"Choosing My HARD! ..This Time"❤️
CONFESSIONAL LETTER: really does --include: Chasey's Audio Recorded Message / voiceover -&- FREE 1hr+ MIXTAPE.
Some days, I’m Snow White. Other days- I’m the poisoned apple!
CHASEY (ME!) HAS RECORDED A SORT OF ‘VOICEOVER’ WITH EXTRA COMMENTARY AND CONVERSATION FOR YOUR LISTENING PLEASURE AND/OR READING ENJOYMENT :) (whatever!) LOL - Enjoy! xxx
“..Always Choose The Hardest..”
― Mother Teresa
5 May 2025 - THIS LETTER IS PROBABLY TOO LONG FOR EMAIL SO PLEASE OPEN IN BROWSER, ON THE APP OR JUST LISTEN TO MY ‘VOICEOVER’ FOR FULL EXPERIENCE. AWESOME.. THANKS
Hello Chasers!❤️
Thank you for opening me up again! Seriously, I’ve been a right tit. I came back into this dashboard after a while away, seen my previous half arsed post and thought for fucks sake Chase! what have you done? - I couldn’t bring myself to re-read this drivel. (I do love that Simply Red song involved though!) Here it is again in all of it’s shitty glory - just in case you missed it the first time.
That there, that was the previous newsletter which I have just swerved past quickly and trying to shake off the cringe, that was the beginning of a downward spiral for me, creatively, emotionally, apathetically and ‘producing’ it had encouraged an incline (or decline?) in motivation for me.
It’s only been since 22 April (it’s now 5 May) yet it feels like a lot more time has passed between us. Some stuff has happened and I’ve not really been telling anyone (except a few friends) how I’ve felt about it all. So, thanks again if you’re still reading this. Thanks for opening the email and know that I can’t believe you’ve given me another look, but I am ever so grateful. I swear.
It’s like a second chance in a way and I promise to do better this time. I will remember to record all this for you - this time. I will tell you everything that’s been going on both in my mind, at home and on other platforms given half the chance I’ll rattle on about the cobwebs in my pants, the foods I’ve been cremating and posting on Instagram like I’m so fucking proud of them. I promise from here on out… I will stop swearing. Just please here me out??
Where to begin? Now that I’m coming back out of my shell again. Since taking time off my Substack endeavours, not just here but entirely. I had a few new dark nights of the soul. I’ll touch on them now if I can while trying to keep it light to read. It’s heavy stuff, to me, but hopefully just a little bit of reading (or listening) information while you kill some time or just pass it. I like reading about other people’s lives, it helps remove me from my own. It also consoles and informs me and somehow that extra, unbiased and unrelated story from a stranger’s experience - gives me more insight into myself than a DIY self-help book sitting on my shelf.
I just hope to imagine that one way or another my words here will reach the right eyes and ears. Helpful or useless as my writing may be- just the act of ‘reaching out’ / typing and telling my tales..- is enabling me to process things and protect my self esteem in the long run. I feel overwhelmed (in a good way) that I have the ability to access your life.. and inject some of mine into it this way. I guess what I am trying to say is that although I don’t always feel alive by going public. I do feel less alone.
My throat is sore so I apologise for the recording of this letter because I bet I sound both like Marge Simpson and Darth Vader respectively. I think I have a scratchy voice. It might be from being sick the other night after a massive Chinese takeaway (it wasn't the food that made me spew) it was cos I'd stop taking my medication for gastritis. I thought that medication was making me fatter (she says after still scoffing oriental cuisine) also my throat might be caused because I burned scotch bonnets 'toasting' them off in the bloody frying pan with all the sweet and bell peppers. I was coughing and choking on the fumes even with a lid on it. I was making Guinness sausage casserole yum! ..it looked minging and tasted good but not like the first one I ever made.
So earlier I shut down for hours. I swear I just shut down. Like seriously my body my nervous system about 11am or something I slept until 3pm- ish and it took me up until now to get back to my usual self. I drank some water. Ate some duck. Posted on Instagram and was chilling with mum on video for a little bit. It was just exhaustion from yesterday I’d over exerted myself. Which in my world means spending most of the day OFF the couch. I sort of did everything, as opposed to just my share of shit. I ‘believed’ that I was carrying his weight while he was laying in bed feeling rough with a hangover. I felt I was going ‘out-of-my-way’ to pick up the balance. It was difficult so I felt almost proud of myself. I thought I was being appreciated by him when he rewarded me with some semi-sort of back handed complimentary ‘praise’:
HIM: “See Chasey… Now you're doing what real women do! A real woman does everything, all day, EVERY DAY! I’m proud of you!”
ME: sucks on my own back teeth rather subconsciously looking at him through slits of side eye like a pensioner licking sour sweets. I’m thinking… riiiiiight, okkkkay. So you sit and do fuck all, I run around like a numpty and this is the good life? Now, this bullshit makes me REAL.??.. “Go Fuck OFF”
HIM: I’m horny watching you work so hard. Wanna come clean this?
ME: urmmm… later. I’ve got to pick up dog shit in the garden after I’ve taken the bins out and dealt with all the spiders!
I shut down physically as well no doubt because I had decided to eat fish, chips, mushy peas and ketchup (with half a loaf of dry bread - no butter) all frozen shite but delicious BUT for my breakfast today! I mean ‘for breakfast Chasey? REALLY!’ ...mostly though because he was being so mean to me; calling me names and making daft loud noises that stress me out and all I kept thinking was ‘and after I’d carried his arse all day yesterday when he was in bed hungover.’ I felt fuming. My body aching. My muscles and mind hurt as one. Every ounce of get-up N grunt (as is my case of get-up N go.. ) every essence of my being, just got up, gave up and got in bed..!!
My body was aching anyway.. I’d carried some shopping home like I always do but this time I’d bought heavy stuff for £40 had 3 big bags and I felt like I was Eddie-flipping-Hall marching down the street with all of them, that felt like lead. It looked like I was lugging stones to the finishing line. I am so strong but also so lazy. I kinda of feel the sore muscles whenever I do it. Every other day or week. Also my equilibrium was battered too. I’d Had a few dark nights of the soul. Caused by heavy drink and then heavy sniff use the following days. I feel ok..under the circumstances.
I'll tell you about why now save on the suspense because there isn’t too much I want to say about this, even though it is something that has haunted me for a few days afterwards. It felt very big and in a way life altering. Then like most other ‘events’ in my life.. it was all swept under the carpet of my mind, and blown out of the backyard of my brain. Now, when I talk about it, I feel like it’s for the best to forget it as I might have just been blowing it all out of proportion but this is what happened.
In short I woke up after blackout drunk with a rope mark around my neck , the red blanket ripped to shreds like in strips of 'rope', two puffy eyes and no recollection of anything. He took a photo of me open mouthed sparked out 'catching flies' I call it. And I swear I looked dead. My mouth though was dark blood red! Rope mark round my neck. I looked dead !!! I lost a night of my life that I will never get back thank fuck for that. Some things are better off like that. To leave it in the past. Because I would have went right under. Even reading one of my favourite poet’s poem a couple of days later, an amazing poem titled ROPE (see below) as beautifully written and unconnected to my situation it was I couldn’t help but feel some sinister synchronicity and foal play.
I mean sorry to The Drafting Dreamer but it triggered me a little and made my head go west. OMG I thought what in the schizophrenic chav drinking Buckfast Stella San Miguel Dragonsoop-on-tick kind of coincidence is this?! Enters paranoia. I thought the entire planet was conspiring against me..!! I now know this not to be the case at all. I knew already it was absolutely impossible for our two worlds to collide like sliding doors. It shows the level of psychosis and memories made by fear in my head, how they echo back to me the same sense of dread and delusions of persecution - at any given moment.
Usually when I am self destructing, drinking for the wrong reasons (just drinking, when I know I can’t, shouldn’t, don’t even want to because when I do it’s always with reckless abandon!). I like to keep my nose clean (that’s a lie, I love a bit of sniff now and again. I don’t resent it. I know it ‘opens my eyes’ sometimes as opposed to closes them, like alcohol does, drink shuts me off from the world. Cocaine.. makes me care to look outside of myself and gives me more clarity and perception of the world outside. It makes me a give a toss about the external shit. Still, I know it can lead to paranoia. I know this. I still like it.
As I was saying, I do want to keep my nose clean. In the sense that, sometimes - well, most of the time, I don’t feel safe in my skin. IN my home. In the universe. Self soothing involves me be able to remind myself that - why would anyone kill me? I’ve done absolutely nothing* wrong. I fight this thought a lot. List of what I challenge myself with as stuff that I do that is wrong*:
I fall in love with people outside of my relationship.
I write about my life, my thoughts, feelings and bullshit.
I sometimes forget to pick up the dog shit in my garden.
I flick finished roll ups out of my window in my back garden like a dirty tramp. I see the pile in the same spot on the patio and watch it as it grows. A thousand dog ends to show how much of my life has been stolen by smoking.
I feel like a fraud. I think I am insular, self absorbed, borderline narcissist, ignorant muppet, deluded wannabe martyr - for always worrying about my own well being, always feeling hard done by, concentrating on believing that I am always so kind and lovely and helpful… and I suffer at the hands of others - and suffer so they don’t have to. I don’t often check my blindspots. I don’t often realise that I must have blindspots!
I forget to show love to my partner, I take it for granted that he knows I love him, he can feel what I’m feeling. Even thought he tells me that he wishes I would kiss and cuddle and touch him sometimes. I do touch him… “I’m always touching you!” I tell him … “I’m not talking about my arsehole or my cock Chasey”
Then there are little moments of joy that are feel like huge wins. I’m so happy that shortly after that day/night. I experienced one of them. In the form of ‘delight’ that a real amazing poet from a while ago has found me on Facebook. I love his books and bought one for the muse once. Sent it. The muse got in touch with the poet and they were going to do a podcast episode / interview together. I don't think they gelled well because that never happened (at least I didn’t see it) and the poet guy (who not only is talented but a fucking (sorry said I wouldn’t swear but what the fu… Hell!) he’s a very gorgeous guy as well. I didn’t realise at the time of following him that I thought he was cute because I was already obsessing about the muse at that time). Anyway, this established poet went off the scene a bit. My scene not his poetry scene or his own thing. Anyway he came back and I can follow him again. I don't have interaction with him but I'm buzzing he still remembers me!!
I'm focusing on my real relationship more now. It's all I've got in the world. It came to me in my paranoid reverie.. not that this is paranoia.. might be! but I doubt it, It’s probably really accurate..but it occurred to me, that maybe my partner isn’t this big silent killer, this psychopath or convert narcissist, cheating villain, out of harm me or kill me or use and abuse me.
Maybe, he is just a normal loving guy who got stuck with me. Who actually cares enough about me to stand by me. Who feels pity for me but just isn’t that into me anymore? Maybe he’s committed not needing committing. Maybe he is a lovely traditional fuck who is desperate to get more out of life but is of the notion - he’s made his bed (because I’m not a real woman who does it for him) so now he must lie in it!! I feel so fortunate and sorry for him too. OMG!
Maybe, I'm just not good enough for him. Is he just this really nice guy who is struggling to survive with a dickhead, ugly, fat, annoying, lazy, ginger-haired, spotty-muppet girlfriend who brings out the absolute monster in him?
……Enters twilight zone. Either way, my paranoia vs his dilemma. Regardless, or what’s real or not. IF and I mean IF that is the REAL TRUTH. It’s hard for him too. Especially, if how I reward him is by moaning about how hard it is for me? I always choose to SEE my hardship. Now, in future, I Choose The Hard Shit. To DO my Hard - this time. (PS: It doesn’t feel too hard to love the bones off him… It feels more hard to believe that he loves mine, or me!).
Take it easy!
Thanks for reading, liking, following, subscribing.
Best Wishes,❤️
from your mate Chasey..!!x
PS: THANK YOU FOR READING! HAVE A FREE MIXTAPE ON ME:
Chasey Delaney in Manchester, (Northern Riff Raff!) age: 42.