Terror on the top floor

My gas supply has gone off again. Bit weird. Usually, I go through about three electricity top-ups for every gas top-up. I don’t have the heating on much, basically. A campaign letter from the British Humanist Association mentioned a “cost-of-living crisis”, so perhaps I’m experiencing that. Sigh. This gas issue means I’ll have to risk crossing the road to visit the local shop. I just wish this hadn’t happened at the weekend when there’ll probably be kids mingling about. They tend to make comments about my disability.

Adults around here do to, tragically.

I had a storm warning from the national power company thing, although I believe the storm has now passed. It was rather windy, I must say. I can’t hear any rain, so hopefully that’ll make my venturing outdoors slightly easier.

I’m experiencing an intense feeling of dread, which I wish would pass. Maybe I should go to bed and slip into a calming fantasy. That’s where I spend a lot of my time these days. I guess it’s a form of meditation, only with more groping. It really is sad that I can’t find much happiness in this reality anymore. I just don’t belong here, and boy-oh-boy do people let me know it.

And my own body, of course.

I watched the RiffTrax version of Samurai Cop earlier, which is a lot of fun. I’m also still working my way through that eerie Russian coming-of-age drama, although I’m once again unsure about whether that one character is a boy or a girl. I did think there was going to be a tastefully-innocent full-frontal nude moment, which would have cleared up the matter, but they ended up keeping their underpants on. Regardless, I’m now veering towards “girl”, even though I prefer my belief that the film is maybe a coded-LGBT film.

I dunno, I think everyone’s gay.

Just wish I could shift this feeling of dread. I hoped writing this would help, hence you reading it. The headspace I’m in is very strange indeed. All I want is a sense of normality and peace. You know, not the inescapable sensation that something horrible is about to befall me.

I’d usually insert booze, but there’s that appointment on Monday that I want to stay clear-headed for.

I had a burger w/ blue cheese on it earlier, which was delicious. I shall have to have that combination again. Just don’t tell my diabetes. Saying that, it seems to punish me no matter what i consume.

Life is pain. Please free me.

That’s all I want.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles

A date with destiny

Well, I’ve calmed down a bit since yesterday. I was still suffering from the DTs, which obviously take a few days to shake off completely. I’m still plagued by anxious, hopeless thoughts and feelings, but bursts of positivity are beginning to break through.

It’s been a while.

“Awhile”? I’ve looked up the difference, but it doesn’t make much sense to me. If you’re a grammar fan, please help me!

I finally called the local blind society for help with my deteriorating confidence. I’ve got an appointment on Monday to talk to one of their staff. I’m sure we’ll figure out where to go from there. I just need to collect my thoughts and work out a concise way of describing what’s wrong. Which won’t be easy. But, as always in this day an age, I’ll need to pitch my problems as though I were applying for a bank loan.

Sigh.

Put money into healthcare and education, people, not miserable religious wars in far-off lands.

So, yes, at least that appointment will get me out of the flat for an afternoon. I’m not sure if I’ll venture into town afterward, as my confidence is now that low. I used to be fine with wandering around aimlessly. It was a hobby, in fact. Now everything is so hard.

The sunshine came back for revenge this afternoon, but luckily my upturned sleep pattern meant I was trying to sleep at the time. Including an hour-long gap in the middle, I pretty much slept from about midday to 9 pm. Not bad, at least not for an insomniac. I guess I’ve started finding a reason to just stay in bed and ride it out. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, what on Earth will I achieve by giving up on sleep and getting out of bed early?!

I managed a wank during the 1-hour intermission, for which I developed a few new fantasies. It’s a shame I can’t turn them into art and post them on my blog anymore, but life is what it is.

Nice defeatist attitude, huh?

I’ve got a shopping order coming later, which has no booze on it. I thought it best to stay sober until after I’ve been for that appointment. I’m not sure how I’ll feel after the meeting, so I’ll not get any beers in to celebrate my efforts. With any luck, I’ll walk away with a reason not to drink so much anymore. We shall see…

I’ve been watching a very haunting Russian coming-of-age film from around the 1960s. It’s not translated, but it appears to tell the story of two young boys falling in love. Quite groundbreaking for a country that is meant to have an oppressive censorship regime! Hmm. Anyway, one of the boys is quite androgynous, with me originally thinking it was a girl. I just think he’s “artistic” and prefers wearing feminine clothing. Cough. There’s just been a tender shirtless scene, which I assume was meant to signify an increase in their affection for one another.

It certainly did come out of the blue.

Anyway, the film is shot like a Sergio Leone movie, with even the musical score sounding like the work of Ennio Morricone. I won’t bother writing about it for The Whittling Post, as I’ve been doing so about similar movies a lot recently. I like to mix things up a bit and stay somewhat fresh. Blog views have been bobbing up and down all week, but still nobody is reaching out to me. I’ve come to accept they’re just AI training bots stealing my hard work, but you never know. Someone may actually be going through my serialised stories chapter-by-chapter, but that may just be a coincidence.

I was about to crack open the window in here for some fresh air, but there are some gobby dickheads congregating outside. If you can think of the rowdiest set of university halls of residence/dormitories in the world, then that’s the street I live on. One of the noisy people sounds like they’re reverting to animal form, so I’m guessing they’re on something.

The mysterious pains on my chest and back persist, but at least I’ve got that appointment with the nurse coming up in a, erm, month’s time.

Anyway, I best go do… not much.

Do stay in touch, comrades.

Poka!

Nightlife of a nerd

Yes, more confessions from my hovel of depression.

I’ve pretty much been drunk for the past 5 days, due to an overwhelming sense of nihilism. I just couldn’t think of a good reason to sober up. I am now, as I type, but that probably won’t last.

I finally had that boiler inspection by the council, which went along painlessly. It was a female engineer for a change, which is cool. I’m sure she gets chatted up a lot, so I did my best to leave her to it. I just hope she didn’t examine my filthy kitchen very hard.

Not a euphemism.

My heavy drinking after that was a reward and celebration for dealing with life and people from the outside world. Earlier that day, the supermarket delivery guy asked to use my toilet, so I’m hoping he didn’t look around my bathroom either. I was anticipating it to be the prelude to a gay love scene, but nothing happened. He is a little camp though, so maybe next time, huh?

Chance would be a fine thing.

Oh and I bashed my head really bad just before he turned up, which is still sore. There’s quite a large scar, so it was pretty nasty. No blood though, as far as I can tell. I really could have done without that. I guess there’s never a good time to nearly crack your skull open.

I’m still feeling very anxious and unsure about life, so I’m hoping to finally contact a counsellor at the local blind society. I just need help these days. I’ve lost all confidence in myself and live in fear of not being able to cope with change.

Or I could just keep drinking and drinking and drinking.

I’m still upset about taking those stories down over at The Whittling Post, but I’m sure it’s for the best. As mentioned previously, they did clash with the overall tone of that blog. I just wish society wasn’t becoming so conservative. I’m sure we’ll end up having to get permission in writing if we want to have a quiet wank.

There’s not much food in the flat, so I may put another shopping order in. It’ll be very tempting to add booze, so I best tread carefully. I have plenty of beer cans to crush, so that’ll provide some exercise for me. I have a couple of letters to open, but I fear their contents may spell doom. Watch this space.

My sleep pattern is upturned, so I’m currently awake in the middle of the night. Fine by me. It’s quieter this way! There’s still the odd sound of a door banging somewhere though, but I’m sure you can get that anywhere. I’d move, but who says the next place would be better?!

I just wish I didn’t feel so alone and vulnerable.

Everyone’s gone.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles

Beyond the end

Well, after 6 days without food, I’m still here. Sigh. In fact, I felt fine before falling off the wagon on Friday. I’m even thinking about doing it every week - 5 days fasting, 2 days partying. If that doesn’t shock my heart into giving up, then surely nothing will.

A sudden rise in mood motivated me to start eating again, which was annoying. All that work! I’m wondering whether to just keep on the bottle, as the DTs are making me quite anxious this morning. I’m due a boiler inspection by the council later, but I just can’t be arsed to clear up for them.

I deleted my erotic short fiction from The Whittling Post, as I believe some of their content wasn’t covered by Blogger’s adult content policy. Shame, as I put a lot of effort into them, genuinely considering them to be art. I’m not sure what to do with the stories now. I doubt anywhere else will have them. I guess I could always try self-publishing, but that sounds like a massive pain-in-the-bum.

And not in a good way.

They did somewhat clash with the general vibe of a cultural review blog, so it makes sense to weed them out. I was originally going to just post one or two, then open up a separate blog for them altogether, but then I just forgot. It’s all for the best, I’m sure. Alas!

So, yeah, I’m sort of in limbo today. I’m neither happy nor sad. I just am. I haven’t washed in a few days, so I best go run a bath asap.

I just don’t know where I’m going anymore.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles

The games we play

Today is a pleasantly cool and cloudy day. I’ve been given to wearing peaked-caps indoors of late, due to the strange brightness of the sun. I’ve lived in this flat for 15 years, but I’ve never had to do this. Has there been a major solar even or something?! I do search the internet for news reports of this, but I cannot find anything.

I’ve begun fasting again, albeit this time keeping myself hydrated. Unfortunately, I’m not doing it to shift a health problem this time, but instead for morbid reasons. You eat food so you don’t die, but I no longer wish to live. It was a very clinical and rational decision, rather than a wildly emotional one. I’m disabled, mentally ill, and diabetic. I live in an awful area that is a living nightmare for people like me, who desperately need solitude. Friends and family are either all dead or no longer speak to me, thanks to my provocative mental illness. My visual impairment is now at the point where I’m too scared to go anywhere outside. A diabetic complication means I am in constant pain. Things around my home keep breaking. I simply can no longer see a future before me.

I’m done.

With any luck, I will mercifully slip into a diabetic coma sooner rather than later. As I write this, I’ve not eaten anything in 60 hours. I can take the pain of hunger, having been anorexic throughout the most of my 20s, so the discomfort is nothing new. Life and my own body hurt me, so I’m hurting them back. Let’s do this. Nothing wants me in this world, so I’m doing the best I can to leave on my own terms. I’m too squeamish to harm myself violently, so this passive-aggressive way is the best I can do.

Sigh, even now somebody in the building is sawing something. They’ve been sawing all day. What the fuck are they sawing and why?! What can a human being find to saw in a one-bedroom flat that takes all day to saw?! It’s maddening and terrifying. This madhouse just keeps finding new and bizarre and random ways to shatter the silence. What happened to people just sitting quietly watching television?!

I’m just watching some MST3K to keep my spirits buoyed the best I can. As with the last time I fasted, I shall endeavour to keep away from my beloved Keith Floyd cooking shows, for obvious reasons. Although he does cheer me up, so it will be very tempting.

If this be the last time, then good luck in this miserable world of hatred.

Fuck and suck each other with pride, as that’s all that really matters.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Purpura

I was hospitalised as a 7-year-old for a week with this rare health condition, which has always baffled me. I had not heard of it before, and I have not heard of it since. I’m sure a doctor could provide me with meaningless “word salad” about it, but, using modern information technology, apparently purpura can be caused by extreme malnutrition.

During this affliction, I remember sharing a ward with two lovely older boys, whom I cluelessly had a crush on, and a coldhearted nurse whom a found unpleasant.

Crazy, huh?!

As an adult, I’m a fat cunt. Don’t get me wrong. But I grew up with my two skinny older brothers unfairly bullying me for being a fat cunt. Society rejects me for being a fat cunt. I get it. But I wasn’t a “fat cunt” back when I was a cute little 7-year-old.

If you look at pictures of me back them, I was pretty average.

Really.

7-year-old me wasn’t fat. I wasn’t skinny. But I wasn’t fat. So, what was going on around me, back in 1987, that would have been totally out of my control as a child, that led me to be hospitalised for a week with severe malnutrition?! I lived much like my brothers. I was pushed from door to door like them. I ate the same meals they ate. In fact, I would say that I was much livelier and had more friends than they did.

I was, and still am, a big tart, after all.

I know my military father was sent off to the Falkland Islands for the best part of a year around that time, which created tension between him and my mother, but surely that would not filter down to their most vulnerable child.

Or would it?

Mother certainly became annoyingly protectively after that period, leading me to always believe that a doctor, or somebody from social services, had had a word with her about my declining physical health. And children, throughout history, have always been lucky to live beyond the age of 10.

I consider myself to be a nice person, who wishes never to do harm to others, either physically or mentally, so I find it curiously odd that stuff like this keeps happening to me.

Perhaps I am just awful, and everyone around me is simply suffering my existence.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

War of the Colossal Wheelie Bins

So I finally snapped and stood up to “Crazy Bin Lady”. Basically, I took some recycling downstairs and placed it in, what I could best discern, was the correct wheelie bin. I’m visually impaired, so it’s becoming more and more difficult to work out which is which. I also slightly overfilled it, but that point is really neither here nor there. Within 5 minutes of me returning to my flat, in perfect comedic timing, “Crazy Bin Lady” was out there routing through what I had just discarded. This means she is officially sat in her property, 24 hours a day 7 days a week, monitoring who takes what out to the wheelie bins.

Yikes. There are way more nutritious hobbies out there for a person.

I didn’t confront her in person, as I’m not an aggressive prick, instead simply calling down to her, in a polite but authoritarian voice, for her to stop going through her neighbours’ garbage and that the council will deal with such a thing. Silence. Then she started beavering away again at my flattened beer cans. I called down again, never using strong language or calling her names. More routing. One final polite demand. She stopped and scurried back indoors. I half expected to hear a cat-style hiss as she went, but nothing.

I’ve either gotten through to her, or I’ve just started a petty war with a lunatic who’s main hobby is going through garbage.

It could also be the start to the greatest offbeat rom-com ever: “A man terrified of people going through his garbage. A woman obsessed with going through people’s garbage. Now they’re neighbours!”. The box office receipts speak for themselves.

Good grief.

Regardless, not only is what she’s doing unnecessary, but it’s unhygienic, potentially harmful to her, and an invasion of her neighbours’ privacy. What I throw out is a matter between me and the bin collectors. Sometimes she just goes out there to smooth the garbage out by running her hand over it. Again… yikes! I have recycling piling up in my home due to her, as I know she’s going to scurry out, like a rat, and rummage through it and dump what she doesn’t approve of outside my door.

The latter is illegal and a fire hazard and puts me in an awkward position, as it looks like I’ve dumped it out there.

So, yes, the moral of this story is that, if you live in communal council housing with assigned environmental wardens and find yourself unnecessarily routing through your neighbours’ garbage for absolutely no reason whatsoever, please chat to your doctor. I’m sure there are many, many, many forms of antipsychotic medication they can prescribe you.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!