Self Constructive Behaviour

05.11.14 (Day 318)

07.42

Before I go on – as I have a tendency to do – sometimes my comments aren’t aimed at any individual; they’re generalisations.

To say that I feel really low would be to understate things somewhat. I feel really down; tired and run down.

In the last week I’ve lost four friends, the nearest thing I had to a wife and a load of money at poker. I should point out that I didn’t gamble the wife and friends at the poker tables. I’ve lost friends and at least one wife through gambling but not this time. This time it’s different.

Four friends have died. One would have been enough to deal with but four, for fuck sake! The wife has left me, in that she’s found someone, partly due to the self-confidence I built up in her. I’m pleased for her and a little pleased with myself but I miss her now that she’s gone, like some of the others I rebuilt. We still have a relationship of sorts – a marriage of convenience; friends with benefits – but she’s no longer the part of my life that she was.

I have to remind myself that some birds aren’t meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up DOES rejoice. But still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they’re gone. I guess I just miss my friend.

It’s happened many times before. It’s been documented here: friends and family. But I fear this could be the last.

I’m getting nowhere; I’m treading water; walking through treacle. I’m fighting a daily battle, as I have done for most of the past 11 months. Business hasn’t taken off yet but I realise that these things take time and I won’t give up. But I need to move on. But where to? The loss of so many people makes the old life beckon; and the old, old life. Should I? Should I give up again and return to the self-destructive ways? Should I hit the road again?

I bring trouble wherever I go. People are too polite to ask me to move on. Then it gets to a stage where moving on becomes chucking out. I’m torn. Apart. Apart from those I love. I’m in a world of my own creation. Are these the thoughts of someone who is losing control? I’m not in charge any more. Not here and not of myself.

11.42

All of the above are the thoughts I had earlier. I thought they might go away but they’re still with me; like the voice in my head that reminds me daily that one day I shall die. The only way to stop that voice is to listen to it and do as it wishes: to end it. To end life is to silence the voice. And I’ve lost so much that there really isn’t much left. With each passing day, I lose more. I don’t know how to cope for much longer.

I told the wife that the loss of another close relationship such as that which we had would be the death of me. My heart has been broken too many times before. There are only so many pieces that anyone can pick up.

This is going nowhere. This is gobbledegook. It’s stream of consciousness. It’s me and I don’t really like it. I’m advised to write down my thoughts and I’m doing just that – with no distractions – and it frightens me. I am ill, yet I’m abandoned by all but a few who stick with me. And if I go on the path of destruction I’m considering, it’ll be over for me but not for them. And I still have enough heart left to not put those who still care about me through anything like that which I have suffered. Or maybe the selfless thing to do would be to take myself; to spare them. Once gone, soon forgotten.

12.42

Things change and people change… Velveteen… I want you back… (Transvision Vamp); How they change. By the minute, the hour and the day. But not in general.

In general, I’ve been doing what I do most days: fighting; the system and myself. Sometimes I find something to distract me, like I just did by helping with giving the kitchen a complete scrub down, making lunch and dinner (Southern fried chicken tonight: recipe on the website).

I’m still entertaining thoughts of returning to the old life; or the old, old life. There are some things I’d like to escape here but others which I can’t leave. There are things that I would like to return to but daren’t. I’m torn.

14.42

But now I’m back, feeling blue with my Little Blue. Two little blue things together. I honestly feel like I’m breaking down. I’m in the kitchen where I can be alone with my blue. Just like life in general, I’m in hiding.

Little Blue makes for good company, runs and holds my life. Much like a wife once did. And much like a wife, Little Blue is trouble. I spent around an hour this morning getting the thing to work. Little Blue is an Android device (a tablet) and the apps available to my little thing allow me to do things; and hide things. The security features I have on this thing are unlike any that an IOS or Windows user would be able to install. Even starting the thing up requires me to look at it. Much like a wife. It has face recognition. But we went one stage further when we started out: not only does my Little Blue have to recognise my face but it has to make sure that I’m alive by asking me to blink. Me and it.

So what am I hiding? How about nothing? Nothing to see; move along; as you were. Unless someone were to cut my face off and use it as a ventriloquist mask to make the eyes blink, my Little Blue android is pretty impenetrable and no-one will ever know. And it plays a very good game of chess, holds a newspaper and magazine stall for me, allows me to watch TV and listen to radio, download files and much more besides. Much like a wife. Little Blue also listens to me, unlike a wife. Little Blue can come with me wherever I go.

15.42

So where to go?

Maybe somewhere to eat. I don’t tend to do anything other than snack here. I cook but I don’t taste what I make. To do so would be to be looked at, shouted at and above all, bite the hand that feeds me. And I give but try not to take.

I’m lost. Lost myself and lost to others. The others are welcome to this face of mine; the one that got me into so much trouble, along with what’s behind it: a misfiring brain. But just as the Android needs someone who can lift the bonnet to see what’s going on inside, so do I.

I’m tempted to embark on another leg of this journey in this broken shell. I may break down on the way.

16.42

Welcome to my world. Welcome to a day in my life.

The chicken is cooked-ish. If I serve it up now it’ll poison everyone. Now I’m doing my “Dangerous Chips”. I’d publish the recipe but that would be dangerous too. And I’ve managed to slice the tip of my thumb off but I’m not making a fuss. And there’s none of my thumb or blood in the dinner, so no-one will catch anything (you can’t catch me). Lovingly prepared southern fried chicken and chips – all home-made – and I won’t eat any.

It’s a get-away dinner: serve it up and run. I may do soon. For the benefit of all. And hopefully be remembered, if only for my cooking.

Tonight’s dinner is deconstructed chicken and chips.

My life remains under construction.

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