This week I’ve done a lot of flying in this bad weather QLD has been having. I flew up to Townsville, and then flew backwards and forwards to Brisbane, building status credits and getting my fix for flying.
I’m not sure if my mood changed throughout that, as I was too busy in the moment, and sore and achey in the late evenings and early mornings. It’s been a week of late bedtimes and early starts.
I’ve also had a bit of vertigo this week. Whenever I focus too long on something I become unsteady and the two times I’ve tried to have a beer or glass of wine that vertigo has come back hard. Is my liver fucked or something? Probably that big night at Marks.
I got back to the Gold Coast on Thursday. The rain had stopped falling and the floods in low areas were apparent, but it really came down hard again on Friday.
I also spoke to the Southport Parole Office, the people there really make me sick, they’re the lowest of the low. I handed in some papers to go to Marks flying birthday party quite a few weeks ago. For weeks they’ve just said it was pending, done fuck all with it, I honestly don’t think they even do any work there.
This morning I phoned up, still pending, but my flight is tomorrow, they’ll call me back though. Within a half hour they did, and denied my leave because it wasn’t exceptional circumstances.
So listen here Southport Parole, because of you I’ve now lost about $600 in flights and hotel bookings, I’m missing a friends birthday party, missing out on a big hobby of mine, and am now 70SC short of re-qualification, when I should have been fine with this weekends flying.
I’m not going to cheat your silly little system and go anyway, because then this anger in me would subside. I want it burning there so on Monday I can call your officers every name under the sun. I want it there so if I feel really shitty I can start cutting, making marks and showing a very visible displeasure in you.
As mum puts it, you’re here to punish me, not rehabilitate me, that’s lovely, but you’re only bringing the system down. I have friends who look out for me, care for me, they fly, they’re all older than me. But sure, don’t let me hang out with them, it’s much better for me to stick around home and think bad thoughts, killing myself and the like. That’s good rehabilitation practices.
Your system is a crock of shit, and from now on my trust in you has been lost. I know I have nearly 2 years of your shit to go, but I really hold a high hope that I’ll have killed myself before then.
And you know, I’d always thought my depression was mainly from a mental illness, but I’m happy to half attribute and dedicate it to you guys. I want you to sleep at night with my blood on your hands, because all you’re doing by grounding me on the Gold Coast is signing my death warrant.
Fuck you guys!