The House Of Mirrors

Its fast approaching midnight my body is weary my eyes are drowsy. I am wearing my silky crimson jimjams which i typically wear when the British climate becomes more clement and not so stiflingly humid. My anxiety has dissipated as i sense the serene effects of the cannabis i inhaled minutes ago. With my body relaxed i can safety fall asleep into a deep subconscious sleep. Hopefully during my protracted sleep no more nightmares that I have been experiencing for the past 2 weeks. Night after night after a few hours of sleep I awoken with sweaty anxiety riddled body suffering from a horrendous nightmare. The consequences of a bad dream is it exacerbates my anxiety precludes from sleeping and leaves me a quivering nervous wreck unable to sleep or safely vacate my room.

I lay my stoned head that’s swimming with a thousand million thoughts on my soft black pillow. Gazing at my ceiling as my neurotic mind pulsates with thoughts of anxiety of death of love. I close my heavy eyes and for a few minutes hallucinate a psychedelic array of colours as i drift into a sanguine mediative state. For once in my wretched life I experience the nirvana of serenity with the aid of a psychoactive elicit narcotic. My languid body gravitates from a conscious state into a subconscious dream world.

Lost in a vivid dream that seems so real i open my eyes. There is black everywhere no light no colour in this marooned land. I walk with trepidation i walk lethargically barely able to lift my legs that feel like blocks of concrete. Then suddenly this nebulous locale dramatically changes suddenly i am engulfed in a vast infinite sea of mirrors. Some of these mirrors are cracked some are perfect immaculate designed mirrors that gleam. As far as my eyes can fathom there’s a vast sprawl of mirrors a house of mirrors. My anxiety intensifies then there’s a beam of blinding light shone onto my scrawny body. It appeared abruptly like a fluorescent stage light my body is now encumbered with panic with disquietude. I don’t know where i am am I awake am I being tortured my a assailant am I a prisoner in a unknown location. Then I look at the mirrors which change every few seconds writing appears on the mirror. Words such as freak ugly loser deformed worthless unlovable are imprinted on the vast array of mirrors in this house of horror in the unescapable house of mirrors.

Then by ghastly deformed face is magnified on the mirrors again the mirror reflection keeps on changing rapidly. First it my blood shot green eyes that are displayed on a million cracked incandescent mirrors that besiege my body. The mirrors are coming closer to me the claustrophobia has set in as the walls of this dreaded house of mirrors. Then the image changes once again this time its my horrid gnarled smile with my crocked teeth magnified on a infinite mirrors that surrounds me. Tears flow down my face i am no longer standing I collapse to the floor holding my head in my hands shacking back and forth wanting the psychological torture to end. I cant look away from the car crash of my ravaged face my tombstone teeth that appear more unsightly as they are exhibited on the gleaming screens.

I cry then I scream with a bellow of anguish crying out to be emancipated form this purgatory. Every few seconds the grotesque image alters occasionally focusing on my flat featureless body. Then to my horror i am naked my clothing has been removed by some malevolent malicious demon that keeping me prisoner in this location. I cant escape this nightmare i close my eyes I’m still here being forced to catch a sight of my pale emaciated body unobscured by clothing. I see all the cracks all the scars that are rendered on my arms. I glimpse my flat petite breasts that are mere molehills looking like a pair of painkiller pills on a ironing board. The horror the horror of it all no escape no assuagement from this hell. I’m on the floor crying profusely shacking shivering breathing hysterically make it stop end the pain end the nightmare i forlornly scream into the abyss.

The scene of this room changes once again now the hall of infinite mirrors that engulf me is altered with a thousands cold faces swarm my body. They are laughing at my naked body pointing at laughing derisively some faces are looking on with castigating expressions. Other faces are repulsed by my body with horror stricken faces. The entire cluster of individuals starts to chant freak freak freak freak. The chant grows louder and louder as the chant becomes more viscous. The cruelty the inhumanity to me is apparent on their faces I’m not a human to them I’m a subhuman freak. They circulate my shivering body getting closer they scream out freak freak some as laughing others are pointing at chastising the horror show of my naked porcelain body.

The environment once more transmogrifies I’m in a different setting a familiar location its my bedroom. No mirrors here just my bed my tv my pink teddy bear for comfort. I am fully conscious after witnessing a harrowing nightmares in which my repressed fears were brought to the surface in a evocative nightmare. I’m terrified to fall back to sleep not wanting to experience another ordeal. This nightmare effected me profoundly leaving me paralysed with anxiety. My body is shacking i hold by pink teddy bear that’s a vestige of my childhood. I turn on the big light I want some comfort something to mitigate the fear that’s pulsating in my blood stream. The recurring nightmare of the house of mirrors occurs in my dreamworld at least once a month. This recurring dream usually occurs after i have a panic attack or another injurious anxiety attack in pubic. For the nest few days i be unable to sleep its another bout of insomnia which is awaiting me. Its only 3:00 am its the apex of the night the streets are hauntingly silent i turn on my speakers needing to hear a mollifying sound that will calm me down. For hours i play music from my favourite video from YouTube the last of us as i rock back and forth on the edge of my bed. At least I’m free from the nightmare of the house of mirrors but i have to endure to abide the nightmare of being me of being afflicted with a social anxiety disorder and body dysmorphia


Sorrow Sorrow Sorrow

Sorrow is all i encounter
My mind is consumed by the sorrow of being me
I laying alone in the emptiness of my bed
Feeling dejected disconsolate with my bones aching with sorrow

My life has become a ocean of sorrow a endless desert of beleaguerment
I awake day after day with the same wretched sorrow
No escape no abatement in this melancholic state of being
I go home after a day of attending lectures and cry alone in my room

The pain the suffering the untreated psychological wounds
The sorrow the heartbreak the self loathing that makes my skin crawl my emaciated body ache
I cry alone never revealing never exposing my sorrow to another soul
This pungent odour of sadness permeates my entire being

I cant escape I can’t extricate this despair from my mind
Tears wont dry sorrow stays with it stains my once youthful optimistic soul
Night are long and empty as i sit alone in the pitch black of my room feeling forlorn wanting to end the wretched sorrow wanting for somebody to hear my screams of lament
I exist in the darkness unable to see the light unable to broadcast my torturous sorrow that haunts me

The tears dry the pain remains
The sorrow is like a noxious gas slowing poising me
The sorrow combines with the deep abiding revulsion i feel for myself
A toxic cocktail that leaves me paralysed in chronic states of despair

Everyday I Think About Killing Myself

Mental illness runs in my family my mum suffered from severe depression her entire adult life. My mum dealt with her terminal depression in a english women by never divulging her emotional torture to anybody. She was a stereotypical english women who was emotional repressed who was unable to be candid about her suicidal inclinations. I have inherited these detrimental personality traits from my mum. I have endured since i was 13 deep depression i also suffer from a paralysing social anxiety a negative attribute my deeply introverted father has. In my family we never communicated emotionally even though i had two loving affectionate parents who were demonstrative effusive in showing their love for me.

When i was 13 years old in my formative teenage years a traumatic life altering event befall our family. Me and my accountant father were driving home from my cello lesson and arrived atour suburban residence and discovered the grisly sight of my mums body hanging from the ceiling. My mum had killed herself and left only a succinctly worded suicide note where she elucidated her reasons why she committed suicide. It was a devastating moment that forever altered my perceptive on life on God on myself. After that day i became severely depressed developed long term anxiety issues began to suffer from habitual panic attacks and the genesis of my body dysmorphia occurred after the tragic death of my mum at the tender age of 38. Following her suicide i distanced myself from my father lived in the sanctuary of my room when i was home. We rarely conversed other than banal small talk we never dared to open up the wounds of my mums untimely suicide. Like a prototypical middle class middle England family we repressed our pain.

Its been nearly 10 years since that tumultuous day when my mum killed herself. Since then i have progressed from a neurotic anxiety riddled teenager into a troubled adult with untreated unexpressed psychosis and disorders. The anxiety has exacerbated into a detrimental social phobia. The depression is metastasised into daily sick suicidal fantasises. Like my mum i have refrained from confiding with a friend or seeking the ameliorating help of a professional therapist. I have hidden suppressed my mental illnesses the fear of being vulnerable the terrifying fear of being judged by another person. Hence i put on this veneer of normality hiding my crippling perennial psychological problems. I halve inherited my mums introverted propensities to never cry in public to exist in private inner world of emotional torment.

I muse daily on killing myself in my overactive imagination. Everyday its a new manner of death every conceivable iteration i ponder. Whether its a drug overdose to the harrowing hanging slitting of my wrists and severing a vital artery. I think about jumping from a block flats and letting my emaciated body get crushed on the concrete floor. I ruminate whether or not i will leave a note a poem what i would say in this verbose or succinctly worded suicide creation. On numerous moments when the idea of suicide has seen to me alluring i have composed a variety of poems essays in which i delineate the reasons why I want to end my life prematurely. These are dark desolate moments in my lonely life when the only escape from the immiseration of my pathetic life is to cease existing.

One time when i cut myself in a desperate act of a self harm on my underarm to feel some pain. I decided with my inhibitions loosened from devouring copious amounts of alcohol to call the Salvation Army suicide number. I spoke with a kind softly spoken serene women who dissuaded me from slashing my wrists. This is the only instance i ever openly talked to another soul about my oppressive depression that’s negatively impacted every facet of my life. It wasn’t a genuine suicide attempt it was though a forlorn cry for help in the early hours of a Saturday morning. I cried during and after this laconic phone conversation which lasted a mere 5 minutes. The aftermath of this interaction was a feeling of elation to unburden myself from the shackles of my emotional repression. To finally divulge my darkest secrets to a faceless compassionate stranger left me feeling euphoric even with the tears the snot falling down my nose. With my lacerated arms i had a moment when I acknowledged to another person my illness i was vulnerable with the help of alcohol.

However subsequent after that potential momentous phone conversation i fall back into my negative behavioural pattern of adopting this facade this exterior of normalcy . I reneged from disclosing my depression my anxiety to my small tribe of cohorts. I never sought out the rehabilitative help of a therapist who could improve my depression. The pain would only be unveiled on my online poems my diary entries my blog. None of my friends family work colleagues would ever be cognisant of the severity of my fragile mental state. I continued hiding my anxiety attacks my self harm my suicidal proclivities. Still i would fantasise about ending my life fantasise about the funeral. What would my father say in the eulogy would there be a profusion of tears from the funeral attendees. My perfect method of suicide I have surmised is to die from an overdose of opiate painkillers whilst listening to the soothing melancholic songs of Lana del Rey. Hearing her soothing dulcet melodic tones as I drift off into nothingness would be the perfect way to end my short lamentable life.

Some days the pain the torture the purgatory of life becomes so onerous i just want to die. In my broken mind I’m screaming end the pain end the pain fuck being alive. I cant take it anymore cant endure the loneliness the abject desolation of my forlorn existence. Walking around i utter the silent words to myself freak freak freak die you bitch when i pass strangers who cast their derisive glares at my direction. I’m screaming at myself wanting to be nothing screaming with my self loathing laments to die. These are the worst days when the dark fantasies feel so real when death is plausible to me. Everyday though even on rare days of tranquility I contemplate suicide.

Goodbye Part 2

This will be my final video my last words will be recorded for posterity on my YouTube channel. I intend to end my life my hanging myself with a rope I purchased from amazon that was delivered promptly and discretely. The rope concealed in a package that hides my harmful intentions to severe my life at the tender age of 23. I craft a noose knot that my scrawny neck can fit inside. Its a tight knot that will quickly cut off my air supply and leave my hanging lifeless staring forlornly into the camera. This video will play live on YouTube on the live stream feature and will continue to play live until my camera battery runs out. I intend to leave an hour worth of battery on my rudimentary camera which I use to record all my previous videos.

I tentatively remove the mirror from inside my closet so i can assiduously apply the red lipstick and black eyeliner to my hideous face. Once again my skin crawls at the ghastly sight of my face. I gaze deeply into my eyes seeing the haunted vacant expression in my emerald green eyes. My eyes i once believed were my only attractive physical feature. They once long ago shinned sparkled with a lust for life. Now they are ravaged by years of depression they are bloodshot there’s no colour no emotion just a void of nothingness. The rest of my porcelain face is as unappealing as repulsive as usual. My blotchy skin my deformed crooked teeth that I’m ashamed to show to anybody look like tombstone teeth so gnarled like a reflection of my fractured psyche. I apply the lipstick in the pitiful hope of appearing presentable. In this video my swan song i will remove my mask and expose my emotional scared face to the world.

After meticulously applying the makeup i clothe my emaciated malnourished body inside the black demure maxi dress. Its a dress I have worn for the rare dates or nights out with friends. I adore this dress it hides all my flaws but it can hide the glaring flares on my face. My body is inside this modest dress for which lat week i wore for my fathers wedding. Then i begin to prepare for the suicide ceremony broadcasted life on YouTube. Its going to be at least an hour before I commence the life recording of my untimely demise. In the meantime i will consume a copious quantity of whisky and smoke a profusion of potent psychoactive cannabis to satiate my desire to get intoxicated for one last time

As i devour shot after shot of the finest American bourbon i play the entirety of my favourite album the seminal closer by joy division. Playing this album is appropriate for this macabre occasion a album which is essentially 45 minute haunting suicide note. The music hits me like a drug allowing the sadness the despair to pulsate round my body throughout the rendition of this album i am on several moments brought close to tears. I blaze several cannabis joints over the course of the hour to the point where I’m hallucinating from the profusion of potent cannabis I’ve inhaled into my lungs. The whisky and weed takes to a blissed out a higher plain of consciousness before i take the devastating act of killing myself. There’s no doubt no wavering in my conviction to carry out this act I want to die. Living this alienated sad life where I’m tortured with anxiety with self loathing and relentless depression is too onerous to bare. When i die the brutal pain of being me a lost forgotten soul who’s vanishing in the vast wilderness of England will end.

The last song decades concludes and with my stoned body i am ready to start the ceremony to end my life after a succinct elucidation of the reasons why i am terminating myself. I put down the shot glass after recklessly devouring another delectable shot of whisky then i saunter over the window take one last look at the outside world as its the nighttime in the heat of July. I hear the distant sounds of dogs barking i see the glorious majestic constellations projected on the clear night sky. Theses awe inspiring illuminations of the infinite cosmos give a final glimpse of the beauty of the universe. Then I close the windows close my black gothic curtains and turn on the crimson lamp. This lamp projects a red ambience in my cozy bedroom before i shoot this concluding video.

With my weary body i am ready to begin the ritual i press record on the camera. I am dressed in my black dress no mask to cover my ravaged face i feel naked before the video begins.It starts my hands are frantically shacking with excitement at the enormity of what I’m doing. I open my mouth hoping that some erudite words will flow out of my consciousness into the video camera.

“Hello this is the beginning of a live stream. I know most of my subscribers viewers are accustomed to seeing myself obscured with a venetian mask. This is my hideous malformed face its so ugly isn’t it. This video i am shooting live today is my final ever video ill be recording for my channel. Its a special event I’m wearing my special black dress i only wear on special occasions. Today i plan to kill myself to take my body from a fully sentient conscious body into a lifeless dead body. I cant handle the pain of being alive anymore its too much everyday i go to work working for publisher i hide my pain i hide my anxiety its torture.”

After the initial articulation i am shacking tears are forming in my eyes I can barely stand up for saying these devastating words. I carry on delineating the reasons i want to die
“I have searched for weeks a reason to stay alive a slim glimmer of hope for why I should carry on existing in a cold godless universe. God has forsaken me i am lost in the perdition of my adulthood feeling so alone only able to communicate my mental illness via a YouTube channel. Last week I attended my fathers wedding i hoped it would be a beacon of hope a lifeline to reinvigorate me. Instead it was hell seeing all those smiling beautiful people enjoying a sacred celebration of love. Whereas i was racked with this anxiety and a sense i don’t to exist anymore. I had to put on this facade of joy smiling insincerely at the photos kissing hugging the attendees. On the inside i was numb i felt dead on the inside. I realised last week that i had to commit suicide. Tonight in the seclusion of my room I intend to end my life I don’t if you can see that sturdy rope hanging from the doors with noose knot firmly tied. I going to die live on camera you live viewers will witness my last breathe my pathetic words as human being.”

I have a waterfall of tears descending down my reach over to my chester drawers where i look at the shrine of my dead mother. I drop to the floor on my knees crying screaming out sorry mum as i look at a collage of her most transcendent images. Then i reach into the drawer and pull out a malicious blade of glass. The same blade I have used to lacerate my arms on a myriad of occasions.
“ Sorry mum sorry world before i place my neck in the noose i going to slash both of arms. I want to feel the excruciating pain before i depart forever into nothingness before i fade before I become dust”

I take the blade and recklessly slash both my arms. I don’t care anymore if i hit an artery or a vein. I take the blade on my underarm and cut deep taking the blade from my elbow close to my wrist dangerously close to a vital artery. Repeating it on my other arm. There is a cornucopia of blood that is emanating from my deep wounds. With my heavily intoxicated body I barely feel the pain of these deep savage cuts my arms are covered in blood. The blood drips on the wooden floor i feel faint from the blood letting.
“I am ugly i am unfit for life. I will never have love or feel the sweet joy of falling in love with a man who loves me who cares for me. Look at my face its hideous its why I have placed mask to veil my face on previous videos. In this world there’s only misery alienation. I wont get better i wont ameliorate my illness its futile to seek help because i cant be saved. I want death i want to disappear I want to nothing more than a fading memory of a sad person.”

With my face submerged in emotion in tears and my body caked in blood so much that it’s stained my perfect favourite back dress i walk over to the rope by my bedroom door. I step onto my writing chair that’s by my door. Place my gaunt neck inside the noose. Then with my neck firmly inside the deadly rope i kick away the chair. Now all i have to do is wait for the ecstasy of death as i am hanging crucifying myself in a desperate act. Blood drips on the floor i am numb only hurting as the noose is slowly killing me chocking me. The camera carries on recording me as i suffer a agonising slow death. I survey my room that looks like a murder scene from a slasher flick. Then the rope is now cutting into my neck i feel the jaws of death round my body. I feel the death rattle my eyes are haunted I want this so badly I want death. Then I take my last breathe before i stop breathing i cease to be i am nothingness the camera has picked up my suicide. I am rendered death to never be conscious again. Life has destroyed my precious spirit now all that pain evaporates from my soul as i become one with death.

Goodbye Part 1

It is a cool July evening as i survey outside my bedroom window a breathtakingly beautiful psychedelic sunset. The cool breeze hits my weary face with a sadness as this is the last time i will witness a awe inspiring sunset. The last time i will be witness to a glorious illustration of the unblemished beauty of nature through the skyline in the heat of summer. The once sweltering July heat has cooled off to a tranquil pleasant temperature as the light breezes hits my ravaged face. I stare outside my window for hours just observing the change for day into night. I hear an array of the sounds of nature birds are tweeting with the seductive bird song. I hear the distant echoes of humans enjoying each other’s company. I complement the melancholic but serene ambience with the sad piano music of Chopin. Sporadic tears stream down my face as i complement the destructive actions i have been planing for weeks. Right now I’m realising that this is the last night on earth that if I successfully terminate my life ill never see a sunset or hear all the transcendental sound of nature that emanate out of my secluded bedroom window.

I intensively stare at the iridescent sunset its like my short life that will soon end. As the evening transforms into the darkness of night i close the windows and retreat into the desolation of my room. My empty room a visual metaphor of my damaged empty soul with the void of colour no light no life in here. I have prepared my room for my final YouTube video that will be broadcasted life on my channel where i expound on my battle with mental illness. I have set up the camera prepared the clothing the music the dolorous atmosphere I have engendered for this my swan song. My last act as a human being unable to carry living in a cold inhospitable land where humans beings are so indifferent to each other.

I sit restlessly on the edge of my bed wearing a nirvana T-shirt and haggard denim jeans. There is no question i will kill myself tonight i my failing YouTube channel that nobody watches. I hope that in a desperate act my life will gain some relevance some meaning.

I am 23 living as a copy writer and editor for a moderately successful publishing house in the town of Cambridge. I graduated successfully from Cambridge university with a degree in English literature was able despite my social anxiety to navigate the vexing world of higher education. However as I progressed my social anxiety grew more severe. The panic attacks became more frequent and increasingly harrowing. I struggled to survive in the outside world found socialising almost impossible did though maintain a select tribe of friends. Romantic relationships become impossible due to the severity of my anxiety my untreated depression and my propensity to remain inside my house. As my university education progressed the depression also exacerbated as I refused to seek professional help or confide with a confidant about my melancholic state of mind.

Throughout my 3 year education at Cambridge I kept my mental afflictions a secret never speaking to anybody putting on a veneer of sanity to mask the pain of being me. My only avenue of self expression was my poorly received YouTube channel. A channel where I disguised my homely appearance with a venetian mask as i delineated in 20 minute to an hour videos my weekly ordeal of being afflicted with anxiety with severe suicidal depression and suffering from a acute body dysmorphia.

I hoped these videos would alleviate my pain that they would act as virtual group therapy sessions. Where the camera the audience would be my fellow patients who reciprocated my pain. These videos as they progressed didn’t go viral as I envisioned they mostly received less than a 1,000 views gaining no traction on YouTube. My mental conditions i was elucidating on didn’t improve it gave me a brief moment of emotional catharsis but the suicidal predilections remained. I continued to suffer from habitual panic attacks the anxiety I experienced intensified as going out with my friends or on a date became intolerable with this torturous anxiety.

After I graduated somehow with a degree in English literature i was able with my prestigious education to get a job firstly as a copy writer and as a editor at a local publishing house. I relocated from my student shared accommodation to a 1 bedroomed modest flat in the centre of Cambridge. Forgoing moving to a new town or in London not wanting the stress that would entail from moving. I stayed in this quaint middle class town that let me live a sad empty withdrawn life. The months years after i left my university maintaining my collection of friendships I cultivated at Cambridge. Occasionally going on weekend getaways to luxurious Europeans cities or to musical festivals. My anxiety would abate around the comforting warm company of my friend i was able to function in spite of the severity of my social anxiety.

My post university life was that of a recluse who sporadically venture outside the safe enclave of my flat to meet up with friends or brave the nightmare of a romantic date. In that time I carried grandiose dreams of becoming a lauded writer of prose and verse. These dreams to this day remain unfulfilled in reality i am a poor writer who lacks the courage the imagination the discipline to succeed in the literary realm. My side project of weekly online videos was as equally as unsuccessfully and poorly received. I never became a online creator who’s eloquent illustration of being young alienated with mental health attracted millions of views millions of adoring subscribers.

Every weekly in a video diary i would pour out my soul allow myself for once in the venue of YouTube to be vulnerable to reveal the turmoil of my depression. I have talked about my anxiety painful attacks self harm contemplating suicide in these selection of videos on my channel. Virtual nobody has seen these videos i am screaming into the abyss having nobody share or care about my pain. I am a lost soul preparing my body and soul for a final desperate deleterious act where hopefully i will gain a modicum of prominence in death.

Panic Attack At The Salon

Today is a Saturday I have booked a appointment at my local salon i am terrified from the ordeal of going to a hair salon for a protracted period of time. The fear of gazing into the hair seeing my gnarled disfigured face for up to an hour. The fear of having to make basic small talk with a confident gregarious women trying assiduously to conceal my social anxiety. I have been dreading this visit to the local salon for weeks now slowly the anxiety has been rising in me like a volcano waiting to erupt. It was a month ago when I suffered a psychologically scaring panic attack on my short journey to the dentist when i was hit with a panic attack that was the consequence of the enormous anxiety of attending the dentist. That left me for days afterwards in a state of disquietude not knowing even another attack would befall me. Having nobody to confide in to talk about my social anxiety my fear of another traumatic attack.

Today though i will face the storms of the outside i will venture into unknown waters and face a prolonged visit to the salon. I need a haircut my hair has become unkempt and far too long. I have requested a short pixie cut no hair colouring just maintaining my dark brown hair aesthetic. The worst aspect that gives me trepidation is looking into the mirror that is directly adjacent to my eye line. I intend to look past my hideous visage and to attempt to not gaze directly into my eyes. If I’m successful i wait avert a panic attack and mitigate the anxiety of the trip to the salon. Theres only two social functions that are more anxiety laden its a night out with my student friends and attending a dental appointment. The salon though is a close third with the staring at yourself the staid incredibly uncomfortable small talk with a virtual stranger who’s full of spunk who’s the antithesis of my introverted self conscious personality.

I get myself prepared for the travail of a hour long stay in the salon. For the majority of humans a routine social outing such as going to the hairdressers or the local convenience store is a stress free mundane occurrence. For me its fear it’s heavy erratic breathing its hands shacking it’s unrelenting paranoia its a toil a exhausting endeavour. Hence i am now prepared i have the requisite attire and makeup to assuage my anxiety. I am clad in back looking like a goth without the black lipstick. With my long black coat and black knee length boots and black shirt i am set to visit the salon. I refrain from gazing at myself in any mirror i am ready for the ordeal of a simple appointment at my local salon.

I leave my safe space leave my home and brace my fragile mind for the outside world. My anxiety has in the past months increased in the severity the panic attacks have been occurring with alarming regularity. Now its at least once a month i hit with the nightmare of a panic attack. Last time it was a trip to the dentist on over occasions its been nights out with friends or simple rudimentary everyday tasks like going shopping cause me to suffer a psychological deleterious panic attack. Now i am outside walking with trepidation having soothing classical music that’s blaring into my ears to negate the anxiety of the uncertain outside world.

I look up at the sky its a bleak overcast melancholic english spring day. No possibility of sun appearing from the dolorous English skyline. The dark forlorn weather is in perfect congruity with my anxiety laden depressed mood. I walk at a lethargic pace with my lumbering feet unable to walk any faster from the anxiety that’s pulsating round my body. I am diligently attempting to control my breathing i alone not in close contact with strangers so i feel free to take long deep breaths. Breathe in and out trying to maintain my balance to avert the numbness in my legs and feet that occurs when a pernicious attack hits me. I am so profoundly self conscious walking wearing my makeup my mask. I can perceive the contemptuous gazes of other humans looking at me at this inhuman freak. I try to appear as a normal trying to hide my anxiety i stop the deep breathing techniques i stop all these idiosyncratic quirks that are a symptom of my anxiety. I stop shacking my leg so profusely stop the shacking of my fingers all in a attempt to present myself as a normal not a social leper living with a anxiety disorder.

Keep moving now at a more frenetic pace as i can make out the salon I’m nearly on time for my appointment. Sweat appears on my brow I have trouble breathing i remove my Bluetooth headphones from my ears I have to be fully prepared for the hell of the next hour of the hairdresser appointment. With my unkempt long hair and gothic outfit i saunter into the salon with my body overwhelmed with nervousness. I hide this with my emotional repressed english manner appearing stoic calm and aloof. I enter the daunting entrance of the salon i am greeted by a smiling effervescent extroverted young hairdresser who exudes confidence and warmth the complete anthesis of my introverted self loathing personality. I nervously responded to her exultant hello by saying thank you as the hairdresser Susan kisses me on my cheek and invades my personal space. I say nothing never expressing my discomfort in being kissed. I sit down in the vacant chair and get ready for the commencement of my haircut. Susan asks me politely if I want my hair washed as getting a pixie cut will be considerably easier with wet newly washed hair. I acquiesce to her requests not wanting to come across as odd. My demeanour is controlled and stoic i hide all the anxiety the neurosis the thoughts of dread ruminating in my consciousness.

She washes my unkempt dry damaged hair in the sink i catch glimpses of my pallid repulsive face I shudder in horror. Despite the ample makeup I’ve applied i am still a homely unappealing freak. As Susan is ebulliently washing my hair words reverberate in my damaged mind ugly ugly you freak you freak i want to die i want to die. The horror has only begun the washing of my adult hair is the appetiser the main course is when will have my hair fastidiously cut by adept hairdresser. Then i will have to stare at myself i will have to gaze into the abyss of my ravaged soul.

Susan has completed washing my hair it takes her to minutes to apply and rinse the shampoo and conditioner. Now the hell begins i am face to face with my grim visage. The haircut begins i look at myself i cant avert my gaze. I try to look past my face to squint my eyes but it’s their this ghostly apparition in the mirror. Susan is so kind and gentle she never tells me how ugly i am. She is a professional and is cutting my hair making small talk for which I respond despite the increase anxiety. We talk on a myriad of mundane topics such as the bleak weather how i doing at university and i enquire how is the local business in a attempt to move the conversation from me. All the while I can feel the anxiety surging in me i feel the onset of a panic attack. I look in the mirror the words of ugly freak are ever present in my mind. I try to numb the anxiety the disquietude but its like a sad disgusting feeling that wont abate.

I have trouble breathing my fingers are twitching my left leg is tapping repeatedly. I cant hide the signs of my anxiety my panic attack is Susan or the other people inside the salon establishment fully cognisant of my peculiar behaviour. I cant breathe i cant breathe i cant breathe a million thoughts hit me at once my chest feels so tight. I am trapped in a paralysed state there’s no feeling in my legs is this an actual heart attack or another panic attack so my acute untreated anxiety disorder. Still i cant breathe as my hair looks short and presentable. In the midst of this attack I’m careful to hide my attack even within close proximity to other people i suppress my condition. Never do i bury my head in my hands or show myself struggling to catch a breathe. I have become proficient in masking my illness never disclosing this social debilitating disorder. As i am in hell sinker into deeper levels of torture Susan is completely ignorant of my panic attack.

She carries on with the conversation I responded laconically with monosyllabic responses to her questions. The attack is still happening i feel like I’m dying drowning in a ocean of despair unable to see any way out. I think to myself is this madness will I have recover from this. Then after a eternity of numbness of my nervous system shutting down and a foreboding feeling of death. The attack diminishes in the severity as my neurotic body reverts to a normal feeling of worthlessness and utter revulsion for my appearance. The haircut is nearly complete Susan is meticulously completing the final touches to my new hairstyle. I catch glimpses of my haunted listless eyes in the mirror there’s no life no beauty in me I’m a freak a monster doomed to wander aimlessly without love in the vast wilderness.

However the haircut looks amazing Susan has done an amazing job in revitalising my previously bedraggled adult hair. All the split ends are removed i look my face again i thank Susan for the amazing job shes done in my characteristic reserved style. Without smiling without any physical contact i show my pleasure i then pay the requisite money for the haircut and hair wash. I vacate the establishment still with the scaring remnants of the attack in my body the staff the customers I’m certain are utterly unaware that i suffered another harrowing panic attack. I kept my breathing difficulties and my heightened anxiety hidden even in the apex of a pernicious panic attack. I vacate the premises and walk frantically to the local lavatory. I get inside collapse on the seat of a filthy cubicle i start to cry uncontrollably the anxiety is killing me. I cant go out i cant socialise with my friends even attending my university lectures or simple humdrum tasks like shopping have become unbearable onerous experiences.

I still camped inside the cubicle for nearly an hour until i can cry no longer. In my exhausted state i get up leave this germ invested public building. I keep saying the same mantra in my head get me home get me home get me home. Then there are other words that circulate in my mind freak ugly worthless subhuman unlovable. The traversal home is a short journey only 10 minutes but in the aftermath of a terrifying panic attack it felt like journeying into a treacherous foreign land. The cold inhospitable streets i walked with trepidation averting my gaze. My head was glued to the floor I wanted to be alone sequestered away from human contact where’s there’s no risk of unrelenting torturous anxiety. I want the solace of my private alcove where I’m free to suffer in silence. With frenetic pace i walk aware that the illusion of normality is slipping away as the desire to be secluded from the prying eyes of people is greater. I walk with increasing fervency almost speed walking then i reach my destination. My heart is beating my arms are shacking erratically I’m struggling to stand upright as i reach for my house key. I enter my shared accommodation rush upstairs open my room assiduously lock the door then collapse on my floor whisky holding my pink childhood teddy bear.

The tears cascade down my face like a waterfall of unexpressed sadness. That simple task was torture i may never leave my room again. It getting worse the attacks are becoming habitual every month nearly every week. I cant go out anymore as i retreat from society as i eschew seeking the help of medication or therapy. The condition has rendered me a virtual recluse unable to partake in romantic relationship seeing my studies suffer and my beautiful friendships drift apart from the detrimental effects of this disorder. I lay paralysed on my hard cold bedroom floor calling myself a freak ugly freak ugly i cant stand myself any longer. The anxiety the depression is slowly killing me like a noxious gas slowly poisoning my body.

An Evening Of Fear And Loathing Part 3

Out of the shelter of my home I walk at a languid pace. I am traversing on a short journey to the local quaint Italian restaurant where i will meet my date Kyle in the flesh for the first time. Over many months we have incessantly conversed through the medium of twitter tinder and instagram. Now after being entranced by this wondrous vision of a man I’m going to meet him in a quiet Italian restaurant in close proximity to my home. The nerves are shooting round my body i feel that at any moment i might suffer another panic attack. I’m walking at a lethargic pace due to the level of stress that’s circulating round my body. Every footstep as approach the restaurant i can perceive my heart thumping it beating faster and faster. I am diligently trying to control my breathe talking deep breaths trying any methods to assuage the anxiety the fear of a intimate unfamiliar social setting gives me.

I walk at a slow pace i am careful to not arrive at the restaurant before the preplanned time. I want to arrive second but maybe 5 minutes late. The thought of arriving early having the torture of waiting for my date being all alone in m revealing black dress having all these judging prying eyes on me. That terrifies me I’d probably just leave then face the psychological ordeal of being all alone in a intimate restaurant waiting for my date to emerge into my life.

I can make out the agreed upon meeting place its at the end of the street the time says 8 o’clock on my phone. I hope and pray Kyle is there waiting patiently for me to arrive. The dread is building in me like a uncontrollable raging firestorm i have these anxious thoughts of Kyle seeing by emaciated pallid body and viewing my hideous face and walking out in horror. This idea has been ruminating in my damaged consciousness all day since I’ve been meticulously preparing for our date. I walk alone feeling unsafe needing to calm my fears somehow. Every incremental footstep intensifies the fear my legs are filed with concrete i am numb below my waist. Please god let me be fine i repeat in my head as a calming mantra . Then i arrive at my destination i am sweating my hands are shacking profusely stay calm try to maintain a semblance of normality i repeat silently. I enter the terrifying gates of the restaurant i am petrified rendered almost paralysed with the fear the adrenaline the nausea. I am inside the chamber i saunter to the hostess who directs me to my table where my lusciously attired date is awaiting my punctual arrival.

I walk with utter fear in my bones the paranoia the body dysmorphia has become pernicious as am trying to maintain a stoic normal exterior. I cant expose the tumult of anxiety lurking in my anxiety laden psyche. I arrive at my table with my date Kyle adorned in a sky blue long sleeved shirt and he is emitting a seductive aftershave aroma that overpowers my senses. I greet him with my shimmering red lips with a kiss on the cheek. We set down the nerves haven’t subsided its the fear the terminal fear i endure that never relents when I’m out of my safe space.

I sit down feeling incredibly self conscious more than usually in my revealing dress. The conversation is initially awkward as staid despite the incalculable online exchanges we’ve had over the preceding months. I’m trying assiduously to appear as a normal functioning adult not a quivering tightly wind neurotic mess. Kyle conducts the majority of the conversations in his loquacious effusive manner i remain laconic as the anxiety have frozen me up. Kyle is talking about his hopes for the future his dreams his hopes to be a mental health counsellor for the poor and maligned individuals. I’m impressed by his compassion by the kindness that radiates from his body. He isn’t here to flaunt his obvious good looks or to have sex with another women in a meaningless one night stand. Kyle actually cares for somehow beyond all logic finds me physically attractive. He repeatedly compliments my appearance tells me how attractive i am that what a stunning dress I’m wearing.

Despite this the anxiety never relents I’m perpetual in a state of terror attempting to avert a panic attack. The conversion is pleasant with me appearing ebullient in order to mask the pain of my social disorder. Inside is torture on the outside is a calm demeanour i am careful to smile to laugh at Kyle’s jokes. We consume a copious volume of white wine throughout the evening as i drink voraciously to mitigate the anxiety. The ameliorating socially uninhibiting effects of alcohol loosened me up to speak to feel the gushing of emotions from my body. Still the black cloud of anxiety hovered over me the self loathing the horror of being me stained the evening.

I ran making up a variety of excuses to the bathroom when i feared another harrowing panic attack. Escaping to the bathroom breathing heavily finding a modicum of privacy having my nerves satiated with a moment of privacy before I recommenced our date. I enjoyed the date the conversation the exquisite Italian cushiness the delectable wine we devoured but the torturous anxiety negated any pleasure from finally meeting up with Kyle. We ended the date we split the bill according to what we ordered I insisted despite Kyle’s protestations that we pay the bill. In my intoxicated state i was assertive enough to demand i pay my fair share of the bill.

We concluded our time at the restaurant i wanted desperately to be home to be alone despite me wanting to connect physically with Kyle. Kyle asked me vehemently if I wanted to go to a bar to continue the nights festivities i declined even though I was screaming on the inside to get closer to Kyle to carry on socialising with him. He even politely requested if he could walk me home again i declined. I worried that i came across as impolite or aloof or that i was turning down the sexually advances of him. In truth a mere several hours of prolonged social interaction had left me shattered wanting to be alone to be away from people. The fantasy of falling in love of having ecstatic sex with a perfect edifice of masculinity wouldn’t be actualised tonight. The weight the prevalence of my anxiety had precluded me from pursuing a night of pure carnal bliss.

After i politely declined there was a awkward moment of silence before we said our goodbyes. Kyle though in a act of spontaneity held my quivering arms caressed my soft porcelain face with his left hand. He then leaned in and kissed me tenderly on my crimson lips. I felt alive with pleasure the nerves briefly dissipated in that 30 second passionate embrace. We communicated our love for each other then after the kiss Kyle we hugged and said our goodbyes.

I walked home at a frenetic pace wanting the serenity of my room to feel safe. The anxiety now escalated as I walked home as i was alone in the cobbled streets. Walking home almost running the panic the dread the hell of the outside the unfamiliar setting with peopled castigating eyes looking down on me. I want to be in my room listening to soothing mediative music in my red jimjams. After several minutes of sweating i arrive at my private kingdom i enter the doorway run upstairs without saying anything to my housemates. Then i open my room lock the door start crying after the anxiety i then collapse on my bed and curl up in a fetal position. Its hell its torture i we’ll never escape my anxiety disorder. I can never accept another date from Kyle even despite his many charms his warm effusive gregarious personality. The dream of love of happiness of anything that resembles a normal life will remain a fantasy that only exists in my overreactive imagination