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I'm sometimes nostalgic ..
I'm sometimes nostalgic for the time I was going through morphine withdrawal while staying in my hot-waterless, internet-less, childhood-home-turned-trap-house-turned-squat.
I knew it was all uphill from there. I didn't realise I was yet to start pushing a fucking boulder. I was gifted a mini-fridge, bought a cheap kettle and a microwave (funnily enough the exact same model that we'd given away along with all the other furniture) and discovered such fare as instant pasta to go with my fresh vegetables. I didn't like tinned veggies, although tinned sweetcorn is OK. (Besides, there was a week or so where I couldn't eat anyway.)
I had a laptop, and people to help me through. I didn't know that they were about to abandon me.
(I picked myself up though. Still learning to really carry my own weight.)
Besides, it was summer, and I got to spend it where there was a beautiful garden; and comforting familiarity, even though the gas had been shut off. I had a sofa to sleep on as well. While I wasn't busy nodding out in the sun or shitting myself from dopesickness, I could buy DVDs from CEX and borrow comics from the library. Even a couple games from w/e the local game shop was.
Gravity, Armadeus, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Persopolis. Tried to watch Coming Out but my DVD was scratched. Bear City. The Night Porter. A documentary about some Dommes who worked together.
I'd discovered Queeer Cinema, so when I finally got internet, I also watched The Watermelon Woman.
I read some Sweet Tooth, Tank Girl, and a lot of Love And Rockets. The Luba origin saga shook me. What a thing to read while one's recovering junkie receptors are relearning what emotions are.
I played Prey (the original one about the Native American fighting aliens.) Some shitty point-and-click that wasn't worth remembering the name of.
And sometimes, the rollups would relax my muscles enough that I could stop my sideways jogging and sleep for a few hours. (And then I realised I had benzos.)
What should've been a low point feels more like a time of hope and simplicity.
I'm not beating myself up for "messing up my chance" right now though. That's good. I still have hope.