When David Bowie Sang

I didn't know what else to do so I lit up a cigarette and took a drag, passing time. Yeah, yeah, I know it's a bad habit but at the time I figured one more wouldn't hurt. You aren't in a position to judge and I know you wouldn't anyway. My mum constantly nags about the smell and my sister likes to slip in a comment about smokers cough or yellow teeth whenever possible. I usually reply by cracking my fingers, that usually shuts her up, or just makes her squeal more.

"Oh Simon, you know that makes my skin crawl! Its such a bad habit!" She's right again of course. I guess I just never made time to kick the bad habits. Never saw the point.

I was supposed to be at college later that day. To be honest, I was always supposed to be somewhere else, and on the occasions I was that somewhere else, someone would always like to remind me how rare that instance was. That reminder usually came from the mouth of some lecturer, some educational figurehead.

"You aren't in school any more Simon, you're too old to just be disregarding all your responsibilities." Its funny, "too old" is the new scathing, condescending phrase that those older than you like to impose all of a sudden. What happened to "too young"? Too young to do this, too young to do that. You're constantly reassured by age at that point, because apparently, "you'll learn when you're older". I would've appreciated being given a news flash when the golden years of knowledge passed me by.

So yeah, time was dragging and smoke and nicotine was my only fuel. I was crawling along like an abandoned steam engine - no one was there to stoke the fire, but the thin line of smoke that issued from my lips signaled life, somewhat ironically. I was walking along what was usually a busy part of town, full of cafes, restaurants, little independent shops that sold handcrafted cards and Christmas tree decorations all year round. It was early in the morning but I hadn't been able to sleep - my sleeping pattern had gone off the wall some time ago and so I was accustomed to walking the streets when others where still tucked away in bed for a few hours yet. Well, apart from a few eager cafe owners here and there, all hoping to entice early morning or over night commuters with the smell of frying food. I just walked past them without even the faintest tinge of longing, food was something else I'd not so recently lost touch with, and the sizzle of fat was more of a deterrent than anything else. I just continued trudging along, unaware of my light head, too preoccupied with the thoughts swimming around it to notice. In fact, the only thing that brought me back out of my smokey stupor was when I almost walked out in front Chevrolet and its screeching brakes woke me up. I blinked, turned to face the driver and held my hands up apologetically, to which he held up a single hand with a less apologetic gesture. I staggered on.

I needed something, but I couldn't have told you what it was for the life of me. My mind felt like a broken record, repeating the same, tiresome, dangerous thoughts over and over, surrounding me in a haze that I just couldn't shake. I won't record those thoughts here, I can't risk inviting them back. I don't know exactly how long it'd been because you don't wake up like that one day, it happens gradually. There's no one deciding factor, its just an accumulation.

It didn't surprise me when I found myself at home. Auto pilot was a function of mine that hadn't yet fallen into disrepair. I stood at the front door for awhile, postponing the inevitable confrontation from my mum as to where I'd been and where I was going, whether I was actually going to apply myself - all the usual. Reducing my cigarette to a stub, I stared at the bumpy grey pavement beneath my feet and wondered how I'd got here - not meaning my location.

I severed that train of thought as quick as it came, grinding the remains of my cigarette beneath my trainer and unlocking the door. Looking back, I felt a brief release of tension as I did so - I was home, I was safe. No matter how much interrogation and disapproval I received from my mum and my sister, they were there. They cared. So for once, I announced my presence. I called out in welcome to the two people I needed. The strength of the silence that replied made my stomach plummet.

I didn't expect it, but then, episodes like that never feel the need to announce themselves. For once, I was ready to take the first step, and I took it into an empty abyss - just my luck really. To put it simply, no one was in, but in my unstable mind, no one was coming back. My legs found a new kind of energy, my heartbeat re-positioned itself somewhere in my throat and my muscles, that had only just relaxed, were bound by a tension more intense than before. I propelled myself down the hall, pushing at the walls with my hands as I went, as if they were threatening to close in on me, and banged through the kitchen door. Inside were the remnants of my family's breakfast, presenting the substances that in my panic I acknowledged I craved, instantly setting off a war between the sickness of guilt and greed in my stomach and head. I turned away and called out again, my mouth behind my brain in the realisation I was alone. Apparently, my legs hadn't registered that fact either, and suddenly I was pounding back down the hall and up the stairs, falling forward on to my hands which seemed to turn into primitive claws, scrambling upwards. On the landing my head swam, and almost losing my balance, I blasting through my sister's bedroom door on my momentum.

Gone. No one there.

"Why would they be," I told myself." You don't deserve them. You'll only know what you had once it's gone and it serves you right." A torrent of similar thoughts consumed every space of my mind, meaning I barely registered the hyper, uncontrollable shake that was shooting through my right leg, threatening my balance further. My breathing had gone haywire which wasn't helping my brain's thumping rhythm. I let out a moan that didn't sound as if it came from me whilst I continued to scan the room hopelessly. I needed comfort, company, a voice to drown out the savage choir of thoughts in my head that just wouldn't relent.

And then my eyes fell on it. My sister's cassette player lying on her bed, the headphones strewn across the pillow in a tangled mess. I dived at it like a lifeline and battled against both my trembling fingers and the spaghetti like mass of the wires, feeling like I was against the clock, like I was running out of time, about to be consumed by a frenzy of hysteria with an unknown, unwelcome outcome. I don't know how, but before I knew it I was slamming the headset over my ears and with a last colossal effort, jammed down the play button and collapsed backwards onto the bed as the tape spluttered to life midway through a that track I'd never heard.

"Oh no love! you're not alone
No matter what or who you've been
No matter when or where you're seen
All the knives seem to lacerate your brain
I've had my share, I'll help you with the pain
You're not alone"

And I wasn't any longer. There was no longer an empty room, an empty house, an empty stomach and a head full of despair. There was just me and you. And for the first time in a long time I wasn't alone, I wasn't tense, scared or anxious. Since then, its been bearable. I'd be lying to say its perfect, but now I have a voice, a figure, a vision, a visionary, even, to stand by me.

Part of your story saved all of mine. Because you're wonderful.