💌-What is Your Why?-💌 -[15.12.25]
Exploring my WHY in the WORLD. Q: Why do you create? Why Write? x
Monday 15 December 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.
UNRELATED RECORDING FROM A FEW DAYS AGO. *FURTHER LISTENING* thanks! x
THIS AUDIO IS AN EXCERPT FROM A DRAFT LETTER TO / OR ABOUT THE MUSE WHEN I COULDN’T WRITE ANYTHING BUT REACHED OUT. IT WAS WRITTEN FIRST FOR chasingthemuse.substack.com BUT THEN RECORDED & NEVER PUBLISHED.
MONDAY 15 DECEMBER 2025
Dear Chasers♥️
I used to write because I felt so alone but now that my baby has gone, the only one who had made my eyes light up and shine with pure adoration, Lola.
My writing doesn’t come from a place of discomfort, as I live that life here in my heart and I realise that I had always been writing on the backbone of love, apart from the hurt, complaints and resentment that I couldn’t vent any other place or in any other format or platform.
My writing was strong because of the love I had with me all along. Now that I have nothing to love but us (what’s left of this relationship), the man I live with, my mum and myself. My passions seem pointless and every time I try to think about writing it feels like a thorn in my side. I have considered doing nothing with my time as my time was cut so short with Lola through no fault of my own, just under a collection of cruel circumstances.
A fate that I had never contemplated the consequences because of what happened was completely beyond my conceptual imagination’s capabilities. It’s like falling off a cliff in a dream, my brain can’t imagine or surmise the outcome, the inevitable emotion is unfathomable so instead my body forces me to wake up.
How can my brain protect me from this fucking reality that I have to accept because my baby is dead and I wish it was me who she had outlived. The way the world was supposed to unfold, the way I had pictured Lola growing old with us as we grew older. I can’t even cope without her.
The WHY in my WORLD is a constant confusion and spiritual complaint that I have hanging over my heart every day. My head is fudged with a fog so thick that the dreary daylight drips fluid like acid rain on my face and I wish it would burn and dissolve my soul into a space where Lola and I could remain together as expected long ago from the day I met her.
I have told myself and every supportive person around us at this time of deep grief that I will not ‘slip into a rabbit hole of self doubt’ as a good friend kindly warned me about. I hold it together when my partner sobs into his hands about his little companion and as tears fall through his fingers which are trembling with love and loss and the terrifying memory of her turning on him (tossed to the side) he feels the same as me.
We wish she was with us, here by our side. I hold it together like a thousand grains of sand fighting against the tide, until night time, when he is in a drunken stupor, wrapped in my arms closer where Lola would have lay between us, squeezed against my chest and her little paws around his neck, and the three of us would cuddle and rest and I would be in a daze of pure, pure love. Kissing them both and singing my praises to the universe around us.
Full of gratitude and grace. I’d sleep facing the almost miraculous bodies I had the pleasure to touch and love, I felt blessed, and yes, I would wake up and leave the two most precious souls in my home asleep on the bed to work on my laptop and moan about the lack of respect I get at home… but yet, now I am unable to give a flying fuck about any of it all.
I hold it together, I hold him too close now. I wait until the thunder of his snoring which used to mark the point of his surrender and the rebirth of my life starting up again (as it would have always been on pause, held on baited breath, I was there to assist him, let him entertain, let him shine, and be the star of our world. We loved him but he was a bit of a cunt to put up with.
When it boiled down to it, I recognised that my love for him was evident in the fact that I couldn’t chance him being killed by the only soul who I have ever felt such a nurturing love. Something of the purest love I’ve ever experienced in my life and will never feel again. Coming from me as a 43 year old woman who never wanted to have a family, such as children of my own. Who didn’t gravitate towards babies, or people the way I do with animals.
I figured loving Lola was the kind of love that my mates used to tell me I would find out when ‘you have a kid of your own’ and ‘there’s nothing like it in this world’. I thank Lola for proving them wrong… or did she?
Because, where was I to protect her from the inevitable. It makes me wonder why I couldn’t do what I was constantly rehearsing in my mind up until that fateful morning. Why couldn’t I just grab Lola and run away and take her away from this place, save her. Don’t let anyone know what she had done, what she had become?
I was terrified of her little animalistic behaviour.
I couldn’t save her but I would never have chosen one over the other. Not to this end. I couldn’t risk her taking his life, but I should have sacrificed him being in mine. I should have saved Lola’s little life but how could I have done so without risking mine?
Oh my God we tried so hard to correct the cycle. To fight fate, to change the outcome. I wait til the thunder arises, the snoring which used to be such a relief and offer me some respite until the next day and the next night, only now this time it’s nothing but a reminder of his humanity, I am so glad that he is alive but still I envy his ability to let it all out without trying to comfort me, allowing me to be the one responsible for ‘holding it together’ for appearing to be ‘stronger’ the more stoic, cold-hearted one.
I don’t resent him any longer. I don’t wish I had run away, I just wish we still had Lola. I promised everyone that I would be ok. That I would stop thinking about ‘it’ or talking about ‘it’ but I lied, I crossed every one of fingers and toes inside my mind. I would never stop thinking about LOLA, I don’t want to stop talking about LOLA. IT will never be erased from my blueprint.
The thunder is still welcome. I miss the rain. The sound of the static rain on the black screen ambient videos we used to play all night to drown out the street sounds so Lola could sleep more deeply and take time off from protecting us and the house, to prevent every small sound from alerting her to do her ‘job’ by instinct which was to protect us barking. Jumping up from a lovely slumber to run to the front door and ward off strangers around us for us just because she was a ‘dog’ and fueled by pure fucking love.
Fuck the rain, the thunder, the snoring, the silence surrounded it. The echoes of his distorted drunken stupor rest… I can’t hold it together, I need to feel the love I still have for Lola, and grieve and contort my soul to allow myself to get on with it. I want to love Lola. I won’t ever let go of my love for her but I need to release some of the build up.
I pour my heart out into the pillows that used to stay cold because Lola’s shoulder would always be there for my cheek to lean on, I’d abandon my side of the bed to hold Lola in the middle of us instead. I’ll never forget. Now when I turn away from his body of thunderous oblivion, I am left with empty arms and a bunch of pillows that I am not acquainted with. I made an ‘L’ shaped bumper to buffer my face from the peeling paint wall.
For a moment I wonder if the web from all the spiders above my pillows will ever fall, or where they all go when not at home, for that reason I wrap the quilt and covers all over my shoulders and over my elbows and up to my nose. I sob into the mattress.
I hold myself close. My hair sticks to the snot on my nose and my face is soaked and my soul is somewhere over the bridge at the rainbow trying not to let go of my baby-soul Lola. I don’t move or allow myself to get through the breakdown.
I embrace the painful sorrow and feel like I’m driving my heart out of my body and I hope that it stops beating and then I realise that I’m not breathing because my mouth is twisted closed and my nose is blocked and somehow I have forgot how to fucking breathe….. WHY?
Tonight my reason for writing is to reconnect with me, to find me, to understand me, not out of sympathy or for cathartic self-empathy, but because I have nothing and nobody to love now. I have exhausted all avenues and possibilities, reached my absolute precipice with Lola. My ship has sailed and left me on the shores of an anti-suicide-wish-to-stop-existing.
The only thing I’ve never tried to love is me. It’s either that or put all my energies into something else. That is why I write, to you tonight.
Kind-Regards,
..your faithful Chasey! ..x
