Truth. 13.10.23

No bells or whistles - lots of unsavoury language.

I won't believe this is the right place for me to be until I've cracked my anxiety. It's so finite to send out a newsletter and that in itself screams "not for you Chasey baby!" because I have no news. I'm not marketing anything. I'm not a brand. I have no hope helping myself let alone all my good causes. All I wanted was to write and prove to myself that I'm fucking still alive.

I won't be satisfied until I'm pleased that I have been completely me. So gone with all the bells and trimmings. They're there as buffers but to me it's all very "SHINEY" I'm like a squirrel picking up nuts then dropping the all to go catch a leaf.

Another thing that I can't get my head around is the length of time it's taken me to put something a little less glamorous as dog shit out there twice when I have tried really hard to find what works for me. 

Simply put - I know it's because I'm trying. That's it. Trying. Charles Bukowski talks about writing and in one of his poems:

About life too he says, "Don't Try"  I'm not sure exactly the actual quote while I'm writing this, I'm not going to paraphrase because it's simple don't try and I totally understand the concept.

My friend who has a huge encyclopedia knowledge of Bukowski has told me that I have got the big wobbly end of the stick. That my interpretation is not exactly as was intended. I don't care though. The way I see it is like this. 

Example: my fella says to me "I'm trying to be nice to you" and I think why the fucking effort. Either you want to be nice or you don't..but don't try. Do you see my perspectiv?

I want to write but if I try to write it doesn't flow. I end dissatisfied with the results. I get mind blown by ideas and tropes… not sure what a trope is but I am too sensitive to be decorating my shit before deciding on the wallpaper. I am too busy worrying about the possibility that I have fuck all left to say, that I won't be good enough, that I have to try harder, don't let it beat me.

Even now I'm thinking 'should I delete those swear words!' Well, no I won't until I am told I am not allowed to use them. Even now I feel like I can offer something by just being myself and writing trashy stuff that's I feel.

I don't necessarily enjoy what I'm writing but I need to get some shit down and get it out on record. It's why I write.

There are things I cannot even begin to say aloud because I have to watch out for my partner kicking off at me.

I always upset him and he was even instantly pissed off by my posting photos of our back garden. He is over protective. He is very rigid minded too but also makes a lot of sense when he lectures me on stuff.

He didn't lose his shit over it. Just looks down his nose. Warns me about the dangers of worse case scenarios. Tells me not to be so trustworthy.

"The world isn't a safe place" he says, like I really need reminding. I am the most relentlessly suspicious and undiluted person in the world. My paranoid schizophrenia is just a small fucking clue. 

I don't want to upset him. I don't care if I do. I just don't like filtering the bullshit and fluffing up my fucking delivery of boring shit, usual generic garbage that I think people might read - even if they don't want to.

I don't want to be that person who tricks people or manipulates them into reading my emails. I'm not selling anything. So, I write from my  hi energy headspace, a mad lively personality that I actually do have going on for sure, but for the wrong reasons.

I am perpetually dissociated most of the time I'm completely adrift of reality. I can be bubbly and smart and in your face. I don't want to be. I like making you laugh and smile and even roll your eyes but the real me is afraid of sympathy.

Unlike most cases, my misery doesn't really require much company. It puts me off my sadness. I switch to a braver face and wish good experiences for everyone else that I deserve myself. Probably, for the most part people who know me think I'm getting on fine.

I'm not. I am done with this post for now. I'm thinking about a listening to a bit of music and then maybe my stream of consciousness will make the effort to get back into this Substack platform again.

Question ❓⁉️

How often is too often to post?

The song I am going to play myself walking out to is:

H by The Lost Soul Band.