The Thought Train

Without doubt, I know that this is probably going to be the most difficult thing I've ever had to write. I have been trying to for a while now, but I had no strength to face it, to see it in front of me. I was terrified. I still am. But, the past few days have been full of revelations and realisations and a I feel that maybe, for the first time in my life, I can overcome these intrusive, horrid, grotesque thoughts.

I'm going to start at the beginning. Well, my first recollection, anyway. I was about 10 years old, in my last year of primary education. I was a quiet, extremely shy child. Although I had a couple of friends, I much preferred the company of my parents, other adults and my dog. Or, failing that, to be alone. I recall feeling nervous, anxious. A lot. At the time, Coronation Street were running a storyline about a lesbian affair. Like many children, I watched the show with my parents. From that moment, I couldn't stop pondering whether I was a lesbian. I could not stop thinking about it. I was a pupil at a Catholic Primary School and believed that, if I was a lesbian, if I told anyone, I would be ostracised completely. This trail of thought dominated, from what I can remember, my every waking moment. It came to a head one night, and, sat on at the bottom of the staircase, sobbing, I told my father. His response, one of compassion, understanding, sensibility and humour (he told me not to worry so much, that I needed to be more light hearted) was a great help, and continues to be so. My mother has always been an amazing source of comfort and support in these moments. That evening, I must have gone to bed feeling a lot better, because I have little recollection of any 'really bad' feelings after that.

This is becoming easier and more difficult with each paragraph. Easier because finally I am beginning to face this much loathed monster, but more difficult because my memories have become distorted over time and I want, need, more than anything to be truthful about this.

I know there were other minor eruptions of these types of thoughts throughout my early adolescence, but I can't recall the details. All I know, is that they surrounded obsessive thoughts about harming myself and other people, even those closest to me. The very nature of these thoughts continues to scare me to the point that I sometimes feel immobilised. 

The next 'major' eruption occurred in the months leading up to my GCSEs (I was 15 years old). Again, the thoughts seemed to be triggered by something I'd seen on television, and, that like lesbianism at the age of 10, I had little understanding of.  The thoughts surrounded Mental Health/Schizophrenia - a topic being covered by an EastEnders storyline at the time. I thought about it so much that I convinced myself that I too had the condition - that I was going to cover myself in tin foil to stop the little green men getting in. This was a particularly bad episode, and it escalated to my convincing myself through my own thoughts that I would get a knife and harm myself if I was left in the kitchen alone, or that if I went for a walk that I would walk out in front of a car. I was so hysterical that my mother took me to our GP, who said that it was a simple case of anxiety and probably to do with the fact that I would be leaving school soon. And so, I left school (it is worth noting that I certainly had no conscious fear of leaving school or the uncertainty that came with it - in fact I was excited to leave and start afresh because school had always felt awkward and not at all fulfilling to me - the same could be said for my primary education. I guess what I am trying to convey is that, on reflection, I don't think either of the two major episodes I have talked about were completely triggered by leaving school, but at least a little bit by the upheaval that surrounds it). But there was always 'something else' there.

In a way, it helped me at that point to know that I was susceptible to anxiety - simply knowing that there was a reason that I sometimes got all worked up. I just assumed that thinking for long periods of time about these disgusting, depraved and depressing subjects was part of that, that it was almost unavoidable, or perhaps my minds way of dealing with my own stresses and anxieties - a warped form of distraction. I don't want to disclose the details of what they were and I am certainly not saying that lesbianism or mental health problems are any of these things, I am referring to other subject matters. Maybe some day I will be able to write them down, but not now.

At this point, I am 17 years old and at college. I am flourishing. For the first time, I have met a group of people that I 'click' with (and continue to do so). They do not judge, and they enjoy me for who I am. My confidence is soaring, and I am so busy with my new life that I am able to shelve these thoughts, to push them away before they take hold as they did before. The more outspoken I become, the more strong willed I am, the easier it is. But, the thought temptations (if you like), are always there.



This is where it changes.

It's now summer 2010. Since the October of the previous year, I have been in a relationship with the most compassionate man, someone who continues to support and inspire me and someone who I fear I will drive away if I continue on this path without at least trying to step off of it. At the very moment I realise just how happy I am (I also discover at this point that I have been accepted into University to study Arts Therapies), the continuous questions start to niggle in my mind, beyond any comprehension of intensity one minute and almost gone in the next. It is totally and utterly irrational and unfounded and I know it. But, like the lesbianism, the tin foil/green men episodes and many other less memorable spirals of thought, I cannot really stop them. I can stave them off, force them into the back of my mind. But they are always there. On that occasion, I let them win. And it very nearly cost me my relationship. But, suddenly, I snapped. I knew it was bollocks and I wasn't going to let it win again. I moved back to my home city (I had been staying with my parents since 2009 out in the sticks after falling ill in 2005 with physical ailments that I won't bother detailing now but that resulted in a subsequent period of clinical depression), started University and generally felt better. I was so busy most of the time, I barely had time to think. But, I knew what path I was on, where I would be living and what I would be doing. Knowing this helped me. I still had moments of fear, short periods of obsession, but I could distract myself from them.

Summer 2011

And so we arrive in this moment, worn and tired but still determined and inspired. But, it's happened again. About two months ago, just as I was finishing University for the summer and starting to move out of my accommodation, it started again. The niggling thoughts, dressed up as doubts and fears, returned stronger and more persistent than ever. Again, I started to let the thoughts win - and again it very nearly cost me a relationship so unbelievably dear to me. But, it didn't, and I'm damned if I will EVER let it.

After moving back to my parents place for the summer break, where I have copious amounts of free time and less copious amounts of money to enable me to do much with it, the sinister thoughts returned. They are still here. Writing about this until now has been relatively easy, because it's all been in hindsight. The past. But this is still here, still plaguing me. And I am struggling more than ever.

For six weeks, I have been incapable of writing anything down in my journal or expressing myself creatively in any way. Fear. Terror. Shame.  The very thing I am studying, in an effort to help others in the future, is not helping me right now.

I know myself. I know my dreams, I know my needs, I know my flaws. And none of them involve this absolute SHIT that my mind seems to conjure up and purge out. So why does it happen? Why do I feel so terrified of things that I will never do? Why is this happening again? I don't want to watch television, go outside, turn on my computer, read a magazine. This horrid train of thought that is pestering me right now is so prevalent, so publicised that I can't escape it.

I hate to be alone right now. In the bathroom, in bed at night, anywhere. 

I don't want to watch television, go outside, turn on my computer or read a magazine. But I will. Because I am stronger than this. I am stronger than something that is not real. It is so easy for me to write that, because at this very moment, I believe it. But, one image, one phrase and it will be back and I will panic.

I think today I have turned a momentous corner. I am facing this. Head On. Starting with a visit to my GP to discuss the possibility of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). 

And so really, writing this hasn't been for you. It's been for me. So I can read that last paragraph at those lowest points and know that it will change. 

Politicians, Police and Finger Paints

And so it's started - what I believe to be a response (albeit a possible subconscious one in some cases - masked by a volatile, frustrated and hyperactive and careless exterior), to poverty, repression,that ever expanding gap between the stinking rich and the poor and various other social injustices. It goes without saying that this whole episode of rioting speaks volumes about the deepening cracks in British society.

I won't overindulge you with the details of these events, we are bombarded with that already.

I guess I've been wondering how participatory arts can be of any help now? Has it gone too far? Will being invited to engage in art making be too patronising to this group of clearly angry and disadvantaged people? Will it just help to tick criteria boxes and attempt to cover the cracks? I've been joking with friends that maybe a course like mine would chill these people out, make them less confrontational and more able to express themselves in a 'positive' manner? On the surface, that's a lovely idea. But it would surely allow the corruption and injustice at the higher end of the social scale to continue because those at the top would still be none the wiser about the daily struggles of those who do not mix in their elite circles (either that or would continue to not give a f*ck as long as they live in comfort, but I'm trying not to be cynical here because I know fully well there is good and bad in ALL factions of our society).

So, do we take the art making to the top? Do we design workshops that aim to promote stronger empathy among our police and politicians with the people they are seemingly failing to govern using the arts as a tool?

Politicians and police officers blowing the budget on graffiti classes, singing groups, finger painting and film making. Now, wouldn't that be a lovely idea?! The Daily Mail readers of Britain would implode in their armchairs, no doubt.

A Gimp a day keeps...me from writing essays.

All images were drawn/doodled throughout lectures. This may be frowned upon, but it is most definitely the most effective way for me to learn. I have never retained so much information as I do when I allow my hands to wander, so to speak. I then upload the images and manipulate/colour them in using Gimp Software.

Destruction, Distraction and Windmills

I don't particularly like holidays. Breaks in routine are somewhat damaging to me, I find myself becoming distracted and demotivated. Although this is nothing new (it's been constant throughout my education, both compulsory and voluntary) I am now trying to discover where it originates - what stops me from indulging in the work I so enjoy and how can I eradicate it? I can and do work under pressure, but I am nearly always unsatisfied with the final result whether it's practical or written. Like most people, I start every module, every project with the best of intentions. I get the books, I make the notes, I start to construct. But, long before the deadline, with my work incomplete, I become disillusioned, frustrated and bored. It's like I binge, and then am so disgusted with what comes out that I have to start all over again.


There is no doubt that I am a passionate, opinionated individual. I very rarely sit on the fence with regards to moral or political values and when something happens that frustrates me (at the moment, the debate over our outdated monarchy and the fact that tax payers are expected to fork out for the over indulgent nuptials of two individuals they have never met whilst suffering on the back of cuts to essential services is one such issue) I become so inflamed that my all of my inspiration and energy is targeted in that direction. I now realise that I need to either channel this energy productively in that direction using the arts to demonstrate my feelings or somehow separate the two. That won't happen. For me, my work is intrinsically related to provoked feelings and actions. The aesthetics of the product come in at a close second.

This leads me to my placement. I enjoy the people, the environment. And I genuinely like most of the works I have seen. I'm learning valuable skills and I am definitely benefiting from the structure and routine this one day in a week gives me. But there is something missing. There is only so much I can gain from looking at a pretty picture. I'm looking forward to working more with patients and staff in neurophysiology department - this is where I will be fulfilled, where my need to feel useful will be met.


A mouse lived in a windmill in old Amsterdam...

Over the course of the next few weeks, I will be working with children in the Neurophysiology Department to support them through some rather intimidating tests. One such test is an EEG, or Electroencephalograph - a test that monitors brain activity. There are two parts to the test - the first being a twenty minute period in which the children must remain quite still and the second a period of three minutes in which they must breath deeply continuously. Getting an accurate reading can be difficult, especially in young children, and distraction is the key to success! I was told by the Deputy Clinical Lead that toy windmills work wonderfully in the three minute breathing test. I have decided to further develop this method by inviting children and their families to make their own windmills in the previous twenty minute test in an attempt to ease anxiety.

Series of works based upon both my personal experiences of surgery, and my core values and beliefs as a human being. Mostly acrylic and stitch on canvas, scrap card.

In the past few weeks, my pain, balance and energy levels have been fluctuating, to say the least. As per usual, this is reflected in my work. It's been a struggle to push myself to complete assignments and travel to my placement, and so this blog has been simmering away on the back burner. I've recently started a 60hr work placement at Art for Life, based in Tauntons Musgrove Park Hospital. I'm developing skills and becoming more confident in a working environment (previous employment has never really been positive for me - constantly negotiating with somewhat prejudiced employers and trying to manage chronic neuropathic pain is challenging to say the least), but I am keen to investigate the therapeutic benefits of the arts and the arts therapies themselves further. I am far more concerned with the process behind a piece of work than the aesthetics, the quality.

I'm about to embark on the first stages of two new and exciting projects within the hospital, mainly in the neurophysiology department, the details of which will follow shortly!

Caring @ Christmas # Creative Writing Project #

28th December 2010

During a volunteer shift at Bristol's Caring at Christmas Homeless Shelter, I was given the opportunity to take part in a creative writing workshop, facilitated by a lady named Khrysia. Participants, myself included, selected an image and a leading sentence. We then wrote freely for 20minutes, with reference to the image and sentence chosen.

Below is my piece. I chose a photograph of some red flowers in white vases and the sentence "when I was a child I was convinced I would be..."

As a child I was convinced I would be

A graduate

A success,

Totally free

A driver

No children

A one-bed flat

An artist, a scientist

Rid of my fat.

A countryside dweller,

A city girl

Detached from ignorance,

The colour red was very

Significant.

Hounds in gardens

Hounds in fields,

Wax jackets

Rifles

Not hair and nails.

Animals not people.

I do not know the name of these plants

But they were always there.

When I was a child

I was convinced I would be

Here right now, where I want to be.

It’s hard to write extensively

before it becomes fake and constructed.

My obsession with beauty and grammar stops

words flowing freely. 

My hands are cramping.

It’s cold and raw.

When I was a child I was convinced I would be

here right now where I always wanted to be

I was surprised at how easily those words came, how comfortable I felt, how real I was able to be when sat with three others, including two men visiting the shelter, who's struggles in life I can't begin to comprehend.