Clinical Expression

clinical expression

www.facebook.com/ ucberkeleynami Veronika Gamaley

a zine by NAMI @ Cal

This zine collects the works of a diverse group of artists who have all dealt with mental illness. Art helps us in a variety of ways — it can be a coping mechanism, a conversation starter, a source of joy and comfort, a medium for depicting difficult feelings, a way to work through our problems and even a route to acceptance and normalization.

From Merriam-Webster — Clinical: involving direct observation of a patient — clinical diagnosis.

Based on or characterized by observable and diagnosable symptoms — clinical treatment.

Expression: an act, process, or instance of representing in a medium — freedom of expression.

Something that manifests, embodies, or symbolizes something else — artistic expression.

These are our clinical expressions.

-UC Berkeley Chapter of the National Alliance on Mental Illness, 2018

Trigger Warnings: Art content in this zine may be possibly triggering for some people. Trigger warnings include: eating disorders, self-harm, death/dying, dissociation, dysmorphia, depression, OCD, Psychosis, Anxiety and other mental illness related content.

Resources ASUC list of mental and physical health resources in the Berkeley area https://asuc.org/wellness 24/7 Suicide prevention hotline: 1-800-273-8255 Trans life line (8 am - 2 am): (877) 565-8860 Crisis text line: Text HOME to 741741 in the US Tang: (510) 642-9494 Tang after hours: (855) 817-5667 or (877) 211-3686 NAMI: https://www.nami.org/ NAMI @ Cal: www.facebook.com/ucberkeleynami International OCD Foundation: Iocdf.org

Mental Health Statistics Approximate prevalence of mental health conditions among American adults Any mental illness: 43.8 million people Serious mental illness: 10 million Schizophrenia: 2.4 million Bipolar disorder: 6.1 million Major depression: 16 million Anxiety disorders: 42 million College students and mental health Suicide is the second-leading cause of death among individuals who are 15-24 years old.

Two-thirds of college students struggling with mental health problems do not seek help 60.5% of college students report feeling lonely 49.5% of college students report feeling hopeless 95% of college counseling center directors surveyed consider the mental health of their students a "growing concern."

Common issues faced by disadvantaged and multicultural communities Less access to treatment.

Less likely to seek treatment.

Poor quality of care.

Higher levels of stigma.

Culturally insensitive health care system.

Mental health within the LGBTQ+ community 11% of transgender individuals report being denied mental health care because of discrimination.

LGBTQ+ youth are 2 to 3 times more likely to attempt suicide than straight youth. sources: https://www.nami.org/Learn-More/Mental-Health-By-the-numbers http://www.apa.org/monitor/2013/06/college-students.aspx https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/statistics/suicide.shtml http://college.usatoday.com/2016/01/30/mental-health-by-the-numbers/

Drop by Daniel Evans

Sam Ku After struggling with mental illness for as long as I can remember, I’ve come to view happiness as a practice. A discipline to be honed rather than something given.

30,000 feet above 6 feet below too fast to show how should i know 9,000 miles away far too close too slow to go how would i know too slow to learn too much concern which side am i on whose side are you on a styrofoam stockade of artificial fears none of your concern dropped into my bed flip another page "it will all be fine" relatively speaking if your soul's not leaking people round here generally sublime just facing the same worries and clashing in a hurry run around the corner panic subsists sincere dwell on better times serenity is crime had a good day surprise awaits tomorrow mystery sorrow lies resting in my head

Artist Statement: as someone who struggles with depersonalization/social anxiety (and is also a human lol) it can feel really jarring to realize when i fuck up and have a negative impact on others. being able to separate making mistakes from my value as a person is a super significant thing for me! it's difficult but i appreciate when i learn things that i've done wrong so i can not do them in the future. growing is painful! community care and self-care are such entangled processes, and i’m grateful to share space, emotions, and energy with so many people.

Pink Succulent (anonymous) Loosely inspired by the structure of neurons and glial cells.

Thinking about mental illness as a physical disease helps me deal with the stigma and misconceptions we encounter in daily life regarding mental health and disease.

Permanent Resident

by Sarah Tsung I find that finding colors that reflect my mental state is really satisfying and using them to create something helps me feel in control, so I tend to draw and doodle to pull myself together.

my roommate never leaves, cleans, or does anything productive, I think questions all I think I know yet I'll keep our brainy home Artist's Statement: My roommate is OCD. He's friends with Depression.

Squeaky Shoes by Landon Snodgrass He walked with his head down, staring at his shadow. He noticed that his shadow’s starting point wasn’t at the junction of his feet and the ground and it gave himself a feeling that he was floating, as if disconnected from the world. The disjointedness of his shadow and physical body caused his consciousness to float outside of his head by about eight inches. He and his body were two separate entities. He was merely loosely tied in this world by a physical presence, the yarn of which was fixing to snap.

His feet made a squishy sound as his heels pressed against and pulled away from his shoes. The sound resonated around him, not his physical ears. It began at the right as his right foot stepped down then went around the front of him to the left as his left foot stepped down then around the back of him as his right foot pulled off and finished at the left as his left foot pulled off. The vision, or rather the abstract concept, of this circular motion played over and over in his head like a flip book. He began to feel the circle in his chest and mouth still about eight inches away from where they should be. His mouth went dry and to wet it he began circulating his tongue around it. His tongue felt like a spiky ball of cotton whose peaks were bouncing up and down just like an audio system’s visualizer does with the different timbres of the song. He felt this same mass in his chest. Both were cold and both were moving as if on a ferris wheel whose axis was slightly tilted to the left.

The circular patterns were playing on repeat in his head so much so that the walking had been put on autopilot. He realized that he hadn’t even taken in any visual stimuli for a past measurement of time that he could not dictate. His vision was that of an old movie winding up or slowing down. When each frame of the film moves up at a quick enough pace to make the image on each still look like it's moving but you still see each frame one by one.

He came to the conclusion at this point that each time his vision went dark with the passing of frames he was getting closer and closer to ceasing to exist. If he lost focus for too long the illusion of life would be shattered and he would drift in the vast nothingness that his mind had combatted thus far. It’s not as if his body would drop dead, there is no body. The body and the world are a byproduct of his consciousness that he was losing quickly. He had to stay focused on existing and couldn’t be distracted. He lost focus very quickly if he remained looking in one spot for too long so he oscillated his vision as to keep his attention. With his vision went his head, still eight inches from where it was supposed to be, and with his head went his body. And with this new movement technique he had create another circular pattern that whirled in his mind.

During his battle a thought crossed him. He had been actively avoiding thoughts as to not distract himself but this one stuck. What if he was currently in Plato’s cave? And this turmoil was his trial for exiting the cave into enlightenment. Then would he not be currently fighting his enlightenment? He resolved to give in to the loss of focus and be overcome by whatever was happening but every time he tried to fade out his mind, his subconscious snapped him back into focus in a panic. He breathed deep and exhaled slow letting go off all worry and anxiety. He thought of a lone fly that would move towards the light despite knowing it was going to shock and kill him and everything faded.

I’m not a very spontaneous person. I’m dogged by shame, depression, mental static and self-doubt. So when can I be “in the moment?” When I make something — music, food, conversation, a goofy little poem that’s actually about mental illness, a bird painting that’s really just a bird painting.

And more people should try coloring. Honestly. It’s fun and soothing.

I tried it when I was in a mental ward. 10/10, would recommend (the coloring, not the ward).

Laugh at the void. Fight fire with nonsense.

I’m not a poet or a painter but I had fun.

by Nick Furgatch applied cognitive eclectic dialectical humanistic social emotional transpersonal integrative motivational psychoanalytic relational strength-based mindfulness therapy (ACEDHSETIMPRSBMT) ... zip zam candied yam marzipan panorama manatees that need to sneeze in undergrounded referees sashay bidet the cabaret was marvelous like beta fishing in the pond begone you fools i never asked to don this pool of red and white no trees in sight beyond a song is only quiet destiny in marinated Sadness what’s the deal conceal this clapping crowing cawing mess for all i ever wanted was a dance.

by Colleen Sweeney

by Emilie Biondi

Throughout life I’ve seen how depression and other illnesses can make our hearts/spirits feel caged in our own skeletons, but also how we can grow and blossom as we begin to regain hope and love. My mother loved to garden as a way to cope with her mental illness so I have always thought of blooming flora as happiness!

Tidal Waves By Yakov Kronrod

Cailin Greenburg

Life comes at me like tidal waves, one rolling in faster than the last, crushing my ephemeral sand castles on the white beaches of here and now.

Old habits washed out to shore return, past and present collide, crash, foam, exposing rocks left longing for the gentle erosion of the waters of time.

Soggy seaweed contours the waves’ penetration, sinusoidal sacrifice ripped from its home, grassy compliment to sandy air and watery sky on the shoreline landscape.

I watch this drunken dance from a distance, living vicariously through myself, anticipating the ebb and flow of retreat, crash, foam…lather, rinse, repeat The waves grow larger and stronger, threatening to wash the whole beach away, and part of me wants it to happen, to strip away everything.

I could build a hurricane carrier, or plant some shrubs to prevent the erosion, but part of me is ready to lay bare, my soul full monty for the world.

I’ll weave a basket to save some seaweed, I’ll blow a bottle to save some sand, I’ll fill my lungs with air and my stomach with salty water. I’ll leave the rocks.

The rocks still need some eroding, I’m not ready to carry them with me, Perhaps one day I will have the strength to line my garden with them.

Artist Statement: My deepest depression feels like walls closing in. For years, I felt trapped inside of my body with no way to escape. My world got smaller and smaller, but making art, day after day, was my way of pushing ever so slightly against those walls.

Making art is an affirmation of the hope living deep inside of me. When the depression has tried to empty me, I painted, and found small ways to stay connected to the beauty and meaning around me. I write poetry as a practice of resistance- when the OCD tells me I need to be heavy- when it screams at me that I am not allowed to set my obsessions downI open up my computer and type. Poetry helps me to externalize the obsessions, and in the process of writing I open myself up to new possible ways of perceiving the world.

Chairs by Cailin Greenburg & Veronika Gamaley

you’re (i’m) a fool by Cailin Greenburg

what if i never find my people by Cailin Greenburg

i get up multiple times in the night to count my toes for the same reason i look in the mirror when i feel myself slightly leaving my body my mistake was believing fear could leave my body and leave me intact unbeing is like asking kindly a tree trunk to move like asking the sky to respond like begging for a do-over you know how when you eat or drink something, that weight you were holding in your hand before you are still holding, but you don’t feel any heavier? i keep feeling that way about the things i experience i want to love the rainbow reflection of you in the wet sand but i can’t get over how the high tide will make you disappear i want my height to shiver with the weight of the earth pressing up on my feet but i feel like i’m dying while everyone around me seems to stretch on my tongue rests on a letter i can’t quite recover from

i look in the mirror to make sure i’m the same person i was five minutes ago i think my face should change with the waves of sounds in my head monotone filling my arms up with iron souvenirs of barely existing until i drop myself and a new alien picks up my shattered skin and whispers that tomorrow i’m going to scream

you hold out your soul in fingers that could drop it i hold onto your stare until it makes us both uncomfortable

but what if i never find my people

i need to move quicker while the world slows down until my chest is so tired it lets go it won’t let go all i really know about you is that you hide from loneliness and you would tear yourself apart before cutting people away you hide waiting for me to open the door so you can jump out screaming with your last breath sewn into your teeth and i still foolishly believe that i can think my way off of this couch when i think enough but i can’t peel myself and find a better softer one inside. you said i can’t have myself and my future too so i will not blame you if you let me go

create something that gives you a little joy or die slowly you said but i am dying quickly and everything i create reminds me riding in the thin fog empty cans of soapy soda burns inside me i'm crackling dropping pieces i never knew how many layers i had inside my skin pushing their way out impatiently hurtling towards the next thing the next feeling but it's empty and now i slow down my rings i don't want to get so big i topple over again every waking day every night i try to rest my crackling skin i try to fill in the canyons with empty promises to myself that i will be free

if breaths get heavy and rooms feel full of nonsense why should i believe in running away from, towards time stopping i hear paper falling and words failing me and the world alone fingers always feel too tight like they are fake plastic sewn onto our bones hands together never felt right what if i never find bending over until my spine folds over and i’m empty and i want to run towards something that will stay can i just be me without feeling the need to pull my motivations in every direction and tie knots of myself on history’s hooks i’m not sure if i’m going to unravel i might just find more and more things to tie myself to until i’m pulled and i see all the openness around me but i’m fucking knotted up and i think i’ll just sit here. i read the instructions building was always easier than falling but sometimes something out there is big enough and sturdy enough and full of familiar joy that we can know we are falling and we don’t have to stop

i'm in the middle somewhere waiting for tomorrow to never end don’t we live for anticipation? i do at least don’t go somewhere without your forgetful sadness watch the shapes the window makes on the floor get smaller as we inch closer to noon and remember that you are one being and you don’t have to hold in the world

you can (just) be by Cailin Greenburg

middle by Cailin Greenburg

i think it’s a sort of addiction whatever depth i experience i only feel how it leaves me i feel myself sitting empty maybe on a hard floor counting the moments i have left like they are dizzy tiles on the ceiling in third grade i’m trying to make the time pass because i can’t think about time passing when everything’s a contradiction i choose what feels less like a crashing pit inside me

show you by Cailin Greenburg i can write you down and hold your hand to the radiator i can hold your hand and tell you that the days will get bigger and that life will feel longer i can show you the little pieces of me that fell off a while back and how sometimes an insignificant memory of standing in the kitchen at the age of eleven pops into my head and it fills in some gaps in my distorted perception of existence i can tell you how i’m letting the water run over me now how i’m letting pieces fall off how i’m letting people in when your hopes get too distant to give you a reason to hold on i can hold your hand

tomorrow i’ll figure it out i’ll learn how to accept what i can’t accept because that means dying and i can’t die because i’ve got too much living to do and i can’t live because i can only think about dying

I will keep choosing to be a garden, not a ghost (anonymous)

Above: Casey Wilkinson

by Veronika Gamaley

I struggle with anxiety and 2014 was very difficult for me. I see 2014 as a nightmare that unexpectedly shaped my dreams/goals in a beautiful way. As a result of my situation I began volunteering to help take care of adults with special needs, and through that I began to learn so much about patience and kindness and I learned to be patient with myself. And then I realized I wanted to change my major to something that would help people who are also going through anxiety, so I started taking health science classes and one of those classes was about stress management. In that class I learned about mindful walking and mindfulness. And as I began to practice mindful walking I began to notice the beauty in nature, and all the beautiful small details, and I wanted others to see those beautiful details too so I started taking pictures and sharing them with friends, and the more I took pictures the more I learned to appreciate life and to be thankful for that "nightmare" that lead me to a beautiful road  �

Left: Stephanie Pardell

By: Aviella Rose I’m done. I’m done ripping myself open for you. Sacrificing my lungs so you can breathe. My heart so you can love...Yourself.

I don’t expect a thank you. Honestly, I don’t want one. I just want to stop feeling excluded from my own body, trapped in my own mind. I am done finding shelter in your arms, comfort in your eyes. You are not my savior.

Nor my protector.

I am. I am. I am.

Like if I say it, it becomes true, or even partly.

I want to—I mean I am. I mean I’m trying…

Trying to reclaim myself. To take back what was once mine I’ll put a match to that spark inside of me burn you out if I have to.

I’m just so tired of the dark You always told me I was not worthy.

Well, sweetheart, you are the one who isn’t worthy.

You are not worthy of my attention, my love, my never-ending loyalty.

I don’t owe you. And I never did.

But, you keep taking. And taking.

Pulling the thread, till I unravel completely.

Plucking my feathers till I am left utterly bare. Naked. Vulnerable.

Needing you I'm done being polite. I'm done being submissive. And I’m done being scared.

Scared that you'll unleash that clever rage of yours.

The one that drowns me and muffles my screams.

Leaving me a skeleton: a mere frame of what I once was.

Of what I could have been— ENOUGH! You are no longer welcome. No longer wanted.

So, I suggest you kindly excuse yourself, before things get messy.

Oh, and don’t forget to lock the door on your way out, I don’t want any intruders.

-to my inner critic Artist Statement: I write poetry to express emotions that I have trouble articulating. I create elaborate metaphors because sometimes that is the only way I know how to describe something that is inherently indescribable. My poetry often addresses different parts of myself that I feel in conflict with.

Sometimes this is in the form of an ode, other times it is a conversation.

OCD Self Image by Amy Decker

Above: Jordan -Left: Ila Chaubey

by Ariana Apostol My mental health journey has been unique in that I've had the privilege of full support from my parent in seeking help. While struggling with depression was challenging and at times debilitating, it would have been infinitely harder had my mom not helped me find a therapist who provided me with much-needed support, or ensured that when I did decide to go on medication, it was the right one for me. Having a support system is crucial in overcoming challenges with mental health, and it is incredibly important for those who have people in their lives who are struggling to be informed about and supportive of their friend or family member. We need to eliminate stigma surrounding mental health issues to ensure that people feel comfortable reaching out and getting the help they need!

by Jason Owen

by Jackie Grieff

After I was 5250ed, I began to do abstract drawings as a therapeutic technique, and have used it as a tool for learning how my brain processes reality. I have been diagnosed with either, Bipolar I Disorder or Schizoaffective Disorder, Bipolar Type (still unsure yet which makes the most sense). Both illnesses include symptoms of psychosis at times, and my psychiatrist would often ask me if I had any psychotic symptoms, but was never able to explain to me what psychosis really felt like. Watching my abstractions morph over the years has been the first inkling on some sort of sign I can use to see if I am seeing the world as I normally do by getting a glimpse of my abstract space.

My ex-fiance (8-year relationship) left in 2012, and for a couple of years I was very depressed. All I did was go to work and go home. I can't explain how depressed I was.

I didn't eat, I didn't sleep that much. I lost a lot of weight during that time. Zoloft didn't help. So I decided to work on art. I found that working on pieces helped me a lot.

I can't begin to explain what I went through when my fiance left. It was the most depressed I had ever felt. I was taking 100mg of Zoloft a day and it wasn't helping. I lashed out at people. I removed myself from any and all friends. I lost some good ones along the way.

My artwork helped me, but I created these pieces in the darkest corners of my depression.

Life's energy was the turning point. I started to see the light at the end of the tunnel at that point.

But either way, I thought I would share.

Things are so much better now :)

Thoughts in dark January (anonymous) I. I woke today still dreaming of a wooden table where I sat outside beneath the stars hated and alone. Keenly aware of how patiently time can move of how sweetly cold air kisses the skin before it reaches into our bones.

II. There are certain places I want to return to before I die so that the end of my life is a series of homecomings. I will remember my lullabies and try to sing them myself.

III. Please, come walk with me. I don’t know what to say but the trees will speak in silhouettes. When my lips fail, I will point to the one that is saying what I mean.

Description: I’ve struggled with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder my whole life and it has defined who I am not only through my obsessions, but also through the deep loneliness they bring. This poem expresses the bittersweet feeling that I may never fully escape.

Mushrooms by Kimberly Clemons Description: My brother and I take turns drawing in a book in which each page has a simple prompt for an object to draw, and we mail it back and forth. It lifts my spirits by giving me a reason to draw and keeping me connected with a favorite person who's far away.

Sometimes, it's the little things that make a big difference. I've even started doing versions of this with creative friends, but that's another story.

By Natalie Espinoza 1. Don’t speak out of line Cross your legs when you sit Say you’re going to powder your Nose when you really need to shit.

Say sorry when you have something to say Say sorry when you have a favor to ask Say sorry when someone bumps Into you. I know that’s the way I was brought up to be but guess what.

I am not sorry I will not apologize for the space that I occupy Do not expect to see fear in my eyes You won’t find it there Your patriarchal mental sorcery no longer works on me I am loud I have hair on my legs And under my arms And I care deeply about a lot.

But that does not mean that I am weak I persevere through this all only to let you all know there is no winning over me I know that I am free in a way that many can never be.

Because I live for me I embrace me.

2.You said something stupid: I love you Scary part was I felt it too Love isn’t a good thing It’s a scary thing Put yourself on a line Look down and you might fall Tight rope into your demise following the rays of sunshine Giggle through the hardships of your life trying to keep yourself in line Feel your ribs cracking when you smile hard Remember your mother’s voice don’t want to get frown lines