Throughout my two years of abstinence, the people around me continued. This pressure was of horrendous force. I had grown to hate crack yet each week it shared my space, tortuously insulting me. Driving a wedge between those still engaged who I loved and me and a straight life.
The office was all but complete when out of the blue and sent in innocent generosity, I got a letter. Inside were two large crack rocks and two large heroin bags. After a pipe I drove to london. From this point to now is the reasons I had to escape frome. The reasons I hurt and insulted everyone who made life here tenable. I had to destroy any chance of remaining. I had to stop any chance if further work for Rupert. What had begun as an opportunity to get my workshop underway had taken fifteen years off my creative vision and led to self medication to endure betraying my moral stance, my aesthetic purpose.
On return from London in the cottage I had moved to pipes were on the go. I got in to it for a few weeks. So angered was i by my fall back to crack I took an overdose. Whether this was a real attempt or a shout for help I ca not say. Seventy five times the recreational dose of methoxphenidine failed to kill me but left me unable to talk words, unable to walk.ni crashed about smashing things. Thankfully my partner saved me from section ing. Three weeks of psychosis followed. I travelled far in to the future, my mind entering a super speed computer like world where I travelled at light sped witnessing advanced technologies. Once able to walk I took to the streets where I bomded with Dook, a new husky cross. The townsfolk had formed mobs to chase me down for ritual execution. Crows attached me in flocks calling my name repeatedly, "skree, skree" telling the village lynch mob where I was. As the psychosis calmed I became a veteran from World War One, guilty I felt, too old to fight in this new war, watching spitfires return overhead. A dark period in a trailer park in America of synthetic waste advertising and bath salts and day glo lasted i a horrible I'll shaped room that altered size continually. Three weeks and the hallucinations withered. I spoke to my brother who wrote to Rupert. Unable to find help or understanding I stayed with my brother and built him a porch. Rupert payed me generously further in to debt. Further in to the trap. Further from realising any of my ambitions. His kindness a double edged sword. Money is not real. It can be made. Fifteen years, my strongest were spent making Ruperts furniture. A gradual erosion of my self worth. Straying from my path. This shame buried under drugs, the only way I knew to go against my instinct.
Research chemicals saw my crack habit replaced by the cheaper but far more dangerous ethylphenidate. I still have this habit. A new benzo addiction set in. My madness growing, like a boil. A time bomb.
Debt saw me trapped. This week after epiphany at both Glastonbury and Cley hill, alongside messages from a God I don't believe in. Messages so clearly targeted at me. The water toer eruption told me I had to either stay here and die. Or let rage and madness break any possibility of continueing here. I challenged the landlord after his threats, making counter threats. I told Rupert I could not continue. He took this badly. I became enraged, though owing sone money I had given fifteen years, betrayed my tru quest, suffered so much, nearly died in guilty suicide attempt. But money, bokkcases meant more than all this. It meant more than my life. Unrestricted, psychotic, I was freed of all guilt and responsibility. Perhaps I had let him down, but my life will not be given up for this. I have hurt my partner. Perhaps I am smashing here too. I know afterwards why I am smashing all return routes but I can see no ther way to ensure, for definite, my survival. I will die if I stay. I am not exaggerating for effect. I have to escape. It is not choice but need. Frome is a nice town. I hope one day Rupert understands. I really do. He is a clever man but with great wealth grows blindness and distrust. A suspicion of others motives. Elvis last days are a parable of wealth and its effects on trust. But he was a poor boy. Rupert grew up in this world where an understanding of wealths resulting responsibilities are taught. It isn't easy being rich and having a conscience. How one spends takes great consideration. As Spider-Man said, 'with great power comes great responsibilty'. Rupert was like an angel but I felt I had lost my way. Abandoned my hopes. Betrayed my true beliefs. Art was where my heart lay. Class roots saw joinery as a start. This enabled me to qualify for university despite a lack of school qualifications. I studied furniture but made art. The drift to furniture stopped my purpose. Reclaiming myself is essential. Years run shorter. So little time left and so much to do.
I find myself positive. Happy to be returning to my correct vocation. But guilty at how I have done this. I know illness of duration lies ahead but this price is my penance. My self belief is strong. I will achieve my objectives. So must begin immediately.
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