A Speccy Man Has A Breakdown - day 12

Listen to me reading this

<< Day 11

Been difficult, today. You might think I’ve spent a lot of time, this week, putting together the contents of the book – collecting pictures, writing the words – but actually no. I’ve done my best to avoid that.

I’m already very familiar with the material. As I probably said before, I made the pictures as I was living through a bewildering, painful experience. And not for anyone else, just for me – to record and (perhaps) make sense of it. So yeah: it’s familiar.

When I look at the pictures I find myself overcome by shame. It comes at me from every direction. The pictures aren’t good enough. They’re too dark, or twee (or both). The experience they describe is embarrassing, or boring / both. It’s navel gazing. Pathetic.

That kind of shame, I’ve learned, can quickly spiral into self-loathing. Which may be why most people who go into psych ward don’t attempt to publish an account of it afterwards.

Why do I?

Because when I do, people tell me it’s helpful. Many share their own experiences, including heartbreaking losses.

It’s an easy thing to say, “Don’t worry, this will pass.” It can be much harder to believe it. If my story helps even one person to see that it’s possible to move beyond feeling that life isn’t worth living – well, that’s enough for me.

Anyway.

This morning, I selected far too many of my drawings and added a number of photos, including pictures of me enjoying (Before) some kind of professional success and (After) the interior of Room 320 at the Nightingale Hospital.

I printed them all, cut them out and attempted to put them into some kind of order on the kitchen table.

Then I popped them in my jacket pocket and went for a walk over Hampstead Heath.

In Hampstead village, most of the outdoor tables were taken so I went inside a cafe and ate a stale hot cross bun while shuffling the pages around a bit more, and scribbling a few notes on them.

Less than two weeks to go. Thank you for being here. It means more than you can probably imagine.

At the time of writing, there are only (ha!) 229 copies of this magnificent book available. If you know someone who might want one, or just find this project interesting, feel free to pass this along.

-

👉 If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out to a crisis line in your country. In the UK, Samaritans are available any time on 116 123.

-

Someone forwarded this?
Start from the beginning here.