"The Sleep (or The Dream)"

Confessional: trust your heart. relationship issues re-telling, personal updates, complaining and unravelling the inner workings of my sad schizophrenic mind.

Jan 30, 2025

If you like your newsletters without filters on relationships and skimming the perfect bits to touch on the bullshit or seeking a break from the norm you may have just found your new hangout

(Wednesday 29) & Thursday: 30 JANUARY 2025

Dear Followers! & Subscribers to me here at-NEWJustClingingOn- I have a psychological need to call everyone I love (who reads this stuff) MY Chasers💗

It’s really comforting to imagine sitting here with you, nice people in a safe environment. I promise this is more of a rant than an actual letter, and if I were sitting with you saying all this I wouldn’t be surprised to see a few yawns, and quizzical confusion as to WTF are you doing Chasey!? faces being made. All I seem to be banging on about, and the way I am doing it is like this:

stressing myself out with the schizophrenic drilling I do to process my surroundings both inside and out of my mind.
staying somewhere where I sound unhappy and with someone who I make sound a little a bit shit (he isn’t shit one bit and I am sure by the time you have read all of this confessional ‘essay’ you might agree it is me, and ONLY ME who is the little SHIT!.
I shouldn’t use swear words as punctuation and ‘describing words’ but just by the way I said this, you can guess my low level of education. I’m just a girl from Manchester who was left to drag herself up off the breadline.
I’m no angel but I do attempt to transcend from the (person I probably do resemble most which is - an average generic dickhead) lifestyle when exploring myself in the written form. However, ‘you can take the girl out of the gutter but you can’t take the gutter out of girl’ -some SHIT sticks and I carry it with me. Like my limited vocabulary.

“I’m sorry for everything I am about to say but as you know, I’m not the brightest screw in the button, I struggle with words when trying to vocalise my opinions. I articulate myself in a backwards fashion. If I knew how to express myself more clearly, in a way where you could comprehend more accurately; I’d still not be making much sense.”

I said this, in conversation with, a MALE friend:

‘Most women have other women friends, peers, confidants, therapists, family, children, neighbours - just - other female people who they can have these type of conversations with. Where they can offload their minor ‘complaints’ about their relationship up and downs. Whereas, I don’t. I do champion other girls and people of the same sex as me - I just don’t trust them. I can’t relate. They can’t relate to me or don’t want to and always HATE ME, good. I prefer it this way. It’s better for me to write about it instead.’

He said, write it and I’ll read it, so here it is all my ‘BullSHIT’. My current crisis in our 15 year relationship.

(YESTERDAY…)

It’s Wednesday and the day before PAY DAY yaaay! or not yay! that is the situation. It’s a double edged sword really, yes I get paid, most of it goes to him to pay bills, I might get a bit of change (scratch) to treat myself to something but here’s the crux (I pronounce it CROOKS’ and that just may well be accurate or apt.)

I have no real control of my finances beyond transferring it all to him and the both of ‘us’ paying debts (with mostly my money - but whatever!) at least it keeps him happy.. that’s not the point, its not the crux, the bitter part is that PAY DAY symbolises the end of at least a one week streak of predominantly ‘really sweet’ behaviour and minor affectionate and fair treatment towards me.

(TODAY…)

You could cut the air (atmosphere) with a knife this time. It’s alright for us to talk about it right now because currently it’s only 8.30 pm but he is already away with the goblins, pissed out of his head (drunk), angered and asleep.

Stupid little me keeps going in there quietly to check on him, make sure he hasn’t been sick in his sleep, cover him up “tuck him in” because I am constantly worried that he might stop breathing. I wonder why this is, and it leads me to more introspective questioning, as earlier on in the day.

I got soooooo fucking wound up, irritated and angry with him for deliberately pushing my buttons; that I swear I wished he would choke on his own vile words, shut up and at least hoped he’d forget to take a breath or lose one just to let a little equal karma back in.

I have been so petty and reverting back to trying to insult him by imitating his style, mirroring his verbal abuse tactics and playing sharp tongue tennis exactly the opposite to how my natural demeanour functions; I end up allowing myself to be reduced to tears, tantrums and teenage level negotiation techniques.

In fact, I lose sight of everything, after exhausting myself throughout the day while he’s been constantly drinking his way through two crates of 18 cans. I’m far from a saint but days like this, even when I quit and say shit to him like “drop dead” (classy I know!).

I pat myself on the back a bit for all the tolerance practice, patience, and faux virtue executed for so many hours. It’s amazing I haven’t cracked up sooner than this. I didn’t crumble, I fucking EXPLODED, urm.. internally. The actual action I took was more passive manipulative and in my mind - I did a disgusting thing.

“I’m fragile; not like a flower, like a bomb!” Frida Kahlo

I hate being like this.

The fact that I even declared in advance to him my plan* still didn’t make me feel less of a traitor towards him. I stomped out of the house on a mission to get the best tasting, most filling food already cooked that I could. A cheap takeaway, yeah, what an arsehole I am. I was going to fill the fucker with food and fuck him off to bed. (I do feel a bit shit about it but in reality I’m being a bit satirical).

I almost blasted my arse out of that house, marching down the street to DIXY’S CHICKEN all the way gulping in the oxygen that my shrivelling brain needed to recuperate from all the energy being sucked from me back in the apartment. I wasn’t the first person to refer to my partner as a ‘mood hoover’ and I’m sure I won’t be the last, although most people call him a vortex or vacuum instead.

He is so deliberately loud and disgustingly obnoxious (again, on purpose!), and a vulture too. He is also so adorable and cute looking while he is ‘fucking destroying you’ - he looks like an angel but never elevates intentionally. He is like a bulldozer coming toward my heart. I should have called this letter; DEMOLITION DEMON AND OTHER CUNTS, because, if he is drinking, he isn’t true to you, or me or anyone.

I always used to believe it was his truth coming out with the names he calls me, the real pain behind the anger towards me. It’s NOT his true, he is not true to himself when he does this. He IS true to ‘form’ - he seeks out the chasms between my comfort zone and crumble point - then he pounces and tears shreds off me until I lose all confidence in myself, crack myself up crazy or lose my fucking SHIT with him. He hates that I can’t cry. Not even with frustration.

Today I almost failed. A tear almost rolled away down my chubby cheek and like a magpie spies a glint of glass, he was on it. He spotted it as a sign of my weakness. He misread the room. I can’t tell you the truth (because I have no clue myself, I got lost I forgot) about why that tear appeared. I can tell you the truth about what I said the reason was why I had ‘cried’. It certainly stopped him in his tracks, to my absolute surprise. (To my dismay as well because, it was utterly snide on him. I felt mean, cruel and almost unsure as to whether I was being clever or coming clean. I felt cruel.)

HIM: hahah! You’re actually crying!!!
ME: Not quite.
HIM: you are. why the fuck are you crying? thought you hate me.
ME: so did I, until I just felt the force of it.
HIM: what you on about Chase!!?
ME: well, I’ve never not loved you this strong before, I used to think that we’d be together forever, even when I hated you I loved you, now I was feeling like I just hated you. I realised I don’t love you and it made me cry a bit.
HIM: “YOU’RE FUCKING HORMONAL”
ME: ok, but I’m more pissed off that I still almost cried because that means I'm not over loving you yet. I was sad that I didn’t love you. Now I’m confused.
HIM: YOU DO LOVE ME. FUCK OFF AND GET SOME SLEEP. YOU’RE AN UGLY FAT SCHIZOPHRENIC. FUCK OFF NOW CHASE. YOU DO FUCKING LOVE ME.
ME: guess that’s why I’m still upset. It’s sad. I’ll get you some food…… (*I’m going out to buy you some food to eat so you will fuck off to bed and leave me alone!).

So now that shattered, bulldozed, demolished heart is also fucking with my feelings too. I think, I need to think things over. There’s more to come but for the time being I need to get something to eat myself. I must be starving too because I haven’t eaten a thing all day. Only my words. I’m not me when I’m hAngry.