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


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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