Scared... Me?!

Ok so I actually started writing this post months ago but I never got around to completing it. And now I know why... the service at church this morning reminded me of this semi-finished post and when I came back to read it, I realised just how right the timing is for it now. Obviously it wasn't right before. So here it is. It's about fear, God, relationships and 'extravagant love'. I feel like perhaps there will be some kind of conclusion to it next week. We'll have to wait and see but in the meantime, please read and make what you will of my ever rambling-ness.


Something that I have boasted over the years is that I am scared of very little. This is true; I'm not scared of much. But when I am scared of something, the fear is crippling. It would be fair to say that this is the cause of some of my mental health problems. But, as I have mentioned before now, I am extremely stubborn. I'm also really bad at asking for help. Both of these character flaws mean that when I do come across something that scares me - terrifies me - and I feel that icy cold grip on the back of my neck and everything just seems to stop, I refuse to admit that I'm scared. More than that, I pretend like whatever it is means nothing and I then avoid it at all costs. One could say that this has gotten me into trouble on more than one occasion; and you wouldn't be wrong. One thing that therapy is -slowly - teaching me, is that I need to talk about things that scare me and ask for help with them when I need it. My stubbornness doesn't help in this matter, but I am starting to talk about things that scare me more. I used to think that admitting fear was akin to admitting weakness; that you might as well stick a massive target on your back or a sign saying, 'pick on me about this; it scares me'. The thing that I'm finding is that actually I was, yet again (I dislike the alarmingly high frequency at which this is happening), wrong. Talking about things that scare me does actually help. It helps to talk to people who perhaps have similar fears or who at least understand the feeling that if you tell people that you're scared they'll use it against you, because they are less likely to do just that. Admitting to and talking about things that I am scared of helps to diminish the fear a little; it makes the thing seem less scary. Especially when someone else chimes in to say that they're scared of that too. It makes you feel less like a freak. Though therapy is, by its very nature, full of crazy people; so the fact that they feel the same as I do, probably doesn't make me any less crazy. But at least I can be crazy with someone.
I feel like I have been working really hard at therapy. I do try to talk about things that scare me. But I'm still scared to talk about some of them. Rather ironic that I find talking about things that scare me, scary. But hey, I am my own brand of crazy. I've talked a lot about my aversion to people which, it turns out, just boils down to me being scared of how people will treat me and of being rejected (talk about serious 'daddy' issues!). I've also talked about my fear of failure; why I find normal life so difficult because I am constantly terrified of getting things wrong and of failing. When I had to leave University, due to my messed up brain, I felt like I had failed. Not just at University but at life. I was in such a bad place when I was at University that even normal everyday life was too much for me and I just wasn't looking after myself - I'm scared of going back there. When you're in that much of a state it's easy to let yourself think that you're a complete failure, at everything. And for someone who is terrified of failure, it just completely destroys you. You let it destroy you.
As a Christian, I know that I have nothing to fear. God has always and will always have His hand on my life. While I've been at therapy I've not just been learning about the psychological aspects of my mental health problems but I have also been learning about the spiritual aspects. I have found an amazing home at York City Church and I consider all of its members to be family to me. They have helped me through this time in my life to an extent that they don't even know. And I am so grateful for them. Especially considering the fact that just a year and a half ago, they didn't even know who I was. God has blessed me so richly this past year. He gave me St Andrew's, where I go for my therapy, knowing that it was perfectly right for me. Because everything He does is perfectly right. Through therapy and church, He has taught me so much about myself and about life. I have never felt so good as I do now. I am filled with joy. And it is all thanks to Him. He has helped me to realise that for so long I was in bondage, to sin and fear. And His hand on my life, His blessings, have helped me to see that I don't need to live like that, ever. Not just to see it but to truly believe it. I do not need to be afraid. I do not need to be ashamed. The funny thing is, I always knew this. I have been a Christian for as long as I can remember. I always knew all of this. But, as one of the therapists at St Andrew's loves to tell me constantly, 'knowing isn't everything'. And, as per usual, he is right. I doubt he meant for that to speak to me on a spiritual level but God works in mysterious, and often rather humorous, ways.
My emotional journey through life and therapy has been completely intertwined with my spiritual journey with God and I have frequently found that themes in my therapy seem to be linked to many of the themes talked about at my church on a Sunday morning. This morning was no exception. I've been thinking a lot about this fear thing; this isn't the first time I've visited this blog post. Recently the theme of my work at St Andrew's has been about relationships. I've had a pretty bad run when it's come to relationships in the past and so talking about relationships is pretty scary for me. So scary that I often get horrible nightmares that feel almost real. I've never really talked about my nightmares before but I know that it's something I'm going to have to do. And soon. The service at church this morning was about 'Extravagant Love' for Jesus. It may not seem like this would have anything to do with fear but it really does. The guy who was preaching talked about things that stop people from loving extravagantly. Fear was one of those things. He addressed it mostly to the men in the room, which I disagreed with actually, because I knew exactly what he was talking about when he described how that fear can affect our lives and our relationships; especially our relationship with God. And that kind of fear can and does affect anyone. Hearing the preacher talk about fear like that, even though I knew it all already, was like a revelation. And it felt like God was just using the man at the front of my church to repeat everything He'd been saying to me through therapy. When that happens it makes me even more certain that I am where God wants me to be because He just keeps driving it all home and backing it up with the Gospel. I got a real sense this morning of things just sliding into place, like the cliched pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I realised that all of my fears and insecurities about relationships are just preventing me from extravagantly loving God and having the relationship with Him that I am meant to have. It just reminded me that I am where I need to be and that God has His hand over my life and I just need to completely trust Him. But my fear has stopped me from doing that. Over recent months I have come to trust and rely on God more, in the way that I am supposed to. But I still find it a constant battle. I know that God loves me extravagantly. He sent His only son to die, for me! That is how much He loves me. But to love Him in return, in the way that He deserves to be loved, I need to let go of my fear.
And I thought that, with only five weeks left to go at St Andrew's, the work was almost done. What a fool I have been!

difficult decisions and admitting that i *may* have been wrong

So, as those of you who know me personally will know, I was pretty damn certain that once I finished at therapy I would return to Brighton to finish my degree in Philosophy and English Literature. As you will also know, I am really stubborn. In fact that is an understatement. I am ridiculously stubborn. And I hate admitting that I am wrong. For a long while, I avoided even thinking about University; stuck in this little part of my brain that was stubbornly convinced that I would return to Brighton and everything would be great. I wouldn't even let myself admit that I was scared that actually it wouldn't be all that great; because last time I thought that it would be great and... well... look what happened there. Then, just after Christmas, my mother brought up the subject of University. It's hard for me to realise this, let alone accept it, but she's scared too. She's scared of how ill I was and of what might happen if I go back to Brighton. She may not have put it in the best way and it may have turned into an argument, but what she said basically amounted to her telling me she's scared for me, she doesn't think I'll be ready to go back to Brighton and she doesn't want to have to go through what she went through last time if it doesn't work out again. She wanted me to transfer to York St John. I didn't want to listen at first. There's a whole bunch of issues that goes along with this, like feeling stupid for failing Uni; feeling like I'm going backwards; feeling like a child, unable to look after myself; not wanting to end up like some people I know who are in their 40s and still live at home... the list goes on, and on, and on. I was also scared that York St John wouldn't accept me and then I'd never be able to finish my degree. (That may seem like a silly fear, but it's not for me. I have a very low opinion of myself and I genuinely cannot see why they would accept me.) Eventually, I realised I had to think about this stuff. In fact, after that conversation, I couldn't stop thinking about stuff. Getting my degree is what's most important to me now. I was lazy in my GCSEs and ALevels. And in my first year of my degree to an extent. And then my damned psycho brain decided to screw it all up even more. It was bound to happen eventually. Anyway... I've realised that what I really want is to get my degree, do a PGCE and become an English teacher. And whether I do those things in Brighton or in York, or even on the moon, doesn't matter. The important thing is to do them. Sure I don't want to live at home forever, and I won't, but right now, it's my best shot of getting a degree. And if therapy has taught me anything - actually, it's taught me a lot - it's taught me that sometimes, just *sometimes* mind, I can be wrong and I am too stubborn for my own good. So I decided to do something that I have never done in the history of ever, and I listened to my mother. *Pause for the shocked horror of my friends* I looked at the English Literature and Creative Writing course at York St John - they don't do Philosophy and actually I love writing so this course makes a lot of sense - and I emailed them about transferring. I had a lot of support and prayer from my friends in York. I've settled into a church here now - York City Church - and everyone has been so loving and welcoming and I have met so many people and made so many friends, the idea of leaving actually would make me incredibly sad. I would miss everyone, A LOT. So maybe staying in York could work out. Finally, after various emails and the University looking over my grades and everything, just over a week ago now, they said they would be happy to accept me as a transfer. I still have to do a UCAS form - I MUST be masochistic! - but I'm basically in. I wasn't expecting quite how happy this actually made me. I got in. And I get to stay in York, at my wonderful church, with all my wonderful friends. And my family, however much I argue with my mother at times, will be close by if I need them. So I've almost completed the dreaded UCAS form. I even made the daring step of contacting my academic advisor from Sussex to request a reference, which he agreed to do. I just have to do the personal statement. The worst part. The part that I tried to do last weekend and just ended up with hundreds of screwed up balls of paper all over my bedroom floor, and then have just avoided doing for the rest of the week. Funny how I can sit at my laptop and write this so easily and without a second's thought, but not write a personal statement - which is what I had originally intended to do when I sat down to my laptop earlier this evening. My skills of avoidance and procrastination know no bounds! - just don't tell my therapists... especially PHIL! Who wants me to write and draft and then take it into therapy for people to read and tell me if it's good and what else I can include, because apparently I'm too harsh a critic to myself and I just *think* it's crap but actually other people will be able to tell me it's not. Well this is just another of my many millions of issues... I cannot write about myself, especially not favourably, and I really think that most of what I write is a load of crap anyway so writing a personal statement is hell for me! As for letting other people at therapy see it?! No thank you! I don't want them realising that actually I'm really thick. And I'm really bad at taking criticism and practical advice so this is really just going to end badly. I did mention that I'm stubborn, right? I have this feeling that I'm going to just write it and send it and then make excuses next week, but I know that I really really shouldn't do that... So now I'm stuck. Because I know that the right thing for me therapeutically would be to do as Phil suggested and write a draft and let people at therapy help me, but I'm really so stubborn - and actually really fragile - that I don't know if I can do it... I wonder how this one is going to play out. Anyway... I have successfully avoided actually writing this damned personal statement for a good hour or so now... and I really should quit with the procrastination and just get on with it... Oh well, this was fun while it lasted. I'll post again sometime... not sure when. I'm pretty crappy when it comes to this blogging thing; I have no self-discipline - yet another issue I need to deal with, no wonder I'm in therapy!

Week Four in the Mad House

            So I have survived another week in the mad house, making my time there a total of four weeks. Community meeting on Monday morning saw my admission of self-harming the night before and a futile discussion about the person who didn’t turn up on the Thursday before. Community meeting followed by small group which was much the same as always; we sat in a group and talked about things and most of it was dominated by the same person. By lunch little of note had happened.

            After lunch was art therapy, which I have already established as my worst session, but I had decided to try and have a at it. The session always starts with everyone discussing the work from the previous week. People commented on mine and asked me how I felt about it. I said that it had been stubborn and I had been trying to prove a point but that I would, in future, try harder in the art sessions. Somehow, what was supposed to be a positive thing turned into yet another argument and, though I had intended to try not to rise to it and meet aggression with aggression, I admit that I reverted to my old habit of fighting back. I was already angry and upset with myself about the weekend and cutting myself the night before and so, when people started having a go at me, I got upset. At some point the argument abated and we got on with the art bit of the session. I drew a TARDIS. For the most part my reason behind that choice was because I like Doctor Who but the more I thought about it I realised that the TARDIS does have some symbolic meaning; it is bigger on the inside which feels like me because I do have a lot to give but it’s all on the inside and I don’t always show it on the outside. Also, the chameleon filter on the TARDIS is broken, which means it is always stuck as a police telephone box, and sometimes it feels like I am permanently stuck as this fat, pathetic, depressed person but I don’t want to be.

            After the time for doing art was up we had to sit and discuss what we had done. Unfortunately this discussion just resulted in further arguments because it appears that some community members think that there is a divide between the two small groups. One person in particular went as far as to say that they thought that some of the members in the small group that I’m in seem to get more attention because they cry or get aggressive or storm out. This upset a few people and when it was nearly time for the session to end, though the therapist hadn’t actually called time, the person who had said that some people were just attention seeking walked out. Half a minute later the therapist called time and the rest of the community left the room but by that time the person who had stormed out had already gone home. I left to go home feeling absolutely rubbish because I felt like all the arguments had been my fault and that everyone thought I was just an attention seeker. I know that isn’t completely true and that it was just my paranoia making me think that but I do often think that I am just an attention seeker and I felt really persecuted by the guy.

            On the Tuesday morning I really didn’t want to go back to the mad house. I felt paranoid and anxious and didn’t want to be around people, but I made myself go and face everyone. The guy who had stormed out of art the day before, however, did not turn up which only served to make me feel even worse. In the community meeting I apologised to the rest of the community for my behaviour in art but I had really wanted to apologise to the guy who had stormed out, so I was annoyed that he hadn’t turned up and I thought that he was just being childish. Large group therapy was difficult. The general atmosphere was so tense and, although no arguments broke out, it was a horrible place to be and was really anxiety-provoking. Everyone was really glad to get out of the room when time was called and when it came to TBC I was pleased that it was housekeeping because it meant that I could do something active rather than just sitting around talking.

            That afternoon was awareness which just makes me think of PSHE in school or something. The session started, as usual, with a couple of warm-up games then it was decided that the main topic would be a role-play around the theme of assertiveness, especially when dealing with receptionists at doctors’ surgeries. We had already done something about assertiveness recently but I didn’t complain because it meant that I could just sit back and watch and it was far removed from the frustrations and the conflicts of the day before. Awareness went rather quickly and again I was glad to get away at the end of the day and go home.

            On Wednesday morning I didn’t want to go in again, but again I made myself. The guy who walked out on Monday afternoon was back but community meeting did little to deal with the fact that he had walked out and then not even come in on the Tuesday. He said that he wanted to leave the programme completely and that he had only come in to talk about leaving because people had asked him to. This made me feel even worse and my brain kept telling me that it was all my fault – I really need to sort out this paranoia because it’s driving me insane. I had wanted to bring it in to small group but struggled to find an appropriate gap in the flow of the conversation. Again I got frustrated because one person just seemed to dominate the entire session – like always – and another person just sulked and said he wanted the group to vote him out because he didn’t want to be there anymore, which I just thought was him being childish and wanting to know that people cared and wanted him to be there. To be honest I’m getting rather sick of middle-aged men having temper tantrums – they’re just acting like two-year-olds.

            After lunch was working party. I had thought that we had reached some kind of conclusion on the subject we had been discussing the week before but apparently other people thought otherwise. The conversation started to turn into another argument and I was getting extremely frustrated with people just talking over each other. By the end of it I just wanted to leave the mad house and never go back. I probably sound like such a drama queen but I am getting really pissed off with the place and sometimes I just can’t take all the stress and the arguing. After working party it was PAG which actually went quite well because there was a potential new member there so the session was pretty much spent doing her assessment so I didn’t have to do or say anything. After group was also pretty uneventful. Everyone was tired and just wanted to leave so when time was called everyone was glad to get out of there – especially me.

            On Thursday morning after community meeting it was reviews. That day was the review of the guy who had walked out of art on the Monday. People had managed to persuade him to stay for his review and I was actually glad that he was there because, though he had acted childishly, so had I and I wanted to apologise to him for shouting at him on Monday. By the end of the reviews I felt a little better because I had been able to apologise and the guy had come up to me and said thanks for doing so. Check-out and lunch were good and, before I knew it, it was the end of my fourth week in the mad house.

            I am planning on going in tomorrow, so I should probably go and get some sleep now. But before I do; a couple of prayer requests. Prayers for the week ahead would be greatly appreciated and please pray about my current struggles with paranoia; it’s really bothering me. Also, please pray that I don’t get so frustrated and annoyed with people so quickly and that I can learn to manage those feelings better. Last week was a real lesson for me in patience and in not fighting back when people push me – I still have to work on those things – but I am getting there slowly and maybe, with the help of the therapy programme, I’ll start to get better.

Thanks and God bless

KV

Week Three in the Mad House

This post is rather late; I wrote it last Friday but I’ve been really busy and tired and just haven’t had chance to post it until now.

            So the other day I wrote about art therapy last Monday afternoon in my post ‘An Exercise in Pointlessness’. In writing that post, and throughout the rest of the week, I realised that I had just been incredibly stubborn and even childish. I have my reasons for disliking art therapy, but sometimes we have to do things we don’t like. And also, looking back on the event now and being hit by just how stubborn and provocative I’d been (hindsight is always 20:20) I learnt that a large part of my response came from the fact that people challenged me, and when pushed, I push back. I’m not making excuses it’s just that I had never really noticed this before, because I never really took the time to acknowledge and examine these things. I can’t say that this discovery is a surprise, or a shock, as such, because it makes a lot of sense; it has just taken a long time to clear away the fog of so many (mostly irrational) thoughts in order to see things clearly. I have now decided to try art, and try to get something out of it, and to use the space on Monday afternoon to explore why I react in this way to things I don’t like. I have a feeling it’s going to be a struggle, because my initial reaction is to fight it.

            On Tuesday the sharing out of jobs in community group led to conflict when some of the community members didn’t want to put themselves forward for jobs. Other members challenged people about their aversions to jobs but somehow the discussion ended in rather heated arguments. This seemed to set the tone for the rest of the day. Large group therapy just seemed to be an extension of the same argument that occurred in community meeting, with the same people repeating the same tired arguments and then not listening to one another. The session felt somewhat wasted and there was a lot of stress and tension within the community.

            Things came to a head in the ‘To be Confirmed’ (TBC) session right before lunch. TBC is a difficult session as the structure is different from the rest of the time there. The last two weeks, as people were leaving, there were exhibitions of their art from the whole year, held during TBC. This week, however, the slot was a designated ‘creative’ session – though I’m not quite sure what that entails. At the beginning of the session, it was pointed out that the session should actually have been set for someone to demonstrate a skill to the group – an exercise in public speaking – but the person whose turn it was supposed to be had altered the schedule in order to put it off for their own personal reasons – which I cannot share due to confidentiality issues. This led into more discussion about jobs and people not taking responsibility for their actions. I know that I have been guilty of this myself and so felt that the reaction of some of the other community members was rather extreme.

            More arguments ensued and it got rather heated. I don’t much like conflict – though it may sometimes appear otherwise – and so got extremely anxious and had a panic attack. Before now I would have left the room when the panic attack came on, if not before, but I forced myself to stay in my seat, despite the intense urge to just run away. For all the argument about of structure, the structure for the session went completely out of the window, and anarchy and chaos presided. This only added to my distress and anxiety, as I need structure and routine. The arguments just kept going around in circles, with several people really getting on my nerves – this is why I don’t like people. Finally time was called and I rushed out of the room wanting air (it had been so stuffy in the therapy room) and to go home. I didn’t leave but I was still very upset and mistakenly started discussing what had happened, with another community member, in the social space. As this is breaking a ground rule I was advised to stop talking about it and bring it in to a therapy session; which I intend to do properly next week.

            Awareness that afternoon was not as bad as the morning. The main theme was body language and there was some discussion on the topic and a little role play. I was exhausted from the morning so the calmer atmosphere was greatly appreciated. When awareness was over I could go home. I was completely drained but had an appointment with my doctor that evening and so couldn’t just go home and rest. The appointment went well and talking about how the therapy was going actually helped me to put my feelings about it in perspective after such a stressful day. It seems that thus far my general feelings about it are positive.

            Wednesday morning in community meeting, unfortunately the arguments started all over again. I tried to stay calm and rational but failed miserably and when it came to small group therapy, and the conflict still continued, I started to have another panic attack. Again I did actually manage to stay seated. It was difficult, but I am grateful to one person in particular who tried to diffuse the situation. Towards the end of the session a kind of vague resolution was made, but I still felt very anxious and stressed.

            I had been selected to take part in Working Party, which takes place on Wednesday afternoons, immediately after lunch. Working Party consists of six community members and two therapists who discuss practical issues that affect the community. I didn’t particularly want to do it because I am not good at taking responsibility, but in the community that’s a reason to do it; I just feel it’s a bit soon - this week was only my third week. Despite my reservations it went quite well. We only discussed one point and at times it felt repetitive and I got frustrated with people talking over one another but by the end of the meeting it felt like we had actually achieved something, though it seemed a small thing.

            PAG followed Working Party, and again it went well. There was one person new to PAG and two people who were nearing the end of their assessment (as well as some other community members and two therapists). The two who were near the end of their assessment completed it in the session and were invited to start full time from Monday; so on Monday we will have two new members, making our numbers up to fourteen (not including the therapists).

            After PAG the whole community joined back together for After Group to discuss how both the previous sessions, and the day generally, had gone. By this time I was exhausted and really did not need more conflict. For the most part it went smoothly but were a couple of times when people got agitated and even aggressive. I think it’s fair to say that Tuesday and Wednesday were not great days; everyone was frustrated, annoyed and upset and people just weren’t listening to each other. It strikes me that, unless people actually listen to what other community members say, group therapy won’t work and the community will just fall apart.

            On Thursday, as I have previously explained, we are only in for the morning. We had boundaries and reviews, and then came to check-out. In check-out I explained that I was going to Brighton at the weekend for a wedding. I was really anxious about the journey and it was really stressful and anxiety-provoking, but I made it all the way to Brighton. I was also really anxious about the weekend as a whole. It was the first time I was going to be in Brighton since I left last summer and so I hadn’t seen anyone for over a year. I also hadn’t been away from home alone in all that time, let alone as far as Brighton. Then there was the anxiety over seeing people. I love my friends from Brighton and still keep in touch with some of them but, having been away so long, I have missed things. I also feel that I have changed a lot in the course of the year and so I worried that they wouldn’t have still liked me. I know that it was just my paranoia and anxiety that made me feel that way but I was really scared. Finally, I had been having a fat week, so I didn’t particularly feel like getting all dressed up for a wedding, even though I really wanted to be there. So (back to the point of this particular post) after I had explained this to the group, I went on to say that I had found the week very stressful and anxiety-provoking. After I had finished speaking, one of the therapists said that I “have a strong voice”. At the time I just responded with “I don’t feel it sometimes” but since, I have been wondering what exactly he meant by that comment, because I am not exactly sure. I think I might have to ask him for clarification because my paranoia is still doing over-time.

            The morning actually passed without conflict. One person was away but, though I wonder about it, I know that it wasn’t the whole reason behind the change in atmosphere from the Wednesday to the Thursday. That lunchtime we had a birthday lunch for a community member. I baked brownies for it and they seemed to go down well so that made me feel a little better about myself. That afternoon, I met my best friend in town, which seems to be becoming a weekly ritual, and ranted at her about the stresses and anxieties of the week. I am so blessed to have that woman in my life and I feel sorry for her having to listen to me complain all the time. However much I complain though, I have come to realise that I am blessed to have the opportunity to be part of the therapy programme. It may be frustrating at times, and very hard work, but I have already seen and felt some benefit. Please pray that it keeps working and I keep seeing the benefits.

Thanks and God bless

KV

An Exercise in Pointlessness

            So today began the third week in the mad house and this afternoon we had art therapy. As I mentioned in my post ‘Week Two in the Mad House’, I really struggle with the art therapy sessions as I just don’t get it. Today, at the beginning of the session people started to have a go at me about the fact that I prefer to write rather than draw or paint. Well, perhaps saying they were ‘having a go at me’ is a little immature, but I felt persecuted by everyone in the room. I know that the point of therapy is to make the things that are uncomfortable, comfortable, but people pressing me just makes the urge to fight or run away, even stronger. I also felt like people weren’t listening to what I was saying. Everyone kept telling me to just do whatever came to mind; to follow my instinct, but I do that through writing. Art doesn’t come naturally to me, words do, and so telling me to do what comes naturally, inspires me to write. I express myself through words; this blog is evidence of that. But no one would listen when I tried to explain this.

            Because of this I was frustrated and angry, so when it came to actually making the art I admit that I was stubborn and rebelled slightly. I spent ages looking through the art supplies for inspiration and just got more and more annoyed, but I was convinced that the therapist was making note of my stubbornness and so eventually decided to do something random just to prove how pointless it was. Pointless making me do something without feeling or meaning. I found a picture in a tattoo magazine of a tattoo of an eye. The image meant nothing to me; it was just the nicest one I saw. I cut it out and stuck it to a piece of card and then just left it at that. I called it ‘An Exercise in Pointlessness’ because I felt no connection to it; it held no meaning for me; it just felt completely pointless. After that there was still loads of time left and I still felt angry and frustrated, so I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and scrawled in large letters, taking up the entire A3 page, the question ‘WHY?’ I have felt so disillusioned with a number of things recently, the therapy being just one of them. By writing ‘why’ I was not only questioning being made to do something I didn’t want to, and thought was pointless, but I was voicing my doubts about a number of things. One might argue that by doing this I found purpose in the art therapy but I did so by using words; or at least a word. I didn’t use paint. I didn’t draw something. I wrote something. Which just proves my point that words can be ‘art’ and you don’t have to make an image.

            By this point the anger had receded slightly but I still felt like being stubborn and so, as there was still some time left, I grabbed another piece of paper. This time I just signed it and then left the rest of the page blank. My point in doing this was to express exactly what came to my mind when I entered art therapy on a Monday afternoon, NOTHING. Finally the time for creating the art was up and we had to sit and give feedback on each other’s work. Obviously people commented on mine, saying that they found it provocative and aggressive. I said that I felt apathetic towards my pieces of work but that may have been a slight lie. I did feel little towards the first piece that I did, but I was being stubborn when I said that they all meant nothing. Truthfully, I felt, and still feel, angry and upset and frustrated about the whole art therapy session and about the work I created.

            I’m still annoyed because, however childish it may be, I feel like I gave in to the pressure to create art. I was stubborn and deliberately made a point, through my work, of trying to rebel, by still using words and refusing to create something; leaving a blank page. But I gave in and produced something. And now I find myself questioning my work and the purpose and meaning that I placed upon it. I also find myself wondering why it is, exactly, that I dislike art so much. If therapy is going to make me think this much, I’m not sure I like it – and now I really am being stubborn and childish.

            I will write again soon I am sure.

God bless

KV