Rent Boy

by James Anthony Ford

  I loved getting and writing emails to Will whilst he was working in London. Even though he was so far away he still felt close to my heart for some reason. I confessed to him that I was going through some mental issues and have stopped work due to depression and as expected he was so understanding and supportive. I loved him, he was such a best friend. I don’t know what I would have done without his love and support. He was the only one now I really could trust and that kept me going.

  The day arrived when I had to see that psychologist or counsellor or whatever she was. She sat me down in her comfortable office. She seemed quite nice and just asked me about my history and background. I told her about the abuse from my stepfather and she shocked that I am still alive to tell the tale. She made it clear that I obviously had mental scars from this. I also went into details about my depression and the symptoms I am going through. But I think I really shocked her when I began to describe the sort of nightmares I had been having recently. I told her that I have dreams that one day I would be ‘snuffed’ on film. She knew what the word ‘snuff film’ meant but she wanted me to elaborate. I told her that I would have strange and disturbing dreams about being tortured and slaughtered in front of a crowd of laughing people. It was like the crowd was getting off and finding it pleasurable seeing me be butchered to death whilst it was being filmed. I think the psychologist nearly fell off her chair. It was a disturbing dream and I hated then yet I was having these dreams almost every night. I felt as though I was being stalked and that one day my time would come. I felt like I wished the HIV would take me now and just kill me. Just to get it over with. I didn’t want to be HIV, I would rather be dead. The psychologist said that I have a serious mental health problem and she would now need to send me to a psychiatrist in a hospital to assess me. She agreed I needed serious medical attention. My mind was completely unstable. I was not normal anymore.

  So I spent the next couple of weeks sitting on the lounge room couch. Usually I was in a routine of getting up at 6 am and getting ready for work. Instead I staggered from my bed at 6 am and sat in a stationery position on the couch staring directly into the wall in front of me and crying. I don’t know what was making me so sad or even cry for. The whole world around me looked dark and terrifying. It got to the point that I had feelings of agoraphobia. I would lock myself up in my apartment for day and not coming out. The reality was that I was ashamed to be seen in public. I was embarrassed to be me. I was no longer James, I was a HIV depressive and anyone who looked at me would be looking at my HIV and depression, not me. I was terrified of humiliation and rejection.

  Will was still in London. God, I wished he had been here though. But nevertheless he was still so very understanding and supportive of my depression and always kept in contact and making sure I was okay. I really did not want to worry him what with him so far away and all, so I just said “yeah, I’m fine”. But really, I wasn’t. Far from it and I felt like it was getting worse.

  The Human resources department from work started contacting me asking about my absence but I still provided them with medical certificates but not disclosing the nature of my illness. I was following doctor’s orders. So my work bosses left me alone to recover from whatever it was I was suffering from. I had a long think about my future. But you know what? I didn’t think I had one. I didn’t think there was any way that I could eradicate the awful torture I had endured as a child just knowing that bastard had gotten away with it. I needed closure. So I contacted a solicitor and made a claim to get my income protection insurance. I was going to need a good amount of time to get through the depression. I won’t be returning to work for a while yet I thought. In fact I was to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital as soon as possible.

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  The medication and counselling for the next couple of months have certainly not taken effect as yet. Every day I awake thinking “Oh god, another day, how am I going to get through this?” But one morning I awoke and I had completely forgotten my identity. I got out of bed and walked into the lounge with complete confusion and thought “This is not my flat!” I had no idea where I was. I could not even remember my name. I don’t even know what company I worked for or what I do. I thought I was going insane. My memory had been completely wiped. SO I sat on the floor for hours and thought about who I was. Then I went to my wallet and saw the name on my driver’s licence ‘Jay Beau Andrews’. Then it all came back to me, suddenly. I don’t know what happened but it was like I was another person for a while but I was in a zombie –like way.

  I was soon admitted to a private psychiatric hospital which just happened to be down the road from where I lived. I was hesitant about doing this and felt like I had sunk to a new low. Becoming a mental patient. But once arriving at the reception desk at the hospital and been greeted and escorted to my private room I was pleasantly surprised how serene and peaceful the place seemed to be. It looked like a nice place where I could just get my head around things and take time out. It was more like a four star hotel but meals were served in a dining room. The food was very nice too however dinner was served at a ridiculous time of five in the afternoon. During the day there were many courses we could do like art classes, relaxation and yoga and discussion courses which I found helpful. It allowed me to open up about my depression and I didn’t feel like I was the only one with this illness. In fact it did not feel like a hospital and the nurses were all lovely. But I still couldn’t help but feel like a mental patient losing his mind.

  About a day later, one of the nurses came to my room and said there was a phone call for me. I said “What? Me?” “Yes” she replied with a friendly voice. I had no idea who on earth this would be as I don’t recall in fact I knew I did not tell anyone I was going to a mental institution. But I went to the phone with curiosity. I said apprehensively “Hello?” “Hello darling, it’s me. How are you my sweet?” answered a friendly familiar voice. It was my mother. I paused for second thinking how on earth did she know I was here? I never told her that, well, I didn’t think so. But I said in response trying not to express any surprise or shock “Oh, yeah, I’m fine how are you?” “Yes, I’m good darling” she replied. Then she just chatted about what she had been up to and Sam and Oma and so on. I just kept thinking about how my mother found me here. After the phone call I sat on my bed wondering what my mother was really thinking about knowing that her son was in a mental institution. I mean, when you call this hospital they do answer it with the ‘psychiatric’ in it, so she would obviously know I was here for psychiatric reasons. But when I spoke to her, she did not sound concerned, but she did sound sincere, as always. I told mum that was a little depressed but I never really told her the depth of what I was really experiencing as I didn’t want her to worry. My mother is a worrier. She can’t help it, she’s a mum. That’s what loving mum’s do. But I think she wanted to call me just to confirm that I was okay and I think it satisfied her worry. I was just concerned that she would worry too much about me and soon discover the extremity of my mental problem.

  After a few days I felt the need to go home although my assigned psychiatrist there did not approve. I had to convince him I was fine to go home. They could not force me to stay longer anyway as I was a voluntary patient although was recommended by my doctors. But I felt like I have had my time there and found it worthwhile to understand my illness a lot more and I just wanted to get back to my life again. I just wanted to get back into the real world and try to live again. So I went home and felt like I had just taken a mini peaceful holiday.

  I was okay for a few days after my release from hospital but it did not take long until my mind started to play tricks on me and I started my self- hatred again through dwelling on everything negative and all the bad things that have happened to me in the past. Perhaps I should have stayed longer in hospital to get the entire treatment but I did not want to be the cliché of a mental patient. I wanted to work all this out on my own and I gu
ess that was part of the problem. I would not let anyone in. I could not have the courage to confide in anyone apart from my doctors. I was ashamed to have depression. Ashamed to be James. I wanted to old James back but I didn’t know where to begin the search.

  The days of losing my memory became frequent. About one or twice a week it would happen. These were signs of schizophrenia. But the question raised by my doctors is why now, why is it now that I am going through depression and dwelling so much on my past in my early thirties. Why now all of a sudden? Perhaps I was always depressed and was always trying to cover it up by going that one step further in life. Perhaps my mind and body could not take anymore and just gave in and then everything had ridden to the surface.

  I spent a lot of very lonely months and I guess it was self-inflicted. Apart from Will of course. Without his caring words of wisdom I wouldn’t have been able to cope. I had lost a lot of other friends though. Nobody else, my so-called ‘party’ friends wanted nothing to do with a HIV depressive. But another person was on my mind. It was Steve, or Stefan, I should say. To cheer myself up if I was feeling sad I would sit there and think of the wonderful times we spent together. I would rummage through heaps of photos from Cairns and Port Douglas. But then reality kicks it. Steve has gone. This was for good. I never heard from Steve after we said our goodbyes. That was what we both wanted. But I hoped, and I still do, that someday we will be brought back together. I think I was kidding myself though. That was never going to happen. Buts it was nice to think about it. He was my ultimate ideal man and I let him go. See? Now that’s self-inflicted. Another opportunity lost and what an opportunity it was. I remember the day we were even talking about buying a house together in Cairns; I was doing research into a transfer within my company to work in the Cairns office and everything. We were going to be like a married couple. I think about the image of that now and it feels so beautiful but I know that will never be. Stuff like that doesn’t happen to people like me. I don’t deserve a man like Steve and I don’t deserve to be happy either. I should be punished for the life of excess I had led and my over the top promiscuity. I remember the day when I was child and we were at some camp and there was a Christian group there. They asked the kids to write a letter to god asking him into your life. I was the only kid who wrote that letter and I did it without even thinking. I asked Jesus into my life. I knew from that moment on that he would protect me. But he has now punished me. I am HIV positive. This was my punishment for my life of adultery and sin. I deserved it. The more I thought about it the more depressed I got. Then the more I thought about how lonely I was and the things I don’t have the more deeply sadder I got. I was a mental mess beyond recognition. So that said, tonight’s the night.

  That night. That awful night I will never forget and dread about it if I think about it now almost ended my life. I ran a hot bath and sat a glass of red wine next to it. Whilst the bath was filling up with water I swallowed a whole heap of Tramadol and Valium tablets. Then I sat in the steaming bath. I was actually hoping that the pills would actually knock me out before I would have the chance to even attempt my suicide. I began to cry. I cried heavily. I was already in pain and I really could not bear another day. I had nothing to be happy about. I have no one to care for and nobody really cared for me. No, nobody cares. Who would notice if I was gone anyway? Let’s be serious, who would really care? I am a nothing, a void. I must ne eradicated off this earth as I am just existing and wasting space. It’s got to end. So I took one big gulp of the red wine. Then I found all the courage in myself I could gather and reached for the hairdryer which was switched on. I had to do this and quick. I started to cry even more heavily as if I couldn’t cry any more than I had anyway. Then I turned on the hairdryer switch and it on full blow. I shut my eyes and whispered to myself “Do it, just do it......just get it over with, you have to, it’s the only way out....” Then I took a huge deep breath and dropped the hairdryer i the bathtub and immediately waited for the electric shock to kill me. But then the hairdryer stopped and all I felt was a few of the hairs on arms and legs pull a bit. That was it. A failed and miserable attempt. I was a failure, a pathetic loser. I guess all that’s left now is that I have to live with this thing called HIV. It was my punishment and that’s all there is to say.

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  Chapter sixteen.....The Deed to be Done.

  It had been almost a year since I had been absent from work. I had my medication changed about a million bloody times as I kept getting severe side effect like uncontrollable shaking and so on. The just could not get the medication right. Then I was referred to a major hospital to see a psychiatrist there for further evaluation. So once again I had to re live past events in my life which was not easy to do as some of them as you know were quite traumatic. It was at this stage I practically has a whole medical team looking after me with both my HIV monitoring and depression. In regards to the HIV I was physically quite healthy and was not on HIV medication as I didn’t need to be. But I felt like shit and had no energy. The doctors thought it was due to the depression. But my psychiatrist found it quite difficult to diagnose me as I was displayed all sorts of traits of a range of different mental illness like bipolar, schizophrenia and so on. So eventually they diagnosed me with Psychotic Depression. However I had to see another psychiatrist which the insurance sent me to for their own evaluation of my income protection insurance. This psychiatrist actually said I had schizophrenia. So who know who is right? All I know is I was depressed and that is that.

  I was practically seeing one sort of doctor almost every day of the working week. It was like a full time job in itself. But I did want help. I just wanted to feel happy again. Then my doctor requested that I come in for a chat one day just out of the blue. They said that I had been seeing a range of different doctors to get Tramadol and Valium. I admitted to it but I did justify it. I said that I was in pain. And it was true, my whole body was in pain. This was due to the amount of various karate injuries I had in the past and that mixed in with my depression, I needed relief. Then to my shock he said that he needs to take action. He told me I have an addiction problem and you will no longer be able to Tramadol or Valium from any doctor. I shit myself. I needed those drugs to get through the day. I was knew I was going to suffer. But that was it. I had no more pain relief and I don’t know how I was going to handle it. We would have to wait and see. But overall I was kind of relieved that I admitted I had an addiction problem. I guess I was taking the first steps to recovery. But it was not the drugs that was causing my depression, and the doctors knew that. But they knew the Tramadol and Valium had to stop and I agreed.

  The first couple of days without taking any Tramadol and Valium I was fine. In fact I felt good that I didn’t need any drugs to get through the day. I thought I could through this, perhaps I didn’t have an addiction. But then a few days later, it started. One morning I awoke in immense agony. My mind was rushing and I felt nauseous. I really needed that Tramadol to take away the pain. My depression set in with the deepest and darkest hit that you could imagine. The whole world was black. I was emotionless but I needed pain relief. I needed that Tramadol so I had to make an appointment to come and see my doctor. That same day I staggered to my doctor pleaded, basically I got on my hands and knees, begging that I have some pain relief. He refused to give me any drugs at all let alone Tramadol or Valium. So I staggered home.

  Every day I stayed inside my apartment shivering and shaking and craving for Tramadol. I needed help, big time. I was so sad and depressed that I had to tell myself out aloud “Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts” and the more I did that the more disturbing thoughts came into my head. I started to dwell on those images of my stepfather abusing me. Then I would think about that time when I thought I was lured not being killed on film for a snuff film. Then my paranoia kicked in. I felt like I was being watched. I also began to think that perhaps those ‘snuff movie’ guys were looking for me after that event. I be
gan to think of all sorts of disturbing things. But the one thing I didn’t think of was the fact of hurting another human being. I had no traits of being homicidal, I could not bear to think of anything worse. But I wanted to one person right there and then. It was my stepfather. I craved for revenge. I still felt as if he still had control over my mind. The fact is that so far he has gotten away with what he had done to me in the past. I could not bear to live with that thought any longer. I needed some sort of closure. Perhaps suicide was the answer. Even though I thought of suicide as being the perfect escape it was the enemy I was terrified of. That enemy was called ‘pain’. If there was any way to die without pain I would have done it right there and then. But I couldn’t but told myself that one day I will find the courage. I have to.