Blimey, even just one drink can alter my mood, I’ve realised… so I may have to knock it on the Ed after all, it seems?

Juju, Pia and I saw the very talented Bone Band, starring Russ Stewart on vocals and keyboard, last night. Thanks Russ for the invite!

Thanks too, to Jo for again cooking for the Indifferent ( me ) on Monday, and for the Bennfs for visiting, to Cherie as always, to my new carer ( only temporary ) Miriam, to Victoria, to the Chiswick District Nurse. Good to catch up with Lal, and to watch Sody do her thing in Glastonbury today- she was just incredible 🙂

I’ve managed to pimp my wheelchair ride yet more today, relocating yet more bicycle lights onto it, as the nights slowly draw in and my bus lane trips are increasingly in the gloom. If a car crashes into me now, then it’s either deliberate or driven by the visually bereft….

Btw, Glastonbury is just brilliant viewing, and the older acts are definitely owning it this year. Well, except for Sody obviously.

The UTI was nipped in the bud, I’d say. No symptoms of depression or madness this time.

i also think that my ( almost ) alcohol free life is paying dividends. I don’t wake up feeling down, I wake up feeling realistic.

Yesterday was a bit of an adventure. I had a Council Meeting near Kings Cross. I had planned a route – Hammersmith & City tube line from Hammersmith, then get off in Kings Cross and travel by chair to Euston Road ( 0.6 miles )  – easy/ an hour.

I got to Hammersmith by bus ( slowly ). At the station  entrance  I was told that due to the Grenfell fire there was no tube running…. so I want across the road to the District Line, knowing that that way was far more complicated, via the few stations that are accessible to wheelchairs.

Plan was Hammersmith to Westminster to Green Park to Euston –  4 stations and 3 tube lines, each change requiring lifts up and lifts ( plural ) down.

The ‘ modern ‘platforms have raised area where the few  wheelchair space carriages stop adjacent to. In theory that’s  marvellous, except in bloody practice the driver doesn’t always do that. You don’t get long to get on, so I had a foot in height to mount, and a foot in height to dismount. A foot to me is IMPOSSIBLE without someone to help. I had my new carer, and guys that jumped up and assisted. It wasn’t the greatest experience…

At Euston, more was to come. There was no bloody lift!… from the platform to the street level! At that point I thought F*** it, I’ll take the escalator… now that route is both not allowed and obviously risky…. one slip and I go tumbling all of the way down… well I would if I let go, right?

On that basis, I wheeled on, and held on very tightly, the chair leaning back at 45 degrees, up 3 different escalators. Guess what, I’m still alive and now far more stations are suddenly accessible!

Go me….

Damn.

A lad of 23 posted on the Spinal Cord Injury group  that I belong to. He said that he’d been feeling suicidal for a while, and couldn’t get past it. He’s been paralysed since 17 years old. His profile pictures are all of him walking about and fooling around. There aren’t any of him post injury.

About a hundred people replied, all spinal cord injured ( you have to be to be in the group ). It is obvious that nearly everyone that has my injury gets these thoughts, regardless of severity of paralysis. Depression is an inevitable consequence of SCI. So many people have tried to kill themselves, or been on the verge of repeatedly. The ‘ survivors ‘ all broadly say the same things, that despair and loneliness exists even in a crowded room, and that nothing makes up for the loss that paralysis gives you.  There isn’t any compensation for the things that you are unable to do, but you do have to other things to fill the gaps, and do those things as much as you can, to distract yourself as much as you can.

So many are hanging on by their fingertips, and have been for years. There isn’t a bright light at the end of the tunnel, as there isn’t a cure for paralysis, so it’s a tricky place to inhabit, the world of SCI. Antidepressants are the norm.

Knowing that my own thoughts are ‘ normal ‘ for my circumstances helps a bit. One man employed his best friend as his carer, and said that was the best thing he ever did – I like that idea!

Today I have a lot of things that I’ll do – all good things ( all gap fillers )

My current carer hasn’t worked out – language barrier etc etc etc  – i end up ‘ looking after ‘ her ….another problem is that we can’t fit into a lift together. African ladies can have quite ample bottoms and corresponding stomachs to counterbalance,which makes them quite lengthy from back to front –  lifts are not an ideal place for me to be alone in, as getting out can be tricky –  so tomorrow I have a different one starting – let’s see how that goes.

It’s only since I’ve been online dating ( a bit ) that I’ve come across the question/ expression ‘ how’s you ?’

Forgive me for being grammatically particular, but ‘ how’s you?’ doesn’t exist in the English language, or at least not that I appreciated. It’s presumably short for ‘ how is you?’ so therefore not right….

So how come I’ve been asked it about 20 times online? Obviously I can’t help myself ( Tourette’s, don’t forget ) other than to say something  ‘questioning ‘ about this  phrase.

How can I have got to the age I am without ever having been asked ‘ how’s you?’ and then I get asked it all the time online?  Maybe I’m speaking to the same person,  who has 20 online personas?  That must be it – I’ve worked it out.

How am I, though?  I’m ok. I saw my daughters today,  which was a very good thing for me.

Eight hours at a party, surrounded by alcohol, continually offered it, and I failed…

Well, I had ONE drink, after about 6 hours – only because I hadn’t tasted rhubarb gin and tonic before.

The not drinking was easy, it was when everyone started dancing that I made my excuses and left – I miss that more than the drinking.

Thanks to Jane and Simon, to Kate, to Jo and Gary, but most of all to Sophie for inviting me. I blogged about this girl ages ago. She’s 16 and incredibly talented. Looks like I was right then – next Sunday she plays at Glastonbury ( BBC talent stage, BBC red button, on at 3.30 for 45 minutes), and then leaves for record signing deals in LA..  Along with everyone else that knows her, I feel very proud.

Look out for SODY – remember where you heard it first!

My slide into morbidity ( I now appreciate ) had been preceded and accompanied by a period of pretty consistent alcohol consumption. I’m no stranger to drinking, and pre injury there was no real downside- I didn’t even get hangovers that dented me in any significant way. Back then I was very stable, and had nothing to complain about, after all.

Now things are very different. I have lots to complain ( internally ) about, and I am not stable. Let’s face it… I’ve got a fair bit of shit going down.

I now think that drinking when unhappy is the worst thing that I can do. It doesn’t make me think particularly bouyant thoughts, and if I drink a lot it definitely makes me markedly depressed. The next day, things seem even worse, and of course then the temptation is to have another drink to cheer yourself up…. except in my case it doesn’t work like that  – it simply makes it / me worse.

A few days off and I have very much bounced back. I’m going to a party today, and it’ll be full of alcohol, as always. I’m not going to drink anything alcoholic, and I’ll see what happens. I think I have sufficient personality to not need the prop of alcohol, and since I already have Tourette’s tendencies, I m not exactly dull… aka a bit of a liability as it is.

I also ( at last ) see my daughters tomorrow, so I can do without being under a negative cloud to begin with.

Will I ever drink again? Of course I bloody will, but I think I now know when NOT to drink.

Obviously I’ll be healthier and less prone to putting on weight too, so it’s a bit of a no brainer as a choice, at least for a while.

🙂

Thanks to those who got in touch after my last desperate post, which doesn’t make fine reading. I could of course delete it, but then I’d be disguising my reality, and that’s not the point of this diary.

Today I’ve spent with Pistol Pete, Leigh, Cherie, Ian, Cherie, Toby, Sam, Dickon, Pia and Dan. Thank you so much all of you for your presence. The reality if my situation is that I’ve, out of intent and curiosity, after they’ve all gone, despite their obvious cheerfulness and love, investigated how hard you have to push a sharp knife into your neck in order to pierce the skin – and it’s actually very hard  – far harder than you might imagine actually.

It’s a weird thing the whole self injury thing – it’s obviously contra- intuitive and against all self preservation- and I can certainly testify to the fact that killing yourself isn’t easy to physically do, at least not in a calculated way. I think that bridges, level crossings and tube trains give you more certainty and spontaneity, whereby the end result  swiftly becomes some other person’s trauma ( not good for them, tho by then it’s too late to feel any guilt.

i will therefore journey into my fifth post injury year, not presently knowing why I’m really  bothering …

Good to get a message from my family ( Alwyn ( brother) ) today.

im on the left