Let me get this straight…

If you’re prepared to publish and be damned, whenever you are damned, you’d better be sure that if you want to count for anything you’re prepared to publish that you have, indeed, been damned, especially when it’s been by your own hand.

I’ve been getting consumed with thinking that I was about to go into war yet again, when nothing much has been happening at all. Putting the pieces together, I’ve come up with something that was so convincing it could easily have escalated into what I was guessing at, acting as a twisted form of confirmation. But I checked my facts the first realistic chance I got and came up with nothing to verify even the slightest conscious emotion in someone that would have suggested war was on the horizon, which in a way makes this different to a case of pure paranoia, where there are no checks and balances available to offset an imagination gone horribly wrong.

That said, I do feel like I’ve been at war, still. It’s not easy to put into words the thoughts and feelings you can get when you think the system’s about to rape your soul again, effectively on the basis of a poor level of analysis from institutions you always believed were there to protect against such abuses. A succession of physical illnesses, traumatic anniversaries, compounding sleep loss, maddening sleeping pills, memories of past injustices (to which I could add some crackers), how I crashed off the back of them, along with the remaining potential for all of it to happen again, have hit me from all angles, grinding me down when I’ve been near my weakest.

But this is important, this error, in a way that isn’t merely the positive thinking of our times. Not being someone who believes in sweeping things under the carpet, which I think only gives them a greater potential for harm, I’ve brought on the memories and given this year as good a battle as it always had in store for me, and in facing down the threat of overload, I’ve dealt certain damaging thought processes what could eventually turn out to be a fatal blow. Too much time on my hands? Maybe, but if that time’s going to significantly improve in quality, I’m certain some things need to be done.

This isn’t the end of it and the instant birth of endless good times. Too much has happened down the years for anything to be that easy. This is going to be gradual, this evolution of life and, though I’m making¬†more progress than appearances may suggest, I’m hoping it all starts getting a lot easier pretty damn soon and the natural change of time returns to its conventional approach.

This is the first day, after 13 of them, that I’ve woken up having not taken sleeping pills the night before. My mind’s no longer feeling ragged and the world’s finally stopped melting. My body’s craving more sleep, but that’ll surely come. I’m not desperately chasing peaceful experiences, now, and looking out of my window to test this out, the scene looks settled, nothing out of the ordinary at all. It’s good to see.

Say it ain’t so…

You try detoxifying after years of dodgy experiences while still having to make allowances and guard against the potential of an ongoing toxic social environment that makes Chernobyl look like Disneyland.


The dust settles on the new horizon and it’s a bit like the morning after embarrassing sex – you’re not quite sure how to handle the situation, you just know you need to get out of it somehow. Everyday life needs to resume as soon as possible while new (and some old) methods need time and space to bed in. Meanwhile, elements in my toxic environment are none too pleased and have a track record of even manipulating organs of the state to subvert their own safeguards while thinking they’re fully justified in brushing crimes under the carpet, as they’re telling you you’re the crazy one. Say it ain’t so.

You can never do enough to protect against such things repeating and it’s a factor you have to compensate for that when you rise from being submerged in a disempowered – especially when that’s been an abusive – state, people who’ve become comfortable with the former state of affairs can go to almost unimaginable lengths to maintain the status quo. No matter what psychatric medication is used, though, the facts, when so badly handled, will always tend to rise to the top eventually. Saying that, I have tried to address what could be about to happen in the coming months. Yet again. If it works, my environment will cohere with reality for the first time in 20 years. If it doesn’t – as is the more likely scenario – then I’ll have to work on an alternative compromise as I coexist with this costly environment.

I’m outgrowing the limitations of who I was supposed to be, here. The community now offers me no social opportunities which fill the gap of what I’ve created by learning key facts about, and lessons in, life. That could sound like bragging, but if anything it’s a sad moment which will take time to evolve into something more satisfactory, but if I’ve learned anything over time, it’s that substantial change can take years to become fully realised. It’s time I might not even have, but it’s a course that’s now been set and is irreversible. All I can do is shift gears and alter, but not change, direction. Will that be enough? Right now, I can’t be sure.

Meanwhile, there’s plans, but they’re up in the air at the moment as I need to look into them further. There is, though, a potential solution to this. There’s no more compromises I can make, I’m sure of that, so from my current perspective, the solution is to find an environment better suited to me and that means an escape from my hometown and even its county. I’m no fan of the culture here, my needs can’t be met by the place and if I don’t move on life will become very stale, claustrophobic and disheartening. That’s not what it’s all about. I’m at an age in life where I’d love to settle, but the only way I can see me settling in Worcestershire is under six feet of dirt.

Sitting here, as my playlist has ended and the birds put on a better show without really trying, I realise that you can work out whatever issues you’ve faced, but in the process fresh challenges will probably emerge which can submerge you again if you’re not careful. Toxic relationships are all about power, not understanding, so my methods won’t ultimately work and leave me at risk of official bodies extending abuses yet again. The trick is to know that could easily happen, that I won’t be able to do much, if anything, about it, that no-one else will do anything about it, and to be cool with all that. I’m not Superman, but I think I can pull that off. At least now, anyway.