I have always loved to draw, paint and in general express my deepest desires and sorrows down onto canvas. Finally I can again. Farm life is being kind and I have turned a 2 room wooden shack into the most perfect place to sit, relax and be myself.
I would like to think that this will lead me to pick up my fender and begin to write songs again as well. It's very therapeutic to the soul to produce art and music. I am very lucky indeed.
Mum has been weighing heavily on my mind lately (after having another nasty bipolar stint in hospital and requiring days of padded cell isolation) and I find myself feeling pity for myself and my childhood. Why I do this at times I can't explain. I really have nothing to feel sorry about and my life is quite great - it is after all what I want to make of it. But sometimes it seems I still need to weep for a childhood that was less than ideal and at times shatteringly hard. I want to help Mum more than I can and it hurts to think of her as poor, practically homeless and mercilessly unstable most of the time. It's a life full of guilt and consequences for all the wrong reasons.
Mental illness is understood by more people everyday but it is no less difficult for the families that live a lifetime dealing with it. It is hard, and sometimes the only thing you can do is laugh and then cry.
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