"TRUST: Like a Fish Out of Water"
+AUDIO VOICEOVER. ARE PSYCHOPATHS & SCHIZOPHRENICS COMPATIBLE OR IS IT CARNAGE WAITING TO HAPPEN? (- a contemplation) Intro, photo, FULL FREE MIXTAPE Confessional, Relationship Shit'n Personal Update.
Some days, I’m Snow White. Other days- I’m the poisoned apple!
*NEW NAME INTRO: These letters are not meant to be taken to heart *LOL*JustClingingOn is trying to see the ‘funnier side of it all'!*
Alright! How’s Tricks!?
I don’t know how to greet you in a way which will make me sound good enough for you to invest a few moments of your priceless time in me! Unlike real life, I really DO want to talk to you. In the street I’m a cross between a shy person and an arsehole. I look at my feet and when someone ‘let’s on’. I hesitantly look up, smile, nod, head down, carry on walking ‘casual’ gradually increasing the speed whilst trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, hoping it’s not too obvious that I’m agitated and a little bit pissed off. I can’t guarantee that you’ll see a better side to me now, just know this: I WANT YOU HERE WITH ME. I’M GLAD YOU ARE READING THIS AND I’VE RECORDED SOMETHING TO SHOW ME‘LETTING ON’TO YOU.x
AUTHOR RECORDED ALMOST AN HOUR LONG ‘VOICEOVER’ WITH EXTRA COMMENTARY AND CONVERSATION FOR YOUR LISTENING WHILE READING ENJOYMENT! xxx
“An angry ‘psychopath’, a ‘frustrated’ schizophrenic and an ‘imaginary’ marriage walk into a bar. . .”
25 March 2025
Hello Everyone!
I’m not one for horoscopes and such stuff which is just as well I am fortunate enough not to be in the dating pool in the age of swiping up and down (or is it left or right) on apps designed to aide us in finding our soulmate (or just someone to fuck occasionally) maybe? or do we still use porn sites for hook ups?
Anyway, me saying this just proves how far out of touch I am with all this stuff. I won’t try and discuss any more topics that I’m so not clued up about and/or ignorant to. Only.. I might. At least for the remainder of this newsletter tonight. Not just about swipes and shit like it but about mental illnesses/disorders.
There will be no research involved unless otherwise stated this will all be utter guesswork and speculation taken from my own recent and past experiences between me and my loved ones - from the discomfort of my own home.
DISCLAIMER: Please remember that I am airing my dirty washing and making my own self vulnerable. I am not a doctor of anything. I am always jumping to my own conclusions, most of the time I just float down shit creek without a paddle, the moment I jump.. it’s less of a jump but a slide into the murky waters of reality. I’m not attempting to be clever and I’m not feeling so serious or sensible at all - so ‘tequila’ me!
‘tequila’ me! MEANS take me with a pinch of salt*
All I’m saying is that in future I shall be considering some sort of compatibility aspect; like, whether or not our mental disorders match, compliment each other or could possibly be deemed compatible! We’re both Virgo but all that means to me is we share a birthday Month which, with two birthdays in the same month, we’re usually more skint in September than any other month.
(See we are compatible!.. hmn..sort of). It has come to my attention that I need or should have taken more heed in the ‘compatibility stakes’ when we first started dating fifteen years ago. It can’t be that bad as we’ve aged together quite well as at the moment of typing this I’m still alive… absolutely livid but alive yes. Congratulations Chasey!!
Oh and as I was speaking of swipes, I live with a guy who has the same age banter and modernity as I do.
HIM: Swipes my arse with his hand and asks me for the change!
HIM: Swipes my arse with his hand and asks if I take card!
HIM: Swipes my arse with his d_ _ _ and now I’m in debt! Ha!
Well, the last one does always make me laugh even though I have recently snorted the fact at him that he has the banter of a fucking beach ball! I was only joking (if it’s possible to joke during a heated argument). I was just trying to be funny to defuse the flames of his fury. He is actually really funny too, I just forget how. I end up adding fuel to the fire sometimes.
Other observations that I have recently been making are:
His angry temperament and nasty behaviour towards me could be all my fault, or he might be struggling/suffering mentally, or he could have a disorder like psychopathy?
I’m not great at helping him, I internalise too much and haven’t paid close attention to his needs. He could be pissed off that I haven’t been on board playing his narcissistic ‘game’. I haven’t been PRAISING or showing that I’m PROVOKED*.
I love him so much that I don’t nag or moan at him for many things except, leaving his trainers on while he lies on our bed and maybe for him always wiping stuff like snot or food grease (or the good stuff - but still bad) on my clothes - WHILE I’M STILL WEARING THEM!
He delights in my downfalls. He claps with the haters when he sees me crumble. This is a good thing though because it has helped me practice the stoicism that is instilled in my genes from my mother. It reminds me how strong I am at holding my emotions in when faced with threats and unsafe situations.
Yes he looks great. I love that he is gorgeous it might mean that in 20+ years if we’re still together (and if I’m still alive) in our sixties, I get to wake up and look at a still hot guy in bed next to me. (Advance apologies to him mind you, he will not, and already does not get the same benefits!).
Is he still capable of picking me up off the floor when I’m in floods of tears on a schizophrenic episode in my 60’s (or knowing him, he’ll be pulling me up by the tits without even having to bend down any!). Seriously though, will he still want to or try to support me if my Mum get’s dementia, or I get diagnosed with cancer (for certain this time)? because that’s the kind of love I need. I won't give a fuck how hot he is then.
I know he is a narcissist, I signed up for that. I love him and I loved him then. I might have played the right fiddle to gain his ‘affection’ - I danced to his tune. Singing for my supper was supplying him with all the money I had (not just could afford but every penny I had) and begging him to love me. I did it subtly of course. I knew that he thrived on my weaknesses. I knew this. I didn’t vain a ‘damsel in distress’ I just hid my self-respect and in due course have made a rod for my own back.
Only now there’s not just myself to think about not worrying about, there’s Lola - who I DO WORRY ABOUT. She’s a gorgeous, beautiful very emotionally intelligent dog (you know as opposed to having an entire reservoir of general knowledge, rocket science, an expert in quantum physics notwithstanding her encyclopedic knowledge of the nutritional information and compound of ingredients in every single dog biscuit she’s ever frickin -tasted! *runs out of breath typing that one sentence*). Her senses are spot on and intermingled with her personality. She’s like us.
What I mean is that she is emotional. She listens to the emotional current like an audible electric charge in the atmosphere and she impulsively acts on it. Did I mention her manners? She is also so very polite; in that she lets each of us have our say (or in my case let’s me choose ‘not to respond’) she gives us both chance to show our feelings, play our cards, bet, bluff and poker face until its time to fold.
Then she comes charging in and dropkicks the table to the floor, smashing it to bits and shows all with her incessant barking, display of her being angry and upset with us, she shows us the physical wreckage and carnage or how us ‘arguing’ is bringing us down like a house of cards. (There’s some sort of pun or metaphor in there!) I’m just too dumb to understand what it is I’ve said or just done.
It’s not fair to see her wound up but she waits for us to finish whatever kerfuffle (no nobody dared me to try and get that weird word into a newsletter somewhere semi-serious) we’re having, she sits quietly, calm, relaxed, aloof (not even phased by what’s happening between us).. but once the dust begins to settle; its her turn to react and kick off. Such a loving, caring soul.
I feel so snide on her I feel like she is trying to pick up our pieces and slice through our bullshit with the shards so as to shine a light of reality on us. Reminding us of what’s important of the love that’s us. All three of us - our little family.
I can’t stress this enough without sounded like an utterly deluded wanker- BUT there is SO MUCH LOVE running underneath the floorboards of our relationship. Like woodlice who eat and destroy and feed of its own protection. (Is that true? I’m thinking in metaphors again haahha!) I often forget how far we’ve come and it’s been a good couple of weeks since I’ve been able to allow my ‘snow white’ shadow to devour me into a cosy, protection. Me being under the wing of a love I believe in.
I’m not as mushy as I can be now. I’m not even as mushy as I make out. Even when loved up I can be the biggest cunt! It’s true, only I’m not aware of why or how - except I’m like Lola. I don’t get upset if I can’t have what I want (or need) most of the time I don’t have a fucking jar-o-glue (a clue) what I want (or need) anyway.
I get upset and turn against people if I can’t blame my own actions for the way I am feeling. I’m a work-in-progress at processing, controlling, understanding, ignoring or responding and 100% expert at FEELING (and being driven by my emotions). I have to remind myself so often to let go of the past (because my learned behaviours, and triggers are based on history events).
“THE WAKE DOESN’T DRIVES THE SHIP” - Alan Watts
I best touch on the mention of my partner being, FROM MY PERSPECTIVE / IN MY OWN OPINION a bit of a narcissist (he would like to think, say and believe that he is a much BIGGER narcissist than I see him as). His ‘confidence’ comes across most aggressively when it is deepened and flourishing, almost thriving on his effect on other people, i.e. me. His ‘confidence’ seems to me to rely wholly on his actions having a diminishing effect on me. He feels the most ‘confident’ whenever he has diminished mine.
Whereas when I do feel confidence (not all of the time but I DO actually sometimes feel a bit of confidence/arrogance) my ‘confidence’ or even my ‘arrogance’** remains the same levels of highs and lows without having hurt anyone else. Without diminishing others - if I feel confident today it will definitely NOT be because I have belittled anyone else. If I feel arrogance in me today, it won’t be dining out on the back of having ‘gotten one over on someone else past or present’. That’s why I would consider him to have a very narcissistic expression towards me.
**My understanding of the difference between the two is this:
CONFIDENCE: High self esteem and belief in yourself which is warranted, proven by experience, justified, and lived up to.
ARROGANCE: False belief in yourself, with evidence to the contrary. An elevated self-esteem unjustified, NOT lived up to.
As a dickhead living with Paranoid Schizophrenia, trusting people has never been my strong suit. I always trusted him with my life; partly because he sort of half saved my life, literally. Mostly because he saved my life theoretically and now because he IS my life. He gave me A LIFE. I am suspicious of him still. Even having my suspicions rendered real - I stay and I love him and I try not to hate his betrayal as much as I love him because then I might hate HIM and as much as I hate what he says and does to me and what he thinks about me. I fucking love that horrible MAN. I do.
I even took up swinging years ago to kill back the fear of him cheating. Stared my demons in the face (or in the freshly waxed fanny and silky less-saggy tits than my own) - the only solace in seeing my boyfriend’s cock slipping inside some other bird’s pussy was that she have ‘no game’ (she couldn’t fuck like me (ahem.. here enters Arrogance..sshh Chasey).
I’m only messing about and being a bit tight because I felt intimidated by the ‘skill’ (and his pleasure) regardless of the fact that, she looked like she was trying to fit a screw-in light bulb on the ceiling using only… both her fucking eyes!) - oh and her husband had a much BIGGER cock so maybe she might not try to steal mine from me.
NO. It didn’t kill those demons, it sedated them a bit but the truth is that nobody, not even MissCassaNovaChaseyBaby myself can or ever could compete with the intensity and beauty and fucking orgasmic perfectionist chemistry of the girls he shags behind my back with all those girls I’m looking at in my head.
Needless to say that soon stopped and will NEVER recommence with me present. Hense his fucking cheating. I disassociate myself from all this most of the time and file it away in the recesses of my boarded up brain in a box marked: Opportunist Fucking and Other Sad Shit. D.N.D.
Do not disturb?! Yeah right! Just knowing its there disturbs me. *Physically shakes head to rid these memories and thoughts. Mind is an Etch-a-Sketch. Let’s start again.*
Well, the reason I’ve been considering all these ‘scary disorder’ or mental conditions FOR HIM like sociopath or psychopath, is because I am looking for reasons to trust him with my life again. If he is one or more of the above then of course I WOULD TRUST him with my soul, my life and, give him even more of my love than I could ever have given him before; in all our shared 15 years togetherness.
I would learn to understand him. Help him. Stay and stay and stay for all eternity. Stay and stay and stop being afraid of his intentions because I will know he is different and not just a dickhead. - I mean we’re all dickheads deep down, I get that. I would rather he be a-little-bit -Bundy like a psychopath or something. That way I can understand his inability to love and feel and care and be kind to me; rather than him have the genuine ability to really feel empathy, compassion and inhabit an actual conscience yet STILL do all these horrendously cruel things to me.
I mean what the fuck is his reason? Or intention? Do I really need to watch my back? Keep one eye open when I sleep (ffs I hope he wasn’t into that girl with the optimistically friendly eyes, always looking up at each other! Do I really have to play my part now? Like look for more self protection, implement more tools than just my barbaric headphones as a shield or buy more than just a sports bra as a barrier between us in bed.. or an amulet?
I already do my best to dress and look and walk and talk and grin like a fucking scarecrow (or is Ted Bundy like me? OH FUCK schizophrenic?? - No,no.. I’m nothing like him, for a start I err, um, I can’t drive. LOL). I did ask him casually earlier today, my partner not Bundy, as much as I’m not ugly for nothing - meaning I’m obviously a bit of a witch but I still have my L plates on for channelling the dead.
Although, I was telling a friend the other day about my tactile hallucinations being quite interesting whenever it feels like ‘Gavin The Ghost’ is giving me one up the ricker as I sleep! I don’t know how to channel the dead. I wanted to summon some sort of tantric connection with those hallucinations; Gavin, another version of myself, the fat bastard snoring and farting beside me in bed, the parts of me I’d forgotten existed. It was more of a Mind-Belly-Body-Bullshit no-signal situation to be honest.
Its a bit like trying dance if you’re not good at dancing.
Sometimes we get it a bit right. If I dance without realising my beautiful F.B. (sorry I referred to him as a fat bastard, it was only for amusement purposes. I’m not one of those people who say ‘ well I’m fat too so I’m ENTITLED to call him fat ‘ no defamation intended , I said it affectionately and it is now endearing of me to apologise?) - who said I’m NOT self aware? pfft.
I was dancing and he says stop, chase do that thing again with your arse it looked sexy AF (as fuck) LoL I smiled, quite pleased and shrugged it off. He’s like… NO I’M SO SERIOUS do that DANCE AGAIN. I wished I could but had to admit, I didn’t even know what I’d done. If I had knew what I’d done - it would have been shit. So pffft to mind body connection.
I did ask my partner if HE thought or knew that he was or could be a psychopath. He grinned and said ‘yeah if you want me to be’ -NO he didn’t really say that.. that would’ve been sexy, it might’ve turned me on. I love a bit of quick wit and a bit of sick wick. Anyway, he said nah he was never cruel to animals. I didn’t go into some of the half-arsed ‘me-search YOUTUBE research I’d done’ but I reminded him that he use to kill wild rabbits as a child.
He corrected me and told me he was actually a teenager at the time and it was a sport and everyone did it back then. It was only hunting. Which I understood and believe and get it but me being me, thought I’d make wee laugh about it. I said ‘‘yeah if you’re from out in the sticks somewhere or living in the countryside, not a city chav from fucking Wythenshawe (Greater Manchester, UK) you should’ve all been out riding yer bikes (or robbing them!). He could’ve left it there but because I was joking around he wished to playfully instil some more fear or doubt back into me.
So, he recounted his nursery school days age 5 or 6 when he flicked a small fish out of the tray of water it was swimming in on the little school table. He grinned again, from ear to ear, and recalled how he was elated or ‘buzzing off it’ (his words) as the fish started flapping and flopping and having spasms trying to breath (or whatever fish do when in water - this is me having one of those moments - ‘do fish breathe?’ *doo doo doo do..*
A small circle of shiny goldfish swim around my dizzy mindblown head for a moment or too. Then… back in the room. OMG you watched it dying and you were D-D-DELIGHTED? Oh my gawd… I cringed. It brought back a wee memory of my own nursery experience with a black fish called Molly (or was the brand of fish a Black Molly?) anyway, I also removed it from its natural habitat ( a castle shaped fish tank, aquarium, bucket, waterlogged shoe.. whatever the fuck it was!! -my memory ain’t what it used to be! ).
I’d took the fish out, very carefully, because I wanted to give it a lovely little kiss. All I wanted to do was kiss the fish! I was delighted when I almost managed to do so before I promptly dropped it on the floor and in my panic and haste probably squashed it under my brand new Clarks (posh) shoes - also called Molly. eek.
My reason for pulling it out served a genuine purpose, I was giving something to the fish, doing something nice to the fish. It was the exact opposite from what he did but the result was still the same - it still says the same things about the pair of us. Our personalities, my partner and mine. The moral of these similar experiences in my own original opinion tonight,coming from your mate Chasey’s old and battered (still talking about fish?) Einstienian-GreenTea-up-humble-head : is that he delighted in the dying of the fish and killed it to see what happened. I killed it with loving kindness by accident - but I still killed it.
He has fond memories of his experience. I have guilt and shame and even banished it away until today. I couldn’t even bring myself to share my story with him. I’ve learned to stay silent. Silence can’t be misquoted or used against me. I still killed it all the same. We’re in this together. He is my mirror. For all eternity.
This is a pretty crap finishing line but fuck it. I don’t mind writing a shitty little last sentence and feeling like a bit of dickhead. Its not about looking good to be a winner. I could be writing the most perfect line I am capable of as a closing one and think I’m brilliant, post this out (publish and send it to you) pleased as fucking punch with myself for doing the best ending sentence EVER EVER! Then open another writer’s newsletter to read and see how they’ve closed off their letter. Their ending being tonnes, miles and mountains more profound, meaningful, catchy and STRONGER than mine. Then I’d still feel like a dickhead. If I just say ‘see ya later thanks for reading' and the other writer goes in for the kill with excellent measures to make the reader feel accomplished and smile, and I made the reader smile with two words? Who is the dickhead then? haha! FUCK YOU. xxxx
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.
