Why I Self Harm

The sun is setting on a another sweltering July evening. I peer outside my window with my stoned eyes looking at another majestic picturesque sunset. The full spectrum of colours on display the yellows and reds inflame my mind as I’m standing glaring outside my bedroom window viewing the sublime evening panorama of a luscious summer sunset.

I’m feeling nervous as I prepare my body my anxiety laden mind to record another video in which I articulate to the world the trauma of being me. In this video I’m going to be elucidating in a short video why I cut myself why I have a peculiar tendency to lacerate my arm with broken pieces of glass. The sick pleasure this masochistic act gives me. Last night I performed this act in secret with my bedroom firmly locked to conceal my behaviour from my house mates.

I close my windows to cut out all the summer time noise pollution closing my black dusty stained curtains to create a perfect intimate ambience to facilitate the recording of this important video that will explain why I cut myself. I turn on my oriana floor lamp with the speciality crimson light bulbs that illuminates the room with the danger crimson colour. It’s a apropos colour to be used when I discuss my proclivity to self harm. I love this lamp love turning it on at night especially when I’m high all alone in my private alcove listening to exemplary meditative classical music. The colour red beguiles me it electrifies me sexually and emotionally it represents in the recesses of my consciousness danger and sexual bliss.

I survey my room look at my surroundings with see the Chester draws which I’ve made into a shrine a memorial of my dead mother. There’s a collection of my most cherished photographs of my mum her suicide note its stands as a daily reminder of her enduring memory I don’t want her to be forgotten don’t want to neglect to let all the joy all the love she bestowed upon me fade away. There’s the Chester draws with the collage of my mums images her suicide note with a crucifix hanging directly above as a testament to my faith in a just loving god and my belief in the compassionate teachings of Jesus Christ.

There’s a collection of posters plastered on my magnolia wall. Posters of my artistic and literary hero’s a joy division poster a Lana deal Rey poster a image of Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath my favourite poet. Also there’s a art print of starry night above my bed. These posters that dot my room give me hope they inspire me to write passionate poems and short stories. On my black door is a iconic video poster of the last of us my favourite video game that brought me to tears on several moments as I played this seminal immersive video game. Next to my single bed with my black duvet with a white flowery pattern is a old fashioned bookshelf with a multitude of exemplary novels and poetry collections to satiate my voracious appetite for reading. By the other side of my bed is my Chester draw a shrine I’ve erected as a monument to my mums memory. On the opposite side of my bed is the tv unit my flat screen tv my PS4 my blue gaming chair with its leather upholstery.

This is my room which is emblazoned in crimson from my lamp. It’s a stiflingly hot day as my body is dripping in sweat it’s almost unbearable but I’m desperate to record this video to delineate why I cut myself the sick pleasure this nighttime self harm produces. I look at my fresh self inflicted wounds which I treated this morning with liberal doses of disinfectant. Even with my body intoxicated with cannabis and a variety of potent painkillers I am in excoriating pain. I touch the deep cuts I am in pangs of agony just to lightly touch these wounds. For this video I’m going to be bearing my arms revealing my lacerations showing off some skin to the world being completely vulnerable to my YouTube audience.

I’ve laid out my causal attire i will be adorning my skinny body for this latest video. A slender sleeveless black joy division T-shirt with the unknown pleasures album cover. My favourite rock band who’s melancholic somber post punk music has given me many hours of solace mitigating my suicidal thoughts. I wont though be bearing my Legs I’m wearing skin tight black jeans to preserve my modesty. My acute body dysmorphia precludes me from parading my scrawny unsightly legs. The time is right I need to record this video forthwith due to the torturous heat no air conditioning windows firmly closed entrapping the heat in my room.

I find the act of breathing onerous as the heat the excitement of talking about why I self harm overwhelms me. I have to law down for several minutes on my bed to avert a full blown panic attack. The oppressive heat is preventing me from commencing my short video. I take several hits form my cannabis laced bong in a effort to assuage my anxiety to calm my nerves. The cannabis hits me hard once again elevating to a new stratosphere of consciousness a plain where I can lucidly and effusively talk about my self harm. Then I stand up with my fingers tapping incessantly against my palms a symptom of my anxiety disorder. I wipe the beads of sweat from my face now I can begin the process. I’m recording a low resolution video on iPad camera to be edited uploaded onto my YouTube channel. The iPad is positioned on the top of my bookshelf I’m standing sweating profusely and my arms shacking unable to maintain a semblance of composure. I saunter to my iPad press record leaving 60 seconds to be in position to deliver my elucidation on self harm.

It’s recording I am still calm ready to talk speaking to a metaphorical psychiatrist the Camera.
“ hello everybody I’m recording this video to talk about my abnormal tendency to self harm to cut my arm. I’ve hidden this habit from my family from my closest confidants since I began this atypical habit in the aftermath of my mums suicide at the age of 13. The ptsd of losing my mum having this bottomless pit of sadness swirling around my teenage mind left me lost unable to carry on to function in the tumult of being a teenage girl without a mother. I discovered the psychological salutary practise of self harm one lonesome dreary evening many months after my mum untimely passing. I read about this practice that was prevalent amongst teenagers encumbered with depression and alienation. I wandered what it would feel like to cut my arms to express my pain to myself to unload this pent up trauma to feel alive for once. I was unable to divulge my grief to anybody I felt suicidal with the hole left by my mums ahh rowing death. Seeing her listless body hanging from my living room door had left wounds scars that were inflicting me on the inside. I had composed a abundance of poetry but it this prolific poetic output wasn’t offsetting this inner universe of darkness. I had to take a drastic action that wasn’t talking to a therapist or confiding in a friend. Self harm seemed the perfect method to express my internal torment. I had “accidentally” dropped a glass in the kitchen a carefully placed several of the deadliest chards of glass in my pocket to perform this masochistic act in the seclusion of my locked room. As i cut fervently into my left hand leaving a arm soaked in blood and ravaged my a injurious act of self mutilation I felt the pain but concurrently had feelings of euphoria. I was crying uncontrollably from this release of toxic emotion. For moment the depression had abated as I felt like a haunt being able to sense pain. This was my secret that I hide from my father my friends never unveiling my wounds keeping my lacerated arms clothed in long sleeved shirts. The idea of being exposed of being a mentally ill teenager exhibiting symptoms of a untreated disorder filled me with dread and a sick thrill to have this dangerous dark secret habit. For years I carried on this habit severing my arms when I was impaired with severe depression and suffering form a punishing bout of anxiety. The clandestine act mitigated my dark proclivity to end my life just like my mother had. Yesterday was the latest instance of body mutilation as I maimed my scared arms once again. I needed this its like heroin I get high from seeing the glass pierce my skin seeing the blood cascade from these wounds. I performed the self harm like numerous times previous getting high on cannabis devouring several shots of whisky to negate the excruciating pain. Look at these arms their fucking disgusting ( I pointed my hideous scared arms into the camera as a tear descended down my ashen face) These arms are a reflection of my fractured mind with the untreated wounds from my traumatic adolescence. I hate myself and yesterday the self disgust the need to express the hell of being was strong I needed to take a blade of glass and damage my arms to feel a modicum of humanity. I’m sick In the end I’m sick of the god damn fucking terminal pain sick of the panic attacks I need a hour or two when I could escape. Sorry for acting so erratically and hysterical I just needed to vent to talk for the first time of my penchant for self harm. I know I desperately require therapy and a diet of anti depressant medication but its terrifying to be that vulnerable. All I have is this channel to disclose my battle with depression my atypical habits. I hope you found this video enlightening please leave a positive comment like my video and subscribe to my YouTube channel”

My face was submerged in sweat in tears in snot I was a mess. I ended the video still crying for the first time in months. I turned off the red light as the dream like ambience that had been engendered from the lighting vanished. I opened the windows letting in some music needed refreshing cooling air into this balmy room that pulsated with heat and melancholia. I lay catatonic on my bed in a state of shock letting the cool evening air hit my face. Performing that video was akin to torture therapy I had assumed it would be a rudimentary video but this well of emotion erupted from my eyes.

The Rave

Dancing for hours floating on air
In states of rapture to the incessant beat
My mind my body transported by the molly into a euphoric loved up sensation
Psychedelic colours flow in my eye as the music and sound appear as one

My friends that dance in blissed out states appear to me like ethereal orbs of light
There bodies like celestial heavenly beings with iridescent colours that are emanated from their beautiful bodies
We hug we dance in each other’s arms the connections of friendships are deep tonight thanks to the tonic of the elicit stimulant and the invigorating music

All my anxiety all my melancholy all my social phobias has dissipated tonight
I’m engulfed by hundreds of people in a abandoned warehouse dancing to the music the DJ is blaring out at a deafening volume
We are all one experiencing the sublime beauty of music and our humanity
For hours no words are expressed only dancing sweating with eyes that appear like glorious illumines constellations of the cosmos

The sweat flows from my petite body
I’m alive tonight losing all concept of time and place
Lost in this transcendent place that is heaven
Love bounces off the walls i share a group hug with my affable friends I’m floating through time and space the pleasure is unbelievable its a pure joyous high sensation

I Miss You Mum

6 years this week you killed yourself
It hurts like acid burning a hole in my stomach
I miss you think about you everyday
Miss your hugs your effusive hugs you bestowed upon me

I miss you mum i cry when I hear your funeral song
I shed a profusion of tears when I gaze at photographs of you on my phone
I yearn for one last chance one last moment to bask in the iridescence of your external love

Still can recall seeing your haunted eyes as you hung from the ceiling
That image is tattooed on my ravaged mind
The wounds of losing you so prematurely and tragedy will never heal
I will never recover from losing you from suicide the hole in my soul can never be filled

Mum i need you in the mire the moil of my depression
I call out for you in the starry night as i survey the majestic awe inspiring cosmos i think about the memories we shared
I mediate on the future memories that was denied by from your egregious decision to end your life to abandon your daughter in the turmoil of her anxiety laden adolescence

Alive

Take the menacing blade of glass in my right hands that is erratically trembling
I hols my left arm on the floor and cut with the sharp blade cutting into my underarms
Laceration after laceration is made in another bout of euphoric self harm
Blood cascades from the deep wounds onto my wooden bedroom floor

I feel no pain the profusion of alcohol and painkillers numbs to the pain of this masochistic deleterious act
When I with reckless abandon are cutting into my underarm i feel alive
The pain of my depression is a transformed into a euphoric pure state of being
I’m able to articulate my self loathing my disgust my desire to not exist on my body

I purge this toxic suppressed emotion in a nighttime act i commit in secret
In the heat of the night I’m alive no longer trapped in anxiety laden numbness
Now i can succinctly visually communicate with myself the hell of my condition
Tomorrow i will be writhing in excruciating pain but now in the ecstasy of the midnight self harm I’m alive no longer feeling like a mindless zombie able through cutting into my ravaged body to transcend this emotionally constipated state and feel something anything

Voices In My Head

Lost in the walls of my mind
Lost all alone with these venomous inner voices that reverberate inside my damaged mind
They scream they bellow when i loom at my ghastly visage in the mirror
They scream freak ugly scum as i shudder

These voices bark at me in the night
They tell me to kill myself
They drag me down into the mire they make me feel worthless
As the voices grow more boisterous as my self loathing intensifies I descend into a vicious cycle of suicidal thoughts

I cant sleep cant escape these inner voices that torment me
I want to make these acerbic voices fade away
I hear them when i interact with strangers they engender a feeling of so paranoia

Voices like savage barks from a wild dog haunt me in my perennial alienation and clinical depression
I want to muffle these voices but they are unrelenting i cant abate these voices
Barking and howling preventing me from breaking out of my malaise

I am lost in my darkness with only these vicious howls of torment for company
Nobody to hug to kiss to share laughter to nullify these voices in my mental ill head
I scream for these voices to cease torturing me
They carry on advising me to end my vapid pathetic life these voices grow more vociferous as my illness solidifies in my introverted personality

The Darkest Day Part 3

After the priest powerful emotional soaring eulogy in which we rendered the funeral congregation to tears. My mums best friend since childhood Dorothy again delivered a funny poignant elocution filled with humorous anecdotes and lamenting the tragic untimely passing of her best friend. Then my father got up tentatively to recite a poem which encapsulated the despair he was feeling. To speak in front of a large audience was anathema to him. He was a shy reserved man who eschewed public displays of affection hence with great reluctance he acquiesced to the demands of his family myself and friends of my mum to deliver a poem before offering a few words on the loss. The priest beckoned him on to the pulpit as he sauntered languidly with his haunched downcast posture. I tried diligently to contain myself to maintain my austere persona. My father finally reached the pulpit where he began to speak in his characteristically quiet somber voice that displayed little to no emotion.

He spoke at the pulpit with his hands visibly shacking “ this is the hardest thing i ever done on the second worst day of my life. The worst day was when me and my lovely daughter discovered corrinas body hanging from the door frame in our living room. Before i recite my favourite poem in which i will be paying homage to the love of my life. I want to say a few words about losing corrina what she meant to me. I loved corrina i miss so much she brought such colour vitality into my life. I’m a quiet shy man but corrina brought me out of my shell and exposed to a life of endless possibilities. We shared almost 20 years of uninterrupted happiness and now its gone I’ll never again wake up to that divine women. Now have her hold my hand feel the warm embrace of her body. I cant believe i didn’t foresee the obvious signs of her depression”

Then for the first time in my 13 years i saw my dad shed a tear he began to whimper. He wiped a tear from his grief stricken face then blow his nose before composing himself to recite a poem i was left diminished by Paul Curtis

I was left diminished

When your light went out

It left a shadow on my soul

And my heart was left

As an empty vessel

By your absence

You now walk

In heavens light

Surrounded by Gods love

With angels song

On the scented air

As I sit cold and alone

In the home we shared

A place full of memories

Where once I felt so at home

Now I wish to be there no more

Reminded every waking moment

Of my cruel loss

So I sit alone and crave

The moment of my own passing

So our souls will be reunited

And we can be together once more

After he eloquently delivered this profound piece of prose he calmly walked from the pulpit to the front row to sit beside me. I managed somehow in my shell shocked paralysed mind to not break the ice and break open the dam. My father like myself was stoic and austere despite his powerful candid words. Then the funeral carried on with a series of musical numbers playing that interspersed the sorrowful speeches. Firstly dreams by the cranberries the song that played at my mum and dads wedding their first dance played after the priest uttered his eulogy. Then after my dads heartbreaking poetic recital my mums favourite musical composition Elgar cello concerto played by the eminent cellist Jacqueline du pre. I heard the powerful rendition of Elgar cello concerto reverberate inside the cavernous walls of this vast church. Every note felt like chards of glass in my ravaged soul. My hands shacked my lips quivered i put my ashen face to the floor to obscure the trauma that was denoted on my face. No tears just a pure vision of sadness that was on my face. Then finally the ordeal was over the main ceremony was over the music concluded as we would now witness the hell of seeing my mums casket being lowered into the ground.

The designated pall bearers went outside to the hearse which was situated in close proximity to my mums gravesite. They walked in unison all adorned in black funeral attire and grabbed a hold of my mums funeral casket as the mourners had now congregated to the gravesite to witness the sacred burial of my mum. As the pall bearers where straining to carry the casket the priest was waiting to deliver his final remarks before my mums body would be laid to rest. I was stood adjacent to my father we locked arms as the wooden bespoke casket was lowered into the ground. No burning of my mums body a sacred burial in accordance with my mums wishes that was delineated in her verbosely worded suicide note. I stared intensly at the casket unable to process my grief i was still in a state of shock. Wanting to veil my pain not able to exhibit a emotion as I witnessed flowers that adorned my mums casket. Then the priest made his final remarks i couldn’t hear his words sounds came out of his mouth my body was faint i felt the colour drain away. I saw in my fractured mental state a black and white vision as the priest spoke i wasnt fully present. I looked around and saw an array of despondent faces. Tears and bloodshot eyes whilst I felt like a ghost feeling this sickness lurking inside of me wanting to be released. However in my emotionally repressed personality i was constitutionally unable to display a modicum of sadness. Mouths moved words were said i heard nothing my mind lost concentration i thought of vivid images of my mum holding me hugging me kissing me goodnight.

I came back from my daydream of my idyllic childhood that was lost forever to see the religious ceremony commemorating a life of my mum had concluded. It was over the hell now i had life the rest of my life my tumultuous adolescence without my mums guidance. The attendees retreated back to our suburban respectable home for the absurdity of a post funeral party. I wanting nothing more than to retreat into the isolation of my room.

My Depression

My depression isn’t romantic its mind numbing boredom
Its waking up aching in pain with this weight in your bones
Its being able to leave my house for fear of a panic attack
Its eschewing looking into the mirror for fear of seeing the monstrous creature that will materialise in the bathroom mirror

Its going days without sleep climbing up the walls with anxiety
Its a perennial feeling of deadness living with emotionless numbed sensation
Its cutting my arms my legs to feel alive to feel a tactile sensation
Its laying in bed ignoring phone calls cutting out contact from the outside world

My depression isn’t a profusion of self pitying tears
Its quiet never engaging in effusive loquacious conversations
Its haunched shoulders eyes fixed on the ground
Its not being able to concentrate as the mind atrophies from the severity of my depression

I never disclose my depression i keep it hidden in the walls of my introverted mind
Nobody wants to hear my laments of emotional torment
The pain the god damn fucking pain is slowly killing me
My depression is like nuclear radiation infecting my organs over many years until one day this cancer of depression will drive me into the black hole of death