When faced with my demons I clothe them and feed them…

Archive for May, 2017

Incubus

This appears to be the male equivalent of ‘succubus’. It’s allegedly a demon which has sex with sleeping women and can even get them pregnant.

Be that as it may I feel as if I am in the process of removing myself as a source of supply to my incubus.

Naturally it isn’t happy. It’s a parasite after all. It depends on me for everything, for life itself. It gives nothing back except grief. It’s been seen around looking rather dejected (Ariana Grande anyone?) Subdued would be an apposite word. Realising with a sinking heart that there’s no such thing as a free lunch, right?

I’m taking back what’s mine, was mine all along, and keeping it that way. Please no ‘sucks to be you’ jokes lol.

Upstairs on my bed just now I pondered how just over a year ago a bunch of government officials alias police and psychiatrist came here to unlawfully kidnap me to a mental ward where I was forcefed potentially dangerous and addictive drugs and kept on lockdown for six weeks. Technically they could do the same thing again. There would be NOTHING I could do about it because there is literally no reasoning with what I previously called the long arm of the violent psychiatric state, or words to that effect. The decision was made long before coming to ‘assess’ me, that was a mere bureaucratic formality. I knew my fate was sealed  as soon as they arrived at the house.

Now when random mental health professionals or police call my home I don’t indulge them. I explain nothing, I repel all the attempts to ‘understand’. Because if they decide to take me they decide to take me at the end of the day. There was never any genuine reason for it except that for some reason I constituted a threat to society just by being myself.

Is this ALL not the activity of the incubus/succubus, essentially? The Great Parasite? ‘Satan’ itself?

I feel my life’s purpose is complete and I’m now marking time. Never have I felt so complete, so entire in myself, so utterly without emotional need of others. Never have I felt so satisfied, nay so RICH! with such small and simple things around me. People are merely instrumental to me now – there to provide a service, otherwise they have no value. The only exception is my son – he is literally the only human being in this world who has given me ANYTHING in any real sense.

Reflecting on my life with the aid of a few books I notice I never had the desire to emulate anyone. Never truly could look up to anyone. Never had a role model. I might try to but when they inevitably failed me (or worse) I would be forced back on my own resources.

I guess this is why Solly and I are such worlds apart now, because he’s the original ‘boy in the bubble’ who never lived for himself alone and always enjoyed divine protection of some sort. His very identity was caught up with mine from birth and derived from attempting to ‘channel’ me in a way that was found acceptable to the common man or woman. (As I already detailed in this post, unedited unexpurgated ‘me’ was obviously NOT). What will he do now my independent emotions and life force are no longer available for him to feed off?

Truthfully I don’t know what will become of either of us. We’re both adrift on a vast ocean but for totally different reasons and I currently appear much happier about it than he does, even  if the ‘happiness’ consists largely of not having to continue bashing my head against the wall. Is there just too much baggage between us (extending back  at least one lifetime that we know about) to ever reconcile?

He’s attached by nature, to me principally, but also to his own past, to his delusions and addictions, he’s like a fly caught in some treacle right now and dismayed to find he has no way to approach me anymore.

Me? I’m like the little white cloud in the AA Milne poem from Winnie The Pooh. No one can grasp me, no one can ever own me.

winnie the pooh poem - Google Search

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How To Thug Creatively

Taming the Inner Thug

We all have one guys.

Ignore or repress it at your peril.

How many times have I heard ‘nice guys’ lament that ‘girls prefer bad boys’?

I used to hang out a lot on Social Anxiety Support forum – the place was rife with them and it was pretty instructive.

It’s all bollocks. ‘Girls’ prefer someone who is real and in touch with ALL of his emotions – not just a few carefully handpicked ones that seem acceptable. You are no more ‘nice’ than I am ‘nice’. I’d run a country mile from someone like you if I was looking for a partner (I’m not). Been there, done that and caught the fucking T-shirt – remember Richard?

I also detest romantic guys with a passion. Way to get yourself killed by a psycho when you dump him, girls! Fuck roses and being told you’re ‘beautiful’. Big fucking deal ass hole, any numpty can do that. In Ms Dynamite’s words on the track I just posted ‘it takes more/to amuse a girl like me/it takes more/to confuse a girl like me’.

Can’t you see? If I’m drawn to a ‘thug’ it’s because I myself am a thug. This blog hits so hard most peeps can’t stomach it if they’re honest – hence the dearth of readers. If that frustrates me all well and good – it just makes me hungrier, more crazed and thuggish. However I find my outlet in words and music rather than beating up randoms on the street (or laying into women Solly).

Look up the original derivation of the word ‘thug’ if you care to. The concept sure does go back a long way – in Indian culture no less! Strangely Indian society is one of the least violent in the world, at least physically. Women are venerated and respected there at least culturally. Haha, it’s complicated alright. I wrote a book to explain the unique complexes of Indian society while out there for two years in my late twenties – then completed it on my return. Can in no way do justice to it here.

Duh (I’m building up a head of steam here) it doesn’t mean any girl/woman dreams of being slapped around or threatened by an immature cunt unworthy of the word ‘man’!

OK so a comment from my old penpal on a recent post may have touched a nerve and triggered something, just as my post triggered him.

I guess I’ve taken about as much shit as I’m willing to in this life and if I have to be a literary/musical thug to get you peeps off my back? That’s what I’ll do.

Too Experienced

Feels Like Something Died

It feels like the end of something.

‘And I’m not happy and I’m not sad’…Morrissey.

Did someone or something die?

There’s no bond between Solly and Douglas and no bond between me and them either…all three of us have always done our own thing. I can’t think I would miss them if they were to vanish from my life today and a big part of me hopes they do just that. It would be like waking up from a dream, easy to shrug off at this point.

It’s very hard to miss Satan. It’s not fun to be around. Its company adds nothing to nobody, all it does is vex, repel and drain you and it never seems to mind overstaying its welcome.

Satan is fed up and lonely. It’s on the run. It can’t get a girlfriend or even a boyfriend. It has no sexuality and no gender hence I don’t dignify it with one. Deep down it longs to be ‘one of us’, its nose is pressed up against the glass. It pleads for our mercy but we have none for it – what mercy did it ever show to us? It yearns for forgiveness but can’t even humble itself to admit its wrongs so that’s a non-starter. It runs in ever-decreasing circles looking ever more pitiful and pathetic, yet as already stated we have no pity and no compassion to offer.

It’s quiet and peaceful here. I’m about as disaffected from the entire human race as it’s possible to be. I want nothing and nobody, I am so rich my every moment is a blessing. My life is fulfilled and what remains now is a mystery even to me.

 

Wasted Here

Here We Go Again

Am I a masochist? Absolutely not. Am I drawn to violent men? No, they are in no way attractive. ‘Men’ who gratuitously hit and bully women are pretty much pondlife.

I’m making no excuses for this situation. Just recording it, venting a little maybe and trying to get a perspective. After all there’s pretty much no one else I can tell (I have one friend, Maurice, who knows, and refrains from trying to control me or the situation, he’s too wise for that).

I have no choice it seems but to be a human punching-bag for a person who totally lacks the strength and inner resources to handle his demons alone.

Take yesterday. The previous day I had made it clear I didn’t want to see him and had nothing to say to him. Then yesterday he called, I allowed a short silence and simply replaced the receiver. I literally locked myself in my bedroom. There was NO ONE I wanted to see. I vapourised essential oils in the room and cleaned and tidied it, organising the toiletries and other items.

This was partly driven by a feeling of ‘enough is enough’, because I am broke financially and live with two pisstaking freeloaders, one of whom recently lost his job and is too dumb to have amassed any savings whatsoever, despite being the same age as me etc. I wanted to save money by not going out at all and avoiding Solly.

Hmm well Solly nonetheless arrives and goes on the internet, for several hours I remain happily and calmly in my room, sorting through old photographs and letters, reading my beloved books and listening to Chill on the digital radio.

I go and fetch my dinner which I prepared early on and take it to my room at about 4 pm. At which point he comes upstairs and starts demanding his clothes through the door. This is a tried and tested ruse of his – it’s NEVER about the clothes, it’s ALWAYS about trying to control me. He kicks the locked door open, breaking the lock in the process.

Remember I have started to eat my dinner, but don’t get very far. He cannot accept let alone respect the fact that I just want to be alone. I guess he can’t relate at all, since he can’t tolerate his own company for very long it seems.

God, ‘Satan’ is UNBELIEVABLY boring and predictable. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Same old same old. Never seems to be enough, it can’t get enough of hearing itself go through the same old motions and the excruciating sense of deja vu for me can only be imagined.

He lies down on the bed, I experience the whole thing as a violation and an intrusion, something entirely alien has entered my sacred space (and don’t imagine for one moment that he is not fully cognizant of this). Anger, tension, fear swell up from inside my body, my heart begins to pound and I’m sweating. In the confrontation he begins to physically attack me again. I am still chewing on lettuce at this point, and spit bits of it out while screaming at him to leave.

Somehow we end up downstairs. At one point he issues a slap to the face but I honestly can’t remember everything. I grab the phone and call 999. They already know the address, I confirm that it’s correct and then tell the policeman to piss off for telling me to ‘calm down’. I replace the receiver.

Solly leaves, having got right in my face to run his gums about how he will ‘tell his brother’ and I will ‘see what happens’. I am way too outraged to be intimidated, and mock him even as I’m defending myself from the sofa. Is there anywhere or has there ever been something as pitiful and ridiculous as this performance? He’s come to launch yet another totally unprovoked attack, then wants to make like I’m the bad guy? What freaking brother? His own brother hates him and he knows I know that. It’s utterly absurd.

So ‘Satan’ is so terrible, so clever, so powerful, is it? How can you even be scared of something so unbelievably dumb, desperate, ugly and pitiful?

The police show up and ask if they should come in, I tell them (red in the face and sweating visibly) that I can’t bring myself to care one way or the other. I don’t tell them who it is but get the impression they know only too well. They eventually leave, they don’t come in, I hear sirens as they depart.

OK, we have one unhealthily obsessive, alcoholic and mentally unstable guy, periodically possessed by ‘Satan’ and a total expert in sly passive aggressive attack (in other words, he is skilled in ‘pushing my buttons’ or at least trying to). One woman who just wants a quiet peaceful life and has learned how damn unpleasant it is to be around him when the demon surfaces. I didn’t lock him out of the house because there’s Just. No. Point. ‘Satan’ is no respecter of locks!

There is fuck all I can do, honestly. He is running scared from his own self, in fear for his life and feels I am the only one who can save him, yet he has NO CLUE how to behave himself around me. He talks of ‘love’ but has NO CLUE what it means. This scenario has got to be familiar to peeps who have ever taken an interest in obsessive relationships/stalkers/spurned ex-lovers who end up murdering the object of their passion.

But by the same token I fail to react with any genuine fear because I know exactly what I am dealing with and have no fear of death whatsoever. I simply ensure I do nothing to provoke an escalation of the attack so I don’t have to blame myself later.

Well, no bones broken but my right leg is very painful to walk on. Not much in the way of bruising this time.

I can’t take ANYTHING seriously anymore. And what’s the point in leaving the house? I prefer to be alone with my books and thoughts. I’m in no way lonely. I really want both of these guys to just move out at this point. Douglas losing his job and having no money to pay the rent is one pisstake too far (not to mention small thefts of my food). I’ve told him not to talk to me and I just ignore him and make like he isn’t there.

My son is a tower of strength to me. He is the only person who loves and understands me well enough to act as some kind of counsellor. We don’t actually speak, we don’t need to. I write him emails as and when I feel moved to. I have his pictures, and look at them for solace, because there’s so much understanding in his eyes.

I’m my own husband now. I have to be. My inner man loves my inner woman, honestly it’s enough. I’m at peace.