Lost

Lost

Do not look for me
I'm hidden for a reason
You will not find me

I wasn't ready for that.

It was six years ago and I still wasn't ready.
The cuts, the warnings are fresh, seeping that almost clear, pink
fluid. They were rage this time, anger at myself. The anger at the
loneliness and the fear build up, killing what's inside. I can't feel
any more because it hurts so much, so it goes beyond numb. Numb implies
that feeling is lost. When I get into this state, it's like I can't
remember feeling. I remember that I did feel, I must have felt at some
stage. I just can't remember what it's like.

Then the blades come out. Always the blades. Always snapped into four.
Always the symmetry. Always the discipline. Always then I miss the
love, closeness. Always then I remember that I will never feel that
again.

Am I so shallow?

I don't want your attention. I want the opposite, I want you to love me
for the person behind the scars, the person behind the fat, the person
behind the cursed face. I won't change for you. I'll be the same inside
and out. Reviled. Know what's inside. You can't see past the outside
because the inside is so fucked.

The inside, inside is tiny, lost in its world. It is the only thing
there. The inside, inside hides behind the fa?ade that hides behind the
fa?ade. Multiplicitous. Many faces in defence, each one a screen. Not
to protect something precious, not to protect a ruler good and true.
The inside, inside is a wounded animal held in self-pity by the
inside.

It scrabbles in torment when it sees the outside come close; the fa?ade
builds its walls. Hiding from the landlord without. I know where you
live.

The inside throws up its anger, its docility in equal measure. It gives
you what you want to see. It beats down the inside, inside when it
comes to the surface to see, to look, to talk. The inside, inside is
lonely. The inside, inside isn't Wull. Wull is the sum of the
parts.

Wull is the inside, the fa?ade behind the fa?ade, the fa?ade and the
inside, inside.
The fa?ade laughs with you, the fa?ade behind the fa?ade cries with
you, the inside feels for you, the inside, inside hates you. Your
proximity hurts the inside, inside. It needs you and you kill, dilute
it, it is beaten down and lost, it is lonely, it is impotent in its
cell.

The inside, inside punishes the others, it makes the inside remember
its loss, it makes the fa?ade remember its failure, it makes the fa?ade
behind the fa?ade remember the joy it will not know again.

The inside, inside rips and tears its shell, its prison. The inside
wants to be free, sometimes. The inside, inside is sad, crushed. The
medication stops the inside, inside. It makes it calm at rest, sends it
away, for a while it is lost still, but dormant. The rest have nothing
to fight for then. It isn't Wull then.

So I let the inside, inside have its way. It will be trained or it will
win and take Wull down with it. The inside, inside is so weak but can
never be defeated.

But still Wull endures. He +I+ doesn't +don't+ know +know+ why +why+.
Maybe a chemical imbalance that can be changed with medication, but I
have become used to who I am. I am so fucked, but I accept me. In nine
years I have only ever hurt myself. In the old days, I didn't know
about self-harm, I couldn't even conceive it. I used to accidentally
cut myself before then, but I couldn't acknowledge the feelings of
release.

Too young.

Then I learnt I could fight. Instinct, whatever. I could read what
someone was going to do before they did it, my mind working better than
my body. I had strength and accuracy, too. I'd wait for my chance, then
take it, rather than throw a bunch of idle punches. My self destruction
could be happily sated that way. After my dad left I took my
opportunity. Hardly anyone noticed.

I'd quiet the fear by taking a single diazepam, then a bottle of cider
to kill the pain. Then I'd go looking for a fight. I'd wade in, take a
few hits to justify to myself the kicking I would give to some poor
guy. That was release. I couldn't feel the punches, but just knowing
they were there, every time they connected?

The inside, inside was strong then, oh, it was strong. It didn't feel
too much then, it had focus to an extent and then there was only one
fa?ade, the cover, the good son.

The rage tore through to the surface once, the focus sharp. They came
for the keys of the pub at night. The grampa, my dad, his two brothers.
My dad must have felt shame, he stayed in the car outside my Auntie's
house. I was drunk and then the rage ripped out. I headed for the door
- I could clearly see myself punch out the side window of the car,
dragging him through and beating him on the ground. My dad.

He split up our family. He took our home. He took our jobs. He took my
access to drink.
I was grabbed before I could reach the back door. I pushed past and was
pinned, then it became a flailing fit of anger, two uncles pinning me
to the ground until I was in tears.

Then later...

Then later, the carpet knife seemed to call me. The inside, inside
heard it and took over. Just a few jabs, the tops of my arm, no one
would see - even if I wore a T-shirt. I slept well.

Flick forward.

A craft knife stolen from school and hidden.

My mum might have found my pornography, but she never found this. The
inside, inside's best friend. Jabs and sometimes cuts. Then the other
fa?ade was there.

+See the wonderful performing happy Wull!

+See how well the happy Wull copes!

+Thrill! As he makes it through the day!

+Gasp! As he hides his darting eyes from your notice!

+Swoon! As he doesn't kill anybody!

The fa?ade made this so easy. I didn't have to fight any more, in fact
it gave me so much pleasure to just take all the shit. You didn't do
your homework? Your mum wasn't well?

>Well if you want to pass Higher English - you'll get your
priorities straight.

That was a good one. I took that one and rewarded myself with my first
leg cut. All those best friends. We were all so close then. They never
knew. Everyone thought we were such a clique, that we were all the
same. I wasn't. The inside, inside laughed at them - not the friends,
the ones who thought they knew me.

None of them ever knew. Some of them know now, but they were friends so
long ago now?

The sneering inside, inside had the smirk wiped from its face when I
became open about the cutting about two years ago. The inside, inside
still likes the initial:

>What happened to your arm?

>I cut myself.

Surprise.

The inside, inside likes that. The rest is sickened.

The inside, inside is the main part of Wull ME! First Person!

The inside, inside is a part of me - it is me. It is how I perceive
myself. Small and of no importance. It has I have no impact on the
world around me. Insignificant. But it is *I* am grotesque, distended
from those around it *me*. Immobile.

And I hate it *me*. Just as it wants to wipe out the others, the
facades, the inside, the shell, I long to wipe it out. I want to disown
it like shameful child. It cries for comfort, but returns only hate.
Expects unconditional love from those that hurt it most. It longs for
the kindness of being put down, not dormant, like the prozac makes
it.

It repels everyone. It is bitter, cruel and pitiful.

There is a myth that there is someone out there for everyone. That is
bullshit. For some people there is someone out there meant for them. I
have seen it. I don't believe there is one for me. They would have to
kill the inside, inside, or do the unimaginable and love it. Nurture it
and make it clean and pure and normal again.

+The happy Wull, you've heard the stories, now see the reality?

I'm back.

I was gone, but I'm back.

I've hurt myself again, just two deep warnings. I will talk myself
through this if it takes me?

I'm bleeding but I won't be stopped. I am the rage that wells within, I
am the tornado that sweeps the inside clean, I am the sterilising pain
that will not relent. Part of me doesn't want to write this. It is as
if part of me is trying in a very real and tangible way to stop me
purging this.

This, how I feel - I don't even care if it makes sense any more. I feel
better for writing this, so I'll be fucked if I'm going to stop
me!

I know what my biggest fear is - happiness, contentment, comfort. If
you have something - it can be taken away. If you care for something -
it can hurt you more deeply than anything you can do to yourself. I
control that pain, I administer it to myself, you will never have that
control over me. I will never have that control over myself, but I can
pretend. I can hide behind the fa?ade - I can hide behind the fa?ade
that hides behind the fa?ade, I can even hide behind the inside,
inside,
and
you
will
never
find
me.