I’ve decided that in order to to help myself grow from my past, there are some areas I want to revisit. This may seem counterintuitive however I loved to draw when I was much younger and throughout school. It was time I looked beyond the rubbish and put pencil to paper.

This weekend was a conscious decision to start drawing again. Well, attempt to.

Walking in the art supplies aisles initially made me feel like a fraud. Why? Possibly a an instilled desire to be accepted and told how good I am is clouding my vision of what being me really means. The first couple of stores and with fiancé in tow, I made excuses and found reasons to be somewhere else, find something more important, be anywhere but there.

The following day I forced myself to return. Even then, it was beginning to feel like self mutilation until a dear friend called me just as I crossed the store threshold for a second day. She talked. I listened.

As she spoke, I meandered through the store, faking interest in supplies but intently of her. She spoke of her own experiences with depression, specifically since her bully of a mother passed away. Talking of guilt and a life lost in pain, she was reaching out, whether she knew this or not. I wanted to be near and hold her. In a futile way, I too want to feel this but I don’t share. Or at least I’m not particularly good at it.

My friend is amazing I tell you. We’ve known each other for over 14 years. She is one of those people that being kind, generous, funny and happy comes naturally. We met through a common interest and a want to make self-improvements. An evening course in what was previously my old school. Not art, ICT. We just clicked. No pun intended.

I love getting her calls. She can talk forever. What a talent.



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