Throughout my life art has been the constant space in which I’ve been able to deal, to process. Expressing feelings into pages, letting my line work speak the words I can’t. For a time even that had been taken from me. That joy and release because I’d been made to feel inadequate, lacking. And perhaps unironically my skill had dropped in tune with my mental state. Something I hadn’t realized until I began to miss it. Began to miss the confidence I had before.
drawing, still provides part of my mental therapy, though more so for me, it’s storytelling. Writing, sequential art, expressing what I bottle up vicariously. I cant tell you how many times I’ve cried over my paper because what I was drawing allowed me to feel, allowed me to open that dam. The space between my hand, pencil and paper is sacred to me.
aside from that, especially in recent years, I’ve come to cherish what few close friends I’ve kept through the years. My sister, my best friend, my cousin and my church family. People who genuinely care for me. (Which I still struggle with. Believing that people genuinely care) but I’m learning to lean on that, and open up to them more. It’s been a wealth for my mental health and strength. Privately also I’ve found that if I neglect my prayer life, my mental health begins to suffer. I need those quiet moments alone with God.
also i make a point to spend one 24 hour period a week to not work. To disengage from that aspect of life and let my brain refresh
oh also…my dog. Stupid awesome for my mental health.