Over Consumption
INCLUDES MIXTAPE - Chasey Delaney! Free Newsletter
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Schizophrenia has turned my gaze inward. I write like a twat on a semi- daily basis. It provides a sense of control, a way to reshape my circumstances on my own terms and in my own words. This isn’t where I come to hide, it’s where I come to find myself, and in doing so I get to share my writing!
Chasey Delaney! Free Newsletter.
MONDAY: 10 AUGUST 2026
NO KISSING MIXTAPE by Chasey Delaney (2022)
Dear Chasers!
OVER CONSUMPTION
“Includes: The Truth”
I had myself an ‘analogue day’ on Sunday night that began about 9 pm, right about the time when I usually sit down to write to you guys. It had been a funny old morning and an even more absurd afternoon. I’d felt bored beyond comprehension and too ‘over-consumed’.
Ooh look! I made a little rhyme up there didn’t I? It was unintended but if I let my fingers do the talking they’ll become infinitely never-ended.
Well, that didn’t work out right as a poem (don’t worry I’ll get back to regular ‘prose’ soon) so, without-a-do, let’s continue!
I’ve never been good at poetry but there is something quite poetic about picking up a dusty book, a leaky pen and a scrap of old paper.
Turn down the noise from the inside just slipping into the mind of another with the intention of scoping them now, jotting down words that sing to you and making notes about the quotes which have stood out.
There’s grounding in your grip on the pen, comfort in the crinkle crunch of the crappy paper and warmth in the pages you’re reading, an intimate connection with another person who you don’t know.
The anticipation of what’s to come, what you’ll learn about, things you might find out. The separation from the inner world, with a clean mind freshly dispatched from the world without.
Minimal distractions. No guilt and no regrets, just to sit down with a book and a cuppa, minding your own damn business! I enjoyed my Sunday Night trip to the analogue past, a peaceful visit for a minute of bliss.
11.32 am - Monday 10 August
I just received a very unexpected and unwanted phone call which I dealt with incredibly well considering my discomfort but which has physically triggered some anxiety in me enough for me to go into autopilot after putting the phone down.
Unbeknownst to me my body decided to jerk up from off my chair, walk quickly towards the front door, away down the hall, cupping myself underneath both breasts, taking note they weren’t sweaty yet, nervously do a few full stationary spins (for no apparent reason).
Not even wondering what the fuck I was doing, just slowly made my way back through the hall again, did a weird full circle ‘lap’ around the small living room.
I just brushed my shin up against the reclined sofa and muttered some sort of ‘bastard’ insult at it; before heading back to my desk with an empty head feeling less agitated yet still slightly disturbed!
20:21 pm - Monday (still…)
I’m bloated now. I just ate a pile of pitta bread, BLT’s (hold the tomato) . It’s my latest craving that I am ‘over-consuming’. Pretty soon I will never want to see another slice of bacon, or pit, or leaf of fucking lettuce, that time could be now, the next five minutes or six weeks from now. I’m just pleased I managed to make my £3 chump change do me (and it did, £1.50 bacon, £0.68 lettuce, £0.50 pitta breads).
I started the day with £25 and an empty cupboard. My partner had his own share of the funds and spent it wisely. I, on the other hand, persuaded him to chip in with me for a big bag of Black Sheep backed coffee. I’ll attach a photo for the actual information (and I got a free large tote bag with it!). I put £16 towards the £31 beans.
I had to convince him (and myself) that it was totally worth the money and would last us ages, “like a month or more“ he agreed. He bought it from the actual coffee shop on his way home from the gym.
I also asked him to nip into Boots to buy me some Bonjela £5.90 - that’s another element of my reasoning for swapping food shopping for expensive coffee for stocking up on at a time when we’re so skint –my mouth is burnt, infection, bubbled up or something worse (possible an unknown underlying death sentense).
I remember eating some sub pizzas and the sauce sticking the dough to my teeth, the hot melted cheese stretching as I pulled it out with my fingers a bit too late, the sauce burning my gums long after I’d finished eating. I did finish eating. I continued and repeated the agony of the sauce, cheese, dough sticking, stretching, burning, all the way through the food until it was gone. I did this to myself.
It was only when, a couple of days since those pizza subs, and my mouth has swollen up, my gums are throbbing and stinging without me tongue punching them, that I finally realise ‘oops I may have a little problem here’.
My mind runs through the huge list of potential possibilities.
[–] Sepsis
[–] Abscess
[–] Cancer
[–] Herpes
A few hundred other causes first, then eventually…
[–] …could it have been that pizza Chasey!?
My plastic teeth (partial denture) won’t stay still in my mouth anymore while this thing is raw, leaving me no choice but to take it out until my gums are healed.
My mouth, without the plastics filling the two-tooth gap, makes me look like a flat-fanged fucking vampire (that and a hungry hippo chewing like a stapler!) so at the minute, I’m kinda dining out on this being a most plausible reason for staying inside the house. A bit buzzing by it, I can’t lie!
Not that I need any reason, it’s not as if anyone would notice if I didn’t leave the property for the next ten years. I could literally become completely housebound and not one person would bat an eyelid about it.
Most of the time I prefer the safety and comfort zone of my own home (much more than most) but let me get one thing straight now:
I DO go out when I need or want something -I can be in and out 5 or 6 times a day some days and sometimes more, albeit not going very far from home but still not sat picking my arse on the couch all day either!
I’m NOT (always) very lazy. I value my mechanics as much as my mind, but inevitably it is the latter which gets the most exercise.
I’m not physically dependent on anyone else and I always pull my weight, which usually consists of dragging my big, heavy head, full of blackness, up from the ground, back through depression and past paranoia first. The rest seems to follow suit reluctantly. I’m okay on a good day.
I can go out as long as there are NO people around.
I mean, of course there’s people everywhere in public, the public is always fucking peopled. That’s fine. They’re alright, I’ll ‘allow it’ just as long as they don’t talk to me, demand my attention, initiate eye contact, or ask me questions or anything.
When I talk about being a bit of a recluse, what I mean is, I refuse to socialise, or spend time with my closest people, my loved ones in a place where there may be OTHER PEOPLE around. I don’t go to group events for obvious reasons!
I won’t even go out for dinner in a restaurant on special occasions, birthdays, BBQ’s, festivals (I used to), pubs, clubs, parks, for walks* and especially never any fucking picnics. I mean, it’d be hard enough managing my anxiety around other humans, let alone adding spiders, wasps and prickly grass to the mix.
Saying that, I came up with a very GRAND (completely stupid and probably impossible) proposal today, and that is to take my beloved on a long walk to Philips Park where I used to hang around all the time as a silly teenager.
Where back in the day, me and my mates would drink 20/20 and neck Ketamine around the back of the abandoned cricket ground at night.
We’d lie to our parents saying we were staying at our friend’s house and we’d ‘pull all-nighters’ like that in this particular park.
I have fond memories of playing football on the hot summer days, fishing newts out of the pond when I was young and later on as the years passed on, smoking weed behind the bushes near the allotments with the lads, then getting fingered in the graveyard (at best!).
Shhhush, I haven’t told my fella about that, I’ll just swerve that part unless we go past it and then I’ll retell him stories of yore about how spooky it was when I was young. Maybe make up a couple of ghost stories to throw him off scent and protect his blessed ignorance.
He’d absolutely refuse to go there with me if he thought about all that gritty behaviour. I am his butterfly now. Never has he ever considered how I got here. If only he knew I’d been a ‘chavvy’ caterpillar that had to churn myself to goo and mush (or whatever) to come out the other side of my ugly cocoon much later, more ugly than before but wise enough to try harder to become better (next time around!).
I suggested that IF my teeth fit again by Wednesday (his day off from the gym) that I will walk there with him, take him ‘my route’ (which to be fair is only by memory from like 20+ years ago, for all I know there could be buildings blocking the paths I used to use by now!). It’s about 2 miles from where we live but if my memory serves me well, it doesn’t really feel like it is.
I hope my mouth is still fucked by then but in my heart I want to do it. I know I’ve been overly ambitious ‘promising’ this. He has started his 10,000 steps a day again. He’s on day 3. On day two he was ‘an expert’ at it, he preached to me that I should do it. I know he’s right, he’s only being helpful, he cares about me; so I told him politely that “I’ve done 142 steps tonight and I’m already knackered” thanks but no, not yet.
Reducing me to a private personal ‘guilt trip’ hence this sudden urge to try and take part in his outside life a bit. We have rules, he reminded me that this would be a ‘walk’ not a ‘sprint’ and I chipped in that it would be a walk (I only march when there’s loads of people about), we’d avoid near contact with the public, it’d be fine, reminding him, its a walk though, not a fucking stroll. He loves to dawdle. I don’t.
I walk like an exclamation mark, with my eyes down to the ground. I hope I pull this off. The weather will be 30+ degrees (celsius?). I might catch a tan, or at least some sort of fucking melt down. OMG the park will most definitely be hammered. Fuuuucking hell. Oh well. Amusingly enough, even Google can’t help me out right now! Check this search result I was given just now! It’s a sign of bad times to come.
I can’t rely on anything, I can only have faith in myself. One thing for sure is that if my mouth isn’t fixed – I will have to call a rain check on it.
I was so excited to taste this coffee today that I was saying absolutely anything, still ‘dining out’ on the inconvenience of having no front teeth and agonising pain in my face. I couldn’t be arsed planning meals to buy with £16 quid to last me two or three days. I was like, “If I can’t go out then I’ll do without food shopping until the next time we get some money in, just buy that coffee while we can”.
He offered to shop for me, which I wasn’t going to take him up on. I know he gets embarrassed at the till when everything for him is meat, poultry, eggs and animal products – these to him being the dog’s bollocks of food shopping.
Which would look bizarre with my conveyor belt of carcinogenic crap coming up behind it! Cheap balsak volcano flavour..(google is working again, BULDAK not ballsack! noodles) and, bad smoked basic bacon, and other stupidly rubbish items. They’re hardly front runners to win any Healthy Eating Medals from ‘Yer Mom’s Grocery Awards’ contests.
More like an advert for a Netflix documentary called: What To Eat To Stay Fat & Die Faster.
I digress. I got what I wanted but not what I needed.
Earlier this evening - Still MONDAY (yeah, [10.08.26] still)
I was waiting patiently on the edge of the bed, naked arse up in the air stinking of baby lotion all over my arms, a distinct overtone of desperation with a hint of anticipation, just admiring my ‘wedding’ rings.
I couldn’t help but think, of nothing, except ‘’what the fuck is he doing the kitchen? hurry up darling’’
Feeling like its a hard knocks life for a fucking horny housewife of high feminist genius energy… hahaha just kidding.
If ever there were an advert for anti-feminist-movements (I’m sure there is one called ‘GRINDRR’ or ‘TRADWIFE’ or something. Not saying the right thing here. I’m losing my trail of thoughts. Listen: I don’t know what I mean, but I expect you to ‘get it’ for me.
I’m trying to say I’m a proper pinup for posters in alliance with the reason why feminists fight and the reason why or what for (I’m a bad women is what I’m saying!)
I guess like you get adverts for fucked up donkeys, charities raising funds and awareness for the crisis in the world, hungry - starving people, children, animals in distress.If feminists needed an ad to promote their cause ‘I would be the client of concern’.
—This is Chasey from the rough part of England, she has no formal education, is living in poverty, she who has never known women, she has no means to think for herself, she lives a half life, if we don’t do something now, Chasey may not survive past her 44th birthday – FUCKING FUND US OR MORE PEOPLE LIKE HER WHO CAN PROCREATE MIGHT BE THE NEXT TO SUFFER. What would you do if this was your neighbour? –
I wish I was a little bit better than I am at describing my own awareness. I can’t do anything but tell the truth.
I’m in the bedroom after being sent in there abruptly – being told NOT TO WASH MY MINKY.. oooh, I’m excited but at the same time slightly worried about whether it might be.., could it be .. stinky? He tells me not to spoil the moment. ‘You always ruin it and put me off running off to the bathroom to splash your gash and check your arse, you’re so fuck daft Chasey’.
Instead, I did a quick ‘swipe check’ with my hand. It was a faintly sweet smell, the skin felt smooth, supple, soft, and firm. Not at all dry with bits of toilet paper and cling ons stuck to it like I saw on his arsehole last time I licked it.
I checked the front of me too. Nothing to worry about. Not fishy or greasy, or dry like his cock the other day. I wanted to say to him that he’d cheated because it was fishy, like tuna but he’d been in the sauna and had showered after.
He told me about him eating tinned sardines, and then said it was piss, because he hasn’t been dabbing his dick but I usually enjoy that whiff. I mean, I hate fresh clean cocks. They’re fake in my eyes (obviously I like a clean dick) just hold the soap a bit.
I just take away everything I find about him and presume that my bits will be exactly the same. It doesn’t work that way. My bum never smells like arse but when he’s been scratching his I can smell it the moment throws his arm over my hips. It’s fair to say I panic too much. My thought system stems from a childish belief network I think?!
He waltzes in with an extra inch to him, all ballsy and jabs it in. I moan with surprise and pleasure and pain and demand he do it again, again, be rough, hurt me, ooh that’s hot, and just as I’m expecting the ride, he blows his load inside. Not awkward one bit!!
I’m happy enough, I felt it. A few seconds was all I needed to know, like a Sexy Blinkist. Why read the whole book when the summary is enough!
I did no more than I usually would but made the awkward, awkward.
ME: “Are you ok?“ I check, hoping to hear ‘of course’.
HIM: ”YEH WHY“
- then before I can reply,
HIM: ”WHY THE FUCK DO YOU ALWAYS FUCK IT UP“,
ME: “Sorry, I was checking you’re okay because you seem angry!”.
HIM: “FUCK OFF CHASEY, WHY THE FUCK WOULD I BE ANGRY”.
ME: “because you didn’t like it?”
HIM: “I FUCKING BOBBLED* BECAUSE I LOVED IT (*ejaculated). CHASEY? Chasey, how do you come to those fucking conclusions luv? I don’t get it”
ME: “I don’t know, I try to match your energy but instead I seem to translate it”
HIM: “What are you going on about. Fuck off now. Now, You’ve done it”
23:46 pm - MONDAY (just about to send this shit)
I’m not entirely finished saying everything I wanted to say to you and this is one of the longer letters I write. It’s been a while since I allowed myself to stray away from the conversation in different ways like tonight. I will leave it here with a to be continued attached to it.
Tomorrow, I’ll come back with a fresh update. oxoxo
I feel a little late disclaimer coming on:
Don’t judge me as if your shit doesn’t stink. You might be more sensible, a better writer, more put-together than me, but you’re still over there in your little corner farting too, just in a nicer outfit!
Thanks for reading me. Goodnight. 00:00 Midnight, my time is up now. Bye! xxxxx
Love from Chasey! ..x
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