💓"Caught In The Rain"💓

Writing against the grain. Introspective update. Making the most of musings that matter. Includes: Audio Message * 1+hour Music Mixtape. xx [9 August 2025]

If you like your newsletters without politics or preconceptions or seeking a break from the norm you may have just found your new hangout

[9 August 2025] “There is Peace Even in The Storm” - Vincent van Gogh

Introduction Message:

Dear Chasers💓

My People, My Tribe!

I am here to confront the problems that I might otherwise try to run away from. Feeling trapped by my own mind in a war what is probably almost impossible to explain to anybody else who cares to listen who might wish to advise or even understand or relate to.

It seems that everything I’ve let destroy me are the things which keep me safe. This intense desire for something more, taking opportunities as they arise far to seriously and when it transpires to be more casual and merely passing by.

I’ve been surprised by people and saw it as a failure of some kind whenever those friendships expired (it didn’t matter how amicable or natural it happened) I felt like I had done something wrong. Which I noticed was a symptom of my preconceptions, and hopeful expectation. A void in my independence, a leak in my self-esteem.

It is in that plan or ‘passion to possess’people that I found my thrills and the power to devour myself in an alternative consciousness, escaping my mind by bending reality, and saturating life with this destructively delusional concentration.

In being so involved, I’ve become all consumed with connections and closures, then by stopping seeking closure I became the completion, being complete allowed me to let go of loose connections.

To come to the conclusion that ‘what will be will be’ brings light relief. I’m no longer carrying the heavy weight on my shoulders of trying to please everybody enough to encourage them to care about me in the same way as me.

I have so much time for people who are special and important. It’s so much better to see that, everything does NOT need to special to be important. To make it special is to appreciate it for what it is or was, not how we think it should be or what we wanted it to become. Although I am at war with myself all I ever want to bring to the table for other people is peace, that I manage to achieve.

I’m struggling again but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost the fight, and just because I’ve hit rock-bottom doesn’t mean I’ll call it ‘home’. I am a fucking warrior, this battle within me, tormenting my mind and soul, doesn’t even stand a chance.

I’ve never really understood myself until I considered things from somebody else’s point of view, only then do I climb into my own skin, walk around in it until eventually I go there a lot more, wearing nothing but cotton socks, skating around the polished floor. I play hide and seek with reality and laugh with childlike-wonder. I’m free to be me. Free to create and play happily content.

.—My psyche, my playground, my peace—.

I am without knowing who I am or why it will ever matter, how much I know, what I do. Why? When? Where? I’ll never have the capacity for my vivid imagination to stretch far enough to contemplate, how it will hurt me in the future, when I come to know that ‘nothing even matters, and nobody ever cares’

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*I know now the real struggle is climbing back out of my head once I get comfortable enough to tolerate the difficulties that live there. I like to let a little light in sometimes, like creeping back into my teenage-lair, pulling back the curtains and watching as the stale air full of smoke and sexual energy, mingle with the sunbeams. Always find myself still in there with the music, dreams, stardust, and we both hide our tears behind our dance*.

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If my thoughts keep destroying me. I won’t allow myself to think, but the silence slaughters me sometimes too. Now, I just leave them to be.

I often push against the pain, like now, ‘writing against the grain’ to get some of those thoughts out, avoiding the tougher ones who won’t bring anything to the party. If they leave I’ll try not follow. I won’t chase negative-introspection anymore, just in case they turn back. In that event I will still be here in a stronger stance, ready to block their further advances.

Good things take time, and beautiful time is all any of us ever truly have at our disposal.

Lately, I’ve been leaving everything ‘until later’ and guess what? nothing gets done. Later, the coffee gets cold. Later, I lose interest. Later, the day turns into night. Later, people grow up, grow old, and life goes by. Later, I regret doing something while I had the chance.

The problems I have had to face lie deep within me, and life has been handing me ‘lessons on a plate’. I’ve been swimming through shame, diving into desire, desperation, and denial. I’ve been given chances where I least expected them to have arisen, and within a heartbeat - they’ve been retracted by my own lack of precision. Having thrown caution to the wind it’s turned right back around to bite me in the perineum of my soul, that soft, squashy, emotionally reactive spot between my heart, and mind.

I opened my self-consciousness to let out some sacred resource of confidence, and inner esteem that I’d been saving for special or rare occasions. It seems, I opened up too soon, heading directly into this descent. I tunneled downward, unearthing forgotten gems of despair buried in a desolation inside me that I thought I’d cordoned off after the last apocalypse. Burdens, like glints of glass in the moonlit sand. I felt those buried insecurities the moment they resurface— reality becomes a spade; illusion, the soil.

I dig to lose myself, yet I bury the wisdom in return. When this letter fades away, I am left with it’s subterranean linger. It’s pulse keeps on carving tunnels of sorrows until dawn reveals a new sadness wash over me as the daylight floods over and above my silent pity of bereavement. I’m grieving a love that has no home, and nowhere to go, a love that I cannot give for free, let go of, like memories I was never meant to keep. I cherish each tiny miracle, noticing, and savoring life like a series of dreams.

By the time my voice had crossed paths with each of my love interests; I was deep enough to taste the earth.

Each conversation equals rejection which lowers me to another level of confusion, disillusionment, death-flecked moods, suicide-rooted whispers, and eternal-rest washes over on a sleepy breeze. Reality slips the leash whenever I rewrite on or over a newsletter from the ‘Drafts’ folder. Each new sentence, paragraph set apart, same me, different emotions; I might as well be writing from an another dimension, chasing a truth that mutates overnight.

“Don't let the rain drive you to the wrong shelter; the shade can turn out to be your protector and also your destroyer, and sometimes the rain is the perfect protector from the rain.”

- Michael Bassey Johnson

So, now I throw a dice out into the wet, wind, rain, and cold outside— send this letter out, and let chance decide how (and by who) it is received. See where this ‘letter in a bottle, thrown into the ocean’ leads, what will follow, which feelings will go with the flow, come back stay of leave me forever.

Tonight’s writing has been a mission I wasn’t prepared for, a concept as opposed to a proper conversation. The cards were against me when I started out a few days ago, now coming towards my conclusion, I can see that it has to end on a winning roll so, I’ll never look back. I can’t control yesterday’s illusion; action is tomorrow’s debt. All I can do now is roll the dice again, shelf the self-hatred, shame, and let the upset speak for itself where my language stalls, let my message be shown through my truth. Wherever my letters land, whoever misses the message tonight, let my love shine on, shine out, and shine through the echo and unveil itself in the next letter I send out to you.

Because every word on each letter is another expired exit-wound in transition. Is a fresh gamble - sometimes smooth, sometimes jagged, always weathered by the storms, wet with the tears of time and forever sentimentally sublime. In my own little way, because honest momentum refuses tidy plots...x💓

Thanks a blooming lot for reading this much! Bye for now.x

Enjoy The Musical ‘melancholy’ Journey! x

Yours Lovingly💓

..your mate,Chasey!..xx

***Exit Mix***

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