"The Walls of Solitude Bloom"💗 [30.09.24]

A little update - Confessional🍷🎧🤍

Sep 30, 2024

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30 September 2024

Dear Chasers💗

Doing the dishes this morning it occurred to me that as much as I hate the hard work of washing a full kitchen worth of dirty pots, pans, plates, bowls, and all the cutlery from the drawer; it could be much worse washing a single spoon, a lonely cup, one knife and fork. I’d hate to go back to the days where my kitchen was always immaculate because that’s when I was at my loneliest.

At least this way, living in what feels like a now unloving relationship with my partner, I get to experience a deeper solitude without being actually being completely alone. It hurts to know, or to think that I am rocking about a scruffy apartment with a person who hasn’t got my back anymore, blames me for everything and probably rejoices in my depression and even applauds my downfall.

I have to take into consideration his feelings, which is weird because that is something I have been unable to do since the disconnect between us. The shift in tone, in tiny changes to genuine everyday intimacy. We still sort of touch at times, not just when he blocks the way as we might happen to cross paths in the hall, the bathroom or kitchen. Our apartment is quite small.

Then he might poke my face in a ‘jokey way’, press his chest into mine, flick his hand up the bottom of tits like playing a fucking pinball machine. It feels strange, like the way he pulls me in for a kiss, only to push my head down and kiss my eyelash or forehead. He still calls me into our bedroom, what is now his constant place to hangout on his own when he’s home. He will ask me to hold out my hand and I do, then he tells me ‘no, the other hand’ and so I do - he strokes it with a sympathetic stare I get abruptly shooed away.

Most of the day I spend in a room by myself with regular, sometimes constant contact via video call with my Mum. The calling each other and just hanging out together started in 2017 when I lost my Dad to a heart attack, and Mum lost her partner of 20+ years to misdiagnosed lung cancer. It began as a way I could keep her company, and help her feel better - now it feels like the tables have turned. It also feels like a cop out of not having to communicate or spend any time with me from my own partner who encourages me to phone her whenever I initiate any kind of real conversation with him, and when I sometime wander uninvited in to the bedroom to ‘visit’ him. All the time when she isn’t around he shoos me away, asking me where the fuck my Mum is, and to go away “you’ll be alright when your Mum’s back!”

I feel sad most of the time, for a person who rarely gets bored - I have started to feel suffocated by boredom. I often feel nervous and a bit scared. I know the fear is irrational because the violence is minimal and I always strike back. Being Schizophrenic means that when unwell I live in persistent fear. I am well, as well as can be. I try to keep a level of serenity surrounding me. I am currently playing internet radio Classic FM Calm (not the usual choice of radio station for an uneducated, benefit’s chav with bad penchant for dirty sex, porn and cocaine! My mind is mucky enough but I usually stick on House Music, Indie, Deep moody anything but Classical!).

Credit to the Artist who I can’t remember

Some days I need it like a fix to change the thick atmosphere and become someone disguised as myself. Somebody calm, safe, content, aloof, able to write about it from a comfortable mental space, I sit on the sofa in my red tinted dark room-esque and let my rapid heart rate rest as I press Globalplayer. I have tried looking for comfort in old world literature - some classics that I already know are not my cup of tea but could they be free from cruelty of the mind? Well, I mean could I handle them as cosy? I tried Jane Eyre, and at the end of Chapter 1 (which isn’t long) I gave up.

I wish I could just pick up some of my own books which are more up my street. I don’t even know what my street looks like anymore. I feel like its an avenue of dead ends and broken hearts. I try to avoid any new music, and shy away from modernity. It hurts too much. Like, I don’t belong there and never will do. I don’t see my life as having a future, and I sure as hell don’t wish to go back to anything I’ve survived before - except a few friendly faces.

I think I came across some solid special people that were overlooked by my own bad temperament and behaviour in my youth because of whatever I was going through. I was of the opinion ‘If you can’t beat them join them’ back when I was young. Days like today, I try to avoid my favourite things from history which used to make me. Like, horror films. I used to sit on my Granddad’s knee from age 5 onwards watching ‘scary pictures’ as he used to call them. I was happy then and had a cast-iron mind and a young but solid disposition. I avoid my gritty books, and opening my front door even.

It’s important that if my internal world is being challenged for theft of it’s peace then I shall make god damn sure the external surroundings will put up some resistance on my behalf. I build the walls, and boundaries around myself this way. My head is a bombsite, my soul is dilapidated, my hope is desolate and my heart is an empty shell of debris. It’s nothing new to me. I was born into this environment. I thrive in the pits of nothingness. I do my best. As long as there is pain, and grief, and hate against me, with me next to me, something to acknowledge me - I can learn how to deal with all those things in me. I don’t have to hear myself breathing to know that I'm alive, and waiting for the days when I can find myself back in my own tastes, sharing a life with the person I love who washes my worries away. When the walls come down.