Illustrating Pain

I write a fair bit about my use of art, in particular, doodling and drawing, to distract my thoughts from the pain I feel. In the past, I’ve also attempted to draw representations of how I think my pain could look. I haven’t done that in a while because the concentration it takes is not always available to me and the meditative value of unplanned, spontaneous line drawing has become a large factor behind why I do so much of it. No measuring, no choosing of a complementary colour palette, just grabbing a pen or pencil and allowing my hand to move it across the page.

About a week ago, as I was scrolling through the feed of one of my creative connections on Instagram, Dana “Jonesy” Jones, I saw an illustration she created to symbolize her back pain. I commented that I could probably fill an entire sketchbook with only illustrations of my pain. I’m actually positive that I could fill multiple volumes. However, to start with, I decided to create just one page.

For about a month, I’ve been riding the wave of an intense and lengthy pain flare up – I define a flare up as pain I measure, on the very subjective pain scale, that stays above 7 or 8 consistently – so this idea came at an ideal time. Thanks to Dana’s inspiration, I sat down and focussed on what I felt in my body: The sharp edges of glaringly bright colours trying to cut through the deepest layers of my flesh to burst free of their confines, which might, unintentionally, free me. The overlapping of sensations that are indistinguishable as they land simultaneously and pound the life out of every nerve they touch. Even on a “good” day, this pain keeps wrapping around itself and within me.

Here’s a glimpse of how I imagine my pain looking during this flare up…

 

 

Blocked From Writing

Writer’s block is a terrible affliction. I have so much happening in my life that I want and need to write about but my brain seems to be locked in a struggle with itself about which story to tell first and how to tell them. I started my blog as one way to cope with my illness so I wasn’t trapped inside my own thoughts, especially the negative ones. However, lately, even with so much happening to and around me, I can’t let much of it out. I must have at least half a dozen posts started but they are each a long way from finished.

Luckily, I’ve been able to maintain my connection to the creative practice that I also started as another method of coping, so the art is still being created. I’ve been posting what I’ve been creating on my Instagram page, which I suppose is a small release because I do write captions for the things I share. Still, I need to figure out a way to clear the cobwebs or lift the brain fog – whichever idiom is more suitable – so I can get back to documenting and sharing my experiences with the unending hope that what I write helps someone have a better day, as much as it usually helps me.

 

Life In Boxes

We each live life in our own boxes. Some of our boxes are bigger than other boxes. Some of them allow the flow of information through their walls. Others are made from rigid materials that permit no changes. Fortunately, we can decide when and if the walls of our boxes will ever come down. Still, as much as we are constrained by boundaries of our own making, the things that hold us back the hardest are usually beliefs ingrained in our societies and the institutions built around them.

These beliefs and institutions are the foundation upon which all our boxes stand and they influence us all from the earliest stages of our lives. They direct the way we see the people in boxes around us and ourselves. They often affect the choices we make about which people in which boxes we can and cannot connect with; and if those beliefs and institutions remain stagnant or rile against becoming open and inclusive of all people in all boxes, those of us who have been educated solely by them will never open ourselves to change.