohol intake.  I fear the big fall might be in the post though so all cutting implements have been suitably discarded.  I've decided that when I want to cut myself I'm going to draw an angry picture.  I might even scan them in and post them here, so I can look back on them.

Hopefully though the fallout won't materialise and I can just suffer a hangover like every other cunt.

We'll see...

Going out in Oxford tonight.  Cousin Joe is coming down for the weekend, really looking forward to having him around.  He's a good guy.  Will try not to get too fucked up, but we'll see...  I had a few beers and a smoke last night.  Smoking has got to go, for sure.  It makes you so apathetic to everything I reckon.  Fuck knows... I'll likely still buy some tonight and get fucked up.  But at least I'll try not to.  Damn you complete-lack-of-self-control!

Speaking of self control... I've decided to change my masturbatory regime somewhat.  I feel that it may be getting out of hand, or perhaps it's the fact that it's never out my hand that's the issue.  Anyway, upon reading some advice I think I should limit myself to 2 a week.  Treat it like a "date".  Make an evening of it, cook myself a nice meal, maybe watch a movie with a bottle of wine then do the dirty deed. 

I've always been of the opinion that you shouldn't really go out "with a loaded gun", but I think that having said "loaded gun" gives you a bit more confidence in talking to girls.  It also lowers your standards somewhat.  So I think I'll go out, have a few pints with my loaded gun firmly (phnar phnar) in my pocket.  Could get a bit reckless.

Anyway, enough wank talk. 

I have felt a sense of recklessness recently.  Like, thinking about becoming a drug dealer because I hear the money is quite good and I couldn't give a flying fuck if I got caught and locked up for 15 years.  Obviously that's not a sound career or life choice.  But it's kinda how I feel right now.  this "reckless" element to my thoughts.  A lot of "fuckit's" and "who give's a fuck" and so on and so forth... But fuckit...who knows... bleh...Ha...

I feel quite strange today, not really down.  Had some teary business this morning in the car, but nothing major.  I don't feel anything really.  Not happy, or sad or indifferent or anything.  Just a general nothingness.  Which I think I'm quite enjoying.  Enjoying the mediocrity of life I guess.  Viva La Mediocridad!!  Hahaha.... Fuckin' loonball.

Anyways... I guess there's nothing else worth writing right now.  I guess I'll have something to whinge and moan about tomorrow when I'm languishing in my own wee world of self pity and bleakness, while suffering terribly from the "hangover horn".  Oh how I'm looking forward to that!

Today was probably the most difficult appointment I've had with "the woman".  I told her about the abortion and all that business.  It was fuckin' tough.  She's trying to get me to talk about positive things about myself.  I don't think that's necessary though, I know the good things about me.  I still think I'm a cunt though.  And I think some of the good things about me are probably what makes me think I'm a cunt.  I'm able to recognise when I'm doing things cos I'm a good person, and when I'm doing things that will benefit me indirectly.

She was also talking about how I force my views on to other people.  That's not really what it is, but I get what she means.  I assume that because I think that everything is fucking shite that everyone else should, and if they don't they're a fuckin' idiot.  I explained that forcing my views on abortion now on a friend of mine caused a big fuckin' fight.  I just assume that everyone will feel the same way I feel about things, and I didn't want him to feel the horrible, hatred within himself for something that can never be changed.  Forever and ever you live with that feeling.  That feeling which means you can't look at a kid without thinking that you had one, and you chose to "get rid".  That feeling that haunts you when you think about having kids in the future, why is this one ok, but that one wasn't?  That horrible feeling that Karma is waiting round the corner to get you, punish you or someone close to you because you thought that "getting rid" was "the easy way out".

Fuckit... I guess it's different for everyone.  I met a girl the other week who quite openly spoke about abortions and it transpired she'd had 4.  I fuckin' hated her for it.  She fuckin' disgusted me.  But is she wrong?  Am I right to judge her on how she lives her life?

Fuckit....yea.... she is fuckin wrong.  She's a horrible fuckin' cunt.  An innocent wee fuckin' baby... gone.  Because "it's not the right time".  It's never the right fuckin' time...  Everyone could make things better.  Bigger house, more money, bigger car... Something could be better.  I really got that view from another associate.  He's not really a mate, although I do sometimes think we should be better friends.  He's a good cunt really.  He has one wee girl.  And he was the first person I'd ever heard saying there's never a right time, so you just deal with what comes. 

I like the fact that the woman has never asked to see my cuts.  That's cool as fuck.  She just asked if they were bad... They're not really, just scratches really.  I did one yesterday that was a bit shit, so I did another one.  That was a bit better.  They're hurting a wee bit today though.  She was asking what I was thinking, what I was feeling.  It was hard to describe.  I was lying in bed thinking I couldn't face going in to work.  Having to converse with people and generally be around them.  But neither could I face the drama of having to tell someone at work that I wasn't coming in.  So I decided that if I could do something, have something to focus on.  Then I could trick myself into getting ready, and out the door... into the car.  Then I'm "locked in" I can't do anything but go to work, then once I'm there I can't do anything but stay.

Anyway, after the appointment I sat in the car for a while bawling my eyes out like a fuckin' kid which has become part of the routine.  It's so fuckin hard just sitting opening yourself up to that, then having to just get back to normal to get back to work.  Do I feel better about being there?  Fuck knows...  But I'll keep going for now.  I know I need to do something.  I'm not gonna do "meds" I don't think.  Not just yet.  I promise if I feel proper suicidal, not "cry for help" suicidal.... Then I'll consider meds.  But I want to keep boozing... so...what ye gonna do...

First of all to my family and friends that are going to read this.  I'm sorry in advance.  I cut myself again today.  I know I said I wouldn't, but fuckit... I did.  I needed *something* to make me get out of bed and out of the house, and I didn't know where else to turn.  I don't feel good about it, in fact like I always I just feel daft.  But I needed something.  I was arguing with someone about it.  People would be less concerned if I told them I woke up and had a couple of beers to square me up.  Or downed half a bottle of whiskey.  That would be more socially acceptable.  It's the same thing, doing something that harms you for the short term gain you'll get from it. But people get all fuckin' precious about it.  Like I'm one step away from the noose.  They wouldn't think that I was one step away from the crack pipe if I had a few beers this morning. 

I can't say that I feel any better today than I have for the last few days, but at least I made it to work today.  That's a bonus I guess.  My head isn't so bad today either so again I guess that's progress.

I told my cousin about "this" whole thing... sent him a link to here.  He was another of the "I had no idea" crew.  I feel bad about that, because I know that people feel bad about having no idea.  But that's because I made sure no one had any idea.  I'll make sure I control what people know and think about me.  I'll control whether people are concerned about me.  I'll fuckin' decide...

But right now I couldn't give a fuck what people know or don't know.  I'm fuckin' fed up trying to control everything.  People can take me like this or they can fuck off.  I can't be the other guy any more.  I need fuckin' help.  And I'm doing everything I can to make things better.  That's a fuckin' lie really, boozing and smoking puff is hardly doing "everything I can" to make things better.  Fuckit... So fuck. 

People keep telling me to go home, back to Glasgow.  As though everything will be alright if I have people around me.  It's a nice sentiment, but it's a sack of shite.  People don't want a fuckin' depressed mentalist around them all the time.  They want the other guy.  Or they want the mentalist for enough time that they can say what they think they should say to make you feel better, but really it's to relieve themselves of it.  To tick the wee boxes: "Did you ask how they were?" check... "Did you say you can speak to them any time?" check... and so on and so forth...  Maybe I'm being harsh, but most people know that you aren't really gonna bother them and as long as they've made the offer then they've done their bit.  It's not their fault...  It's the way everyone is. 

I guess the flipside is, what do I want from these people?  I don't really want to "talk about it" or have them asking me if I'm ok every 5 minutes or any fucking thing like that.  People just do their best I guess... It's not easy when you don't know what to do.

I also think that in reality, there are very few people in my life that *really* listen to what another person has to say.  Of course you talk, and they're looking at you... But really they're just waiting until it is their turn to talk again. 

I'm not saying that I'm any better, but I'm conscious of the fact and I try and really listen to what people are saying to me.  Sometimes you can't help yourself though.  What you have to say is far more important than what any other cunt has to say.  So hell mend anyone that gets in your fuckin' way.

Humans... Useless Fuckin' Cunts...

So yea, I'm still feeling shit.  I've been reading loads of blogs, and thinking about how I want to help people so much.  I feel much better within myself when I think that I'm helping someone.  It upsets me when there are things that I can't help with.  I saw a thing on the news about some wee girl that has leukemia, her mother is chinese and her father is English, so really they need someone with the same background to be able to do a successful bone marrow transplant. 

That fuckin' gets to me.  A poor wee girl.  What the fuck did she ever do to anyone?  Yet she has this shite running around her body.  It's fucked up.  I've been thinking about doing something that really will help people.  Volunteer with The Samaritans or something.  Fuck knows, I just want to do *something*...  I'm not doing it to be some kind of hero.  It is completely selfish reasons that I want to do it.  I want to have made some kind of fucking impact on people.  People?  Person...?  Fuck knows.... anyone??... Fuckit...who knows.... Made a difference to somebody.  Helped them feel a wee bit better about their fuckin existence.

I just need to ride this shit out... How long is it going to take though?... that's the thing.  Why can't I just be the proper selfish cunt that I've always perputrated?  Fuck everyone else, look after me.  Make myself loads of money.  Fuck these other cunts.  Fuck them...

I really, really miss having a woman.  Have I mentioned that?  Ha...  I miss having someone to sit and watch TV with, to sit on the sofa with a bottle of wine and a takeaway and fall asleep together.  To have an argument with over something insignificant and make it up to her by bringing some chocolates and flowers and my wonderful humour.  Make her laugh, make her happy... Make her enjoy being with me.  I'm a good cunt really, you know that...  I think I have something to offer to someone.  In saying that, some fuckin bampot told me the other week I was "beautiful, as a concept"... Ehh..... Whit?!... A Concept?!  Are you for fuckin' real?  And El Concepto was born...  A concept... For fuck sake, God take me now....Fuckin' Idiot.

Maybe having no woman isn't so bad, when there is chance you could end up with some fuckin' loonball like that.  Regardless of how magic her breasts may be.  Fuckin'...Fuck knows.  Fuckin' cunts.

I'm a selfish cunt really, wanting to help people so I can make myself feel better.  *People* are fuckin' cunts really... Humans... They never fail to disappoint.  Fuckin' each other over, doing what it takes to make sure they get ahead.  Does anyone know anyone that knows someone that has *never* cheated on their girlfriend/boyfriend?  Everyone I know has at least had a snog with someone else.  Done something that would devastate their other half, despite the fact that the other half had most likely done the same.  We're selfish, horrible cunts... 

And in the end, you live and die in your own arms.

Fuckin' great eh?

Fuck knows what's happening to me.  My head has that funny/horrible sensation worse than ever.  I never went to work today either, cited "the shits" as the issue.  But is it fuck.  I can't face it.  People, work all that fuckin' shite.  I've got loads in front of me.  Loads of work needing done, chance to earn decent money, which is getting me down right now.  I know I'm letting a friend of mine down too by not doing the work I said I'd do for his company.

I feel so fuckin' low.  I've been crying all morning over fuck all.  I just feel like I've had enough of feeling like this.  I'm not gonna do anything daft, but I just feel fucked with the whole gig... why does everything have to be such a struggle?  Everything I want to do, everything I know I can acheive... Things that aren't beyond my capabilities.  Why have they all now become like one big mush of shite that hangs over me.  A big collection of fuckin' shite that you can't get a hold of to deal with one thing at a time.  It all just hangs over you, waiting to just drop and fuck you off for good.

I'm struggling so much to keep on top of things at work, but I don't know how to deal with it properly.  Should I go sick and then try and sort myself out without the worry of work.  Which on one hand means that they'll see they can cope without me, but on the other they won't see me being fuckin shite and constantly letting people down.  Or, do I stay and nurture reputation of someone who constantly misses deadlines and doesn't complete the stuff he says he will?  It's a dilemma and no mistake. 

But fuckit... I can't seem to get worked up either way about that whole shite. 

This fuckin' head though.  It's fuckin' getting to me.  It's as bad as it's ever been.  And my leg too, that must be something to do with how I sit or drive or something.  It's fine in the morning, but gets worse as the day goes on.  It's a complete nightmare.  It's fine if I move around and stuff, just if I sit too long it gets unbearably sore.

Ahh fuck knows....  I'm such a moany cunt.  If I can get the screaming in my head for a bit, then I'm sure I'll be fine.

Fuckin Fucky Fuckness in Fucktown.... Cunts...

Fuckit... I'm really struggling a wee bit right now.  I dunno what it is, it's just hard fuckin' going.  Feeling like you're fighting every day,  everything is a struggle.  Just to try and converse with people, act normal.  It's fuckin' exhausting.  I think part of the problem is I have *nothing* to look forward to.  Nothing to get excited about.  Me and a friend have been talking about going away for a wee bit, go to Argentina next year.  I think if I can get that booked up, then I'll have something to look forward to.  Something to focus on.  My life is just coasting along, going nowhere.  I'm slipping at work again, after a few days of wondrous coding skills I feel like I'm back to really struggling to contribute anything worthwhile.

I did play on my "illness" a wee bit yesterday, I never had an appointment with the woman, but I decided to just say I did and had an extra couple of hours in my kip.  I guess I should get *some* benefit out of being fucked up.  Right?

Ahh fuckit....what ye gonna do...

I still have that "lost", "what the fuck am I doing with my life" feeling.  I'm missing something, I have been for a fuckin' long time.  I dunno what it is.  I'm just constantly disappointed in everything.  I've felt like that forever I reckon, things are *never* as good as I think they'll be.  Even simple things... You sit in the office in a hot day, you think...I could just go a nice cold pint.  You get to the boozer, and it's *never* as good as you imagined it.  Is there something in the fact that I think that any aspect of life can be boiled down to an alcohol or Sopranos analogy?  Surely there's more to life than can be explained away by beer and Sopranos?...  Maybe there's not...  Maybe that's why I'm disappointed, because I expect to much from life.

I've been thinking about writing this for a wee while, but it does sound like I'm a proper fuckin' mentalist.  But...  I hate looking at myself in the mirror, I feel like it's a stranger.  Then I get this weird frightened panicky feeling.  Like I'm overwhelmed at being alive almost.  Not at being alive maybe, but at life.  At how people can be alive.  I become so aware of "living" and it frightens me.  I dunno... it does sound like I'm a fuckin' loonball.  So if anyone is reading this and feels or has felt the same.  Then some reassurance that I'm "ok" would be great.  Sometimes I lie in my bed and it's like I get a jolt, like all of a sudden "I'm back in the room" and here and alive and how can it possibly be and how can my family be my family and is this real and what the fuck is going on in my head?!!?  I've often thought that maybe I'm in a coma, like that cunt from that show where he's back in the 60's.  Maybe I'm lying in a hospital bed somewhere and my life really isn't so fucked up.  Maybe I got hit by a truck and i've been in coma for a wee while, but it feels like 4 fuckin years.  Maybe...

Maybe I'm just a fuckin nutcase.

Maybe I'm just going to continue to coast forever.  Fuck that.

I dunno what's happening right now.  But I feel like I want to cut myself again.  I'm not gonna do it I don't think, I'm just angry with myself.  For what?  Fuck knows... I just feel like, I'm slipping a wee bit just now.  I was crying in the car again today, just driving home listening to music and tears streaming down my face. 

Fuckit... Just need to try and ride it out I guess.  Got a few people coming round for the football tomorrow(well tonight now) so I'm quite looking forward to that.  I want people to always come round to my house.  I want it to be like the days before mobile phones when people would just unexpectedly show up.  The days when you could arrange to meet someone for a pint 1 week in advance, and not need a fuckin' running commentary along the lines of "alright mate, still meeting up on wednesday",aye "alright mate, still meeeting up tomorrow", aye, "alright mate, still meeting up tonight", aye "alright, mate I'll see you at 7, still ok?" aye, "alright mate, I'm half an hour away", ok, "alright mate, be there in 5 mins". JESUS FUCKIN CHRIST JUST TELL ME ONCE YOU'LL BE THERE, THEN FUCKIN SHOW UP!!! 

Anyway, I digress... I want people to like coming here, I want people to want to come round for a chat or some food or a beer or a smoke or whatever the fuck they want to come round for.  So there should be around 5 or 6 people coming round.  Just fkn hope we can get a win.  Although, I do feel like I'm far more disconnected from football than I was before.  Time was I would go everywhere, home and away to go to the games.  I still care about winning, but I've definitely mellowed from the whole thing.  I guess 3 years out of the "melting pot of sectarian *bile*" will do that to you.  But I'd *fuckin love it* if we won tomorrow... fuckin *LOVE IT*.

I wonder what people think when they read this.  I get around 20-30 regular readers these days.  I wonder if they think I have something to say, or they just think, "fuckin hell, at least I'm not this cunt".  It's strange though, because I would reckon that there aren't many people as "happy" as me... on paper at least.  Earning good money in the industry you always wanted to work in.  Made the leap away from Glasgow.  Lots of good friends.  Got a lot going for me really... And yet here I am, languishing in the depths of hell over what really should be irrelevant things.  That's what makes me hate myself even more, the fact that I *know* I don't have it bad.  Yet, in my head I have this "woe is me", "my life is like...so shit...an' stuff" fuckin melodramatic, pointless, childish, teen-fuckin-angst that I should have grown out of by now surely!?  But, alas... here we fuckin are... going over and over the same old shite. 

Fuckin useless cunt.

I've been having pretty dramatic moodswings the last few days, and I've found it difficult to write anything.  It's fucked up.  Sometimes I've felt fucking great... laughed like fuck at wee daft things, just felt really fuckin' good.  And then all of a sudden I get hit by a fuckin' shovel and it's like, fuck...I dunno... like I've "caught myself" being happy!? And then I feel fuckin' shite again.  What the fuck is that all about?!  Surely I should be cool with feeling happy?  I should be "happy" that I'm fuckin happy for a change?

But now... This fucked up head decides.  And it's decided that I *will* not be happy... And any attempt to do so will be dealt with *most* severely!

I was supposed to do some work over the weekend to make sure I can have a couple of days off in November, I haven't done it all.  But I reckon that I have/will have done enough to blag my way to the days off.  Or I could just do what I should do and stop writing this meaningless shite and get it done.  Fuck knows...  I'm feeling not bad right now, that's why I thought I should write something down.  Try and write when I'm not whining like a fuckin' moany cunt.  I'm consciously trying to not write when I feel shite.  I want it to be normal for me to feel ok.  Does that even make sense?  Fuck knows...  Who cares.

I've also been recording a few of the tracks that I've written.  I know, I should have been working....blah blah...  Anyway, yea.  I say recording, but all I've been doing is recording onto my iPhone to make sure that I have some record of my ideas.  Some of them are ok, most are shite...  One I think is particularly ok.  I sent it to a friend of mine and he responded quite positively about it.  But how reliable that is I'm not sure.  How many people will tell their friends that this "thing" they have created is fuckin' garbage?  Would you tell your mate that their kid is *fuckin* ugly.  Hmm...No.. I doubt it.  But fuckit... I don't care if my song is an ugly kid... I think it's beautiful.

I quite liked myself yesterday, I got a haircut and stuff, got some website work from the hairdresser and generally felt good.  Went for a few pints, and really though about heading into Oxford with a couple of guys from work.  I didn't *really* want to kick around with them all day/night so I tried to talk another mate into meeting up too.  I wanted to surround myself with as many people as possible.  I think that is something I need to do.  I like being around people, sometimes being in the limelight of that group but always able to disappear into the crowd any time I want.  I know people who don't like being in big groups, and I've always found it strange I think... Maybe not always, but definitely now.  I definitely wouldn't want to be someone who couldn't deal with groups of people.  As much as I think "people" are cunts... I think I need them.

I was looking for some stuff on Spike Milligan and searched on google.  I came across this blog http://thesecretlifeofamanicdepressive.wordpress.com/ It's by an Irish girl living in London.  It's really fuckin' good.  She's got a superb "way" about her, the way she articulates herself it's fuckin' great.  Obviously she's a manic depressive, and the other day she took an overdose.  It was quite unnerving to read what she had written, coming across it a couple of hours after she'd posted an entry explaining what she's just taken.  Thankfully she's doing ok today.  I sent her a wee message just telling her to take it easy... Fuckin great advice eh?  Useless cunt that I am... Anyway... I'll definitely be checking back and will be checking out the archives too.

I guess I should get back to work... But the snooker is on, so...who knows... I may need to call on all my "blagging" reserves tomorrow...

This is the first chance I've had to write anything today.  Been doing loads of work.  Feeling pretty good about it to be honesty.  Feel like I'm earning my dosh for the first time in a wee while.

Have this fuckin' funny head business pretty bad though.  I think it must be a stress thing, as I am under a wee bit of pressure right now.  I can live with it, knowing that it's stress.  It's when I start to convince myself that it's a fuckin' brain tumour that it becomes an issue.

My housemate has invited one of his new work buddies round for the football tonight......  Great.

Think I'll be retiring to my quarters for the evening.  I have a bit more work to do for my own personal work, so I should really try and get that finished.  It's not that I don't like the boy.  I just don't want any more people in my life right now.  I've got enough mates, enough acquaintances.  I need more women...  That's what the boy should be doing with his time.  Bringing round gaggles of women.  Not fellow geeks that started work the same time as him.

Fuckit... Maybe I'll go out.

Forced out of my own fuckin home by a foreigner!  Can you fuckin' believe it!

Got another appointment with "the woman" tomorrow.  Will see how that goes.  Be interesting to see how it is when I'm feeling ok about things.

Oh...My "project" isn't going so well.  With being under pressure at work I just got myself a tuna mayo baguette and a bottle of coke.  Hardly the diet of champions.  I think I'll have a look online to get a proper diet sheet.  Have someone tell me what I should eat for every meal.

That's what I need.

Some fuckin structure in my life.

Anyway, back to work I guess.  Around 8 minutes to type this, quickest yet.

This unattainable business is kicking in again.  It's a complete fucking nightmare.  It's nice sometimes, but knowing I'm too much of a useless cunt to do anything about it makes it all futile as fuck.  Just when I think I'm out, it pulls me back in... Fuckit...What you gonna do...The problem is I know I'm a fat, ugly cunt so I can't get past that when thinking about trying something.  So again we're back to getting fit, not boozing, smoking and eating shit food.
Fuckin' hell, why the fuck can't I do that simple task!?  A wee bit of will power, that's all it would take.  But no, the easy road of boozing and shite food always wins the day.  I am a fuckin' weak, weak person.  That's the problem.  I need to approach this like a project.  Set myself targets, milestones.  Have a meeting with myself to discuss how it's going, where things are going wrong and address them.  That's what I should do.  Set myself realistic targets.  Lose say between 5-7 pounds a week.  At my current level that should be pretty acheivable.  In a month I should have lost around 2 stone.  So if I start now, then by christmas I should have achieved a reasonable level of fitness.  Try not to overdo it over that period, then kick on after the new year. 

I think I'll give it a go.  Starting today, I'm going to make a note of everything I eat, and the excercise I do that day.  Fuckit... It's got to be worth a shot.  And like I say, if I plan it like a wee project I might just be able to do it.

Quite busy in work again today, but I'm slipping again.  I'm doing things to stop doing work.  Looking at meaningless pish on the internet, sorting out the music in my iTunes.  Anything that I can do to *not* do work.  It's fuckin' frustrating, because I *want* to do the work.  I really fuckin do.  Why does this happen?  Fuck knows...

I'm beginning to feel like I thought I would.  I feel like I'm doing ok, not too down etc...  So now I feel like I have fuck all to say.  Fuck all to contribute.  This is the time though when I should be thinking about what to do long term.  I think part of the problem is I'm scared about moving to a new job.  I've been shite for quite a while now, what if I moved and then I couldn't pick up right away?  Then I get the bullet because I don't have my reputation to fall back on.  I'm just the "new guy who's fuckin' shite".  I need to get back, make sure when I move that it's a stroll.  I stroll into the new work and impress for the first wee while.  Then I can sit back and be a useless, miserable cunt again.

I was thinking about not going to see "the woman" this week as I'm feeling not too bad.  But I dismissed that notion as quickly as it came.  I think it's important to keep going regardless of whether I feel ok in the days leading up to it or not.  Until of course the time comes when I feel like I have nothing else to "get out" of me.  I wonder how that works?  Does she just tell you one day..."ok son, that's you fixed...no need to come back now."  Or will she just keep it going as long as I am willing to keep handing over dosh?  It's interesting and worrying at the same time.

I don't want to be one of these cunts thought that has a "therapist" for years and years.  I don't want to start relying on it/her too much.  I just want it to kick me in the right direction then I'll take it from there.  If I can get rid of all these shite feelings I have, then learn how to deal with new shite feelings that come along then I think I'll be alright.

Well... as alright as every other cunt.

I'm having to write this at 23:31 tonight, can you believe I was actually enthralled in my work so much that I didn't have time to do it in the office?  Fuckin' unreal.  I did good today.  Contributed, and I feel good about it.  Tomorrow will be the first day in ages that I'm going in and I don't have the previous days shit chasing me. 

I've had this funny head again yesterday and today, not sure if drinking and smoking has brought it back as bad as before, or maybe it is because of wearing my contact lens again, as I've been wearing it quite a lot.  I think I'll go back to the glasses for a bit.

Played football tonight, I was fuckin shite in all honesty.  We drew 3-3, so my undefeated record still stands, but we really should have won.  I knew myself that I wasn't right.  Felt really lethargic and just not in the right frame of mind to play.  And it showed.  Fuckit, I'll just need to make sure I'm better next week. 

Playing football always makes me think about my life in general.  Why do I always have to be "involved" in everything?  Why do I always need to try and take on everyone's battles?  I feel like I take on everyone's fight, from the battle of the Palestinians to the battle of my team mates on the pitch.  I think I can make everything better for everyone.  When there's something wrong with my family or friends, I feel like I take it personally, and it gets to me that I can't make it better for them.  It eats away at me that they're having a hard time, and for whatever reason, I can't make it better.

I understand that it's normal really, most people *want* to help where they can.  But why do I take it so personally?  We do I take it all on board then feel fuckin' shite because I can't shift it?  Maybe it's about wanting to be liked...  Wanting to show that you care so that people think positively about you.  Fuck knows... Why does it matter?

I feel not too bad tonight actually, better than last night for sure.  I think it's probably because I can relax and go to sleep, knowing that I'm not gonna get my baws kicked for another let down at work.  Incidentally, there is never any "baw kicking" for me at work, but I took the whole "redistribution" situation personally and that's as much as a baw kicking as I think I could stand.  I'd rather someone just shouted at me and told me I was a useless cunt than make me have that feeling of utter disappointment and pity for a once "no' bad" worker.  I know if I hadn't performed well in the first couple of years here then my tea would well and truly have been oot!

Anyway...I'm fucked, so I'll leave it there...

 

I dunno why I feel like making another entry today.  I feel really crap tonight.  I'm sitting here with my housemate and his nephew, but I just feel really fuckin' lonely.

Been thinking about my ex a lot today, I guess it's a bit shit to just think about her because I'm feeling bad.  I've just been thinking that I hope her and the boy are ok.  I hope she doesn't feel shite about her time with me, although I think she'll likely hate me.  Fuckit, what can you do.  I know I didn't do anything wrong as such.  And generally I know that splitting up was the best thing to do.

That doesn't stop me feeling like a complete fuckin' cunt right now.  Why does this happen to me?  Why do I always end up feeling so bad?  In fact, it's hardly rocket science is it?  I've been boozing too much, so it's obvious that there is gonna be some fallout from that.  Fuckit... My own fault...

I just have that fuckin' "lost" feeling.  It's hard to explain, I just feel fuckin lost.  Like I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.  In the grand sense.  I need a burd, for sure...  I need someone to keep me right.  Someone who has my back.  Maybe I *was* too hasty in splitting up.  She was generally good for me, but fuck... I wasn't happy.  Could someone really go through their life with someone that doesn't make them happy just to have *someone* there?

I spoke about that before I think, I miss having someone at my back.  Someone that when they're gone, you feel like you're falling and you can't stop it.  I miss having my family and my mates around me too. 

Fuckit... Another self indulgent moan.

Let's see what tomorrow brings...

I've been trying to write something in here for the last couple of days.  I'm not sure whether it's because I've been feeling pretty good about things, or whether I'm reconsidering whether my family knowing *everything* about me is such a good thing.  It's something I'm going to have to decide conclusively one way or the other.

I was out for a few beers on Friday night, a few people have commented about me being different.  More relaxed, happy maybe.  I guess then that there's a difference between my "performance" of happy and real happy.  Had another couple yesterday watching the football, also had a wee smoke.  I don't suppose substituting puff for booze is a good thing.  But I've been quite enjoying doing it as a "treat".  Not like these people who habitually sit and get stoned out of their box.  I think that's wrong.

I can feel a general low this morning though.  Which is to be expected I suppose, I've not been boozing a lot this week, but I think I've had a couple of beers every night.  I guess that's a combination of a few different things, but still I'm gonna try not to have anything until next Friday at the earliest.

I was speaking to the missus of a friend of mine who I played some guitar for the other week.  She was telling me about an Open Mic night not far from here that I should go to.  She told me that said friend was "blown away" when I played for him.  HA...Aww Shucks...

Anyway,yea..I think I'll go check it out this week.  Then if I think I can hold my own I'll give it a go.  We'll see.

I think I really need a burd.  More than ever.  This is the first proper "barren spell" in 6 or so years.  I'm beginning to realise why I think people "give up" and take something rather than nothing.  When you're young, at school, or uni or whatever.  Your opportunities for burds are far more plentiful, so you don't *really* worry about it much.  But as you get older these opportunities dissipate somewhat, so maybe that's what happens.  You see these opportunities getting less and less frequent so you start thinking maybe you should get a hold of something before it's too late.

I don't think I'm quite at that stage just yet, but it makes a bit more sense to me.  I spoke to a friend of mine the other week, he's just finished with a woman he's been with for around 12 years.  He's 38 and was 26, same age as me now, when he started seeing her.  That frightens me.  I could get a burd, spend the next 12 years of my life with her then end up in the same position as this poor cunt?! Fuckin' Hell... Fuck that.

I guess *getting* a burd should be top of my agenda as opposed to figuring out when we'll split up when I do get one!  Haha... Fuck sake, this fuckin' mind of mine.  Why can't it just accept that somethings good things can happen?  And that sometimes "people can actually be warm, wondrous animals" (if you're reading this, thanks for that.)

I've started my book, it'll likely be a sack of shite.  But fuckit, like this and the songs I write, I don't give a fuck if it's all shite.  I'm doing it all for me.  No one else.

Feeling not too bad again today.  Had a bit of a rough one yesterday afternoon.  I guess it had been coming, but eventually the work that I was struggling with got taken off me and "redistributed".  I should have dealt with it myself.  Obviously I should have done the work, but when I realised that it wasn't exactly going to plan I should have made it known, and organised the redistribution myself.  Instead of letting it get to the stage that someone else makes the decision.

Fuckit...What you gonna do...

I think it might have been enough of a shock for me to kick me in the right direction.  As I sat and finished everything I needed doing for the rest of the day.  Work that should really have taken me until the end of today.  Fuckin' typical.  I just need to make sure I keep going with this work ethic.  (No not *THAT* work ethic)...

I felt fuckin shite when it happened yesterday though, like the ultimate confirmation that I haven't been working as I should and can do.  I've done a fair bit this morning though, before I took a break to write this shite.

We have my housemates nephew coming to stay for the weekend.  He's not a bad wee guy, but I think I'll try and keep out of the way for most of it.  Nothing against them both, but I just can't be arsed with the cunts.

I've been out and about most nights this week, so I'm actually looking forward to just having a couple of nights in this weekend.  A friend of mine was talking about coming round tonight and also for the football tomorrow.  I forgot about our visitor though, so who knows what will happen.  Either way I think I'll stay in, play guitar and try and put some music to these words.

I was talking to my old man and my mate about "getting better"... If I am getting better, then I want to write loads and loads of shit while I'm in this frame of mind.  First of all to see if it is the case that people are more creative when they feel like this, but also so I can read everything, have songs, stories, poems that I can look back and remember how I was feeling, which I hope will allow me to have more control over it.  Be able to recognise when I'm slipping, and do something about it.  Bleh....does that even make sense?! Fuck knows...

Maybe you've noticed, but I haven't been writing about my head issue much. (The only "head" issue I have right now is not getting enough...boom boom)...
But yea, it seems to be subsiding somewhat.  Not totally gone, but not as bad as it was. 

I also haven't written about 5-a-sides.  I never played on Monday because I wanted to try and finish this work, but fucked that up in any case.  I should have just played.  I'm getting pissed off with the whole thing in all honesty.  Fuck sake, the politics of it all are fuckin' ridiculous.  We should play the best players we have when we can, and that's that.  It's almost like fuckin' kids football where the parents complain of wee Jimmy doesn't get his alloted time on the pitch as "we pay the same as the rest". 

What a sack of shite.

Anyway...fuckit... Not much to say today and I've written loads.  Maybe I shoulda been a politician.

Once again I need to say thanks for the great response and support I've had from the people who have read the blog in the last few days.  Don't worry, I'm not gonna keep saying thanks, as it does seem all a bit gay.  But please believe me that it means a fuckin' lot to me right now.

One of the comments I got was from a guy who saw some graffiti saying the above statement.  "Stupid People Don't Get Depressed"...  I thought it was a fuckin' great comment.  And as the day went on I started thinking about it more, and whether it was really true and if so why was it true?

We see these fuckin' muppets strolling through life at a canter, reading heat magazine, the redtops and being enthralled by Hollyoaks (sorry for stealing that part if you're reading this).  Would I want that life?  If I could trade in all this fuckin' shiteness, to coast through a life where my only worry was whether some character in a soap opera was really the kids dad, would I do it?  Take the red pill...ignorance is bliss??

Fuck That.

No fuckin' chance. 

I think that if your mind can venture further than your wee fuckin town, and the TV then it's almost difficult to *not* be depressed.  If we're honest, the world is a *fuckin' shite* place.  Murder, Rape, Abuse, Fuckin' people over.  Countries building bombs that can wipe out everyone at the flick of a switch.  Fuckin' hell, surely there's something wrong with you if you're *not* depressed by that shit?!  But take the red pill, you wake up in the morning, believe what you want, have a quick tommy tank and stroll into your pishy job with a smile on your face.

Of course I understand there are beautiful things in the world, sitting on a beach watching the sun go down.  Fuck me... Walking at night looking at the stars in the sky after a wee smoke, fuckin beautiful.  I guess the joy of kids is something that many say is a beautiful thing, but isn't that unfair?  Almost selfish??  Bringing someone else into this shitey world, to try and make you feel better about it?  Fuckit...Fuck knows, what do I know.

I have until lunchtime to finish the next stage of this work, otherwise it will be my head well and truly on a fuckin' spike.  I feel like I'm getting back though.  Back to being fuckin' good at my job again.  Not good like before, where I had the passion to do it.  I feel like the fight in me has gone a wee bit, the fight against the pressure.  Knowingly taking on too much work because I wanted that pressure on me, so I could pull it off and stand saying.  "Look at me, none of you cunts could have done that"  - I've had enough of that.  I feel like I'm more functional in what I do now, like a well configured machine.  Not being creative anymore, just writing good functional code that will work.  Boring as fuckin' sin.

I feel like I want to help people.  I have a friend that always takes the cunt out of me because I always say "I could do that" and I said it the other week about counselling.  I've always had that "I can do that" attitude with regards to work.  I've never felt like anything was beyond me.  Anytime I couldn't do something it was more through extreme fuckin' boredom than an inability to complete the task.

Maybe moving into a new field wouldn't be so bad.  But a counsellor? Hmm... Could I detach myself enough from hearing about everyone else having a fuckin' shite time of it without losing the fuckin' plot myself?  Fuck knows.  Doubt it...

I had another meeting with "the woman" yesterday.  I explained that my old man had read everything about me, and he'd also told my mama.  It's fuckin' tough knowing that they know everything about me now.  But fuckit, I feel better for it.  I feel like I don't need to hide anything from any cunt anymore.  Is that the same as "hitting bottom"?  Fuck knows...  But that's how I feel, I don't need to pretend to anyone that I'm having a fuckin' wonderful day when inside I feel like there's nothing but blackness and I feel like my head is going to explode with the billions of thoughts that are running through it at a million miles a second.  There's no point in saying to my old man "aye I feel great" when he's gonna come on here and read the truth anyway.  It's kinda liberating.  And incidentally, I feel better within myself already.

I'm conscious of the fact that this might be me riding the crest of the wave of the last few days, and it could all come crashing down around me.  But I don't think so.  I feel that since I've been going to see "the woman" there has been a proper steady incline in how I've been feeling.  Which is much better than just the fuckin' all over the shop highs in lows of before.

Maybe I'm getting better, which is almost scary in itself... Do I really want rid of this "friend" that's been with me so long?

Fuckin' hell... What a question...

This is an interesting entry to the blog to say the least. 

As part of the whole "opening up" process yesterday, and opening up the blog to a whole new audience - my old man came across it and read the whole shabang.  I doubt it was too difficult for him to figure out it was me.

It's difficult now, because there is part of me that obviously doesn't want my family worrying about me.  But it's pointless writing the blog if I'm not going to be 100% honest.  The thing is, and I know this is easy to say - but there is nothing really to worry about.  I know something isn't right with me and I'm getting it sorted.  It can't be easy for a parent to read that their "child" isn't living in eternal sunshine, let alone reading that they are pretty fuckin' low.

I think the worst thing for him was the whole hurting myself business.  Which of course must be worrying - but as I've said throughout, it's all to do with dealing, or not dealing with stuff... and about a way of getting the feelings that I've not dealt with out of me.  Just my way of doing it.  But after going to these sessions with "the woman", I don't think I'll ever do it again.  She's been able to explain why I do it, and explain that I can do other things.  Things that first of all don't hurt me (which is nice) and things that I can keep, and look back at them.  In the same way I can look back on this.

I've got to keep going with it though.  I can't stop now.  And I've got to continue to be 100% honest with myself.  Otherwise there's no fuckin' point.

I'm upset that I've upset and worried him, but I'm pleased that I can speak to him about this now.  Maybe I should have dealt with it better, but there ye go.  I've dealt with it in my usual elaborate fucked up manner.  Ha!

Anyway, I have another appointment with "the woman" today.  And I'm really looking forward to it.  A few people have also given me some amazing advice.  "Keep a success diary" being one of the best.  I think I'll keep that in mind, keep track of when I feel good and what areas of my life are good.

Finally, to all those with the kind words of encouragement from yesterday.  And to those who have sent me a message to say that reading this has helped them in some way.  I truly thank you for taking the time to both read it, and get in touch.  And I hope that anyone who reads the ramblings of this fool will get something out of it.

Haven't written for a few days.  My sister came to visit over the weekend.  It was great seeing her.  I was *fucked up* on Saturday with booze and puff.  A friend of mine commented that I was so relaxed and comfortable around my family.  More than I ever am.  Apparently I was in good form too, funny, playing guitar and singing.  I had such a good fuckin' time.

I guess the fallout from that is why I'm feeling pretty fkn shite the last few days, but fuckit.  I knew it was coming, I knew that I'd have to deal with this.  So it's not so bad. 

I have another appointment with "the woman" tomorrow.  She said she's going to have a series of "tests" for me.  I hope it's not those "what do you think about this picture" as she holds up a picture of a donkey, type pish.  Because I will be forced to dismiss her.  We'll see.... fuck knows.  I look forward to the meetings though, I do think they help me.  And when I'm there and I start, I feel like I don't want to stop.  I need to try and control that though, as I've come out of the last two feeling so open and vulnerable that I've told people things that in my normal day to day state I wouldn't dream of doing.

Is that a bad thing though?  Fuck knows, maybe it's not.  Maybe I don't need to stop myself from saying what I feel.  Maybe it's ok to not keep things to myself.  Fuck knows.  Maybe its all a bit gay.

Was up most of last night trying to finish some work as I'm holding people up.  I knew this whole thing was coming, but it's still horrible.  More because I know I'm causing other people hassle which is getting to me.  (So why the fuck are you writing this instead of working?!)

Hmmm I guess that's a fair point.

I also posted a link to this on a few forums I go on.  Not sure why or what I'm looking for from letting complete strangers read the shite I have to say.  But I just felt like I want people to read what I have to say.  Fuckit... If you're here and reading this then I appreciate you taking the time to read these tales of ordinary madness.

The notion has gone.  Yesterday was an important day in terms of how things could progress.  And nothing materialised.  There was opportunity for it to come about, and it wasn't taken up.  Oh well.  Disappointed, but not hugely surprised.  Fuckit...

Been smoking a wee bit of puff as well as boozing the last few days.  Been writing a few songs too, some are complete pish as you'd expect, but some aren't too bad actually.  And most importantly I'm really enjoying doing them.  Looking forward to getting some recording equipment together and putting some stuff together.  My ambitions of being a rockstar have waned slightly since I was 16 years old, but playing the other week at the work "do" has given me the desire to at least get playing at family things etc...

I'm pretty worried about a friend of mine.  He's having a hard time with his wife, and from the outside it's looking like it's all over.  I'm worried because I know what he's like, and he's already taking it fucking hard.  I'm worried because I know what it was like when I split from my "first love" and he's been with this girl for longer than I was.  And there's also the fact he's married to her.  When I was in that place, I didn't want to hear people telling me "it'll get better", "plenty more fish" and all that fuckin shite.  So, maybe it's wrong... But I've been trying to say things that other people won't say to him.  Like "this is gonna be shite for a *fuckin* long time",  and that he's just gonna have to ride it out.  And that it could take fuckin months/years before he feels "comfortable" with going out, meeting new girls and everything that goes along with that.  I think I needed to hear that.  I needed to know that it was ok to feel that horrible feeling, and that I didn't have to "pull myself together" and it would be sitting with me for a fucking long long time... I think it probably still sits with me today.

First cut and all that pish... Fuckit... 

My sister and her boyfriend are coming down today, looking forward to having them around.  Although, it does mean a few days away from the glorious bed.  Fuckit, I'm happy sleeping on the sofa to be honest, falling asleep with the TV on etc...

I need to pick myself up from here, kick on... keep trying to do things that make me happy.  Playing guitar, football, writing.  Get over this issue, get a burd.  Fuckit... We'll see.

I'm in no fuckin' mood for any of this cunts shit today.  Hang on, I guess I should explain who said "cunt" is.  He's a contractor, sitting next to me.  What a complete and utter prick.  Like you wouldn't believe.  He's just so full of shit.  One of these cunts who *always* has a story.  And at least 99.9% of them are fuckin' meaningless pish.  (I've yet to hear one that isn't pish, I'm just giving the cunt the benefit of the doubt that there *must* be one in the post)

But yea, no fuckin' mood for him.  Don't really want to see, speak, hear, look at anyone in all honesty.  But this fucker especially will feel my wrath should he start any of his antics.  Cunt.

I had a few beers and smoked some puff last night, so at least I know why I'm feeling the way I am.  I think that is coupled with my current situation regarding woman.  I had a dream about a girl I went out with a few times when I lived in Glasgow.  She then proceeded to move to Australia, which, as you can imagine, did wonders for my self esteem. Ha!  It was great though, the dream.  One of those that you don't really want to wake up from.  Wake up to the reality of life.  Fuckit...what you gonna do....

I *really* don't want to be here.  No, not *here* like "alive"... I'm not that much of a cliche spouting, melodramatic cunt.  I mean *here* like, in the office.  I just can't be arsed with it.  With anyone. 

I have a friend staying with us at the moment, until he can move into his new place.  He's a fuckin great guy, despite his football affiliations.  We're probably not ideal "housemates" in terms of boozing too much, but I'd much rather live with him than my current housemate.  We're just on a better wavelength I reckon.  That's not to say that my current housemate is a bad guy, I just literally have *nothing* to say to him most of the time.  Like I say, that's probably more to do with me than him.  But fuckit...Just need to get on with it I suppose.  See how much longer it can go on.

Fuckit...

Another fuckin moan. Ha.

 

 

And now I think it's time to move again.  My life here is done, I've mentioned that a few times.  To *decide* to live where I'm living, when I'm drifting along, not *building* a future, is just crazy.

I've made a few close mates that will be my mates forever now.  People who have done for me what I expect of a friend, the people who I would do anything for.  I've also met people who I regarded as friends, but when it comes down to it.  They're not.  They're people that I work with.  People who I have *expected* to *be* something....something important I guess.  And it just hasn't materialised.

But what does that matter.  This has been my decision, to stay somewhere that I could never be happy.  Never fulfill things that I want to do in my life.  And ultimately this must have contributed to my general unhappiness. 

This unassailable pursuit is getting to me now.  Discussions that go nowhere, feeling like a fucking kid.  Fuckit, what can I do.  I just need to keep going, hopefully just shear persistance will get me somewhere.  I'm getting "in deep" though.  And I think it's something that could really be a bad contribution to my mental wellbeing.

I think I want to change my career, I don't like my work anymore.  By default I say I do, just cos I always have.  I've loved my job.  Loved the pressure, everything that came along with that.  But I just feel like I can't do it any more.  I'm fed up with that part of my life. 

I had another meeting with "the woman" today.  She reckons that this head is to do with overloading the work/logical part of my brain, and my creative/artistic side of the brain needs to be more utilised.  Maybe some time away from everyone, playing guitar, drawing pictures, writing songs... Maybe that's what I need. 

I know for sure what I don't need.  I don't need this town, this job, these people....this country.

So I went to the work thing the other night.  I'm really pleased with how it went to be honest.  Firstly, I didn't get *too* pished, and secondly I took my guitar, and I had a fuckin great time.  Playing, singing for everyone - everyone appeared to really enjoy it.  I think they did, but either way, I did.  I fuckin' loved it.  I felt pretty low the next day, I guess to do with boozing and just needing a sleep.  But apart from that, I'm ok.

I feel like I'm loved in the company again, I never did major ass kissing at all, but I think I impressed enough to get them back on side.  All I need now is to make them money again and I'm laughing!  Ha...

It's 02:07 right now, I mentioned before that the time this is posted won't say that so you'll just need to take my word for it.  I can't sleep, I don't know what's wrong.  I don't know how I feel, I need a girl for sure.  This bed on your own business is fuckin' more depressing than anything.  I guess it doesn't help when you start thinking about the impossible.  Something you really want, but something that can't ever happen.  Fuckit, what you gonna do. 

This is part two of this entry, I never finished/posted the first half at 2 am this morning and it's now 10:17 am and I'm sitting in the office.  I didn't get to sleep until around 3.30/4am, so I'm fuckin' knackered.  I'm only going to kick around here for another half hour or so, as I've managed to swing a wee day at home because I'm getting stuff delivered.  Don't get me wrong, that's not a lie.  I don't *really* need to be there, but I could really do with a wee sleep before the football tonight.  Looking forward to it tonight, hopefully we can kick on from last week and get ourselves a win.

Looking forward to my "session" on Wednesday too.  I've been feeling a bit better about things this last week since I went before.  Not "flying" or top of the world.  But better than shit.  Which I guess is progress...  I think I just feel better knowing that I'm doing *something*, that regardless whether this shit is going to make me better or not, that there is a chance it could be better.  I'm not just going to drift along at the same level, or steadily decreasing level.  Like Friday night was one of the best nights I've had in a long time.  I loved the fact that I felt I was entertaining people, but not in my usual "trying to be funny" way.  I tried to curb that somewhat.  I still did that initially, I tried to make people laugh.  But I felt better when I was just singing, like... I felt that I wasn't "performing", that I was just being me.  Not like when I try and play the funny drunk guy.  Fuckit, that probably doesn't make any sense, but who gives a fuck.  This is just a blog.

It's really made me want to practice more and become better, especially before the next work thing.  There's another guy in the company who is a fucking *amazing* musician

This is the third part of this entry, split over 3 days.  Weird.  See, I don't know why, but I always write out my post in notepad (have I mentioned that before? Don't think so) ... yea... I always write it out in Notepad, then copy and paste it into the blog.  Strange, but that's what I do.  I also keep all the .txt files as well.  Despite the fact they're all stored as individual xml files on the server.  Strange I know....but fuck you.  I'll decide.

Played another game of football last night, played quite well and got our first win of the season.  I got Man of The Match from the opposition too which was pleasing.

Still missing having a burd, been texting and conversing with a couple.  One that I really like, and another that is just good for the sport in all honesty.  Fuckit, see what happens.

Have another appointment with the...I hate saying it, Therapist?! Fuck knows... but I have another appointment anyway.  Quite looking forward to it.  This last week I've felt as good as I've felt for a long time.  Scaling the dizzy heights of "not shite" I guess.

It's a start, hopefully I can keep it going, the football, the not boozing so much, the guitar...the pursuit of happiness?  Fuck knows...  Ill stick with the pursuit of "not shiteness" for now.

Yesterday was fuckin' hard.  Talking to someone that way.  The woman brought up the fact that although I was emotional, I couldn't crack in front of her.  I just sat with my leg twitching, tears welling in my eyes and rattling my keys.  She explained the psychology of me trying to be 2 different people.  When I'm with family and mates I'm (generally) a "happy", funny guy.  But then I disappear on my own and make myself cry.  She explained it could be down to things that have happened that I've never dealt with.  When something bad happens, I just bury it inside and run away to the next thing.  So all these things are bubbling underneath and when I go on my own and cut myself or cry it's my way of trying to get it out.

I think that's what she was getting at.  Maybe I'm wrong.  Although I never cried in her office, when I got to the car I fuckin' bawled like a little kid.  Probably harder than I have in years.  It was hard not to think about everything we'd just spoke about, everything felt really raw... Like an open wound almost, and I cried all the way back to work.  Then for another half an hour in the car.

That one session explained quite a bit to be honest.  I think I am depressed.  I know I've not "dealt" with things that have happened.  But when I think about it, these things happen to other people too, and they just appear to get on with it.  But then, fuckit... They're not me.

She also said that she didn't think that CBT was the main "thing" I needed, she said something about me being a really deep thinker, and I would just over think the CBT treatment or something.  She said we'd incorporate some of it, but the main thing should be psychotherapy.

I feel a bit better about everything today, (although this fuckin *head* is still there), although in fairness it's not as bad as it was.

I don't feel as angry, or anxious or everything that goes with that today.  The way I've been feeling the last wee while at least.

I'm still struggling to get some work done though.  Maybe it's time for a change, get out of IT.  Do something different.  Who knows, it's worth thinking about though.  Something that I don't need to sit at a computer for 10 hours a day would be a start.  Maybe move to Argentina, open a hostel.  As long as we had enough money to pay bills and live then could be a good life.  Good women, good football, good steak...what more could you want?

Right now I do feel that a change is what's needed, I've "ranted" a lot about "what am I doing here? living here?  working here?" and it doesn't make any sense.  I don't need to be here, I don't need to live here.  I've got nothing here really, a very few mates who I would miss, but would still keep in touch with.  A job that I'm falling out of love with.  And that's about it.  I'm building nothing here, no "nest egg".  Nothing for the future.  I'm just coasting, picking up my wage.  Paying my bills.  And coasting along.  But like I said, I could do that anywhere.  If I can do that anywhere then why *choose* to do it here?

Who knows. Again, it's something to think about.

I know I've got a wee road I need to keep travelling along for now, get myself on more of an even keel.  Then I can decide what to do for the best.

So, today's the day.  I meet the....whatever she is, today.  I'm fuckin frightened.  Not because I have to go through the whole thing, but more, what if it doesn't work?  What the fuck do I do then?  I just keep going?  Trying to find Dr. Melfi or Robin Williams from Good Will Hunting...  That's the plan?  Fuckin' hell... if so then I'm fucked.  Totally fuckin' fucked.

Had to talk to someone last night so went and had 3 bottles of beer with a friend.  I guess the goodness I got from playing football earlier in the evening was outdone by that act.  Fuckit... I wanted a drink, no... I *needed* a drink.  I can feel myself fuckin' slipping deeper and deeper into this.  I don't get happy feelings at all anymore.  I don't feel like I'm "flying" ever anymore.  My days feel as though they are done through treacle... It's fuckin' hard to do anything.  That's why I'm consciously trying to *do* things.  Anything at all.  Football is a good one, competitive, social as well as the physical and mental benefits that exercise brings.  But I know I need to do more, otherwise everything will just cave in on top of me.

I'm fuckin' trying...

I heard a song yesterday that reminded me of an ex from Glasgow.  I fuckin loved her.  And I fucked it up.  And that's what's fucked me up.  The fact I fucked it up, and then ran away from everything.  Got fucked up for 6 months, got 20-30k of debt from those 6 months.  Didn't deal with anything, buried my head in the sand then fucked off.  My friend is going through some hard times with his girl.  So I sent him this message yesterday...

"This is a fuckin shite.  A complete sack of shit.  What the fuck am I doing with my life?!  I want my old life back.  I want my old life in Glasgow, I want another shot of the last 6 years.  I won’t fuck things up again.  I made a fuckin’ arse of it with XXXX and I don’t give a fuck what anyone thought of her, I thought she was fuckin’ amazing.  I want that time back again.  If I was you, I’d do everything I could to try and salvage things.  Otherwise you’ll be sitting in some other shitty job 5 years on with the same fuckin’ regrets you’ll harbour for those 5 years.  You’ll hate yourself, you’ll drink too much and you’ll wish every day that you can have another fuckin’ run at it.  Just one more chance, hit reset, an extra life.  Fuckin something.

And the fact that you can’t get another go, the fact that she’ll be married to/marrying some fuckin’ copper or fisherman or someone who is fuckin perfect for her and her life will fuckin cut you up far more than any fuckin scalpel bought on the internet.

Just fuckin do it.  Do something.  Stand up on your desk and shout “Fuck You Cunts....I’m off to Norway”.  Fuck the reference, they’re not allowed to give a bad reference anyway.  And references are only checked out after you’ve had an interview and proved yourself anyway.

Fuckit... Do something... Don’t end up sitting at your desk almost crying over some fuckin thing you have no control over that happened almost 4 fuckin years ago and listening to music knowing that it’s going to make you feel shite and sick and even more full of regret but unable to stop it.

Fuckin....

Fuckit..."

It's weird reading that back, I don't really remember writing a lot of it.  Well, of course I remember writing it, but I don't remember thinking about what I was writing.  I just let me fingers run away as I tried to stop myself from bursting into tears in front of my colleagues.

It's fuckin' bizarre, I've just broken up from a 3 year relationship, and I'm still more cut up from the 2 and a half year relationship previous to that.  I guess that shows without question that breaking up, although fuckin tough, was the best thing to do.

Although, look at me now... What the fuck have a I got now?  I ran away 3 years ago, and I've not progressed at all.  I've got fuck all.

Fuckin hell...

Fuckit...

Played my first league game of 5's last night.  Was a good night actually, played not too bad, although should have done better with one of the goals I lost.  Not too disheartened though, I know the more I play, the less I drink, the fitter I'll get and the better I'll be. 

I felt a bit better going to bed last night after playing, and also a bit better than usual when I woke up this morning.  This fuckin' head is still there, but it's not as bad as it has been.  Although yesterday it got progressively worse as the day went on.  Definitely, looking at a computer screen does it no favours.

But yea, I don't feel the black cloud over me is as bad as it was yesterday.  Maybe it's more of a dark grey than black today.  Still a bit nervous about seeing this woman tomorrow, dunno why.  Probably just the thought of having to spill my guts to yet another stranger in the hope that they can help me out.  This will be Health Official number 4 who I will have to explain that I'm a fuckin' loonball.  The Doctor before, who then sent me to the CPN.  Then the doctor this time, now this woman.  I don't even know what she is? Counseller of some description I guess.  In all honesty, I don't give a fuck what her credentials are, as long as she makes me better.

Decided after deliberation with a friend that substituting drink with puff for this work thing on Friday is folly.  I guess I always knew it wouldn't be the best thing to do in my state of mind, I just don't know if I can go to this thing and not drink.  But that's exactly what I need to do.  I've got fucked up so many times at these things that it'll be expected of me to get pissed as fuck.  So I need to go and not do that, and be seen to be not getting out my face.  Be seen to be drinking water/orange juice/coke, by everyone who thinks I'm just a fuckin' pisshead.

I'm not really missing boozing at all right now, I genuinely feel that I'm finished with it.  I just really don't *want* to drink.  But then, I don't want to become more and more insular, build a wall around myself and end up like some kind of fuckin' recluse.  I want to be out, around people, doing things, having a laugh.  Not fuckin' locking myself away in my bedroom by my own, playing guitar and wanking myself silly to internet porn.

Fuck that...  That's no' fuckin' life.

But how do you get a happy medium?  How do you get to a point where you can function in any environment and be happy and comfortable doing it?  For years I've thought that 4-5 pints in to an evening is my optimum performance level.  I think that I function better in that state than in any other.  Genuinely believed I was a "better person" when I was drunk.  I understand that it's likely a sack of shit, but that's how I've always felt.  So to now feel that I need to try and be that person without boozing is almost scary.

I was talking to another friend about needing to increase our respective social circles.  We concluded that we had to befriend a girl.  Not for shagging, but for opening the door to other girls.  Meaning no offence to any friends who may or may not read this.  But my social circle right now is pretty fuckin' small.  I have one friend I live with, and one friend I drink with.  And that's pretty much it.  Of course there are guys at work that I'm "friendly" with, but don't socialise with them at all.

Fuckin' hell.  How can I live for 26 years, no...in fact...  How can I live in England for almost 3 years and my only socialising is done with 1 guy I brought down from Glasgow a few weeks ago and another guy that I met down here, also from Glasgow?  Fuck, what does that say about me? 

Fuckit... I guess half the battle is identifying what is wrong.  Then trying to fix it. 

So here's to trying to fix it...

 

I haven't written for over a week now, I've been feeling fucking shite.  This fuckin funny head has got even worse to the extent that I had to take some time off work last week. 

I'm still not sure if I feel so fuckin' low because of my head, or my head is a result of my current state of mind.  Ahh fuck knows.  I don't think I've ever felt this fuckin' low.  I feel like I just want to chuck everything in and fuck off.  I feel like I'm drifting away from everyone.  That no-one is interested or cares or gives a fuck.  And why should they?  Fuck knows...  Even my family, I haven't spoken to my cousin for ages.  I don't speak to my Dad as much as I used to.  Fuck knows... I apologise for this self indulgent bullshit.  But fuckit...who gives a fuck.

I've just been disappearing to my room most evenings, watching a bit of TV, listening to music, playing guitar and pretending I'm a fucking rock star and that playing guitar could be a gateway to a piece of ass.  As tough some fuckin' burd will stroll by my window, hear me playing and wet her pants so much she'll not be able to control herself as she scales the wall to my bedroom and demands I ravage her.

Why can't I just go to the fuckin' boozer and pick up some local burd?  Fuckit... I'm fuckin' shite at it.

Obviously with being off work, my stock has plummeted.  And with missing my timesheet submission for the 450,987th time, I have been "invited" to a meeting with the MD and his right hand man, who incidentally already thinks I'm a cunt.  So... Yea... I don't think it's for tea and biscuits and a chat about how to improve company growth in these tough economic times.  Well, I guess firing my ass would be a step in the right direction.

Playing 5-a-sides tonight and tomorrow, this is the new regime.  5's twice a week, no boozing (I've not been pished for over a week!) with the ultimate goal to get involved with some local team for a game.  Maybe... Who knows...

Chances are I'll fuck it up after a couple of weeks.  It's the work "Staff Day" this week, a night in a swanky hotel, some food, free bar and paintballing in the morning.  How *the fuck* do I deal with that without getting fuckin out my face?!  I can think of very few things worse than spending time with people who I'm ultimately paid to be with, in my free time.  I might just get some puff and getting fucking baked while I'm there, take my guitar and have a laugh.

Anyway, I guess I should also mention that I'm seeing my new, I dunno... Doctor/Counsellor/Shrink....fuck knows... anyway, I'm seeing her on Wednesday at 15:30 and I'm pretty nervous about it.  Fuck knows why, maybe I'd be better just spending the dosh on a fuckin' hooker and tell her my problems while she blows me off.

Fuck knows...

Fuckit...

Cunts.

I just feel like writing.  What about?  Fuck knows... Everything.  Nothing.  What the fuck does it matter anyway?  I just need to do something.  I can't fuckin' deal with this shit.  WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME!!!? 

Fuckit, it's friday.  I'll go and spend time with my friends.  Have a few laughs and a few drinks.  It's a beautiful thing.  Well... Almost.

I feel like punching fuck out of someone.  Him over there.  No, not him, the other guy.  Battering him would be bullying, the other guy would fight back.  Would likely kick fuck out of me in all honesty.  Maybe that's what I want.  No, it's not.  I want to punch fuck out of him.  I want his face to be like a fuckin' car crash victim when I'm finished with him.

Nahhh....I don't mean that.  Why do I think these things?  Am I thinking them because I know the people who will read it if I write it?  Have I started writing for them? Why am I writing in any case?  Who gives a fuck... I am.  So fuckit.

Fuckin' hell.  We have 53 minutes to go.  I've done fuck all today.  Stealing money.  It's not fucking on.  It just means someone will have to pick up the slack.  I'll need to catch up over the weekend.  Otherwise I'm a cunt.  Or...at least, more of a cunt.

I feel fuckin' *shite*, fuckin terribly shite, no worse than that.  I've spoke to none of these cunts today.  Fuck 'em.  I don't give a fuck about them.  I'm not here to make mates.  I've got mates.  Fuck these cunts.  This guy over there, he's a fuckin' horrible cunt.  Yet look at him, happy as fuck.  Got a good looking wife, few kids, nice house, nice car... The good life.  And look at me.  A fuckin' train wreck.  What the fuck did I do that was so bad? 

Fuckin.....Fuckit...

I want to go back home.  More than ever.  I want someone to make it all better.  Fuckit...Grow up you stupid cunt.

The few seconds of happiness before reality wakes up.
BBC saying it's time to go.
The invisible fight to get out of bed.  On your way and on the road.
The musical tears streaming down. 
Fuckin cyclists. 
Need to wipe them away, work to be done. 

Part of the machine, write down your feelings. 
For who, you don't know.  Who gives a fuck.  For you.
Bluff along, wasting time.  Wasting money.
Wasting Booze.  Wasting Booze?

Hearing the minor fall, and the major lift.
Comfort in melancholy.
Self Loathing in England. Pathetic childish acts. 
Wanting to be deep, complex and misunderstood.
Failing and being a fucking fraud, a joker...the Sad fuckin' clown.

Back to the bitterness, listen to the hard luck. 
Wanting to help, feeling fucking useless for being useless.
One day...it'll be better.  I'll be better.  The eternal blackness turns to white.
The short trip, the long sleep. 

HALLELUJAH!!!

Still No Fucking Glasses!!  Jesus Fuckin Christ.  I phoned the cunts at Vision Express[sic] who guaranteed they'd been sent out.  Is this the same kind of guarantee as the other day though?  Fuckin nightmare...

I have a friend coming to stay at ours for a bit tomorrow.  The same friend I fell out with when I was in Glasgow, so I'm pleased that it's all turned out ok.  Looking forward to seeing him.  Although he's "on the wagon", so we'll see how that turns out. 

In saying that I've been sober for 6 days now.  Well, this is the 6th... Do you count the day you're on?  Fuck knows, I'm not really up to date with the "Wagon Policies and Procedures" to be honest.  In fairness I'll probably have a couple tonight, so I can't really count today.  But I think that having a policy of banning midweek drinking is in place, and then have a couple at the weekend is a good thing for sure.  We'll see what happens when Champions League nights come along.  Hmmm...Aye...We'll see...

I think I'll go to London and meet him there.  There's an Argie restaurant there that I've been wanting to go to so I'll see if my other mate fancies going too.  Make a wee day of it. 

Just found out that my cousin is on holiday in Greece.  He flew with XL who have just gone bust.  So fuck knows how he's going to get home.  Fuckin' poor boy, it's never plain sailing with him(Or maybe it will be if he can't organise a plane!fnar fnar).  Something *always* goes wrong for him.  I think I'll have a wee play on the stock markets today, surely all airlines shares are going to drop?  Fuck it, I'll just "buy " Gold I think.  See how that works out for me.  Maybe do a wee bit of the dogs too. OK - Done. "Bought" Gold for £10 a point, with a liability of £50.  If it goes down 5 points I'm out. Just a wee bit of fun until the dogs start at 11:03.

Feels pretty good this, I haven't done the financial spreads or the dogs for a wee while. 

I'm just a bad man.  Drinking, Gambling and Cutting.  Not enough going with woman of ill repute though. 

Oh well, them's the bre'ks...

I got a call from the doctor yesterday saying he'd referred me to some woman who does CBT.  She reckons 6 sessions will be enough, which will cost £250.  I thought that was pretty good to be honest, was really expecting it to be more than that.  The cost isn't important though, I'd pay whatever it took for her to "fix" me.

We'll see... she's probably so cheap cos she's shite.  Oh well....fuckit...

So this morning I did what I believe to be my first ever "morning cut".  I say I believe it to be, because I might well have done it in the past, but I would have been too fucked up to remember.  I've been feeling shite in the mornings for a wee while, but this morning was the first time I decided to take this route.  I've been feeling pretty good for the rest of the day, so figure that one out.  Still waiting to hear from the doctor about my CBT appointment, been thinking though, maybe it's a sack of shit.  This guy tells me that it'll take ages to see an NHS cunt, so that he can pass me on to his mate for a bit of commission.  Or is that the cynic in me?  Fuck knows...  If I think it's working after the first session then I'll go back, if I think it's a load of pish then fuckit we're back on the blades and booze for a bit.

Been playing guitar the last few nights, only for an hour or two a night but I'm fucking loving it.  Not giving a fuck, just playing away and belting out a song.  Fuckin' magic.  Although, sometimes I'm singing and I'm starting to cry.  It's fuckin weird.  But I just keep on going, not giving a fuck.

Been listening a bit to the Glasvegas album.  I originally dismissed them as gimmicky shite, but after having a friend come round to them, who's opinion I hold in high regard, I decided to give them another shot.  I think the album is definitely a "grower", and I think living in England and hearing a band singing in a Glasgow accent instead of some faux-american or middle englandshire shite is quite refreshing.  Anyway, I'm sure there will be more about them in the coming days and weeks.

Still no fucking Glasses.  This is becoming a drama all of it's own.  The case of the far travelled glasses.  That's a fuckin week!  Vision Express?!  Usesless cunts.

Anyway, today I'm pretty busy in work.  So I guess I should leave it there.

I feel not too bad today.  The head thing is still there, but it's worse when I think about it.  If that makes sense.  Finally, I think my glasses will arrive today, so who knows maybe that will help.

I'm looking forward to hearing from the doctor about when I will see this CBT woman.  He asked me if I'd prefer to see a man or a woman, I said I didn't mind.  But I'm pleased it's going to be a woman.  Been thinking about moving away again.  Maybe moving to Glasgow isn't the answer at all.  Maybe moving somewhere else, somewhere sunny.  Quality of life rather than work and money.  A colleague asked me yesterday what my ideal job would be.  And realistically I couldn't think of anything.  Obviously the judge in a dick sucking competition came into mind, but it's not realistic is it?.... Is it?!

It was weird though, I haven't thought about what I *really* want to do for such a long time that I couldn't think of anything at all.  Maybe I'v just accepted that my job is my job and will be forever.  but is it really what I *want* to do?  Or is it just what I've thought that I wanted for so long that I just accept that's it.  Maybe I should think about something else.  A new career, live in a new place.  But it's difficult to do it when getting out of your bed is such a fuckin' struggle.  Of course people think you're just a lazy cunt, can't get outta bed? "what the fahks the matta wifyar?"  - fuck off. 

There's something "safe" about bed.  The world outside doesn't exist under your covers.  Some security, no one can "get you" when you're in bed.  But what "function" does that serve?  As human beings, why would a feeling of fake safety make you feel better?  Surely it's illogical to think that because you're in bed everything is ok?  Surely bad things happen to people in bed too?  (There's a joke in there somewhere, but I'll leave it this time)...  I've had a few conversations about human instincts, or primal instincts with a friend of mine recently.  Incidentally, some of his views are too extreme for a family blog....shit...

Anyway, I get the whole thing of feeling better because you feel safe.  But surely when you know the "safety" is inherently flawed that actually goes *against* human nature?  You feel safe, but you know it's not real.  That's fucked up.  5000 years ago that shit would get you eaten by some wild animal.

Fuck knows...  Why do I think about this shite?  The world is 5 Billion years old, what fuckin' difference does it make how I feel?!  I'll tell you - not a fuckin jot.  Not one iota.  It's fuckin' ridiculous, I worry about all this shit.  And for 5 Billion years, it's not fuckin mattered, and for the next 5 billion years it won't fuckin' matter either.

You are not a unique, beautiful snowflake.  You're an insignificat skidmark on the pants of the universe.

Today isn't really a good day.  This head is really getting to me, my glasses still haven't arrived.  I'm worrying now that maybe it's not something my glasses will fix.  And I'll have to live with it for a long time.  I think this might be a huge reason for my shitty mood.  Maybe.  Maybe it's just an excuse.

The reason I'm thinking my glasses might not sort it is it used to be that I didn't have it when I woke up in the morning, then I got it as the day went on.  But now it seems to be there constantly.  It's fuckin frustrating.  Not unbearably sore, just fucking *there*.

Fuckit...Can't be arsed writing anything else...

Just back from the doctors.  Had to hang around for a bit longer than I expected but nevermind.  I feel pretty bad for dismissing the Doctor so readily just because he was a guy.  He was actually pretty cool.  Listened to what I had to say etc...

I told him I didn't really want pills, although if that's what it took to make me feel better than I'd do it.  I also brought up the CBT shit and asked about that.  He said that on the NHS there is a huge waiting list for it and it would take around 6-8 weeks to get a 30 min appointment with someone.  So I asked him about Private practice.  He reckoned it would be around £40 a session(In real terms around half a night in the boozer), so I think I'm going to go down that route.  Maybe if that can be my substitute for boozing then it's a good thing.  And in reality what can you really buy for £40 these days?!

So... He's going to speak to a few people and give me a call back sometime this week and we can get that particular ball rolling.  At least it's a start.

I feel better for having taken these steps.  But when I think about it, the best thing I can do for sure is to not drink and to do more excercise.  Why can't I just fuckin' do it?  My life would be exponentially better.  Is it because I want to be like this maybe?  Do I really *enjoy* this wallowing/self indulgence?  Woe is me etc...??

Fuck knows, I don't think so, but then if not then why am I not doing something about it.  Taking the logical steps to help myself.  I always say I'm a logical person.  Yet this is easily the most logical thing in my life, and I hide from it?!  Fuckin' useless cunt.

Fuckit...

Went and got pished yesterday as expected.  Went to watch the football with my housemate, had a few beers and came home.  Then another friend called me up to see if I fancied a few pints.  Which of course I did.

He's not really in a happy place right now, I was kinda half-jokingly blamed for him drinking and for another mate gambling.  I guess I see where they're coming from.  I like a bit of both, although individually they like both more.  But still, I never forced either of them to drink or to throw money on a horse or a dog.  But I do feel quite bad about it.  I don't want them to feel shit or be in the shit because of something I've done, either directly or indirectly.

I got a text from that burd in Glasgow yesterday, asking if I wanted to catch up last night (I never told her I lived down south).  It was enough to pick me up a wee bit, the fact that she was interested enough to go to the effort of texting me.  She sent me another couple throughout the night too.  Enough for me to put my scalpel away for the night.  (That was a joke, I wasn't really going to do that). 

Anyway, so I got pretty fuckin' pished.  But happy pished.  It was a good laugh, I had a good night.  We were speaking about the level of pishedness(is that even a word?!) that you get to and you feel on top of the world.  You have clarity.  Everything seems fine, your troubles are gone.  Why can't I just have that as "normal"?  My normal setting.  Instead you drink on and on and the happy feeling starts to dissipate pretty quickly.  If you could invent a drink that made you stay at that level, with no hangover/comedown you'd be a rich man in no time.

I have an appointment with the doctor tomorrow, be interesting to see how it goes.  Can't say that I'm hugely looking forward to having to explain my feelings and shite to yet another person.  Maybe this will be it though, the one!  The guy who will be able to put me right.

I won't hold my fuckin' breath.

Fuckit...

It's 09:16 right now, I know the time that it says this will be posted won't say that, but that's because the time on the server is set to US time.  But rest assured, it's 09:...17 now.  I started watching My Zinc Bed on recommendation from a friend.  It's made me want to go and get fuckin' hammered.  It's difficult to explain why.  I don't feel down/sad/whatever.  I just feel like getting pished.  I've also decided I need to curb listening to melancholic music so much.  Arab Strap in particular.  The ease at which you can indulge in a lifestyle of getting fucked out of your tree on a regular basis and be almost happy with that existence is essentially, worrying.

I also heard that Malcolm Middleton said that all the songs he's ever written were when he was down/depressed.  He said "When I'm happy I've got better things to do than to write songs"  Fuckin brilliant.  Obviously he's put it more concisely than I ever could, but I like it.  I guess that could also be the reason that I find it difficult to write this shit when I'm feeling good.

A guy once said to me "What You Portray is What You Become" - I've used it a few times cos I think it sounds like it's maybe a bit "profound" or "deep".  But I've never really given it any thought as to whether it had any relation to me.  And now as I sit here thinking, I'm pretty sure it does have some relevance.  I *always* portrayed myself as a drinker.  Always.  Try and drink more/quicker/stronger than anyone else.  Have competitions where I would down a pint while the others downed a spirit and mixer.  It didn't matter whether I "won" that race, the fact that I took it on was enough.  When I go out, the first pint is always 2 pints.  The first one doesn't count.  When I go to the bar, I order one for myself then the round, so I can drink mine while I'm waiting for the rest of the round.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy getting pished.  That's not in question.  But I think I enjoy getting "caught" buying cheeky ones too by other people in the group I'm with.  And really, I don't enjoy drinking as such.  In the sense that I don't enjoy the taste of beer or alcohol in general. 

I'm also thinking about the way I feel about things.  Maybe I've always *wanted* to have something "interesting" about me.  To be a deep, meaningful, complex guy.  Almost a "flawed genius".  Matt Damon from Good Will Hunting.  I think if I could be any character from any movie, ever.  That's who I'd be.  A fuckin genius, who goes out and gets fucked up with his mates.  A true tragedy in the shakespearian sense.  Although in the movie there's a nice wee fluffy ending.  I don't want that shit.

I've always thought I'd die young, that there'd be fuckin' *loads* of people at my funeral, and that everyone would eulogise about how much of a "tragedy" it was.  I had it all in front of me etc etc... Although, I guess I'm getting too old to die young now.  But then Jimi, Kurt and Jim had a year on me and they say that they died young.  Maybe I'm good for a wee bit yet.

I think about dying a fair bit.  Not me dying as such, but death in general.  People dying.  What's it like etc... A good friend of mine lost his father last week, a couple of days before I went to Glasgow.  He was in his 70's but it was still a shock to the family.  And I thought about what it was like for him.  Downstairs on his own.  Did he know that was it?  His time was up and he had to deal with it by himself.  Or did he just go to sleep and not wake up?  I'd like to think it was the latter.  There was no fear or panic or anything like that.  I fuckin hope so.

It's now 09:41 - 25 minutes to write this shite.  25 minutes that I'll never get back, and when I read it over will waste another 2 minutes. 

So to the millions [sic] of you reading this. I apologise for the stolen 2 minutes.

I'm feeling pretty fuckin' good today.  I woke up feeling refreshed and generally happy.  Wandered around scratching my balls and singing away to myself.  Don't know what the fuck is wrong with me!  HA!

I've been reading back on some of the shit I've written, incidentally I noticed a few spelling mistakes.  That's because I just write all this shit down and post it.  I don't really know what I've written after I've posted it.  I think that it's important not to try and censor what I write, otherwise what's the fucking point?  There are some things that I've written that I've read back and thought, FUCK, I shouldn't have written that.  But fuckit...  This isn't about anyone else.  This is about me.  I try and write this the same way I live my life.  I try and be pretty transparent and open to everyone, if I've got something to say, or there's something I'm not happy with then generally I'll say it.  Often I fuck it up and make the point I want to make, but do it in the wrong way and upset people.  I don't like that, I'm not in the business of upsetting people.  And generally I feel like a cunt for days afterwards, like I said, not for *what* I've said but more for the *way* I said it.  I think I'm always right, so how can I be sorry for *what* I have to say?  If I didn't think I was right I wouldn't fuckin' say it!

I've always had that feeling in me of feeling like a cunt after doing things even though I think I done the right thing.  I remember at school there was a boy called Neil something, can't fuckin' mind his surname.  But he was a wee prick.  And I kicked his cunt in.  As soon as I landed the first punch I felt so sorry for him, and as I punched and kicked him it got worse.  Don't get me wrong, the wee cunt deserved it.  And yet I felt like a cunt!? WTF is that all about?

My glasses should arrive today, hopefully that should see off these headaches.  I also made an appointment at the doctors this morning.  Monday at 10:30.  I don't fuckin' get it.  The reception woman asked me what was wrong... Is she the fuckin doctor?  Why do I need to tell her?  Then I need to tell the doctor as well.  Not to mention the fact that everyone in the reception would know I was a fuckin mentalist.  I almost told her that I had a Gerbil stuck up my arse (like Larry David), but opted to just say that I had these headaches.  Why the fuck do I need to explain to her anyway?  Did she do 7 years at receptionist school to try and diagnose what was wrong with me before we get to the doctor?  Fkn ridiculous...  So now I need to go into the doctor who thinks he's seeing someone with headaches.  How do I then drop into the conversation that actually, the headaches are alright, and it's the fact that I have some mental health issues that are why I'm there.  I guess it's the right general area, sore head/not right in the head - only semantics surely?

Anyway, we'll see how it goes.  I hope he's a good cunt.  I'd rather see a woman in all honesty.  If this guy plays silly buggers I think I might kick his fuckin head in.  I dunno why, maybe it's a Freudian thing, I want to speak to a woman cos I want to shag my ma'.  He was a fuckin loon that cunt.  I just think that a guy doctor will just say "whit's the matter wi' ye.  Pull yersel thegither ya fuckin' maddy."   Then where do I go from there?  I'm fucked then.

Fuckin hell, I've already sorted out what's going to happen before I've even gone there, before ye know it I'll have decided there's no point in going and I'd be aswell going and getting pished.

But I won't.  I'll do this shit.  I'll get better.  I'll train myself to have a happier default setting.  If I could do that then we're sorted.  Not like one of these super happy all the time "Have a nice day" cunts.  Just not feeling shite, that's all.  Is that too much to ask?  Some kind of plateau where I can just coast along.  Sometimes feel down cos that fuckin' fitba team are shite, sometimes feel good cos we win.  Sometimes feel down cos a burd knocked me back, sometimes feel good cos I woke up in a strange bed with a looker next to me.  Is *that* too much to ask?  Feel shite cos Scotland lose to some shitey bunch of farmers and school teachers, feel good cos we qualify for a tournament?  Fuck....that *is* too much to ask.

Day 5 of being on the Wagon.  Do I feel any better?  Not particularly.  Thinking of going and getting pished tonight, will see what happens.   Realised that I've left my replacement blades for my scalpel in Glasgow today.  Which is a mini disaster, especially if my mama finds them and I have to come up with some explanation to her about them that my da' will know is a sack of shit.  Which in turn will make him worry about me, but not say anything about it.  But when we speak I'll know that he knows and he'll know that I know he know's.  Let's just hope the remain undetected for everyone's sake.

Work is going not to bad though, I've been doing a fair amount of work.  More than I have done in recent weeks.  I think I said the other day that I need to try and improve my stock in the company, so I've been volunteering to do work that will make money but no one else really wants to do.  And taking on shit work that people have started and fucked up.  Let's hope it's enough to salvage the situation.

I've begun thinking that I'm really not in the right frame of mind to be living with someone.  I don't really want to talk to him, or be around him.  Not *him* in particular, just people.  I want to disappear most of the time.  Be on my own.  Do my own thing.  I know that's not a good thing, and maybe long term it's good that he's there to keep me right.  Keep me sociable, and I reckon that if I *was* on my own I would be in a much worse position.  I'd likely be doing more cutting, and just generally wallowing more.  I guess it's good that I can rationalise these things out in my head.

Was talking to a friend of mine about this whole cutting business.  He was warning me about the possibility of getting infected then ending up with some shitey disease from it.  I'm not really one for those kind of scarey stories, but it does cross my mind after the event.  So I've started keeping savlon and savlon wipes with me to make sure I'm as hygenic as possible.  What more can I do?  I'm not sure if giving the blade a wipe with a Savlon wipe is neccessarily the *most* hygenic thing to do.  But I guess it's a good start.

Fuckin' hell, who'd want some obscure shitty disease because they fancied tanning their arms?  Fuck sake...that would be shite. 

I've decided that I don't think I have Bi-Polar.  Either that or I'm just in a *huge* bout of depression.  I feel like I haven't felt good for fuckin ages.  I'm not sure if I've spoken about my uncle before.  He killed himself when I was around 10.  He was my favourite uncle.  A fuckin great guy.  Always the funny guy, he was 34 when he done it.  His note said he'd been feeling that way for around 7/8 years before he done it.  It's quite worrying for me actually.  I feel like I'm the funny guy, so I imagine that he went home and cried to himself too.  I'm around the age he was when it started.  I wish I could talk to him, see if he felt the same way I'm feeling just now.  The first thing is, I don't want to kill myself.  But secondly, I *really* don't want to feel like this for 7 fuckin years.  Fuck.  No Fuckin Chance.  Some people say that suicide is the "easy way out".  Fuck that.  You try it then!?  Fuck me... You need balls for that.  Too fuckin' right. 

Fuckit... I dunno why I'm talking about that.  I aint gonna do it just yet.  But I'm not sure I could stick this for another 7 years.  Who know's what'll happen between now and then though.

Maybe I'll be better soon.

So.... Glasgow was a complete, unadulterated, fucking disaster.  I never achieved anything that I wanted to do while I was up there, I never shagged the girl I wanted to shag.  I hooked up with a girl I didn't really want to, and I fell out with who could easily be described as my best mate. 

But apart from that it was grand.

With regards to my mate, I just made a complete arse of it.  I was pished and as usual decided that my opinion was the only one that mattered in something that ultimately doesn't concern me in the least.  It was fuck all to do with me and all to do with him and his future, yet I did my usual and thought that I was the voice of God.  Fuckin idiot.

Thing is, I've known him for like, 14/15 years and we've never really fallen out.  I have mates that I fall out with on a regular basis, so it's easy to just get back on track with them.  But this guy, fuckin hell... I just didn't know how to make it better.  I sent him a text and apologised, we kinda agreed that we'll just forget that we ever started talking about the stuff we did, and leave it at that.  I am worried though that I've put a huge gulf between us now though.  Fuckit... my own fault.

I feel like I'm really slipping right now.   Into what I don't know, but I feel like I'm falling, and I've got fuck all at my back.  No one to catch me.  No one to look after me.  And it's getting to me.  I cried almost all the way from Glasgow to Carlisle on the way down the road.  I just didn't want to come back here.  But I didn't really want to stay in Glasgow either, I just want to go to my bed - I was gonna say "and not wake up", but that's cliched, melodramatic pish.  I want to go to my bed, and sleep for a long time.  And when I wake up I won't have this fuckin feeling that envelopes me every fuckin day.  This fear that lives with me for no reason, I don't know what I'm scared of, but I feel fuckin scared and hollow.

I came back to work yesterday, and I can sense my stock is even lower than it was before I left, so I'm doing what I can to rebuild it.  I've pretty much decided I'm not going to let them sack me, so I need to start contributing more.  Becoming more chargeable and make them some money again.  I also need to start making sure I'm learning more, if I'm going to go back to Glasgow at all.

Things at home aren't too bad actually, although it has only been a couple of nights I've been living with my mate.  We're getting on pretty well, just need to see how it progresses.  But so far so good.

Fuck knows....fuckit....pfft...

I think I'm starting to have some level of control over how I'm feeling in the mornings now.  I'm not crying so much.  Although going to bed is still tough, I just need to stick something on to watch until I just can't stay awake any longer.

Maybe it's because I have some time in Glasgow to look forward to, starting tomorrow.  I'm really looking forward to going home, meeting up with friends and family and laying some foundations for building my future back up there.  So all in all it should be a good trip.

I think my "stock" in the office here is at an all time low.  Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but I sense the way people are looking at me and the way people are asking other members of the team for help and/or assistance that my standing has slightly dropped.  Not that I'm hugely worried about it, I just keep thinking that if *they* make a decision it means I don't have to make a decision.  They sack me, I go home...everyone's a winner.

Of course I don't want that to happen, I want everything to be on my terms.  Under my conditions.  I guess there is some psychological term for it, but I would reckon it's just some sort of defence mechanism.  My mind knows that the status quo is under some sort of threat, so it rationalises everything out.  Culminating in the fact that in the worst case scenario I'll be ok.  So... Fuckit.

Oh...I guess I should also put in a wee update on DAY 3 in the My Ranting house.  My mate sorted out a wee TV, but with no sound.  Then with a huge amount of ingenouity managed to sort sound too.  I made some pizza while he did this.  Then we had a few games of Pro Evo which I won convincingly 5 games to 1. 

Maybe staying with someone isn't going to be too bad after all.

So today I moved into my new house with a friend of mine from back home.  I'm still not too convinced about whether living with him is going to work out, but fuckit, I'm stuck with it now.  I introduced him to some friends of mine, I'm not too sure how that went either.  Fuckit, it's not up to me to get him mates aswell as a job and a fuckin' house.

I'm sure it'll be fine, but we'll need to wait and see. 

I've been feeling not too bad the last couple of days, I guess that's why I have a couple of missing days posts, although in my defence I have been busy.  Tonight though, first night in my new home.  I felt fuckin' terrible.  I felt so sad about splitting up with the ex.  Missing her, and the boy.  Just hoping that they're ok.  And while I stopped short of wanting to be back there, wishing that I'd dealt with things a bit better maybe.  Or that I could have done something so that she didn't feel shite about what had happened.

I guess it's to do with the whole moving in to a new place really, and that we were supposed to be moving in to somewhere new before I decided enough was enough.  Fuckit, I'll just need to ride this out I suppose.  And hopefully come the morning I'll be ok.

It's hard moving in to a new place when you've literally got fuck all.  Luckily, the guy who was leaving this place decided I could have all his shit for £200.  WAshing Machine, Fridge-Freezer, Sofas, beds etc, as I'd left pretty much everything with the ex.  At the time I felt fucking shite, real fuckin distress that I had *nothing* except a bag of clothes, my computer and my guitar.  Literally everything I owned in the world could be carried on my back.

In time though, the feeling of freedom.  That I had no *things* holding me back anywhere became quite liberating.  Everything I owned could be carried, so I could literally up and leave whenever I felt like it.  That in itself brought it's own headaches, but those are for another day.  I guess that feeling is the exact feeling that gypsy's/pikeys/travellers/whatever the fuck you want to call them, have all the time.  Things aint right somewhere, fuckit just get on the road and away we go.  That's the fuckin' life.

It's the same as this whole "credit crunch" business.  Fuckin' hell, everyday we have another muppet on the tele, or radio bumping their gums about this or that and how it's awful and the housing market is going to shit and we're all doomed.  Which in turn means you go to work and hear some half regurgitated shite from the muppets that initially thought that "credit crunch" was a new type of breakfast cereal, and are now some sort of officianados on the subject because they heard Nicky Campbell talking about it on the way to work. 

This wouldn't be so bad if they actually took the time to read about what's happening, and educate themselves on why it is happening, and then give an opinion on it.  Just a fuckin' opinion.  If it's shite, or I don't agree with it doesn't matter a fuck, at least you've thought about it.  Instead you cunts come in to work and tell me Nicky Fuckin Campbells opinion, a fuckin cunt who used to tell people to spin a fuckin' plastic wheel for a living is now the all knowing oracle for these cunts?!! Gimme a fuckin' break...

But I digress, back to the credit crunch.  Once again, the liberating aspect of having fuck all comes in to play.  What the fuck can they take from me?  I've got fuck all!! Ha! Other people can worry about having their houses reposessed because they took on a mortgage that was far too big for them.  While it's not nice at all, how can we be expected to have compassion for the same section of society who have benefitted off of the likes of me for the last 25 years?  Of course that is a huge generalisation, but I don't give a fuck.  I don't need to explain myself to you, you're just a fuckin' blog after all.

The cuts on my arm are beginning to hurt, and worryingly I'm looking at them and thinking that they are beginning to look cool as fuck.  I think I've been quite artistic with them.  Not intentionally, just that you see loads of people with just cuts stacked one on top of the other like a big fuckin leaning tower of faux self harm.  Usually these are the cunts who then wear sleaveless tops to show off their handywork.  And usually they aren't proper "cuts" just scratches really.  But mine are cool, I've almost kinda joined them up and look like I caught up with Zorro for a bit who left a Z shape with his sword on my arm.

Anyway, thinking that it looks cool is not cool.  I'll need to do something about that.

I'm going to Glasgow on Thursday this week, really looking forward to it.  Got lots planned to do, most of it I will be doing my utmost to not booze, but we'll see how that goes.

Anyway... It's late now.  I should sleep.  Chau.

I tried to write a contribution yesterday, I was feeling really good, but I just couldn't write anything.  I felt like I didn't have anything to say.  So I ended up not writing anything, going out and getting pished.

Had a good night with a mate, ended up talking to 2 minging burds, one was quite a bit more minging than the other in all honesty.  But it was good fun I guess, the less minging one was actually a good shape and pretty interesting.  But I enjoyed talking to burds again.  Although, the most minging one was a fuckin nightmare, she was up for any kind of cup but I couldn't bring myself to do it.  She kept trying to move in for a snog and I had to do all I could to dodge the bullet without being rude to her. (I'm a nice cunt really!)  I'm not so sure my mate was such a gentlemen to her all the same! Ha...

Anyway, because I was having such a good time, and I was pished I thought I'd try out my new scalpel.  Made a wee bit of a mess of my arm (and my shirt).  I'm actually really impressed with my purchase.  But I need to stop that whole business, I know that.  Fuck knows why I did it, like I said, I was feeling good.  Having a good time.  Fuckin idiot really.

Moving in to my new house tomorrow, looking forward to it actually.  I've got my mate a job down here and he's coming down tomorrow too, so we'll see how that goes.

Anyway, not much to say.  Not much happened, and not feeling *anything* really.  Just... coasting...

A friend of mine sent me a wee idea of music that he's been playing around with.  He'll probably think this is shite, but I put some words to it.  I think they're good, and fit well with the music.  Which incidentally is fuckin' superb.  Anyway, here are the words.  I'll likely look back on these and think they're shite myself.  But who gives a fuck.

We've been here before
We've Walked These Steps
Wanting Rid of all these regrets

We stood in Glasgow,
With all of our friends
Dying Inside and having to pretend

Play The Joker,
The sad clown.
Looking Normal Feeling upside down

All Alone with everyone
So now's the time, the time to run

I tried to call you,
You didn't answer
When all I wanted was my
fuckin stuff back.
My old man dropped yours at your door
while I was out with a premier league chick

I ran away across the border
to try and change and get it sorted
but still the same in Glasgow or London
So coming back is the only option...

Coming home, I'm coming home...

Today I feel not too bad.  I was anticipating that last nights drinking shenanigans would leave me in a pretty dreadful place this morning, but here I am.  Happy as, well not quite Larry, maybe his rasperried-up half brother.  But nonetheless, I'm ok.

I suspect that yesterdays shite feelings were more to do with the fact I was going to a customer site where I would be torn limb from limb.  That's the verdict based on this mornings current mood level anyhoo.

Friday's are always kind of interesting in the office.  No cunt comes in.  People are always "working from home"...pfft... fuckin cunts.  But it's good.  I like it.  I get more done without the general fuckin' rabbiting about Big Brother, X Factor or some other mind numbing reality TV shite.  Plus generally all the decent burds are in.  (I write this just as one walked past me.  I would suggest that she might well be No. 1 within the company although this has been disputed with other colleagues on many occassions.)

Although, I hate being in this position where it's Friday and I have no plans for the weekend.  Even if the plan is simply to do nothing, I'd rather it was in place.  Otherwise I'll piss around doing nothing tonight, then I'll wake up late tomorrow and before you know it, it's late on Saturday night.  Then you go to bed and wake up for the Simpsons on channel 4, and just like that(you'll have to imagine me doing the wee thing that Kevin Spacey does in the Usual Suspects when he's talking about Keyser Söze disappearing) the weekend has gone.

Anyway, it would appear that it's a bit more difficult to write shit when I'm not experiencing this Teen-Angst business that I should have grown out of years ago.

Maybe it's a good thing.

Maybe I'm getting better.

So, as predicted the trip to the customer turned out to be a complete, unadulterated sack of shit.

Part down to them not really knowing what they wanted and part down to my inexperience and inability to "sell" the product to them.  I'm a developer, it's not my job to fuckin' sell it.  But fuckit, I still feel pretty shit about the whole shabang.  And that's not including the impending bollocking currently in the post from my boss for telling the customer he shouldn't pay for the time I spent there.  But there we go, I'd have been embarrassed to have been made chargeable for the time I spent there.  I guess now the key here is to salvage the operation, I reckon I'd get huge kudos if I can pull this out of the mire.  Fuckit', someone else can deal with that.

I got a wee bit pished last night.  Pished enough to feel like I was being expelled from Satan's scrotum this morning.  It was fuckin' horrendous.  I think that was the major contributing factor both to my poor performance with the customer and also to me losing the plot at the wee muppet-cunt at the train station.  I was on an extremly tight schedule as I endeavoured to squeeze every last second available to me in my kip.  So, I had 14 minutes to get ready, get my shit together, get to the station, buy my ticket and catch the train.  Plenty of time you might think?  Alas, you'd be wrong.
As I departed, I realised I didn't have my bank card and had to return to get it.  Wasting valuable seconds which ultimately meant I missed the train.  I ran up the stairs as muppet-cunt in a National Rail issue uniform was blowing his National Rail issue whistle.  Another muppet-cunt was standing at an open train door as I got to the train and tried to open the door.

"STAND BACK, GET BACK!!!!" bellowed this wee fanny muppet-cunt while waving his National Rail issue table tennis bat in my face(this may or may not be factually correct, but it looks like a fuckin' table tennis bat to me so fuckit.)
In my shock, I followed the order like a Nazi General.  Just then my alcohol infested sub-conscious started whispering at me "who the fuck is this wee cunt to shout at you?  You're gonna let him?? Pussy..." 

So I launched into a huge tirade about damage I may or may not have inflected by re-issuing his table tennis bat to him.  Wee fuckin' prick.
Incidentally, I felt a bit bad about the whole thing after a while, but these muppet-cunts need to learn that Uniforms, whistles and table tennis bats don't necessarily equal complete authority.  So.... fuck him.

I'm writing this at 13:26, and feel not too bad.  Maybe I should start recording the times that I'm writing these to see if my theory of a real downer in the morning with a gradual increase throughout the day is really what is going on.
Anyway, I'm supposed to be having a few beers tonight for the birthday of a friend.  But I really can't face another morning like this morning.  I wish I could just give up the boozing forever.  But I can't, so fuckit just need to deal with it.

We'll see what tomorrow morning brings to the party!  Can't wait!!

 

I need to go to London today, half day at the customers today and full day tomorrow.  Not feeling to good about it to be honest, confidence is pretty low and I get the feeling that I'm going to get a proper grilling.  Fuckit, we'll see how it goes.

Nothing much exciting or new happened in the last 24 hours, I'm getting more and more pissed off with having to write that I'm feeling fuckin' shite.  But I can't help it.  I don't want to feel like this.  Had a dream about the ex last night, about getting back with her.  I know it wouldn't make me happy in the long term, but maybe I'm expecting too much.  Maybe I should have been happy with the life I had and not looked for something more.  Something better. 

Fuck that, I'd have ended up fuckin topping myself for sure.  That wasn't for me, I know that.  But when it's 10 O'Clock at night and your going in to bed on your own again it's a fuckin' horrible experience.  Not even for the shagging, just to have someone next to you that you care about and that cares about you.  Someone to wake up in the middle of the night and turn round and cuddle.

But I felt like I was becoming a little fuckin' nub of a man.  Being ground down, just accepting things I didn't agree with for an easy life.  Surely that's not the way to happiness?  Maybe it is, I get the impression that lot of people I know have just "given in", stopped running.  Take what they have and be happy with that.  Maybe some day that'll be me too, just taking what's there to avoid living out a lonely fuckin' existence.  Dying alone?  Fuck that.

Anyway, the whole "health" thing hasn't really kicked in.  I guess I'm not eating really shite food much, and I'm definitely not drinking anywhere near as much as I have done.  But exercise has been minimal to say the least.  I guess it's one step at a time for now though.

Looking forward to going back to Glasgow next week for my mama's birthday.  Have a few business meetings too which are another step back home, so we'll see how that goes.  Who knows, maybe I'll just say fuckit, and stay there.  Although, I do say that every time I go back.

It's really difficult to guage how you're feeling on a daily basis.  Do we really think about how we're feeling *that* often?  I'm forcing myself to think about how I'm feeling and why I'm feeling it and sometimes I'm finding it really tough.  Sometimes people just *don't* feel anything, I don't think that's wrong.   They just go about their daily business without having to over analysing how they're feeling.  I've always just got to "figure things out"  why are things like this or like that?  Why can't I just fuckin accept it?...Hmm....fuck knows...

I finding it hard to type stuff too, the times I want to type most are when I'm particularly low, but my mood seems to be changing on an almost hourly basis right now.  Again, I've been laying off the booze, so I'd hope that long term that is the key to feeling better about things.

The morning downer is really getting to me now though, waking up feeling fuckin' horrible every single day of your existence, a wee peak mid afternoon, an evening chuckle perhaps, knock one out and go to sleep.  Hardly the life of fuckin' Reilly you'll appreciate.  Fuckit...

Been thinking about other things to do now, I think I'm pretty much in control of drinking, but it's all a waste of time of I'm just gonna not drink, and sit on my fuckin' arse doing nothing or simply driving about in my car.  Was speaking to a friend last night about Karate, we both used to do it when we were younger and I'm starting to think it wouldn't be such a bad idea.  2 nights a week of that, 2 nights a week of five a sides.  Eating healthier.  I reckon before I knew it I'd be happy as larry.  (This Larry cunt, always fuckin happy....in fact, I wonder if he's Larry Reilly?)  So, that's the plan.  Probably starting properly next week when I move into my new place, that way I'll be a bit more settled.

I need to sort out some glasses when I get paid too, I'm pretty convinced that my contact lens is causing me headaches on a regular basis, I got a letter from the hospital the other week though confirming I didn't have a brain tumour, so I guess that cheered me up a wee bit.

I've started trying to write this in different stages, to see if I can try and not be so depressing about the whole thing, but it would appear that my writing ability kicks in during my lower moments.  I've been listening to a lot of "melancholic" music.  Contrary to what people say, it doesn't make me want to kill myself, or make me feel bad at all.  I enjoy how it makes me feel, I love pretending that whoever wrote that song that I can relate to felt in some part the same way that I feel.  I understand that is bullshit, the chances of them feeling the same as I do while they were writing their song are pretty fuckin' slim to say the least.  But I feel like I try and make things "fit", no matter how tenuous the link, I can usually manufacture an angle into the meaning of the song so that it has some relevance to me.  Pretty pathetic I know, but it's working out for me as it goes.  So fuck ye.

So, yesterday and the day before I missed my posts.  I doubt I had anything useful to say in any case, but still I think I should try and do it every day. 

Anyway, today, I was trying to rationalise to a few friends about how I don't particularly "like" people, but I can't deal with being on my own either.  WTF is that all about?  I guess I was trying to rationalise it to myself as much as them.  But I did start to question whether I actually didn't like people, or whether it's more to do with an inherent *need* to be liked and accepted. 

I play the role of someone who doesn't like people so that in the event of being rejected, I can take comfort in the fact that I don't like people anyway.  Does that make sense?  Is that really the case? Maybe... Fuck knows, what the fuck do I know.

I've also been thinking about burds, I'm at this stage now where I don't think I'll ever get another one.  Well, any burd that I'd want to be seen with.  I can't be doing with a "moped" burd, you know the ones... alright for a ride, but a bit embarrassing to show your mates.  That's probably the second funniest thing I've heard this year, beating whatever was second before that but still not as funny as the what's brown and starts with a P joke.

That might sound shallow as fuck, and if I met a burd that I really thought was cool, and thought it was worth it I wouldn't care what other people thought.  But I don't think that's gonna happen.

Fuck knows....Fuckit.

I'm moving in to a new place next week.  Maybe I should look at that as a chance to start something new.  Sounds a bit of hippy, new age bullshit.  "A new chapter in my life" pish.   We'll see.

I can't fuckin' sleep right now and I've to be up in 4 hours for work.  The thought of going to this job becomes more and more depressing as the weeks go on.  I think it might be that I'm not as good at it as I thought I was, or maybe the work isn't coming to me as easily as it has done in the past.  I guess I just need to ride this wee rough patch out and hope that things pick up.

Been thinking about cutting myself more and more, ordered some new scalpels so we don't end up with the Gillete Fusion Debacle again.  It's difficult to know why I want to do it.  I tell people I do it when I want to "catch my thoughts", when things run through my mind so fast.  But I'm not sure if that's really what happens, or whether I made it up.  I am pretty convinced it's attention seeking, I want people to be shocked at what I've done.  But I'm not entirely sure exactly what *type* of attention I'm looking for.  Sympathy? Maybe, but it's a bit of a shitty sympathy thing.  Pity?  Maybe again, but again... That's a pretty shit reason.

I think the bottom line is, whatever the reason is.  When I do it, I feel better on some level.  Maybe analysing it will be someone else's job one day, but right now I'm happy to accept that I feel shit, I cut myself, I feel better.  I can live with that for now.  I think as well it's the fact that I'm so weak that I hate myself.  I hate that I'm overweight, but I hate even more than I'm too much of a fuckin' loser to do anything about it.  There is part of me that thinks, if I lost say 4/5 stone then I'd be happy, and everything else would fall into place.  But isn't that the same false economy as with the money?  Is that a real target that could make *everything* in my head better?  It's worth giving it a go I guess, eating healthier and exercising will help with my mental wellbeing in any case so there's no harm in trying.  So I guess the self loathing comes back to the fact I don't do it.

Fuckit... I'll start tomorrow.  I've been doing ok with laying off the booze, so maybe this is the next logical step.  1 pint and 4 bottles of beer in the last week isn't too bad, so now trying to cut out the shit food and to make sure I exercise more.  Five a sides is booked for this week, ideally another game a week and I'll be laughing.

Sounds oh so very easy.

Shit, this looks like it's the longest entry I've made on here.  But fuckit, no cunt is gonna read it any way so I can take some comfort in the fact that I'm not going to be boring anyone to tears.

I'm feeling not too bad again today.  Sun is shining, it's Friday....what more could you want?  I am however fuckin pissed off at my company.  A colleague of mine "has decided to leave" almost 3 weeks after they were off "sick".  That was the official line yesterday.  Like, he's become so sick that he's decided he should just leave?!?

Fuckin PISH. 

You think I'm a fuckin' idiot? 

Complete and utter lies.  You know, I know sometimes decisions have to be made, cuts here or there.  Get rid of him, his face doesn't fit.  Fair enough.  But, don't fuckin' lie to me.  Blatantly lie to me.  I knew from the beginning that he'd been fired, told not to tell anyone or he wouldn't be entitled to his measly pay off package.  I assumed that in time "The Man" would tell me/my other colleagues that there had been some people let go, cite the recent economic downturn, assure of no further cuts, blah blah blah... But to say that this guy, (and others) "decided to leave" fuckin' grinds on me.

I think I have a pretty good reputation/standing in my company.  I don't think I'll ever progress as much as I would like or should because I'm not really willing to play their wee games or to join the "Prick Club".  I think that my actions (*see getting completely fuckin' hammered) at various staff events has also ensured that there is a definite ceiling that I won't pass through.

But fuckit, recently I've realised that there is more to life than money.  For me that is a fuckin' huge deal.  Forever and ever I've wanted to be rich, have a couple of big houses, nice cars etc etc...  But right now I'd be happy with enough money to live, spend time with my family and friends and most importantly get rid of this fuckin' bleak outlook I have on life and the world.

I'd love to live by the sea, go fishing for my dinner.  Keep chickens, grow veggies.  No neighbours for at least 5 miles, and no computers for at least 50 miles.  Right now that would be fuckin' ideal.  Fuckin' bliss...

I've only been doing this shite for a couple of days, but I'm feeling a wee bit better about things already.  Again that could be the fact of not boozing, so I'm gonna try and keep that up for as long as I can.  But fuckit, we'll see how it goes.  I need to try and determine whether I'm feeling "sad" because my life isn't how I imagined it would be right now.  Or whether I'm "ill".

It's a nice feeling knowing that people like me, (regardless of the fact I can't see the reasons why).  But I do feel like a lot of the time I'm the sad clown, I try and make people laugh, and have them enjoy being around me.  Then when they're all gone, and I'm on my own, I lock myself away and burst in to tears.  What the fuck is that all about?!

I think a lot of the problem is to do with my childhood.  Don't worry, I don't have some "dodgy uncle" story to tell.  More to do with the fact that my childhood was better than good.  Fair enough we didn't have loads, but on the whole it was happy.  I had lots of mates, enjoyed myself - simply it was ok.  Then all of a sudden, people started dying.  My dad's brother, my grandparents.  All within a couple of years, and I didn't know how to deal with the fallout from that.  And I don't think I've been right ever since.  What do these medical cunts call it? Root cause?!  Ahh fuckit who cares.

Now I'm a wee bit older, I've still got lots of good mates.  I don't find it difficult to meet people and bore them to tears with my "issues".  I've got a decent job.  I could do with a ride, but apart from that things are good.  Technically I shouldn't feel shite in the slightest, I've no reason to.  Which then brings it round to the fact that maybe I am ill.  Maybe I do have some chemical imbalance.  Maybe the couple of years of binge drinking, shite food and little/no exercise has had some effect on my body's ability to make...erm... fuck knows, things that make you happy. 

There's part of me that kinda feels like I *want* to be ill.  I want the drama.  I want to shock people, tell them I've got Depression, Bi-Polar, Fucked-Up in some way.  Some people see it as a negative thing.  I don't.  I don't give a fuck.  Label me up, pigeonhole me or some other pishy metaphor that people use for that kind of shite.  Just give me a fuckin reason for the way I am!!!

Life is difficult, I know that.  Other people are worse off than me, I know that too.  But again, I don't give a fuck.  I don't care how difficult it is, or how much worse off someone else is.  All I know is how I feel. Surely there's something morally wrong with feeling better because there is someone worse off than yourself?
"Ahhh fuck, I'm feeling fucking shite.  I'm too much of a shitebag to top myself, so I'll just cut myself....what's that you say?  Wee Jimmy has just lost his legs in an accident?  And he's got cancer of the eyes?!!  Fuck...that's magic news that is, I was near making a slice in my own flesh to try and relieve the almost blinding feelings of sorrow and frustrations whilst I tried to catch one of the 4 million thoughts that were racing through my mind to see if I could make sense of at least one of them.  Now you've said that though...Fuckit.  Fancy a pint?"

Bollox....

So please... If you're reading this... how the fuck did you make it this far without searching for the "X Close" button?  But if you managed that, next time someone tells you they're down/depressed/unhappy.  Please Please Please don't tell them about some other poor cunt with no eyes to try and cheer them up.

I can't fuckin' shift this fuckin' horrible, empty, hollow feeling that I thought would pass with a few days laying off the booze.  Instead it's engulfing me more and more as the days go on.  I feel like I'm feeling sorry for myself, but dunno what for or more importantly how to get rid of it.  I feel like I'm losing my fuckin' mind.  I've always had something that I've said "if I get this/that/whatever, then I'll be happy" but right now I feel a fuckin' intense feeling of complete and utter hopelessness.  I feel myself hanging everything on moving back to Glasgow, if I can make it back to Glasgow then I'll be fine.  Which, when/if the reality ever materialises is gonna be another huge fuckin' disappointment when I don't feel better about anything.  I just dunno how much longer I can take of this without completely losing the fuckin' plot and making an arse of everything.  Then I would just fuckin hate myself more for causing another fuckin' drama. 

I think it might be best to go back to the docs here to see if speaking to someone else, or trying something new will help me out.  Fuck knows, those tablets didn't help before.  Or maybe they did and I just fucked it up with drinking on top of them.  I just feel like I'm in some sort of limbo where I don't know what I want, I don't know what will make me happy and I can't seem to do anything to help myself.  Anything I do, I end up fucking it up myself.  Like I have some sort of self destruct button that I can't help but press.

So yea, I'm still feeling ropey as fuck.  Fuckit.

I don't really know what I expect to achieve by writing all this shit down.  Maybe it's an ego thing and I think that there will be millions of people worldwide who'll think that my ramblings are worth reading.  Yea...Maybe...

So, yea the other night I was a bit fucked up, I could feel it building for a few days, but instead of dealing with it I got pished for a few days.  I got back home after being out with some friends, and I couldn't deal with anything.  So, I cut my arm.  Not deep at all, I used a Gillete fusion razor.  As best a man can get as they are, they're pretty shite for cutting yourself with.  I then did the whole attention seeking/shock/drama thing by showing my mate what I'd done.  Abysmally trying to disguise it by asking him for some Savlon, like for some unknown reason we'd come home from the pub and I suddenly realised that I couldn't do without any antiseptic cream.  Incidentally I've ruined my white shirt, that must have been to add to the drama too.  This white shirt with blood all over it, I was like Bruce Fuckin' Willis. What a fuckin' idiot.  Anyway, I then bored him for a few hours while I rambled some incoherent shitethrough the tears running down my face.  I guess it helped that he was fuckin' gassed anyway.

I guess it's just the booze, but it's difficult to know whether I was feeling like that because of the boozing, or whether I was boozing because I felt that way.  Either way it was like trying to claw my way out of the depths of hell.  Today though I just feel like a fuckin idiot for behaving that way in front of my mate. 

I tried to explain to him what I was feeling, why I was feeling it and why I feel that I fuckin' hate myself.  But it all just sounds like pretentious bullshit.  And I guess in all honesty it is just attention seeking nonsense that I should really have grown out of by now.  I'm not a real self harmer you see.  I'm just a tourist, visiting every now and again when I feel like I'm so fuckin frustrated that I'm going to explode.   I'm like the self-harming equivalent of a package-holiday family.  Working 40 hours a week in some shit job, to pay a mortgage in a house that you both knew you couldn't afford, along with two fuckin ungrateful, screaming brat kids on a 2 week all inclusive in Benidorm.

Yea...that's me.  Uno sangria por favor.