💌"Doing Better Than I Deserve"💌

[5 January 2026] from Chasey Delaney (Updates) Newsletter..x

Image of a Bad Taste Bear

This letter isn’t about writing or being a writer. It’s about being a loser and writing like my life depends on it, like a loser, like I have a life. Trying to fix what I can’t see is wrong!

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

Your HOST today Is Chasey Delaney - Schizophrenic Writer From Manchester! x

NOTE: THIS LETTER MAY BE TOO LONG TO SEE IT ALL IN YOUR INBOX. TO VIEW IT IN IT’S ENTIRETY YOU MAY NEED TO OPEN IT IN YOUR BROWSER OR ON THE APP.

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MONDAY 5 JANUARY 2026

Dear Chasers..x

When someone asks me how I’m doing I overheard my own voice replying, “Better Than I Deserve!” (WOW) was I trying to flirt or something?

I think not it was the woman delivering the yellow plastic grit containers and throwing sand at my feet in the street. I mean, she had great calves and looked a little sexy in her luminous vest over lumberjack style hoodie. I’d do it yeah, but I prefer brunettes, blondes are too cute and taste bland to me! :P

Joking.. around.. but it was that comment coming from my mouth which took me by surprise. It made me realise how I miss being nice from the inside. The feeling of nice. Like I was a nice person on the inside. Kindness used to drive me through life helped me connect with myself on another level, where me and my soul became best friends.

That all changed when my life was turned upside down and my future destroyed. Not going into all the grit right now. Instead, I put a blizzard on in the background of the laptop, the 4k fireplace on my smart TV and just sat down to type. If you’d like to, please join me in my little reverie.

DISCLAIMER: Some things I say are NOT nice, and the way I say some things are also NOT nice. Expect shitty language at times. Everything is my own opinion, formed on no education, little culture, secular soul and/ life experience and nothing is set in concrete (except my rigid body and frigid sexuality (apparently -more on that below). If you haven’t already followed for more please consider yourself invited to do so FOLLOW or SUBSCRIBE FREE please. I’d love to have your eyes! x

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I want to be nice to the world and have faith in it again. Not people, fuck people. The world of which I perceive, the world in which I live and the world in which I will one day leave.

I have become bitter, maladaptive, defensive and resentful as I try so hard not to grieve. As I distract myself with false confidence. As I stick a middle finger to everybody. My life is a smoke screen of window, patio garden and average affection.

I see a sparkle of snow on the patio, the only thing that lands in the UK and doesn’t claim benefits! I can’t speak, and for the record that came from a ‘funny’ meme. It’s not funny politically, it’s too weak to hold any weight. I am not even of the opinion or mindset. I’m more of the ‘it’s nothing to do with me’ kind of ignorance. I never said I was an activist. I’m a realist (at times) - I work hard at it.

It’s difficult not to fall into a dank perspective as is my nihilist nature. I’m no Empath either. I can only feel people who I feel. I can’t empathise with everyone, I see yellow fussy tongues, black fingernails on a crackhead trying to con me out of some coins that I haven’t got, I see soul rot, I grimace and hold my nose and my breath and tense up ready for the fight or flight test.

I’m no better than the snobs from upstairs, from the suits and the students, and the 9-5’ers and the ladies of leisure, and the influence chavs with bodycams and phone cameras. In my mind I am disgusted by what I can’t empathise with. I don’t despise what they do to themselves, that’s their fucking business, I just hate how they make me feel whenever they interact with me. I hate how I make myself feel when anyone who I don’t choose, interacts with me.

I’m just the same as any other human dickhead. I can’t comment on what I don’t understand. I can’t connect with what I don’t like. I don’t like anybody. Fuck off and do you’re own thing.

Then I’m reminded again, that if I had even any emotional intelligence, no scrap that, any intelligence at all, or a drip of empathy in my bones, then I would know that maybe, just maybe, the MUSE might feel that way about me too. He must do. Just by simple math analysis, if I can feel that way, chances are another person on the planet could feel like that too.

I should practice what I preach, is that what they say? Is that what they mean? Do unto others as you wish done unto yourself? Treat people the way you want to be treated? See this is where it gets murky. I would all out suck his dick, bury my head underneath his armpit, lick the crack of his arse, and kiss the life out of his mouth - would I want him to do that to me? some not all, like, I’d definitely allow him to let me put him in a headlock or something.

How do I propose getting close to the polar opposite of me? I fancy him sexually but I’m a fridge apparently. I’m sat in the thought that I must be so shit in the sack when I don’t try, and even worse when I express my desires and put ‘effort’ into it.

Not only am I lacking in the appearance and attractiveness side of things, I am a walking exclamation mark!!! I swear, even the slightest kiss of someone’s breath on my skin and something sends me into a hedgehog defense mechanism. I tense up. I stiffen. I show my spikes (I’m always smooth down there and well he doesn’t stroke my neck anymore so ignore the spikes on my chin! but this is a metaphor). I show my hard exterior at all times if anything touches my skin. Even when I initiate anything. Its a subconscious, automatic, motor- neurological response that I have no control of.

I can’t dig deeper into this ‘happening’ as something horrendously tragic, through traumatic childhood experiences, but I get that’s my cue to become avoidant, even with myself. I won’t discuss, or think about, or consider, or delve into, or recall, or remember, or let those emotional flashbacks into my system.

I do remember how this mad automatic tension in my body affects my daily living, how it has given me nightmare reminders of huge regrets for my behaviour because of my resistance to accepting affection by touch. I’m just not tactile (even when I want to be).

My Dad tried to give me a hug after my Nana’s funeral at his house in the company of family, I shivered and told him, as I hugged him reluctantly, patting his back to signal ‘enough’, “I don’t do hugs Dad you know this”, God forbid IF he hadn’t have squeezed me when he did! - for I was about to continue with something like this….

“But seen as though your Mum, my Nana just died, go on then..” what a muppet!

Thank fuck I was too surprised / shell shocked by the weird unnaturalness of a comforting hug from my father. Another avoidance trigger in me to shake my head and my thoughts of deep regret with it.

He needed it more than me. I live to regret that stupid fucking reaction. My nerves driving my mouth and frozen body again.

I have to receive anti-psychotic medication by depot. injection twelve times a year and each time they remind me to relax my arm. I’ll tell you this, before they even get my sleeve rolled up, I’ve done it. I turn to the side, not because I’m afraid to watch the needle go in, but because I’m paranoid about my stinking breath being witnessed by them. I turn away already knowing that they need my muscle to be relaxed to get a good shot.

I’m trying my god damn best to relax my arm, let my shoulder drop, imagine I’m at the end of taking a difficult shit or something. Nothing works. They say, “ooh you’re so tense. Relax so that it doesn’t hurt”. I’ll tell you what hurts, knowing that I am a statue made of stone or something. I’m stiffer than I’ve made any cock I’ve seen. I’m more uptight than a Nun’s pussy, than my old Levi Twist jeans in the 90’s, than my fucking trainer’s shoelaces, two coats of paint. I’m tighter than a camel’s arse in a sandstorm.

I mentioned the glisten of snow and sensed a ramble about how I smoke at the window, the shine gave me hope as I choked back tears and memories of Lola and what she should be playing in or pissing on the patio, I might have chanced a line or two of words about the temperature.

I probably would have hinted about the epiphany of this ‘nice me’ and a glimpse at hope for the future. I sabotaged the sentimental setting with a shit joke about people entering the UK and claiming benefits. It might open a curious can of worms. Just so you are clear on my thoughts about the state of the situation. Here goes.

I am not envious of those who have more than me (of anything in life, money, love, assistance, freedom, anything I don’t care!) and these people do. I don’t form an opinion and I receive adequate financial assistance myself as a disabled person.

I have paid some of my dues when I was younger but have relied on Government handouts now for much longer than the decade I paid my taxes. I think it works out for bum’s like myself, if you wanna call me that, we still contribute towards taxes and such with our national insurance bullshit. I don’t know to be honest.

I do know that people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

At a push I feel sorry for the genuine asylum seekers who need help. I feel like ‘fair play’ to the piss takers but annoyed at our Government for discrimination against our homeless community (new people who are not in danger come over and get housing, phones, clothes, new trainers, scooters, get given money and ‘allowed’ to or the ability to do shift work on the side, (did somebody say Just Eat.. actually its Deliveroo) but who fucking cares dude?

If the country can afford to help those new residents out, please help the people sleeping on our streets the same way too! Like I said, those opinions I have are very weak and fade away, by being overwritten by one main perspective.

Why should I be upset or bothered, or what business is it of mine, who is coming into the Country I live in? They’re not coming into my fucking arsehole! So, honestly, I really don’t give a fuck?!!

What I do give a fuck about is my little bubble (and it has already burst ). I want to be a nice person again. It’s something I’ve been ashamed of lately. Thinking, I’m too kind makes me weak. I’m too nice, I’m a people-pleaser. I’m a cunt too. I hate people.

I am a fucking conflicting concept, a contradiction but I’m adaptable, resilient, strong when needed (stiff-as-board when not needed to be but we can’t all be perfect).

Final Considerations:

I love hard so fucking hard. I ‘love’ like it’s the only thing that matters to me, and it keeps me alive to feel it flowing through my body and mind. Anything which keeps me alive: love, music, food, warmth, and writing. Thoughts on material things?

Get a decent bed and decent shoes because if you're not in one you’re in the other.

I kept this one clean.. ish! I mean not so many props. I didn’t want the usual images, photos, links, music and .gifs to interfere with or sound-out the words I have said.

I don’t want to be a writer that’s all ink and no matter.

Like a hiker who is all kit. ;)

I hope you enjoyed this little reverie with me and stream of consciousness confessional letter. I get my depot medication in 2 days now.

See you on the flip! xx

Kind-Regards,

..your mate Chasey! ..x

Exit Song:::

IF life turns around for me soon, if I get time, I might drop 💌 randomly around Substacks- it’ll be on here ‘almost daily’🤞

NOTE- I have recently completely a major fete by doing a 7 Day Writing Sprint (props to me!) which ended when December did, here is a quick link or you can visit the BLOG DIRECTLY:

⭕Nobody But You⭕

SUBSCRIBE SO YOU CAN’T GO WRONG OR MISS ME ANYWHERE. THANK YOU! x

Best wishes,!! and this is my plan for the future & my promise to you too..x

💌I’ll aim for writing on CHASEY DELANEY (UPDATES) twice a week instead of just the once a month. I hope you’ll be here next time with me too!.💌Thanks for taking time to read this!💌xx I also write on ChasingTheMuse publication.

🦋'MY WIGGLY WORLD!..'💀

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