I have been smoking pots of pot lately. I am liking life better when I’m stoned, simple. Life as is lately especially, locked down life. Living here in The Granby Centre, Dublin’s northside residence of The Salvation Army. Away in a home. That’s me.
The zombie apocalypse is upon us here. I am surrounded by fucking degenerates, feeling degenerate.
Staring at my one framed photograph of my daughter, I suck on my pipe, sucking the shit out of the fat green bud in it. If my girl could see me now, puffing away, she’d be so glad to be without me. I’m living down to her expectations of me.
Bipolar expectations. Up & down am I. So very bipolar I am that my daughter has blanked me. Blankety blank. Never even a goodbye, simply ghosted.
It is beyond my choice but to receive a monthly anti-psychotic injection from psychiatric services. Damn that blasted depo! A royal pain in the arse. Supposedly it keeps me sane although I have been hospitalized for mania three fucking times this year.
According to Wikipedia, my medication is known to drive a strong desire for gambling, binge eating, shopping & sex. Ha! My crazy sex drive of the past year explained? And my new-found tendency to eat circles around myself??
According to my shrink, I need 2 years’ stability before I can consider coming off these meds. Two years free from hospital admissions. Can do! So I currently have my sights set on June 2022.
In the meantime, I must not get myself knocked up! At all costs! I do not wish to conceive a child pumped full of anti-psychotics!
Fingers, toes, arms, legs & eyes crossed my period arrives in due course! For I have been playing the gambling game with my fertility & my future…throwing caution to the wind in the sack with oh so many men since I last posted…will I ever learn not to be so impulsive?
For dating is the new dancing in my realm…hook me ups happily happening at the drop of a cheeky chat up line online….adaptation to life devoid of a dance scene, courtesy of COVID-19.
Faith In The Ripple Effect 