Why I Self Harm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End

Not long before I cease existing
I’m close to the end when I will take the decisive step to end my life
I can see the black oblivion of nothingness that will consume my soul
I can see my consciousness evaporating into another realm into the cosmos

The end is nigh when the torture of existing in this wretched body will end
I cant endure the hell of being me anymore
The anxiety the panic attacks the self harm the alienation the self loathing is too onerous to bare
I want death I long for the flickering light of life to be exhumed by the cruel hand of death

I’ve yearned for suicide for years ruminating the most preferable method of death
Surmised that death by hanging is what I deserve to die in excruciating agony
Having my neck asphyxiated by a rope I don’t desire a tranquil painless death I desire the blinding acid pain of death by hanging
I have meticulously planned my suicide making a itinerary of the day the drugs the music the note

Tomorrow I will end my life
I will render my body lifeless through a deleterious action
I want the permanence of death
Wanting the pain to die with me as my body limply languidly hangs from my bedroom door frame killing myself in the exactly same manner as my mum 7 years ago

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

Echoes

Outside my window I hear a cacophony of birds singing
The wind howls in this bleak autumn day
There a blanket of grey in the skyline that haunts my town
I hear the distant echoes of dogs barking children playing mothers bellowing

Inside my fortress of solitude there’s a absence of colour
I look around inside my domicile and am haunted my the isolation of my life
Nobody to share my life with an empty bed the bitter chill of my condemned adult alienation
Nobody to smile to laugh along with a icy silence that’s permeates my adulthood

No soul knocks on my door anymore no phone calls
Nobody to hug to kiss to embrace there nobody out there to alleviate my emotional suffering
I hark back to happier times in my childhood at uni when i lead a active gregarious life filled with colourful vivacious people
The laughter the joy the hope for the future now is just fading echoes like footsteps in the sand that vanish through the sands of time

I ache for somebody who wants to hear my laments of sadness
A soul who wipe away my tears who will acknowledge my depression
Who want disparage my pain my asocial proclivities
Theres nobody out there I’m been banished to the vast wilderness of my endless isolation

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.”

Voices In My Head

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

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

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

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

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

The Darkest Day Part 3

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

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

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

I was left diminished

When your light went out

It left a shadow on my soul

And my heart was left

As an empty vessel

By your absence

You now walk

In heavens light

Surrounded by Gods love

With angels song

On the scented air

As I sit cold and alone

In the home we shared

A place full of memories

Where once I felt so at home

Now I wish to be there no more

Reminded every waking moment

Of my cruel loss

So I sit alone and crave

The moment of my own passing

So our souls will be reunited

And we can be together once more

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

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

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