Getting Lost

I just realised how long it's been since I wrote anything herein ! I have to churn out two pieces of writing a week for my MA which leaves me barely capable of stringing a few sentences together...although..my taught sessions/ workshops will soon be coming to an end and I'm on my own to wrestle with my portfolio. I will need the idea of an audience to write for/to again soon.
I also need an outlet to spew forth my ire about that scourge of the poor and helpless..feckin
(anti) social workers. Travelling folk in my childhood rightly called em "the Cruelty".

When I'm not arguing about story arcs and sonnets in workshops, I battle futilely on behalf of disabled people who are vulnerable to the easy manipulation of the parasitical care system :- so called Social Services and the commercial "Care" providers they commission.

Just a tiny corner of a dysfunctional system:

Disaster happens due to incompetence at a variety of levels within the care system, regardless of whether adult's or children's services. The system is overloaded and fragile however the direct honesty and transparency which could address some of the failings is traded for stalling and arse covering spin.

Tell the truth - lose your job.

Government enquiry (ie a scapegoat is blamed and sacked , a new White Paper sets out recommendations)

White Paper recommendations and Human Rights over ridden by the bottom line of ruthless management of budgets slashed due to the destruction of our economy by bankers , lawyers and war mongering politicians.

I am supposed to drag confused "service users" around the county to be consulted at a series of fake head patting exercises which cruelly infer that people will be listened to, whilst using people to massage the bullshit monitoring.

I fail daily to protect the basic Human Rights of the people I work with whilst being sneered at by social workers who withhold information, use dirty tricks and play with people's lives as if they were dolls.

Up to now I've been learning how it works here, who the ones who control it all are. I've kept pretty quiet. It seems they underestimate me.

I'm keeping records. I'm listening and making extensive notes. I have my cameras and my microphones. He He He.

Keep you posted.

See my new bitch in photos....psycho terrier Bracken. The Poacher turned up with her one stormy Sunday night, wrapped in his coat with a death sentence hanging over her for ripping the ear off a Pomeranian.

The bed is mighty crowded these days !

Life still good.

In Plumpton Woods

Her long leap clears the beck.
A second, held by air,
perfect stretch of muscle,
carved from tail to muzzle.

Snout to scent, a second’s
calibration sends her
off in an explosion.
Hind to fore legs scissor,
drumming silently
to our muffled ears,
but deep within blackthorn,
far beneath, in tunnels
linking burries, soil falls.

Under an Autumn moon
silver etched hedges sway,
shivering, they whisper,
The midnight hunter’s prayer;

Wind blow our milky stench
from buck and jenny doe,
sweep away, breath and step
so silently we go.
Wrap cotton round the moon
and cloaks of black for us.

The wind, obliging, does.

Leashed now, she strains, eyes bright,
inhales the loamy night.
Held fast against my thigh.
both crouching low to stalk,
through damp long grass, ten yards.
We hold and then ten more.

I feel her silent yelp.
She tenses beside me,
I know to raise the lamp.

Another twenty yards,
in the hedgerow’s shadow.
The scuts of two, no, three
flick up, some freeze and stare,
eyes illuminated.

Ten yards, I slip the lead,
and her trajectory
describes a perfect arc
towards her chosen doe.
The others scatter wild.
It tacks from left to right,
panicking for cover.
The bitch stays on its heels,
coursing close,turning tight
abreast, she reaches, grabs
and fails, accelerates
with predatory grace,
turning so quick I fail,
to keep them in my beam,
for moments I am blind,
hearing the thrashing field.
I sweep the fatal light
in terror of her harm,
a broken leg or neck.
She can not stop her self.
I breathe as they fly past,
like beads on the same string.
She reaches, twists her throat,
already slowing down
the quarry in the turn.
Her jaws spring shut and lift,
a scream, her brakes are drawn.
Trotting back , she has to readjust
to hold the kicking prey.

Softly she lays it down
Without a single mark,
much gentler than the male.

I grasp it by back legs,
Pull the neck out and down,
until I hear a snap.
She comes close for petting.
I stroke her head and neck.
We salute the escaped,
and thank the fecund earth.
The moon is nude again,
revealing other paths,
and deeper in the woods,
beyond the edge of night,
we go.

Well I'm still here which is more than can be said than for some of the characters previously mentioned on this blog......The poacher managed to climb back on the wagon and spent a week in bed ill as hell with alcohol poisoning. he denied all the vile things he said when drunk ...which in short all referred to the ending of this relationship.....and though he never said any of the things a less jaded and cynical me would once have liked to hear, he did say he didn't want to be alone...and neither do I ...so we are still together...being kind to each other, never arguing , but me constantly waiting for him to inevitably up sticks and depart on an age appropriate adventure..which of course i could never get in the way of...

So I still do battle with myself..... Why am I always made to feel so clingy....all I ever wanted was to be in a relationship with someone who had reciprocal feelings and wanted to appreciate mutual care....I have my own life....my own friends....Is a loving equal partnership an impossibility in the 21st century ?
I'm self supporting, self sufficient......aahh never mind...I finally accept that for some of us (most of us ?) this never happens...
Well it does...and then it proves to be an illusion and is ripped away....
Anyway poor me blah blah.....it isn't that tragic.....just annoying....
So I went into battle with those that gave him drink...and battle lines are still drawn as far as I am concerned...he agreed he needs to avoid the parasites he used to call friends....and I have accepted that I can't police his every move and it is up to him who he sees...but...two individuals in particular I can't forgive..on my behalf not his...they laughed at my pain.....I shake when I see them....
and now one of the drinkin buddies is dead....at 41....due to drinkin and drivin..and suddenly this tragic sad and lonely figure has become everybody's hero......
I can not attend the funeral..it is a farce...the drunken friends battling with the mother about where he should be buried...shameful !
Once again I bite my tongue...I have been to too many funerals this year..

I took Roma home with me last night to kind of say goodbye. We had a long walk and she cuddled up on the bed with me. My brain sifted and shifted and the things he said and did revolved around and around. I tried meditation, counting back from 1000. In the end I got up and wrote him a letter.
He had promised to get the dog early before I had to go to work...I didn't expect him..he didn't turn up. As early as possible I dropped off his stuff, Roma, and the letter, which basically said we all have to face our demons or at least try and I couldn't do it for him and wasn't going to enable his irresponsible life anymore.
I always saw myself as weak for getting into drugs in the first place but I gave up heroin at a slightly younger agethan he is, and coke ten years later, both were an addiction, both fed my self destructive urges, and once I thought about it last night....it wasn't people being kind that made me strong enough to stop, it was real friends who told me my shit stank....I understand the dynamics and the need, but I had no one pulling me out of the shit everytime I fecked up, he has to grow a set.
I have to focus on my life, which I find incredibly hard- true to co-dependent form. I had to lock my phone in another room to stop myself from checking it every five seconds and resist the urge to get up in the night and drive around the places he might be to drag the bottle from his hand.
My friend pointed out a simple fact. If you run after an awol dog it will just keep running away. If you run in the opposite direction it will follow you.
I'm running.....let's see whether he can jump down off his cross and pull himself together, and if I can
resist worrying and wondering about him all the time, and love those who show me love in return.

t

Swerving and diving
you scuttle and creep,
hiding round corners,
avoidance techniques.
Duck every question,
pretend you don't hear,
fend off all contact
always unclear.
Lies coming easy
answers untrue,
twisting and turning
no holding you.
An outline so hazy
your'e just out of reach
I'm worn out by trying
not sure you are real
I need to untangle
because you can not feel.

I should have established the boundaries but somehow he managed to leave me hanging again...
I met him at his initiation -in a pub ! He didn't seem drunk but he was on something ( heavy duty downers it seemed like) and virtually incoherent so it was pointless. He admitted he needs to stop drinking but it wasn't very convincing and he's still full of self pity but oblivious to the pain he is causing to so many people. I didn't get so much as a half assed sorry...
He dashed off somewhere-he wouldn't say where or why after about ten minutes of throw away "of course I love you" blah bullshit.
Tomorrow I definitely try again and stick to my guns. He gets his stuff and a last wave.
If he uses it to justify going off on a bender, I won't feel guilty.
If he's looking for sympathy he'll find it between shit and syphilis in the dictionary.

I ate calzone at a big meal with my friend the Italian psychotherapist & family & friends last night and thank god they made me laugh at myself and remember who I am and where I've been and what I know...and what I need and don't need.
I worked really hard not to try and contact Poacher or find out where he was. There were messages from his family through the day about suspected sightings-good and bad which kept the tension notched up, as I drove a round trip of four hours of very windy moorland road and had my head pulverized by 7 hours of intensive advocacy training . I had to let my (very new) manager know what was going on as I was a bit wobbly and wired as I hadn't slept at all for three nights. In the end it broke down some barriers and a few people got a bit weepy at certain harrowing sections of the training...
Then the Poacher sent a terse text to say he'd be at mine at 7. I didn't know what I wanted other than to find out exactly what happened and as far as possible why....though I already guessed impending responsibility was a major factor.. I prepared myself mentally to stay strong..and not to give in to my inner hurt baby...despite the fact that by the time he arrived the butterflies were overwhelming and i was shaking.
I knew immediately that he was still drinking from his belligerent expression and the red spots on his cheeks. I was so disappointed. He went off on his self pity tirade and I just listened, despite hearing things that no matter how true or insane, were hurtful and sad...he hasn't wanted to be with me for a while and was too scared to say anything because I went on so much about the actor and how badly he'd hurt me ...and sadly it's true... he did tell me face to face in the end, he at least had the balls to finally do that unlike the actor..
I was sad of course but I don't want to live like this anyway. Unfortunately he wouldn't completely admit that him having a drink was the problem...he still pretended firstly that he hadn't, then that it didn't matter, then that he hated everyone and himself and no one cared etc etc...I was wanting him to break down and face up to what had happened....but he didn't.
I then offered to drive him and his clothes to whichever doss house he was staying in, and he hesitated.
He started to calm a little, and I realised that even though we won't be together it doesn't matter, what is important is that he doesn't continue to drink. I showed him photos on my laptop of before and after rehab, as Jack (cheers) suggested. I also suggested if he wanted to destroy himself he should do the decent thing, and get it over quickly, instead of drip by drip and hurting other people around him.
He asked me to keep his stuff until he'd sorted his head (?) out, I told a little fib-that I wouldn't stick around to see him slowly destroy himself and had a flight booked to tomorrow......and if he wanted his stuff he had till then to decide if he could grow a spine and face life without drink or slither back into the bottle.
I'll let you know.....

Ashamed of my weakness,
in showing my hurt
in screaming my anger
of feeling like dirt
your coldness disarmed me
your violence disturbed
your hatred and mockery
was so undeserved

So I wait for an answer
that never arrives
and try and remember
how to survive
this sense that I'm
drowning and barely alive

In less than 24 hours everything you thought you had can be dashed away.
I am totally heartbroken and nothing seems to have any point. I sit here in my empty house, no Roma no Poacher and I am stunned with grief and stupified by my naiveity.
Last night, our 6 month anniversary, 5 months since he came out of rehab, the Poacher went out to hang around with a bunch of drunks, he ridiculously calls friends, who I can't stand him being around...for obvious reasons...though he knows what I think I don't bother to say anything, he does what he wants anyway.
He didn't take a key and I had no reason to suspect he would be out for long. By 1.30 am I needed to sleep so rang him. He said he would be back soon, he sounded a little over earnest , a little guilty.
By 3.30 I rang to say I was locking the door. I got a throw away text in reply.
By 8 am I hadn't slept for worrying and rang again, he was arrogant and rude..still I didn't want to believe the truth. I asked him to come and get the dog as I had to go out. He didn't turn up, he avoided me all day interspersed with rude and explosive phonecalls.
I asked him if he'd had a drink ....he denied it. I went out for a while then came back and demanded he face me. I met him near the stinking pit he was in, he stank of booze and when I broke down he spat at me and blamed me for making him drink by checking up on him and making him look small in front of his mates. Drunks always seem to treat the one who does the most for them the worst.
I am devastated.
I have gladly given months of constant care, affection and support , especially in the early days before rehab when he was quite vile...though never to me. He looked at me with hard eyed blame and hate today and bounced me off a wall.
I am putting his things in bags to hide with his family, as all the clothes and gifts I have bought him will soon be sold for drink.
Why he did it now I have no idea, though I do blame the parasitic drinkers who wouldn't leave him alone...I'll deal with them when I see them.
I went to the drunks flop house where he is staying and told his hosts thank you for destroying two people's lives overnight, they and the Poacher laughed at me. Their smirking faces are burned into my memory.
I am in so much pain. Why did I ever think I was stronger and more appealing than the feckin bottle.
I don't want to abandon him but I don't have the strength to do this if he treats me as badly as everyone else. I can't stay here and watch him descend into a bloated, bleary, belligerent, broken knuckled animal again.
Feck them for what they did to him. And feck him for choosing a bunch of tossers who wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire over me.

Despite the precipitacious Summer, looking back at some photos demonstrates that there were some glorious days...and for once, not working meant I could make the most of them. It has been a great summer for me, giving me time to process so much and really take root here. I am in much better shape than I was when I arrived, blown in on bitter winds last Winter.
I have watched the estuary change daily, and revelled in every march and vista.
I have consumed vegetables grown from seed, eggs from chickens I have fed and treated for pernicious red mite. I have cherished and loved Roma from a tiny 6 weeks to her current lolloping 5 months. I have tried to love openly and remain myself, I have learned to love my friends more by letting them in more and giving more of myself. I have learned a lot and relaxed a lot. I miss some friends and have found others.
The poacher and I have been conjoined for 6 months and though not always easy in some ways....in terms of having to accept that it is temporary, it has been very easy in others and I have much respect for the strength of character and sweet nature of the man. To remain sober, whilst all around him are still drinking as their chaotic lives implode...he has done so well.
I stayed pretty much sober too..which allowed a bit of balance.....although I had one lost weekend in fancy dress at Solfest with my oldest friends, the highlight of which was dancing to Detroit techno at 4 in the morning between Buzz Lightyear, Wonderwoman (in drag) Hitler and Osama Bin Laden...much appreciated whilst in a slightly heightened state of awareness....( San was Bugs Bunny and I Tweetie Pie -see photos..)
I managed to be much more tolerant of the hippie thing......
I got my first speeding ticket....not bad considering how many years I've got away with it....
The Poacher and I are both working now, and maybe the pressures of that will affect and change our relationship....we will see.
I am working as an advocate for people with learning difficulties....challenging out of date and repressive practices is part of my job description .....yay...however we'll see how that works in the real world of accountants and funding streams......
My MA starts at the end of the month. Free loafing time is getting scarce...but at least the roof over my head is a little more secure.
We have another free food source in the form of the quality supermarket skip...more of that later...
The health issues I was so scared about earlier are resolved, my family well and on the whole I am so much more contented than I have been for years and years.
My greatest pleasure is to walk Roma and Bob together on the beach, and watch them run in giant circles across the sand, whilst the Poacher asks his unanswerable random questions about the universe.
Now all I have to do is generate the discipline to write when I'm happy......