Jay
Jay was a cutie pie. The moment I met him I was fascinated. I’d unpacked everything that I could, and was now putting my stuff in the kitchen. He was there, making a cup of tea. It was a friendly greeting, as my eyes drew to his chest. He wasn’t wearing a top. I knew I was in the right place and I was going to enjoy living with him. Jay was absolutely delicious. He had a charm about him, like he could do no wrong. He was head to toe immaculate, physically built like a rugby player, and had a laddish sense about him.
Jay took me in, we went out a couple of nights. One night in particular, I’d come back to the kitchen and I saw a pork pie in the fridge. The tiniest sliver had been eaten. Drunk and hungry, I decided to eat it.
The next day I went out of my way, groggily to replace it. That was only the first boundary I had crossed with Jay.
When the dorms started to familiarise themselves, we were soon introduced to another dorm, a bunch of girls.
A random night, I was drinking with all the girls and my own dorm mates. There were quite a few of us all getting drunk and talking, as you do. I remember this one night, I blurted out something out of place that rubbed everyone off wrong.
Soon I was uninvited to that dorm.
One of the girls really took me in, she invited me to her room and showed me a bunch of bullets – this became an element that my psychosis clung onto.
There was one big significant day I do remember vividly.
I was rearranging my bedroom, obnoxiously playing music at the early hours of the morning.
The idea I had in my head was an exhibition installation that took place in my bedroom.
Now normally this would have made a bit of sense, but as my behaviour was slowly deteriorating, so were the logic and rationality in my day activities. In my mind, there grew a confidence that was becoming obnoxious and hard to keep down.
Jay comes out and knocks angrily on my door telling me to keep it down as it was very early.
I Then got an intrusive thought that stuck with me. It drowned my reality and confused me, to the point where I ran down to the accommodation head office, screaming and crying for someone to call the police, my housemate was a terrorist.
Soon after that I had a tattoo appointment after everything had calmed down.
How the hell they managed to tattoo me while I was manic, I do not know. I must have been talking nonsense to the artist.
And later on, after a stroll in the town, I bought a wedding dress and a kimono from a vintage store. The dress I wore down the street as I snap chatted my pretend fans.
Delusion and reason go hand in hand when you are mentally unwell. That night, I convinced myself to come out to my Dad. Never before had I had the confidence to do so.
I phoned him up and I remember having had a couple of beers. I blurted it out saying “hey dad! It’s your gay son!”
I have changed and rearranged some of the events and names in order to structure the story.
Comments