No riding for me this weekend but there’s sure been a storm stewing!
Wild winds & raging rain.
So much for a quiet weekend…ha!
Was making so much noise in The George last night that my homo homie Bernard was begging me to keep it down. I was well aware that my voice was loudly & clearly audible over the music pumping. Turning heads. Making a holy show as usual for ‘tiz what I do best. Which is why my teenage daughter Isabel refuses to have anything further to do with me.
My 43rd birthday is fast approaching & this year falls on Mother’s Day. The ball is firmly in Isabel’s court.
She hates tennis.
We splashed out on a wicked pair of tennis racquets back in summer 2015. We had landed a delightful new home, 69 Kennel Worth Bark…ha, what’s in a number?!
How vivid my memories of that terrifically tumultous time are. Isabel’s racquet was half-sized & mine was three quarters. Isabel’s raquet was never to be used. Mine got a taste of tennis balls on just one occasion…my 3rd date with one unholy cheeky monkey, which led to a riproarously riotus & rocky relationship. Sex, drugs & ravin’ roll! Much to Isabel’s disapproval!
Finding Isabel’s disapproval highly amusing at the time, I was Her Highness Of Bipolar Disorder.
It was my last chance to remain free from medical intervention, I had decided, before I would succumb to Lithium. A last fucking resort for me. Would mean forsaking the hot yoga studio, profuse sweating being contra-indicated while taking Lithium.
End of an era. ‘Cause I did get hospitalized that summer following one hell of an interior massacre of number 69. Drugs, tits, arse appropriately describe the state of things before I was lured into conversation with the local law enforcement. They won. But I won a summertime involuntary incarceration, in other words a spell of imprisonment on the psych ward.
Number 69 got absolutely trashed!
Broken glass & chicken drumsticks from the freezer all over the living room carpet.
Left 4 hoodlums in the gaf, 2 male & 2 female, when I departed on a maaad one with my Bipolar Misadventures, performing Sun Salutations for oncoming traffic on Harold’s Cross Road in the midsummer sunshine.
Surynamaskara A facing the blazing summer sun every time there was a break in the traffic. Midsummer’s Daymare! With 3 of my yoga buddies from the nearby Bikram Yoga studio who arrived on the scene one by one in an attempt to rein in my traffic-stopping activities.
RAH! Random Acts of Hooliganism in action!
My 4 hooligans, juvenile delinquents to the core, made a fine mess trashing my flat in the eaves of 69, my sweet residence of just 3 months.
Landlord & landlady were suitably shitless & earth-shatteringly shocked when they arrived on the scene in my absence & 3 of my best mates were called in to pick up the pieces. And pick up the pieces they did. Darcy, a Godfather of mine who was living across the street at the time, dealt with landlord & landlady.
Sunita the mothersucker & her lil’ bro whose name I fail to recall. Screw ’em both. Screwed ’em nicely!
Whole house had to be extensively renovated upon my sudden & drastic departure!
Grainne, my crankier than hell downstairs neighbour, was crankier than hell about the noise constantly emanating from my upstairs quarters.
My groundfloor Italian neighbours were always sweet for a dube, the smell of weed usually wafting from their cramped abode. Their bed was in their fucking living room. Fuck that shit!
On the top floor, Isabel & I & our all too frequent visitors enjoyed a spacious living room with kitchenette & a massive bedroom, filled with Isabel’s toys & an extensive wardrobe. Our bedroom window looked over a delightful shared southwest-facing back garden.
The living room window afforded a view of a 3 storey high fir tree growing in the front garden & the rising sun every morning. A heavenly 3 months were well spent here, raising absolute hell all over the neighbourhood, from the month of May until July or August…impossible for me to remember which.
The Gardai paid the house a visit the night before I evacuated, leaving the premises at the mercy of my 4 happy hoodlums, who couldn’t believe their luck when I presented them with €500 for the purchase of copious quantities of narcotics to be procured on a trip northside.
They accepted 300 & gave me back the rest, bless ’em!
I encountered the Gardai cruising down Kennel Worth Bark around 5am on the night of their visit to mine. They were suspicious of the company I was in…turned out he was 15 years young & missing from care.
I invited the Gards back to investigate the identity of the young man I was entertaining with advice on how to pull birds. He was lacking in confidence & his self-esteem seriously needed a boost. The Gardai pulled up alongside us as we strolled down the street……
Faith, how’s it going? The Garda in the passenger seat enquired as he rolled down the car window.
Back to mine, I quipped. And invited them to join us.
I like keeping on the right side of law enforcement, even though I am an out & outed outlaw. My freedom from psychiatric services depends on it. God forbid I am taken to the station for a “checkup” with some old sod of a doctor from the Health Service Executioner, Ireland’s governing body for healthcare. Fucking executioners!
Business executives responsible for the provision of healthcare services. Overpaid over-pensioned motherfuckers & unclefuckers the lot of them!
My shrink once threatened to sue me for defamation of character if I continued to Tweet jokes about him……
“My shrink is so shrunk he needs a tweezers to pleasure himself!” And such. Bloody bugger was trolling me on Twitter, following my request of him to hook up online……
That would be highly unprofessional. He admonished.
Highly unprofessional he was, proceeding to check out my online activity.
Defamation of character my crossed eyeballs!
Who the hell is my shrink anyways? His anonymity was ambiguous.
Dr. Death, he is dubbed in the hallowed halls of Hospital 6, my home away from home on the Funny Farm. Patients in his care tend to develop suicidal tendencies. Something about those little pills, they ill a million braincells!
A monthly injection of a poison known as Paliperidone, administered to me for 12 months, sent me over the edge into Hell On Earth.
My hellish trip culminated in a fateful purchase of 250 Tramax 1mg. Happy pills indeed unless you pop many to many & end up in A&E in the Mater Misericordae Hospital with serious facial injuries. All over swelling, heavy bruising & a fractured nose!
My left nostril was knocked sideways. Nothing delicate nose surgery couldn’t fix 3 weeks later when the facial swelling had subsided. I was warned by the medics that I may desire rhinoplasty following the operation but it was a complete success & a week later my face was looking almost brand new.
A thorough test by the eye doctor revealed that there was no damage to my eyeballs, thank fuck. I’m lucky I didn’t blind myself with the extent of the damage. Even a Garda investigation couldn’t reveal how my injuries had come about…I to this day have no recollection of events throughout Sunday & Monday after necking as many Tramax as I possibly could, in an dastardly bastard of an effort to end my physical existence.
I came to on Tuesday morning, feeling fresh as a daisy & oblivious to my injuries. Immediately I recognised my surroundings. Hospital 6. Ooops!
How in heavens did I get there? I was assuming I had arrived in a stretcher since I remembered nothing of the previous 48 hours or so. No inkling had I yet of the extensive damage inflicted to my face, God only knows how!
That was March the 1st 2019, having been rushed to the Mater Hospital for full Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation & an in-depth conversation with the psychiatrist appointed to me there.
I had overdosed on the 27th of February. The last thing I remember is swallowing tablets one by one, proceeding slowly & with caution so I wouldn’t throw up. Guessing I have never ever been so out of it. If I hadn’t evidently wandered from my room, I would have soon lain down & met my demise.
Terrified the shit out of my shrink.
You could have stopped breathing in your room! He later exclaimed to me.
No more benzodiazapines for you! At least I’m not prescribing them for you. He declared.
Even though I know you can get them yourself. He added.
Where the hell did you get those Temgesic? He was wondering.
Temgesic? I countered, baffled.
What the fuck was he on about? Doesn’t he know the difference between Tramax & Temgesic?
Evidently not.
Ignorant ignoramus.
Tramax being a sedative & relaxant; Temgesic being a delicious chemical opiate, to be crushed & sniffed for optimum enjoyment.
Death by ignorance, a sentence served by Doctor Death himself.
The stormy weekend is over and snow is falling. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
Faith In The Ripple Effect 