Sprawled On A Bathroom Mirror

'Going back now. Back to how things should be. All I have to do is trust, hope; let go of my chains before I lose you. A text is a text, it is not a problem to start getting paranoid about. A friend is a friend, and no more. We are a couple and we. Will. Work. Welcome back, old me. Just keep this one up; don't go away again. With any luck he is here to stay. The old me. The True me. He is all yours, just as you are all mine. Love.'

          Standing. Bathroom. Mirror ahead. Message written from the top of the head and bottom of the heart. In desperate need of spirituality. Problems, problems everywhere and not a drop of clarity. They have to stop. Most are resolved, doesn't stop you thinking though does it? Scribbled message in toothpaste; three empty tubes on the floor. The realisation of recent that only you matter, but the impact you have on other people is who you are. It's the people around you that count. Or person, in my case.

          Allow me to tell you a story of who I once was. Imagine being led down. Eyes closed with the feel of your ear in the warm sand. Roaring in the background. You wake. At this moment you are probably picturing a bright white beach with the clear sky sun and an outward tide roaring in the background. Stop. You are in a bag filled with sand; inside an oven. Badly bruised. Headache thumping. Why? £80, that's why. Honestly, never owe people money. See, I was so worried about this inhumane act of crystallisation happening to me that I ruined my life for that money. I only got £40. £80 too little. Fucking hell! And Bang! They show up. See luckily I had a friend, and they came to my aid. With a cricket bat, no less. Oh, and the rest of the money. Of course then I owed him. That was easier to pay though. I hear a lot of talking and a couple of bangs, sounding like wood on wood – basically slipping in and out of consciousness as well. Ovens are fucking hot.

          Door wrenched open and I was yanked about a bit. Took a while to heal the sand infected damage of my body. Of course, I was not okay for a good few weeks before I was confident I was in the clear – all this time spent sober of course as well. This was a long time ago now. I worked a little bit, stayed on the low. Phone off. Contact via whoever visited the locked house. I paid my friend back. I ignored everyone before hand - trying to make the money for the dodgy dudes and I ignored people now – I was all that counted. And I was alive then was all that mattered.

          Not exactly the most conventional person either, me. See, I was slim because I didn't eat much. I was creative and work with theatre and stuff, I also made the odd porn films on the side for this company. I've never really had any goals and mostly content, really. Although a little arrogant and I don't really keep people close. Ohh, I do have a fiancé though! But more about her later. She's the one in my message. There are no affairs or anything, thankfully. Although you never know, it's your own paranoid belief that decides things in your mind, not reality.

          My friend had this little womanising habit. He wasn't really a 'man-slag' as such, because in his belief, he was actually in love with them all. You'd think with a long chain of week long relationships he'd realise something. Nah, not him. Good friend really, note why he helped me. See thing is though, when I came out of the low low, I used his phone. He'd been texting my fiancé. But I barely got a mention. How odd. I turned on my phone. 3 missed calls, 1 new message. After one month, it's nice to know people care about you. Apparently I'd not been myself lately. People gave up on me. Apparently. I didn't read the message and the phone calls were from my mum. The anonymous message is what caused me to go off the rails at a later date for my last paranoid sprint.

          I realised. What the hell. I love my fiancé, don't get me wrong. But I hadn't spoken to her myself for ages – what have I done? I tried so hard to get in contact. No answer. World torn apart. I just put two and two together and figured my seeming only friend left in the world was getting friendly with my 'other half'. He doesn't really speak to me any more. Arguments left right and centre. He told me that she was so worried about me and it was my fault. I hit him. Not a fight though, I knew he was good with his cricket bat.

          At the time, things always seem like there is no way it wasn't a good idea. In hindsight though, they always definitely are. So you can imagine the situation. Nobody. Nothing. Just... no. See, this is the part where I started to turn everything round.

          I checked my message. Anonymous. 'I know where you are. You have 3 months.'. What the fuck?! I had no idea who it was from, or why it might be relevant. It was sent around the time I turned my phone off the first time. I had no choice but to go into hiding. I mean I had nobody at the moment anyway. Hell, I contemplated suicide – but decided I should try to sort it out. I mean I could start again – move to another country. Learn Mandarin. Anything. I switched phones and kept it on this time.

          I found some woods. Rocks are not so comfortable but I'm fairly sure I slept easier than I would have in my own bed. Each day I racked my brains. Retraced the last part of my life. Nothing. I couldn't think of anything useful to my situation. Every day my mind delved deeper and deeper into panic and worry. Lack of social life doesn't help anyone. My phone vibrates.

          'I miss you. X'. It was my fiancé. She did miss me. Meaning my friend wasn't lying . All of a sudden, I got about 300 texts. Most of which from her. It was almost as if I'd just got signal for the first time in ages. Or, as it turns out... my phone contract was barred. I got these texts when the love of my life paid off the debt. Why hadn't I realised before?! I had no money anyway. Eating from scraps out of the back of the nearest super market. It was a trek, but a man has to eat.

          Of course, the next day, my paranoid self ran back to where I used to call home. I hadn't realised how long I had been in hiding. They must have thought I was dead. Nervous wreck. Hoping to find some hope in a human. In my human. Got there. Nobody home.

          So in recap. I went into hiding for one month after a month of failing to make any money to pay off a drug debt. Before this I had a fight with my father, who still isn't talking to me. I'm dead to him. My mum doesn't seem to care that much. She just reminds me she exists every now and then. Maybe I should let her know I care more? Because after I broke my only friend's jaw for something he didn't do, he is no longer my friend. I went back into hiding for 3 months. Over the course of 7 months, I had barely anyone in my life and managed to screw it up with everyone of those few that I did.

          With every trace of thought that went through my mind, I hit clarity and found the importance of emotion. I knew what I had to do and I could set it right. However, I had forgotten that it isn't only the people you care about who are in your life. There could be many people who hate you. I never really found out who that text was from. I just wish I hadn't forgotten it was sent.

          I decided to sleep. But first, I left a message...

          'Going back now. Back to how things should be. All I have to do is trust, hope; let go of my chains before I lose you. A text is a text, it is not a problem to start getting paranoid about. A friend is a friend, and no more. We are a couple and we. Will. Work. Welcome back, old me. Just keep this one up; don't go away again. With any luck he is here to stay. The old me. The True me. He is all yours, just as you are all mine. Love.'

         Standing. Bathroom. Mirror ahead. Message written from the top of the head and bottom of the heart. In desperate need of spirituality. Problems, problems everywhere and not a drop of clarity. They have to stop. Most are resolved, doesn't stop you thinking though does it? Scribbled message in toothpaste, three empty tubes on the floor. The realisation of recent that only you matter, but the impact you have on other people is who you are. It's the people around you that count. Or person, in my case.

         My message, sprawled on a bathroom mirror. Time to sleep. Whack. Whack. Lifeless.

         The bastard wiped my message off the mirror. He didn't want any peace for me. I never found out exactly what I'd done wrong. But it must have been bad. I'm no longer alive. Bastard bludgeoned me to death. Cleaned up after himself like he had done it before. My body was disposed of. As far as anyone is concerned, I went missing months ago and never returned.

         My ex-fiancé cries from time to time. My mother never heard from me. My dad wishes he never wished it. My friend knows no better. Drug barons are laughing. Everyone else manages to move on quickly. I can't. It's best to try to resolve everything when you can.For all the bad and stupid things I had done, running away was the worst.