The Heart That Bleeds
The Daily Chase! Free Newsletter sent by Chasey Delaney..x
Schizophrenia has turned my gaze inward. I write like a Memoirist on a 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 speak to you all!
Welcome to The Daily Chase! Free Newsletter.
THURSDAY: 23 JULY 2026
Dear Chasers!
“THE HEART THAT BLEEDS”
“Le coeur qui saigne”
The amount of mascara caked on my eyes this morning brings to mind that guy who had his arsehole sealed shut with Gorilla glue after being ‘poisoned’ with laxatives. I sit and try to imagine his despair but its difficult to do that with my tongue circling a Custard Cream that isn’t ready to crumble but has just started melt inside my mouth.
Let’s not forget how he came to be in that position. His wife found out he was cheating on her and, right or wrong (obviously wrong) this was her revenge on him. Her way of dealing with the emotional damage and pain. Separating another Custard Cream in half to reveal two biscuits noticing that only one side always gets the cream.
So to explain my poor choice in biscuits today and to put to context into this analogy, I mean I can’t believe I’m admitting that I actually swallowed some Custard Creams this side of the century. If its any consolation to my reputation, this is the first and last time since I was 18, in a fucking hostel, I have touched any relic confectionery (that tastes shit now) actually, I don’t think there was ever a time where I liked them.
I’ve been trying to break my diet deliberately. I wanted to comfort eat, which is difficult to do when the cupboards are bare (even empty of diet food) and all I had in my bank account until midnight was £1.69. I did what any carb-depraved whore like me would do… I bought cheap white bread and two packets of should-be-obsolete ‘custard creams’.
Scoffing the sugary sluts while my bread was toasting and hoping my body would blow out the emotions along with bloating my stomach and block some of the pain from awareness the same way it blocks my bowels so I’m unable to shit for a few days after. The price I pay for poor dietary decisions.
Since being on a no-carb, no-sugar stint of eating, adding ‘new-to-me’ supplements and electrolytes - I’d had none of the gastric issues that inhabited and haunted me previously, so I expect a fart or two and a bit of stomach cramps. What I hate the most is not being able to go. I know none of this talk is necessary but here it is, honesty. I feel like I have valid reasons for my self sabotages.
Abstinence of all vices during stressful times seems to me to be ridiculous. “We didn’t have all these fad diets back in my day!” said Uncle Tradition on his death bed aged 34 in the 1900’s. I’ll take his word for it this time round. Anything for a bit of relief, what doesn’t kill me makes me eat cake.
I downed some Senokot tablets for desert and have my fingers crossed they work this time. I don’t mind if I shit the bed, just as long as I get all this crap food out and my belly goes down enough for me to get sex from my partner this week. I can’t remember the last ‘sesh’ we had during a commercial break between the news and the weather on the telly. Pretty sure it was some time during the heat wave last week!
It’s always the way that when I’ve done and ‘all over’ shave and come up smooth as a petal, butter myself up with Shea, Coconut, Mango, Coco - every fucking butter there is and spritz my hair with conditioner, sprayed a bit of Lost Cherry perfume or even my favourite ‘Flowerbomb’ on me. Fresh as a fucking Daisy. Almost ‘thinking’ I’ll get some.
That’s when the most arguments erupt between us. It’s like he knows. He can sense my desperation a mile away and while he’s sniffing out my hope of seduction, I can smell his fear humming from the other side of the house. I’m convinced he does it on purpose. I realise he isn’t attracted to me any more. I feel humiliated about it and guilty too, because if I felt that way about him, I’d be putting on my running shoes, and maybe tripping myself up as a I hobbled out of the fucking door (if it wasn’t mine).
I don’t get it but I respect him for standing by me.
Don’t get me wrong, the hardest part isn’t acceptance and getting over it. It isn’t me fighting the ‘resistance to shag me’ —he just tells me I’m wrong about all this, he does fancy me and loves fucking me, he just hasn’t got a high enough sex drive. I blame myself of course, and this time it IS ME. If I was fit and fanciable he might not be able to keep his libido contained that way. He wouldn’t have to try, he’d just do it.
The other day I was watching this video about confidence, and it includes some information about good supplements to support mood, continuing to talk about creativity and how elevating your mood brings confidence and all that stuff.
I learned in this video about the supplements that I’ve already introduced into my life and agree that I have felt the benefits, I’ve had more clarity and my writing has increased in volume. I can concentrate more. However, the guy in the video, Matt Wall, mentions a few additional natural minerals (or whatever they are) to help with ‘testosterone’ levels, I didn’t know that Zinc was good for that. I had an idea! ⚡💡⚡
I would tell my partner about this and see if he wants to add Zinc to his supplement inventory. He told me all the other things Zinc is good for too and “Yeah, I’ll get some” he said, chirping on about how it’ll be good for his “gym shit”.
I piped up, seen as though we were bonding a bit more than usual —”Oh, that means you can shag me more when you’re on it!!??” — wah wah waaah — “Fuck you Chase, I’m not getting it now, you’re always going on about it, grow up! You’re 43 now! OLD”
You can’t send a message more obvious that that —ouich!
It really hurt but I laughed a lot as it was stinging.
I have withdrawn from the relationship emotionally and reinstated my relationship with horrible food. I know how he feels but when he lies to me about it, for whatever fucked up, sympathetic reason, how can I truly process it. If he told me the truth I’d insist he should go find someone else and move out.
Maybe its the thought of not having his own house to go to, staying somewhere is, is preventing him from going; why then does he try to add to the mix that its not only the living situation, but that he loves me and will die without me, I am his life, he needs me, he loves me?
It’s because of this dishonesty or omission of the truth how I end up spiraling. I have paranoid schizophrenia. I’m trying not to get sick, but I’m trapped on this conveyor belt of disillusion and delusional thinking. I’m also scared of losing him and keeping him feels so wrong to do. I’ll be back tomorrow with more thoughts and updates.
💟 from Chasey! ..x
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