I’m a ugly girl such a fucking ugly girl
Ugly enough to not want to exist
Hate the skin i live in this bag of bones devoid of shape
No man looks at me with a lustful gaze i am a invisible to all men
I’m so ugly i cant stand the way I appear in the mirror
My pallid tipex like skin no colour no effervescence in my vapid face
I am so painfully self conscious of my gnarled deformed teeth
Smiling is a onerous task hence i prefer to refrain from baring my grotesque fangs adopting a stoic visage rarely laughing or smiling at jokes
I hate the mirror it illuminates all my glaring flaws its why in eschew the bathroom mirror
I put my face to the ground when I’m in the bathroom brushing my hideous teeth
The sight of my face my unshapely body my flat unappealing breasts it engenders a deep melancholic sensation throughout the rest of the day
I hardly go out due to this intense self consciousness at my freakish presence
I don’t want to burden people with my revolting physical form
Don’t want to face the hell of their aghast reactions to interacting with me
I’m so god damn ugly never going to be the object of a libidinous glances i am cursed to be a outcast sequestered away in extreme isolation never to feel the bliss of physical intimacy
Let me regale you of a euphoric night of pure hedonism
Spending a night with my university cohorts
A night devoid of sadness where my heart was in pure rapture
Drinking alcohol enjoying the geniality of my closest friends
The evening commenced as the sun was setting with a sublime kaleidoscopic sunset
We drank in our student accommodation
Voraciously downing a bottle of sumptuous white wine to experience the first bliss of drunkenness
Then our intimate tribe headed out to a myriad of pubs and clubs where are insatiable appetite for alcohol and engaging conversation would be satiated
Starting out in a few local pubs drinking pints of evocative cider
This cider sent my head spinning i felt the initial bliss in my bloodstream
Then he embarked on a series of nightclubs in which we danced with careless abandon
With the aid of a superfluity of alcohol we were lost in the night
Drinking dancing into the wee hours of the morning
No care no disquiet no sadness in the euphoria of the night
Smiling laughing as we luxuriated in each other conversation
As we danced we attracted the attention of lust filled glances of males admirers
For once I was imbued with a sensation of beauty of belonging
The profusion of alcohol the human contact the humanity flowing in the night
I was alive in states of rapture feeling the high of the whisky the vodka the cocktails
Not wanting the sublime night to end we traversed back to our student abodes we were floating like spirits in states of pure ecstatic being
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 have this envision of a perfect idealised idyllic existence
A life far removed from the my lonely life of creative disappointment
A life far away from the rattle and hum of my anxiety impaired urban existence
Its a life living in the lush British countryside
I have a charming beguiling man of my dreams by my side
We have cultivated through our unbreakable cosmic bond a family with 2 divine little angels
We live in a quaint english cottage in the south of England surrounded by all the trappings all the allure of nature
My husband like myself is a successful writer he writes as a opinion columnist whilst i am a bestselling eminent novelist who’s lauded for her works of creative genius
Its a idyllic pastoral setting where i am inspired to conceive a prolific prodigious output of novels
This dream life is devoid of the anxiety of living in the hustle and bustle of the city
I eschew being a celebrity and exist with my family a recluse who’s committed to raise two beautiful children
Days in our cottage are spent going on extensive hikes through this majestic countryside that assumes my anxiety disorder
Free from the anguish of the crowd residing in a sparsely populated place
I am liberated from my social anxiety disorder never having to endure the hell of a crowded club
In this dream life I fantasise about my mind is unimpeded from the manacles of depression
I am blessed in prolonged states of euphoric happiness living a enriching fulfilling coexistence with my heavenly man of my dreams and our angelic offspring
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.
Drifting away into realms of my subconscious
I dream in colour with a polychromatic visions that float through my unconscious mind
I am sailing through the vast wondrous galaxy with a awe inspiring incandescent stars beaming not my engrossed mind
Reds and blues and greens illuminate the horizon I’m in ecstasy
In this euphoric dream I’m free unchained from the manacles of anxiety and depression
I’m flying majestically through time and space
Experiencing true enlightenment as these psychedelic images transfix and beguile me
I’m on a cloud been taking higher and higher I’m on a different plain if being
This is heaven then suddenly my lover appears a immaculate image of masculinity
He stands before naked with a exquisite torso a face that beams out pure joy
He smiles iridescently at my direction my body quivers as electricity surges in me
suddenly he kiss as our trembling body are metamorphosed into works of art
The art changes then my unshaven toned lover is laying next to me on a floating cloud
We stare for hours into each other’s enchanting eyes
I witness a vast inner universe of beauty in him
The sky colour alters every second as we are higher in pure states of ecstatic being
This dream is a unique one
Devoid of nightmare our anxiety our suicidal fantasies
Its a psychedelic hallucinogenic vision of love of heaven
With the aid of cannabis and copious anti anxiety meds my atypical mind dreamed up a divine collection of dreams on a enchanting prolonged sleep
After another onerous day of interacting with strangers
After another vexatious day of awkward social intercourse
After all the anxiety all the toxicity that been accumulating inside of me like a volcano
I escape to my safe space a land of immersive video games
Its a virtual universe where I’m free from all the sadness all the stress of life
My anxiety my depression evaporates temporarily as i play for hours in linear single player video games
I can not only escape the world but myself my limited introverted introspective personality and become a alter ego a id
I sit down on the edge of my bed plug in my gaming headphones and begin hours of escapist immersive gaming
My favourite game is the last of us a breathtakingly beautiful and poignant game
A game which elicits me to cry on numerous occasions
I cry on a video game when important characters die so tragically
This game is my escape my 21st century literature
I hide in the enclave of my room forgetting all the troubles of being afflicted with a variety of mental disorders
The pain of existing dissipates as i plug in the video game and lose myself in a seductive virtual landscape
These worlds are my escape that inspire and inflame my imagination
After playing a engrossing linear first player game I’m inspired to create sublime works of literature