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Matt Gig

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I haven't wanted to complain. On social media I've been trying my damndest to be positive. Posting pictures of me and Eddie trying to wrangle Meatball, Jesper playing sitter while one or the other of us is sacked out. I should have posted more... real things.

Mum got sick a few weeks ago. She still volunteers in the clinics out there, so of course she was there when the worst of it was going on. Dad got sick shortly thereafter. They didn't get so bad they had to go to hospital, but they were close. Dad got worse off than Mum, though I've wondered whether or not that's just Mum being Mum acting like she's fine and Dad being the same whiny little shit he's always been when he's sick. They both looked bad enough for me to be worried they'd have to go. They're fine now. Mum wants to go back to the clinics... she wants to go help. Dad doesn't want her to, because there's still those stories about reinfection, about people who tested negative actually still being carriers and... I think he's just being selfish. He doesn't want to be alone. Malone men don't do well on their own.

I'm glad Eddie and I've got each other. But this is such a stressful situation. We're both recovering addicts in undergoing a level of stress that even your everyday average Joe is having a hard time coping with. Some of the pictures that get posted, by me or by Eddie, are when the other is on a video call with a therapist. Or a sponsor. I can't tell you how many times I've talked with Phil this month. We are all struggling. We are all craving an escape. And for a recovering addict you... you know the easiest escape. Dispensaries are open as essential services and I cannot tell you how hard it is not to swing by one when we've gone on supply runs, because weed is less burdensome to get than oxys right now. Even through the throes of addiction I refuse to entertain the notion of burdening medical professionals right now with my addict needs. Phil says that's at least something. I haven't gotten so bad off I've stopped thinking of others. Doesn't mean I don't still hate myself for this feeling.

I've got to pull myself together. Shockingly (ha), MTV wants us to webcast tales from the Malone house in self-isolation. People need to see they're not going through this alone, Matt.. I suppose they're right.
Matt Gig

(no subject)

I've been meaning to post something for a while. But coming home from tour is emotionally overwhelming. In a good way. I relish in soaking up the love from my family, but I don't have room for anyone, or anything else. Which... I needed. I needed to surround myself by goodness and love... it's madness. But it's madness I can handle. It's madness I want to handle. Focusing on my toddler throwing a fit at bedtime means I'm not focusing on the shite that had dragged me to a very dark place.

See, the tour was fine. Made me feel old as fuck because it was so much fucking harder. I managed to readjust, but damn if it didn't take me a lot longer than I'd expected. But, the tour was over and we were all going our separate ways. I was waiting for my connecting flight at a pub in Laguardia, having a drink, waiting to fly home. Jerome had a flight to Atlanta, Kev had a flight to Sacramento. I was flying back to LA with TR and the rest of the crew. He was in the pub with me, and the fact that he was is entirely why I'm here instead of in a hospital or prison. Two Aussies came in and sat at a table behind us, then started talking loud enough for practically the entire fucking room to hear. Nothing of substance came out of their mouths, and I honestly thought for a while that they had to be plants the airport sent to under-preforming drinking establishments to encourage more alcohol consumption. They ordered some fucking fish and chips and then the fucker right behind me blurts out, "You remember that tsunami a couple decades back? Well Mum only just started eating fish again. She said, all those dead bodies in the water with 'em. No thank you. I missed out on a childhood of fish n chips all because of some fuckin corpses."

Something in me snapped. There was a blackness that swallowed me in an instant and looking back at that is fucking terrifying. I stood up with such force it shoved my chair so hard into 'is that his chair tipped forward. And for once they got really fucking quiet. Somehow TR managed to get up and get himself right next to me before I could get to the bastard. Both of those loud fuckers looked about ready to shit themselves. TR kept telling me you'll be home soon, man because apparently I looked like a fucking mad man. Those two little prats were completely speechless for so long that TR managed to get me back to some sense of functioning. I knew I had to leave, but I also needed to explain myself in a way that made them feel like shite. So I told him "I'm sorry my brother's untimely death deprived you of fish and chips," handed my wallet to TR so he could pay my bill, and left. It was not a good flight home.

I've been home for almost two weeks, and I still start feeling... uncomfortable with myself... while talking about it. My sponsor's called a few times to check on me. But I've had my wife and my kids, and... I'm lucky. I have to keep telling myself that.
Matt the professinal

(no subject)

So many wonderful things have happened this past year it’s almost unimaginable. Everything I’d wished for, longed for… desired but didn’t think I deserved… was given to me this year. I got married, I adopted Marshall, I built a relationship with my eldest son, and I was able to be there when my daughter was born. It has been a year filled with things that warm my heart. Of course, there’s been the bollocks of filming for MTV, Eddie and I have had our share of newlywed rows, though they were much the same as our unmarried ones. We’ve been meeting with the label and I’ve had to prepare myself for the inevitable touring. I love making music and I love performing, but this past year has been… it has reminded me why we’re still doing this bloody television show. We’ve been able to support our family while I wasn’t on the road. I daydream about taking everyone on the road with me. Taking a single child on the road is difficult enough. But Marshall has never liked the tour bus and Emma is too small and Bess would go mad trapped in that band stench. Logistically, it just wouldn’t work. It breaks my heart, but in the end, it’s what will have to be done.  
But for now, I’m going to focus on the positive. Sunday Eddie and I celebrated our anniversary. Jerome and Kev came over to look after Marshall and Emma (because we didn’t want the MTV caretakers involved), and we spent the night in a lovely hotel with a jetted tub and room service. We came back Monday, and yesterday my family threw me a little birthday party. It was simple; Marshall had planned most of it. But he even got C to Skype in for part of it. I’m not sure how that worked, but I’m glad it did. His mum didn’t even interject. She did send me a simple “Happy Birthday” but she knew better than to say too much. I’m sure she had more to blather on about, but her gift to me was her silence. For the past few years all she’d do would be remind me that it was the anniversary of when she found me nearly dead. The realization of that anniversary comes to me without her reminders. It’s been fifteen years since I’ve been clean, and it’s been a struggle just about every damn day. But this year… this year has been just a touch easier. I see all that I’ve gained, and all that I stand to lose, and my resolve stands firm.
Too many good things happening always makes me nervous, so of course I look at the upcoming year and wonder what bollocks is going to upend my life now. But at least, for today, ’m going to enjoy the fact that… I have a wonderful wife, three wonderful children, and friends who support us.

Matt the professinal

Clean Challenge

I saw this on social media the other day. I hesitated posting anything, because there are people out there who don't think I'm worthy. Who get enraged with me for daring to call myself clean, while not abstaining from alcohol. But my sponsor made sure to remind me, my battles are my own, my victories are unimaginable to people because they did not live my life. The old adage stays true; judge not lest ye be judged. Oxycontin was a demon that had my soul. I sold it freely. I was desperate to be rid of it, and all the pain that came along with having it. I had dreams of not using; dreams where I could face a day without them. I couldn't see a path to that reality. I thought it was a fantasy.

The man I am now is so far from the man I was. Yes, I drink. But with the kids around, I'm not drunk. I manage myself so I can be a loving and supportive husband and father. And the past few weeks with Caleb here too... when my father wasn't berating me, I was as proud of my journey as I'd ever been. I want to be a good example for my kids. I can be, now.

So for this challenge, you post one picture of you while you were using, one picture after you'd stopped.

It's been nearly 15 years since I've been clean, so I had a bit to choose from. But I found this... a picture from our trip to Australia the first time. We were in the airport, just gotten there. I was emotionally beaten and battered, having just left Sri Lanka and all my nightmares. But I was still there, with my son. And I got to be there for him because I value those chips in my pocket. Because I know where I'd be without them. #CleanChallenge

Matt the professinal

(no subject)

I had a dream last night that wrenched something in my soul. It's been a day of processing in the free fleeting moments between being with my wife and kids and parents and talking with the label and Jerome and Kevin. Which is really when I get to take a piss without Marshall jiggling the handle trying to get in so he can tell me something important. So needless to say, there hasn't actually been much processing.

In this dream I was sitting on the beach, the one I go to with Eddie and the kids. I'm alone, with my knees up, just staring out. No one else is out there, but for whatever reason this didn't strike me as odd. It was early morning light. While I'm watching, a person surfaces from the water not that far out from shore, and as soon as they're able to stand they start running to the shore. It's Andy, looking exactly as he did. I wasn't shocked or surprised. He sat down next to me, in the same position as I was in, and started talking. It was an odd conversation about the godawful state of the world's oceans, where he casually said he had to live on the island of garbage in the Pacific for months. He talked about how miserable it was, how the plastic smelled like tar. And he mentioned how he'd become friends with a school of fish. But he wasn't actually sure if they were always the same school of fish, because fish were mostly assholes who liked fucking with him.

I sat there listening like it was the most normal thing in the world. Laughing at him describing these fish. Asking questions about which ones were the worst. He said most of them were "kind of like Dad, surly bastards that act like the world's pissing in their cornflakes every damn day, so they make themselves feel better by jabbin at you trying to make you feel worse, an then then they laugh and slap your back like it's all a bloody joke." In the dream I made some comment about fish slapping him on the back. It was like nothing else he said even reached me.

Until I woke up. Every time I dream of Andy it hurts, but this felt somehow fundamentally different. I lay awake until Emma cried and I got up to feed her and change her.

Holding her after that dream made me think about how I'd always wanted to name a child after Andy. Then remembering she did that for me with my son, giving him Andrew as a middle name. He told me about it when we were talking in December, and it had made him angry that she gave him my brother's name, because it was my brother's name. And that she'd chosen it before the paternity results had come back. I was shocked (and surprised I'd never asked her). I mentioned it to her in conversation at some point after, but I realised I never thanked her. No matter her intention with that act, Andy was memorialised, and that had always been so incredibly important to me.

How fitting they look so much alike.
Matt Horns

(no subject)

I must say watching the World Cup matches with Marshall has been more fun than I anticipated. Granted, he doesn't have an attention span to last a  whole match. Usually he's got dolls or some other pretend happening, but when a goal gets scored he does love running around the room doing the requisite "GOOOOOAAAAALLLL!" cheer.

He's got his England football jersey. And he just sat back down after our first goal of the match.

It's a shame Caleb couldn't be here for this. He's been sending me texts about the matches, and I feel like he'd have been able to talk Marshall through a lot. And I think it would have stuck more because Marshall is already so excited about meeting his big brother.

I'm still a bundle of nerves about it all. Doesn't help that Dad's still sniping, but he's toned down enough that Mum has said he was still going to come. Flying in on Friday. Maybe by the 30th he'll have all his worst behaviours out of his system. Apparently Mum and Dad are the only grandparents Caleb has now, so it'd be really lovely if the first impression he had wasn't of his grandad being a fucking cunt.

Now for a halftime glass of Jameson and hoping that Mum won't fuss about it being too early. It's nearly noon. That's good enough.

Matt Horns

(no subject)

I never renounced my British citizenship, nor do I have any intent, so I'm in this country as a permanent resident. As such I try to avoid being overtly opinionated about this country's politics.

But today Frankie, my best mate back home, told me he came across this. He'd actually signed the petition but he didn't think it would go through.

Quite proud of the old hometown for that. I needed that laugh.

And I hope everyone else clears it. I'd love for this to happen.

Matt might be drunk

(no subject)

Dad's supposed to be coming in two weeks. Father's Day was a fluke. Every call when I talk to him and he can hear one of the kids being loud, he makes snide comments implying I'm going to be a shit father that can't control my children. Or if he calls at night, when they're asleep and I managed to get some peace and quiet, I get more snide comments about how I won't be able to hack it. Things like... "Do you even know how to quiet your kids?" or "Falling apart already?"

But he still peppers in the blatant insults, like how Emma is too pretty a baby to be mine and I was too stupid to notice. And then he laughs about how it would make it a perfect trifecta that none of my kids are really mine, because really, I shouldn't be raising kids at all. The wisdom of Michael Malone is that if you put your parents through hell, you get kids that put you through worse, as karma. And he doesn't think my kids deserve the hell they'd be because of the hell I was. Fucking sweet old grandad, inn't he?

Mum is infuriated with him. He has a pattern. While I'm in a good place- usually in the infancy of that good place, and usually a good place after being in a shite place- he likes to try and knock me down. Says it's a test to see if I'll fuck up under pressure. Really he's just a mean fucking cunt. And now I have to prepare myself for him to be here while my oldest is visiting. Well, if Mum lets him come. Which is why I said he's "supposed to be coming." She's telling him he can't come if he can't behave around the kids. So we'll see.

Matt the professinal

(no subject)

I never quite thought I'd have a Father's Day as nice as yesterday. For the past few years, I'd make a habit of getting shitfaced, calling and begging to know my son. I would get yelled at and given an excuse as to why it was absolutely impossible. In the time since Marshall has been in my life, it's been a little easier. I wasn't wasted the entire day. It was still hard, and I still made that drunken phone call, but I had Meatball calling me Dad and reminding me that I wasn't completely useless.

This year... How things have changed. Marshall is legally my son. His big brother knows who I am and is planning on coming to visit this summer. And Emma is here. I had, in some way, all three of my children with me. My children, my wife, my parents... Even Dad was tolerable. I don't know if Mum had a few words with him before he called, but I don't care. I'm not going to question a good day.

The one down side to the whole day was that MTV wanted us to go out for a photo op. So we went out to eat. I wish I had the ones of all of us, but they'll circulate without my help. This is one Mum took. Emma's first formal public outing, complete with her Dad's cheesy grin. 

Matt the professinal

(no subject)

I've never quite experienced all these feelings before. All at once. Exhausted, yes. Happy, yes. In love, yes. Disgusted from cleaning bodily fluids, yes. And so many more. But I'm so tired I can't quantify all of them.

Being able to hold Emma has given me such a sense of fulfillment. And regret, that as my third child she was the first I got to be there for from the beginning. I try not to dwell on it too much, because as I've been reminded, I've got my family now. I had to wait, but perhaps I'd done my penance and here's my reward... my beautiful daughter, my beautiful wife, my two incredible sons... I'm not sure. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop because it so often does with me. But I'm trying to just wallow in the positive feelings as opposed to the negative ones.

Mum is here, helping out. Dad is apparently going to wait until July, when Emma isn't quite so young, when it'll be closer to the time that Caleb is going to be here, and when it'll be winter. Not that it ever gets terribly cold there. But in his old age he's seeking out warm. The only bloody time he wants to come visit.

I'm not sure how Dad's going to handle being around Caleb. Part of me would rather he stay back. Let us go to him whenever everyone is more... settled. But Mum wants him here. She wants him to meet them, so I'm not going to deny her that. At least they won't be staying at the house.

It's Marshall's bedtime and I have to go convince him to leave his sister to go to sleep. He's so good with her it melts my heart. He loves being a big brother so much...

Well, that reminded me of another feeling I'd been having but was too tired to mention. I'm still too tired to talk about it. So I'm going to go try and ignore it by bribing my son with a song and maybe this feeling will pass.