Monday, 20 December 2010
A Cosmic Journey
This is the song that inspired the title of my new blog. I listened to it in a particularly bad time in my life, it holds a special place in my heart. I think the name suits as well.
I would just like to ask those that were kind enough to have Mind Of Mine on their blogroll, if they could please update it with my new link, I would really appreciate it. I would also like to thank all those that emailed me to wish me well.
I am feeling very positive about changing blogs. I feel like I have more freedom and I hope this means I can give more of myself to you.
Take Care.
Sunday, 19 December 2010
Christmas Decision
I kept telling myself that when I moved back to Manchester I would not return for Christmas. There were a few reasons as to why....
When I returned home last year for Christmas and I had an amazing time, I spent a lot of time with my whole family as well a shit-load of money. I also managed to get my hands on a significant amount of Morphine, I was pretty much high for the entire weekend. When I returned to Manchester, I was full of thoughts on how maybe Dublin still had something to offer me. Security in the arms of my family and If I am being honest with myself, an abundance of drugs all around me. My brother was also about to return home from a year long stay in Manchester and I wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.
Last year was hard, I died, I fought depression once again, being around my Mother and her problems brought back many bad memories and It all came to a head in October when my penchant for opiates became public knowledge. What I don't want to happen is too go home and find myself thinking that Dublin is where I belong even though I know it really hasn't. I am looking forward to spending Christmas with Karl though, my brother. The first one we will spend together since 2005.
I booked the ticket on Friday and I immediately knew I had made the right decision, it made me feel good. I then went and spent the last of my money on presents for everybody. I will be going to Dublin with next to nothing and I would feel crappy if I was to show up empty handed.
When I returned home last year for Christmas and I had an amazing time, I spent a lot of time with my whole family as well a shit-load of money. I also managed to get my hands on a significant amount of Morphine, I was pretty much high for the entire weekend. When I returned to Manchester, I was full of thoughts on how maybe Dublin still had something to offer me. Security in the arms of my family and If I am being honest with myself, an abundance of drugs all around me. My brother was also about to return home from a year long stay in Manchester and I wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.
Last year was hard, I died, I fought depression once again, being around my Mother and her problems brought back many bad memories and It all came to a head in October when my penchant for opiates became public knowledge. What I don't want to happen is too go home and find myself thinking that Dublin is where I belong even though I know it really hasn't. I am looking forward to spending Christmas with Karl though, my brother. The first one we will spend together since 2005.
I booked the ticket on Friday and I immediately knew I had made the right decision, it made me feel good. I then went and spent the last of my money on presents for everybody. I will be going to Dublin with next to nothing and I would feel crappy if I was to show up empty handed.
Thursday, 16 December 2010
Dark Cloud
My Mother's illness brought two things into our home once she was discharged from hospital, a dark cloud of unhappiness which rippled through my whole family and medication, Oxycontin to be precise. As I explained before the Mother I had going into hospital was very different from the stranger who left.
She turned to alcohol to to cope with the pain and I turned to her medication to deal with the loneliness. Her fits of anger, an obvious side effect to the pain and distress she felt, isolated everyone in our family until eventually it was just her and me in this house. Both of us so desperately unhappy and me really to young to bear the burden of the residual fall out of her illness. My siblings had all left me alone in this house, with a volatile time bomb which would explode expectingly and often without reason, this meant that I was often on edge constantly. I really felt I had no one to turn too.
I had my school friends but I could not talk to them about what was happening and because I wasn't going to school most days, I began to lose contact with them. They had all but given up on me, sometimes they wouldn't see me for weeks on end. Something came along, something which would help ease the pain and the loneliness I was feeling. Oxycontin.
These little white pills were all I needed to take my mind off all the things going on in my house. I would take one every couple of days at first, mostly going unnoticed by Mother. But eventually it grew and I would be sometimes taking 80mg in one sitting. When she did notice, we would have massive arguments but I would never feel guilty about it, obviously I blamed her for bringing this monster in our house. I lay the blame at her door.
The pressure then led me to suicide, I remember the day, so clearly. It nothing major had happened, it didn't have too, I knew there was another outburst or attack on the way. My Mother went to work and I swallowed 10 Oxycontin pills and 40 Neurontin and then I downed a bottle of wine. I passed out within minutes. I woke up a few days later, being shaken by my Brother and my Mother before an ambulance was called. In the days that passed I was too much of a coward to explain the real reason I had tried to take my life and instead told everyone I was being bullied, the irony being I hadn't had a full day at school in weeks.
Things did start to get better but by then the hold that opiates had on me and my body was too strong. For years I would take them whenever I could. I became an expert in getting as high as possible, I was able to sniff out any hiding place my Mother could think off, I would shrug off worried relatives. I just wanted the pain and loneliness to stop and they made me feel normal again. It was no contest.
When I finally left home and moved to Manchester I was free of both the environment and the drugs, I didn't go through any withdrawals and I was happy. However I haven't had any closure in regards to what had happened and this sometimes forces me to move home in the hope I will get the answers I have been looking for. My Mother claims to not remember any of this, a symptom of her brain injury, alcoholism or as a coping method, I don't know. However it is frustrating and I can't help but blame her for everything that went on. This may seem selfish and uncaring off me, but I can't help how I feel and I do feel that even though she was ill, she did lean on me too much even though I was just a child.
I love my Mother very much, don't mistake that. But I am still very angry at her for all that has gone on. She has stopped drinking and couple of glasses of wine will usually finish her off. She has lost tons of weight and looks great. Unfortunately she is still in a lot of pain, something which I sometimes think she has succumbed too and it has stolen her light away, from her children.
I still takes drugs socially with my friends but also privately, It is a hold that I have not yet been able to get away from. It will happen some day....
She turned to alcohol to to cope with the pain and I turned to her medication to deal with the loneliness. Her fits of anger, an obvious side effect to the pain and distress she felt, isolated everyone in our family until eventually it was just her and me in this house. Both of us so desperately unhappy and me really to young to bear the burden of the residual fall out of her illness. My siblings had all left me alone in this house, with a volatile time bomb which would explode expectingly and often without reason, this meant that I was often on edge constantly. I really felt I had no one to turn too.
I had my school friends but I could not talk to them about what was happening and because I wasn't going to school most days, I began to lose contact with them. They had all but given up on me, sometimes they wouldn't see me for weeks on end. Something came along, something which would help ease the pain and the loneliness I was feeling. Oxycontin.
These little white pills were all I needed to take my mind off all the things going on in my house. I would take one every couple of days at first, mostly going unnoticed by Mother. But eventually it grew and I would be sometimes taking 80mg in one sitting. When she did notice, we would have massive arguments but I would never feel guilty about it, obviously I blamed her for bringing this monster in our house. I lay the blame at her door.
The pressure then led me to suicide, I remember the day, so clearly. It nothing major had happened, it didn't have too, I knew there was another outburst or attack on the way. My Mother went to work and I swallowed 10 Oxycontin pills and 40 Neurontin and then I downed a bottle of wine. I passed out within minutes. I woke up a few days later, being shaken by my Brother and my Mother before an ambulance was called. In the days that passed I was too much of a coward to explain the real reason I had tried to take my life and instead told everyone I was being bullied, the irony being I hadn't had a full day at school in weeks.
Things did start to get better but by then the hold that opiates had on me and my body was too strong. For years I would take them whenever I could. I became an expert in getting as high as possible, I was able to sniff out any hiding place my Mother could think off, I would shrug off worried relatives. I just wanted the pain and loneliness to stop and they made me feel normal again. It was no contest.
When I finally left home and moved to Manchester I was free of both the environment and the drugs, I didn't go through any withdrawals and I was happy. However I haven't had any closure in regards to what had happened and this sometimes forces me to move home in the hope I will get the answers I have been looking for. My Mother claims to not remember any of this, a symptom of her brain injury, alcoholism or as a coping method, I don't know. However it is frustrating and I can't help but blame her for everything that went on. This may seem selfish and uncaring off me, but I can't help how I feel and I do feel that even though she was ill, she did lean on me too much even though I was just a child.
I love my Mother very much, don't mistake that. But I am still very angry at her for all that has gone on. She has stopped drinking and couple of glasses of wine will usually finish her off. She has lost tons of weight and looks great. Unfortunately she is still in a lot of pain, something which I sometimes think she has succumbed too and it has stolen her light away, from her children.
I still takes drugs socially with my friends but also privately, It is a hold that I have not yet been able to get away from. It will happen some day....
Wednesday, 15 December 2010
Sick
I have wanted to write this post for a very long time, but I always knew it would be upsetting to certain people that read it, those directly involved. I guess in some way, the story I am about to tell you, has actually shaped the person that I am today. More than any other event in my life. This wasn't one event though, it was a series of events over a number of years, a catalogue which seems to have fucked me up royally!
I was 12 years old when I was first told that my Mother had a brain tumor, something which would some day soon would have to be operated on. My brother Karl, overheard her telling a family friend and he relayed the conversation back to me, with only 2 years in age difference, we tended to tell each other everything when it involved the family. I was still very much a child and I broke down like any child would do, faced with the prospect of losing their mother.
The first time she was admitted to hospital, she stayed there for over a month, I would see her everyday and in retrospect and compared with what was to come, everyone seemed optimistic, the doctors, my family and my mother. Whilst my Mother was hospitalized I continued to live in my house with my sister and both my brothers, I continued to go to school(Sporadically) and also worked as a glass collector in pubs around my area. When she was operated on, I have no memory of the day or even getting the news that she would be fine and when she was released things pretty much went back to normal, we enjoyed a holiday together, she was the same, funny but volatile character and I loved her.
Later that year, things got worse, very worse. One day, my Mother took my Brother and I shopping for some new clothes, nothing out of the ordinary. But then my Aunt arrived and in a sudden blaze of information, we found ourselves back at the hospital, my Mother was getting re-admitted again, for another surgery. Only this time, her chances were devastatingly low. I remember the day she was operated on so vividly, like it was yesterday in fact. I was there the whole day, just waiting at the hospital. No one knew I was there. A few days before the operation, her doctor sat my whole family down in a room and told us there was only a 30 percent chance that she would survive the operation. She had three tumors, two of them on her spinal column.
When she came around, the relief was palpable and when Karl arrived I was almost giddy. Little did I know that although she had survived the operation, the woman that came around from the anesthetic was not the Mother that I knew.....and loved.
To be continued...
I was 12 years old when I was first told that my Mother had a brain tumor, something which would some day soon would have to be operated on. My brother Karl, overheard her telling a family friend and he relayed the conversation back to me, with only 2 years in age difference, we tended to tell each other everything when it involved the family. I was still very much a child and I broke down like any child would do, faced with the prospect of losing their mother.
The first time she was admitted to hospital, she stayed there for over a month, I would see her everyday and in retrospect and compared with what was to come, everyone seemed optimistic, the doctors, my family and my mother. Whilst my Mother was hospitalized I continued to live in my house with my sister and both my brothers, I continued to go to school(Sporadically) and also worked as a glass collector in pubs around my area. When she was operated on, I have no memory of the day or even getting the news that she would be fine and when she was released things pretty much went back to normal, we enjoyed a holiday together, she was the same, funny but volatile character and I loved her.
Later that year, things got worse, very worse. One day, my Mother took my Brother and I shopping for some new clothes, nothing out of the ordinary. But then my Aunt arrived and in a sudden blaze of information, we found ourselves back at the hospital, my Mother was getting re-admitted again, for another surgery. Only this time, her chances were devastatingly low. I remember the day she was operated on so vividly, like it was yesterday in fact. I was there the whole day, just waiting at the hospital. No one knew I was there. A few days before the operation, her doctor sat my whole family down in a room and told us there was only a 30 percent chance that she would survive the operation. She had three tumors, two of them on her spinal column.
When she came around, the relief was palpable and when Karl arrived I was almost giddy. Little did I know that although she had survived the operation, the woman that came around from the anesthetic was not the Mother that I knew.....and loved.
To be continued...
Hello
I was sad to go, It will have been almost 3 years and 445 posts, thats a lot of history to say goodbye too. But what would be the point in continuing unless I am being completely truthful and honest. None, thats what.
As I explained before, having my friends and family have access to my thoughts and feelings meant more often than not, I was filtering my posts to avoid judgement from them. That literally took the enjoyment out of it, It was no longer cathartic experience, sitting down and writing posts. It became a chore. This also meant I wasn't giving it my all, my best. My lack of motivation in regards to blogging also meant I wasn't reading any other blogs either, this was something I used to love to do! My comments, when I left any, were unimaginative and unhelpful. It just wasn't acceptable.
I don't want to quit, I have gotten to much enjoyment and pleasure to simply give in. But I have to take steps to make sure that the damage is not permanent, and I suppose there is nothing wrong with starting afresh, something I have done many a time.
I will leave the old blog open for a bit, there are some posts I would like to save, possibly print off and keep as a memento. But eventually I will delete it and the history It contains.
*Sigh*
As I explained before, having my friends and family have access to my thoughts and feelings meant more often than not, I was filtering my posts to avoid judgement from them. That literally took the enjoyment out of it, It was no longer cathartic experience, sitting down and writing posts. It became a chore. This also meant I wasn't giving it my all, my best. My lack of motivation in regards to blogging also meant I wasn't reading any other blogs either, this was something I used to love to do! My comments, when I left any, were unimaginative and unhelpful. It just wasn't acceptable.
I don't want to quit, I have gotten to much enjoyment and pleasure to simply give in. But I have to take steps to make sure that the damage is not permanent, and I suppose there is nothing wrong with starting afresh, something I have done many a time.
I will leave the old blog open for a bit, there are some posts I would like to save, possibly print off and keep as a memento. But eventually I will delete it and the history It contains.
*Sigh*
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