Tag Archives: therapy

I’m not your therapy

Yes I am insane, insane because lots of people have bashed my brains

They tried to mould me to be like them, to control me and hold the reins

I don’t take it any more, this is why I rant

I know the fantasy in this blog is becoming more and more scant

But I need to release this strain of mine

Because my brain I need to find

I need to release it to the wind

I need to be free and untinned

I need to go my own way, not lean upon vagrant strays

I can’t stand upon my own two feet, when I am tying knots with those who deceit

I can’t be me when I am trying to be, something YOU expect of me

I’m not what you want, you see

I am not here for your therapy

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems G - I

Music & Art October 2016

I cannot work in silence when I am writing; I need music all the time.  For me, silence can be painful and headache inducing, as much as having television on in the background is also another disturbance and headache waiting to happen.

There are only two times when silence suits me without invoking a headache; when I am walking in nature, woodlands, pathways next to canals and fields etc., or being driven somewhere by car.  I dislike conversations in cars, I don’t like talking, and I like to zone out and forget I am in the car because I tend to feel sick when I acknowledge I am in a car.  I can imagine other places quite easily when I am not spoken to and in a car, this therefore makes it difficult for my body to realise it should be sick.  I also cannot read in a moving car, but I am perfectly relaxed at reading on trains and in busy cafes.

Travelling on buses and in cars makes me tired as well as daydreamy and any more than an hour in either and I am asleep, unless I am very tired or woke up early on the day, I tend not to sleep on trains, I love trains, I have a passion for them which has certainly rubbed off on my son Henry.

We take regular trips on trains just because; we are trying to get into a habit of going on the Severn Trent valley steam railway every couple of months.  I like to look at the scenery around there, the river Severn is the most beautiful river I’ve ever seen, which doesn’t say much because I’ve only ever seen three rivers personally up close.

Music therefore is a very important tool for my writing.  I like listening to instrumental music mostly, such as that found from Nox Arcana, Apocalyptica, classical music, but sometimes I will listen to lyrical music from all styles and eras, such as Patsy Cline’s Honky Tonk Merry-Go-Round, Movie Soundtracks, Kesha and many others. 

If it weren’t for music I don’t think I could be as emotional in my writing as I am with it. 

When I was little I had no imagination, seriously.  I didn’t find my imagination until I was around 9yrs old, I remember teachers from the couple of schools I was allowed to go to complaining that my stories were too realistic and that I lacked imagination.  I was browbeaten by them to develop an imagination and my mum helped with that – by the time she was finished with me my life was destined to be a writer from the age of 11.  It was decided for me and I have to admit I fell into it.

I am not saying for one moment that I don’t enjoy writing, I do.  But a writer’s life was chosen for me, not something I found I wanted, it was literally thrusted upon me.

When I look back through my therapy and my creative recoveries, I have noticed that when I was a child I had planned to be a mother or a teacher and that I had a huge interest in art and fashion.  I had quite vain thoughts as a child, but all of this was discouraged out of me and by the time I was 16 I had forgotten the art life I had wanted for myself and writing took its place.  I know writing is an art form in itself, but I meant painting, sculpture etc., all those other art forms were discouraged simply because my talent lies in writing, not drawing my mum often told me.

I was thrilled when my cousin Shane bought me oil paints for Christmas one year, my mum dreaded it and didn’t encourage me to continue, despite the good painting I did of some obscure Aztec ancient god.  My dad was proud of it, but she looked at it as an expensive past time that she wasn’t looking forward to smelling.

Since living with Paul, he believes I have talents in both but my main skill is writing simply because I don’t practise art enough.  In fact he is right, because I practise less than two hours a time approximately once every couple of months.  Whereas writing, I am practising almost every day for over an hour.

A lot of the time I just draw with pencils or a biro and never colour it in.  When I do really good drawings I am scared to paint them, because I tend to ruin good sketches with painting them wrong.  I have done excellent work that was ruined by paint.  A large African elephant in the Sahara, when painted, all the excellent detail was destroyed and it became cartoonlike, yet it was coloured in with watercolours, watercolour is my main medium. 

I do chalk pastel art too, but again, I am frightened to preserve it, as I tend to over spray and my work is literally washed away.

I am self-taught in both art and writing. 

Music is vital for me to work, this is the primary reason why I can’t work when my son is awake or at home, his noises drown out my music a lot.  He also wants the TV on all the time and that drowns out the music too.  Unlike most writers and artists I don’t like isolating myself in a room alone, I like to be around people, particularly people who respect music and respect the fact that I am working – a child can never do those things, they don’t understand; So, reluctantly I have to work around him and this is something I am dreading when I become professionally published – my time then has to work around the editors I am appeasing and for me, that’s going to be a nightmare.

 

 

 

 

Leave a comment

Filed under My art, My inspirations, My life

lost in emotions (a poem) ?

Where I go, I feel everything

Where I’ll stay, no one knows

How true is love and miracles?

When there’s no place to go?

I need my friends

I need an end

I need hope

I need forever loving

Don’t lead me astray

Just lead me to a place

Where dreams can come true

I need this, I need you

© Tina Cousins 2013

The above was written just a few moments ago, I am going through a very dark few months.  My family has had a lot of bad luck and a lot of skeletons in closets are starting to fall out, it’s destroying the extensive family and it’s literally killing the younger members of the family.

A fortnight ago I lost my cousin, she was only thirty years old and she had four kids.  My brother was very close to her; in fact they lived next door to each other and shared dinners regularly as he was supporting her as a single mother, despite having his own family to care for too.  I heard news that my brothers depression has got far worse that he attempted suicide last night, thankfully he was unsuccessful but up until two hours ago he was unable to breath independently, unfortunately we live too far apart that I couldn’t be with him and I only got the news an hour ago.  The machines were turned off and he is now breathing without assistance, which is a blessing.

I have also been diagnosed with manic depression a few months ago as well, so my mood goes up and down like a yo-yo and I have been told that it could be the depression which has caused a lot of my long-term illnesses to get worse and I am in a vicious cycle of poor health and depression feeding off each other, if you understand me?

It’s a big blow to me because up until an hour ago I was feeling really happy and I thought I was getting over my depression as I’ve been on a BIG high because of this blog and because I was treated to a new wardrobe of clothes last month and I started to do myself up again, taking an interest in my appearance again, which has been non-existent for a year now. 

Needless to say I’ve been in tears, but I have got to a point in my life I talk endlessly about things as my coping mechanism, I am not one to mope around in silence.  I’ve done that for years, it made things worse; weird enough talking about things so openly is better therapy for me.

I have no idea what the ditty was I wrote above, I don’t know if it’s a poem or a song or a litany and it literally came from nowhere.  This happens at times, it’s like I go into a trance and write poems and I have no idea what I’ve written until it’s finished.

Sometimes I get my best work doing that.  Well anyway, song or poem, I hoped you liked it.

 

 

 

 

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems J - L