Delete the Red Button

15.11.14 (Day 327); 16.11.14 (Day 328)… interminable.

09.42, 12.42, 15.42, 18.42, 21.42… interminable.

I wish I was awake. Less tired. Less paranoid.

A day in the life. With only a shared wife. Thoughts as they occur…

Three hours into my day and none into that of others. The deafening silence has been interrupted by the sound of Pringles being eaten. As a breakfast snack. By me.

A two minute silence was observed here in the kitchen for my dear departed friend Nigel. Or rather it was, then a dog started barking. It has a cough. It was killed (the silence).

Cancer killed my friend. The silence is killing me. He was a colourful character, comparable to me: very intelligent, vocal and more than a bit camp. He was gay – in all senses of the word – and I’ve had to sleep in a tent on more than one occasion. We drank together. Often it was too much.

Surrounded by beings of lesser intelligence. And the atmosphere. Toss pots in our pub. Fucking females. Fucking hormones. The attitudes: if you have a problem with us, have the front to face up to us and face off. I’ll do an impression: I’ll take your face off. Such was life and as such it remains with me. Picking up the pieces, cleaning up after people, cleaning up actual people. Always tidying up after everyone. Fucking lazy cunts who can’t be bothered to get up until after I’ve done half a working day. And only then because they need to eat. The life which was. Life in the fast lane. Life as it is. Life broken down on the hard shoulder. Broad shoulders. Cold shoulders.

Always more dangerous the more I drink. More vocal. My mouth gets me into trouble. Trouble and death follow me wherever I go and make me unwelcome. As was one of my many ex-fiances and mother to my stillborn daughter, whose whereabouts I don’t know. As dangerous as she was gorgeous. Add that to life in general at the moment and you may get some idea of what I’m going through. Then run away. Part of my life always trying to build a business, while others just swamp and feed their faces, thinking I’m doing nothing other than enjoying life in a positive rut which I’ve created for myself. The ones who fed me but who I cared for. I show my teeth but won’t bite the hands that feed me. Most holes I dig for myself, I can get out of. Others can’t. The dead ones. In a better place now.

I wonder how many knew that my stillborn daughter was incinerated as medical waste because the mum couldn’t bring herself to face the funeral of a child? They do now.

Playing games.

Bad losers. Those who envy me my intelligence and competitive nature. I play to win.

Now a nightmare. Children in Need. I have many. I want to sleep. With them.

I’m due to meet the ex-wife and the kids on – of all dates – 6th December: our wedding anniversary. How ironic.

Working on the business and Revealing Our Sauces:

My love affair with Little Blue grows deeper. Like a lap dog but not as annoying but a bit overloaded. Just now we read this:

Three friends buried or burned today. A daughter I never saw incinerated with the rest of the NHS waste.

My poisoned, infected, inflective, infectious mouth needs to be sown shut before I scream. We’re watching Children in Need. I can’t see my own kids. Both have been in hospital, as has their daddy. Rub salt into the wounds. This is like facing things and people I despise. So insensitive; so unsympathetic; so callous; so cruel; so ignorant. Think before you speak or act. I do and it hurts. Fuck Children in Need. I’m a living CAPS LOCK key.

But being me, I thought then acted: I had a fiver left in my bank account, so I donated it. Not much but all I had. How much did you donate?

I’ve had to leave the room. I can’t stand it.

I can’t wait till bedtime. Maybe a rare early night and a chance to sleep. I doubt that: too much in my overactive mind. But the torture will continue.

I need the blue lights. Whether they’re on the top of jam sandwich or ice cream van, I don’t care. I need to be taken away.

So ends another day. Welcome to my world.

I don’t want to live today again: delete the red button.

Pull the trigger to delete.

Captain’s log supplemental: we bid Nigel farewell yesterday: he was wearing an orange NASA space suit and went to the sound of Lola by The Kinks. Farewell spaceman xxx

10 thoughts on “Delete the Red Button

  1. Jesus steve wish you would tell us these things about what you think about your life now I hate hearing that you are so unhappy and I am sorry about the silence in the home that seems to be making you worse.


      • When my head goes silent, the horrible thoughts come back. When my head is empty. I long for silence but when I find it, the voices return. The knowledge of inevitable death is there. I long for sleep. Sometimes a sleep from which I’ll not wake up. I’m angry with my head. Bitter and twisted and taking it out on others. I’m not good x


    • So, nothing to tell as my mind is a paradox. I crave company but seek solace alone. No matter how welcome I am wherever I go, I feel in my paranoid state that I’m imposing, in the way, interfering… My brain is in conflict with itself. I need a place of my own but people and the system have let me down. Its always been like this. Even in marital homes, I’ve felt like a guest and resented those who I looked after. I was happiest in my own place in Bexley but I still craved contact. I’m relationship dependent but resistant and repellant. So much conflict. I’m narcissistic but hate myself. I resent my intelligence. Its a poisoned chalice. Its like constantly arguing with yourself. A love hate relationship involving only one person. I wish I could be rid of my damaged brain. I wish it would all end sometimes. The last year has been awful but I’ve made the most of it. The past couple of weeks have just been hellish and when you’re Ill like me, those knocks hurt. I want to be better but there’s no cure for a broken heart and a damaged brain so I have to live with it but I don’t want to.


  2. hello mate. aint spoke to you in ages. you dont sound to good mate. when you read this call me please. would be really nice to hear your voice again.

    love claire xxxxxxxxxxxxx


    • I’m pretty down baby sister. Nothing anyone can do to help except put up with me. I have no credit so I can’t call although I’d love to speak to you too. You and a few others at least realise that I’m ill xxxxx


      • It’s certainly not nice being ill with something for which there’s no cure. Mental illness is a life sentence. You resent your own intelligence and want your brain replaced with a simpler model. Mental illness is also a full-time job, dealing with and being driven insane by DWP just to try to get the benefits you’re entitled to.

        My anxiety and paranoia are pretty bad at the moment. I’m okay when I’m working but the business which was showing green shoots has stalled a bit as I’ve lost the main tool which was helping me: Little Blue. I’m lost without that thing.

        I fight back and soldier on though, despite all the trip ups, hurdles, barriers and general crap that’s thrown at me xxx


  3. ok mate thats cool. hope your ok. i know how you feel. i know it aint nice being or even feeling ill, i feel your pain, i know it painful. you got to hold on and pull though it. xxxxxxxx


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