Category Archives: Drugs

Monday Morning Rant – Day 19 without smoking!

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Monday Morning Rant – Day #12 no smoking


I’ve been a grumpy motherfather! Day #12 today, the journey to being a non-smoker continues!

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Monday Morning Rant – No Smoking Day #5


My Monday Morning Rant for Monday the 8th of Feb!

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Day 4 no nicotine. All is good in the hood!

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I’m quitting nicotine, cold turkey!


I Quit!

Today is the day?! Just a note to self, for the diary, to make it public (in an attempt to hold myself responsible!).

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ZEN PODCAST 30 – Matthew Haynes


Matthew Haynes is the founder of The Design Conference.

What happens when you have 2 “woke” guys on mics over a couple of hours? This! DMT, polyamory, fakers, purpose, Indigenous rights and of-course, design!

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Update: Depression and Bipolar – Off the meds for 3 months


ZEN PODCAST #25.

In the beginning of 2019 I lost the will to live and was diagnosed with depression and bipolar 1. I was prescribed an antidepressant (Efexor) and Quetiapine for my manic episodes and went through 6 months of therapy (both a psychiatrist and a psychologist) to get back on my feet.

Despite doctors orders I stopped both medications 3 months ago and I’m feeling more alive than I have in a very long time.

This raw unedited recording is hosted by Matthew Schneeman, a New York based journalist and radio producer as part of his “A Year from Now” project where he interviews people who are currently going through major events, then re-interviews them a year later.

Matthew and I go deep into my case; How I got depression, how I’ve been dealing with depression and bipolar disorder, getting off the meds, how I’m feeling now and where I’d like to be a year from now.

You can find out more about Matthews “A Year from Now” project on his web site: https://matthewschneeman.com/a-year-from-now

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And I fucked it all up just to do it again

I’m not scared of anything, and after some thought… that’s really not a good thing. So many people in life lie about not being scared of anything, and the sooner they realise they’re full of shit, the sooner they succeed. 

Resistance in life is an awesome thing, it’s the negative that helps you define the positive. I feel like I’ve succeeded in life. I’ve done the hard work and I’ve shown up more than a few times (despite every fibre of my being telling me to back out).

A few years back I got to a stage where I just wanted to hop off the ride, there was no resistance left. I was done. It wasn’t until the night where I actually tried to end my life that I realised I couldn’t do it. I walked out of my house, no shoes on and headed for the cliffs by the beach. I only managed to get a few houses down the street before breaking down in tears. I felt like the biggest wimp in the world. I was scared. 

It’s been some time since then. I’ve gone through medication, therapy, gotten off the weed (I was smoking an ounce a week for a few years) and I’m now off the medication and back to square one. 

I was in a 3-piece grunge rock band in high school and we had a song called F.I.A.U.J.T.D.I.A, which was short for Fucked It All Up Just To Do It Again. At the time I wrote it because I was chasing after girls who might have liked me, but before too long I’d lose my shit, get too full on and scare them away. I was stuck between learning a lesson, and just trying hard to accept myself for being a fuck up, so just keep on fucking up. 

Right now I’m conscious of fucking it all up. I’m staring at a blank canvas. I want to go forwards not backwards, but I feel like in order to go forwards I need to redefine what I’m scared of in life. I need to find resistance in order to overcome it. I need to work hard to create opportunities that require me to show up.

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I was roofied in Vegas

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas… but fuck it. Ima share my Vegas story anyways as it’s something I’ll never forget and also a story that could act as a cautionary tale for those visiting Vegas in future.

A few years back I was in Vegas to cover the SEMA auto show for Toyo Tyres. On the night we landed we decided to go to a strip club. We were in a big enough group to get a private room (which seemed pretty cool but in retrospect was probably a trap!). At some stage I let one of the girls know that I was a photographer and that I’d shot with Miss CJ Miles when she visited Australia, turns out CJ was in the house that night and nek minnit CJ was on my lap.

Everything was a haze from then onwards. I vaguely remember walking around the club on my own like a zombie and I vaguely remember being on a couch with 2 girls who were taking $50 notes out of my pockets whilst I was trying to explain that heeeey, this is what Aussie money looks like!

I woke up the next morning on the floor just inside the door in my hotel room, naked, with the neck of my T-Shirt stretched around my waist, leaving the rest of my T-Shirt looking like a skirt. My passport was sitting on the bedside table next to the bed and I had lost my phone and ALL of my travel money (I didn’t have time to figure out how to use the hotel safe as we’d quite literally just landed and headed out!).

I had no idea how I got back to the hotel. I had no memory of the night before. I didn’t have a hangover, but felt fuzzy AF. It didn’t take me too long to realise that I’d been drugged.

I was pissed about losing all my cash, but I was super upset about losing my phone as I didn’t synch it with the cloud and that meant that I’d lost all of my cheeky private phone pics I’d snapped over the years. Fuck. To be honest I’m still really gutted about this today. I spent the entire day trying so hard to remember the night before but no matter how hard I tried to remember shit nothing came back. The boys let me know that the last time they saw me I was having a good time. I was with CJ and a couple of girls, my hands on ass, boobs, hands everywhere… but fuck it I couldn’t remember a fucking thing!

I spent that afternoon filing a report at a local cop shop. The lady at the station laughed out loud when I told her what had happened. “Happens all the time!” she said, “Every night!”.

The guys did mention that we were split up at some point and I’m pretty sure that’s by design so if you’re reading this, and planning to visit Vegas strip clubs at some point in your life, take heed. Make sure all your cash is in the hotel safe, leave your phone in the safe too. Stick together as a group and in case you do get roofied, bring a hotel card so they know where to dump your body.

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Getting off the meds

I’ve been on bi-polar meds (Quetiapine) for a year and a half now. Initially on a dose of 300mg/night, and over time I managed to reduce the dosage to 25mg/night on my own, mostly because I’ve never been into the idea of taking medication, if anything I’ve always seen it as a sign of weakness. 

When I was 18 my Dad was dying from cancer and I saw a transformation. He was a strong man. I’d even say I was scared of him when I was younger. He was a buddhist, but at the end of his days at St Vincent’s Hospital he had priests pressure him to convert to God. And that he did. As cancer ate him alive he grew weaker, and I took that weakness in a bad way. I was disappointed in him for giving up. When he died I took his strength and vowed never to be weak. 

I gave myself a deadline. Dad passed away at age 47, so in my mind I’ve had until 47 to do everything in life. I’m now 45 and it’s only recently that the hard reality of not being able to choose when it all ends has well and truly fucked me up. 

The meds knock me out about 30 minutes from when I take them and I’ve had solid 6–8hr blocks of sleep since, well, since a few weeks ago where I’m finding that one little pill isn’t enough anymore. I’ve had a sneaking suspicion that the pills do nothing more than get me to sleep, and the lack of sleep was what send me insane in the first place. A few weeks ago I tried herbal sleeping pills subscribed by a specialist (who was made aware of my situation), but they did jack shit. My local doctor has now put me onto a sleeping pill which he says that he would much rather me take than Quetiapine, and it’s been a rough transition over the past week, but I’m getting there, and have had a couple of nights of solid sleep on the new medication. 

I did a podcast recently with some friends and I didn’t entirely like some of the things I said, or sounded like, when I listened to it back. Listening to it back was like looking into a mirror for me. I sounded like someone who had given up. Someone with a lack of drive, someone who didn’t care anymore. I’ve lost respect for myself, and thus respect for others. I’m biting my tongue instead of speaking out. I’ve been choosing to do and be nothing. 

Being on meds has helped me to avoid hitting the low lows, but I’m realising that it’s also stopping me from getting the high highs… I feel like I’m somewhere in the middle now. Numb, flatline. Everything I’ve ever done of any worth (to me) in life has come from embracing the low lows and the high highs. 

So I’m now on a mission right to get off the meds in hope that I’ll find my drive again. Whether it works, or not, I’ll have to see. Either way it feels good to even be on a mission once more!

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