Chapter 2 My Seemingly Normal Childhood

I was born in the autumn of 1984 in a working class northern town in England. Birthed into this world in the town of Mayberry raised by two normal parents. Their names were Sarah and David Harratt they named me Patrick. It was a stereotypical rundown humdrum derelict working class town that had suffered the devastating effects of de-industrialisation of mass unemployment. A urban landscape where grass never grew where dreams were crushed under the suffocating atmosphere of endemic poverty of my hometown.

A town where the citizens were trapped in a endless loop of tedious low paying dead end employment. This was a town in which dreamers people who aspired to achieve anything in life fled to fulfil their dreams. No hope no real life no excitement would reside in this rat trap of a town.

Even as a child i was struck by the lack of beauty the absence of colour of vibrancy that existed in Mayberry. The landscape was permeated with a bleakness with images of grey, black and brown streets. There was black cobbled streets with empty factories. Which once were filled with bustling thriving industry now these factories laid empty ruined. There was a atmosphere of sadness that ran through the town. Industry had died to be replaced by warehouses thriving prosperous industry employment superseded with meaningless low skilled minimum wage labour.

The death of vibrant factory industry factory industry gave way to poverty to desperation to alcoholism to rampant drug addiction. This is the land the atmosphere i derived from. The town of Mayberry was a microcosm of industrialised town and cities across 1980’s Britain. With mass unemployment fading failing industries to be replaced service job with meagre pay. These were the harsh conditions that surrounded my childhood. Despite the endemic poverty my parents weren’t poor more like lower middle class.

My mother Sarah was a qualified hairdresser working in a salon earning a responsible living. It wasn’t the usual paltry wages you would be expected to earn in a factory. Working as a hairdresser afforded my mum a more prosperous lifestyle. The conditions of a hair salon were considerably more favourable and sociable. Where the conditions the agreeable atmosphere was far removed from the stress from the tumult of factory life.

My father like my mother had liberated himself from the struggle from the grind of factory and warehouse labour. For all of his life he had worked as a plumber earning a respectable living. It was a occupation which afforded him to escape the uncertainty the economic austerity of being employed in a factory. My family consequently weren’t poor trapped in poverty like other families. We had a more comfortable existence never had to endure the adversity of living paycheck to paycheck or bein unemployed.

These were the economic conditions that my parents extracted themselves from. Rising above the trappings of poverty of endless economic struggle to a relatively well off lower middle class life. They escaped the estates the council houses moving away from the impoverished area of town. Owning property in the affluent suburbs away from the rough area of town.

My parents when i was born were two people who loved each other greatly. Having me when they were in their early twenties. I was their first mistake an unanticipated pregnancy yet they loved me abundantly throughout my childhood. My mother Sarah was a warm extrovert who exuded a love of life. She was a gregarious character, loving the social occasion. All of her life had a great capacity for forming friendships. She was vastly different to my introverted reclusive emotionally robotic personality. She had immense warmth people found her amicable generally enjoying her friendly countenance. She was considered attractive often changing her hair colour, routinely altering her physical look out of a deep need to remain a attractive. Despite her confident demeanour and outgoing persona Sarah regularly dealt with severe bouts of depression. Also in contrast to her open nature my mum kept these feelings hidden struggling to cope with the black dog of depression. Unlike myself she was able to unburden herself seeing a qualified professional. My mother had the fortitude had the emotional intelligence to address her prolonged states of depression. I on the other hand never had the courage being too emotionally repressed too damaged to ever divulge my emotional problems to a paid therapist or counsellor. This was my mother a open hearted emotionally accessible individual who was the epitome of maternal love who protected and loved her children. A emotionally damaged soul who struggled through life. Who had intermittent bouts of depression a trait i inherited from her. I didn’t inherit the emotional transparency of social lucidity but the melancholy the protracted periods of desolation. I wish i could be like my mother enjoy people enjoy humanity enjoy existing outside of my self imposed solitary confinement that is my life.

My father had a almost diametrically opposed personality type to my mother. He was a shy introvert almost withdrawn with a sparse circle of friends. My father David is nowhere near as introverted or emotionally glacial as me. He did though share my inability to express his emotions to people he felt an affinity towards. He was born into a poor working class family where you had to work in the suffocating factory to support the family. He was nourished in this grim environment where you worked a hard job to make ends meet. You never expressed your deep feelings keeping your lips stiff remaining emotionally repressed. Never was it acceptable for a man to be vociferous with his worries or inner torments. My father as previously mentioned through ambition and a staunch desire to escape the humdrum the oppression of working in a stifling factory setting trained to be a plumber. He escaped that life which to him was akin to being a prisoner or a indentured servant to the proprietor of the factory. Getting a trade as a plumber afforded my father a reasonable living. It was a liberation from the hardships of endless poverty, from the toxic work that gradually erodes all the hope all the light from you. He prospered in the lack of routine in being emancipated from the angst of the 9 till 5 monotonous schedule. By having the ambition the intelligence to pursue a plumber apprentice it meant he was elevated from the bleak prospect of subsisting on starvation wages to a more affluent vocation.

As i said previously my father David personality was in stark contrast to my mothers lively extroverted disposition. He was a shy introvert who struggled to ventilate his emotions especially to me. Striving with tremendous adversity to formulate friendships outside of his intimate group of lifelong friends. In many social situations when he was surrounded by strangers in unfamiliar company he appeared incongruous with an air of awkwardness. Still around his acquaintances he was lively dispensing with the austere countenance the aloofness he adopted around strangers. Around the warmth of friends there was a different person a fun loving convivial soul. My father could be funny with a dry sardonic wit capable of biting remarks. Around lifelong friends he exhibited warmth which he found tremendously difficult when meeting strangers.

David met my mother Sarah in the early 80’s it was the serendipitous meeting of two contrasting personalities. My mother this sociable women who exuded a effusive spirit and loved people. My father was this quiet shy soul who had friends but struggled around unfamiliar company. Yet these antithetical personalities connected physically and spiritually. It was amazing they connected they seemed not right for each other on the surface. The bond of love and friendship that was cultivated in a short period of time would endure for a lifetime. It was a relationship that faded slightly through the ravages of time but in the beginning in the initial period of marriage was a glorious alliance of love. Love, marriage and children that were harvested in a difficult conditions where this poverty and mass unemployment. My parents had the fortitude to go into vocations which weren’t dead end soul destroying jobs. Even a hairdresser a service sector job which paid a sufficient wage was elevation from menial labour. My father working away from the manacles of the factory giving a strong foundation for his children. Increasing opportunity for his offspring being away from the council estates into the middle class suburbs of Mayberry.

In autumn of 1984 was when David and Sarah brought myself into the world. I was a unexpected arrival a unplanned mistake. Yet in my early years I was showered with affection with love especially from my mother. At that point i had the semblance of normality of being a fully functional toddler with no abnormal behavioural issues. A few years after i was born my parents had another child a sister they called her Racheal. Racheal only 2 years my junior so for the majority of my childhood it was a close bond. We were more like close friends than brother and sister. Having a sister enabled me to mask my personality imperfections allowing me to connect to someone close to my age. It’s was a kinship based on bonds of blood and genuine friendship. My sister unlike myself was a extrovert who displayed confidence in social situations. Whereas i was a slow developer in my cognitive development. Taking longer to learn to walk to talk my sister was more agile in her early development as a infant. My stunted development was a symptomatic of my deficient interpersonal intelligence rather than a indication of a stunted intelligence My sister was more verbally dexterous and was more proficient in unfamiliar social situations. Still there was no indications up to this point of my dysfunctional nature

It wasn’t until i enrolled in primary school at the age of 5 when my parents and teachers viewed me as anything other than a normal socially adept child. When i began to go to school my social shortcomings my inept verbal skills became apparent. Teachers started to notice how uncommunicative how antisocial i was. How I barely spoke had difficulty in interacting with my fellow classmates. Struggling to forge any friendships i became this adrift aloof socially marginalised child. Now the genesis of my personality defects started to be exposed to the world. As teachers were concerned at my abnormal behaviour believing i had signs of learning difficulties or that i was severely impaired socially. As a 5 year old i was therefore suspected of being autistic or that i was on the autistic spectrum. Was never professional diagnosed by a child psychologist but was required to have a special needs teacher. A teacher appointed to assist me with my limited communication aptitude. The teacher did help me to formulate responses in unfamiliar anxiety inducing social scenarios.

Being suspected of being on the autistic spectrum left me with lasting emotional scars. From this moment on i would forever regard myself as a outsider a socially marginalised figure. Needing a verbal coach left me feeling this sense of separation this deep rooted alienation from my peers. Before being required to see a special needs teacher i can recall seeing myself as a normal child having normal reactions existing in a realm of normality. From onwards seeing a vocal teacher who helped with my stunted behavioural problems i was uprooted from the classroom once or twice a week. This professional hoped to train me to converse like a normal child to learn to function with some semblance of normality. This period of being mandated a elocution teacher was intensely emotionally scaring permanently damaging how i perceived myself how i related to other people. It’s when i began to have these dark impressions of myself. Started to truly hate myself to have regard myself as a other a alien. From my early misdiagnosis of autism i struggled to connect adequately with my fellow classmates. Attempting with great adversity to form friendships. However being taken away branded as a social freak in mr preliminary school education left with wounds that would never heal. The school my parents tried diligently to help me to adjust to school to ameliorate my limited personality.

In hindsight i believe that I was clearly misdiagnosed as bring autistic. It was undeniable i exhibited symptoms characteristics that could be attributed to somebody impeded with being autistic. In reality i was abnormal child who had a atypical personality who was showing the first signs of a pathological personality disorder. The initial indicators of being schizoid were apparent with the terse laconic conversational patterns. The inability to foster meaningful friendships, the apathy towards other humans problems. The almost robotic restricted range of emotions having a reluctance a reticence to display my inner feelings. The habit of spending hours alone separated from other humans. Even as a small 5 year old child having this inclination for isolation for disappearing into my imagination. As a child having this proclivity of hours upon hours being engrossed with my toys with my cars fantasising about being a racing driver being somebody not encumbered with a defective introverted personality. Escaping into fantasy this vast alternative reality I existed in. Daydreaming a method of liberating of escaping the reality of being me. In the universe of fantasy I could exist vicariously thorough various alter ego figures. In fantasy embarking on exciting adventures escaping the humdrum of life in Mayberry. Breaking out of the chains of the prison walls of being this way. Being a pirate being a astronaut going on glorious expeditions to unexplored worlds. This vivid fantasising was a manifestation of my desires of the person the life i aspired to have. This confident charismatic extrovert who traversed the globe who was absolutely free living a life with no limitations. A individual who could connect with people with ease who lived with no walls no bars no restrictions from his internal neurosis. I always had this propensity this aversion from indulging in genuine human interaction by escaping to a isolated fantasy world. The fact was at this moment my fantasy escapades were just a part of a overreactive imagination. I think at the time it wasn’t anything unusual it was something a plurality of children escape into vivid daydreaming. Especially shy children who struggle to create friendships in their formative years. The fantasising was though the beginning of my condition which would fully escalate into a severe disorder in early adulthood.

At school though i stopped having the special needs help. The verbal training enabled to advance my stunted linguistic skills. After several years i become a seemingly normal child despite my peculiar habits. Was able to cultivate friendships to break free from my verbal and emotional paralysis. As i entered school i felt a modicum of normality despite my imbedded feelings sense of worthlessness and alienation. Became a ordinary schoolchild who wasn’t seen as particularly odd just a quiet laconic shy child. The experience being separated being branded abnormal with negative perceptions of myself which would endure throughout my life. Having this loneliness at the time this deep need to hide away to escape the environment that surrounded me. Always feeling like a alien creature like I wasn’t truly a human being who didn’t belong in this world. I can recall having dark envisions of my bleak adulthood that I’d be completely alone unhappy struggling to adapt in a cold cruel ecosystem. Envisioning that I’d be a loser with not friends in a dead end job unfortunately this dark prophecy came true.

Other people didn’t regard me as weird seeing me as normal despite my social deficiencies. The reality of my childhood was that i had a limited capacity for genuine emotional expression experiencing life without colour viewing the world through a black and white emotional spectrum. There were all these colours all these suppressed emotions crying to get out locked inside my emotionally constipated mind. Yes i was able to function to equip myself at school to become a balanced functional schoolchild. Breaking free from the verbal muteness from the dysfunctional behaviour learning to appear sane to put on a mask of normality. I drifted through my tenure at primary school being a standard average schoolmate never excelling. I would socialise with my classmates outside the realm of the classroom being invited to birthday parties. Partaking in ordinary childhood social events giving me a facade of normality. Managing to improve my behaviour to be accepted within a circle of friends finding these feelings off self loathing dissipated somewhat.

My relationship with my mother and father as previously mentioned had the appearance of normalcy. My mother was this figure of warmth and compassion. She was their for me recognising my faults pushing me vociferously to get help for my conversational problems. With my attachment to my mother I felt human sensing i mattered in this world. It was this emotional blanket this shelter that alleviated my anxieties my abnormal habits. Indeed family life was at this crucial time in my development a source of comfort. In the family enclave i was showered with love with kindness. At this point in my childhood my mother and father were in a healthy happy relationship.

My relationship with my father throughout my life was a strained one. He did love though foiund it a immemsly onerous task to display any emotion. There was love there was random acts of kindness however it was a austere love not built on spontaneous acts of physical affection or encouragement. As I entered school and began to exhibit abnormal behaviour struggling to adapt to this new environment my father didn’t know how to respond to my social maladroitness. Our relationship as i was misdiagnosed with suffering from childhood autism became emotionally detached. As i was encumbered with my limited social skills my inability to express myself emotionally my father with his introverted withdrawn character found it impossible to connect with me to comprehend what i was going through.

At the inception of my primary education was the genesis of my detached relationship with my father. From this moment onwards we had this cold unaffectionate relationship. I understood he loved me even with his cold aloof emotionally repressed nature. He was somebody who was a incredibly old fashioned men a product of a time when British men never divulged their feelings. Where it was socially unacceptable to cry to appear emotionally vulnerable to other men. He was a old fashioned personality type totally unequipped in dealing with somebody with abnormal personality. He did love me but was precluded from expressing his feelings for me with his stereotypical english emotionally repressed austere comportment.

My childhood was a childhood of relative happiness permeated with copious happy memories despite my melancholic view of myself. Memories of great days out enjoyable holidays at home and foreign exotic destinations. Holidays where I didn’t perceive myself as a social outcast but found myself as another ordinary child being imbued with the wonder the beauty of being alive as a infant. It was with my family dynamic where i would discover order where there was assuagement from the external struggles i faced mainly at school.

The ameliorating relationship with my amiable sister allowed me to cope with the hardships i endured. My sister Rachel was a only a few years my junior therefore we were able to relate being of a similar age we had this emotional bond. With my sister there wasn’t this constant exertion and anxiety when vocalising my thoughts. With Racheal I was verbally lucid i was free to be myself. There wasn’t the crippling shyness the emotional constipation i found amongst strangers my own age. We were kindred spirits a connection built upon a genuine friendship. A friendship cultivated on love on the bonds of family. Friendships were these precious elusive gems that were challenging to forge to maintain. With my sister it was easy sharing all this joy all the beneficial memories. My family was this shelter this tranquil serene environment that temporary protected me from the storm of meeting new people. The family milieu enabled me to medicate myself from my social impediments helping me overcome my early behavioural issues. With my childhood intimacy I experienced with Racheal i never felt alone I understood i had another soul to connect with to mitigate the alienation of being a abnormal child. Throughout my early formative years it was this blind helping me to overcome these social hurdles facilitating my integration into mainstream society.

Overall my childhood was a relatively normal one. I overcome my early social antipathy my impassiveness to other humans. After the special needs training helped me to improve my verbal acuity I adjusted forming long lasting childhood friendships. The most severe negative personality evaporated as a result of the help from the vocal teacher who radically improved my conversational proficiency. Still i was left psychological wounds with deep rooted character flaws that persisted with me into my adulthood. Having this loneliness this inability to relate to people to competently convey my emotions. Being entrenched in this painfully shy personality never breaking free from the walls of my introverted persona. Indeed outside of school and immediate family other friends remained elusive incredibly rare occurrences. The occasional sporadic friendship developed but i remained alone away from the school life. Throughout my infant years was this aloof weird alien creature struggling to function in a frightening harsh world. On the surface was this normal child but the early signs of a personality disorder were all their. The predilection for solitude the propensity to escape into a elaborate fantasy daydreaming existences. The struggle to connect with people to have friends to be normal to not feel so alien so socially adrift. Still was able to find normality to find alleviation from anxiety. Procuring a tiny slither of happiness gaining real emotional binds that have been glaringly absent in my adult life.

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.

Red

Red the spectacular awe inspiring colours of the sunset
As I gaze at this psychedelic vision on the horizon
Whilst instantaneous getting high on this potent cannabis
Images memories from my past my turbulent tragic adolescence flood into my stoned consciousness

A singular tear forms on my left eye lid
It runs down my face as the dazzling crimson sunset evokes vivid memories of my deceased mum
In this sunset I hallucinate my mums cascade of auburn hair
I imagine her emerald green eyes starting intensely with warmth and boundless love back at me

I see her ethereal face in this majestic red hot picturesque July sunset
Outside my window in my dank flat I’m transported into another time and place
A time of innocence when I wasn’t burdened with sadness with the hell of my adulthood
I can taste my mums lustrous hair her perfect iridescent smile
I imagine having her hug me holding my tear drenched ashen face placed firmly against her bosom

I’m not here in reality lm lost in the realm of fantasy
Lost to the past dreaming of a life where tragedy hadn’t befall my family
I take another hit from my pipe a deep breathe the powerful psychoactive cannabis takes me higher
The sunset beauty brings me joy through the tears as I’m beguiled by the array of polychromatic colours that illuminate the landscape

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