i am with someone i despise/ i despise this entity because it has abused me, let me down, hurt me, bad-mouthed me, ran to the nearest person for support when i needed hers (me having given her (sorry, it) six years thereof)...it goes on.../ my shrink thought i was with her because i had an abusive father/ i was (am) therefore trying to a) remain in a environment i'm accustomed to and b) redress things with my father through a, similarly abusive, partner/ this has some truth to it/ however, it occurred to me the other day that the entity also fulfills a mother role/ my mother failed me repeatedly, namely because she couldn't protect me from my father, but on other occasions she would take out her frustrations on me, being too scared to stand up to him and needing some release/ so this entity encapsulates qualities of pater, namely self-righteousness, an utterly delusional sense of saintliness, denial, lack of self-recognition (this applies to both ma and pater actually), and qualities of mater, e.g. letting me down, coldness, taking out her frustrations on me/ an example of this last, had she been bullied, as she was always claiming she was, at work (or latterly at the house she shared in finsbury park), she would take out her frustrations on me, never the perpetrator/ then when it would encounter the perpetrator it would be absolutely charming (indeed, i think rather fawning and obsequious) to this person/ so, as you can see, i'm a pretty sick guy/ if i told you some of the stuff she's done you would think 'why the fuck are you with her?'/ indeed once i confronted her about the things she'd done and, in a rare mood of honesty, she said 'i'm so sorry...why are you with me?'/ well reader, i know why...all too well/ but i can't do anything about it/ and so i'm trapped in hell...

moderate intake last night and again this evening/ last night one bottle chilean white wine (13.5 percent), tonight two rocks of crack, three bags of heroin, a half pint of stella, a single jameson and a bottle of italian table wine (11.5 percent)/ i intend to round off the evening with a quadruple brandy (p'haps twain) and couple more bags of smack/ very nice/ rolled around town today following my pipe, a sweet cloud following me through the rain-slashed streets/ i woke this morning with the worst head: vile clouds of depression fogged my brain, awful knives slashed me and i was left exhausted/ thus a chemical jaunt seemed inevitable and, as i floated up the incline in finsbury park i realised it was just what i needed/it has occurred to me this evening that inventiveness is the thing, creating something/ sitting around speculating, horrible thoughts ransacking one's darksome house of mortal clay, is no way to live/ well, it's a way to live, but it's not a good way to live/ my depression is manageable at the moment/ in fact, for the bulk of my existence it's been manageable/ when it became unmanageable i was truly terrified/ it's a whole new game and, because each 'game' is so idiosyncratic, one is left to the fucking wolves/ the period of unmanageable depression i endured was undoubtedly the worst period of my life/ i've had other bad patches and experiences but this was one long, unbreakable nightmare/ even a bad trip wears off in about 12 hours, but this was every fucking day and night for about two years/ and then i discovered heroin, and very rapidly my brain was restored/ currently drinking rum from the bottle and wanting to write more than i want to!!!/

my alcoholism is reaching what one might call the 'raging' point - i had already consumed many units last night (around 20: 4 500ml cans of k cider and an alco. pop called (i forget it's name)) when i stumbled across a box containing two bottles of wine and a bottle of rather good rum - thus i drank half a bottle of rum (rather worringly whenever i get phenomenlly drunk i spit blood in the morning (i hope and pray cancer of the throat is not waiting round the corner)) and passed out, again tearing my shirt to pieces...

i absolutely hate having to sit here, pretending to work whilst that mollusk of a mother of jo's fritters around the house/ how the fuck can it take so long to organise the removal of a few items/ it really vexes me/ all we want to do is relax and yet we are subjected to her blowing up and down the corridor like a piece of knackered tumble weed/

intake very moderate last night/ 10cls brandy, 4 500ml cans stella, 1 rock crack, 2 bags heroin, 6 hash spliffs/ blissed (or 'soothed') out on way home/ today woke with a fucking jones, thus imbibed the 30mls methadone i'd saved and scuttled up to north london/ once i'd my methadone supply guzzled a small lake thereof right on green lanes for all to see/ then no. 29 to the spot where i'd sadly only funds for one bag of the excellent just-off-white/ then home where smoked a tiny piece, did some work, acquired 2 500mls cans of k (8.4 percent) and now await the evacuation of jo's parents so i can get down to some serious god-damned smoking/

do i write well?/ some say yes/ i'm not sure/ i often find serious fault with my writing/ other, not so often, times i think it great/ when i write about something which excites me the product is invariably better than when i just try and write/ anyway.../ off to north london in a few hours for the obvious/ might drop in on a pal on the way home/ might even get one of each since the b is of such remarkable quality/ i smoked a tiny bit of recycle this morning and gouched!/ this has never happened before/ i would love to know the purity, but as aforesaid i imagine it in the seventies/ colour is a fairly good rough indicator/ the whiter the powder, the purer the gear/ and this shit is only a subtle shade off white/sipping a beer and typing/ off to north london at half four and am meant to help a friend pack up his belongings for his house move on saturday/ however will no doubt, once i've got, revert to junky type and lie my way out of the commitment so i can return home and sit smug and warm, ensconced in my little chemically-improved world/life is just so much more tolerable when you're high/ i hope a full relapse isn't imminent/ i've not been this excited about heroin since i first started using/ it occupies a considerable amount of thought space/ i'm just so excited having accidentally reached a not far off imitation of the holy grail/ i've fantasised about heroin of good, nay excellent purity since the age of nine/and now i have access to some/ i can barely express how it makes me feel/ purity of this kind is a myth, the sort of thing old time junkys say they've encountered maybe once in their long careers and speak of in hallowed, reverent tones/ and i have access to it/ perhaps is is a mistake at the dealers end such phenomenal stuff has made it onto the street/ after all they are not known for their benevolence and they could cut it by 50 percent and the average punter would be happy/so i'm a very happy boy/ if i had a permanent line on stuff of this quality i think a relapse would be inevitable/but i have no way of knowing this isn't a permanent line/perhaps dealers do it as an occasional treat to keep people coming back in the hope of getting lucky and scoring the good shit/ a gambling addiction juxtaposed with a drug addiction/ how many habits can one rack up?/ so i'm off to gamble this after/ should be fun/

fun yesterday/ only 7 500ml cans stella but plenty hash and some of the strongest heroin i've ever smoked/ i can usually smoke 7 bags and i'm fine/ yesterday i shared three with a mate and we passed out/ this particular batch is of ridiculously high purity, the powder almost white/ i don't know why the quality has improved so suddenly and dramatically/ it's been far better for a few months now, but the stuff i got yesterday was absolutely phenomenal/ what really surprised me was the effect it had on me/ i've been smoking heroin daily for three years now, my habit peaking at 10 bags a day, and of late my intake has been fairly high (typically five bags a night), so for a bag and a half to completely wipe me out makes little sense to me, but only because my experience of gear is relatively low purity stuff/ and this is true for most/ true quality's been up to 30 percent of late, which has been great, but yesterday i imagine it was closer to 70 percent/ near white and overwhelmingly powerful/ my mate was vomiting, but on the back of what he said was one of the best experiences of his life/ my heart and head both tingle with emotions (anticipation, longing, need, excitement, all tinged with sadness and worry, for the batch will run out and will it be as good when i score today?)/ i shall certainly get some more/ the quality is just phenomenal, the powder just off white and so fine/but it won't last for ever and so sadness comes in (but it does so like the tide, i guess, so whatever)/

moderate intake yesterday/ from 1600 on 6 500ml cans of stella and 2 20cl bottles whiskey/ imbibed 2 ltrs of mineral water prior to bed and thus woke with a not overly vicious hangover guzzled juice of two pink grapefruit and a cup of java with organic milk/ currently typing/ i'm in a better mood today/ pay due to us is to materialise soon, so i'm quite excited/ have not had any class a drugs for three days!/ must be strong/ have had weak inklings that i should clean up and loose some weight/ my average weight was 11 stone (10 1/2 at one point due to excessive exercise) till last summer when my boozing began in earnest/ francis (a friend with whom i lived last summer) and i would consume about a 70cl bottle of spirits each per night and atop that a bottle of champagne or wine/ i wasn't doing much heroin at the time but had a steady diet of party drugs (liquid acid, ecstasy, mdma, skunk, hash, coke) washed down with phenomenal amounts of alcohol/ i was working as a cycle courier last summer and francis and i and our colleague/mate dave would sit in clipstone mews, w1, awaiting work/ it was possibly the slowest summer on record and most days we'd do about 5 local drops, leaving the remainder of the day free/ thus we filled our time getting fucked, usually from about 0900 till the wee hours of the morning/ each night we'd go to the courier pub, the duke in ec1, and from there either a mates house or francis dad's flat (his dad was away all summer)/i was consuming ecstasy and mdma regularly and had taken up smoking marijuana again (i'd quit about two years before due to acute cannabis psychosis)/ when i read my accounts of my exploits i sometimes wonder how i'm still alive/ well the fact is, up till recently, i've always eaten very well and exercised alot/ i cycled everywhere till about eight months ago and then took to walking everywhere/ i also have an almost stress free existence/ true i'm often consumed with envy and anger but i sleep in till about 1100 every day, only drink one cup of coffee a day and don't smoke cigarettes/ i've, as aforementioned, put on quite a bit of weight recently, but i feel it wouldn't be hard to loose/ moreover i ran the mile home from the station in the sweltering heat the other day and didn't get out of breath, so i'm still pretty fit/ i was also a cycle courier on and off for seven years and for about two year a fanatical gym attendee/ i'd spend up to three hours a day in the gym, primarily lifting weights but also running and cycling/ i'd also do impromptu half-marathons (on the road) and eighty mile bike rides to my parents house in the country/ so i guess i've had alot of good which has probably retarded some of the detrimental effects of all the bad stuff i've entertained my body with/ but i'm also a big believer in the rejuvenating power of endorphins, and all the drugs and sex have released alot of those/so maybe i'll live to a ripe old age/ maybe i'll live long enough to become a decent writer/

my gut is perturbed by anger/ the bitches mother, the uber bitch, is here/ her existence is utterly pointless/ indeed the only point i can see to her existence is as some object of historical significance/ the more beguiling aspects of my charge's behavior i find adequately explained by her mothers behavior/ for example, the sheer selfishness of her actions/ on moving out her mother felt understandable homesickness and assuaged this with constant, often unannounced, visits to what is now our house/ when she did bother to alert us of her imminence it would be on the flimsiest of pretexts/ jo is heavily pregnant, but does her mother come round to check how she is, to clean or to cook or do anything productive?/ no, she comes and slouches around the house, in doing so deriving some tepid comfort, the height of her efforts no more than prodding boxes of her belongings which should have been moved out a month ago/ the other day, when jo was genuinely sick, the bitch, having promised to come over and cook, failed to turn up or even call to say that she was not coming/ fucking unbelievable/ thus, when she is here, to even look at her i find a fucking trial/ i cannot even go into some of the other things of which she's guilty/ i just find her sheer selfishness overwhelmingly infuriating/ i hate her with absolute and unchecked fury/ i also find the piety, which seems, invariably, to go with such behavior, makes the behavior itself even harder to swallow/how anyone can get to that age and possess such a slenderly developed sense of self-knowledge is quite beyond me/but what the fuck/ again, what difference does my anger make but to the detriment of my health?/ right, none/ unless i communicate it, but what good would that do?/ would it change anything?/ no/ would it make me feel better?/ certainly not/ so by recognizing this, this truth, i gain nothing but pain and frustration/ her family have always inspired me with rage, frustration and discomfort/ they are an extension and explanation of her/ to understand someone one must need look no further than their environment/ and she is horrifically easily influenced/ when she was working her colleagues we largely rather nasty, lonely, needy people, prone to unreasonable emotional outbursts/ and so while she was working there she was prone to?/ nastiness, neediness and unreasonable emotional outbursts/ now she spends all her time with me she is lovely/ i must sound horrifically self-righteous but i spend an enormous amount of my time being self-analytical and critical/ but just because my anger is not one-sided, is it justified?/ of course, but a course of action being justified doesn't necessarily mean it is the best course of action/ the best?/ the one with the best possible outcome/ and what is the outcome of all this anger?/ i need not detail the obvious/ so this justified anger is not the best possible course/ so i must change/ i must change my thought processes/ if i'm going to be self-indulgent, why not be profitably self-indulgent?/so, miraculously i've reached a positive conclusion/ i've been eminently aware for no inconsiderable amount of time that i'm a self-indulgent, self-obsessed bastard/ but i use what is essentially a strength, ironically(and in the proper, not bastardized, modern sense of irony), to my detriment/

how the days melt into one long annoyance/ sat. night consumed 2 pints, 6 500 ml cans stella and 20 cls whiskey and watched the stooges play glastonbury/ fucking phenomenal/ then slept long, waking with a crushing hangover around one pm before going for coffee and through the motions till collapse around five/ awake at seven i drank moderately (2 500ml cans stella and 3/4 bottle rioja) till 0200 and then retired but could not sleep/ thus i'm up at 0440 typing/ i think i'm experiencing very mild withdrawal/ for at least a fortnight i was tres flush and making regular trips to north london, usually picking up 6 bags/ thus i was smoking between 3 and 6 bags a night for weeks/ the methadone goes a long way to assuage the more pronounced symptoms but i still experience some discomfort/ however alcohol has a very similar effect to methadone so because i'm usually drunk i don't notice/ i'm currently not drunk so the symptoms are noticeable/ i cannot believe i ever tried to quit/ the pain is just too much/ in twelve months i went cold eight times and never made it further than four days/ usually after three i'd be craving sleep more than pain relief/ lying awake for twelve hours with my fucked up head is a rather challenging experience/but what am i saying/ all the symptoms of heroin withdrawal are equally and highly unpleasant and from them there is no escape/it is truly horrific/ add to that the fact that most addicts have had their fair share of pain by the time they're hooked and there is no convincing case for taking on at least a week's relentless suffering/rather despair often gives one the momentary gumption to decide to tackle one's habit head on but the reality of withdrawal soon wears one down to the point one would be gladly gang fucked by one's dealers for a bag/ an unpleasant thought but the unpleasantness of most unpleasant experiences pales into insignificance next to withdrawal/the rape would be unpleasant but a) one has kind of consented and b) it won't last long and then relief/ there is no relief of any kind from withdrawal/ if one could sleep it'd be a cinch/ but the physical agony combined with the psychological agony compounded by endless and acute insomnia is too much, particularly for the delicate and already wounded addict/ a life where one goes out of one's way thrice monthly to procure methadone is comparative bliss/and if pleasure be the avoidance of pain, all bliss is relative/