Writing inspired canvas

I created this canvas (excuse the terrible picture) because I wanted to relate it to writing and use words but not a quote, I wanted to do something different this time but inspiring too and what's more inspiring than nature? So I made a silhouette of a bird in flight out of newspaper and then rolled up newspaper sheets for the stem of the flower and created the flower out of circles of newspaper and screwed up inside the flower is a brightly coloured piece of paper-even though it isn't visible to an outsider, I like the idea of the contrast, it appears to be black and white but inside is a little ball of colour-hope.

Day Hospital

I bought this beauty of a book ready for day hospital, and in case things get really bad and I end up inpatient. I assume there will be lots of sitting about and hopefully as I begin to feel better I will have more motivation to do things, like writing and sketching.

Creative Writing Session 1

Today I began my first creative writing session at The Mill Arts Centre in Banbury.

I was quite apprehensive and anxious as 'going out' is not really my thing, sends my anxiety and thoughts crazy, and I'm quite poorly with my mental health at the moment, so it was a huge thing for me. I really want to learn though, I've found a passion in writing and I believe words hold a lot of power.

We learnt about Alliteration and looked at 'The Elements Of Eloquence' by Martin Forsyth, we then proceeded to write our own pieces focusing around Nelson Mandela's funeral using alliteration to grasp the reader's attention, drawing in interest, making sentences memorable.

The other group members shared some of their work from home and we gave constructive criticism.

Feeling very motivated to write at the moment, especially whilst I am so unwell, perhaps I can help an 'outsider' to really understand how isolating and terrifying mental illness can be.

A written piece: Depression

Waking up feels so horrible, I feel I cannot do it, it's hard to open my eyes and see in the darkness. Anorexia nervosa, anxiety, clinical depression, avoidant personality disorder you have ground me down, pushed me under the dirt of the earth and made me suffocate in my memories. I’ve spent years living in this hell, no not living, existing. That’s what this is, an existence. Nothing more. “I am done” are the three words I use the most these days, sad isn’t it? To be twenty one and so finished with life. To only feel okay when you’re slowly disappearing, the number on the scales getting lower and lower each day. To be so committed to death and yet so withdrawn from life. Crying in blood, silently screaming.

I look at the little girl in the photographs, the girl who wanted to be a ballet dancer and a nurse and I can't help but feel overwhelmed by guilt because that little spirit full of life became the woman with dull eyes and a hollow soul. That girl became the woman whose wrists sting in the bathtub, who found hugs in anorexia and kisses in razor blades. A woman so cold that she’s forgotten how to love. Cold and harsh, they call her a pessimist. She doesn’t understand ‘fun’, Christmas crackers and Birthday cake are trivial nonsense, punishment has become the only thing that makes sense, is it self-discipline, or maybe self-control? Or is it the total opposite? I’m not sure I know.  How sad and hopeless must one feel to only be able to fall asleep thinking of falling asleep forever? Death became the only comforting thought.

These days are hard you know? The world has lost all it’s colour, I see in black and grey, the beauty has gone, only darkness and rain. It is icy cold, like the world has lost warmth forever, it's become so cold it'd be impossible to thaw. I realise how desperately alone I am. Could you imagine waking up in the morning and realising that nobody and nothing would notice if you died? You are that unimportant, worthless and meaningless that you mean nothing, you are nothing.

The walls are closing in on me, there is less and less air to breathe and I feel so frightened. I have a hand on each wall either side of me and I’m using all my strength to keep them from closing in on me but I’m exhausted, I’m not sure I can hold them away on my own for much longer. I wonder how this will end, if I’ll give up and let the walls close in on me. Let my soul slip away as my eyes close for the last time. I asked other people to place a hand on one of the walls, to add to my strength and help me to stop the walls closing in, but nobody had a spare hand, maybe they were carrying too much already or perhaps they just had their hands in their pockets and I wasn’t worthy enough for them to take their hand out for a few minutes. I guess I’ll never know their reasons, but I know this much, I'm on my own.

A short story: Le Manage D'Andrea

A few weeks ago I was asked to do a short presentation and instead of your standard presentation standing in front of an audience talking (a nightmare as an AvPD sufferer), I decided that I would write a short story and time the powerpoint allowing the audience to read the story themselves. 

A weekend break in Brussels inspired me to write this story, I was fascinated by the way everything was so twisted. Happy, children's rides had a twisted darkness behind them, contemporary art which had an effective look but was also rather creepy. There seemed to be complete contrast in everything.

I used photographs I had taken during my time in Brussels, some are edited to fit with the story, for example using sepia/greyscale instead of the original colour versions. These are the slides I used:

Staying strong January 5th

The Notebook

Today I met a lovely writer, Lisa Cherry, and we discussed the possibility of writing a book at BYHP. Very exciting stuff.
As she was leaving, she gave me this notebook to write in...so touched!! And I think I'm going to creatively write how I'm feeling in it when it feels right to do so.