[2/40] Next Level Disrespect! 0_o

Writing When Afraid To Even Speak - Shouting When Fear Depletes To Rage!

Feels SO go0od & unREAL to be BACK …. IT’S FUCKING MAGICAL to GIVE U MY Soul.. -&- Shit Selfies thrown in 2BOOT..x

IMAGE: 1st attempt to get the thumbnail Ha! :D L0L ;) oOft..8008135 I calculated, DEMON (boobies!):P

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I’ve Been Away Since MAY Sorry Guys! I have missed you so fr’kN moooch! xx

Here’s what I found in my drafts as the last thing I wrote before my AWOL HIATUS:

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HowDoooo! How the hell are you?! Thank you for being here with me again, I love you all as ever, always ‘My Pretty Patient Little DAILY Chasers!!’

I’d like to say I’m coming back with a BANG but that ain’t so true. I am going to just slide sweetly in the backdoor as if I’ve never been away. The last time I wrote something on this publication was when?>??? urm… THIS: [1/40] so as promised, my cumback post is [2/40] and so here begins me trying to complete a 40 x posts, streak.

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IF You Wondered Where I Got Off To? and Why?

I managed to get myself logged out and ‘lost’ password on chromebook. Couldn’t regain access because my email account isn’t logged in on here, so I was waiting to get my phone out of the pawn shop - yes it’s still in there - coming out soon. I am still logged in to Substack on there and have access to my email address attached too. So, that’s the (why?) explained. Oh, how did I get back in? Pure fluke, an update on Chrome browser password manager, an accidentally wrong but right password entry. Now, the juice. Where the fuck did I go then? So, I tried so much to get over this hiccup and re-start afresh again and again - about 6 trials and errors. I did the most stuff on here with a new system/template/format. Still the same outlook. I am keeping this letter too. SUBSCRIBE HERE: & HERE OR JUST SEE BELOW IMAGES/ SUB BUTTON.

CLICK IMAGE TO TAKE YOU OVER THERE FOR A WEE GANDER! (((lLIFE UPDATES))) Chasey is a full on Chaotic Cram Packed NewsLETTER x

CLICK IMAGE FOR MY OTHER PODCAST/MUSIC/NEWSLETTER PUBLICATION CALLED (((SOUNDS LIKE))) Chase I’M KEEPING THIS ACTIVE TOO. x

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When YOU'RE 'Afraid' To Speak Writing Is HARDER!'

I’m not even going to mince my words or beat about the bush (there’s only so much masturbating one girl can do before even that gets rudely interrupted by undesirable running commentary hailing from The Intrusive Thoughts Department from the School of Inner Cunt-Touching Critics who say you need to study more and cannot possibly become a fully fledged member of The Soggy Twats Society- I need to STOP THIS…. Right now!).

I’ve been alone all morning except for the cosy comfort of a sleeping dog and few cans of RedBull, as much coffee as I could slurp available, the remote control in my possession and all I have done is wander from room to room looking for the words to say which are already there in my head. I feel exposed behind closed curtains. I lock the door and slip the chain on ‘just in case’ - being alone isn’t the problem and if there was any cause for alarm over safety - the only threat would be from inside the house not out. The only cause for concern is whether or not I am actually going to be a fucking danger to myself..!!

My mind is doing my head in, my body is sitting on the fence a bit by giving me enough adrenaline to think but hardly any energy to move about. I get sparks of motivation, then depression comes in like creeping-fucking-Jesus, instantly warning me to withdraw back inside the shell I live in. I might pull down all the blinds but I can’t shut out the distress in my head, the despair in my heart and the fucking wide open doors to my soul keep pushing me away and out as I stand on the overcast patio of my schizophrenic mind. Shhhiiittt.

What I do when I feel like this is turn off my devices, run a hot bath and forget I’ve done it. Keep the music playing in the background, smoke some cigs and give up on doing anything I would usually find exile in - like writing (and wanking but that's a firm second contender!). I resign myself to reading quietly contently - in the bath (now about room temperature, with the hot tap trickling and me holding my left foot over my right one to avoid the sting, only to be stung again anyway by the freezing shock of dripping water from the cold tap and now my feet are moving but I’m not.

I’m lay down in the bath, my belly floating up, my head resting back and hair getting wet. I have an epiphany of ‘so that’s where they came up with the idea of calling wiggly feet —tap— dancing!’). I read in the bath as frequently as you pay your energy bills. Every quarter or so. Well, the chances of the book in my sink being picked up and read are the same, one in every quarter chance. I do read sometimes. On a good day I always get to 11 pages in and then start falling asleep again.

On a shit day, I do what he says I do, I read the blurb on the back, the jacket on the inside page, the introduction or forward, close the book and sniff the stiff block of pages, stroke the cover and put the fucker down. Pile it up with all the other ‘emotional support unread books’ stacked up like the walls I should be building around myself. I cannot connect to the world with all my armour fallen, no protection, no back-up, no artillery or skills to use it. I am too insane. 

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Shouting When Fear Depletes To Rage!

MICRO-RANT-YESTERDAY: When I wrote all that shit above it was Friday 13th, I felt agitated being like that, alone like I was, knowing that somehow he was managing to still take the fucking piss out of me, don’t get me wrong - I needed the space, the peace, the ability to keep my broken nervous system under some secrecy; when he’s not around there’s no need to disguise my pain in front of his piss-taking face. It was the best way that he had gone out for the day, but then he comes home with more fucking drug debts and expects me to fork out and pay the bills on top of nursing his dickhead head!!!! That’s the rant over. See nothing too harsh. My headache has gone.

The reason the rant is over, and I added the subheading ‘mini-rant’ is because I did a shitty thing and it caused out love and togetherness to bubble up back to the surface. I shouted at him, told him a few horrible untruths; like how I have been cheating and partying (same as he does) fucking and drugs without him (as if that’s even possible! I’m always stuck at home dog-sitting, which I love like a girl’s night in). I’m sad I know. I was so fucking angry though, won’t get into the finer details or the injustice of it all. I said all that bullshit, he pretended to cry, fawned belief and fucked off to bed. Later, I followed him and didn’t need to explain I was lying, he knew. I went in the room and opened up to him which upset me, the anger immediately subsided and tears followed.

**Bounces INTO the bedroom after the bad things had been said and a long, long, long 3 minutes of eerie silence had passed, guilt set in but for letting myself down**

ME: “…CAN YOU SEE HOW MUCH YOU’VE MADE ME HATE YOU? I SAID THOSE THINGS BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID, THE WAY I FEEL ABOUT WHAT YOU ALWAYS DO, FOR YOU LYING, CHEATING AND BUYING F*CKING SNIFF FOR YOU AND THEM ON TIC UNTIL 2 WEEKS AFTER I HAVE, YES! ME, AFTER I HAVE PAID ALL YOUR OTHER DEBTS, THE BILLS IN THE HOUSE, THE FOOD WE WILL EAT, PAID FOR ALL YOU SHIT TO COME OUT OF THE F*CKING PAWN SHOP, EVERYTHING THAT I ALWAYS PAY FOR, CARRYING US BECAUSE YOU DON’T HAVE ANY MONEY. I’M SORRY FOR THIS SITUATION, BUT THE TINY BIT OF MONEY YOU GET, YOU GO AND BUY DRUGS FOR DICKHEADS. YOU WON’T LET ME BUY US ANY DRUGS BECAUSE YOU SAY 8 COSTS TOO MUCH, IT’S MY F*CK-ING MONEY!! CUNT. WOULD YOU RATHER I WAS HOLED UP HERE, HAVING NO FUN, PAYING FOR EVERYTHING, YOU ALWAYS LOCK ME IN, I GET THE SHIT BORING DEPRESSIVE SIDE OF US.. I HATE YOU FOR ALWAYS TAKING THE PISS OUT OF ME. IT’S NEXT LEVEL DISRESPECT”

That’s how I got myself all upset the rage caved in to crying so I stomped off into the kitchen, I hadn’t eaten for days because I was unsettled, had overwhelm in my nervous system, paranoia creeping in and restlessness, stress and pure despair in the depths of depression. I plodded on but then he left me to rot in my own skin, fucked off on Friday 13th at 10:00 am not to return to 4 o’clock in the fucking morning. I mean it would have been better if he’d have just stayed the fuck out of my way for the night.

How we sorted this shit out was quite humbling and hardly romantic but more loved up than a Valentines card of a bunch of sorry-ass flowers from the off-license. He has never done either of those but what he did was simply divine and beautiful. It rewinds time and reminds me of the reason why and how and when I first fell in love with him. This isn’t part of it but wait for the ‘S’ word(s). He crept into the kitchen where I was almost head-hugging the fridge with the kettle next to it boiling. Sobbing my fucking ‘arse’ out. I’m spent, its done, I’m about to give in and make a joke by it. He wraps his loving arms around my body, grappling at my tits like Baby held that watermelon, fumbling around, I knew what was next, his cock pressed up against my butt and NOW with (almost) precision timing - I pushed out a huge fart on him. Laughing he jumped away, I was giggling until the smile dropped off my face and I felt something sticky and wet touch cloth and rest in my crack. I’d ONLY GONE AND Followed Through.

Fucking Great… NICE. That was it I was all of a sudden vulnerable again, forgetting the arguing shit I dropped my joggers to the floor, stepped out of them holding my nightdress up to my waste so as not to get shit stuck to the back of it. I was about to rush off to clean myself, I looked up at his face. He grabbed my wrists, kissed my face and lips, and then love hit us all over again. It was tangible, like electricity in the air and on his face was HUGE Smile ….the perfect Joker*-lipped grin, the gleam in his eye, just HIM.

*JOKER from BATMAN. I love that curled spiky upper lip smirk It’s dirty, sexy, it works.

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