Painting from my Perspective - A Personal Courage Story

Its fall in the year of the covid and we’ve almost made it through what many are calling a most unprecedented time. As a citizen of Canada, I am especially fortunate having access to the basic necessities (that many take for granted); clean water, a place to live, clothing food and a safe environment. Falls colours brilliantly display the energy of nature’s life all around us. Yet for me October remains a reminder and a measure.

While we probably shouldn’t dwell on the past, we should never forget it entirely either. Something about “those who forget are doomed to repeat…”

I find myself pausing here, pondering whether this particular story to follow should be shared or kept hidden. But then I think about my own present convictions – a deep belief that when we share our experiences with others, we help others. I’ve read stories about ancient peoples whose culture is built on the knowledge and experience of their elders – stories are re-told and passed on to generations to follow. And the society grows and learns. And individuals take comfort and increase personal knowledge and aptitude – becoming successful and confident in their own skills and value.

So here it is:

October 15^th is an anniversary of a life-event for me that needs to be remembered and kept as a sort of measure from where I’ve been to where I am. Whenever I feel my present is stuck I consider this defining moment. And then I move on.

See, I’m still drawing this out………..right???

Its very personal, but it’s a story that those who share similar experiences should also share, more often and to more people. Warning: this next part of this blog may be triggering for some. Please seek help if you feel you are in danger.

October 15^th, 2014 I was alone at home and feeling distraught to the point of wondering what does all this really mean, I was overwhelmed, fearful, agitated and anxious, thinking who cares, why should I care, there’s nothing I can do that will change anything, I’m doomed, this place and everyone is better off without me.

After taking four times the recommended daily dose, I started to panic I called a local hotline and then texted a close friend. What seemed like seconds, an officer was at my door. Then a minute later an ambulance. After a barrage of questions, I was escorted to the ambulance and taken to the hospital. I was checked and admitted very quickly. I had not expected to be in the hospital. I had not expected anyone to care.

After a day or so I was medically cleared and moved upstairs to a mental health ward. I shared a room with a very loud, very distraught person.  

There’s a lot of things about my time there I could share here. The details aren’t really important. What is important are the things I learned. I learned a name for my disability, BPD. I learned that there were people who do care about me – because they came to visit and called me on the phone daily. I learned that the nurses and doctors in places like that are truly amazing and supportive and probably the most caring and kind human beings on the whole planet. And I rediscovered a few things I had forgotten, some were things I didn’t even know that I knew.

During my 16 day stay I participated in various activities that were organized for us, the patients. One of these was an arts and craft period. I picked up paint and brushes again for the first time in probably a decade or more. I painted what I saw thru the window of the craft room. It was the Hamilton escarpment heading up from the downtown. The trees were in fall bloom. Artistically, its clumsy and really not very good at all. But in the making of this awkward art a rusty lock was opened and a kind of self love whispered out like a soft whoosh of air when you open a can of pop. I stayed there in that room until I was happy with the finished artwork.

The next day one of the nurses showed me the quiet room. Inside was a mural that was only partially complete. She said I have full permission to complete the mural if I wanted to. She said they were all very impressed with my artwork from the previous day.

So, I spent a few hours each day, over the next few days working on the mural. I was almost sad when it was finished. I wanted to do more. My daughters had brought me a sketchbook and my colored pencils, at my request and I spent time drawing in between other activities.

What I re-learned was that somehow, I knew from an early age that creating art was something I needed to do to stay healthy and happy. It wasn’t a conscious knowing, how could it be? I was only 4 or 5 when I first started to draw and paint. All I knew then was it made me feel good to paint and draw.

On October 31, 2014 I was released from the hospital. Of course, there were additional programs and supports that were part of my treatment and lasted a couple years after the initial event. This had not been my first time attempting to end my life. This time though, there was more learning, supports and progress that followed, and I continue to use what I learned everyday to help me in situations that used to cause me great pain. The pain isn’t gone, I have learned more effective ways to manage it and recognize it. No path is straight though, and I adjust along the way as needed. Staying – or trying to – stay in the present and appreciate what I see, feel, hear, smell right here right now helps to manage larger overwhelming thoughts and feelings. And allowing myself to become lost in my artwork every day – or nearly every day – feels like a big piece of what I need. Its not perfect, and I’m not “cured”. What’s happened is I have learned more about who and what I am and what I need – and what I don’t need.

Today I have carved out a studio in my home; more like converted the master bedroom into my fine art and graphic art studio. I make plans; daily, weekly, monthly, yearly and long term. I make action steps to reach those goals. And most important above all I resist the deep urge to be self critical when things don’t follow my plans. Or when I allow fear (of the unknown) to fall in and roadblock me from reaching a goal. Roadblocks are temporary sometimes and when they aren’t you can chose to  plow your own path through the woods.

Its not perfect, but its better. I am looking forward to the journey ahead. And remembering my 16 days in October 2014 help me to paint perspective into my present moment.