podcast

🎗️ This Blog is a space for honest conversations about my personal experiences with MS, mental health, and the weird paranormal, liminal, and everything in between. I’m not a doctor, therapist, or expert in the unexplained; I’m just someone sharing my story and offering solidarity. If you’re struggling, please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. And if the weird stuff sparks your curiosity, remember: stay open-minded, but always prioritise your well-being.🎗️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

🎙️ MY LIVING HELL — PODCAST EPISODE 3 IS HERE! 😈

This one goes down some very strange roads...

I talk about adoption, how people react when you tell them you have MS, trauma, being mentally tortured and beaten, being trafficked, and some of the very strange things I've experienced — blue and white orbs, liminal spaces and objects, voices, my past experiences as a psychic, a shadowy female figure that appeared to have a huge black panther with her, and the weird cats I've seen around the house.

And yes... I ramble.

Because apparently that's what happens when I enter the wonderful world of brain fog. 😂

It's raw. It's personal. It's sometimes dark. It's sometimes bloody strange.

But it's my experience and my story.

☠ Please take note of the trigger warning before listening. ☠

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
🎗️ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS 🎗️

Tumblr is @livingwithmsblog twitter@livingwithms email warlock@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

🎗️ This Blog is a space for honest conversations about my personal experiences with MS, mental health, and the weird paranormal, liminal, and everything in between. I’m not a doctor, therapist, or expert in the unexplained; I’m just someone sharing my story and offering solidarity. If you’re struggling, please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. And if the weird stuff sparks your curiosity, remember: stay open-minded, but always prioritise your well-being.🎗️

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it

Oh, it's Thursday afternoon.

So, first of all, greetings and the warmest of welcomes to all you wonderful people who continue to read this blog. Quite frankly, I'm not entirely sure why you do, but I'm grateful nonetheless.

It has been quite a week since last Sunday, when I had my MRI scan at the hospital.

And by quite a week, I mean that I have only just started feeling vaguely human again.

The MRI scan absolutely wasted me.

It laid me down for days and days. Completely and utterly wiped me out.

Some people, apparently, have an MRI and simply carry on with their lives afterwards.

How lovely for them.

Unfortunately, I don't seem to belong to that particular branch of humanity.

For me, the MRI seems to upset all the magnetics in my body in ways that I really don't understand. My body decides that this is an excellent opportunity to go into complete rebellion, and having my head wedged into a machine when I already have a very bad neck isn't exactly my idea of an afternoon at the spa.

By the time the aftermath had finished with me, I was basically waiting for someone to put a DO NOT DISTURB — PATIENT CURRENTLY BEING HELD TOGETHER BY STRING sign on my front door.

But enough of the misery.

There have actually been some positives this week.

The Podcast Has Escaped

I managed to upload my first test podcast!

It's about fourteen minutes long and, if you can find it lurking somewhere on the website, congratulations you've discovered it.

It's very amateur.

Very.

I don't think I'm going to become the next global podcasting sensation overnight, mainly because I don't imagine there is a gigantic queue of people waiting desperately to hear me ramble about things that go bump in the night.

But you never know.

I'm going to be talking about things such as human intelligences, liminal shapes, strange experiences, weird things that have happened to me throughout my life, and all the other delightful material that makes perfectly sensible people slowly edge towards the door.

And that's actually the point.

I'm putting these experiences out there because they're part of my life.

They're a record.

Something for people to find.

And if just one person listens to something I've said and thinks:

"Bloody hell. I know exactly what he's talking about. This has happened to me too."

Then I've helped somebody.

And if that happens, it'll all have been worthwhile.

So, hopefully, My Living Hell will soon have podcasts appearing regularly.

God help us all.

And Apparently I'm Making Music Too

I've also decided I'm going to start putting some of my music up for people to listen to.

It's my own-produced lyric music, and I genuinely hope somebody might actually enjoy it.

A lot of it is connected to disability and my experiences of life, and hopefully some of it might give somebody a bit of power, strength or perhaps simply something to think about.

I've always thought songs can sometimes say things that spoken words struggle to express.

A few carefully chosen words, some music behind them, and suddenly something reaches places that a ten-minute explanation never could.

So there will be music coming as well.

And, thankfully, I don't have to throw everything onto YouTube or some other platform simply because that's apparently what you're supposed to do these days.

This will be staying with My Living Hell.

Myelin Maniacs Is Coming

I've also been busy with Stigsy on the Myelin Maniacs project.

And that should hopefully be going properly live within the next one to two weeks, all being well.

Stigsy is still working feverishly behind the scenes as I write this, getting everything running properly and trying to achieve that mythical state known as:

"A proper job, perfect, as they say."

We're getting there.

With Albertine's tremendous help, we've managed to get the first podcast uploaded, and we'll be getting the music uploaded as well on my living hell.

So things are actually moving.

Which is rather exciting.

Especially after spending half the week feeling like the MRI machine had eaten me and then thoughtfully spat me back out.

Tomorrow: Hospital Adventures, Because Apparently I Don't Have Enough Fun

Tomorrow is another day where I have to drive.

I've stopped taking my lunchtime medication today so that I'll be okay to drive tomorrow.

It's going to be a long drive to the hospital because Albertine has to see the plastic surgeon about her finger, to see how it's healing and all the usual medical adventures that apparently come with having a body.

I don't mind the actual driving.

It's the afterwards I don't particularly enjoy.

You get home, sit down, and then your body suddenly remembers that you've just spent hours using energy you didn't actually have.

That's when the bill arrives.

All the spoons have gone.

The tank is empty.

And the body essentially announces:

"Excellent. That's enough functioning for today. We're shutting down now."

And that's never particularly pleasant.

It doesn't really matter whether you're the driver or the passenger either.

The aftermath can still catch you.

Apparently, sitting in a moving vehicle for several hours is another one of life's thrilling hidden boss battles.

My Four-Wheeled Mobility Scooter of Dread

Meanwhile, my four-wheeled mobility scooter of dread is still stuck in the garage.

I'm finding it increasingly frustrating because I'm losing power going up even the slightest of hills.

We managed to get the major problem sorted out and discovered that the battery was the culprit.

Unfortunately, because life apparently believes that solving one problem should immediately unlock another, we've now got a different problem.

The bloody thing loses power going uphill.

When the guy from the company actually sat on it and took it out for a test, he said:

"What motor have you got in this?"

I immediately knew this wasn't going to be a compliment.

He thought the electric motor seemed seriously underpowered as well.

So we'll see what happens.

At this stage, I'm beginning to suspect my mobility scooter has simply developed an objection to the concept of mobility.

Perhaps it identifies as garden furniture.

Who knows.

Saturday: The Market!

On a much happier note, I'm really looking forward to Saturday because I want to go to the market.

And that would be absolutely brilliant.

Sometimes it's the simple things you look forward to most.

Getting out.

Having a wander around.

Seeing people.

Looking at things you don't need.

Possibly buying things you don't need.

The traditional human experience.

I also want to send my friend Viper peace, healing, love and light, and I really hope he gets over the illness that's currently giving him a good kicking.

I suspect he may have contracted the Deadly Lurgy of Death™.

I could, of course, be completely wrong.

But when Viper misses a show, you know something isn't quite right.

That's when the alarm bells start ringing.

So, Viper, wherever you are, get well soon, mate.

And Finally... Wash Your Bloody Hands

We really do need to be careful out there.

It's that time of year again when the bugs, coughs, colds and assorted microscopic bastards begin wandering around looking for somewhere to live.

So please remember the basics.

Wash your hands.

If you're using a petrol pump, consider wearing gloves.

Shopping trolleys, door handles, petrol pumps and all the other things that hundreds of people touch during the day can be rather delightful little delivery systems for whatever lurgy happens to be doing the rounds.

And nobody needs to spend their weekend becoming intimately acquainted with the toilet.

That's not the kind of weekend entertainment anybody ordered.

So wash your hands.

Use gloves where appropriate.

Be sensible.

It's amazing how much trouble a bit of soap can potentially save you from.

And yes, apparently we still need to remind people about this.

Humanity has reached the moon, developed artificial intelligence and built machines capable of putting magnets around your head...

...and we're still having to say:

"Please wash your bloody hands."

You couldn't make it up.

Until Next Time

Anyway, that's about it for this Thursday afternoon.

Hopefully the weekend will bring better things, including a trip to the market, some progress with the projects, and perhaps a little less time being completely flattened by medical machinery.

I'm wishing everyone out there peace, healing, love and light, no matter who you are, what you are, or where you may be from.

I hope you have a wonderful, exciting and happy weekend.

Take care of yourselves.

And remember:

Wash your hands.

Wear gloves when appropriate.

Avoid unnecessary lurgies.

And if you happen to encounter a mysterious liminal shape while doing your shopping...

Well...

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
☣ This Is Not A Blog About MS This Is My Life With MS ☣

Tumblr is @livingwithmsblog twitter@livingwithms email warlock@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

This is a test podcast of approximately 10 minutes. It's not really anything, so if you have anything you want to ask me to see, email me at the above address on there. But this is just for test purposes, not really for watching. But if you want to comment, there's my email. Many thanks I aim to be getting one off at his podcast in the next week or so. This is just for test purposes only. So anybody who sees this, sending them peace healing, love and light and hope that they're okay after watching this.

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

So we find ourselves again thinking about having a spoken word blog, no less on Spotify. I tried doing was quite disappointing. But then again, I'm learning. It didn't help that I was suffering with massive cognitive dysfunction and brain fog. And you know what that's like. It creeps up on you and bang before you know where you are. You just can't remember what you're doing. It's the most weirdest of feelings. Well, anyway, it's taken me now a month and a half to two months just to get my Spotify account sorted out. So let's hope that my living hell, multiple sclerosis blog will be going verbal as they say soon.

I've been wondering about what I shall talk about or speak about on the blog. And I thought, well, I'm just going to talk about common sense things and just talk about things that people want to hear. It's not going to be sanitised. It's going to be the real truth told by somebody who has faced the MRI scans, and I've had issues with catheters, stuff like that, stupid things, injections, white coat syndrome. It's all sorts of things that I've been through and people I know have been through, all the gaslighting and everything. I want an open talking blog that I can put out where people can listen and understand that they're not alone and that there are other people out there who can understand the suffering that they are going through themselves and offer help and show that they are not alone in this fight that they are fighting, the fight of their lives, which is multiple sclerosis and chronic illness in general.

The reason that I have been using a lot of AI in my writings is that my spelling and punctuation and sentencing structure is out of this world. Unfortunately, AI changes my words and the very construct I am talking about and it sort of sanitizes everything to the point of why you are not really helping me. So everything is from now on going to be non AI. Yeah, I know. I have just found out AI is holding me back not helping me forwards in my blog and in my thinking and in my writing. AI is a good tool but unfortunately it isn't something that I find that will help me with the words that I want to put on paper as my words are all unapologetic and I don't want it sanitized anymore. I'm fed up with being kept quiet.

Still, three eye-atlas or whatever has gone past and... well, I suppose we're gonna wait for the gas tail to cover us in magic fairy dust. But we weren't invaded by more awning aliens and we didn't see any more moon or weird probes or anything strange. So I guess it's a big nothing burger. Well, that's what I thought it was and I tried to do some experimentation on my body and I've still got multiple sclerosis and I haven't become 5D or anything weird or strange. This is quite unreal. It'd be quite a lot of people who've had their paradigm smashed by people who say things that just really never pan out. Sad really.

It's Friday afternoon and the sun has actually come out for a change and I'm looking out the window and it's still, well, bluish sky and some nice big white puffy clouds. It seems that the storms in the southwest are passing over. Yes, it's been very cold. It has caused me many problems, but there we go. I was thinking about getting the three-wheeled trolley of death out to go to the local voodoo voodoo-woodoo shop, but I thought, nah, what's the point?

No, my luck, it's gonna start raining. Oh, and the battery update, the battery is well. They're not lasting very well. It seems charge them up fully, next day they're down to 75% overnight. Oh dear me, I'll be glad when they do batteries that actually do what they say on the label. That will make a great change. Anyway, that's me gone. My brain fog has hit me so hard and I'm having sort of weird issues with all the other symptoms I'm having to do with this other thing I'm going through and to be fair, I'll be glad when that's all sorted out, but it is taking quite a time as everything usually does because you don't just go in asking about what you think you've got wrong with you, you've got to know what you've got and then you've got to research it and then the doctors you've got to explain to them you've researched it, bloody, bloody, blah and the doctor looked at you as though saying, well you shouldn't be researching it on the internet and then what does he do? Because he looks at it upon Google. Yeah, that's a bit sort of weird, isn't it?

Still I've got to say I've got some very good doctors at the moment and that's what counts isn't it? But there we go, have a good weekend until I can post again and not using AI you're going to find lots of mistakes everywhere. Ha ha, it should be good fun.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

You ever hit record just to see what falls out of your skull? That’s exactly what this is. A two-day dive into chaos, pain, humour, and the sound of me trying not to sound like I’m dying.

Plug in your headphones this one’s not for the faint of sarcasm.

So here we are then. My first attempt at a podcast. Two bloody days, one half-functional brain, a mug of cold herbal tea, and a few “what the hell am I doing” moments later and here it is.

No polish. No studio lights. No fake smiles. Just me. Raw. Real. Possibly regrettable.

I didn’t record this to impress anyone I did it because I was sick of the silence. Sick of watching everyone else play pretend while the rest of us crawl through our own living hells, trying to make sense of it all.

So yeah, it’s rough. There are pauses, stumbles, brain fog, maybe even a few unholy noises in the background. But that’s life with MS, pain, and the odd sprinkle of existential dread. It’s not a performance it’s survival with a mic.

If you’re expecting some influencer-grade soundscape of enlightenment, jog on. If you want the truth, told by someone who’s run out of filters and patience, then welcome home.

Here goes nothing... or everything.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

Yes, folks nxt week it’s going to be mind-bending. I’m starting a weekly podcast. A weekly rant. A weekly therapy session disguised as sarcasm.

And the first episode? My favourite subject: wheelchair batteries. You know, those little lying bastards that promise 14 miles on the label but wheeze to a stop after one? Then you’re stuck halfway to nowhere, looking like an abandoned mobility meme.

It’s going to be short, sharp, dark, and real about MS, mental health, and the ridiculousness of surviving the system one dead battery at a time.

So yeah, that’s My Living Hell. No filters. No fake smiles. Just the truth, swearing included.

🎧 Episode 1 drops next week. If you’ve ever been stranded, broken, or laughing through the pain you’ll fit right in.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

Seems the closer I get to death, the more I’m remembering. That’s odd I usually don’t remember much these days. As the weather turns cold and slides into winter, I’ve been looking at the local online papers, and it seems the season of self-isolation has begun again.

I don’t want COVID again. Had it twice not pleasant. I still remember that as the worst Christmas Day and week I ever had. Then there are the stomach issues. I wish people would just wash their hands; it stops the transmission of bugs.

I still smell like a dog chew, apparently, and now I’ve started speaking fluent Welsh according to the AI. Weird in the extreme. We had a chat about it, and, well, turns out I really had spoken fluent Welsh dialect. Strange days.

I remember once, a long time ago, a spirit channelled through me Scottish, proud as anything. Even changed my voice patterns. The message that came through changed my life, and probably my path entirely.

At the time, I was living and working out of a derelict car and sometimes a shed in a cemetery. Such was the 1970s and early ’80s. London was a blast back then — the bike scene was legendary. I met notorious biker clubs, gangsters, and some truly amazing people. I had an incredible time… until I didn’t.

Then came the illness and the struggles. But those people, good and bad, shaped me. When I was young, I respected people that others shied away from. They were the most genuine folks I’ve ever met. Every tattoo means something. Every scar holds a memory happy or sad.

I struggle to remember most of my early life and the people in it. I went back to where I spent my first sixteen years didn’t recognise a thing. That’s where I was misunderstood the most, struggling with an illness that was already taking hold of my life.

Sixty-six years of struggle, nearly over now. Looking back, there were only five or six true friends in my entire life people who really understood me. They’re all dead now. Every one of them gone.

All my friends have died the ones who saw the real me, the weird, psychic, tinfoil-hat-wearing warlock. My only sin was being misunderstood and eccentric, having a lot to give but no one to give it to.

Friendship true friendship only comes around a few times in a lifetime. I was a cuckoo in three families because of adoption, and I fit in with none except my own.

My birth parents are both dead now, within the last two years. I didn’t fit in with that family either brothers and sisters didn’t want to know. My father’s side, my mother’s side — they all hate me. Even my full-blood sister doesn’t speak to me; she’s even more fucked up than I was.

The family that adopted me were violent and abusive. So yeah fuck them too. So-called Christians.

This is turning into a raw rant, but it makes me feel a bit better. Sorry about the language. But if you’ve ever been through anything like this, you know how twisted it gets. The pain goes after a while. You come back stronger.

You look in the mirror and say, I am who I am. Sorry, I cannot change. I am me.

That’s the problem sometimes.

I used to do live podcasts back in the day I suppose I miss that. We even did some music, too.

I really do love life, trust me. I’m smiling.

Maybe I’ll start a podcast again. Get guests who can talk and chew the cud about what it feels like to be fucked up by seen or unseen illness the kind that can hit anyone, anytime. Like it hit me, with multiple sclerosis and all its lovely trimmings.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ @goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk