Description

I Was A Lunatic From A Geordie Grangetown
By David Poulter

ISBN: 978-1-84747-967-9
Published: 2009
Pages: 86
Key Themes: humanity, mental health, fiction

ALSO AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK

Description

“This world that you inhabit is really only your own mind. That is where you truly reside. And everyday you make decisions that affect your life. I give you an account of mine.” This strange and thought-provoking story is about a man who experiences a traumatic event in his childhood and then later develops a severe mental disorder in his thirties. His experiences and “delusions” lead him to think that he may have discovered a great secret that concerns all of humanity. Is he sane? And is the world crazy? Here is a conundrum that you can decide for yourselves.

About the Author

David Poulter was born in Sunderland on the 18 February 1965. He attended local schools in the Tyne and Wear area and chose to study art at Sunderland Polytechnic and then Leeds University where he gained a degree in Fine Art.
He has lived in various parts of England and Ireland but now currently resides in Taiwan. He has worked as an art teacher and freelance artist but now teaches English. He still practices art.

Book Extract

Hey have you heard of the Buddhist idea that we are ultimately alone? Perhaps “we” is the wrong word – maybe it should be replaced by “I” – but I think the concept is probably right. I blame consciousness. Yet lately I’ve been thinking that consciousness is like some sort of liquid we all have our heads stuck in. Therefore there are no individual thoughts, we all share the same thought patterns, so consciousness is like one big block of thought that we all use. Even animals. Obviously there are intellectual thoughts and emotional feelings, but who is to say these are not experienced by all living things? Clearly animals don’t build nuclear reactors, but perhaps doggy emotions are the same as ours, so maybe our brains are just like receivers and only pick up pieces of consciousness they are designed to. Still what has this to do with feeling alone? From what I’ve just described I’ve even convinced myself that we are – nay the whole of creation – is involved with the same conscious bubble. Sounds cozy – so there is no need to feel alone. I bet now you expect me to come out with some long explanation to convince you that my theory of “Creation” is right. Well unfortunately I’m clueless, I haven’t any answers. I know jack shit. I’ve even convinced myself now that I’m not really alone. Perhaps doggy thoughts are even creeping into my head, maybe I’m that simple – my brain receives the same thoughts as dogs. There is some school of psychological thought that states that if you have a strong feeling, emotion or thought, you should analyze it, take time to meditate and find out the root of it.

A long time ago I felt complete. I was a child and everything was normal. Dad worked, mum stayed at home, I went to school. Yet as I got older I always used to look out of my bedroom window and think there has got to be better places in the world. Not that my parents were poor, on the contrary, we were middle class. In fact I used to look back on my childhood and think I had some kind of “Norman Rockwell painting” kind of existence, if that’s possible. Maybe it’s not, I’m from England anyway. Well understand this, reflecting on my youth with my family, the past seemed safe, snug and comfy. My perceptions have changed now, sometimes my childhood appears to have had more in common with “Edvard Munch’s The Scream”. Anyhow up until my middle thirties I thought of my parents as being pretty normal, even though there were a few blank spots in my mind. Still after I left home, I never really wanted to go back, not even to visit. It wasn’t as though I hated them, the lethargy and apathy about going home to visit had more to do with my laziness and I suppose selfishness. As a young man I could be crude and cynical and usually had something better to do, some place better to go, even if it was sitting in my front room watching the television. I liked being away from them and somehow craved independence. The point is I didn’t really love them, I think that’s what I mean about blank spots. I never really considered it strange. I never considered it, period. The person who really made me consider my family and my relationship with them was my wife. Hey I’m divorced now, true love didn’t last. Nevertheless when we were together I had a lot of contact with my wife’s family. Her mother was divorced and often used to visit us, also her brothers and cousins would usually fly over most years. On reflection they made the effort to see the children, they weren’t coming over to see me. I was liked but I was just part of the furniture. Incidentally the kids weren’t mine, my wife had had two former relationships that had resulted in children, both had been planned, but the fathers had faded away. The children had never met them and their fathers weren’t in contact: I was a quasi dad. Anyway with all this coming and going of her relatives, my wife would analyze my family and my feelings for them and compare them with her own experiences. She would also talk about her mother, whom she would have long conversations with when she came over to visit. They would catch up on gossip, talk about the past, discuss world events and politics, talk of religion and art, the latest fads and fashions: the list was endless. All in German. Later after her mother had returned home she would relate it all to me in English, which set me thinking that I didn’t have that sort of relationship or understanding with either of my parents. There were levels of feeling and friendship that I never reached with my mother or father that my wife took for granted with her own mother. What was more surprising was I didn’t care, I was pretty much indifferent.