I’m glad it’s pouring with rain in the Shire today. I makes me feel better about my inability to no longer engage with the outside world. I’d normally be cursing it but not now. Now it eases what’s left of my guilty conscience. If I succeed in emptying the overflowing bins it will have been a productive day. 

I should be feeling chipper as the photograph that I let push me over the edge has gone.  The hot knife through my butter. A new image chosen. Not one of the thousands we shared. She does not need reminding of her big mistake any more. Her iPhone now wiped clean of any traces of my existence. She has other ways to reaffirm her ability to end me any time she feels like, put me back in my box. I gave them to her. It served its purpose, her family and friends informed of her new found happiness. Anyone who matters. And me. I’m thankful she is loved and not alone. I want her to be happy. 

I deserve her scorn and more. I deserve  this silence and isolation. I wish I could fly away like a bird into the night sky. But I can’t fly any more. I flew too close to the Monster and he took my wings. I always had wings to escape before. I always cared about something enough before.

Alcohol was chickenfeed in comparison to El Chappo. That’s the difference this time. This Monster is Cartel connected.

The 3 months of self-harm and 12 hour binges are catching up. I’m getting weaker. I don’t look good any more. My shutdown is beginning to tell. My fountain of youth running dry. I need to disable the notification in my phone to stop asking me do I know how many steps I’ve taken this week? Yes, about 38. Now fuck off

Perhaps I’m not Superman after all. And look what happened to him when he took on Batman anyway. Another letdown. Im looking far more like the junkie I’ve surrendered to these days. My lips are cracked, my skin pasty, and the whites of my eyes are the giveaway mixture of cream and red that eye drops no longer fix. I ache in places I never had before. I think I’m having a heart attack at least once a day. My nose is nothing more than a reminder of how much I struggle to breath and ceased being useful for me ages ago. 

 I don’t snort now. I chase dragons. I graduated. Needs must. My few trips out of the Mausoleum each week are not giving me the exercise I need. I’d be 110kg instead of 75 if I was eating anything  more than Cereal and Jaffa cakes as required.

I am coming to terms with the situation. I am becoming more comfortable with the demise. I have joined an ever growing non-appreciation society in the loathing of me.

Everybody can’t be wrong.