The Author
I will henceforth refer to myself simply as, The Author.
The only reason I include any real details about myself is I feel that when it comes to content such as this, it can be important for our own perception of the story that we understand from who’s perspective we are reading.
Every story needs a protagonist, and if absent we may find ourselves filling those gaps with personal biases or beliefs which may or may not serve the purpose of the story.
And certainly, if people are expected to relate to this content in anyway then it is imperative that at least some background be known.
So, let me catch you up.
As I’ve said, you can call me ‘The Author’, and amongst an exhaustive list of acronyms which tend to end with the term “disorder”, I have suffered severe clinical depression my entire life.
In fact, my first serious suicide attempt was at 8 years old, so I suppose you could say I was ahead of the curve.
My depression isn’t just happenstance however, it is as most things are, part Genetics, part Upbringing.
When it comes to the Nature vs Nurture debate, I believe that both have significant roles to play.
My mother was also incredibly depressed – her story is pot-marked with suicide attempts, alcohol abuse, death, loneliness and above all an unrelenting perpetual misery.
When she passed it was by her own hand, and I was just 11 years old.
I had once asked her, years earlier, “What will your last words be?”
She’d responded, without hesitation, “Thank Christ for this..”.
I was young, and confused by the response.
Why would someone say that before they died?
Upon her suicide, it suddenly made sense.
“Ah” I thought, “That’s why…”
After that I was subsequently ‘thrown to the wolves’ by an inadequate Child Safety system.
I grew up as a homeless street orphan, begging for change and dodging violence for a number of years, before I eventually managed to acquire shelter of sorts in a garage turned ‘studio apartment’ out the back of an old & failing hairdressing salon.
Unfortunately, a great deal of damage had already been done by this stage, as a 12 year old orphan is often easy pickings for the violent chaos of the streets.
With significant substance abuse issues, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and my hand-me-down clinical depression, I really was setup for failure.
And boy, did I excel at that.
Fast forward many ugly years of substance abuse, womanizing, a stubborn incapacity to grow or change and an unending appetite for Self-Destruction, I found myself in my mid 30’s, an alcoholic, alone, totally broken, and all but bed bound.
For well over a year I barely if ever left my bed.
I rarely ate, and when I did it was garbage,
I rarely bathed, and when I did it was simply to stave of infection and ease the pain of my growing bed sores.
This was it, I was convinced.
I was going to die here, just wasting away on my own, in the dark.
And because I lived alone….who knows when I would be found.
To that end I setup a “Dead man’s switch”
A scheduled email that I would be alerted to reschedule at the end of each week.
If it wasn’t rescheduled, it would be because I had passed, and an email would be forwarded to the local pub, advising them of my demise, and requesting them to direct the authorities to my address in order to dispose of my remains.
In this state, in this dark room, alone and bereft of hope….The Journey begins.
And I will be honoured to have you along for the ride.
– The Author.
Chapter 1: Motivation