Who me?

Been thinking about the me before gear. Have I forgotten who I am? What has a decade of emotional suppression and retreat done to me?

I remember being so fucked up that I forgot my name for half an hour, mad magic mushrooms. Escaped from the squat because the hippies were turning into animals and when I hit the street I remembered where I was and my name. Big fucking relief. Had to go back the next night to apologise to the hippies for being so fucked up. Anyway.....

Spent the last ten years removing myself from society, cutting social ties and retreating into my heroin soaked non existence. Everyday the same, every night the same, me, melted into the armchair, zoned out on TV I never remember. Hit after hit after hit, day after day after day. The wasted years, years and fucking years of it. Years I won't get back. Tears in a bucket, motherfuck it.

So now I'm forty and I'm clean and I'm not comfortable in the company of strangers, not comfortable with people full stop. I've spent so long fucked up on junk I need to learn whole sets of social skills. Your correspondent is a social cripple. I need to push myself into places I don't want to go, learn to engage, need to engage , must engage. Hold the tree of life and shake the fucker until my future falls out. I want a rich life full of the joy of living and the tears of loss. If reality is between my ears then life is other people. Push myself to engage and each time it will get easier, become like muscle memory.