This is a story about irony...

So, I've had a busy week or so. Predictably, my rocket fuel sent me loopy - mixed state, to use the technical term, which is both high & low - which meant the sensible thing was to stop taking it. Me being me, that meant immediately, without the advice of my doctor. Pain is only temporary, right? You might say that this weird psychological state was the reason I made some pretty big life decisions; took extreme action; said some regrettable things. I have 3 big gashes down my forearm, I was seen by two Metropolitan police - who are always brilliant, even when they're arresting you (no arrest this time though) - and my psychiatrist, who wants to put me in hospital (i.e. section me) if I don't agree to daily home check-ups, but she's very nice about it.

The time was about right to get obsessive about something that's going to put pounds in my pocket. I was supposed to leverage a bit of hypomania to get the hell out of bed and either get a new contract, or work on a super cool project that might be really profitable. However, trying to harness the beast is crazy idea - when it works it works; when it doesn't, the destruction can be devastating. I did not harness the beast.

I've gone from 14 hours sleep a night to an average of 2. That can't be helping matters.

In 3 weeks time I hit zero: £0.00. No more money for rent next month, no more money for bills, no more money for anything that can't be put on a credit card, and even then, it's hardly a solution, is it? Also, I'm £6k short on my tax, due at the end of the month. Basically, I'm now insolvent.

So, what does one do in such a situation? If I could start back at work on Monday, or a week later, with the company I was contracted to in Jan/Feb, I could just about escape, by the skin of my teeth. What are the chances of them placing me with a client, within 9 working days? Slim to none, I'd say. Also, I'm sick again and I've got doctors hassling me for daily shit - dialysis & blood tests then, home visits from the Community Mental Health Team, this time. Doesn't this all sound rather like deja-vu?

My instincts tell me to box my stuff up, move out, preserve my cash and let the landlord keep my deposit. My instincts always tell me, that when shit goes bad, cut your financial commitments and retire to a safe distance. I would have done that in November 2015, when HSBC terminated my contract, but I felt responsible for a sofa-surfer and a flatmate. Big mistake. My instincts are usually correct.

My financial situation will continue to deteriorate, but at least I'm not careening headlong into a massive bankruptcy, provided I can borrow some (or all) of the £6k I need to pay my tax.

I'm now free to work anywhere in the country, if not the world. I had an offer of contract work in Poole in Dorset, from a friend. I have other friends in the area, who might be able to put a roof over my head while I find my feet again. It's one plan, at least.

What's the alternative? Go deeper in the hole and try and get a flatmate ASAP, to cut the speed with which my finances crumble to shit? I'm not sure I really want the pressure of the financial commitment; responsibility for an expensive central London flat. You know, I've ticked my "live by the River Thames" box, and I've even fallen out of love with London, or at least Canary Wharf and the touristy bits. The last time I felt wowed by my home city again, was when I interviewed for a government contract, on the first working day of the New Year. I would see Big Ben every day, and work in HMRC's impressive building, next door to the Churchill War Museum, St James Park and Horse Poo Parade. I've never worked in public services, let alone the posh bits, down the road from Bucky Pee and round the corner from the Palace of Westminster. That was 6 months ago, and I've been stressed and depressed the whole time since then.

Everything is probably going to come tumbling down - the landlord will sue me; I might not be able to borrow the £6k for my tax; who's to say that offer of work is still there? Should I just freeze, like a rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle?

Did I precipitate this, or was it destiny; fate? I've certainly been depressed for a long time - could that be to do with not wanting this life any more: the high rent, the pressure to get well paid contracts, the 'quick and painful' strategy, the limitation of how far you can realistically commute in London. It's depressing, feeling trapped. It's depressing, having so few options.

I have more options now, but less support. Was I too hasty? Yes, of course. Did I make bad decisions because I'm unwell? Yes, of course. On further analysis, am I freer now, more flexible, more able to consider almost any option? Yes, notwithstanding my dire finances and the fact I have far less assistance.

Perhaps it's time to admit defeat and prostrate myself at the feet of those who demand money with menaces. Sometimes, when the thing you fear most happens, it's liberating. I remember walking home from the police station once, in gym pumps they'd managed to find for me, having been led barefoot in handcuffs to a police van, in busy central London, then locked in a cell. As I walked along, looking like absolute shit, I thought "this has been literally the worst thing that could have ever happened to me". In actual fact, something about human nature means that we slowly deal with traumatic incidents, and they lose their venom; their potency.

You know, I worry about bankruptcy, but if it's only a barrier to jobs I don't want anyway - not in the sour grapes sense - then I get to do whatever I want anyway, unencumbered by the need to maintain a certain image & income. Maybe it'll suit me and I'll be happy. There are numerous successful entrepreneurs who've had bankruptcies in the past - it's part & parcel of taking risks.

I've always been financially responsible and met my obligations to my creditors. I've actually been very financially prudent, although you wouldn't think it from the last couple of years. I don't spend money before I've earned it, and I always kept money in reserve - I never overstretched myself. However, I'm now deep in the shit, and the stress has been there for so long, I think I'm worn down, and it's contributed to my ill health.

There was briefly discussed, potential salvation: a generous philanthropic liberator from my prison of financial misery and jobs that I detest and make me unwell. However, when it's personal, you feel differently than with a faceless bank that makes billions in profits. I've worked in banking a long time, so I know it's a victimless crime to take money that they just magicked out of thin air anyway: fractional reserves and the money multiplier. It's all just a game, and money isn't real... except when you borrow from friends & family. When you borrow from a partner who you're planning on spending the rest of your life with, it's a bit different: that's more like pooling your resources. However, your partner might have stipulations that are life-limiting: needing to or insisting on staying in one location, for example.

I do feel suddenly terribly alone, and that I need to act almost immediately; to take evasive action. I have a friend who's been a godsend; a guardian angel, but I am mindful that I've already ended up depending on her, far more than I am comfortable with or intended to do. I'm highly indebted to her, in so many ways - more than was ever supposed to happen between two friends. We perhaps share the same predisposition for trusting people and ending up pouring good money after bad. Where, for example, is my ex-flatmate who owes me thousands? Ironically, another friend who owes me a 4-figure sum, has mentioned his expertise in the field of, erm, debt recovery. But, that's a murky area I'd rather not get involved in.

Anyway, I have some new summer shoes, but it's absolutely lashing it down outside and I wanted to change the laces too. This might seem like the most ridiculously trivial thing to have elevated to a position of ultimate importance, but when the big stuff reaches incomprehensible proportions - squashing me like a giant boulder - having something that's shiny and new, improves my self-esteem, and feels like winning the lottery.

I seem to have been living life somewhat in reverse. Starting as a rich, responsible, reliable salaryman. Then around age 32, there was a veritable orgy of sin and debauchery; I cut loose from mainstream society and was homeless, in and out of hospital and in trouble with the police (although I escaped court and criminal charges). Now, I'm looking at my respectable life being shredded irreparably and who knows where that leads: flipping burgers? I can't see it. Selling the Big Issue? Quite possibly.

From where I'm sitting, I can see the river and the boats. But I can also see a top-of-the-range Vox valve guitar amp, with Korg effects head and Gibson Les Paul guitar. I can see a pro-grade racing simulator, with the seat, pedals, gear lever and an Oculus Rift virtual reality headset, for a fully immersive experience, plus a very high-spec gaming PC. I can see my Macbook Air (core i7 processor and 512Gb SSD) unused while I tap away on my Macbook Pro (core i7 and 512Gb SSD) - both the best that money can buy. Next to me is my Panasonic Lumix camera, with Leica lens. Oh, and let's not forget my HD projector that can do 120" screen, in 3D. There's my iPhone, of course... almost the newest model. That's just what I can see. I could asset strip, but I'd be lucky to raise £4 or £5 thousand pounds, and I need £6 thousand for my tax alone. Second-hand electronic goods are worth very little.

What should I do? Bankruptcy and bailiffs seems like folly, but then so does staying where I am, racking up a huge chunk of debt while I search for a contract that I might be too unwell for anyway. Cut my main expense - rent - and head for guaranteed work, if it's still on offer in a cheaper part of the country; seems to make sense. I have more friends in Dorset than I do in London too. I could be stubborn - determined to make London work on the 4th attempt - and move back into a hostel, find work and then find a cheaper place to live. Certainly, I need to act now. Depression has taken me to the brink of ruin.

Ho hum. In a way, I like it when I'm forced into action, and I like it when I'm busy with a mission.

Other wild ideas I've considered are running away to France - my colloquial French was once close to fluency - or further afield: Poland, Czech Republic? I could actually just disappear right here in the UK: get a new identity off the Dark Web and abandon the old one. Then, either be a hobo for a bit, a vagrant, a native backpacker; or set up shop somewhere new, unencumbered by the vultures who circle over my current identity, and my prized plump carrion flesh they hope to feast upon... they know I'm rich pickings, and they eye me greedily.

Oh, I thought about buying a boat, but I might just as well buy a van, cross the channel and head south.

All of these options are infinitely more attractive and more realistic than landing a contract in London in the next 2 weeks, and getting paid by the end of the month. Besides, it was only Sunday that I sliced 3 deep cuts the length of my forearm, with blood running out from the capillaries, and tiny punctures in the veins. I stopped short of slicing any veins open - they're very hard to close if you do it lengthways... that's the point.

Choices, choices, so many choices, but not a one you'd want to take.

Fuck.

Tags: #career