🩶"It Seems Like a Person Has Gone"🩶
INCLUDES VOICEMAIL FOR YOU>: Hard times require COFFEE and a catch up. Just a casual letter & chat with Chasey Delaney.!..x 2 November 2025.
Sunday 2 November 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”
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.
SUNDAY 2 NOV 2025
Dear Chasers!
Good Morning from my Mum’s kitchen table. Its just us, me and you and a hot brew (coffee as dark as the days gone by!). Its almost eight and this is the first day since, lets say at least a week before Halloween Weekend, that I’ve had the head space for processing anything I’d like to convey to the world today. If you’re too busy to read this letter and would still like to ‘catch up with’ or hear a bit from me please scroll down to the end where you will find a short voicemail I recorded for you! :))
I might be looking like the arse-end-of-Halloween still but who cares how I look on a Sunday morning, recovering from a ‘terrifying’ two weeks! Let’s just say my anxiety and fear has been making too much of a tumultuous appearance of late.
Sleep, my safe haven - now look at me? up at the crack of a seagull’s yawn!
It seems like a person has gone was a fitting title for want of finding any other. I have been trapped in a vicious cycle of toxicity and volatile behaviours back at home for far too long now. Nobody has gone, I’m still in the same situation with my private life. I still choose to be there. I’m just waking up somewhere else today. I’m just waking us AS someone else today. Today I feel an new kind of emptiness. A space to be me.
It’s been weeks since I sat down to write to you because so many difficulties in my life, at home and where the heart lives, leave my soul to limp through every night in trepidation. I worry about the unnecessary challenges that needn’t even be, yet keep happening and never seem to change or cease to be; they just develop into more menacing habitual new realities.
I see the face of the person I live with become more screwed up and contorted by a misplaced dog’s bark than it does when looking over at me, the face of fifteen years of love and loyalty, forcing breaths to beg his understanding through spontaneous uncontrollable tears caused by cold crisis and uncontained grief, and loneliness.
there is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock. people so tired mutilated either by love or no love. people just are not good to each other one on one. the rich are not good to the rich the poor are not good to the poor. we are afraid. our educational system tells us that we can all be big-ass winners. it hasn’t told us about the gutters or the suicides. or the terror of one person aching in one place alone untouched unspoken to watering a plant. ~ Charles Bukowski
—I don’t know how to start to tell you what’s been crippling me lately.
I honestly have no words or way of explaining things without the sound of triviality being most evident and my claims or traumatisation to be misconstrued as a failure on me, a weakness in spirit, an overacting mind, a misconception of my own perspective, a symptom of my mental illness or even something so far as saying -nothing to write home about, unimportant, irrelevant, nothing to cry about.
“A relationship is like a house. If a light bulb goes out, you fix the lightbulb, you don’t go and buy a new house.”
― Faraaz Kazi
So I won’t be typing out all the details and dynamics of the things that have been so difficult for me to deal with, the events which have probably been rewiring my nervous system and the reasons I have allowed myself moments in tears without abandon, and in those moments - some of them - I have allowed myself to be seen ‘letting it all out’.
The hardest part of doing that was it wasn’t received in the way I was prepared to let it show. It wasn’t accepted as my admittance to a loss of self control, as the emotional breakdown, it wasn’t seen as a sign that I had taken too much and that everything had finally taken its toll on me. You see, I’m almost always paralysed in a fight or flight (fain, freeze or fawn) type of mode.
Even when our older beloved dog, Tia, had to been euthanized in front of us at the Vet’s - when she was unwell with an inoperable tumor that we had knew nothing about, even at the moment of her passing and us holding her paws and whispering our “thank yous” for being a good girl, and “I love you, Goodbyes” - I couldn’t cry. My eyes stayed wide and dry. I was frozen in shock. Stung by sadness. Like cold stone.
I blame half of it on my own dissociative personality and how I’ve taught myself to handle tough life situations like losing those I’ve loved or being hurt by those who should’ve loved but didn’t love me too. I also think my strong anti-psychotic medications have a part to play in my numbness. Like a shield dampening down the intensity of intrusive thoughts and feelings from negative emotions; they also slow down the process of positive necessary emotion too.
Sitting down on the side of the bath with the door left open. Holding my head in my hands and allowing the flood of fast tears to fall without the urge to collect them back up, disguise their existence by catching them in the cuff of my sleeves, like I normally would; with or without an audience.
In the event I have surprised myself with this kind of emotional release, be it that I’m alone or in company. I turn into the historical ‘housemaid’ rushing in with a mop and bucket, in total denial of any ‘incident having taken place’ ushering the witnesses into the drawing room while I sweep or clean up the last of the heartfelt emotional debris.
“How dare these dampened eyes forbode me of the dark clouds within my heart!”
This morning while we sip our cooling coffee, there are no tears to clear. I have just received a video call from home, a quiet chat with my partner and a one-sided conversation in bed with our dog. She seem content enough, lay by my pillow and licking her back paws, sleepy and slow yawning looking into the lens. Today is a good morning. A time for writing and the type of day I have been praying for yearning so long to have one it seems to be a waste not to take this opportunity to type again.
I’m reluctant about the content being rife with all the heartache and headaches I’ve been experiencing but at the same time I like to write what hurts, what needs come out of me, what feels natural, whatever the stream of consciousness ciphers from me. I hope that this will be a mixture of the good, bad, ugly and the occasional beauty of being mad and messy in love as a fucked up person is with another one.
He is the drama at this stage in our life but for a good decade that title was on me. I was the cause of the disruptions, chaos and bullshit.
I was adjusting to the knowledge of mental illness, being different, losing my old personality like shedding skin. Wondering if I was a snake inside and no amount of skin shedding would ever stop me being a snake, so why should I try to change?
I have to give credit to him. He might be going through a similar crisis, he’s also middle aged, balding and skint. Maybe, its his time to ‘shine’ by emitting the dark shadow over our lives? This is why I have decided to stick with this, stand with him, try to hold us all together and try not to allow myself to fall apart at the same time. *Its fair to say I’m a bit shit at it!*
—We’re both in the same boat and its sink or swim!
Its been a tiresome two weeks. My body has found its own circadian rhythm ‘bad habits’ and has began shutting down at the most challenging times. When the house is seeping into some scary and volatile collision and the atmosphere drops to a downpour of dense and dismal fog, so do my eyelids, my soul tries to tune out and turn off, my mind wants to drop off and the vessel behind wishes to sink and disappear for good. In most of my recent selfies you can see my eyes like money slots and as much as any savings pot in our lives, are pale, dead and empty inside.
I messaged my family to ask if they did anything for Halloween. They said:
‘..Yeah.. Just a couple of pumpkins and a box of sweets for the ‘trick or treat’ kids. Nobody knocked on so we’re saving the sweets for Christmas’’
I love this photograph. Captures the life, and love of the Spooky Season.
I told them how lovely this photo was and that all I did to participate in Halloween was sleep (all day and night) like the f*cking dead! x My efforts are dark and gothic also but I can’t remember when I took my photo (see below) but it’s a valiant effort.
Its been a nice morning and feels good to be back here with you at the keyboard in my own quiet zone but for now I have worn myself down with the discussion. I know I will be here at Mum’s house for a few more hours before returning home so I might try to spend that time writing something more upbeat and hopeful, imaginary and unreal before I leave. I might start something on
if I drop in randomly every day, it’ll be on here:
SUBSCRIBE TO BOTH AND YOU CAN’T GO WRONG OR MISS ME. THANK YOU! x
Have a lovely wistfully autumnal morning. I’ll be listening to this with my next coffee. Recording this voicemail:
Talking to you while moseying around Mum’s garden in my trainers and dressing gown, feeling the nip of crisp air on the tip of my nose and taking in the view. Today seems like a good day to chill.x
Best wishes,!! x (I’ll try not to leave it this long next time. I’ll aim for twice a month instead of just the once. I hope you’ll be hear next time with me too!.) .xx