Sh#t your ego says

Eons ago, I studied A-Level psychology, on the first day of class our teacher, Mr Pillar, prepped students with a warning; we would each experience some sort of PTSD as a result of taking the course. It became a running gag; who would break first.

Just as predicted, down we went like flies; one guy committed armed robbery, another fainted, several burst into tears running out of class... and me, well, I held all my shit in, for

I was going through an ass whoppin' outside of college.

It would be the year my mum was diagnosed with breast cancer; the year my parents filed for divorce; the year my bedroom went up in flames, the year I was I was almost killed in a car accident and the year one of my teachers was shot dead. Time after time, tragic events would follow me around like a nasty little shadow, I couldn't seem to lift my head high enough to breathe and yet, I said nothing.

It would be some 10 years until the PTSD kicked in on September 11th 2001, holed up in a hotel in NYC - now, you're getting the picture.

However, 2015 would prove to be the year which would break me - I was diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy; a life-defining trope which changed everything.

Suddenly, every wretched life event I had came triggering down like hail of bullets.

I hated everything and everyone, although nothing or no-one more then myself.

I wallowed in self-pity; blaming myself for all of the "bad" that had come my way.

In my mind and in some miserable way,

I had brought this on myself.

You see, the ego is a marvellous little shit, not only does it tells you what you want to hear, it multiplies under the morally ambigious guise of assisting you; and before you know it, you're using your diagnosis as an excuse to feel important.

It's only when you see others in the bowels of self-loathing that you realise how utterly soul destroying it is. It's a divisive beast with no limits on how grand or awful it will make you or others feel.

If there was ever any hope of over-coming it, I'd have to let go of everything I knew about coping. Like many others who have had the dreaded chat with their doctor (or in my case a letter), you go through the infamous D.A.B.D.A stages; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. It's taken me near 4 years to get to A - and whilst some days I eek back into the big D, I find acceptance a much more hospitable place to be.

A friend and fellow sufferer, offered me this advice "Count every blessing and do what you fucking love".

Art.

The one good thing to come out of 2015 was my renewed love of art - our love affair had dwindled somewhat with the introduction of graphic design, but it was always there in one form or another. I was still collecting prints and books, still going to exhibitions, but painting was not on my radar - that was, until my niece came to visit declaring that we should "just PAINT".

And paint we did. For the first time in years my mind was quiet and my ego silenced.

#ego #musculardystrophy #art #artist #shityouregosays

Chloe (2015).