Why I Self Harm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Hate Myself And Want To Die

Can’t abide the pain of being me anymore
I hate myself so fucking badly and all I desire is for this hell to end
Viewed myself in the mirror today what a disgusting repulsive human I am
With gnarled disfigured teeth and horrendous pasty blotchy skin

I hate living in this body living in my head
Hate living with the anxiety the relentless self loathing the depression the panic attacks
It never abates it there like mould infecting me slowly being promulgated round my body like a cancerous tumour
Today though the misery of my forlorn alienated vapid life has grown too onerous to endure any longer I want death by suicide

Nobody loves me I’m a ghost waiting for the inevitable death
Nobody calls or enquires about me or asks me out for sublime evenings out any longer
I am gone from the realm of humans into this sequestered life existing bereft of meaningful human company
Never get kissed touched no one laughs with me I’m so fucking alone in this godless soulless universe I ache I yearn for a modicum of validation to reaffirm my humanity

I am a forsaken abandoned soul
Condemned to the ash heap of the world with all the other exiled lost souls
All I a want now is death
The pain my memory will vanish as I will die in a nihilistic brutal manner hanging my body in my lonely one bedroom flat

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 Miss You Mum

6 years this week you killed yourself
It hurts like acid burning a hole in my stomach
I miss you think about you everyday
Miss your hugs your effusive hugs you bestowed upon me

I miss you mum i cry when I hear your funeral song
I shed a profusion of tears when I gaze at photographs of you on my phone
I yearn for one last chance one last moment to bask in the iridescence of your external love

Still can recall seeing your haunted eyes as you hung from the ceiling
That image is tattooed on my ravaged mind
The wounds of losing you so prematurely and tragedy will never heal
I will never recover from losing you from suicide the hole in my soul can never be filled

Mum i need you in the mire the moil of my depression
I call out for you in the starry night as i survey the majestic awe inspiring cosmos i think about the memories we shared
I mediate on the future memories that was denied by from your egregious decision to end your life to abandon your daughter in the turmoil of her anxiety laden adolescence

The Infinite Breathtaking Beauty Of Nature

I venture outside into the lush verdant woods
Im engulfed by this serene vista of beauty
Surrounded by birds a vast array of trees
As i traverse deeper into the vast forest I hear a cacophony of birds singing that sends me into rapturous delight

I am all alone with no distractions no modern day technology
Nothing to send me anxiety escalating just the pure beguiling beauty of nature
I breathe a deep breathe inhaling this greenery
Close my eyes let me hand float in this serene air i am lost transfixed in this locale
No people no panic no dread only the simple pleasure of the outside far away from the rattle and hum of the urban environment

Soon i will have to vacate the infinite beauty soon my hike into the lush forest will be over
The birds sing a song communicating a complex language that takes me higher
I walk in my solitude occasionally sitting down to appreciate the unsullied elegance of the natural environment
Theres no concrete no man made creations in my sight just the gorgeous autumn trees that will soon shed their leaves

I have to go back now to the boredom the anxiety of my flat
Have to interact with strangers have to face myself
I don’t want to escape from this unspoiled paradise that’s bereft of the noise the cacophony of the city
I ache to live in a idyllic english cottage in close proximity to wooded areas to forest to waterfalls and rivers to inspire my imagination where i can write poetry and novels

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.

The Darkest Day Part 2

After a eternity as me and my grieving stoic father sat languidly in the funeral car directly behind the hearse containing my mothers decaying corpse. Then the rest of the funeral attendees got inside their respective vehicles and we could proceed to the church. It was a long arduous journey as we travelled at a agonising snaillike pace. My father and i sat in complete silence never uttering a single word to each other. I just sat with my haunted eyes observing the grim bleak landscape of my hometown on a drab soggy October morning. I looked at the heavens no sign of sun just a skyline covered entirely with bleak grey clouds threatening to erupt in a torrential downpour at any moment. For now though as we traversed to the church the rain ceased falling. My eyes were fixed on the road not wanting to look into the abyss of sadness that was my fathers despairing eyes.

I could see the church appearing on the road ahead. Dread and anxiety permeated my entire body i tried diligently to hold back the tears not show the world my father my family my mums friends the depths of my pain. My empty stomach rumbled i felt faint as if I could collapse or throw up at any moment. The colour drained from my face my hands were shacking i tried to maintain a control of my body despite the horrific reality of witnessing my mums funeral at the tender age of 13. My didn’t seem to notice my mini anxiety attack or a feeling of nausea i managed to conceal that from him. He was too lost in the darkness of his tortured mind living in his head pretending to camouflage his emotions by maintain a austere veneer.

He pulled up outside the church the hearse was their my mums body inside the funeral car. I looked at it intensely as the cavalcade of funeral mourners descended on the church to attend a forlorn religious ceremony. Again i felt overcome with a weakness i gritted my teeth bit my lip to hold back the waterfall of emotion that wanted to be get out. However i was a stereotypical middle class repressed english girl who was constitutionally unable to disclose my pain. Like my father and mum I concealed my emotional torment in the recesses of my fractured psyche.

Then it began the designated pallbearers we’re ready to carry my mums funeral casket into the church I looked at the casket with horror then i was told kindly by my father to go inside the church and sit in the front row. I walked inside this cavernous majestic church in my black gothic dress feeling so vulnerable. My lips quivered as i sauntered inside not knowing what to do with my body or how appropriately conduct myself. I perceived all these eyes on me judging my comportment on this dreadful occasion. Finally I reached my destination on the front row with my Irish grandparents from my mums side and my mums sister for company. Then i heard the sound of the pallbearers including my father struggling to carry my mums cumbersome casket. They huffed and puffed carry it under great strain but eventually were successful in carrying the casket onto the altar situated behind the priest. My father sat next to me as this scared solemn ceremony began. The priest gave a eloquent impassioned eulogy paying homage to my mum a charismatic affable extrovert who died so a tragically at the tender age of 39. He lamented her passing in his opening remarks as the fellow mourners were brought to tears with his kind words.

The priest said “Receive the Lord’s blessing. The Lord bless you and watch over you. The Lord make his face shine upon you, and be gracious to you. The Lord look kindly on you and give you peace; In the Name of the Father, and of the Son + and of the Holy Spirit.”Congregation: ” Amen.”

Then he delivered his poignant remarks that moved the majority of the congregation to tears apart from me who was paralysed with shock throughout the duration of this ceremony.

The priest said “. We are gathered here today to pay homage to the live of corrina wood who died tragically at the age of 39. She died unexpectedly in her home. Corrina was a warm affable women who brought colour and light into the lives of anybody she became acquainted with. She is survived by a loving respectable husband and a loving daughter. He cannot hide or deny the tragedy of her death to die so young not in her sleep or from a terminal illness but from self inflicted death. We must not resort to anger at her desperate decision to end her life. We cannot be laden with guilt at not recognising the signs of her internal pain. We must honour her life cherish the happy memories of a well lived enrich life. Friends and family of corrina must not let her memory fade away always carry her indelible memories in her hearts. I as a priest do not blame castigate corrina for her decision to end her life i feel a weight of immense sadness at losing a fellow parishioner. We have to remember all the joy the love she bestowed upon all of us. We must see the death of corrina as a example that life is finite precarious and precious. It will be over sooner than we think that whilst we are alive we must be diligent in savouring the luscious fruits of life and taking time to smell the roses. Yes today and the coming weeks months we will mourn the lamentable passing of corrina but never forget her memory the iridescent light she shone her devotion to her family. Her assiduous commitment to help the poor through her tireless charity work and her passion for music. Their are countless stories I’ve heard of past students that corrina vehement love of classical music impacted their life. I’ve heard anecdotes from family members of her infinite love impacted their life. I conclude this initial eulogy in never forget corrina whether you’re a lifelong friend or a dotting husband or loving daughter or a distant relative”

He concluded his impassioned unrestrained emotional charged erudite eulogy I looked around and saw a sea of teary eyed mourners. Whilst I wanted desperately to unleash my grief but remained a austere demure demeanour holding back the tears. My father like myself kept his lip stiff never breaking the stoic persona. I was paralysed with shock unable to adequately process the grief feeling almost catatonic. Wanting to escape the hell of witnessing my mothers funeral at the tender fragile age of 13…….