Blog entry by Alan Chapman

by Alan Chapman - Wednesday, 1 September 2021, 11:28 AM
Anyone in the world


Having written what is below, here's the best sense I can make of it. 

I perhaps need to write this now because my living situation at the moment doesn't allow me to do much else, especially not to write with a pen and paper, nor pick up and play a guitar, nor express myself in other ways. I have very little of what I need for my wellbeing with me at the moment. 

I'm not in prison, but it's similar, and in some ways prison - especially an open prison with my own cell and basic needs met - would probably be a better environment for me. 

I have sunk so low that I can imagine prison being a better place to be than my situation and future, as I see it. 

(I have visited and been inside prisons enough to understand the seriousness of what I'm suggesting above.) 

I think perhaps the answer to existential questions is to submit to, and accept, the infinitely more powerful energies that many refer to as 'God' or universe(s). 

And that this is life and death, rather than what we believe it to be. 

I added these thoughts after the first draft of 'detachment' below. 

Much of what I do these days is attempting to make sense of who and what I have become. 

I've reached a stage of growth in my life that I know I am alone, and no one can ever understand me, nor is there any need for me to be understood. 

I do not matter. 

Nothing actually matters, to me, because I am so very detached from life and being viably alive.

I'm preparing for my dying rather sooner than someone of my age and extremely good physical health would normally do. 

I imagine this is a good thing. Not least because I would definitely not want to be poorly prepared for death. 

I was perhaps born to fail, and to become expert at destroying myself. It's a hard habit to break. 

Self-loathing is a hugely addictive safe place to be. 

My fixation on my death and ongoing self-destruction and hopelessness is all maybe difficult and certainly pathetic and wearing for a few people who care about me, but life goes on, and it certainly does and shall do without my unhelpful presence in it. 

Death cannot come soon enough for me, although I fear I will be stuck detached for quite a long time. My apologies. 

And here's my rambling on detachment that prompted the above:


My detachment from the 'living' world is now more intense than it has ever been. 

I suspect these feelings and thoughts will intensify, because I know that I face new traumas and triggerings of past traumas. 

I know that what is ahead of me is, to me, in many ways much worse than death. 

My attempts at climbing out of the disasters I've made for myself continue to be just greater personal ruination, even though I'm trying to save myself and stay positive and hopeful. 

It's like everything I touch goes wrong, especially the things I need very much now to go well. 

I perhaps need to sink lower to hopeless and then to ill health before I die, as if I must endure more punishment for whatever evils I have done that I'm unaware of. 

God knows, I guess I must have been the most nasty person in human history to be stuck, detached, not living and not dead, for so long. 

I've lived with wanting to die and the destruction that I have brought upon myself for so long now, that I cannot imagine ever being okay and wanting to live again. 

My sense of detachment from everyone and everything that represents being alive and functioning in the normal living world is now so huge that I can't find words to explain it. 

Sleep is my only peace. 

Death cannot come soon enough. 

I'm so tired of this unrelenting seemingly every worsening utterly hopeless living hell. 

Detachment is the best I can imagine it, and attempt to reframe it. 

Traumatic growth is fine for someone with a future. 

For me it all seems ultimately pointless. 

Everywhere I look, and everything I see for me, is completely bleak, dark. 

Dead ends. 

Why would I want to become attached again to myself in a living world? 

Impossible to explain. 

Impossible even now to make into a song. 

I've become too good at being a living dead man. 

And so I'm stuck, detached. Not dead. Not alive. Not anything. 

Each moment as it comes. 

Each beautiful horrific moment. 

I'm guessing perhaps I'm being punished for continuing to write like this, but it's so very difficult to keep it all to myself. 

Sorry for all the upset and misery I've caused everyone. 

I guess I'm simply evil. 

I have a sort of peace believing this. 

[ Modified: Wednesday, 1 September 2021, 12:58 PM ]