February 2022

28th

I discovered two photos of myself from the 26th on my phone and thought I'd share them since there aren't any new ones of me. Given our situation, I believe it is smart to post old content, at the very least images, a few days ahead of time. Posts that have been forwarded to this blog are identified as such. The next day, I noticed a subconjunctival haemorrhage in my eye. I think a face spray caused it, but I have no proof to support this. I got the scar on my nose in London, when a black assailant kicked me in the face as I tried to hide from the pouring rain on a cold, windy night when I was homeless and without a place to stay in Bayswater.

It happened more than ten years ago, but I still remember the blood, lying on the ground with my face down, trying to pick up my broken right forearm. The laughter and the casual remarks that implied that I had somehow earned it are also present. There are only twenty-seven days left until the possession order for the house I've lived in for eighteen months goes into effect. When I returned home, I was upset about the reason for my eviction rather than the fact that I wanted to leave. A group of haters has plagued my time in Truro, threatening me physically, abusing me mentally, and disparaging any friendship I have tried to build here. I find it astounding how this has continued, and as a result, my window of tolerance has shrunk, and I am being evicted for simply being "abusive" to provocation.

24th

Several days ago, I accompanied a support worker to Perranporth beach. I reside in support accommodation due to complex post-traumatic stress disorder and generalized anxiety disorder. To navigate the day, I ride my BMX.

I am only able to interact with the world through professionalism. Due to the depersonalization I have experienced, it is difficult for me to grasp the reality of life until my emotions become overwhelming, which has led me to self-harm in the past.⁣

21st

Took a couple of pictures today, and damaged the mirror on my camera, struggling after the SD card door jammed on my camera. The thing is I cannot notice any difference in the pictures, very strange.

Every time I see the washed up disgrace from my window, I sea, parched, salted driftwood, dragged into tidal abyss of emotional turmoil, stoned by ten hundred million pebbles.

19th

Went to the park and lake to take some wildlife pictures and get some exercise, wish I had not had done that now, because torturous thoughts in my head are going crazy. I guess I'd be suicidal if my emotional feelings were not so numb, guess am gone way past that stage, more than a decade ago. I'm not saying that I am incapable of killing myself, because I know I am, it is just that there is no pressure to do it any more, as I haven't felt anything but despair for so long, there isn't a trace of happiness to miss, an essence of hope to grieve upon.

I have been so many things in my life, yet overlooked at every instance, the world is debased and completely meaningless, I guess there is a rationality that if the world becomes completely worthless, I'll cease to exist because there will be no purpose in existing and therefore not have to return here. There must be a way out I have overlooked, somewhere, in some place in the wilderness, it has to exist. The environmental effects of Borderline Personality Disorder are unbearable, but yet I still figure it there, myself here. Life has no meaning, no value, but keeps us alive as voided projections, debased as worthlessness to everything our existence has meant to this world.

10th

Today I went for a walk, left the BMX indoors.

There were some really pretty flowers outside, along the way.. Anybody who was walked about the leafy greenbelt of Truro knows this view.

A countryside lane would not be complete without risk of stepping in horse dung… I love the bronze colour of these leaves, especially from copper beech trees.

I have enjoyed riding through this shallow but fast flowing ford on my BMX but not today… The way the light catches upon this is wonderful, I don't know the name of this planet though.

Even the moment before beauty has eminence... how in awe of the natural world I have been to be seen in this lifetime… The greatest curse is arriving back indoors tearful at the triggered recall trauma has inflicted upon the innocence of my perceptions.

The hypervigilance elaborates even the most small increments of beauty, these moments, my only possession I have to share… Plant life illudes cruelty against beauty, the deranged mind who would destroy this does not threat about such eloquent posturing.

Maybe I am tired, may even be tearful, but never fearful, of subtle presence, gently impressing softness upon hard chill of air… No ebb of dread, does loath from this silent flow, yet stillness of this scene caught and called presence to bare witness.

The natural world has never been dirty for me, but the impression upon the natural, from the unnatural, appears as an apparition of filth… Warm blue sky, first vibrance, turning year, the morals of defined perspectives, can be approached, but with caution, good weather not always bad.

The lane was long, seemed not to surpass motion to foot, yet called warmth and comfort upon sky without contrast… How I love to walk a moment with I, by why I ask, is this never to be shared, from a moment to pass, disparity is unequal.

Blood from sliced soul, heat impressed upon silence. Skinned from skin, motion upon moment is, definition of detachment… Maybe I am just tired, so tired, but I am not, this weeping slumber hangs without weight, yet is pervasive, and ever pensive.

Sullen shadow, set forth, staunch with might. I'll not shed tear for demise, carried afar, beyond recognition of insight… Old causes stand, departed, removed hand from hand, a life so far, yet so close, sweat, darkness, saturated skin, timber called, fell underground.

Yet I'll hurry my business as my business will worry to hurry my business, dependant yet wildness still sing whistle upon wing but feet I'll use here, closeness not to be near… Twenty-seven here, twenty-seven gone, in-between thought, impleads presence. Its not because you existed but then again it is, enfringement of ignorance, encroaching anxiety is unwelcoming.

I will not mourn this anybody, an alienated notion. When I can watch, without grasp, every soul disembark this world, hereafter does not premise pretense. Bold as brass, my time has mistakenly come to pass. Now gone, but yet reflect tiding of sorrow, never bound to confide.

Not care for tear, fallen, forsaken from glare of eye, capsized by rising tide.

4th

As of last night and this morning, my stomach hurts a lot and feels swollen and bloated, like I've had another haemorrhage. I'm starting to think that this is why I am unable to absorb Vitamin B12 and iron that I get from food alone. Since my people's lives were taken away, I feel like I've been gutted too much, which has actually made me sick. How can committing such a wrong be justified when it results in illness? This is how it feels when life's intrinsic value is taken away from us; we call it being gutted. It is ironic that I could die of hunger, just like the other 100 million people who died under Communism.

Also, I've lost weight without dieting in the last six months, which I read is another sign that something is wrong. The irony of me slowly starving to death, life drawn out of me, out of us, by a belligerent dispossession that has inflicted this disease upon me. A four-and-a-half-hour surgery in June 2021 set me back, but after six months of rest, I'm almost back to normal. I attended an open mic night last night and came to the realization that I had become increasingly isolated from everyone and everything. I had become a lifeless, alienated person, further exacerbated by the coronavirus pandemic.

It's crazy going to the pub alone, everybody stares at me as men draw closer as if they know this is going to happen. Observing groups of people, friends, it must be really something to go out to an event with people, to sit around a table together, to laugh and joke, a sense of belonging. Yet, I've never done that, not since a teenager. In India, everybody came to me, when I was invited to events, I arrived alone, and in many ways alienated. After a while, I began to get the feeling that they were touching my feet to stop me from walking away; I am planning writing about my time in India in detail during the next few days.

I have recently been threatening about selling my BMX as I am approaching fifty years old! There are so many youths that could take the value of this bicycle further than my ailing health. My first BMX since my last BMX when I was 14 years old was purchased in premise of me being rehoused into an urban area where anxiety would perhaps subjugate me from going out, getting from A to B etc. After eighteen months of seclusion, I can now move about easier than before, so the bike is not really relevant to the original reason for purchasing it. Enjoying the ride is, for me, not a good enough reason to keep the BMX.

3th

Such weird night, tears pouring from my eyes, rolling over a lifeless face, I didn't even know I was crying until somebody ask me if I was alright. Balancing the dead weight I feel in my stomach. Life past comprehension somewhere, some place, enduring disgrace. Slip stream through the valley of death, alienation, lens of contorted persepectives, knowing not the hour of day, when, who, where from this thousand yard stare. Floating drift wood valued by finder, treasured by the finder, thought provoking to few, born was, am I?