Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion

It’s been so long since last we spoke.

I truly do hope you’ve been well, I know its unlikely but it would really be a great surprise if you have been.

I keep hiding the blog away. When the haze of melancholia clears, I find myself so embarrassed with my musings. Often I’ll also hide it away when I meet someone I may be interested in, I don’t want them to read this all and immediately know how terrible I am.

Today however, a slideshow of some poetry came along my way. “Oh my god! These are exactly my very own thoughts and experiences!!!”

Hilarious that I can still be surprised by this. Not a single unique thought or experience out there. Nothing new under the sun after all, and yet! Here we are.

I learned of, “confessional poetry” the genre what which had caught my attention as Mohammed Khan pulled up in his Ford Fusion Hybrid. Summoned like a jinn through an app to take me home from work for ten dollars and eighty five cents, of which he would most likely only see about four to six dollars.

I read about the author, as I felt such a strong similarity to them, kindred spirits I would even go so far as to exclaim. Turns out, they tried to kill themselves a bunch of times and eventually succeeded via head in oven. Grim, yet somehow also funny how this keeps happening. Whenever I feel I am so much like another person, their story ends in this way. Though, head in oven is a somewhat unique one.

Anyway, all that is to say, I felt inspired to embarrass myself here again. Perfect timing, as I’m slipping into another of my episodes. My therapist mentioned yesterday, that around this time yesteryear the downward spiral that would eventually lead to the complete undoing of my life began. Job loss, partner loss, spending that time in the German hospital, etc etc. You’ve all heard me cry about it so much already. She brought this up to say…well… the mind and body have a way of slipping back into certain modes of being when we near dates of trauma or otherwise significant, life altering events. So, on the 18th of every month, I mark off another month exactly since the 11th hour (London time) of January 18th, 2023. Radisson Blue Hotel next to Stansted Airport. I’ll also mark off another month since, or closer to February 18th, my birthday.

January 20th - Daikan (Greater Cold) Coldest time of the year. - It finally set in, this is the last time we will speak. I've seen things you people wouldn't believe

February 3rd - Risshun (Beginning of Spring) - The icy visage with which I’ve maneuvered and survived all of these events begins to crack, to thaw. C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate.

February 18th - Usui (The snow stops falling and melts into rain) - Now the tears come. All those moments will be lost in time

It’s all very poetic and indulgent. Just my cup of tea.

There are so many anecdotes, and sentiments, and secrets, and confessions I wish to share, but at the moment, sleep once more calls my name. I do so love to be a darling dog who comes when summoned. Can I rattle some off in quick succession?

I’ve been spending time with a friend of a friend. Incredibly sweet creature. Despite my best efforts to ward her off, she comes when I call. Seemingly against my own will, I find myself calling often, I feel guilty afterwards. There is no future to be offered with me. She says she knows, and just enjoys spending time with me. I’m still so afraid!

I slept with two people in the summer and haven’t been able to bring myself to since. In fact, I’ve been disgusted with the concept. To the point where I think, if I were to end up in a significant entanglement with someone again, I would tell them its okay to go have their needs satisfied elsewhere. I can’t possibly imagine asking them to bear with me and my fickle nature, as I oscillate rapidly between all the lust and all the disgust. You really do change so much as a person.

I’ve been trying to take steps towards being able to get the surgeries to help me look as I feel I need to, so I can begin to live life. Currently, I’m afraid I’ll get to this consultation on December the first, only to be told my insurance won’t cover the costs, and I’ll need to come up with XX,000 if I want it. It’ll be another failure, to repeat the patterns of the last two years, and it’ll be the one to finally break me.

Or maybe, just maybe, a happy ending to that whole story, and I can be free to roam around as I please, not anchored by my need for certain prescriptions huh?

Do I deserve that much?

Who knows! I’m going to bed!

I’d love some bacon and eggs when I wake. Alas, my home is empty! A result of my own design! One to lament!