Just a note: This may be a little triggery for people overcoming the effects of abuse, bullying, self harm and suicidal feelings. As always, take care of yourselves and get support if you need it xxx Rachel

The Real Adam: The Soul, The Spirit, The Man

Hello. My name is Adam, and I’m just another Joe, an everyday guy, somebody you could pass by in the street. I would like to write a little about my experiences, feelings and hopes and aspirations for the future. I am trying to make sense of who I am, what I want, the shit that’s happened to me, by writing this, so in places it reads heavy, as that’s how I felt when I wrote it, but in others I am in introspective, philosophical, and amused. Please don’t be put off by these bits, coz I am a nice guy! Chuckle. I guess we are all strangers in a strange land and we will all cross through each others lives at some point, and share stories by campfires, which are the coffee shops and pubs in life, so here then, is MY story to share.

Please forgive me, if I come across as flowery, or arrogant, I really don’t mean to. I first wrote the negatives, and was horrified by that, so I went through, and edited, adding positives, balancing it, as I find that my life isn’t wholly either good or bad, but both, and more one or the other, at times, as all of our lives are, and forever must be, I guess. I don’t know, I don’t have ANY answers. I know I am not the only one to suffer, so bear with me if it seems I am saying so. But I have had my own share, and feel vindicated in the sharing. But I hope you find what I have to say interesting.

The pain radiates outwards, my heart pumps madly in my chest, threatening to burst from its cavity, to lie bleeding its precious fluids deep into the green plush piles of my rented carpet. This pain is familiar, one that I have felt nearly everyday for as long as I can remember, the pain of one who knows he is alone, lost to the world, a misfit. It has different levels and intensities, but it is the same, a keen aching, a throbbing that runs through the body, like the pain of a bad tooth, but a thousand, million times worse. As the pain intensifies, I am assaulted by memories of myself as a child, lying huddled on my bed, watching the door to my room, like a sentinel, listening for the telltale sounds of the footsteps on stairs, the sign of the undefeatable, unassailable threat that was my father, or the insidious creeping fear that was my mother.

Either way, their presence caused but one emotion – fear. Pure and simple, mind numbing terror, knowing that the horror was about to begin again. The shrieking of my mother, that beat my eardrums like the wail of a banshee, or the heavy silence that would proceed before the threats of my father.

And so I would lie hoping never to hear those footsteps, hiding away on the first floor, wishing only that they would never look for me again. But they would, they always would. The pain began when I was around 12 or 13, a sense of being alone, unheard, unseen, and unwanted, bullied at school, and ridiculed at home. There was no escape from the torment that was my life. The rape perhaps a year before was still an unseen, and unwanted pressing on the walls of my mind, threatening to piece them, and destroy the fragile balance that was the emerging personality, that was “I”.

School was just another threat, danger lurking in the hallways of this foul and cruel institution, mocking me with its “lessons” although the ones I learnt were not on any official agenda. Don’t walk full corridors, do not go for dinner, do not be seen, and do not be heard, for then the beatings would come, and the meaningless words, chatter that might as well have been in Martian, for all the sense it made for me.

I knew only that I was afraid, and I did not understand math or English, and could not perform at “p.e.” I was a true pariah, different, because of my learning difficulties, and my inability to comprehend my fellows. The tutors frowned and chastised me, “lazy, stupid, good for nothing boy”, these words were familiar, they were a never ending credo, one that I came to know off by heart.

The mental pain was offset only by that of the physical, and it seemed never ending. Although this has ended, it ended long ago the memories remember. I am positive for the future mind, I have a destiny that I somehow have to fore-fill without knowing what it is, as I guess, we all do. I know I must travel to find it, and in doing so I will experience much, good as well as bad. Please try and see me as a whole person, with anger, loneliness, as well as humour, and gentleness for those around me. But I digress, I am trying to explain my experiences, for my benefit, as well as the potential benefit for those who read this, I don’t know. Please forgive me for this selfishness.

And so school ended, and home began, same pain, differing intensity, as I got older, I was able to put a name to it – loneliness. The loneliness of one who doesn’t understand those around him, the pain of he who was and is abused, constantly, and in different ways, the pain of one who didn’t know kindness, who couldn’t comprehend “love” that is the a pain I felt, and to a large extent feel still.

I started to cut at 14, and was shaken for it, bodily, and shrieked at and threatened with violence from the beast who was known to me as “Father” that great hulking unknowable being that watched silently as he dissected my soul. This was enough to cower my need for release, until the age 0f 18, 19, 20. then the cutting began in real earnest, carving the secret language of my fear upon my battered carcass.

And all of a sudden, I am jerked back to now, the time and space we laughingly call reality. I breathe in this air, and try to focus on the positives. Clean living, a job, open university, the best friends a man could want, a new acceptance, that the last 9 months has brung. Life can be, and sometimes is good. Please see that I am not a moaner, seeing only the bad, as I can see the good. But also understand, this is newer than the bad, and the pain and loneliness I have had with me longer.

As a child I learned to create my own “reality” a space that was both only imagination and the place I lived, as I milled about, automaton like as a child, the only friend I ever truly had. And so I have little use for reality, as it has never been an ally to me. Full of pain, fear and countless enemies. The pain intensifies again, and I am now gasping for air as I type, the tears flowing down my cheeks, leaving trails of molten plasma as they go, scarring my flesh as they scar my soul. But if I was to look in the mirror, I would see clear and pristine flesh unmarred. Funny that, isn’t it? But my soul, my essence, oh god’ now THAT is bloody and charred. Forgive me for being melodramatic, its not ALL bad, but a lot of it is. But then, a lot of it is good, as well. Now how is THAT for a paradox?

I do not seem to fully understand “love” and kindness” is still a strange taste in my mouth, although I have had much of it, this past 9 months or so, friends who I thought would be enemies, coming to be such a strong part of my life, I now cannot imagine it without them. I have some very, very good friends, and whilst they may wince, be embarrassed by my constant barrage of praise, and be annoyed by it, I shall not falter, as they do not realise just how they make my life more of a pleasure to live. They cannot know, not completely.

But they cannot erase the pain, and I cannot erase the loneliness. I have never had a love of my own, no relationship that was full and complete, so that the other was as another part of my soul. I have had, no soul-mate, no lover that I was able to cling to in the darkest night, although there are names that I remember. “Diane” “rajah” in particular. Oh, how I cried over you Diane, until I could cry no more. You taught me to need, to seek comfort and that destroyed me. Searching for help, I turned to the hell that was FDL, and all I got was despair. I saw pain, and saw death, and I realised I was truly alone. And the pain grew, welled up so much it almost blotted out the sun.

As I look around me, it seems everyone has their other half, the part of them that comes from the outside to make them whole, and I cry tears. At once tears of joy, for those I care for, as to see them so happy makes me happy, for I love them as brothers and sisters, sisters in a truer sense than those I have of flesh and blood, and brothers in the same way. My heart burgeons at the sight of them, and I thank the deities, (if there are such creatures) that they at least, have hope, although they have pain, and have suffered as I cannot imagine. But they have such a strong personality, the goodness and kindness emanate from them in waves, and I am lucky to have such friendship, and I consider myself so, and I am proud to witness such commitment, to each other, and their friends, and I am fortunate to share in that. I have some very cool people in my life. But this doesn’t negate my loneliness, and so yes I cry two types of tears.

At the same time of crying tears of happiness, I cry tears of pain, my soul splitting and withering, dying a death I have been dieing since I reached my early teens. I would have thought I would be desensitised by now, especially after the pain that was my near death, at the hands of the entity I laughingly call “Dad”. I cannot forget the pain of a 17 year old who began to black out as strong gnarled hands squeezed at his neck, like a man playing bagpipes. I thought I was dying, and I cannot forget the snarl of fury that escaped his lips as I knelt with a knee firmly implanted in my back.

At this point I pause. Because I am filling my mind with the positive, my friends, the taste of popcorn, candyfloss, beer, memories of recent laughter, before I continue. There is only so much pain I can bare to recall at once. Please don’t get me wrong, I am in pain, and god’ it hurts so bad, but I am warm in the knowledge it ebbs and flows, sometimes less. And when it is less, I am at peace, and happy. I think I will have more happiness, even though things are so tough right now… but let me continue.

So yes, I am strongly acquainted with pain, the physical, and the mental, and I want only release from this. Recently I have had flashbacks, like a video playing on the walls of my mind, that I cannot turn off, only rewind and fast-forward, and as I type this, the tape rewinds, only to play again. I have tried therapy, and two admissions in hospital, the shoulders of a friend, the hugs giving me something to hold onto, if only for a short time, but they don’t help. What can? My mind, he hates me, of that I am completely sure. Why else would it heap upon me memory after memory, scar after scar?

And so the panic, the raw fear wells up in me now, to join the pain that beats in me like a second heart, and the anger comes up to meet them. There will be no sleep for me tonight, as there has not been for the past two. Is this to be my fate? A living vessel, fit to hold only the negative, without ever being able to taste the nectar that is the positive? Logically I know this is not the case. Please do not see this as wholly negative, although it cannot be wholly positive either, as life is neither one or the other, at least that has been my experience, so far. I’m only 24, but in those few years I have seen much, and I know I will continue to see much, hopefully much of it will be positive. But I must come clean at this point, and state what is foremost upon my mind: I want only to be loved. Pathetic that, isn’t it? The pain that I feel. I didn’t ever realise that pain can be sweet, as well as horrendous, and loneliness is a bit like that…. It’s a good hurt sometimes. Perhaps its because it’s a companion that has always been by my side? I don’t know.

I want somebody anybody, to be my one, male, or female, I don’t care. I hope, against all hope that I will find somebody out there, amongst the streets, roads and byways that make up this nation. I know I must leave here, leave this place and soon. I have outstayed my welcome, and the city I live in strains to eject me, like so much waste. But where will I go? I do not know. I have a destiny to meet, and a fate to find, I know not where I will catch up with the eventually, I only know that I will not find them here. My soul screams for release, and so I must go, as my heart calls me to action. Perhaps then, I can outrun this pain. Who knows?

The overdoses, attempted drowning etc, the suicide attempts and self harm, were merely early and imperfect attempts at escaping the pain, and becoming one with my destiny. I guess it’s the destiny for all living beings to make mistakes, consider ending it all, and such, But I am not that eager to find that particular aspect that is my destiny. I want to live, explore, find my place in this world, learn who I am, and what I am meant to be. I can only do that by going “walkabout” picking a direction, and just going. I need to do this fairly soon, I think, in order to protect whatever sanity I have remaining to me. Its funny what we will do, in the hope of escaping agony, isn’t it?

And its equally funny that although it hurts, I hurt, I am clearer minded, and more optimistic than I have ever been before….. I guess that I know more now.

As I have already said, the thing that has made this journey worthwhile is the people I have met in my life, coz I feel I have learnt a little from each of them, some who were enemies I have learnt to figure out why, what there motivations were, what it was in me that might have caused it, and in acquaintances, and in some cases, very, very good friends, I have learnt the talent of compassion, kindness, being gentle yet strong, and have received much in the way of friendship and a feeling of acceptance, which I hadn’t really had before. This is a new thing, like I said earlier, only coming into my life within the past 9 months or so. But yes, back to my searching for something:

Perhaps I will find my release in spirituality, ending up living in a commune, or community, monastery or such like. I find myself strongly attracted to the idea of visiting Stonehenge, as if called there by a power that is beyond me. Truth or flight of fantasy? Who can know? Certainly not me.

I have no idea who will read this, what your own experiences are, but I am interested in sharing, so if like me you find writing helps, I would love to read your experiences. If you feel you would like to share, my email address is AdamPick@msn.com and I would like very much to hear your stories.

I guess that we are all strangers in a strange land, and we all pass through each others life at some point, so please, say hi.

Thanks, love Adam