To Love a Forlorn

Chapter 1 - Seams and Dreams

Growing up, I was always shy. I would become so fear driven that I couldn't speak to anyone. The kids at school were mean and picked on my height and little body and 'gay hair' and anything mean a kid can say to another. I would always laugh it off and continue on with my day, and then I would go home and cry and leave scars on my body. How sad is it that I picked up self harm as a young boy? I remember being as young as 7 and just scratching at my arm until it was red and raw. Why didn't people like me? Did I not deserve friends? What did I do so wrong? The questions raced through my mind every day and haunted my being. I thought that if someone was nice, they just felt they had to be. A lot of people turn blind eyes to small depressed boys covered in scars of his own self misery.

My home life was also just as difficult. My real Dad left when I was just a toddler and my Mum met a man named Mark Tomlinson. He's alright, he stuck around, raised me, had 4 daughters with my Mum; Lottie, Fizzy, Daisy, and Phoebe, and then they broke up as well. We used to all go to church until my parents found out about the priest molesting the choir boys during practices, I unfortunately was one of them. I try to not let it bother me these days but it's still always there in the back of my mind. The image is still as fresh as the day it happened, I can almost feel the panic and fear I felt all those times. I get angry towards my parents that they never saw the signs, but I have to remind myself that I could've told them, I always could've.

The anxiety and molestations got me the oh so lovely mysophobia, or easier and best known as the fear of contamination and germs. When I moved out of my parents place, I got myself a very small flat and I remember sitting in the corner crying because I didn't know how clean it was and how disinfected it was. Sure, it looked pristine clean, but you can't see germs. I went on a 3 day cleaning spree, cleaning every wall top to bottom (2 times to make sure), washed the floors a good 4 times in a row (just to make sure), I vacuumed so many times it's hard to count (just to make sure), disinfected everything a good dozen times, sometimes I'd forget if I cleaned something and I'd get really panic ridden and have to clean it at least twice (just to make sure.) I make sure I shower every morning, and if I leave the house, I shower when I get back and then that night (just to make sure.) If I stain any piece of clothing, it's immediately thrown out, I don't even want to try getting the stain out because to me it's like putting makeup on a scar, it'll cover it but it'll always be there even if you can't see it anymore. Laundry is done everyday to ensure that any body germs on the clothes I wore that day get removed. Don't even get me started on how I feel about shaving, bed sheets and visitors in my place.

I'm currently unemployed, I receive disability credit from the government, thanks anxiety and clinical depression. I will go weeks without leaving my place, and I can go days not eating, it's not that I don't want to, I just simply forget. My Mum calls every few days to make sure I'm not dead and to tell me the recent news in the family. Just boring shit like her new boyfriend and how this family member is pregnant and how another family member is dying, it's honestly all shit I don't care about. I don't really know if I even love my family anymore, I'm so disconnected with them, I mean I like them and all and I like seeing them, but I just don't care anymore. I don't think I have the ability to love. My sisters sometimes chat me on Facebook but it's also pointless. 'Hey Louis' 'hey' 'still depressed and living alone?' 'yes'. Okay, they don't ask that, but they ask little questions that hint towards it, as if the expect me to put myself out there and try to find someone.

Well, now that I've told you all the deep shit about myself, I guess I can talk about my physical appearance. I'm 18 years old but I'm 19 in December. I'm 5 foot 8, which isn't bad, for a girl maybe, and seeing how all the men I've met are a good 3 to 4 inches taller, it's not fun. I have fluffy brown hair and green eyes, and I always make sure I shave because I like a clean appearance. I even shave down there even though no one sees except me, because like I said, a clean appearance is a must, so I don't mind being the only one to see. I have naturally tan skin and I take care of it really well (when I'm not using it to release my misery.) I wash my face and body with acne cleanser every day, I haven't had blemishes in years, no joke.

There are a few things I actually do like doing. I like going online and learning about lots of things. Ask me anything about Psychology and I'll answer it for you. I went through this phase for a while where I was really interested in body modification, so I learned all about tattoos and piercings. I would like to think I would get a piercing but the thought of the amount of people that have sat in that chair and how well cleaned the shop is scares me enough. I have thought about writing a book or trying to become a painter, but I've never really been able to try something and stick with it. I do like to read though. I have bookshelves all around in my room just packed with books. Sometimes when I'm bored, I'll organize them, sometimes by colour, sometimes by author, but usually by size. Lately it's been by author AND size. I always order the books online and open the box with rubber gloves on outside, throw the box out, bring the books in, wipe the books down with a disinfecting wipe, go take a shower, change clothes, throw my old clothes in the washer, and get comfy and start reading. It sounds like a long process but I do it all very quickly these days.

I'm nervous because I'm running low on food which means I'm going to have to leave and go to the store tomorrow. I usually buy a few weeks worth of food in one stop so I don't have to keep going back. I don't think I've gone there for over a month now. I've been living on my own for almost a year and I've been there only 8 times at the most. That tells you just how much I leave my house. I know what you're thinking, 'but what about holidays or your birthday? Your family?' I missed every holiday last year and my Mum never even asked me if I wanted to come join, not that I would've anyways but the thought would've been nice, you know, since I'm her son and all. But on my birthday she did give me a call and asked which books I wanted her to order for me, so you know, I guess that counts as totally being a part of the family hey?