THE BANDIT – Nocturnal wanderings of a brave friend


I have an inner self that screams to me. It lies, ….. ……. it spins me dark warnings, rich with suspicion and paranoia, in its quest to pull me nearer to the void. I call this inner self the scream. The scream is ancient, dark and dangerous, it bubbles beneath the surface and its screams intermittently penetrate the psyche . My inner self has a side-kick… a sly bandit which whispers tales of desperation, the bandit flatters and deceives and weaves tales rich with justifications. The bandit is a story teller, and its fiction is not pleasant. The scream and the bandit tolerate, but aren’t in direct allegiance with the critic. The critic is pompous and judgemental, it forbids, prohibits and punishes, a litany of contempt. The critic denounces every deed, thought, feeling and word.
The bandit is a procrastinator, an idle, work-shy bum, with a penchant for doing what feeeeeeels good. The bandit is cunning and charming in its pursuit of pleasures. The bandit can never say no, its’ modus operandi is excess, and consequential thinking isn’t its forte. What-ever it may be , food, money, drugs ,alcohol, possessions, sex, fun, the bandit always wants MORE. The bandit wants gratification and it wants it NOW. The bandit doesn’t want to go to dentists and doctors appointments and pay bills and honour obligations and stick to his word. The bandit says “fuck that shit” The bandit wants to run free and clear and play out and run away and LIVE. It was the bandit that led my way to my life of debauchery, it stepped out of the dark recesses of my mind like a Guatamalean bootlegger and began whispering its plans of fast money and good times. The critic had its part in it because i was sick of listening to its barbed character assassination. Constantly judging, calling and condemning me. The scream was just a low hum at this point, its influence would come later.
How did the voices help me when i was a prostitute? I like to say prostitute, i’ve heard girls in the room s talking about similar experiences, they refer to it as “sex-work”, the “sex industry, or working on the street. Some of them are coy in there referances, i’ve always come out and said it. Prostitute. Prostitutes. Prostitution.
The critic was weakened and made lazy by narcotics , it lost the inclination to stand between the sly bandit and its urges. . The critics voice was shouted out by the bandits demands for more, and its judgements were drowned out by the screams of the scream. Eventually the critic was rendered mute by chemicals, its silent criticisms were filed away. It nursed its resentment, and saved every criticism, shaping it with until it was a rock hard nugget of self- hatred and worthlessness, and planted it deeply in the psyche
The scream watched over the other two with a thoughtful malevolence. It knew its goal was within view. With the help of the bandits penchant for stimulating drugs that fired my brain and kept me awake for days on end, the scream had time and fertile ground for its theories. The screams psychotic ramblings began to sound almost reasonable in time. The scream took me by the hand and spoke of violence, insanity, abortion and rape. It told me all were acceptable. The scream pointed out depravity and squalor and called it good. The scream convinced me we were animals, that all was blood and that a slow death was an acceptable alternative to conscious life. The drugs were welcomed by the scream, they sharpened its paranoia and allowed it to break its chains beneath the surface of my mind.
That ultimately behind the veneer of respectability and social norms, we are all blood and bone, deranged lust filled monsters, that life is ultimately death.
I lay down with many men. I sold myself to too many men to remember, 12 hour shifts at a time. Hours ran into days, days ran into weeks and weeks into years. The bandit loved the drugs and the easy money, loved the companionship of gangsters and thieves and woman of ill repute. As sly as the bandit was, as cunning and insidious his wiles, he was of course short-sighted, he couldn’t see the error of allowing the scream to have its way, he was too busy focusing on the money,the drugs and the freedom of giving free reign to his urges. When my body was shaking with revulsion , fear and disgust the bandit soothed me with the care of a lover…. at first, “you can’t even tell its a cock when its got a condom on, you could be sucking a candle for £40, just close your eyes girl!” and much much later, when the drugs had taken hold the bandit allied with the scream and cut me off from anything that had mattered before. …………………………………………………. I had sex with men for money. Any man. I indiscriminately gave myself away….for a price. The bandit encouraged me of course, the fast money and lack of responsibility appealed to its greedy and procrastinating nature. Its whispers became demands for more drugs, more money, more pleasure, more pain, more oblivion, thus successfully drowning out the critics judgements and disgust.
I would leave the sauna in a flurry of stale sex and £20 notes, , my eyes wide as saucers and my make-up caked and garish. The minute i shut the front door behind me and smoked my first spliff my mind would unattach and crash into free-fall, the horror and humiliation of the day would overwhelm me……. a wave of revusion and disgust would wash over me, and my mind would play image after sordid image in my head, a low budget pornographic montage, hairy arses, facile conversations, a sweating grey chest, a man eating a condom, chapped red inner thighs, toilet paper caught in the cheeks of a mans arse as he turns over, a mans arsehole being fingered, and the shit stain he left on the bed, catching a girls eye in the mirror whist she is being eaten out and seeing a brief flash of some emotion in her eyes that you could not name , followed swiftly by a stony defiance, a split condom, a customer who left without paying, picking a disabled man with no arms or legs out of his wheelchair and placing him on the bed so that you could give him a wank. I would simmer with shame and self-hatred and count my money and drink and smoke until i could pass out without dreaming.
My mind became a frail web, whispy and tremlous being blown this way and that by various mixtures of chemicals. Numb and shut down, I began to want to die. I debated throwing myself in the path of a fast car, i wanted my departure to be dramatic and extreme. The critic had been rendered mute by the chemicals, it existed only as a gnawing sensation, a pervading feeling of restlessness and un-defined guilt. The bandit was a bloated indolent mess, bullied by the scream. The scream got stronger and powerful until it was nearly all that i could hear.
Now that things are changing the scream has less and less of its former strength, and is on rare occassion merely a whisper, whilst grateful for that, i feel the presence of the scream and know the scream is merely biding time and building up its strength in order to make a return. The scream is definitely pulling the bandits strings, the bandit is indolent and easily flattered, the scream will be promising the bandit hedonism and a re-release of its base desires if the bandit can manage to shut up the critic. But the bandit is wary, sometimes the bandit will whisper for sleep and weed and alcohol and when it gets them it feeds the scream. But the bandit has so far managed to resist the scream entirely, the bandit is now wary of the scream and doesn’t underestimate its horrific power. The bandit has a rough knowledge that the scream wants to totally annihilate us all.I slept, for three years after. My body rebelled against the mind and shut down, refusing to take par tin the instigated madness of the mind. Body and soul were tired. I slept and ate and shuffled around in pyjamas like a terminally ill patient on a care ward, i ate until my body was unrecognisable, a subconscious armour against the world and i thought, i played every scene in my life through my head and analysed and criticised and grew not a bit from it. Shame, guilt and self recrimination swiftly morphed into avoiding other people and situations, i stayed in and watched tv and revelled in my self loathing growing fatter and fatter and fatter. I manipulated and wheedled my way through a relationship with a good man, until eventually i grew tired of his acceptance of me and threw him out, or he left…..whichever, it was painful but necessary, because i knew that one day they would come for me again. And they’re here, I heard the whispering last night, they’re back
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One Response to “THE BANDIT – Nocturnal wanderings of a brave friend”

  1. I salute a very brave and honest lady. I recognize the entities that you have written about and know how insidious they are. They can be with you in the blink of an eye and you don’t realize that they are there, untill they have already taken control. The fact that you recoginze them is a huge step in trying to kepp a balance between them. I don’t think we can ever get rid of them, but we can sure try evening out the influence. Greatest good luck to you and may the Light find you.

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