When faced with my demons I clothe them and feed them…

Archive for September, 2014

I Have No Friends

Another motherfucking isolated Sunday when NO ONE I WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH HAS TIME FOR ME. Caps locked accidentally but wtf, why shouldn’t I freaking well shout?

I’m banned from Suicide Methods Hideout or might as well be. They’re censoring my posts. Banned from the Suicide Project despite that Significant Other promised to get the ban revoked. Totally surplus to requirements on Social Anxiety Support.

I have no friends and no partner. All that astral travel shit is dreams and my so-called Significant Other called me a ‘pedophile’ on this blog a few posts ago. My whole life has been one long dream, nightmare to be exact. I have no family. No one calls me unless they want something from me. Maurice just told me on the phone that I should go to the Farmer’s Market (middle class paradise of London N8 and therefore Hell for me), then proceeded to wind me up even more by telling me I should get a job!

Yes, Maurice is now freaking ATOS. With ‘friends’ like this who needs enemies?

Don’t forget Richard who refused to loan me more than a fiver when I was hungry and penniless despite having an obscenely enormous legacy from his mother safely stashed away in the bank. Does that man ever need therapy!

OK, I feel today is an appropriate day to take Nembutal. So that’s just what I’m gonna do. Being conscious is just too damn painful.


A Good Night’s Sleep

I thought ATOS were a thing of the past folks. But I have just had a missive through the door from them (it being a Saturday so I am unable to phone them naturally). I was under the impression that die to their malpractice that caused untold suffering, anxiety and even death to so many vulnerable, ill and disabled people in this country who they certified as ‘fit for work’, that the government had replaced them with a more reasonable agency?

It seems not. Unless I am existing in a time warp.

They told me I need to fill in a questionnaire they allegedly sent me on 5th September. I received no such questionnaire. The most I heard from the benefits agencies was that I should expect a phone call from them at some point. I have received no such phone call.

If I do not fill in this questionnaire regarding my fitness to work by 6th October my benefits may be affected.

Well It would have helped enormously if I had ever received it in the first place, what think you folks?

I am suspicious of the Royal Mail now, since they removed their parcel pick-up point from Tottenham Lane Hornsey to an industrial estate in Tufnel Park N19. So who knows what they did with the supposedly now defunct ATOS questionnaire?

Having failed to kill us off by forcing us ‘back to work’ and cutting off our benefits, they now appear to want to kill us from sheer confusion! You pays your money and takes your choice, but either way their intentions toward us don’t appear to be benign.

Well I still have time to get a questionnaire and fill it in luckily. I will phone them on Monday, get one sent out and provided the Royal Mail don’t stick their oar in again it should be with them by 6th October.

I was wondering when on earth the Government would get on to me!

What ‘job’ do they have in mind for me I wonder, a 52 year old manic depressive who has been thoroughly put through the mangle of the mental health system, systematically brutalised, repressed, marginalised, disenfranchised, ostracized and stigmatised by this pathetic excuse for a ‘society’?

Moving swiftly on from that unpleasant subject though, I had the best night’s sleep I’ve had probably for months. I went to sleep at about 8.30pm and didn’t wake until 9am, (apart from a brief foray on my computer looking at a documentary about Tupac Shakur called ‘Thug Angel’). I couldn’t be bothered to watch it in the end so just left the sound on, went back to my sofa and slept like a baby for about six more hours

The role played by my Nembutal can’t be overlooked. I took a good teaspoonful of the noxious, illegal, potentially lethal barbiturate last night shortly after I wrote my last post to you guys, entitled ‘Fuck This Shit’. It is known to the initiated as the Holy Grail of Suicide Methods and I acquired it from China. It worked like a dream. I am my own psychiatrist now.

It tastes like camel spunk but it does the job. The trick is to suck on a square of dark chocolate and take a sip of hot black coffee directly after ingesting it. It makes me gag but somehow my body accepts it where it will no longer accept any of the pharmaceutical goodies my ex-psychs wanted to hand out. And my body has to be the judge at the end of the day.

I seem to be hopeless with downloading u-torrents. Eminem’s 8 Mile was the movie I really wanted to watch and there seemed literally no other way of accessing it. If any of you have found a way do let me know. But u-torrents? Beyond me. I can’t even add new tracks to my tiny IPod shuffle. I’m too old school for the modern world. I know my supergeek ex Richard could do it but we’re currently not speaking since he refused to lend me more than a fiver when I was penniless and had nothing to eat. His choice.

A lot of stuff I want to do simply gets derailed so I’ve given up stressing about it and just accept that it’s God’s will. For a born-again atheist that is quite a leap of faith, I’m sure you’ll agree Peeps.

Ah fuck this shit!

Everything seems like a colossal effort today Peeps. Taking a bath seemed like a superhuman task. I considered my rat tails of greasy hair but washing it seemed like a bridge too far so I thought fuck it, I’ll get it done for a fiver at the hairdresser at the end of the road. I’ve often had to do this before.

I managed to prepare my own breakfast (another superhuman effort), of delicious seeded wholewheat Polish rye bread toasted, with some of their special cheese slices and some garlic stuffed green olives from Tesco’s. Both bread and cheese were in round shapes and I bought them from the fiercely Polish grocer’s in Silver Street, Edmonton yesterday, together with an absolutely wicked  cream cheese bun/pastry thing (I don’t know how to describe it but it had sweet poppy seed paste in it and was fresh as anything…).

The Poles in the shop were a bit hostile and pretended to speak no English but relented when they saw I was serious about wanting to eat their food lol. Poles practically run the UK now. So I wanted to see if I could get some of what they have.

Going to hang out in Edmonton was an inspired idea yesterday (that’s where my ex Richard lives and also the Greek Cypriot sperm donor who placed the seed of my son into my unwilling womb). I discovered a new Internet caf with a Moroccan proprietor where everyone was satisfyingly insane and they served excellent coffee. So I whiled away a fairly happy hour and a half in there checking blog and forums etc and occasionally exchanging pleasantries and jokes with the staff and customers of whom there were pleasingly few.

To be honest I am kind of resenting even having to write these words. EVERYTHING just seems overwhelming, despite that I actually got the longest night’s sleep I’ve had in some time (assisted by 30mg Valium). I am just losing patience with how long it takes everyone to catch up to my way of thinking.

I’m so fucking fed up. I don’t deserve this. Even watching Denise After All’s videos and listening to her talk isn’t helping. Like she told me, we’d be good drinking buddies but she lives literally at the other end of the fecking world and I would have to stick to black coffee anyway. Someone’s gotta keep a clear head around here.

All that’s left to do is ensure I keep on breathing and just fuck everything and everyone else.

My Idea of a ‘Boy Band’


And the runners up would be this trio of South Koreans, Lunafly.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0N29qJj8-0

OK, after many attempts to create a link to Lunafly it seems that censorship is at work, so you will just have to google the buggers or copy and paste my link! How old do you think they are? 12? They do a ton of shit-hot covers, and their lead singer is preternaturally cute!

Enjoy. One Direction eat your fucking hearts out! Harry Styles shagged my cousin’s daughter, the Heart FM DJ Lucy Horobin. One night stands went out with the ark and she got attacked all over Twitter for it by jealous fans. She’s 32 and married, he’s 17 or something. Disgusting!

Celebrity gossip…you get it all here folks!

And I loathe typos above all things!

I’ve done so much freaking typing that the letters are wearing away from my keyboard, despite I’ve only had it for less than a year. So just as well I learned to touch type on  one of Margaret Thatcher’s back to work initiatives back in the 80’s…Manpower Services Commission I think it was grandiosely called.

But here’s the true Boss looking terrified on Top Of the Pops back in the dark days of the 80’s. The late Kirsty MacColl. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pa3FwO1Tx-M or https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kIsyQ2qCDQ8. Even https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g0Zvu_id_ew Do yourselves a favour and listen to her entire album Galore if you can find it anywhere in this heavily edited world.


Post Script: Found this gem of a heavily glammed-up Kirsty! You go girl! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7-QVqcjg3g8

Post Post Script: One of my favourite Kirsty tracks. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2F8sSXOn2hc Wonder if it’ll link this time?

At the end of the day you lot know how to copy and paste!

OK you guys I’ve got stuff to do ya know (like getting money), but here’s the final word from Kirsty for today…she never shuts up! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_EV5pNowizQ

Some Pics For You

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QXrHOxnhn3M&list=UU1HI-lxg-FYAmkRNg6WIhEw&index=4 Check this out guys! I know Denise from Social Anxiety Support, and find her videos genius. Her youtube channel is Please2Denise I find the animation in the urinal inspired!

OK, who the fuck is the girl in pink nattering about gender roles? This link was meant to be Please2Denise. I’ll have another go since censorship is clearly at work.

If I’m still a fail, just google Please2Denise. You won’t regret it.

Reincarnation etc

I was just ruminating a little on The Suicide Project about the need to reincarnate without the inconvenience of death in between.

C’mon, haven’t we all wished to do this, even the youngest and most objectively ‘beautiful’ of us?

Manic depression teaches you many valuable life lessons. It even teaches powers over life and death.

Sometimes we find ourselves in a particular body because it actually serves some current purpose in our lives, whether we are aware of it or not.

I’ll give you a ‘for example’. I am currently as ugly as I have ever been! Something happened to me as soon as I hit fifty. In my forties I was still a passably attractive woman and had my fair share of admirers.

But I quite simply got bored with being admired!

Lies. Bullshit.

I was PREYED upon for my looks throughout my life. While ‘manic’ I looked very radiant and beautiful and was endlessly taken advantage of having seemingly lost the ability to say ‘no’.

Which makes my tangential brain reflect on all the stories I read daily from young women who consider themselves hideous. It has a name, Body Dysmorphic Disorder.

Could it be that these young women are similarly turning their backs on the predators of the world by ‘recasting’ themselves as hideous and not fit for the public gaze?

I don’t wanna be gazed at by the public either. And reincarnation has taken care of that for me. So I am Ugly. And Proud.

But I will go back to my original self when the time is right. It will be my choice then and I will be fully in control.

Plus, beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder. We love our ugly old grandmothers. They have a radiance about them because of all the love they have showed us (if they did). Charisma often builds in later life as well. I was called ‘charismatic’ for the first time a few days ago – and the person had never laid eyes on me, just knew my writings on the Suicide Project.

It was an interesting compliment to get, because I notice I had a tendency to repel people and end up deeply lonely and isolated. So it was kind of ironic. My online persona is far more powerful than my physical presence can ever be.

Just some late-night ruminations from the keyboard of someone who has nothing better to do with herself.