A Deeper Shade of Black.

It's quietly simmering away
the pretence of things being okay.
I can't look at your face, I'm ashamed
'cause inside I know I am claimed.

I can't change the past
so I won't even try.
How can we last
when we just collide?

We're too alike
and that's why we fight.
But it tears me up inside
to see you cry

I miss you like;
A plant would miss the water and the sun,
like a suicidal would miss a loaded gun.
If I could,
I'd kiss you like you'd never been kissed,
if I thought your heart could be won.

I've found myself on the event horizon
the point of no return.
I'm Icarus flying too close to the sun
And, like hell, it burns.

Whenever I try to resist
you cripple my resolve
with just one unconquerable blow.
The fog descends into mist
leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Walls closing in without a sound
Sunny skies overcome by cloud
Hearts sinking like the Titanic
With even less life boats
It makes me sick
I can barely cope.

Hands strangling me which are not there.
Crippling my body, starved of air.
Vice grip on my heart
I no longer care
if I live or I die.
Not my decision to share. 

Pictures collected. 
Memories filed. 
Access denied. 
Too painful to smile. 

On the surface there's anger
inside is a disaster zone
Is there much point in putting pen to paper
when my soul is all alone? 

I've got a black hole where my heart used to be
I stand shackled and chained to the floor
Prisoner in a world, but I don't want to be set free
I don't want the key that opens that door. 

Pills don't ease the pain
Just leave me feeling numb
I should be used to this
This is the life I've claimed
Twenty-two years, it's become
Almost something I'd miss. 

Pain is my affliction
Without it, I barely function
Never been stable, nights full of tears. & cries
It's an addiction
With all the lows & none of the highs
That's what happens when a child is born into dysfunction. 

Life seems to be redefining me constantly
Don't even recognise my reflection in the mirror
The changes I see are more than a little unsettling
Find myself wanting to go from Saint to Sinner. 

Flames burning the candle 
at both ends.
Feelings getting hard to handle,
and no one understands. 

Nobody but you. 

You're my Cocaine, Weed & Ecstasy all in one
my Ultimate high & Beautiful come-down
Every time I say "I'm done"
I find my decision gets turned upside down.

With just one smile. 

So put my mind at ease
And let me heal your wounds
I need to find a bittersweet release
To settle this chaotic mood. 

I've gone from being down on one knee
To being down on both. 
The emotion inside me is relentlessly fierce
How can you think I'd want to be free
From the person to whom I'm betrothed?
I'm dying a painful death like a major artery has been pierced

I still don't wish to escape this fate. 
I'm at the apex of this learning curve
Maybe this pain is the retribution my soul deserves
Am I to blame for the problems my past creates?

Paranoia - People are staring. Do they see through my façade?
Insecurity - I'm not good enough. 
Jealousy - What's he got that I haven't?
Guilt - Is this all my fault?
Fatalism - This was always going to happen. 

I don't deserve happiness.

What possible start
could a young child have,
when they've been told they're bound to wind up a criminal?
Doesn't it matter what's in my heart?
Or am I forever exiled from being saved?
I refuse to accept that sentence, I stand bold.
I'm a fucking fighter; I have been from the very start

Like Atlas, there's a world on my shoulders
Cupid has no place in this
The one I need is Anteros
Like Icarus, I'm a moth to the flame. 

I'm the Achilles, you're my heel
I am Perseus and this depression is my Medusa
I'd sacrifice anything to be unable to feel
Many would have given up, I refuse to

And just like my mind, this is spinning out of control
It may be chaotic but it soothes my soul
Keeps me warm and safe from the cold
These words forever immortal, can not get old...

Valentines Day, 2009.

"I’m gonna kill you!” She yelled as she ran towards me, the knife in her hand. Her eyes used to be a mesmerising shade of hazel. Now they seemed almost possessed, infuriated, and dangerously out of control. 

As she made one swift movement with her left hand I thought I had been punched. I fell to the floor cradling my stomach struggling for Oxygen Winded. Something warm and wet trickled over my fingertips and onto the carpet.

Blood.

Then the pain hit me. I whined as it ripped through my stomach. “Shut the fuck up!” She pulled me onto my feet by the back of my t-shirt and screamed into my face. “I’m gonna fucking kill you!” What had I done to make her so mad? Did I forget to get the Milk on the way back from work? What had I done this time?

She walked over to the window, her body trembling. “Why am I surrounded by bloody idiots?” My eyes struggled to focus on her back as she turned to face me. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, retard!” 

I couldn’t focus.

She came at me again. Eyes wide open. Teeth clenched together. The vein rose in her temple as she stared into my eyes. I grabbed the nearest thing to me. A baseball bat. As she moved to hurt me again, I swung the bat. It connected with the inside of her wrist, sending the knife flying out of her hand and crashing onto the table.

She let out a low whine, cradled her wrist and stared at me with her war face. Her body straightened up slowly as she turned to face me dead on. A smile crept through her face. Her eyes smiled with it. She rubbed her wrist again and began to walk towards me. Slow and full of confidence. I backed up until I tripped onto the bed. A twinge of pain was met by my hands hastily attempting to subdue it. My retreat was followed by her slow fluid movement towards me, her face softening as the ‘puppy dog eyes’ made it to her face again. 

“Aww, what’s up baby K bear? There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just me. You know what’s so great about fighting?” she smiled again, that beautiful smile. “We get to make up”.

“I-I’m bleeding” 

“It’s just a scratch babe” she sat down beside me, and ran her fingers over my hips. “Normally this works really well” she winked at me this time.

“I c-can’t. I think I need to go to a hospital” 

She ran her fingers over the inside of both of my wrists and gripped them tightly, forcing them over my head. I let out a low moan, the skin around my wound stretched. Inducing more pain.

“You like it rough, do you?” she mocked, a malicious expression infected her familiar eyes, ridding them of any ounce of compassion that she had left.

“Please don’t” but my plea was no use. That just fuelled her motive. Her face hardened, her eyes seemed to hone in on something I had said, like a guided missile. Another smile found its way to her lips.

“Why not? You’ve never said no before. Besides, whatever you don’t give me, I will take from you.” I opened my mouth to speak. She used one hand to trap both of mine and pressed a finger to my mouth. She smiled, leaned into my ear, whispering “Just like your lovely stepdad did when you were seven”

I froze. I had never told anyone else that. I just wanted to forget it. I knew it could be used against me. But I trusted her. She let out a schoolgirl giggle. “Hit a nerve? Come on, take your clothes off” she started undoing the buttons of my work shirt. Flashbacks met my mind with unparalleled power. That Saturday, in summer. I couldn’t go through all of this again. I’d come so far.

“Stop!” I yelled half at her and half at the memory. Her eyes widened with surprise. I’d never raised my voice to her before. She sat on my lap, still holding my wrists above my head. She leaned in to me her eyes fixed on mine. She came so close to me that I could almost taste her breath. Her lips brushed mine softly then she pulled away slightly. She leaned in again and kissed me with such force that I felt the skin on the inside of my mouth snag against my teeth. Her eyes stayed fixed on mine the whole time. When she had finished, she pulled away, so I could taste blood mixed with saliva. She tasted it too and spat it out onto the carpet.

I rolled over into the foetal position holding my stomach, as tears began to roll their way down my hot cheeks. I’d let this happen to me again. I didn’t even try to fight her off me. I knew there was no point. I didn’t have the strength in me. I felt her get up from the bed.

She ran her fingers through my hair softly. “You were great. As usual” I stared at the wall, trying to repress from my memory what had just happened forever. She got up and turned to me “Hey, I was talking to you!” She grabbed my hair and pulled me up from the bed. “Get dressed. You disgust me”

She looked around the room, searching for something as I tried to stay upright. My dizziness had reached new heights. 

“Ah!” she chirped.

I remember thinking Oh my God, what has she found?

“This’ll do” she said, slowly putting on my motorbike gloves, the ones with the carbon fibre knuckles. She delivered a sucker punch to my stomach. Point blank range onto the seeping wound. 

I fell to the floor now covered in blood. An excruciating pain made its way through my stomach, and my chest, as I kneeled to cradle the pain in a futile hope that it would stop. A pain in my left breast. A tingling. I was finding it hard to breathe.

My heart…

I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear.

Was I dead?

Another pain tore its way through the back of my head and down my neck. I opened my eyes. Pressed my fingertips against my scalp. 

Thick.

Sticky.

Like Jam.

More blood.

She had hit me round the back of the head with a chair. I leaned back against the cool wall. I could just make out the outline of her body. She was standing over me. Forcing me to swallow something.

A scarily familiar taste hit my tongue. It tasted chalky. Wrong.

The world started spinning. I was no longer in fear of what may happen today. I didn’t feel happy. Didn’t feel sad. For once, I felt at peace. Is this how it feels to die?

This was not how I pictured my life ending.

I thought back to all of the rows that I had with my family before she convinced me to move out. Why didn’t I listen to them?

They always knew best.

My eyes close for what I come to believe will be the last time…

“Hello? Hello, can you hear me?” a voice comes out of nowhere.

“Do you know where you are?”

There is a strong smell. Cleaning fluids. Sanitisation.

A rhythmic high-pitched beeping followed by the mechanical sound of breathing apparatus.

I wake up.

The outline of a woman dressed in blue meets my eyes. Fuzzy. Blurred. She leans over me. Mum is holding my hand, crying and caressing my cold fingers with her thumb.

“Mum…” I whisper, fighting back tears.

“Shh” She doesn’t look at me. “Why did you do it? Why didn’t you come to us? How could you do this to me?”

“But Mum –” How could she think I did this to myself?

She lets go of my hand and turns away. “There are people here to see you”

My eyes meet the wall at the end of the bed. Two police officers. They introduce themselves as Hayley and Michaela. Hayley replaces my mum on my left hand side as they take a seat on either side of my bed. Michaela clears her throat as she takes out her notebook.

After asking ‘routine’ questions, they ask my mum to wait outside. I protest but mum insists on getting a Coffee, and leaves the room. She doesn’t even like coffee. Not from hospital vending machines anyway.

Michaela is the first to break the silence. “Firstly I need to tell you that you are being placed under arrest on suspicion of Actual Bodily Harm. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you would later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?” 

I nod. What are they arresting me for? I know I hit her with a baseball bat but that was self defence!

“I want to begin by asking you what you remember of 15th February of this year”. My eyes are still fixed on the door my mum left open.

I’m confused. “What’s the date today?” I ask no one in particular.

“It’s Maundy Thursday” Michaela says, looking at the crucifix on the table by my hospital bed.

“Maundy Thursday?” I run through the Christian calendar in my head. “That’d mean… April…?” I frown, trying to remember.

“Ninth” Hayley finishes my sentence for me. 

“We have arranged for you to see to see an independent psychologist to assess you; she’ll be here in an hour or so” Hayley fails at reassuring me.

“What do I need a psychologist for?” I snap under what she is insinuating.

They both look at each other then back at me. They think I tried to kill myself. “The doctors found a large amount of Paracetamol in your system, and officers found an empty bottle in your hand, could you explain how it got there?” Hayley was trying to be open minded, as if she could somehow believe me, but I could see through her act.

I can not remember the whole thing; huge blurs in memory fill my account.

I tell them my story…

Maybe this time I will be believed.

Strength

Middle of the night,

the skies are black. 

The street lights light my path,

there's no turning back. 

This moment is already gone,

forever suspended in time.

Life doesn't come with a pause button,

you're the craziest of diamonds, so go ahead and shine. 

There's always space for one more,

if you want to take on the world together. 

Sometimes the weak become the strong,

let's begin to sever these ball-and-chain tethers. 

There's no one stronger,

than the person who

when shoved to the floor,

gets right back up,

stronger than before.

That's who I want to be, how about you?

Let's Talk - Part 2

The sound of 'This Means War' by Nickelback fills the room. How I've grown to loathe that song. I pull the pillow over my head and press down in the hope that it’ll drown out Chad Kroeger's voice. Don’t get me wrong, I love Nickelback, but having them wake me up every damn morning I don’t like so much. I don’t like it at all in fact.

I’ve given up trying to drown out the music. I reach down onto the floor and pick up my iPhone. I slide my finger from left to right. The music stops. I breathe a sigh of relief and lay my head back onto the pillow. I know I have ten more minutes until the electric guitar of the introduction to ‘This Means War’ starts again, telling me that I really do need to get up or I will be late.

The sun is streaming in through the windows. I don't close the curtains. Although I prefer it, being in the dark too long plays havoc with my migraines.

I sigh again and pull my covers over my head, closing my eyes. I begin to slowly drift off into a world that contains all of my dreams and nightmares. I wonder which one I'll have today… a dream or a nightmare.

I question myself why I’m bothering to wonder that when I already know the answer. Sure, with the pills I have I have a better chance of having plain weird dreams than anything else. But I’d say around 90-95% of the dreams I have are nightmares.

As I slip deeper and deeper into unconsciousness I am relaxed. The dream seems to have started off pleasantly. I’m walking through a field. Grass all around me as far as the eye can see. No trees or flowers. Just lush green grass. I look up and the sky is bright blue. I close my eyes and smile. Maybe I was wrong after all.

A series of loud bangs prove me wrong. Gunfire. I open my eyes and look down to the floor to see the lush green grass melt away into hot dry sand. I slowly raise my head to see there's no grass anymore. Just sand. Sand and bodies. Gunshots and screams fill the air.

I look back to see I’m wearing boots and camo pants. I look at my chest to see I’m in full combat uniform with my weapon in my hands. I raise my head and look dead ahead of me. My eyes lock onto a child’s. Shit. Not this again.

I find myself wishing I could hear Nickelback again. In this moment I don’t believe I've appreciated them anywhere near enough. The guitar riff is nowhere to be heard.

Fuck! Eyes still on the boy, I see him edge forward towards me. I know exactly where this is going and what is going to happen. I’ve had this dream way too many times before for me to think I can change the outcome. But, for some reason, it never stops me from trying. The boy is bleeding. He begins to fall forward…

Just as I find my feet I take off running towards him. I pass bodies strewn over the sand, pools of red surrounding them. I hear my comrades covering me with suppressive fire. Dropping my weapon as I fall onto my knees I check his heart rate. It’s slow and weak. His t-shirt is soaked in blood at the front in a long line. He must have been shot. He’s just a kid.

I rip his t-shirt open to see if I can use it to compress the wound in the hope to stop the blood but what I see stops me in my tracks. Small horizontal metal lines untidily placed from the top of his sternum to his belly button. Industrial staples. My hand comes up to the back of my head and grips my hair. Grab. Pull. Release. Grab. Pull. Release. Grab. Pull. Release.

My other hand is trying to stop the blood flow. I shake myself out of my shock and put both my hands to work on stopping the blood flow. I hear him desperately mumbling but I don't understand the language too well. The only words I manage to make out are ‘Please’ and ‘Help’.

I nod to him and reply “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. We’ll have you up and about in no time”. I smile, even though I know I’m lying through my teeth. I could have told him I was David Beckham and it wouldn’t have mattered. He has no idea what I was saying but I keep my tone soft, and I try to smile and reassure him. Part of me realises that I’m more telling him it’ll be okay to reassure myself rather than him. I know he’s going to die. I know I can’t stop it. There’s too much blood. But have to try.

He’s starting to go really pale, almost grey in colour. He’s bleeding out, and he’s not doing it slowly either. “No, no, stay with me” I look into his deep brown eyes and realise he’s no longer looking back at me. He’s gone.

“Shit!” I close my eyes and look down at my hands covered in blood. I open my eyes again and see that his hand on top of mine and he’s holding something. It’s a small fabric Union Jack patch and an American Cent.

I take one last look in the boy’s eyes and shake my head as I place my hand over his forehead. Bringing it down to the bottom of his nose, closing his eyelids at the same time. “I hope you find Peace buddy”. The words come as barely a whisper.

There is a rip of Velcro as I open my pocket and take out a small pair of wire cutters. I start to cut each stable from top to bottom. As I part the skin I am met by a truly horrific sight. A device. A bomb.

Who could do this to a child?

Just as both my hands reach my hair and grab, the guitar riff to ‘This Means War’ meets my ears. How fitting. I wake up with a start and sit up in bed. “Thank God” I say between breaths, wiping my brow of sweat. I swipe my finger from left to right on my iPhone. As soon as I see the time, I know I'm already running late. Somehow find the energy to get up and walk into the bathroom, start the shower, strip off and climb in.

Ironically, this happens most days. Some people believe I’m lazy. Trust me, I’m not. My depression makes it incredibly difficult for me to function on a day to day basis like other people do. I find it hard to wake up and find the energy to get out of bed. I have almost no motivation to do absolutely anything.

When I manage to get to sleep I never want to wake up. Even though I love it, sometimes I don’t even have the motivation to pick up a pen and put it to paper. But when inspiration hits? That’s when nothing is stopping me. With anything else? I’m screwed.

Unless I force myself to eat, I go days without eating. Even when I’m thirsty, I don’t drink anything. To the point where I had bad headaches due to dehydration. Eventually,I force myself to eat and drink. I force myself to eat or drink. I force myself to do other regular things that ‘regular’ people do.

Unless you suffer from depression, you can never understand just how difficult it is for me to do normal things like hold down a job or maintain any kind of relationship, whether it be with family, friends, or more.

Twenty-four minutes or so after getting into the shower, and I’m already dried off and dressed. I grab my stuff and start the journey through the snow to my appointment.

A few doors down the sound of a car door slamming is mistaken by my brain to be a gunshot. I crouch down and look around me to see a familiar face. She smiles a broad smile and lifts her hand to wave at me. I wave back, pretend for a second that I’m tying my shoelaces, then stand up and begin my journey again.

Let's Talk - Part 1 (In support of Mind's 'Time to Change' campaign)

People describe it differently. Most people say it's like a mist or a fog that descends all around them. Some even describe it as being a darkness. Sure, at first, for me it was just like that. Then it changed. For the worse. I suppose the easiest way to describe it would be to say that where there is light, for those who are unaffected, there is darkness for the others. Sure, it would be far-fetched to assume that darkness is all there is, but sometimes, sometimes, it is all there is.

Sure, there are times when things are 'normal'. As normal as normal can be anyway. 'Glimmers of Hope' I guess you could call them. But, I believe, a perfect comparison could be made between the reaction I have to the Glimmers of Hope and something quite morbid. A lot of people reading this will be familiar with the notion of losing somebody close to them.

If it's not too painful, try to cast your mind back to a time you were grieving. A time where it was just too painful to think about or talk about, and especially too painful to allow yourself to be happy. Only, sometimes we can't help but let something make us happy. That's what we all yearn for after all.

Imagine a moment where you've been happy after that loss happened. Then you catch yourself smiling like you've never smiled before, reality hits you like a sledgehammer round the head. You remember what you lost. A pain hits you right in your chest. Lump in your throat. Stomach churning. You feel sick with guilt that you could have let yourself forget.

That's what it feels like when 'the darkness descends'. Only, with me, it's not a mist or a fog. It's like a thick dark grey plume of smoke. As if I'm in a room and there's a fire right outside the door. I can't see. I can't breathe. I'm literally choking. The walls are closing in to quick for me to try make them stop. There's nowhere to go either.

However, it's not all 'doom-and-gloom'. There are moments of inexplicable anger. Undisputed rage. Judging by my past, it would be easy to say where it all comes from, but the truth is... This much rage? The way it bubbles away inside of me, festers, in fact... That's another symptom of depression.

I guess it effects everyone in a different way.

Depression destroys people. Not only that, but it destroys families, marriages and relationships. It completely destroys lives. In fact, it ends them.

I know exactly when I'm starting to get stressed out to the point of breaking down and the room starts to fill up with smoke. My breathing increases along with my heart rate. My complexion lightens. My skin becomes pale and clammy. My palms become hot and sweaty. Every little sound is amplified until I am unable to distinguish anyone's voice.

An amount of un-required energy makes my body tremble. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, carried by around 8 pints of blood that my heart is frantically pumping around my body. I look down at my hands and it's only then that I realise they're clenched tight into fists, as well as my jaw. My lungs fill with air. The same air that I force out of my nose ten seconds later, all the while keeping my jaw clenched. Before I know it, my hand comes up.

Not to wrap my fist around someone's chin, but to wrap it around my hair and pull. Grab. Pull. Release. Grab. Pull. Release. Grab. Pull. Release. I've done it so much since my depression got this bad that I'm surprised I'm not bald in some spots by now. Sometimes when I've pulled and opened up my hand, a few hairs are left clinging to the skin around my fingers.

I know I should stop doing it before it's too late, but I can't. I don't even know I'm doing it until I see the strands of hair on my fingers. I suppose it's my very own personal comfort blanket.

People see me as being a miserable bastard, probably because I always seem to be in a mood. What they don't realise is, I don't mean to be. I can't help how I'm feeling. Ever since I can remember I've had this internal struggle going on. I try and fight it but to be quite honest, I don't even know what I'm fighting against! All I know is I've always felt like there was a part of me missing.

I don't trust people easily. In fact, I'm very sceptical of the intentions of anyone who approaches me. I've always been that way so I doubt it's anything to do with depression, though I bet it doesn't help the situation. I suppose the most appropriate word I could use to describe it would be 'paranoia'.

This paranoia effects my behaviour in more ways than I have the time or energy to express to you on paper right now. So I'll mention just two. It determines what seat I take on a bus, or in a room (if I choose to even get on a bus let alone sit down on it in the first place). It also inhibits my social skills. I mean, if I put my mind to it, I guess I could make friends easily. I just prefer not to. I don't let people in close enough to hurt me (of course, there have been exceptions, but just as my theory predicts, they've ended up hurting me - or I've beat them to it and hurt them before they could hurt me).

My therapist tells me that this kind of behaviour has been learned (I'm assuming as part of my primal survival instinct) and put to use as a defence mechanism to protect me from the things in my past. She's made me realise that these behaviours might not be needed as much as they used to be and that maybe I should find a way to tone them down a little. But it's just not that simple. Once the darkness descends, and the room has filled with smoke... Nothing. Nothing is simple.