Oh dear

Things have gone nuts. Since deciding to stop using, I have been kicked out by my wife, with none of my stuff, and with the Old Bill hot on my tail! So I'm a homeless, penniless fugitive!

Things took a turn for the worst when I stopped using; I went through the rattle, which was ok, but interfered with family life, medicating with MSTs when things got awful. On Monday, I had no MSTs near me, so I had a hit to stop the sickness. Then told my wife. She went loopy and kicked me ut; I'd given her all my money at the start of the month, so was skint and entirely vulnerable, so rather than starve, I took her credit card and withdrew £230. It's my fucking money anyway, and I'm still grands out of pocket.

I've done some sofa surfing and floor sleeping, but am now in a hotel. I'm going to work, on time, clean, well presented and hitting my numbers, so that's ok.

I have a lot of bills coming up this next week or so; it'll be interesting to se how I get on. I'm still going to get clean, and do it on my terms.

Still, what a lot of fuckery...

I'll go into more detail later, but I miss my son horribly, I'm fucking furious that after 13 years, all my adult fucking life, my wife refused to speak to me about it sensibly (I don't mind leaving, it's fin, but I am livid about the aount of spite she showed). Then I had her father gobbing off at me. I'm proud to say I remained calm, and said I'd be happy to tell them anything they wanted to know. I'm less proud to recount that, equally calmly, I told him I'd drop him like a sack of shit if he spoke to me that way again. Regardless of who he is.

All of this is a massive trigger to go get smashed, but do I really want to? It'll achieve nothing, and I`'m broke til payday.