No Future

Sick of the pain the god damn fucking pain that lurks in my mind. Everyday is a arduous struggle to survive living is extremely hard I’m suffocating on the noxious fumes of my defective body and mind. This is my last literary effort after this i plan to expeditiously kill myself the same way my mother almost 10 years previously committed suicide. By hanging my listless forlorn body from a rope. Dying in excruciating misery in a slow death all alone live on my poorly viewed YouTube channel.

I’ve contemplated suicide on innumerable moments in the past 10 years always found a reason to carry on existing in this cruel callous world. Now all the light has been exhumed by my crippling depression and anxiety. Once there burned a fire for life that roared inside of me now that fire has died a slow death there’s no sunshine in my soul only the abyss of despair. I cant carry on anymore i cant function in this world the lead iron weight of my pernicious illness is destroying me rotting me from the inside like a cancerous growth proliferating across my body rendering me tortured by my terminal depression and habitual panic attacks. At least once a month i am forced to endure a panic attack where i feel overcome with a sensation of dread then I’m paralysed unable to move from the sanctuary of my bed. I don’t answer the phone I exist in silence in my tomb lost in the hell of my inner world.

The panic attacks started in the weeks that followed my mums sudden harrowing suicide it was symptomatic of my unresolved ptsd I had all this social anxiety that exploded in a humiliating attack. They’ve occurred with regularity never though have i consulted with a gp a therapist or confided with my father or a close confidant the depths of my disorder. My depression my anxiety my self harm my suicidal predilections have only been articulated through the medium of poetry and my anonymous YouTube videos. I have kept it all a secret from my closest friends my family through the many lies blaming my anxiety attacks on my asthma making lame excuses as to why i cant go out. Telling my friends I’m studying or I’m unable to attends due to a temporary physical ailment.

Now I have reached the end of the road no reason to carry on existing. For months in the alienation of my secluded one bedroom flat in the middle of Cambridge I’ve been ruminating whether or not to end my pathetic life. Everyday its the same thoughts circulating my mind how and why. Now i know how and there’s no why to avert me from carry out my nihilistic plan. As i compose this letter with my left hand I’m stroking the sturdy unbreakable rope. I want this i want death after last week attending my dads second wedding there’s no incentive for me to delay my injurious plan. I deferred my suicide date to not spoil my dads wedding wanting him to have a untarnished wedding day one last happy memory of me before i evaporate into the jaws of oblivion.

Writing this letter with my left and right arms seething in unrelenting throes of agony from the self inflicted lacerations i executed last night in a final attempt to feel my pain to assuage the black dog monster that exists in the recesses of my fractured psyche. All to no avail i still fervently want death the masochistic act had on countless moments prevented me from attempting suicide. Now my condition has metastasised into this last stage depression no turning back no hope or desire for redemption I’m going to die. Cutting deep into my forearm with a deadly blade of glass to ravage and permanently scar my arms the only method i can express my inarticulate sorry to the world. It’s how i remind myself my dire mental state despite my propensity for self mutilation I obscure my wounds from all those who i come into contact with. Wearing long sleeved shirts and thick coats when i venture outside. The shame of my untreated illness precludes me from revealing my wounds to anybody.

Today though with my soul being submerged in the floods waters of despair i hark back to my mums suicide her perennial battle with depression. Her inclination to hide to deny to adopt a brave exterior masking the emotional torture that was eating her up on the inside. Shortly before i wrote this suicide letter i read with tears in my eyes my mums suicide elegy where she elucidated the myriad of reasons why she killed herself at the tender age of 38 when i was just 13. She professed her love for me every year on the anniversary of her suicide I would read this verbose letter listening to her favourite pieces of classical music a night in which i pay respects to my mums life. For years I felt a mixture of anger and sadness now I fully comprehend her actions as i am about to undertake my suicide.

Oh mother and daddy please forgive me for my selfish action forgive me Ella and Rachel for my deleterious decision to die. I cant bare the pain of being me anymore my condition is deteriorating exponentially soon ill be unable to leave my flat or function in the workplace. The attacks the nightmares the self loathing the isolation the daily torment have all grown too onerous for me to prevail. I can see deaths beady eyes i can smell the pungent aroma of death i can feel the presence of the reaper as he entices me to drift from the world of the living into the land of the dead. There’s nothing left for me here on earth but crushing boredom emptiness and a long life of loneliness i cant break the chains and bars of my mental illness. The only freedom from the torment is the sweet liberation of death. There’s no future no highway to traverse no reason to be no hope of love.

A Exultant Night Out In Cambridge

My body is soaked in a luxurious orange blossom infused bubble bath. I’m in a a tranquil setting as my anxiety my body dysmorphia is alleviated as i soak my scrawny body in the bath as Lana del Rey plays on my Bluetooth speakers. I’m getting ready for another exultant night out with my university cohorts. Washing away all the filth and scum from my body as i lay in my bath with the bubbles that obscure my unappealing flat chested body. Waves of excitement and nervous anticipation echo on the tiled walls of my bathroom. There’s a smorgasbord of shower gel bath salts bubble bath perfume moisturiser on the far end by the taps. I’m the first inside the bath having firsts dibs my housemates with whom I’m going out tonight are impatiently awaiting me to vacate the bath. My long cascading unkempt brunettes hair flows in the bath water. Now I’m revitalised as I wash rinse my hair now I’m ready for the final ordeal of washing my face and brushing my gnarled teeth in the mirror. Out of the bath in my luxurious crimson dressing gown I tentatively peer into the mirror the horror of my face the ugliness that’s revealed. My pernicious body dysmorphia is most prevalent when i see my reflection. I look away as the brushing of the teeth commences as i vigorously cleanse my unsightly gnashers. Dare not glimpse my ghastly countenance in the mirror as i apply my facial cleanse and eventually to my porcelain face. I hear a robust knocking at the door i voice bellows out “ how long are you going to be”

I respond “ ill be out in a few minutes”

“ Okay then hurry up” it’s Ella my housemate the extrovert blond the life of the party wanting to occupy the bathroom facilities before i expeditiously leave. I saunter outside with my hair needing to be dried before the night out. I catch Ellas sparkling brown eyes its all yours I declare. Getting the wooden floor wet with the residue from my hair dripping on the floor.

My body tingling with excitement moves inside my eccentrically decorated gothic bedroom. The room is illuminated by my chrome floor lamp there’s an array of art posters literary and musical idols that adorn the walls. Posters of Sylvia Plath joy division virginia Woolf and a art print of starry night which hangs directly above my bed. On my Chester draws there is a permeant shrine to my deceased mother with pictures from my childhood her suicide note and poems i composed which eulogised my dead mum. I sit with waves of anxiety pulsating in my veins. Reaching underneath my bed and take hold of a prerolled splith and light it enthusiastically . Take a deep breathe inhaling the psychoactive cannabis into my lungs and exhale. The cannabis takes immediate effect changing my mood from slightly anxious at a evening of intense social interaction into a serene spaced out state of being. This part of my pre night out routine getting high on weed surreptitiously in the privacy of my room to assuage my social anxiety to avert the likelihood of a panic attack. The weed hits my emaciated body relaxes me takes me to a higher plain of consciousness all the pain the dread the body dysmorphia evaporates in the ensuing minutes after i voraciously devour the splith. I’m sitting on the edge fully stoned with my wet hair in my dressing gown hands tapping incessantly against my palms my right leg is tapping uncontrollably. Despite the inhalation of cannabis my body is ravaged with angst. I have to though get ready for the evening’s festivities.

Firstly i dry and straighter my bedraggled hair ironing out all the cracks split ends. It’s part of the rigmarole the ritual then after there’s the arduous endeavour of applying my war paint to my hideous face. I have adopted the habit of applying a excess of makeup in order to mask my glaring physical imperfections . Hence i apply a deluge of white foundationer to give my skin a gothic porcelain hue. Then the luscious rouge lipstick is painted on my cracked dry listless lips. The emerald green mascara is deftly applied. All the while I’m painting my face with my feminine war paint to hide all my glaring facial foibles. I’m high as a kite floating on air now i examine my mask in my tiny makeup mirror that only reflective item that’s allowed in my bedroom. For at least a minute i scrutinise my visage the foundation the seductive glamorous lipstick and enchanting mascara creates a presentable appearance. I’m almost shocked how I appear I’m reasonably satisfied with how my countenance transpires in the mirror. Now its the onerous task of picking out a suitable dress for a Friday night of rambunctious excessive drinking. I want a dress that will accentuate my body mainly my face I’m not confident of my stick like figure my flat chest. Picking out a demure black maxi dress that hides my petite curves but focuses the attention to my luscious lipstick. With aplomb i place the modest dress on my body i like the way it hides my scars wont feel too self conscious tonight. I place my high heeled shoe boots which complement my maxi dress now I’m physically ready to leave my sanctuary and join my assortment of friends congregating downstairs. It’s been nearly an hour since i left my bath in that time Ella and Aisha has taken long luxurious baths cleansing their bodies. Listening in the past hour to Chopin to soothe my nerves the majestic ethereal melancholic piano music is the perfect prelude to a evening of socialising. Outside my enclave I hear the distant voices of drunken laughter and convivial conversation. I want to take part I’m taken far too long getting emotional and physical prepared for a night out.

I’m ready too get drunk as my stoned body with the clank clank of my boots proceeds downstairs where my housemates Aisha and Ella are socialising with my other university chums Charlotte and Evelyn. With every incremental footstep i take a rumbling tumult goes off in my stomach. Down those wooden stairs making a mighty racket in my high heels. I enter the living room quarters where the tv is off the music is blaring out playing ellas carefully curated playlist music such as Billie Eilish Lorde and Lana del Rey reverberated in the think walls of our house. On the stained glass coffee table was a array of spirits decked out waiting to be drunk. The room was dimly light with only the organ floor lamp illuminating the living room. With relish i poured a glass of chilled white wine from the table. Ella was standing beside in her revealing red dress with me dancing to the music with a glass of rum in coke her first drink of the evening. The air is thick with the perfume of adolescent excitement my mind racing at a million miles a second. I’m still stoned from the potent cannabis splith i smoked earlier. I see patterns on the walls my hands my fingers felt numb i felt like a butterfly floating on air no paranoia no disquietude just a happy tranquil sensation. Knocking back the delectable white wine no sipping or savouring the flavour gulping it down my gullet. I’m dancing with Ella as we are getting in the mood for a evening of dancing and drunkenness. Aisha is sitting down beside Evelyn Aisha looking resplendent wearing her flowery monochrome dress that will attract female suitors. Whilst Evelyn is decked out in black black shirt and jeans with her cascading voluminous red hair flowing down her back. I’m certain with her porcelain complexion and her ravishing red lips. Charlotte my university compadres was lounging on the wooden bespoke rocking chair sipping a glass of red wine. My eyes glazed with the intoxicating sensation of the alcohol the cannabis and the enticing evening that lay before us. Dancing with Ella in our finest evening garments like a pair of exuberant children. I tried to hide my nerves suppressing the fear padlocked inside my neurotic mind.

Me and Ella ceased dancing like hyperactive children and sit down beside Aisha and Evelyn. “ Is everyone looking forward to going out tonight” Ella ebulliently bellowed exclaimed attempting to be heard over the thunderous music. We all in unison agree with myself twitching and fidgeting as the cannabis is inducing a paranoid feeling. “ when is the taxi arriving” i enquire in “ in 10 minutes hopefully” Aisha calmly answers. My body is tingling with anticipation at a night of excessive drinking dancing and finding a lover. I look around at the assemblage of friends who will be accompanying me on the cobbled streets of Cambridge with envies eyes such a display of beauty that’s on display a beauty I’ll never possess.

Through the cacophony of noise in our student house there’s the distant echo of the taxi horn. That must be the taxi Ella says point out the obvious she rushes in her red dress and her high heels for the taxi like a child chasing a ice cream van. We casually follow her I’m the last one to exit making sure the house is securely locked. My hands trembling my lips quiver from the chill of the evening and the tantalising possibility of the night of copious drinking and fraternising with alluring young men. I sit scrunched up next the window in the taxi as the laconic driver transports us into the centre of town. I disengage from the effusive conversations preferring to fixate on the kaleidoscope of images of Cambridge in the chill of December. The psychedelic colours of winter wonderland in majestic display we drive past houses with flashing lights that take on a cosmic meaning with my stoned eyes. We enter the centre of town the neon lights flashing at me taking me higher with their beauty. We arrive at our destination in the epicentre of town on a chilly Friday night with the old streets coated in a sheet of slippery ice. Aisha pays the driver the charge I’m first wanting to stretch my legs its a clear night. In my curious manner i gaze in awe at a the skyline in full awe inspiring display with the flickering stars from distant dying planets of the cosmos. My eyes beguiled by the full majesty of the cosmos with the black void of space interspersed with tiny glinting specks of light. For a minute i gaze intensely at the ravishing night sky unaware of my peculiar behaviour. “What are you doing” charlotte enquires “just admiring the night sky” i reply assuaging charlottes worries about my behaviour.

Now I’m drowning in a tsunami of unease as our tribe of university chums walk in unison to the first nightclub of the evening. It’s 9:00pm I’m only slightly drunk the hallucinogenic cannabis has almost worn off. I’m like a ravenous beast desperate for the sweet nectar of alcohol to satiate my appetite to numb my terror of the intensely uncomfortable social situation I’m plunging into. We queue outside the revolution club as we will wet our salivating tongues. We queue shivering in the freezing December night I’m riddled with worry at my dress seeing all these derisive eyes on me being repulsed by my body bereft of personality. My body shacks and rattles I discussed my idiosyncratic body quirks the incessant tapping the shacking the scratching with the glacial temperature. Still the nerves pulsate i take shorter breathes my heart is thumping thumping as i wait to enter the nightclub pit with the drinking the flirting the gyrating of our bodies in a sexual mating ritual.

Entering revolution with the dance beat vibrates reverberates in the dimly lit club. My mouth dry my heart racing as i survey the crowd the luscious creatures who have congregated to socialise to exhibit themselves to forget about their worries. We march to the bar which is heaving with customers desperate for a cocktail for spirits. I pen down my dysmorphia i think is anybody here encumbered with crippling social phobia or am i the only fucked up student needing the drink to anaesthetise my terror. I in my ardency to wet my lips with alcohol volunteer to pay for the first round of cocktails. I order a tray of colourful flavourful shot drinks as long with a 5 cocktails for the gang to imbibe. It takes a eternity to be served by the barmaid i blame it on my hideous face but eventually I order 5 cosmos and a tray of shots. As i carry the order back Ella helps me safety transport the order back to our table. The music of Robyn plays in the club as we gulp down a highly potent mysterious shot drink that sends me spinning. There’s a light delicious buzz from the shot glass now i have my rum and coke cocktail to devour. Ella Evelyn charlotte and Aisha drink with the same adolescents reckless abandon as i wanting to get drunk after a laborious week of study and work. Now we can enjoy ourselves in the heart of the city surrounded by charismatic twenty somethings with a lust for life. We can barely hear ourselves speak as the cacophony of noise from the speakers. All we do is sit making small talk remarking on various beguiling creatures that populate the bar. “ HAVE YOU SEEN THE GORGEOUS MEN IN HERE” Ella screams into my ear with her manner of speaking loudly whilst drunk and her lips wet with desire. Ella with her ravishing blond hair and red dress approaches a young men in a audacious act whilst sat in the safety of my university chums terrified of rejection. I sat conversing with Aisha as she remarked on the attractive women lurking around the establishment. I see Aisha coming out of shell of reserve as the alcohol loosens her inhibitions. I play along with her game whilst on the inside my heart races the thump continues with the surge of electricity oscillating round my veins. The tantalising possibility of sex of finding a lover is making me sweat. My loins are on fire my nerves aren’t dissipating. I sit with my friends engaging in witty conversations frozen stiff unable to break the ice with these heavenly creatures. Charlotte my melancholic newly made friends offers to pay for another round of drinks. This time its a selection of cocktails I have the Cuba libre a pretentious way of saying rum and coke. I let the liquor enter my body relaxing me nullifying the terror of prolonged social interaction.

We drink watching Ella flirting with a admirer we remain ensconced in our table lost in our conversations not having the gumption to venture outside the enclave of our tribe. It’s by now been an hour Ella has returned we’ve drank several drinks Ella says “ Are you ready to move on I’m bored we need to relocate to a more boisterous nightclub”

“Yes of course I want to dance there’s no dance floor in here” said Evelyn

We forthwith saunter onwards to a more lively nightclub where conversations is impossible where dancing is encouraged almost mandated. I’m drunk having devoured a cornucopia of shots and cocktails. As he leave the revolution bar I’m floating on air but swaying as walk. I’m off with the fairies lost in the beauty of the night lost to the seduction of the drink. Still i am insatiable requiring more liquor to temp down the fear of a attack having my condition be exposed to my intimate circle of cohorts. We stride along linking arms singing the music of Lana del Rey projecting a jaunty ambience to onlookers. We arrive at the next establishment vinyl a trendy nightclub in the centre of town with a large dance floor. Despite our rambunctious inebriated behaviour we exhibit we are allowed in the club i assume because there are 4 iridescent women and myself a homely student who would illuminate the congested trendy student bar populated by students by effervescent party animals. I enter with a disquiet in my bones i hide with my demure persona i follow Evelyn to the bar her lustrous cascading red hair immediately attracts the attention of potential suitors. I go on unnoticed I’m a ghost not body is enticed by my emaciated body. We purchase more highly potent cocktails my vision blurred from the abundance of alcohol I’ve devoured. The vinyl nightclub is a kaleidoscopic vision with a intense array of colours strewn on the dancefloor. With my whisky and coke in one hand I’m beckoned to the dance pit where drunken adolescent bodies are gyrating to the hypnotic beat. My paranoia escalates for a moment even in the apex of my inebriated ecstasy but it subsides as I gulp down my recently purchased cocktail. Then i find myself in the epicentre of the dance pit sheltered by my special circle of friends who will shower me with affection. Charlotte was even smiling Evelyn looking like a Irish goddess and Ella a vision of feminine perfection in her seductive red dress. In this moment i felt this wave of joy in my veins I felt like a human being instead of a unlovable freak.

Hours pass as we sway to the pop songs to the dance music sweating feeling the exuberance forgetting all my personality foibles as I’m lost in the nirvana of being intoxicated. On the pink and blue dance pit i am alive in blissed out states i admire the polychromatic abstract artwork displayed on the walls of this place where young people go to dance in ritualistic acts of joy and sexual liberation. We are drunk sweaty immersed in hedonistic pleasures i don’t want this to end. To think all the dread that preceded this evening all the agita I experienced that left my fragile mind worried stiff at the mere possibility of a harrowing panic attack. Look at me now lusting for life engrossed in a throng of luscious young toned males who gaze at me with lascivious eyes. There was one man a unknown angel of the night who took a fancy to me despite my ghastly visage. In the dimly lit nightclub with the lurid colours dazzling us with the alcohol i lost all that self loathing and danced passionately with this man with ocean blue eyes and lustrous brunette hair. We danced as I abandoned all my characteristic self consciousness and became this extrovert exuding life. Near the closing time we kissed on the last song in the wee hours of the morning pure electricity raced through my body kissing this unknown beguiling creature. We are exchanged phone numbers as we made firm decisions to reconvene our romance in a actual date.

The night is coming to a close as myself Ella Charlotte and Evelyn languidly walked home as the frost nearly broke our stride on several occasions. The ice had no effect on me with my thin dress and my heels. “ wow would you look at the majestic skyline” i remarked “ Aria you’re so weird and funny when you’re drunk’ said Ella linking my arm trying to prevent a calamitous fall. “ who was that man you were getting off with” said Evelyn

I replied “he said he was Chris I want to meet him again didn’t want to go to his house and have sex I’m too drunk’

“Very prudent” said Charlotte

The stars were blazing the vacuum of space the vast endless spectacle of the cosmos and the giant moon left me in awe. My mouth agape as i stared in the sky trying diligently to walk with a modicum of grace.

“ aria you’re always staring in wonder at the stars off with the fairies” said Ella with a simpering smile

“ yeah i think there beautiful almost been transfixed by the wonders the beauty of the cosmos” said i

We walked linking arm in arm not having enough money for a taxi hence the journey home was arduous one in the chill of winter in our heels. Reaching our destination with our bodies impervious to the artic temperatures due in part to our plastered bodies barely able to walk in a linear direction. Reaching the sanctuary of student house

“ Charlotte are you staying tonight” Aisha yelled out

“ Yeah can i”

“Of course you can” said Ella

We entered our rented domicile “ home at last” i hollered

I collapsed onto the floor in a paralysed state. Ella and Aisha in there kindness carried me upstairs to my room.

“Do you have the key to your room aria” said Aisha

“Yeah its in my pocket you can leave me here i can make i to my bed” Now being petrified of even my closet companions from entering the privacy of my room.

“ are you sure” Ella spoke softly
“yeah I’m fine i can walk to my room”

Aisha and Ella both kissed me on my forehead giving me fervid hugs goodnight. A warm glow came over me as i meandered drunkenly to my room and bed. Collapsing on my bed with my dress on, on top of my black duvet. Waves of bliss rained on me i was inordinately glad to have participate in such a sumptuous night of drunken adolescent abandon. A night devoid of anxiety apart from the beginning when butterflies and knots in my stomach were threatening to ruin my night with my university sisters. I drifted in a black out into prolonged unconsciousness in my sweaty creased dress not to wake until the midday with a abominable hangover.

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.

I’m A Beast

Can’t go out tonight had turn down my friends fervent requests to go out
I made the fateful error of looking at myself in the mirror without my makeup
A hideous malformed creature appeared in my bathroom mirror
With cracked blotchy and a pallid unappealing complexion

Teeth when i smiled looking gnarled unsightly not exactly immaculate Instagram teeth
A body bereft of personality a flat emaciated body
Dead languid eyes devoid of vitality no sparkle no vive just a sadness
I cant venture outside and inflict my deformed physical body on the rest of humanity

I’m a beast who needs to be confined to isolation
I’m a beast cover me up in a veil to mask by glaring imperfections
Even with a abundance of makeup applied to my face I’m still this unfuckable freak that men shudder in horror when they glimpse my visage

I’ve made a pact with myself to never peer into the mirror again
Removed all the mirrors in my bedroom placing them in my cavernous closet
The horror the hell of seeing me in the flesh having my illusions smashed in a 30 second scrutinisation of my facial features
I’m a beast who will never find love
I’m a beast who will never be touched held caressed by another man

Harrowing vivid Nightmare

I awake at 3 o’clock in the morning my forehead is soaked in sweat. I’m sitting upright on my single bed breathing heavily. Panting like a frightened dog after experiment a harrowing vivid nightmare that wrecked me with anxiety and distress. For the rest of the night and early mourning i was unable to fall back to sleep. I was sitting upright with my body enveloped in my warm luxurious duvet. Sitting upright shivering shacking back and forth unable to quell the anxiety from this awful evocative dream that my subconscious gave to me.

For days that proceeded this dream that brought to the forefront tragic memories from my adolescence i was rendered almost paralysed with angst and regressed into a acutely melancholic state. I managed to attend my university lectures under great psychological strain managing to hide my agony my deepening depression from my university cohorts. That’s all i did no socialising no getting drunk just retreating into the save enclave of my room where my anxiety dissipated. Days where i could barely muster the energy to venture outside to go shopping to attend lectures. I had to call in sick to my part time employment at the local bookshop dealing with customers for 8 hours was too much for my feeble fragile state. I simply informed my boss i was suffering from a stomach bug bed ridden from this temporary ailment.

I had resolutely concluded to make my newest YouTube video in which expound on my weekly battle with my mental illness on my nightmare. I try diligently to produce these videos on a regular basis but due to the impediments of my depression and social anxiety i put out these videos more sporadically. It had been more than a week since my previous video where i talked at length on suffering a panic attack in public. This attack occurred during a routine appointment at the dentist. The newest video will divulging in great detail my dream the vivid images that haunt my every waking moment.

It was 6:00 pm on a dreary Monday evening i was ready to record my video my weekly therapy session where the camera the audience acted as a surrogate therapist as i delineated my dream. I looked outside of my window the rain was coming down with venom I’m was glad to be inside sheltered from the weather. I closed my curtains making sure my student house was empty. All of my house guest were out living life to the fullest ensuring i was free to opine on my fragile mental state. I prepared my body and mind for the to camera oration i had carefully laid out my attire for this special event. There was a demure black dress and knee high gothic boots I had settled in my mind was appropriate garb to wear for this occasion. On these YouTube videos on my blogging channel I want to present a particular image. A image of a gothic enigmatic young women i want to appear attractive and alluring. Like my hitherto videos i wear a ornate decorated Venetian mask to obscure my hideous face. Yes the audience my measly collection of subscribers can see my gothic attire my dark black hair but I’m too self conscious to reveal my deformed face. On this day i place the ornately mask on my face I’m free whist having this mask to speak lucidly and clearly it doesn’t preclude me from being understood.

Placing the mask on my face look in the bathroom mirror seeing how my black dress hides my petite curves. I love the boots that reach the top of my knees they make me feel like a women being who emits a aura of coolness. Now I’m ready to record my video don’t know how long it will take to broadcast my ordeal to the world. I saunter tentatively to my eccentrically decorated room lock the door now I’m free to talk at length about my dream. My iPad is situated on my desk I’m standing in line with the camera as i will be delivering as per usual standing. When I’m standing i can express my emotions more clearly and show the emotions that have been suppressed since the harrowing nightmare. I press the record sign on the camera giving a 30 second delay as i can be facing the camera without the hassle or rushing back to my spot. I press the record with my trembling hands I’m filled with dread and exhilarated to disclose my anxiety in almost anonymity with a kind audience.

“ Hello viewers listeners new subscribers I’m new dawn fades this is my YouTube channel where I talk about my glaring mental health issues. Yes this is a mask planted firmly on my face. I’m acutely self conscious of my physical appearance especially my face. I suffer from a array of mental condition body dysmorphia depression and social anxiety hence why i like to obscure my unsightly face. Today though I want to talk about a dream/ nightmare i had about a week ago. For the past weeks I’ve been beset with a anxiety fears of occurring another panic attack. I’ve been too afraid to venture outside all steaming from this horrifying nightmare. In this vivid nightmare where I experienced a series of evocative dreams. I don’t want to bore you with every particular dream which I can recall. The last dream though which rendered me blighted with anxiety unable to sleep i want to talk about. The dream started I entered a room i walk through a immaculate white door entering with trepidation a room that seems so familiar. Theres a binding white light in this room then the light disappears revealing a white room with a white bed that evokes childhood memories. Theres somebody sitting with long flowing auburn hair delicately crumbing her hair next to a dressing table. She turns around its my mum who killed her self 5 years ago. She’s noticed be calls my name standing with majestic green eyes and fiery Irish red hair beckoning me over. I start to cry a profusion of tears as I hesitantly walk towards my mum seeing her face in this powerful dream. I for some unknown reason look at the ground i see a bed of roses that covers the entire floor it doesn’t hurt as my naked feet walk over these roses to embrace my mum. I reach my mums who face and body illuminates the room she’s looking resplendent. We embarked no words are exchanged its a deafening silence my mum with tenderness lays a passionate kiss on my left cheek. Then she hugs me i collapse into her arms. I’m crying uncontrollable with rivers of pent up sadness being purged from my eyes. My mum sheds a singular tear that tickles down her face. This lasts in this memory evoking dream for minutes or hours I have no concept of time in my deep subconscious state. Then i look at my mums iridescent face and she’s gone as her body is replaced by chards of broken glass that lacerate my body my face. I’m rendered distraught collapse to the floor with blood flowing from my wounds cry until i awoke from this harrowing short nightmare. I think about my mums constantly think about her suicide miss her everyday she never is absent from my thoughts but that dream has engendered the trauma of her death to the forefront of my mind. You don’t have to be a trained psychologist to realise this literal dream means i profoundly miss my mum. Seeing it though having a desire to talk to hug my mum one last time actualised then have her be vanquished away leaving physically and emotionally scared was horrifying. Sorry to speak for so long and to cry in these videos i try to make them more succinct and less emotional. So goodbye hope you enjoyed me recounting my nightmare if you like this video send me a like and subscribe to my channel.”


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

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