I don’t do the blogger award thing as a rule, I worry about the exponential growth inherent in such systems. Do the math; if every blogger given an award nominates seven other bloggers, and they each nominate seven more and so on, then within two weeks, every WordPress blogger on the planet will have received that award (there are over 72 million WordPress blogs). Within a month, we will have all been nominated over a 100 times.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I love being nominated, I love having my ego stroked, (although I prefer to have it sucked,) and I get so flattered that I have to jack off every time I get a nomination, and that’s the problem, too many awards and my ego would just collapse under the weight of all that love and I would most likely be discovered dead by my cleaning lady, having drowned in my own semen. Not a pleasant clean up job for anybody, as I’m sure you can imagine.
However, today I am making an exception and not because I think I am worthy of the award but because of who has nominated me: the wonderful Gypsy, author of the outstanding Through my eyes: Adventures in Borderline land. Her blog truly is outstanding, unlike my trivial and masturbatory attempts at entertaining you, her blog is a powerful, poignant, heartfelt and heart-warming journal of her struggles and victories over Borderline Personality Disorder.
Gypsy nominated me for the “Outstanding Blogger Award”, the rules are as follows:
- Thank the nominee.
- Share something important about yourself.
- Nominate other bloggers.
Thank you Gypsy: your blog is just awesome. It is straightforward and honest and bursting with emotion and you have helped far more people than you realise by documenting your life so bravely. Thank you.
Thank you also for encouraging me to write this next bit. Its about something I’ve never written about before (well not publicly) and if it weren’t for you, I may never have.
Something important: I was an addict. For years, I threw a large chunk of my adult life down a big dark hole. I have never written about it before because I still carry a lot of shame for having wasted so much of a life who’s every second should be savoured and not squandered.
Addiction nearly killed me, it turned me into a liar and a thief and a cheat and a rascal. I lied and stole mostly to and from the people that loved me the most, well, who tried to love me anyway, its not easy to love someone when they hate themselves. In the end I drove everyone away with my snivelling self-pity and misdirected anger.
Every day I would wake and promise myself, ‘no more’ and every day, before noon, I would have failed. The failure sapped me dry Every day, month after month, year after year, failure after failure. I lost all faith in myself. My soul nearly disappeared, I nearly extinguished my own humanity. In the end there was just this tiny, flickering spark of it left, cowering deep inside me.
One day, I decided to face my demons head on. It was that or die. seriously. I tossed a coin: heads, I go seek help (again), tails, I end it all. You can guess how it landed, and I re-entered that mill of detox and rehab and therapy and those fucking rooms. Somehow it clicked, and is still clicking five years down the road. Maybe it was because I had driven everyone away and had to do it on my own. Maybe it was because I knew the alternative was to die, but actually I think it was because I discovered the true nature of my demons. They were not the fearsome devils of my nightmares. They were not powerful angry, ugly monsters. They were me, me when I was young, and hurt and sad, the neglected me and the scared me. They were little me and they hurt. They didn’t need battling, they needed loving and accepting.
I didn’t really change, and I’m still a complete shit-bag – just ask any woman I’ve ever dated – I just learned to accept me and enjoy being me, love me even. Life hasn’t really changed that much either, there is still as much sadness and pain as there ever was, but there is laughter and love too.
Nominate other bloggers: I’m not going to nominate anyone else for this award, and its not because I don’t want to, its just that I don’t know who to nominate, because I never actually bother to read any of the shit you all write.
Thanks again to Gypsy for the honour. Everyone please visit, like, comment and follow her wonderful blog, or I will have you brutally killed and your corpse fed to your pets in front of your children.
ron and i used to work as a team. he’d help get me girls and i’d help him get boys. we had a whole bunch of routines worked out. at least one of us would nearly always get laid and often both of us would. occasionally though neither of us would get any, usually when we’d got too wasted and spent our night losing money on the pool table or chucking it into one of those machines that lets you play commando with a bright blue plastic gun.
on such nights, we used to hang out in these neat under-the-railway-arches clubs in vauxhall and would often wind up at his flat in clapham, or balham, or one of those places. It was a one room flat: kitchen, living room, bedroom, all rolled into one, and I generally crashed on the couch.
one night ron says, “why don’t you come sleep here?” in his big double bed – and i have to confess, that the smell of those freshly-washed, 700 denier, egyptian cotton sheets was appealing. i climbed in next to him, half expecting what was to come.
he began to run his hand softly over my back and i turned to face him and we kissed. the sensation of stubble against my cheeks was a new one to me but not unpleasant. he was a great kisser and i was surprised at how easily i had become erect. he pushed himself close to me and our cocks pressed into each other, his was magnificent and i could feel it and throb against mine. I took it in my hand, feeling it pulse and bulge and began to kiss his chest and belly. He pushed playfully at my head, urging me down towards his rigid member. I kissed it and ran my tongue wetly along its length and then slipped it into my mouth. ron pushed my head down onto it and fucked my face roughly, telling me how much the sounds of my gagging turned him on. we were not there to make love and he came quickly and powerfully, his cum spraying the back of my throat in long thick spurts.
we kissed briefly, him enjoying his own taste on my lips, before he went down on me. he knew exactly what to do with a it and worked my throbbing wet cock expertly, using all his mouth, his lips, tongue and even his teeth to bring me to an astoundingly strong orgasm, shaking my whole body and rattling the bed. he pulled away as i came, it’d been days since i’d had any, and i splattered his face and open smiling mouth with hot sticky cum, gasping and panting and trembling as i did.
we kissed, finished the joint in the ashtray and fell happily asleep.
She was my best Faecbook buddy. We’d chat for hours and play silly games, like pick a music genre and then pop off to You Tube and smother our own and each other’s walls with music. Sometimes we’d find some banal or bigotted discussion thread and just bombard it with surreal comments.
When she had her internet cut off, I was lost. I didn’t know what to do, so I dug out some envelopes, stamps and a pad of paper and posted her a letter. I didn’t know what to say, so I wrote “Kyle poked you.”
My mate Karl is an ass. He’s sexist and racist and a homophobe. He is, in fact, an all round bigot. He works in what he refers to as ‘security’: what he means is that he throws drunks out of clubs for a living.
He refuses, point blank to go down on a woman, he says its disgusting. Wait though, it get’s worse, because although he won’t perform cunnilingus, he’s quite happy to recieve a blow job. Sometimes I want to slap him, but he is three times my size. And, it gets worse still; if a woman has sucked his dick, he won’t kiss her afterwards.
We get high together, a lot, and we play video games. We play Tekken and he has beaten me 823 times. I have beaten him 12 times, but I have enjoyed every one of those victories more than he has his, and he refuses to play me at chess, ever again, checkers and tic-tac-toe too.
I was a bit worried about posting about him and using his real name, but then I remembered, he thinks reading is gay.
Why am I his friend? Because we’ve lived round the corner from each other for 20 years, I guess, and we support the same football team. Mostly though, because he is always happy to see me and always greets me with the biggest, most genuine smile that you could ever wish to get.
Janet won’t answer my calls.
Because I stood her up on her birthday.
Because I got tickets to the game. You know that, we went together.
I didn’t know it was her birthday.
Write her one of your poems for me. Chicks seem to like that bullshit.
You write her a poem.
I can’t do that shit, its gay.
Then say sorry with a romantic gesture?
What? Like flowers?
Or something original maybe?
Chocolates? I don’t want her getting fat. What would you do?
Not stand her up on her birthday?
I was being serious. Er. I’d cut out a thousand paper stars and post them to her.
Well do that then.
Ok, but do I get to fuck her if she forgives you as a result?
Wanna play Gears of War?
I have friends online that I can share things with that I can’t with my offline friends.
I have fallen more deeply in love online than I have offline.
I have had sex online that was so good that it knocked the socks off a lot of the sex i’ve had in a real bed.
I have made friends online.
I have hurt people and been hurt.
Touched people and been touched.
Met people I never could have otherwise,
Met people that I hope I know forever,
Met people I hope I never hear from again.
I have felt like I live on a planet not an island.
I have seen things I never should have,
And seen things that I am so glad I have,
that my life would be smaller without them.
Is this the future?
Is this how we live our lives now?
I fucking hope so.