Another extremely grey and wet day in Pingley. It is getting dark already and it's only four o'clock. My period just started. When I got in from my walk yesterday there was a huge hoverfly on my livingroom window. It hung around there for ages. Dante wasn't bothered, usually he leaps to attack any winged creature that dares encroach on his territory. It sat on the window all afternoon then came to life at night. I noticed my light kept flickering and thought the bulb was about to go but then realised the hoverfly was relentless flying around the light shade, bashing against the bulb. It made my flesh creep a little. The fly was extremely persistent and was still flying in tight circles around the light when I went to bed.
When I got up this morning I went into the bathroom and the hoverfly was lying perfectly still on his back in front of the sink. I assumed the cat got him after all. Or he died of exhaustion.
I went about my morning routine. Fed Dante, had my porridge and coffee, took my medication, pottered around on the internet for a while. I went back to the bathroom to brush my teeth and the hoverfly was still lying in the same spot but its legs were waving. I felt a wave of repulsion but also curiosity. I bent over for a closer look. It looked so fucking sad, waving its legs helplessly. It looked tired. I couldn't bring myself to touch it so I took a dirty sock off the top of a laundry basket and lightly flicked it. It took a couple of attempts but the fly flipped over and started to aimlessly walk very slowly around my bathroom floor. I didn't want to kill it so shouted on the cat who trotted through. Dante is quite aloof and I was really pleased he came when called. I pointed the fly out to him, still staggering weakly around. I hoped his cat instincts would lead him to pounce on it and dispatch it quickly. Dante just looked bored. I cajoled him some more but he still wasn't interested.
The fly was on my cotton bathmat and wandered onto the tiled floor. The change in textures somehow caused him to flip over onto his back again. The site of his legs waving pathetically made me feel strangely sick. I flipped him over with my sock again. He was really big, practically the size of a prune. I couldn't bear the crunch and juices if I killed it.
I turned back to the sink and brushed my teeth.
*
I was feeling pleased with myself because I hadn't looked at Ray's kid's social media accounts for days. I felt it was ok to treat myself this morning. Shauna has her instagram locked so I went to facebook. Her daughter has just started school. I don't understand school anymore. I started school when I was five. There was the option of nursery back then but I never got to go. I asked my mum why I didn't and most other kids did and she said in her pitiful voice, 'I didn't know how to do it. And I wanted yous home with me.' Shauna's daughter is three, I think she turns four in December. She goes to school and wears a proper uniform and all that already. Maybe that's the law now. Shauna is very proud anyway. There's lots of pictures of them picking pumpkins and wearing superhero outfits. Oh, I almost forgot, she has also just qualified as a nail tech. She always as her nails done, but like Lila she isn't over the top with makeup. Just enough to look presentable and natural. She is a natural blonde, but it's quite a dull dishwater blonde so she gives it a little help. I would too if I were her. She's a really pretty girl, but in a yummy mummy way.
I couldn't find Lila's instagram. She doesn't do facebook. Facebook isn't cool to the kids these days. She must have changed her name or her account again. Teenagers are so bloody flighty. I'm glad I didn't grow up in the age of social media though. I couldn't have taken the bullying. I'd have loved to have had that kind of opportunity to find my tribe online though, and make friends all over the world who shared my interests. I'd have been such easy meat for predators though, or just lads who wanted naked pictures. I'd have given anyone what they wanted just for some attention.
I masturbated before I went to sleep last night. It's been a while, maybe five days, even a week since my last time. My medication affects my libido. I've been medicated for so long though I don't know what it's like to cum without it. I mustered the confidence to talk to one of the various psychiatrists I've seen over the years (a female one this time) about it, as well as the heavy sweating, and she told me flat out there was nothing she could do about it. Doctors are often of the opinion you should be glad you don't want to die anymore and you need to just deal with the side effects. I still want to die Doc, just not constantly. The medication you give me boosts my serotonin to a level that I can see the light in the tunnel, but I'm still stuck in the tunnel. My life isn't at a point where living it gives a level of satisfaction that makes it bearable. Why so you think I resort to doing the weird shit I do.
But enough about that.
I exclusively think about Ray when I masturbate. I have done for around five years when I fell in love with him. The last time I had sex with someone I was thinking about Ray. He was very athletic and I met him at the gym, so their body types were similar. Sometimes I like to think about girls too and I feel a little guilty about that, like I'm cheating on Ray somehow, but he always comes into my mind at the crucial moment.
On the nights I don't masturbate I fall asleep imagining him next to me. Sometimes he's already in bed when I climb in. Other times I'm there first, lying listening to him brush his teeth and waiting for him. The intimacy of having a conversation with someone as you are about to fall asleep is incredible. You are both so vulnerable. You've chosen to be there together. Ray and I have a little cuddle and talk about our days. What we have on tomorrow. We chat about nothing, about everything. Sometimes we bicker. Sometimes we're exhausted and just kiss each other goodnight and roll over. We feel safest together. Waking up during the night and feeling the warmth of his body there is the ultimate comfort.
I could hear the guy in the flat above mine moving around. He was going to bed at the same time as me. I worry he can hear my vibrator. Noise travels further at night. It always inhibits me knowing he is up there. I can't relax or turn my vibrator all the way up as it's too loud. He's a prick anyway. He used to live with his girlfriend (fiance I should say.) They were totally lovey dovey for a while but I used to hear him berating her. The berating got more frequent until it was daily. I remember saying to Dante, 'He's having his Nightly Shout at his girlfriend.' It got to the point I was genuinely worried about her. I thought about waiting til he was out and putting a note about domestic abused through the door.
He made a lame attempt at slitting his wrists last year to stop the girlfriend leaving him. There were spots of blood all down the stairs and on the security door. Nobody saw him for a few weeks. I guess he was on a psych ward. His girlfriend left him anyway. She made a halfhearted attempt at cleaning up the blood after at sat for two days and I put an anonymous note through her door telling her it was her responsibility. There are still brown spots and streaks on the stairs that no one will touch.
I haven't been taking very good care of myself lately. I haven't shaved my legs or anything for a few weeks. I look like a bear. Sometimes when I'm anxious I start plucking my leg hair. I got my tweezers and spent the afternoon plucking the hair out of my right calf. It took hours. It's absolutely endless. I honestly thought it would never end. It was such a stupid thing to do, I don't know why I did it. I've made such a big job for myself. It was calming though. I kept pinching my skin with the tweezers so by the end my leg was covered in red bloody spots and bumps. Now I have to spend several more hours doing my left leg so they are even. And the backs of my thighs are quite hairy too.
I have a lot of strange habits. Rituals you could call them. They make me feel better. Until they don’t. Then they get in the way and suffocate and strangle me. I don’t really ever talk about them. I’m ashamed of them. I told Mark about some of it and he laughed. He said he didn’t want it to be a big deal in our relationship. I can imagine what would have happened if I’d laughed at his limp.
I don't know why I do the weird things I do. I do a lot of them. We haven't even scratched the surface yet.
