Imagine continuing your studies while taking time off to visit the cultural city of Paris, sounds exciting right? Diving further into the exploration of global cultures, picture going back to the beautiful Torremolinos in Spain. This was my journey, filled with life's lessons, close calls, and undeniable courage. 

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"In Torremolinos, under the sun and amidst the whirls of the Clozaril medication program, I stared death in the face for the first time. A dramatic but profound experience that left an indelible mark on me."

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This narrative is not simply about my academic journey at Harlow College, it's also about my time as a young school pupil that sought refuge from the confines of Star Lane School. Exploring the coal yard was my first escape, until Terry Nosworthy ensured it was out of bounds for me. Later, I discovered a bent bar in the perimeter fence of the playground, which became my escape route. Tired of school, I would slip away to the calm of church, dabble in the lively Rathbone Market, and stroll along Barking Road. 

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"Three consecutive suspensions from Star Lane School led to a face-off with Mrs. Triton, the school authority. Yet the truth behind it all remained undisclosed."

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In this article, we delve into more details about these adventures and give you a closer look at my experiences. Stay with me as we explore this journey.

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At the outset of my educational journey in the arts, I held some concern about blending in with my youthful peers. Thankfully, among my classmates were others of more advanced age. In the ensuing two years, I aimed to acquire my Foundation Diploma in Art and Design. While I found my footing quite swiftly, I somewhat isolated myself. Harlow College offered me a fresh start, a lifeline post year of tribulations. Sure, I had my struggles, but who doesn't? What mattered was that I was in charge, capable of charting my path as I wished, even though I yearned for a simple existence, anxious about a possible downturn. A moment arrives in life when we need to acknowledge our shortcomings and strive to learn, to evolve for a brighter future. However, it still proves challenging when living in a society that thrives on perpetual judgment and biased attitudes.

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Returning to the familial nest with Mum and Nicola had an eerie sense of normalcy, it's the same individuals after all, just housed within a different architectural structure. Our abode, pleasantly situated in the Church Langley area in Malkin Drive, represented a contemporary development on Harlow's fringes. As I navigated my college coursework, Nicola was immersed with university life. Although we were both engaged in similar educational pursuits; after all my unique experiences, I felt somewhat like an outlier, an elephant in the room if you will. We even had a fellow roomie, courtesy of Mum’s lodger venture, utilizing the extra room in the house. She was a bit peculiar, to say the least, but we all understood the necessity - her presence allowed us an extended stay in our comfortable home. Utilizing the yield from the sale of the Loughton house, Mum secured this rental property, however as the timeline drew to a close, we knew we'd be left financially drained, mutually dependent on state-assistance for our accommodation.

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Utilizing Clozapine was indeed an odd experience, but it provided the help I so desperately needed at the time. So potent was its sedative effect that I found myself sleeping through a good 12 hours of the night and nodding off sporadically during the day. Life became a numb routine under its influence. Every emotion was dulled, and I simply drifted through the routine of daily existence. There was a relief in the quieting of my long-standing anger, yet in retrospect, it begs the question if the price was truly worth it. Broadly speaking, Clozapine carries deep-seated harm and escaping its influence eventually proves to be a significant challenge.

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Now that I was beginning to acquire some funds, it felt like a remarkable shift. The sheer determination that got me by on scraps for so long helped me stretch the small benefits I was receiving. I managed to put some cash aside too, preparing for the future. The looming idea of getting a job, regardless of its part-time status, was a worry to me. My past wasn't exactly garnished with gold, and who would want to hire me with a history like mine? Some could say that I should have put more effort into my social life around this time, but to me, the key was to live by the rules and stick to the straight and narrow path. The idea of disappointing my family was a constant haunt, especially after being behind bars; holding onto this was vital.

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Imagine yourself in the shoes of someone who lacks a familial support system and has trodden a path similar to mine. Once you start to grasp what that's like, you can begin to understand the roots of criminal tendencies - specifically, the cyclical patterns inherent in such behaviour. There was a point in my life when I had given up on myself. I didn't have any respect for who I was, to such an extent that I probably wouldn't have done anything beneficial for myself. But my family served as a bedrock that I could lean on during this difficult period. Given the chance, I would bestow this kind of solid foundation upon anyone who needs it. But what does that really mean, and what does that support truly entail?

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My inclination led me back to Torremolinos, a place that once held a cacophony of jumbled thoughts before my prison stint. Embarking on this journey alone, I lodged myself in a hotel and had pre-decided to finance this venture through smuggling tobacco from Gibraltar. My accommodation was satisfactory, and the transformations that the place had undergone were beyond what I had anticipated. A noticeable decline in tourism was evident, which was mirrored by the assortment of shops and restaurants present.

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The town had seemingly been reclaimed by locals, although that could also be attributed to it being off-season. The lengthy ascent from the beach to Torremolinos central offered a stark reality check; before my stint in prison, I was able to climb these steps in the peak of summer with no struggle, but my post-medication weight gain proved to be a hurdle now. Indeed, I found myself pausing multiple times as I attempted this climb. I was now grappling with poor physical conditioning and excess weight that strived to hinder my previous activity levels. Candidly, I was indifferent, but that was most likely a consequence of the Clozapine coursing through my system. This medication can make one simply coast through life, almost oblivious to any real involvement or even concern; sadly, one's concern for themselves often diminishes too. That's how I experienced the side effects at least.

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I embarked on a journey to Gibraltar with the intention of raising money for my mini expedition. Armed with £500, my scheme involved buying tailor-made cigarettes to sell upon returning to the UK. However, I hadn't thoroughly thought out the intricacies of my plan. On reaching Gibraltar, I quickly ran into obstacles, with most shops refusing to sell me more than a single carton at a time. It was only after persevering that I located a shop amenable to my large order. Packed with a money's worth of merchandise, I zealously set off to head back across the border to La Linea, where my return bus awaited. I hadn't made it far though, when I was accosted at the border. My stash got discovered and was promptly confiscated. Quickly the reality of my expensive folly struck me. However, these things happen; most trips often result in their unexpected obstacles and amusements. Though momentarily disheartened, I shrugged it off as a learning curve. A stern, self-ministered resolution was made then and there - this was my first and last attempt at bypassing border restrictions. It proved far too wearisome an ordeal.

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In the hotel, my funds were dwindling, which meant I had to be incredibly frugal for the following days, often sticking close to the hotel. One sunny day, I found an available poolside lounger and decided to soak up the Spanish sun. However, the heat eventually became too much, prompting me to head back to my room. As I ascended the stairwell, a mirror caught my attention to the right of me. Looking into it, I was taken aback by the pale, freckled like reflection that stared back at me. The freckles were particularly dense around my eyes, making me feel freakish and unattractive. This marked the first time I laid eyes on that speckled visage, a sight I could hardly comprehend or fully understand at that moment.

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Over the ensuing weeks, I found myself continuously pondering over this incident. It seemed as though after a certain period, the reflection started to blur. I no longer saw the dotted face that was a byproduct of basking in the strong sun. Such an experience was new to me, and I had never heard anyone describe such a phenomenon before. Perhaps this uniqueness indicated that I wasn't as stricken as everyone assumed. Confusion barely covered what I felt, yet I knew I needed to maintain my path and not let my ideas overwhelm me. Deep down, part of me wished to dismiss the occurrence of the speckled face vision. Ignorance of the situation's potential certainly seemed easier.

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Back in my home country, I found myself in need of some extra bucks. Hence, taking a cue from my brother Jason who'd graciously handed me a set of car keys, I decided to work for Domino's. I envisioned it as a stepping stone, a way to make ends meet while juggling my studious pursuits. Embarking on this job not only instilled a sense of responsibility but also offered me a sense of control over my life and aspirations. It's pretty astounding how a job, seemingly with limited growth, can evoke such satisfaction. I remain grateful for this chance and was determined to throw myself into it wholeheartedly, my gratitude extending towards Sam Sheehan who saw potential in me and offered me a fresh start.

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Getting back into the social swing at work was undeniably challenging, yet I strived and carried on. In all honesty, ever since my isolation, I've found it hard navigating social interactions, and I suspect that this battle might have commenced before my isolation. Dominos had its fair share of attractive young women, and I won't deny having a few crushes. However, through life's lessons, I've learned the importance of keeping my personal and professional life separate, which became a guiding principle as I aimed to reshape my life. So, I decided to give my all to Domino's, who warmly acknowledged my dedication and zeal.

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Getting on board with Sam was a fantastic opportunity, yet his tenure was abruptly brought to a halt when a colleague lodged a complaint against him. Admittedly, the company had to project an image of fairness, but their act of appointing the accuser only to let them go weeks later spoke volumes about their ethics. This scenario, reminiscent of an episode when I was in the insurance field - where Terry O'Leary, my department manager was falsely implicated, did give me pause. However, this time around, I resisted getting entangled and suppressed my instincts to champion the virtuous cause. This is a habit I try to maintain today, considering the prevalence of injustice in this society we've constructed. Standing up for what you believe in doesn't always yield benefits - more often than not, you find yourself on the punishing end of the stick.

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Should anyone dare to impose on my goodwill, I assure you my reaction will not be lukewarm. We've all heard the life-long lessons from our parents about doing what's right and honest. However, the balance scales shouldn't tip towards the fallout of standing up for oneself. It's a harsh reality that some individuals lack the strength - whether physical or mental, to stand up for themselves. They need support, but only when this weakness stems from arrogance or ignorance, should we perhaps allow life to take its natural course. Witnessing someone's downfall is never a joyful sight, and I gleaned no pleasure from it. Yet, this was a pivotal moment for me - realizing that my direct intervention could lead to my downfall, and for what? A situation I had no role in inciting.

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Having successfully progressed to the second year of my Foundation Diploma in Art and Design, the climax was rapidly approaching. But before that, the college had planned an enriching trip to the city of love, Paris. Despite the relentless struggles with my medication and the never-ending battle with the side effects, I found joy in each passing day as my craft evolved. A persistent side effect was the untimely napping spells when I'd catch myself idle for a bit too long. Yet, no matter the obstacles that came my way, I managed to keep going because that was the best course of action. I continued to struggle with bouts of delusional thoughts, but with time, found the strength to dismiss these ideas, treating them like figments of my imagination that didn't exist. It's a strange feeling, like numbing yourself to the core of human sentiment.

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Almost as if by some divine epiphany, the idea of attending university emerged and I promptly delved into research about potential institutions. Even partaking in a college-arranged coach trip to Norwich University to inspect their amenities was part of this exploratory phase. Ultimately, Coventry was top of my list. This was mainly driven by the comforting fact that I had family there - a reliable support network waiting. Fortunately, as fate would have it, Coventry became more than just a choice - it became my destination.

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Traveling to Paris was an enthralling journey that I wholeheartedly embraced, absorbing each moment. I had an unfamiliar experience - taking my medication, followed by an alcoholic drink. This combination turned out to be quite unsuitable, leaving me in a state of disorientation and discomfort. I swiftly gleaned that it was in my interest to steer clear of alcohol as much as possible. Nonetheless, on a shoestring budget, I had an exceptional time in Paris, even managing to climb up to the first landing of the Eiffel Tower. Amid this journey, I grew fond of a fellow student. However, I have a code of not mixing my personal and professional life, which I extended to include my college life as well. This is potentially detrimental as gradually, all circles you move in are off-limits for relationships. This could explain why despite being single for two years post release, I hadn't been involved in a relationship or had any romantic interaction. When you have been starved of intimacy for an extended period, it creates a barrier against future intimate encounters. There were other girls I was attracted to, but the thought of a relationship, or potentially getting hurt again, scared me. I often reassured myself that my time would come with the right person, but sadly that time took its sweet time in arriving.

 

Final project preparations were a frenzy, with time swiftly slipping away until my envisioned artwork seemed out of reach. Despite the chaos, I managed to find satisfaction from my participation in the exhibition, surrounded by the remarkable creations of my peers within the Art department. I must admit, engagement with the audience was a struggle, possibly born from an underlying fear of criticism. However, it is more likely tied to the erosion of my self-confidence throughout the journey. To avoid betraying this vulnerability, I often keep to myself. But once I begin speaking, I inadvertently expose my true self. Sometimes, I'd rather melt into the background, but I understand that as an aspiring artist, I can't afford to succumb to judgmental fears. It is imperative that I reclaim the nonchalant attitude towards the opinions of others that I once possessed.

 

Having made significant strides on my journey towards rehabilitation, I successfully completed college with a commendable merit in Art and Design. This achievement now paves my way to university, a stage where the only barriers are those that I set for myself. As I took the time to reflect upon my journey since confinement, I realized that I have not only excelled, but have also strived to live an honest life. However, I soon encountered an unwelcome reality—society never forgets. As a result, I found myself constantly labelled as just another former inmate, denied opportunities, and forced to experience a metaphorical slavery. This reality brings to light an unfortunate truth: oftentimes, it is society, especially the business industry, that struggles to let go of one’s past. A lack of faith in the rehabilitation process is widespread among citizens, not the participants who are battling to change their narrative. It is this very distrust that disrupts the process of rehabilitation, rendering it as nothing more than an illusion akin to dangling a carrot in front of a donkey.

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Reflecting upon my educational journey, I couldn't help but think about my early days at Star Lane Primary School. It was more than just an institution to me; it was my refuge, my safe haven from the complexities of my youthful environment. I distinctly recall an episode that truly showcased my knack for creativity; we were tasked to create a board game. Rather than sticking to a conventional flat layout, I added a layer of complexity with a tri-dimensional design, involving three platforms which could be visited and interchanged based on the throw of a dice. My teacher saw potential in my unique approach, suggesting I had the makings of an innovative inventor. However, despite my creative spirit, I often grappled with social interactions and frequently found myself seeking solace away from the school grounds during recess.

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My escapades at Star Lane initially took a straightforward form, the unlocked back gate bordering the playing fields was my gateway to freedom. I would dart across the field, evading detection and head to the disused coal yard yonder. This was where lunches would be spent, immersed in the remnants of a bygone era and believe it or not, even getting hands-on with an old deserted, rust-corroded truck. A multitude of visits to the coal yard soon transformed my school routine, making it a thrilling highlight despite being blissfully unaware of possible lurking hazards. As time passed, I craved a partner in crime for these excursions and Terry Nosworthy happened to be on the scene at this juncture.

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Terry, a rather private individual, quickly bonded with me during our school days. When I opened up about my secret sanctuary - the coal yard, Terry was thrilled and desired to explore it. Consequently, we planned our first expedition together. I had high hopes for sharing this unique escape with someone else, but things didn't go as imagined. At the yard, Terry decided to hurl coal at distant homes, aiming to shatter a window - a reckless act which I wanted no part in. The anticipation of everyone discovering our hideout made me anxious and my quiet haven didn't seem so quiet anymore. Emotionally upset, I returned to school alone. Upon reaching the school's boundary, I heard the shattering sound of a smashed window. Terry succeeded in his vandalism. 

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The subsequent day, Terry attempted to drag me over to see his handiwork - I assume he was proud of his destruction. Nonetheless, I declined his invitation and refused to cross into the boundary. Terry ventured in alone - an errand that led to his downfall. An older boy, a resident of the targeted house, was ready and waiting for Terry. He severely beat Terry, a punishment well-deserved for his reckless actions. That day marked the end of my association with Terry and sadly, the coal yard - my tranquil hideaway - lost its charm and felt tainted.

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My escape from the playground routinely proved to be a challenge, with the primary gate often locked during our lunch recess. Although previously I had managed to beat the dinner lady to it, the real difficulty lay in re-entering unnoticed. That's when my school yard explorations led me to an unexpected discovery - a weak point in the fencing, marked by a slightly bent bar. Through grit and some practice, I found that I could just about squeeze through. All at once, it was as though I had unlocked my personal gateway to limitless adventures. My escape of choice? Often, it was a humble church situated behind the Royal Oak on Barking Road, where I would send up a silent prayer for the darkness in life to recede, replaced by promising good times ahead.

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There was a certain sanctuary I found in a church, where the serenity of blessing myself with water at the entrance brought me peace. But I was never one to stay put for too long; my thirst for adventure always lured me away. Hunger often driven me to curiously explore MFI's kitchen displays, feasting on dry pasta. And when my appetite needed more, I'd head down to Rathbone Market where Jaffa Cakes were my treat of choice. 

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These exploits of mine, however short-lived, were oddly non-interrogated. It seemed as though I was invisible and unheard, a child navigating the world unnoticed. One significant sorrow I carry from that phase of life is the friendships that never blossomed, a pattern that's carried through the corridors of my life. Yet, that solitude provided me with the much-needed introspection I needed as a young and perturbed soul.

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In my final year, I began stirring up trouble at school, starting with what came to be known as 'the great flood.' This event took place in my top-floor classroom in the aged, three-story Victorian school building. In this room was an antiquated Victorian sink, which I, during one lunchtime, meticulously stuffed with tissue and then turned on the taps. By the time my antics were discovered, water was flowing like a river down the stairs. Back then, I didn't grasp the severity of my actions - to me, it was all in good fun, so I repeated the same prank, only to be caught this time. Consequently, this led to a week-long suspension - my first taste of serious school discipline.

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When I got back, yet another unusual event unfolded. A young girl named Jane Page had brought a tiny firework into school, and the other kids were struggling to ignite it with a faulty lighter. Catching sight of this seemingly fun spectacle, I found my curiosity piqued and decided to join in. After inspecting the lighter, it was clear to me that it was malfunctioning. Matches were a necessity at this juncture. I suggested a trip to the corner shop through the gap in the bars. However, to my disbelief, none could manage to squeeze their heads through. As I was well aware of my ability to do so, I stepped up, taking the initiative. Match box in hand upon my return, the kids finally had the means to set off the firework.

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Picture this: a lad had ignited the firework and quickly fled the scene. Amidst the chaos, to my surprise, I noticed a young Asian girl, innocent and oblivious, moving towards the imminent danger. I couldn't stand passive, and on pure instinct, I found myself sprinting towards her, raising my voice in warning. As we cleared the danger zone, the firework resonated with a deafening bang, fuelling panic all around us. But as fate would have it, in the subsequent investigations, it was my name that surfaced, and ironically, I found myself once again tangled in another suspension.

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Returning to school was a challenge with Mrs. Triton leading my class that day, especially on the backdrop of the firework incident for which I felt wrongly accused. The tension was palpable and it was evident I was on thin ice, in danger of potential expulsion. Things spiralled down the day I lost my temper and shot back with heated words, landing me on my third suspension within a month. Each lasting a week, it was clear that gaining re-entry into my school would be an uphill battle. A meeting was scheduled involving my parents and me to confer with the formidable headmistress, Mrs. Triton. 

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She certainly exerted a great deal of pressure on me, intent on uncovering the root of the problems. Much of the time, I found myself choking back tears and nervously twiddling my thumbs. I was in a state of discomfort and I knew I was grappling with issues, yet I hesitated to voice them out loud. With the relentless probing, eventually, my defences somewhat caved in. I mentioned a desire to spend more time with Dad, although what I really meant was wanting to live with him. Understandably, this caused a certain degree of distress for Mum. Eventually, it was decided that besides spending regular Saturdays with Dad, he could also have my brothers and me over for an entire weekend, once a month.

 

While Mrs. Triton thought she had succeeded, the truth was, she hadn't. An invaluable chance to understand my yearning to spend more time with my father slipped away. Deep down, my motivation was a desperate need to escape the confines of Tyas Road, where I shared a home with my Mum and siblings. Had the truth surfaced at that moment, my future path may have unfolded differently. As it was, my secret remained, a persistent thorn in my side. Returning to school for the brief period remaining before the transition to high school, I tried my best to keep a low profile and tackle the tasks before me. These were vital months where intensive counselling could have been beneficial, potentially staving off the deep-seated issues growing inside me. But this opportunity to rectify matters before the damage truly set in was unfortunately overlooked. 

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When I Died by Michael Ezare Barrett

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Whispers of life now silenced in my ear,
In shadows deep, I vanished, without fear.
A fleeting breath, a sigh, an ethereal glide,
To realms unknown, where secrets reside. 

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Eyes closed in final embrace of night,
Leaving echoes of joy, sorrow, delight.
Past and present blend, memories collide,
In this quiet realm where I've died. 

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Beyond the veil, where souls freely roam,
Lonely no more, I've found my true home.
The weight of the world, gently untied,
In peace I linger, having died. 

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No longer chasing dreams in daylight's glare,
Resting now, in the comfort of air.
Eternal slumber, where consciousness slides,
To the endless journey, where I've died.