Chrisish, age 38, Isle of Wight

4.45pm We’ve been for a brisk, bracing walk to the Needles. Beautiful sea, beautiful wind, beautiful cliffs. As for the company? Pah! I don’t know. She acts as if she doesn’t like me, she’s rude, ignorant, sneers at me when I speak, turns away from my touch. She is controlling and intolerant. However I cannot broach it at present because I do not know how much of her behaviour is to do with her being unwell and exhaustion. They say you cannot change a person. Is it that through her illness I’ve had a chance to see the real T beneath the persona? I don’t know. And I don’t know if this is my codependency rearing its head. I have become compliant. I have become passive, reactive, submissive. I am withheld in my affections, do not feel passion for her. These days I think we are having sex, not making love. My creativity has been springing up inside me though, maybe it’s in response to the total lack I’m feeling within this relationship. I wrote a song earlier, “do you remember when we were lovers, do you remember when we were in love?” Such a short time ago, and those feelings we felt so intensely. She’s slaughtered me, that’s what’s happened. In her fear at not being able to sustain a physically affectionate relationship, I have been the sacrificial victim. How much can sickness eat away at what is? If you were to ask me here and now do I think she even likes me, let alone loves me, I would reply in the negative. Should I care to raise this issue with T, she would say I was a fool and she is unwell. There is such anger in the air between us. I am certainly angry with her. I am furious with her. Why? Could I even begin to start answering that why? I doubt it. I feel I was deceived. I am me, not a process of personas, and I feel I was duped by a mask. Or maybe I am too harsh, and maybe I am too willing to admit to the demise of something glowing. Last night was quite good. I cooked a veggie pie and we ate at the table by candlelight. Afterwards we sat on the couch while I massaged her toes and fingers, then we drove to Sandown where we planned to see in the new year. The pier was only half built so access was prohibited. We had a drink in “Scruffy Jack’s” bar on the pier, then went down onto the beach. The night was sharp and the waves were high. It was quite majestic. We kissed at midnight, but I felt like the love wasn’t there. A part of me felt quite distressed, a lack of love, a removal even, from the lover I was with, then I remembered that I was me and was here to make manifest all my dreams and desires and my pacts lay with the sea and the moon and the dark skies and I vowed into the dark night that I would allow myself to have it all, and I will sing and I will make music with another, with others, and I will not forget my dreams, and whilst T walked off I danced on the beach and sung to the sea and I sang ‘Dancing Barefoot” cos me and Patti Smith shared time together last new year and I love her and I promised my small, very hurt, needful self that I would not forget, and I repeated and repeated and repeated until the prosody became a melody and “I will not forget you, I will not forget you, I will not forget you, I will not forget” became my prayer to the dark night and the changing year and I know my continuing journey is with myself, and she can be who she wants, and I will be all that I can be, and I still keep thinking to myself that I need to say to her it’s over, but then I remember that I’ve turned it over to God and his will be done, thy will be done. And I don’t want to punish her cos she feels punished enough, I suspect, to herself, but I don’t want to lose me in the process. And today I wrote another song, “it was only a dream, she was only a dream”, but again the tune is lost, but I’ll remember it again maybe one day. 10pm I feel like I have no poetry left in my soul. Is my addiction up and running when with T? In addictions the nurturing feminine is abused, eventually killed, through indifference. I have relapsed into the nurturing feminine, she has evolved into my cold, indifferent, emotionally unavailable father — that I was surprised in the first instance that she wasn’t. She was, but somewhere she is cleverer than she knows and inside herself she knew to hide that aspect from me, until I was caught in her web. I don’t want to sit idly by while she murders herself and me. I don’t want to be the innocent victim. Perhaps our killers are constellated together. She has denied her heart commitment and coldly withdrawn, while I have lain me down to serve and die. God help me. I am in hiding with her. In the killing field we are killing life lived in the moment, killing our children, killing love and trust, and killing creativity and spontaneity. Your honour, I rest my case.