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

Freedom

I put on my noise cancelling headphones
Then the rhapsodic classical echoes into my ears
I’m in heaven laying on my bed letting the serene luscious music take me to a higher plain of consciousness
I close my eyes as psychedelic visions appear in my stoned mind

I am free now in a high state with the cannabis and the sublime music working in tandem to ameliorate my anxiety laden mind
The thoughts of sadness of a suicide of self loathing dissipate as the glorious sounds of a symphony life to a elevated otherworldly state of being
Theres no feeling of dread no heartbreak no depression nothing but the pure beauty of Mozart

I am free in my solitude with my closet confidant my most treasured music
The chains of my impaired personality are broken as my soul soars into the heaven i am exultant
The hallucinogenic visions continue to wash over me I’m getting higher and higher with my eyes closed in rapturous sensations

The symphony plays no distraction no hum and drum of urban life
The mind is in a a serene place bereft of melancholy
I meditate to the ethereal music that takes me to outer space
The cannabis and music has transformed my weary languid condition

A Passenger

Existing as a observer of life
Not actively engaging in the essential activities of the human race
I’m on the outside wanting to be a participant in the wonders of life
Wanting love wanting to traverse the globe and witness fantastical awe inspiring vistas but my disorder precludes me from venturing into the wide world

I gaze outside my window in the evening
Being transfixed by the glittering neon lights of the city
Seeing all the sounds smells evocative senses of the city that permeate my consciousness
I observe majestic psychedelic sunsets that render me breathless I don’t feel alive though i am afflicted with a dead sensation that pulsates my body and soul

Existing as a passenger a observer is the detrimental consequences of long term depression
All i do is watch not able to connect with people or take part in the wonders of being a human being
I cant break free from the manacles of depression i cant experience joy i am trapped in this body with a sick feeling
I want to travel to fall in love to let go of all the piss and shit that been building inside of me for years I want to experience for once bliss euphoria and not be this pain ridden passenger of life

I’m Ugly Living With Body Dysmorphia

The genesis of my body dysmorphia began as I entered adolescence. I was always this shy introverted who was acutely self conscious around my secondary school peers. Then a tragic event befall our family my mother committed suicide in my first year i attended secondary school the ptsd I incurred and the isolation i surmised exacerbated my body dysmorphia disorder. After losing my mum in harrowing circumstances i began to despise my physical appearance my flat featureless body my ashen face devoid of beauty. Going out to school or socialising with friends became a torturous endeavour i would apply a profusion of makeup to my face to mask my horrid face.

When my disorder started to affect the quality of my life i began to suffer from panic attack in public. Even simply mundane outings like going back and forth from the local shops were torture. When I did venture outside on rare moments apart from attending school i felt intensely self conscious. Feeling the icy wind hit my sweaty face the anxiety pulsating round my body. Then my heart is arcing i cant control my breathing as i walk towards the shop my feet are in a state of paralysis totally then i feel like dying. Desperately i would find a park bench or secluded spot to collapse to hide my anxiety attack. Then rather then braving a brief trip to the shops i would frantically run home to the serene shelter of my bedroom. This type of panic attack happened on countless occasions throughout my teenage years as i was enduring this secret disorder.

Rather than divulging my condition to a close confidant to my father or a doctor i hide my shame the revulsion I had for my grotesque body. Laing awake at night fantasising all the ways i could ameliorate my flaws with exorbitantly expansive plastic surgery. Getting a nose job a augmenting my flat breasts getting botox collagen in my lips whitening my teeth i theorised maybe i could be happy in my skin after a serious of plastic surgery operations. My self loathing caused me to become severely depressed almost suicidal the only way I could assuage my pain was to lacerate my arms in self harm. Taking a sharp piece of glass and disfiguring my arms then hiding the shame of my lacerated arms my wearing long sleeved shirts for weeks afterwards.

As my disorder progressed i developed this fear of mirrors. The trip to the bathroom mirror was this daily excruciating experience to view my face at the onset of a new day. I started to eschew looking into the mirror brushing my teeth or washing my face with my face looking at the taps. Only when i would go on nights out with my friends when I needed to apply a profusion of makeup to my ugly face would i view my reflection in the critical bathroom mirror. Even with layer upon layer of makeup with my red lips looking lustrous i would shudder in disquiet at this monster in the mirror. Then on these sporadic nights out i suffered the hell of seeing my pallid homely face in a mirror in a bar bathroom in a public toilet that horror of my ugliness magnified surrounded by a bevy of strangers would send down a spiral of anxiety and suicidal thoughts. If by chance i caught a glimpse of my face on a drunken night out with my friends i would usually suffer another panic attack hiding in the bathroom stall for minutes unable to breathe with tears cascading down my face. Then making a excuse why i would return to my sanctuary where i wouldn’t subject the general public to my deformed face.

The severe body dysmorphia continued from my adolescence into my tenure as a university student. The severity of my revulsion of my body didn’t abate it grow more acute. I devolved into a increasingly socially withdrawn creature only exposing my face to the world when it was essential to me functioning as a student. Such as attending lectures or going to my part time job. Time after time i turned down incessant requests for nights to go on holidays to attend musical festivals with my university cohorts. The increasing social anxiety and body dysmorphia made socialising with strangers for a protracted time feel like purgatory having unabated anxiety no assuagement from the this untreated hidden disorder. As i lived as a recluse i had these perennial suicidal inclinations as i was becoming isolated from society due to the living hell of my disorder and long term depression.

As this body disorder remained a shameful secret i found the idea of sex a impossibility. In my student years i embarked upon a measly 3 dates with potential lovers. These were agonising experiencing having my every flaw judged my a date having to make staid small talk. Feeling like these dates were a prank or a lost bet why would these alluring young men find me attractive. After the awkward date we exchanged a kiss on the cheek then never conversed as i ghosted these men. The thought of being intimate of having my emaciated ghost like body being naked next to a immaculate toned modern men filled my body with dread. Getting acquainted with conversation was arduous enough but sex kissing touching caressing sexual intercourse would be beyond my capabilities. Even though i fantasised habitually of the ecstasy of a falling in love and engaging in sublime sex with a hairless toned adonis. Despite all the trauma I have incurred in my 23 years when my body anxiety has metastasised into a impairing body disorder I have kept my pain my body dysmorphia hermetically sealed in the recesses of my damaged consciousness.

On umpteen times I have made a appointment for my local gp or seeked the help of a therapist who could treat my disorder. Then the day of the appointment arrives and the overwhelming fear of being vulnerable confiding in a doctor about my fractured mental condition has been too onerous to attend a appointment. I haven’t overcome my fears or talked to another soul about the hell I’m living with. One day if I’m ever going to become a fully functioning member of society with a husband with children with a enriching fulfilling life I’m going to need to disclose my depression my body dysmorphia with a qualified professional.

My Body

In the mirror I inspect my body
I am naked dissecting every flaw every crack
Looking at my pallid emaciated body with horror
No curves no shape just a flat 2d body devoid of personality

I have no ass its no bumps just a flat featureless ass
My breasts are tiny insignificant no man will be seduced by my tiny ittty bitty titties
My face with its hollow cheeks no colour no life
My bloodshot haunted eyes with no spark no joy no effervescence just a black vid of my soul

My body is a horror show a thing scrawny body that is devoid of beauty
No man is ever beguiled by my body my me
I am invisible a asexual nonexistent freak that wanders through life as a ghost
I want to be admired to be seen as beautiful to nee the object of male fantasises

As i stare meditatively at my body I realise i will always be ugly
I am doomed to be alone to never fall in love with such a unappealing featureless body
I wish i sparkled that my body emitted iridescent beauty
No i was a ugly teenager now I’ve transformed into a hideous adult lacking in a modicum of physical elegance

The Ecstasy Of Self Harm

Its a Sunday evening i am laying on my black and white duvet gazing at the white featureless ceiling preparing my body and soul for a evening of blissful masochism. Its been months since my last glorious self harm session. I have been lacerating my under arm for years since i was 14 years old. The aftermath of my mothers suicide at the tender age of 13 left me severely depressed almost to the point where i was contemplating suicide and emulate my mums suicide. Self harm was a escape from all that pent up sadness all the anger all the desolation of being a teenager who lost her mother. I would cut my arms with a dangerous sharp piece of glass. Cutting my arms from the same exact piece of glass for years a. As i cut into my arms with reckless teenage enthusiasm i felt waves of euphoria that permeates throughout my angst ridden teenage body. I through this deleterious action was able to purge all this negativity all the anxiety all the depression.

Rather than divulge my darkest secrets to a therapist of a close confidant i opted to permanently scar my arms my cutting deep as a profusion of blood flowed as i cut. After a night of privately cutting my arms after the bliss had worn away i had to keep this symptom of a untreated disorder a secret. I would spend weeks wearing longs sleeve shirts never bearing my arms to anybody never being vulnerable. This injurious habit remained a secret i only expressed why i commit self mutilation through unpublished poetry and short stories.

Today as the sunsets on a sweltering June evening in a uncharacteristically hot english Sunday i am preparing to once again cut and severe my arms as a way of purging all this toxic anxiety from my adult body. I am 18 now a university student i have preserved this dangerous habit of self mutilation from my tumultuous adolescence into the alienation of my adult life. I have locked the doors of my gothic bedroom now i am safe and secure to begin the action of self harm. All week as I have been attending university classes and going to work at the local bookstore which supplement the exorbitant cost of my university education. The stress the suicidal thoughts have been buildings to today when i need to extricate the anxiety the depression from my emaciated body.

Two weeks ago i suffered a harrowing panic attack on my journey to the dentist it was traumatic and emotionally scaring. Since than I have been trapped in a vicious cycle of a severe anxiety and escalating depression. I have nobody i feel i can safety confess or unload my thoughts to. I have student friends and housemates which i am close to put never would i reveal my battle with mental illness and disturbing habit of self harm. Today i need to expunge the pain the disquietude from my body and feel the pure ecstasy of self harm.

I lock the door double check now I’m certain it’s locked tight and i can began this ritualistic masochistic act. I have a itinerary of self harm that I meticulously carry out its the same tasks I perform since i was a precocious teenager suffering from depression and alienation. Firstly i pour a shot of American bourbon whisky into a tumbler glass. I ebulliently devour the shot of this delectable whisky that sends my head spinning.

Then i begin to play the music in my headphones i am paranoid my housemates will realise I’m playing music too loudly and enquire what I’m doing in the privacy of my sanctuary. The music i play at a thunderous almost deafening volume is a collection of meditative modern electronic music. The trippy sounds of tangerine dream reverberate in my consciousness. I have taken to play electronic ambient psychedelic music as i disfigure my once unblemished arms.

With the serene music pulsating in my ear drums i collapse to the floor and sitting with my legs crossed in a mediative position. I am sitting proximate to my dead mothers shrine which is situated on the antique chester draw. I mediate with the music and the beguiling effects of the alcohol that incrementally alters my perception of reality. After approximately 10 minutes of intense mediation in which i am preparing myself for the mutilation ceremony i get up roll a joint of cannabis. I smoke this big fat luscious cannabis joint with youthful exuberance. The hallucinogenic cannabis fills my lungs and transforms my mind my mood. This consciousness changing substance elevates me the anxiety dissipates in me i am in nirvana i am floating in the sea of tranquility.

Then with my stoned spaced out body i get up walk over to my chester draws look with haunted sadness at the assemblage of my mums photographs a single tear flows down my face. Then i gather myself wipe the fear from my porcelain face. I reach into the draw garb a maliciously sharp piece of broken glass. Its the same exact piece of broken glass that i used for my first foray into the ecstasy of self harm. I look at with a gleam in my eye i am salivating with anticipation at the thought of another session of cutting my arms.

My body is intoxicated with the brew of alcohol and psychoactive cannabis. I am stoned slightly drunk from a few shots of whisky before I commence the cutting i hit another shot of bourbon whisky. Another hit my head is spinning i am lost in a alcohol dreamland. I then get down on the floor with the tranquillising electronic music blaring in my ears and garb hold of the piece of glass. My right arm is shacking i struggle to keep the glass in my hand. I compose my body which is pulsating with adrenaline i garb hold of the glass.

Then I slowly and methodically started to lacerate my underarm with the piercing glass blade. My mind is transformed into a elated state as i watch the blood flow from the deep cuts. There’s no pain no sadness no despair as the anxiety is purged from my body. Again i strike my underarm with cut after cut laceration after laceration a profusion of blood is flowing from my arm. I feel for once alive i am feeling my pain i am a human a sentient being not numbing or repressing my pain but letting it flow from my body. This is euphoria this is a release of anxiety from my body its a cathartic experience a almost transcendental religious experience.

The panic attacks the body dysmorphia the depression the social anxiety all that pent up toxicity is expunged from my body. For once for a night i am emancipated from all the melancholy the torment of being me. I look at the wounds i take the blood run my right arm across the wounds and smear the blood on my face. I am lost in the moment in the exaltation of self mutilation with the aid of various chemicals that numb my body to the pain. For hours i lay on the floor in a mediative serene state listening to music feelings the pleasure of a night of cutting. Tomorrow the pleasure will be replaced by the excruciating physical pain that will parallel my emotional pain. However tonight the torture of being a alienated mentally ill women is replaced by the pure joy of self harm. Self harming my arms is a twisted sick for of therapy where i purge my body I let go of the pain. I’m too emotional repressed too unable to be emotionally vulnerable to another soul hence i commit physical harm on my scared body.

The next day I awake with my arms seething in agony. The pain is torturous i can hardly move Its that bad. I walk to the bathroom with weariness where i look at the grotesque sight on my left and right arm. Arms that are hideous that reflect how i see myself on the inside. On the inside I am a ugly deformed freak who is not fit to be loved who is barely human. Now the pain the ghastly sight of these scars are a illustration of my depression my self loathing.

In the bathroom i gently apply disinfectant to the multitude if lacerations. There’s a serous risk of these wounds becoming infected they are deep cuts that need to be adequately treated. The disinfectant is severely painful as I apply with tissue paper . Still the pain is intense it will though be a reminder of the pain of being me . I have marked branded my body with my untreated undiagnosed mental illness. I diligently make sure my arms are covered at all times wearing long sleeved shirts never baring my wounds to anybody. I hide my pain my self harm only i get to view these wounds only i will understand whats its like to be affected with a crippling anxiety disorder and depression.

Fucked Up In The Head

I’m damaged I’m broken I’m so fucked up in the head
I hear voices they scream they bellow at me
They call me ugly they call me a bitch
These voices make me paranoid they tear me apart

In public I’m so anxiety ridden i suffer from a panic attacks
I feel so intensely self conscious i feel people’s judgmental cold eyes on me at all times
They are laughing at me casting derisive opinions on my unappealing physical appearance
I don’t feel safe and secure around people i am in a perpetual state of panic i long to be alone in the sanctuary of my humble abode

I’m fucked i will never be free from this pernicious illness of social anxiety and paralysing body dysmorphia
I gaze in the mirror and see a deformed freak with a grotesque face
My skin makes me shiver and crawl on the inside
I feel sick living in this broken ravaged body and this defective mind

I will never have a boyfriend
Never get to experience the nirvana of falling in love
I am cursed to exist with acute social phobia that precludes me from enjoying the luscious fruits of love
No sex no love no travelling around the world just agonising never ending anxiety