Dear Arya

I am writing this email to you to notify you of a few important momentous details that have been occurring in my life. Rather than have a brief phone interaction with i thought i could detail the events coming up in my life that you as my beloved daughter have a right to know about. In a phone conversation or in person i find it tremendously arduous to eloquently articulate my emotions. As you know I’m a shy reserved man who rarely conveys his inner feelings hence the medium of email is beneficial to a man who’s reticent in displaying his emotions.

I am sending you this email to tell you I have recently met a beautiful women called Maria who’s has revitalised me given a renewed lust for life. We have only been going out for a few months and am ashamed that I concealed our romance from you. Its the first time since the death of your mother that I have felt the joy of being alive.

I have written this email to inform you that we intend to get married shortly next year. I know its might seem rash and hasty to be taking such a sacred commitment after only seeing Maria for a short period of time. However I’m 45 life is short and i want to be happy to spend the rest of my life with this wonderful women. I also would love if you could spend the weekend at our old home and spend a blissful weekend with me and Maria. I’m sure you’ll be as armoured with Maria as i was. She is a resplendent effervescent women who’s made me come alive once again.

I know we don’t talk a lot about the death the harrowing suicide of Mary your mum 6 years ago now. We hardly even bring her up in conversation on the sporadic moments we converse. In those 6 years I’ve been desperately alone wanting another chance at happiness. I don’t like to divulge my inner most feelings to anybody I’m like you a pathological introvert. I miss Mary so much she’s constantly on my mind and there’s this deep sadness and regret that I didn’t notice the glaring signs she was suffering under the weight of depression. I know me meeting another women greeting married for the 2nd time might seem strange please I’m beseeching you to be happy for me. Don’t think I’m omitting the abiding memory of Mary from my life. Her memory will never fade from me her kindness her infinite love will never leave me.

This is the first time i have actually been so candid about my feelings my grief that transpired after Mary suicide and funeral. I wish we could have been more honest about our shared pain. We are two peas in a pod hampered with a inability to express our deepest emotions.

I been ruminating about Mary how she killed herself how i wasn’t cognisant of the symptoms of her lifelong depression. Thinking about that within the context of you and want to tell you if you’re suffering from depression don’t be afraid to pick up the phone and contact. I’m sure you’re a well adjusted beautiful young women who’s living a encircling full life. However the experience of Mary has made me realise that a lot of people afflicted with depression are adept at hiding their psychosis. I don’t want to lose my only daughter my only child i want to see you more frequently even though your residing in Cambridge living your aspiration to become a published eminent writer. We should talk more or make a firm commitment to dialogue at least once a week share our thoughts our experiences in our personal lives.

The wedding is scheduled next year so there’s enough time for you to become intimately acquainted with Maria. Enough time for Maria to become bored with a middle aged accountant still i cant wait for the wedding day. However the topography of my future appears promising with lush pastures and wild vitas of love waiting to be explored by myself and my future wife. I want you to be a intrinsic part of that journey even as you gain some autonomy and venture into the world. Hopefully one day in the near distant future i will get to walk you down the aisle to see you wed to the man of your dreams.

I can imagine seeing your mum watching from heaven with a tear in her eyes witnessing her angelic daughter finding happiness. Still i hope you can be happy for me that after these long 6 years of misery of loneliness I have granted from the heavens a second chance at happiness on this planet.

I have sent a letter to your address its a simple invitation to the wedding its a simple rsvp. Its details the date the location of the church and the post wedding reception venue. I’m positive you will be able to attend this hallowed religious ceremony you don’t have to feel obligated to attend but you’re are my own child my precious baby. There’s another piece of salient information i need to impart upon you. Maria even though shes never had the pleasure of meeting you has vehemently requested that you would agree to be one of her bridesmaids.

I just not only fallen in love with Maria but concurrently become enamoured with emails i know i sound like such a middle aged old geezer. I find that in not having to speak face to face i can communicate my rawest emotions without the awkwardness of my characteristic laconic manner. We need to talk though just text me a appropriate time when we can have a prolonged conversation via phone. We have a myriad of topics to talk about the wedding your job your life Maria and our thoughts on your mum. We need to finally have a honest conversation about your mums suicide how that was a detriment to our life how i suffered how it adversely impacted you throughout your adolescence.

Your loving father hope you arefeeing fit and well

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My Mums Suicide Elegy

Its been 6 years exactly since that dreaded fateful day when me and my dad discovered my mums lifeless haunted body hanging from the top of our living room doorway. The memory the images the wounds of that day blight my mind. I can recall arriving home feeling this teenage weariness after a long day at school followed by a tedious cello lesson and seeing the grisly sight of my mum hanging their. On that day I collapsed into a heap on the floor unable to fathom the reality that my mum killed herself. My father stood there static in a state of paralysis we never cried he held his tears inside of him like a stereotypical repressed english man.

Even though its been 6 long years i can vividly recollect every moment of that day the tears the police and coroner showing up. The contrasting reaction of my mums friends to my dad who descended upon our home to console me and my dad.

Today though in the seclusion of my bedroom I’m carrying on a sacred private tradition of dedicating the evening to my mums memory. I’m sitting on the floor of my bedroom with a variety of exemplary iconic cello compositions being played on my Bluetooth speakers. I have in my meticulous manner rolled several cannabis joints and have a large bottle of scotch whisky all of which will be devoured throughout this evening. Its 7 o’clock in the evening time to begin the proceedings time to pay homage to my wonderful mother who died so tragically. With tears in my eyes as the Elgar cello concerto reverberates across the walls of my intimate eclectically decorated room i down two shots of premium whisky. Then i begin smoking my potent psychoactive joint that hopefully will elicit the happy memories of my mum from my childhood. Then i garb a hold of my suicide note which was her final thoughts in which she delineated the reasons why she had kill herself. My hands are shacking as i begin reading this crinkled torn final reflections on life on death on the hell of living with a untreated secret mental illness. I wipe a tear from my left cheek and blow my nose and begin to slowly read my mums forlorn suicide elegy.

“ Dear family,

I am writing this letter to tell you why i killed myself. If your reading this you probably have discovered my dead body hanging bereft of life. I want to say I’m profoundly sorry for the pain for the misery my selfish self destructive decision has engendered. You have every right to be upset and enraged by my decision to terminated my time on earth. Please understand you have no idea whats its like enduring depression have this hurricane of sadness swirling around your mind day after day month after month. Having this dysmorphia with life having no way of articulating the despair that has slowly poisoning me for years. The shame of my illness hiding my emotional torment behind a simpering smile. As i write this note i am glancing over a collection of my photographs seeing the fake plastic smile that conceals a hidden illness. The smile the laughing behind those eyes i am dying i am screaming on the inside desperate to disclose my sickness that’s rotting me from the inside. I’m sure you are completely ignorant of my sporadic bouts of depression which i mask with my gregarious effervescent personality. I have since i was a teenager become adept at masking this illness never crying in public always making up elaborate excuses to prevent my secret my shame from ever getting out. You are entirely unaware that on numerous other instances i have planned to kill myself and backed out at the last moment. Even going as far to compose a verbosely worded note then destroying the evidence when at the last moment i found a reason to carry on existing. Now though its too late there’s no reason to stay alive even your unconditioned eternal love won’t save me from the jaws of death. I want death i want to cease breathing oxygen the hell of being me being 40 living the terminal loneliness the torture has killed me. I cant speak to anybody I’m unable to be vulnerable to divulge my condition even to my father my beautiful angelic daughter my long suffering kind husband the love of my life. I’m sick of it sick and tired of the piss and shit of life of i cant endure the cancer of depression anymore. I’m cant sleep i drink to excess I’ve turned down vehement requests from my closets comrades for nights out when I’m at home all alone a ocean of sadness flows from my eyes. Then in your empathetic company i hide the sadness put on a plastic persona of sanity whilst I’m drowning inside all the time. I know I’m a stupid selfish bitch I’m sick I’m dying from my depression its left bereft of joy unable to function. Aria my beautiful precious daughter know that i love you and that I’m crying looking at images of you as a precious baby. Aria if you feel ill please I’m begging speak to somebody to a friend to a doctor don’t hide repress the dark thoughts don’t live in purgatory like me. Micheal the love of my life don’t blame this on yourself. I never stopped loving you gave me a home you gave me the strength to carry on but now the pain is too severe to endure. I want you to never forget me cherish the seldom joyous memories we shared and please I’m imploring to not commit a deleterious act please don’t commit suicide. Love you forever i have to die I have to end the endless nightmare of being me”

My face was soaked in sadness as I concluded my mums despairing final thoughts. The cannabis intensified the melancholic sensation of today reading my mums suicide lament. The Elgar cello concerto hit the crescendo as the cello combined with the cannabis and my reading of the elegy rendered unconsolable. I cried I held my head in my hands as i perused a collage of my mums most transcendent images. There was no anger just a deep seething regret at the universe for taking my mum. I had determined to spend the rest of the evening getting high listening to my mums treasured music this is the day i pay tribute to the women who brought me into this cruel unforgiving world.

Death

Laying prostrate almost comatose in my bed dreaming of death
Sick and twisted thought are ruminating in my mind
I cant move from the pain of this depression i want death i want to be nothing
I am already dead as the emotion has been vanquished from my body as this dead sensation permeates my entire being

Dreaming of all the myriad of ways of dying
Dreaming of dying in my sleep to never awaken to a cold world that has forsaken me
I have nothing no love no real family friends never call anymore
All i have is the fantasy of not existing

I lay horizontal for hours with a body burdened with sadness musing about the concept of death to not exist
To be a dream a distant fading memory to be pure nothingness to be dust
I want death there’s no reason to carry on existing living so listlessly trudging through life in endless cycles of abject despair
In my darkest dreams i take the sweet pill of suicide and get taken away by a dark shadowy masked figure he takes me away from the land of the living into the serenity the nirvana of death

2AM Phone Call To The Salvation Army Crisis Hotline

Its 2 am in the morning my hands are shacking covered in blood from another masochistic bout of self harm. I’m laying on my kitchen floor with a razor blade in my right hand my left arm looks ravaged with several vertical deep lacerations on my underarm. My pain receptors are dulled and numb from the excess of whisky i have devoured throughout this lonesome evening. I cant feel the pain of my wounds that will happen tomorrow on top of a punishing hangover. I’m in a dark place at my wits end seriously considering ending my life. Elgar cello concerto echoes throughout the thin walls of my flat playing on my Bluetooth speakers. As I hear the heart wrenching sublime sound of Jacqueline du pre playing the cello with adroitness tears stream down my ashen face devoid of beauty.

I’m crying uncontrollable unable to control my breathing. Breathing in and out at a frantic rate I repeat the phrase in my hand I can’t breathe i cant breathe for several minutes. I feel like death the dread is overpowering the suicidal thoughts overpower my intoxicated mind. I’ve spent all Saturday with the curtains shut in my flat and wearing my crimson silk pyjamas. I commenced drinking my whisky and coke cocktail around 2 in the afternoon wanting to nullify the pain i been subsisting with for the previous several weeks. I cant bare it anymore I’m a 23 year old living alone living with severe depression with a impairing social anxiety disorder and a myriad of other mentally ill symptoms indicative of a long term untreated psychosis. I have neglected important pivotal friendships due to the severity of my social anxiety and the depression has compounded my desolate suicidal disposition. I feel like such a fucking loser a freak who’s been condemned to a life of abject misery and being sequestered from the human race from the kindness and love of strangers due to my disorders.

In my paralytic condition wanting to end my life with the razor blade hovering perilously above my wrist i take a last chance and call the suicidal army crisis hotline. I can’t call any of my family or a distant friend who are still lodged in my iPhone contact list who i still consider a friend. To bare my soul to unload my desperate fragile mental state to somebody I know fills my heart with dread. Especially calling them at 2 in the morning in my delirious drug frenzied state. Throughout the years i have carefully concealed the depths of my pain my anxiety my suicidal predilections my self harm from anybody with whom who knows me who cares for me. Hence i conclude to call of the kind soft spoken sympathetic listening operators with whom I’ve spoken with on numerous occasions on the past several years. This time though i want to die i need to be reminded given any reason why I should remain alive to be part of the living.

My hands are shacking profusely my lips are quivering snot is flowing from my nose I’m a drunken mess wanting to hear a solemn voice in my hell. Dialling the number still on the kitchen floor slumped in a drunken stupor actually terrified of speaking to a volunteer and divulging my desire to end my life. The number rings three times a volunteer answers my forlorn call with a hushed dulcet voice that immediately assuages my anxiety. “Hello how can i help you”
She initiates our conversation. There’s a awkward silence of 10 seconds before I gather myself before i control my breathe and blow my nose.
“ hello mam i want to kill myself i cant stand the pain anymore I’ve got a razor blade and i want to slash my wrists.” My voice cracks i can hardly speak as i utter these words and pronounce my thoughts to another soul. The listener responds with stereotypical calmness trying diligently to appease me to convince that not take a deleterious action. “ please put down the razor blade try to calm down how long have you been feeling suicidal or depressed.” She utters in a unwavering calm manner as i acquiesce to her simple demand placing the blade on my blood stained lilo kitchen floor. I respond opening myself to another human being allowing for once an person into my inner world.
“ I have been living with this depression for years living with anxiety but for the past several months the hurt of existing has grown more severe. Everyday i think about killing myself. There’s nobody in my life who cares about me i am alone in the darkness i cant endure it anymore i just want to end the pain of my pathetic life” I break down and become inconsolable with rivers if sadness cascading down my face . My hands collapse into my tear drenched face I’m still encamped on the floor with arms coated in my blood i wait patiently for a response to my verbose declaration of my fractured psyche.
“Please calm down I’m listening to you understand there are people I’m certain in your life who care for you. I’m sure you have friends and family who would be devastated if you committed suicide” There was a uncomfortable silence as the amiable listener waited for my response. I responded barely able to articulate my thoughts with a voice stammering and quivering.
“Tttankyou for your www words i jjust nneeded somebody to talk to i know i need help that i need therapy i need to speak to my friends about my dire emotional state” I was amazed at how lucid i was in in my intoxicated suicidal mind space.

The listener realised her compassionate words had dissuaded me from ending my life that this was a despairing cry for help in the bleak hours of a Sunday morning. She concluded our brief conversation have sage words of advice.
“ I’m promising you that you’ll feel better in the morning. You’ve taken the first steps in dealing with your mental illness actually speaking to another person showing that bravery. I’m asking you to talk about your depression your anxiety with your mother and father they care for you and then take the next scary steps of speaking with a therapist who will ameliorate your condition. I’m proud of you that you put down the razor blade and can you please promise me you wont end your life” She concluded as I responded tentatively
“Thank you for hearing for taking my call for listening attentively to my lamentable words. Its so cathartic to talk to a stranger to realise I’m not alone in this cold world that somebody cares about me. Thank you mam I promise i wont kill myself”
We then in unison said our goodbyes as i terminated by 2am call to the Salvation Army Suicide hotline. I sat there for minutes afterwards on the floor with a strange feeling of elation pulsating in my body. I got up sauntered languidly to the bathroom and removed the dried blood stains from my hair and in my listless drunken stupor applied a profusion of disinfectant to my self infected wounds. Still with my pain receptors numbed from the excessive of alcohol i felt no pain. Walked to my bedroom deciding to mop up the excess of blood on my kitchen floor tomorrow.

I lay in my bed for minutes feeling like a human being that matters the loneliness had temporarily dissipated in that pivotal early morning interaction.

I’m Ugly Living With Body Dysmorphia

The genesis of my body dysmorphia began as I entered adolescence. I was always this shy introverted who was acutely self conscious around my secondary school peers. Then a tragic event befall our family my mother committed suicide in my first year i attended secondary school the ptsd I incurred and the isolation i surmised exacerbated my body dysmorphia disorder. After losing my mum in harrowing circumstances i began to despise my physical appearance my flat featureless body my ashen face devoid of beauty. Going out to school or socialising with friends became a torturous endeavour i would apply a profusion of makeup to my face to mask my horrid face.

When my disorder started to affect the quality of my life i began to suffer from panic attack in public. Even simply mundane outings like going back and forth from the local shops were torture. When I did venture outside on rare moments apart from attending school i felt intensely self conscious. Feeling the icy wind hit my sweaty face the anxiety pulsating round my body. Then my heart is arcing i cant control my breathing as i walk towards the shop my feet are in a state of paralysis totally then i feel like dying. Desperately i would find a park bench or secluded spot to collapse to hide my anxiety attack. Then rather then braving a brief trip to the shops i would frantically run home to the serene shelter of my bedroom. This type of panic attack happened on countless occasions throughout my teenage years as i was enduring this secret disorder.

Rather than divulging my condition to a close confidant to my father or a doctor i hide my shame the revulsion I had for my grotesque body. Laing awake at night fantasising all the ways i could ameliorate my flaws with exorbitantly expansive plastic surgery. Getting a nose job a augmenting my flat breasts getting botox collagen in my lips whitening my teeth i theorised maybe i could be happy in my skin after a serious of plastic surgery operations. My self loathing caused me to become severely depressed almost suicidal the only way I could assuage my pain was to lacerate my arms in self harm. Taking a sharp piece of glass and disfiguring my arms then hiding the shame of my lacerated arms my wearing long sleeved shirts for weeks afterwards.

As my disorder progressed i developed this fear of mirrors. The trip to the bathroom mirror was this daily excruciating experience to view my face at the onset of a new day. I started to eschew looking into the mirror brushing my teeth or washing my face with my face looking at the taps. Only when i would go on nights out with my friends when I needed to apply a profusion of makeup to my ugly face would i view my reflection in the critical bathroom mirror. Even with layer upon layer of makeup with my red lips looking lustrous i would shudder in disquiet at this monster in the mirror. Then on these sporadic nights out i suffered the hell of seeing my pallid homely face in a mirror in a bar bathroom in a public toilet that horror of my ugliness magnified surrounded by a bevy of strangers would send down a spiral of anxiety and suicidal thoughts. If by chance i caught a glimpse of my face on a drunken night out with my friends i would usually suffer another panic attack hiding in the bathroom stall for minutes unable to breathe with tears cascading down my face. Then making a excuse why i would return to my sanctuary where i wouldn’t subject the general public to my deformed face.

The severe body dysmorphia continued from my adolescence into my tenure as a university student. The severity of my revulsion of my body didn’t abate it grow more acute. I devolved into a increasingly socially withdrawn creature only exposing my face to the world when it was essential to me functioning as a student. Such as attending lectures or going to my part time job. Time after time i turned down incessant requests for nights to go on holidays to attend musical festivals with my university cohorts. The increasing social anxiety and body dysmorphia made socialising with strangers for a protracted time feel like purgatory having unabated anxiety no assuagement from the this untreated hidden disorder. As i lived as a recluse i had these perennial suicidal inclinations as i was becoming isolated from society due to the living hell of my disorder and long term depression.

As this body disorder remained a shameful secret i found the idea of sex a impossibility. In my student years i embarked upon a measly 3 dates with potential lovers. These were agonising experiencing having my every flaw judged my a date having to make staid small talk. Feeling like these dates were a prank or a lost bet why would these alluring young men find me attractive. After the awkward date we exchanged a kiss on the cheek then never conversed as i ghosted these men. The thought of being intimate of having my emaciated ghost like body being naked next to a immaculate toned modern men filled my body with dread. Getting acquainted with conversation was arduous enough but sex kissing touching caressing sexual intercourse would be beyond my capabilities. Even though i fantasised habitually of the ecstasy of a falling in love and engaging in sublime sex with a hairless toned adonis. Despite all the trauma I have incurred in my 23 years when my body anxiety has metastasised into a impairing body disorder I have kept my pain my body dysmorphia hermetically sealed in the recesses of my damaged consciousness.

On umpteen times I have made a appointment for my local gp or seeked the help of a therapist who could treat my disorder. Then the day of the appointment arrives and the overwhelming fear of being vulnerable confiding in a doctor about my fractured mental condition has been too onerous to attend a appointment. I haven’t overcome my fears or talked to another soul about the hell I’m living with. One day if I’m ever going to become a fully functioning member of society with a husband with children with a enriching fulfilling life I’m going to need to disclose my depression my body dysmorphia with a qualified professional.

Fear And Loathing At The Supermarket

It happens every time I venture into the terrifying supermarket
My mind is besieged with anxiety with gnarled feelings of worthlessness
I enter the door with my heart racing at a frantic pace
Beads Of sweat form on my forehead as the anxiety surges through my body

Ethereal classical music is reverberating in my ear with my blue tooth headphones
The music helps to mitigate the hell of a brief visit at my local supermarket
I pick up a basket to purchase a few essential items as i peruse the shop
I rush around with sweat with terror with perpetual feelings of dread

Avoid eye contact with my fellow shoppers i keep my eyes to myself
Its utterly horrible i struggle to breathe struggle to maintain my veneer of outward serenity
Inside beyond this composed demeanour lurks a vast inner universe of suffering and sadness at being afflicted with a determination social anxiety disorder

To assuage my anxiety I perform a few idiosyncratic non verbal ticks
I profusely tap my fingers against my waist then i rub and scratch my fingers against my palm
I keep tapping my fingers occasionally rubbing my face to nullify the intense disquiet that pulsating in my fractured mind
After a 10 minute agitated shop i am finally at the checkout
This is the worst part having a cashier judging me excoriating my appearance my purchases i begin to breathe at a accelerated rate finally i hand over my card and I’m free to leave this wretched place free to leave the nightmare performing a rudimentary everyday task normal people take for granted

The Perpetual Hell Of Living With A Social Anxiety Disorder

My social anxiety began in the aftermath of my mothers suicide. Before that harrowing emotional scaring event at the age of 13 i was a shy introvert who could be described as socially awkward. After witnessing my mother dead body the ptsd it was the genesis of my pernicious social anxiety disorder. In the months that followed her funeral i had a bout of intense terrifying panic attacks. Panic attacks where i wasn’t fully cognisant what was happening to me at first I thought it was a heart attack with the heavy breathing the tightness in my chest. Then going out going to school socialising with my friends became a torturous undertaking as i was besieged with anxiety with the fear. Throughout my adolescence my anxiety grew more acute as i kept my disorder a secret making up excuses declining night out with friends turning down dates from males admirers.

As i progressed from a precocious teenager into a young adult this disorder has metastasised into a paralysing illness that impacts every facet of my life. Its a all consuming fear of everything a fear of the fear. A fear of any rudimentary social interaction a fear of intimacy of the crowd of going to social events with friends or family. I have forced myself to attend birthdays wedding drunken nights out with my friends to not let this monster destroy me. However attending these social gatherings was pure intense unrelenting torture. Its a fear that haunts you its the fear of being perceived as boring or a cruel look from a stranger that sends my anxiety escalating. Its the fear of another panic attack around strangers the constant fear of letting the mask slip and revealing my disorder. I am able to mitigate to anaesthetise to the social anxiety my devouring copious quantities of alcohol. I use alcohol as a anti anxiety medication to temporarily alleviate the perpetual hell of my anxiety.

The anxiety is so oppressive that i have refrained from divulging my anxiety with a friends with a qualified psychiatrist or gp. The idea of being that vulnerable delineating the years of panic attacks and anxiety fills my mind with dread. Hence i am unable to take anti anxiety medication. Even going to the doctors for a habitual check up is something i have forgo because its such a laborious task. Simple everyday mundane tasks normal socially functional individuals take for granted become with my deleterious social phobia a monumental endeavour. Venturing outside with the threat of a panic attack having cold glances from strangers having to form conversations with strangers was hell. Short 20 to 30 minute traversal to my local convenience store was torture that i had to endure for my basic survival. On this journey i suffered from heavy breathing constantly scratching my hand to assuage my anxiety. Then there’s speaking with people with the paranoia the angst that pulsates in my neurotic body. Its hell and it never ends i cant go out anymore because of the fucking anxiety that follows me that strangles my soul.

Going on a date is a impossibility that beyond my abilities. I have in the past had a few dates with alluring prospective lovers but the fear was too laborious to continue the romantic relationship. Friendships due to me abstaining from the majority of social events have slowly drifted apart. Important intimate friends have lost all contact with as they lose all patience in my anti social peculiar behaviour. They for a while persisted with me but after i stopped accepting their effusive requests for nights out all contact was lost as our beautiful friendships faded away into a sad memory.

By life as this disorder has devoured me has eclipsed all the beauty inside of me is a forlorn wretched existence. Its endless anxiety that is with me all the time even as i sit alone in the comfort in the sanctuary of my home secluded away from other people. I sit twitching incessantly shacking my legs unable to reflex unable to feel a modicum of serenity. This anxiety has given me a life of severe alienation where i am all alone in my illness unable to articulate the scale of my anxiety. I cant expose myself to the horror of the real world i cant force myself to face these nightmarish protracted social interactions. Hence i stay in my tiny enclave hoping to escape hoping to palliative my anxiety.

Living with social anxiety is detrimental to my vocational prospects. As a teenager and student i had these illusions of travelling the world as a young writer seeing new cultures that are enriching and enlightening endeavours. Now though these fantastical dreams will never be realised i still write poetry and short stories that remain unpublished works of fiction. My dreams of living a exhilarating adventurous life have vanished to be replaced by far fetched dreams of becoming a published novelist. I still harbour hopes of conquering my illness of being able to have something that resembles a life filled with ebullient people. I want to fall in love to have friends that love and cherish my company. I want the pain the isolation the fear the dread the purgatory to be over. I want to finally confess my anxiety to a doctor i yearn for a hug from a fellow anxiety suffering where we cry and console each other. I want that elation that euphoric release of this pent up suppressed pain and worry and torture I incur every day as i traverse back and forth from my place of employment.

There is a bluebird living inside of me chocking on the noxious fumes of my illness. There is a bluebird that exists in my dreams where i can freely smile laugh partake in glorious human activities without the angst. There is a bluebird that is slowly dying being crushed by the weight of my disorder a bluebird that screams at night a bluebird who’s cry’s for help go on unanswered. There is a bluebird that wants to fly through time and space that wants to feel the beauty of life in its tender wings. There is a bluebird that wants to get drunk to get high to fall in love to feel the ecstasy of life flowing circulating in its fragile body in this ethereal finite world