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An analysis of Self Destruction Nov 12

The beginning of November has not been that pleasant for me over the last few years, oddly in contradition to October when I seem to change countries. Six years ago November started off just like all the other months with nothing obvious coming up. I was living in Ireland at the time so I think Guy Fawkes featured somewhere, the weather was getting brisk and cold, but working late into the night at a cosy bar made that bearable.

Then my world started to collaspe.

Step 0.5 was getting a message to phone my brother. As my brother and I didn’t really chat all that much this could not be good. It wasn’t Mum had a lump in her breast and was off for a biopsy. Not good, but not earth shattering.

Step 1 – Nov 11 Sunday, closing the bar two guys in balaclava rush out of the toilets with pistol and shotgun, aimed and you can guy who and the manager. Being tied up pleading not to be shot is one of the more defining events in a life and not one I would wish on anyone. Wondering if, then hoping you would be shot first so you don’t have to hear the sound of the bullet still makes me go cold. Obviously I survived to write this story, but its taken alot of time to put some of the pieces back together.

Step 2 – Nov 13 – Tuesday, after 48 hours of puking and shitting and sweating everything out of my body, and when not visiting the bathroom paralysised under a montain of blanets by shock I emerged to view the world again, then got called by my father with biospy results. My mother had breast cancer. I remember very clearly two things from that day. a) walking into the bar and being asked if I was okay, my reply was not I’m not, I feel like I’m coming apart at the ends. b) walking into the main town looking at the sky and thinking well, you may as well hit me with the rest, cos I’m really down in the gutter and nothing else is going to hurt. Step 3 was the betrayel of a friend of 16 years who threw that all away to score a couple of cheap points in a deadly game that eventually lead to me packing everything into a box and leaving Ireland to protect my life, rather than remain and testify.

No – november is not a good month for me.

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