It's 04.53 but I've been up since 04.00 trying to access this bloody page. Woke with a freshish mind and had a clear idea of how I would start writing. This has now been totally blown to pieces as my head is frazzled with passwords, usernames, verification codes, and a complete lack of patience when one clicks and doesn't get what one needs.
There is something at the back of my mind dragging me towards an idea but can't quite get a hook on it yet and I suppose that's exactly what i was going to write about. Everything I'd hoped for in the past year HAS happened and I sat on my sofa yesterday afternoon, rolled up a couple of soft fleeces, wrapped them in a soft towel (an old con trick) and slept for three hours. It was glorious as I realised how much 'the madness' had started to leave my self for better pastures.
All was going swimmingly until last night when my Father and I had our usual (must stress it is usual been happening since I was old enough to remember) rage fuelled blow out over something trivial that turns into the same old argument of "you talk to me like a child." The problem with that little statement is - it isn't me saying it! The outcome of these flare ups leave me broken and the song lyrics "you make me wanna die" goes round and round in my head, over and over and it gets multiplied and infused with the knowledge that all of this re-integration and far reaching implications of my actions, is my bloody fault. Can see the pain, can feel the hurt the look that tells you - boy I'd love to throttle you for what you've done combined with God I so want to help you but my hurt keeps floating to the surface.
During the conflict resolution make up process by eating much of humble pie as apposed "to fuck you I'm done, you will never see me again" allows the restoring of sensibility - until the next time. This is what one used to do. Run, run to drink, run to Coke, run to women, run to another country, run, run, run only to return to run again. Done runnin. My ego, my id, my self has been shaped and nurtured by imprisonment and I see a lot of damage but I have to say that prison has helped me. We all know that, in prison, you can't run from yourself, one has to man up (or women up - that just sounds wrong) and that's what I was able to do last night which has, in turn, allowed me to leave here this morning, still smarting, but able to get on with the actual task of leaving the last six years behind me.
Funnily enough, one is not 'dreading' going back, more the opposite. Today is all about saying "this is the last time I..."
In a cafe in Botanic on the day that Obama came to town I sat with my friend and mentor, discussing my future and sharing life almost one year to the day since i had my first hours of temporary freedom. This time last year I sat in Cafe with My Prof, Pete, Raymond and discussed the Desistance event and my real time leaving prison experience. This was made all the more surreal by my brother happening to walk by the cafe. He came and joined us and we all chatted about life, crime and punishment, implications of Criminology and also plotted and planned and dreamed of change. It was a magical couple of hours. I spoke to all of these men at different stages of the day yesterday and our thoughts and plans and dreams and realisations are, believe it or not, starting to come together. This time next year we could all be Millionaires.
It's 05.35 now and I must get up and perform a ritual. Aha, not what you think. I must dismantle this bed so my brother can move it to my new house. This is the last time I sleep here, the next time I lie on top of this bed talking to you I will be free.
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