In my early twenties, I developed anxiety and started to reel from the effects of panic attacks. Whether or not it can be said that I was ever diagnosed with OCD is debatable, but without order, the chaos in my head was, and still is – something that I need to address.

I am an intensely private person, and therefore when attempting to relive some of my experiences, I have felt more comfortable in transferring them to a new character and setting – hence, the panic monkey. Absurdly, the characterisation of what I consider to be – at times, my driving force, is critical. Peversely, it is only by distancing myself from the topic, that I can be truly honest.

At 21, after my world began to fall apart at the seams, I attempted to get some of these ideas down on paper, but quickly scrapped it. I can only put this down to youthful impatience, and perhaps a disbelief in myself, my “skills” as a writer, and perhaps more importantly – the state of mind that I found myself in. Memories can be twisted – for better or worse.

The mind is a powerful tool – we are all a walking result of the sum of our experiences. Our hopes and fears we take with us on our journey – we are all children and we are all blagging. The dawning realisation that perhaps no one is really driving this thing, and that we are all ultimately alone should be addressed, but not to provoke melancholy. The world is a ridiculous place, people are fragile.

We are living on a knife edge and the cosy surroundings and sometimes purile relationships that we grow hold us together like glue. So much of life is being held together by a thread and most folk don’t let that thread simply be. You either toy with it, watching it fray, or you strengthen it. Life is a game. An overused phrase – but fitting. Those that play by the rules often succeed – those that rebel in some way may also succeed, but everyone pays a price…some more than others.

I have no answer – and I’m not so arrogant as to suggest that what I have written will make anyone feel any better about their lives. I’m not sure that this is even an objective.

If the planning stages of the work took years, the actual process – albeit a messy period of my life, was a short affair. If you choose to read this, I hope you will take something from it.