#teacigsandcuts

[d-trashbandicoot]

mira („pokój, spokój, dobro”)

[d-trashbandicoot]

Oh shit, the bipolar manic obsession is becoming the occult again...

[d-trashbandicoot]

The last 4 years : A retrospection (part 3)

Now the house was empty, yes, but I had friends here to hang out with. I think I had also brought my PS4 with me. I was there for two weeks and yet I cannot recall much. As a matter of fact I cannot recall anything from memory. Not with certainty. I think; I went surfing at one point, I would’ve met my closest and oldests friends, maybe a night out, many hours at the old coffeeshop which doubled up as a queer second hand bookshop. But I cannot say for definite. My memory is hazy, as is often the case on these down swings. Somehow, once again, I ended up moving to Glasgow. The only reason that remains for that choice was convenience. Was it a mistake? 

Yes. Definitely. I could’ve resolved that situation much better. I could’ve been back in Bristol and getting on track after Jersey. But no, we got hooked on Mitsiki’s Brand New City. 

“Guess I should move to a brand new city, and teach myself how to die” 

Those words resonated. Now Glasgow wasn’t exactly a brand new city, for me, but then again I hadn’t really lived much in it the last time I was there. I guess maybe it was also the pro trans stance that Scotland offered that enticed me. Not that it mattered after I went down the DIY route. This time I told my parents my plans the first week I was at home. When they returned, I spent another few nights there  and made my way to Glasgow. And yes I left with yet more of my crap from my home, because I had decided that Glasgow would be there for good. I had found some courses to get into a Paramedic degree and thought it was enough. I thought I’ll find work and figure out the financials later. 

In reality I was still caught in the rip currents of the mood swings, and the change of self medication regimen didn’t help matters. 

My first month in Glasgow was tinted by the excitement of a new place. However once again even though it is the most recent time I seem to remember a lot less than of my time in Bristol. 

At some point I had picked up my first job doing deliveries for Amazon. The commute was between 1-2 hours with all the waiting times. The job was fine at first, I got to drive around, see new places. I started on Nursery routes, that’s what they call the routes with less stops to give to the new starters. Even on these I found myself always having someone pick up packages from me. Pretty soon as my loads increased, I was unable to complete them. I was doing 14 hour days,10 of which for driving. I was allowed 1 break, but never had the time to take it. In hindsight it wouldn’t have mattered, but I had hoped that it was just a case of getting to know the route. And once that happened I would get my working hours done much quicker. It was pretty clear very soon that it would not be the case. The worst of it was not having access to a toilet. And with the places I was delivering to, there wasn’t anywhere to go discreetly. Except for the back of the van, in a plastic bottle. It was only a matter of time before the mixed episode started. 

And then right on cue, I reversed the van into a bollard. Hard enough to bend the bumper into the back door and prevent it from opening. The worst of it was that it was a hire van, not a company one. The entire day fearing the consequence under a mixed episode only to drop it off and not hear anything from it. It wasn’t long till I snapped. One day I was going in, and only saw the message that my shift had been cancelled once I was on site. Not that it mattered, I took a bus to work that day, which only stopped at the business park at the top of the industrial complex before going on to Edinburgh. Now I was complaining too much, I was dreading the work. I walked down to the train station and went home. I had started dating someone at the time I started working too. That kind of kept it going. But alas I was growing too attached to this person, and I don’t think they wanted that. Then after the break-up, the next thing I know, I'm sending a message to my boss to say I’ve relapsed and can’t come in. He said he’ll be in touch but I would never hear from him again. 

And so here we were again. Jobless, single and in a pit of despair. 

[d-trashbandicoot]

I remember wanting a portable CD player soooo bad.

Instead I got one of these nifty little things and omg I miss it so much.

The Walkman NW-E003 (it took me an hour to find this exact model) I had the purple one.

It's literally just a USB stick with a play button, and honestly it was the peak of MP3 players.

What was your first source of portable music? Walkman? CD player with headphones? MP3 Player? iPod? Phone? 

[d-trashbandicoot]

The last 4 years : a retrospection (part 2)

The first few weeks I couch surfed between mates and a hostel dorm. After I found a place to stay for a month, I doubled down on the job hunt. I stumbled on something that I never really considered before, Emergency medical services. Best part of it was no experience or qualifications were needed to apply, but the First Aid quals I got from my last job got me a shift pretty quick. The rest as they say is history. The work wasn't for the benefit of capitalism but for the people. It also came with training up to a Paramedic, which was one of those odd shift jobs that would also make it easier to get work abroad. The job that would take me to Aotearoa.

You may recall the pact I made with myself. 10 years of sticking it out, no agenda in between, just get something that will take you there. As of today I think it comes down to 8 years.

With the job secured I searched for another place to rent for the month. This was to get more time to find a more permanent abode. 

But nothing came. 

And so again I found another short let, this time to a place for 2 months.

Those two months would be some of the best I ever had. It all seemed to line up perfectly. The job worked in harmony with my lack of a regular sleeping pattern. I was both an early morning and late night person regularly. I saw the sunrise almost everyday. My friend was also leaving their place in time for us to get in on a two bed, and we had plenty of time to find it. I was alive and I was thriving. I had finally found that circumstantial serenity I was always so desperate to find. Now this disorder was nothing more than an additional personality trait, an unwanted guest that you have to entertain whenever they call, a simple understandable nuisance.

Or so I thought.

As the date for my move-out approached, the likelihood of finding something permanent started to look slimmer. At this time I had agreed to go look after my parents' place back home, and doubt started to fill my mind. This happened to be put off briefly when me and my friend went to view a place. It wasn't anything to boast off, but it was fit for purpose. After the viewing I called the estate agents immediately to say we would take the place. Then within 3 hours I got a call to say the landlord changed his mind and was no longer renting the place privately. That was the call that fractured me again. The mood would start to plummet.

My mind attacked the only unhealthy part of my life, the Drugs. I needed rehab, I was going too hard, too often. In reality, it was no different and more dangerous than going to the pub every weekend and binge drinking. Well except the legality of it. But all the drugs I was taking were also being looked into for mental health treatments. A poor justification for recreational use, but whatever. We all got vices. It is only human to want something to alter the senses to ease pain or explore new experiences. My mind disagreed in the end, like the catholic headmaster who just you and your mates smoking a joint in the park, it launched a fear mongering campaign against me to the point it won on that front. I was now convinced I needed to go to Rehab. I had two weeks to try and find a place if I was going to stay and I had to be home 2 days after my move out date. And then it came. The bones screamed, the body ached and the skin felt like a parasite. Nothing but despair and pain was left in my mind. And then memory starts to fade. I don't recall very well what the motion of events was at this point. It was all brief moments, one at work one putting all my stuff in storage. The next moment I was home, in Jersey, alone. 

[d-trashbandicoot]

The last 4 years : a retrospection (part 1)

I guess looking back it wasn’t the running away that saved me, it was the time living the easiest way available. All these years growing up imagining the way the real world would be. Unaware that my mind was skewed, biased, against me. There was a simple reason for the way I felt. In between; the bouts of youthful despair, in fear of there being nothing to live for in the future, and the moments of overzealous joy, where the world was so bright and full of hope.

Perhaps it was this reason one would always return to Star Trek TNG and Avatar TLA, in the darkest of times. To remember that fleeting feeling of hope. To grasp at the last threads of love and humanity.

In my bipolar support group the other day I brought up the idea that if there was ever a magical cure all of a sudden for bipolar, I didn’t think I would take it. I’ve ridden this bull this long and boy when the adrenaline hits, sure life is sweet. Granted at the lowest it is normal to question whether one's ride will end violently this time under the hooves of the bull.

The topic shifted onwards and we ended up on the truth that this illness, in part, cranks the emotional feelings and reactions up to eleven. Our emotions hit us so strongly, we often feel more than our "healthy" peers. And whilst the downs may be horrific the ups are emotions many could only access with by intoxication.

Alas, it is my circumstance of being a middle class Nepo-baby that has not only kept me out of institutions but dragged me along to get where I am today.

That paragraph makes me sick. But I guess that's where my illness festers these days. The only valid target of the darkness. Capitalism and its proprietors. Those who put profit above life.

At this point I have repeated the last 4 years to so many as a quick snapshot of movement. I have also written plenty on the past around the time of my diagnosis. But I never really looked at the 3 years of healing that I did. At the time it did not feel like healing, but hindsight also makes for pleasant surprises. At the time it was about survival, just finding a way out from that godforsaken tax haven.

But it gave me what I needed. Stability, schedule and money. All I had to do was go to work each day, keep my head down, get through the day and then I'm home. On the couch with the family smoking weed whilst watching Tv. Except half the time it would be football. That made it very easy to let the THC work its way and process my past, present and future. In the presence of my own family I have spoken thousands of words to myself. My change was happening right in front of them, in my mind, and then never even knew. After all, it's not something a mother should hear of her own child. At least not till I could say I truly know myself. Not till I knew where I began and where the affliction ended.

Now, many times these introspections were triggered by the theme of the film or show we were watching, or the news. The news was the worst. And for the latter year'n'half I had to work in an office with bloomberg or some other 24/7 financial news channel.

I would say this was also spurred on by the DMT I brewed and drank back at Uni. The cannabis had started to bring up the elements of the trip and each night I was filled with I get it now moment. At least that is how it feels now after another year and 5 months of moping around the mainland.

Realistically it wasn't every night, no...

surely it couldn't have been...

Whatever it was, it worked and kept me going. When the family dog died I felt the weighted reason to stay, on that island, go. A deciding factor, the thing that tipped the scale was removed and now the scales swung to the other side. So I decided to leave..

Consciously, this time. Mulled it over for some time, although my mind was set. I went to Bristol for a weekend and told my parents when I got back, that this is my plan. We talked, they had reservations and it felt like a battle. In the end I felt as if I had offended them, betrayed them in a certain way. More so my father, I think my mother understood. Her prime concern was for my welfare, his was more focused on financial stability. After 2 more months I left.

[d-trashbandicoot]

We are so fucking bad

Says the darkness in my head.

A simple motion. Just a quick slice.

Somehow this knife is held against my neck.

Looks like it may be time to clear the house out from sharp things.

[d-trashbandicoot]

Turning 25 (March 2024)

I’m getting really good at these summaries so heeeeeerreeee’sss anotherlifeupdate

What’s been going on you ask ? Well just the usual bipolar motions, work, impulse hire a car and drive to the northern most point of Scotland. Loose the job, go away for two weeks to Florida with your mum , omit key life changes and situations to your mum. See how your aunt embraced the US lifestyle and meet all her bourgeoisie mates. Get home, proceed to R Ö T for a week. Go see a Van that definitely belongs in the scrap, get hung up on buying it. Start buying tools to work on it. Dont tell the guy you’re gonna take it. Start looking at how the fuck you’re gonna make it work!

It’s a LT35 from 06. Was run on veg oil before soo I know it works. The rust is concerning. Could be only surface and it’s a little gem, buuttt looking at the state of the exhaust(or the rusted remains and the lack thereof) hopes not good. But money’s right now. Real fucking tight, and this vans only 700.

Mind it’s gonna cost another 2k to get all the admin stuff to get it on the road! (Insurance and tax) it’s been sorted for a year and no MOT (obviously)

And I’ve got no where to work on it! I’ve seen many work yards around so hopeful ya know but still.

Plus side it comes with a shit ton of parts.

Anyway stay posted, wether anything happens or it just all fizzles out

[d-trashbandicoot]

Here we are again

Rotting somewhere far away

In the dark, the mould takes over my clothes

The mind decays, spurred on by a constant flow.

The violence, the suffering,the pain out there, reverberating inside my head with no way out except for death.

[d-trashbandicoot]

2024 January 1st 21:24

Lisboa - Home Hostel

And so 2 weeks have come to an end. Back to Scotland tomorrow. No weed for the past 2 days and it’s starting to show. Even the hash hasn’t had the same effect from the past 2 weeks. I find myself sittting alone on a terrace overlooking a back alley, surrounded by spider and money plants. Another year, another lass to melancholy over. I’m lost again. The next 5 months are going to be long. Gotta save , start working on the van and most importantly work on myself some more. It’ll be 7 months on HRT at that point. I’ll be a different person by then. Change is inevitable.

I should be in Bristol at that point. Floating around the southwest. Working, training, living. But will I still feel the same way about her ? Will she feel the same way about me? Only time will tell.

Everyday I regret not making it final. Now I’m stuck in the purgatory of love. Like a soldiers other half, uncertain of their return. Do I move on now, or do I hold on. And what if I move on and she doesn’t. Let’s not forget the last one was in our minds for 4 years. Until I finally picked up the CDs.

Her last words to me echo in my head, her visage plagues my dreams. I wake up in the mornings distressed to find an empty bed. I take hours to fall asleep, missing her touch.

And underlying it all is fear. The fear that I’m simply kicking the can down the road. I’ll get there and it’s not gonna happen. I try to convince myself I’m prepared for that. I know it’s a possibility, yet the idea of that happened is devastating.

Stuck in purgatory,

Still so in love.

I hope I’ll see her face

Brightened by the rising sun.

A tough road ahead

All the characters around me

But the only one I need

Is nowhere to be seen.

It’s got to be the hundredth time

I’ve thought of her again.

Stumbling through full streets

Hiking in the quiet woods.

Let the smoke connect me

To the love of the trees

I have found myself

Only to see myself lost

Not in my own head now

But in the world ahead

[d-trashbandicoot]

Sure bipolar’s great, it’s free entertainment, and makes for a cheap night out…

Until you get scammed buying weed. Then you start thinking of cutting of the scammers fingers, removing the bone and making him smoke his own superglued herbs using the severed finger as a pipe.

[d-trashbandicoot]

Past the end of the world, I would still follow thee…

[d-trashbandicoot]

The only constant is impermanence

Only eternity is found in the void

[d-trashbandicoot]

Tbh these days, I see that I identify as a tree on most days.

[d-trashbandicoot]

OF Trans girls are second gen soviet sleeper agents. Follow the money.

[d-trashbandicoot]

Wait a minute, I’m not posting my thoughts…

I’m just doom scroll reblogging the things that bring forth an emotion, so I can come back to a doomscroll on my own archive when I’m feeling down.