Introduction to 'A Moment Gone' - Introduction by S. Westwood

Introduction

Writing is cathartic, whether it be autobiographical or not. My first novel ‘Suicide Junkie’ aired all my dirty laundry to the public gaze and deciding to write it was not an easy decision. I guess the main reason I wrote it was to get it out of me, to get all those awful things that happened out of my mind so that I could put them away. I can now put all that behind me in a book on my shelf. I had always written and always wanted to have a book published so it fulfilled a dream, but after it was published I realised it was much more important than I had given it credit for. It had turned fifteen years of suffering into something positive and, most importantly, helped others. I have become a spokesperson for raising awareness of BDD - body Dysmorphic disorder, the mental illness I suffered with since I was fifteen and, although very much better, I still suffer to this day. I have had my story in magazines and have appeared on TV talking about my experience with the disorder and hopefully making it more well known. Hopefully helping people.
So what is BDD? Basically it is perceived ugliness. But more than a normal appearance concern it takes over every aspect of your life. It is obsessing over a small or nonexistent flaw in your appearance to such a degree that it disables you in many ways and causes deep depression. I had it to such an extent that I attempted suicide many times. BDD was not my only reason for suicide, it is seldom just one thing that leads you down that path, but BDD is very difficult to live with. The worst thing about it for me was that I didn’t know the problem was mental. I knew that I obsessed over my looks too much but I felt so hideously ugly that I could not help but obsess. I would spend hours in front of the mirror putting on make up and picking at my skin. I would go from room to room checking my appearance in every reflective surface, walking around with a mirror held in front of my face hoping that in a different light I might look acceptable. If only I had seen someone on TV talking about these symptoms I might have realised that I had it too, that my skin wasn’t red and flawed, that it was all in my mind.
So that is my mission. To at least get through to one person that is in that dark place that I was. I think I have achieved that. Since having my book published in December 06 I have spent a year promoting it, taking part in training days to educate Gps, teachers, people in the mental health world about suicide, self harm and BDD. Public speaking at these events and on TV and radio. Doing something worthwhile. During a talk about recovery I said that I was 70% better and that the other 30% I had just learnt to live with. I still have bad days but I cope with them better than I used to. A lot of my strength comes from Ashley, my wife of two years. Without her I don’t know how those percentages might change. I also made the decision to not work a nine to five job anymore. That was a step into the dark but I have done work in the past year that is so much more rewarding. I couldn’t bear all those hours alone with my thoughts, thinking of suicide instead of looking for a missing t shirt. My job seemed so futile. Recovery doesn’t mean that you have gone back to doing what you were doing before. I don’t ever want to go back to that sort of work because it made me so ill. Yet I am at a stage in recovery that means I can do other things that only a few years ago would have been impossible. How could I go on TV when I found it impossible to even leave the house? Well, medication is helping me a lot, but I am helping me a lot as well.
Wanting to get better is not as natural as it seems. I wanted so badly to not have BDD. But my depression I still cling to like a security blanket. I understand myself as a depressed male. All my artistic flare comes out when I am low. As some shiny happy person I would be lost. But I guess I’ll never be one of those- I will always have attempted suicide, I will always know what that feels like. Now I have a wife and a son I have to give in to the fact that suicide is not an option anymore, and that is hard. Where can I turn to when I get those feelings back? And those self harming and self neglectful feelings are still there, they are merely repressed and I am almost certain that if I was on my own I would be a wreck. I need to have people relying on me because I can’t rely on myself.
So, that is who I am, that is where I am, a recovering plane crash that frets at the future and clings to the present as it is as far as I can see. I used to cling to the past, but now I use it. I would not be me without those past events, I often think how much better it would have been if I had always been with Ashley, but perhaps that wouldn’t have worked. If I had met her before I had begun recovery I may well have pushed her away. If I hadn’t had some bad relationships I would not have learnt how to have a good one. We are who we are from the things we have done and the things we have thought. There is no point wishing the past away. Our souls are grown, they are not given to us whole. Mine has been shaped by events and the feelings that came from it. And the only way I could voice that transition was to write.
So what is this book? This book is part of my past that I wish to accept in my future. It is not always as negative as I was back then. Each story reflects a frame of mind that saw how much better things could be yet struggled to find them. I wrote stories to explain, however cryptically, my own thoughts. I wrote fables, perhaps sometimes even children’s stories with moral meanings geared to help the reader to learn the lessons I have had to learn. Perhaps one of my stories will hit a chord and make sense of something. I have had to make sense of a lot. Some of these stories are just that, they are stories, ideas I have had and wanted to put down, writing because I love the medium and I have to do it. Writing when doing anything else seemed pointless. I even entered one of my stories in to a local short story competition. ‘Your time will come’ had already been written but as it was fairly positive I sent it in. I won first prize and for a while I felt pretty good about my writing. It was not long after that little ego boost that I decided to take my writing seriously. Sometimes I think I can write, other times I feel I am wasting my time. That is just my negativity. No art is a waste of time. Even the stories that are simple tales reflect where my mind was. A hopeless romantic, a gothic depressive with a love for words. And these are my words. Written in various stages of distress. Some were written on computer, some were scribbled on a page, some passages were even written at work on yellow post it notes. I hope they are of interest, I hope they help, inspire or merely pass some time. These are my words.
S.Westwood.