Writing Therapy 01

As I cannot sleep, I thought it’d be helpful for me to attempt something in the vein of art therapy and creative therapies, and wander off into my own literary world. What have I got to lose?

I think first of all my main plan would be to get both of my websites properly running; Gazbook, which is my online presence, and gmwatts.co.uk, which is more like my professional presence. In theory. Or perhaps it might be better to use that domain name for personal reasons, e.g. as a vpn for my computer and things like that? Argh, decisions decisions!!

There are a lot of stupid little things in the past I regret. Like going to turn on the computer at the lady’s place who did our hair when I was 15 cause I thought we were classed as friends of the family, but then getting a little told off for doing that as I should have really asked first. Or at 17 trying to kiss twice a girl who very blatantly did not want to be kissed. Then there are more serious things, like I wish I hadn’t pushed a friend out of my like that used to go to the Grammar School in Afford when I came out with the self harming thing. As a matter of fact, I wish I’d not told that teacher at school when I was 16 that I was actively suicidal, as that changed just about everything on my life. Not all of it for the better.

Why hadn’t I stuck with my original plan and gone to acting school after I did A-Levels?…  Well, as a matter of fact, I believe I already have the answer to that. Being at Monks Dyke school (or Technology College, as it prefers to be called) depressed the hell out of me. When I attended the open day when I turned 16, it seemed an actor’s paradise. It had It’s own theatre space which was already set up for blue-screen work for the media department. It had a pro media suite, dancing studio and even a music studio. But when I got there it didn’t turn out at all as I thought. Not even some of the teachers really were bothered what we did, but quite a few of the students there were not particularly bothered which direction their life was going either.  After the hellpit stress factory that was Queen Elizabeth’s Grammar School, Alford, where our year was constantly praised as the best year group they had, in South I became a member of what was literally described by the head of sixth form after one disastrous event as the worst year group they had ever had.

By the end of my first year, I spent most of my lessons skiving alone wandering the infamous Hubbard’s Hill, begging to be loved and shown the answers to my life. As work load increased and frustrations by teachers with my lack of activity increased too, I went to bed every night begging to God or whoever that I would never wake up in the morning.

To be fair though, some of the actions of teachers were bang out of order. Like the one who seemed to mother me as an alternative to her son who also had some kind of mental health problems. Her last words to me were something along the lines that I was making it up so I would get whatever diagnosis I was looking for and sympathy; that in effect I was attention seeking. That she was actually not professionally qualified to make such ac assumption comes back to me nowadays as enough grounds for complaint.

In addition there was the other teacher who rung my Mum up to say I was a compulsive liar and hadn’t done any of my final coursework. Firstly, being 18 surely data protection would definitely kick in by then? And secondly, again no attempt was made to consider my wellbeing.  Some of the teachers knew of my mental health issues, and they should have seeked advice on the best course of action or signposted me to CAMHS, rather than assuming it is out of neglect on my part and blaming me for it.

Speaking of CAMHS, they should have worked much more closely with the school and informed them that I may need additional support. It is thanks to a lot of the support I have had at uni and from Disability Living Allowance that I have been able to cope with my bipolar now.

That seems enough of a rant for today. However, I must make a mental note to ask Daryl and see if there is an opportunity to get back in touch with the schools I’d been to I’m order to provide feedback on what can be done to improve things for pupils showing signs of mental distress.