Last Saturday night, Gary and I were lucky enough to attend a really great event in support of a very special charity.
RT Projects ‘uses art to save lives’ - and I can get that.
Based in a converted bungalow in Gilesgate, Durham, the project, founded by Beano and Emma Beattie, works with people who live with depression and anxiety, and those at risk of suicide.
At the ‘Open Art Surgery’ they ‘nurture hope and self-belief and offer support to guide people toward recovery. Their bespoke art workshops are driven by the belief that creativity and social interaction are fundamental to a fulfilled life’.
I couldn’t agree more. My self initiated artwork pieces are often inspired and driven by my own moods, dreams, experiences and feelings, both good and bad. It's a massive part of how I work and keep myself sane. There's nothing like a good purge or celebration, both are good for the soul!
Having struggled with long-term depression myself in the past as well as, like many of us, dealing with sometimes crippling anxiety, I know how important it is to have non-judgemental support when it’s needed.
It’s hard to put it into words, so I can only write so much on this, and to be honest I don’t think the reasons and details are really relevant, but here’s a bit of background.
Around ten years ago, I undertook a six week (an hour a week) course of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. I never looked back. Never touched an antidepressant since – and I’d tried ‘em all over the previous twenty years.
Just prior to this, I’d had a particularly rough patch, culminating in me getting pretty ill while on holiday in Majorca. Not good.
I ‘forgot’ how to draw. It was just awful. It had never happened before. Just happened. I tried to push myself, at home, on my own, but it just led to huge frustration and upset. If only I’d had somewhere like RT Projects back then. I might not have gone back then, being a stubborn cow at times, but the option would have been nice.
Once the realisation sank in that the tablets were not only not helping me, they were hindering my creativity by blocking/masking my emotions, I knew it was time for a change of tack. How could I express what I couldn’t feel? It was suddenly obvious to me. The junk had to go. Scary.
So that was when I made the decision to start the CBT. I told the doctor ‘no more pills thanks very much, I want to get to the bottom of this and get some control here’. So I was referred. CBT was incredibly hard work. The sessions with the therapist themselves were easy – or so I kidded myself. Chatting, smiling, bullshitting, listening politely, nodding, as was my people pleasing way at that time. Politely but firmly, he was having none of my crap. He was great. I’m ashamed to say I can’t even remember his name.
Now, the homework. That really was hard. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to complete the torturous exercise of ‘the workbooks’. I fucking hated them. I used to just write and write and write. Not even knowing what it was I was writing half the time. Reams and reams of scrawl.
I’ve kept it all, but never looked at it. I’ve really no idea what it says, and I don’t want to know. All I DO know is that it was ‘best out’.
After the initial, extremely exhausting purge of demons, I began concentrating on the lesser, but very much more annoying ‘anxiety gremlins’, as I called them. They kind of looked like Slimer from Ghostbusters, but were black instead of green, and had pointier teeth. Seems a bit daft maybe, but that’s how I visualised them. Little mingers.
I finally came to the realisation that anxiety and panic gremlins are addictive. You get a good fix of adrenalin and terror. A nice little high. Some people watch horror movies, or go skydiving. I just had to think about picking one of the kids up from school. When I told my therapist I’d come to this conclusion he gave me a round of slow, smiling applause. He didn’t need to say any more.
I determined to teach myself to banish the little bastards by, putting it bluntly, telling them to fuck off every time they popped up on my shoulders, doing their whispering thing. Not out loud of course, in case someone found out my little ‘secret’, and anyway I didn’t fancy getting locked up.
I got more and more forceful with them, and eventually they stopped coming around as often. They kind of gave up and moved on. I packed them on the bus and sent them outta town. I haven’t seen them up close for years now, but sometimes they send me a postcard, or a selfie. Wish I was there? Remember you? I think not.
Please note these were my personal coping mechanisms. They might not work for everybody, if anybody else, so please don’t think I’m against anyone using medication. I’m not. If you need it, you need it. Everyone has to do what’s right for them and them alone. I just decided it was time for me to change things, at a time that was right for me, plus I was fortunate enough to have a very good support system to help me through.
Anyway, that, in a very short story, is why when Graham from Down By The River Promotions and The People’s Bookshop told me about RT Projects, I was immediately interested, as was Gary, who has a very similar history to me regarding depression and everything that comes with it.
Anxiety and Art are big words in our dictionary.
When we saw online that there was going to be a ‘What If?’ benefit CD album and launch night in aid of RT Projects, with various musicians taking part on both the album and performing at the event, we decided we would like to go and show our support, plus it sounded great, especially as Martin Stephenson was headlining.
So along we went. Couple of drinks in town first, where we bumped into a couple of old school mates of mine, Trudy and Marie, which was nice, then along to the Student’s Union at Dunelm House.
The SU bar was heaving, but the queue was worth the wait in the end, as it only cost us around three and a half quid for a glass of merlot and a pint of lemonade. Bargain. Now I know why there’s so many students in Durham, and why the place was so packed. So much cheap booze, yet I couldn’t face it due to a stomach bug. There’s no justice.
The gig was in four parts. First up were ‘What If?’ contributors Steve Pledger, Lee Maddison, Anne Marie Sanderson, Ian Bartholomew and George Boomsma, who all took turns playing their guitars and singing a couple of songs each. It was great to them perform in this format, all sharing the stage and taking turns, performing a song each, then going round again. So chilled and relaxing, like a musical selection box, it was really interesting to take in everyone’s writing styles and choice of song.
After a bit of an interval, during which Whisky Priests bass player Michael Stephenson and mate Davey joined us, Jamie and John, The Violet Chimes, took the stage for a short set of jangly guitar and bass tunes which we also really enjoyed.
Martin Stephenson was up next, somehow managing to be spiritual, wise, inspiring and hilarious at the same time. Of course, the songs were amazing. We were all particularly blown away by his opening song which told the true story of a teenage lad called Joe McCue, who, after suffering from depression and becoming suicidal, had taken himself off to a field, doused himself in petrol and set himself alight. Here’s a video of Martin performing the song at a different venue as my photos inside the venue were pretty much unusable:
The show completed with a very humbling rendition of RT Projects founder Beano’s song ‘What If?’ spoken movingly by Beano himself and accompanied beautifully by Steve Pledger on supporting vocals and guitar. Beano told us afterwards that he had never done anything like it before. We were truly inspired by what he had achieved by pushing himself. A lovely man with a huge heart.
As things were rounding up, we had a chat with Martin Stephenson and The Violet Chimes. Gary and Martin shared a bit of respect for each other's musical backgrounds and Gary and I were complimented on our outfits, which was cool. I was extra chuffed to have my 'Louise Brooks' hair admired, and coincidentally, Jamie said he had that very day just sold a Whisky Priests album. Small world!
When it was time to leave, we said our goodbyes and thankyous to everyone, then bought a couple of souvenirs from the merch stall. I cannot pass a merch stall without buying a bit of something, I know how much expense and hard work goes in to stocking, setting up and running one. Plus it was all for such an amazing cause.
The walk for the bus was a bit rushed, as we had dallied too long talking. At one point I thought we’d somehow drifted through time to the aftermath of the Battle of Neville’s Cross, but nah, it was just North Road at chucking out time. The bus station was as grim as expected, and of course we had missed the bus so we braved the steep cobbles up to St Margaret’s to catch the last one there instead.
I’ve never known a bus smell so strongly of fish, chips and vinegar. Gary almost asked the bus driver for twice and a saveloy. All a bit stomach churning for my fragile insides, but it was a good old-fashioned eavesdropping-on-drunk-middle-aged-flirting-on-the-back-seat-upstairs end to a canny little night.
Sunday was a quiet day. Gary went downstairs to rehearse, making some of his 'basement tapes'. This video seemed apt to post on this particular blog entry. New song 'Journey' is about moving on from a recent difficult period in life. Sometimes the only way is to let the past hurts go, hard as that can be.
JOURNEY
The day is on it’s journey
And you’ve been watching every clock
Waiting for something on the wind
That you’re missing all the things that really matter
Whilst punishing yourself for others sins
There’s a broken piece of you that seems close yet far away
It’s trying to crush the things that you hold dear
But it won’t mend, it’s gone, it’s history, it can’t hurt you any more
There’s a new dawn with a future bright and clear
So take courage, take hope, take this helping hand
And grab the piece of justice that you’re owed
There’s love inside and all around you
And a strength that you’ve still yet to show
There’s a stray cat in the garden that’s being fed every day
It’s more familiar than the boy sat on the train
There’s a crowd upon the platform, there’s a car parked on a hill
And a figure dashing madly through the rain
So run hard and grab the moment that is given unto you
Like it counts for every second that you’ve known
There are questions to be asked there are drums still to be banged
And many parts of you that you’ve not shown
So take courage, take hope, take this helping hand
There’s a winding path that leads to who knows where
There’s love inside and all around you
And with every step you take it will be there
(Gary Miller)
Credits:
Helen Temperley/Gary Miller