Venturing Adventure

The stars stretch northward from my gaze as I lay on my back beneath them. Consumed by their expanse on this straggling last day of summer the green metal bench is only slightly chilled under my back. To the south are the frilly borders of the slowly burning treetops that build the natural wall between the fresh air park and the highway. East of me is the Inst Center, home sweet home at the moment, and wast is the top of the tall wire fence surrounding the yard. The others are still strolling slowly, pacing the perimeter, but I feel like I have walked enough today. Its finally a time that I can kick off from all the bustle and open up to reflection. I am here, now, and this is what I see. With so much going on its rare to get a clear view in the city.

Its been a long day but a good one. Abound with adventure things didn’t entirely pan out as I had expected but the time had was no less exciting and new. To start there was the very first makeshift art therapy group. If you go by the true bare bones definitive it was actually more of a themed art collective since I had to leave before any therapy really came into play. The project I had come up with involved glue, large heavy paper, scissors, and the immense amount of old magazines we have piling up everywhere. Because of the scissors we had to request the watchful eye of a staff member but Victoria was happy to do it. The instructions were self-interpretive and basically called for the creation of words and pictures to create a self-portrait.

Not everyone on the unit participated but the six who did later reflected on how much they enjoyed it. I had to leave at 11:00 to begin the day’s pass outing but they were all still working diligently even as I stepped out the door. I would have liked to look at everyone’s creations in the end but it just didn’t happen this morning. Actually, that sort of brings up a wall for me. O one hand I would love to hear how people would interpret their self-portraits but, on the other, even though I was asked to lead this group, I don’t want anyone to feel like I am overstepping my bounds by acting like a teacher. I don’t want to be resented. All in all though I have been told by each who attended that it was an enjoyable success. I have been assigned to head up the same alloted time with a new project next week.

As the morning wore on our pre-lunch departure time gained bearing. First things first, upon leaving the building Benji, Amy, and I happily pardoned the Starbucks that had successfully positioned itself kitty corner to the subway entrance. As good as Starbucks coffee is though I am truly seeing its money-consuming potential. I will have to remember to ask Molly which sidewalk cart she frequents in the mornings. Apparently, whatever shes getting as her coffee fix is just as good, if not better, than Starbucks and its only costs the same $.75 as it does in our regular 6th floor cafe.

After we had armed ourselves with caffeine and ice water the three of us trek towards the underground. The subway station’s lower platform has the heat of a snake pit but we are lucky. The train that is meant to carry us to the Washington Square Park Soho area of Manhattan pulls within a minute of our descent into the dank. We board the A-train express and begin to 40 minute bullet shot to the day’s unfolding agenda.

The Creative Outlet

There is no art therapy on the unit. When I fist got here there was sort of hap-hazard art group that was halfway organized for the weekend slot but mostly we just sat around reading the newspaper. The woman who was supposed to be there for the purpose of the group never had anything specific planned. She was presumably around my age and, although very pleasant to be around, seemed as though she was only with us for the means of filling a quota. One day though, about three weeks into my stay here, she came in and announced that she would be replaced with someone better suited to the eating disorders unit. Its been almost two months since that announcement now and the scant, bedraggled, art supply remnants sit collecting dust.

The general consensus around here seems to be that the lack of an art therapy group, a real art therapy group, is not the ideal. There are few select groups that art therapy seems to be very beneficial to and one of those is the treatment of eating disorders, especially where body image is concerned. All of this, not so much taking it but counseling with art therapy is something that I am extremely interested in. It is something that has caused a whirling excitement of hope for a while now. Every time I think of being able to help others in that way I can’t help but feel almost a giddy centering sensation.

I’m scared too, of course. I can prospectively see myself getting passionately woven into the thick of art therapy dynamics but there are aspects of this dream that I am not so solid on. First off is how the get there. I can’t readily be of any accountable access to others if I’m still engulfed in an eating disorder myself. I have taken that step though. I am on my way to recovery and, although I wouldn’t feel comfortable really practicing with potential clients until I was at least a year in, I now need to bring some focus onto whats next. What scares me about the whole thing is the possibility of disappointment. I’m terrified of wanting something so badly and having it fall through like so many other miscellaneous dreams. If I expect the worst and prepare myself for possible failure then it surely will be laid to rot but if I hold hope too tightly then I’ll be broken if I can’t achieve.

I’ll need help. I know I’ll need help with this just as I’ll need help with recovery once I get home, but it’s hard to say so. I’m so used to not relying on people. sometimes I say that if I’ve learned anything in life it is how to be self-sufficient but thats not always a good thing. In general I don’t like to believe that people will do what they say and, because of that, I try to do everything myself. Past experiences have just taught me that its easier that way so I don;t have to be mad at people if they do let me down. I’ll work something out though. Asking for help may very well be the hardest part of this endeavor.

The lack of descent art therapy here versus the heightened interest in it from the group has put a new and unexpected spin on things though. It seems that I have been voted the unofficial leader of a new impromptu art therapy group. I have checked out project ideas and inventoried the supplies at our disposal so I think I’m at least somewhat close to prepared. Its another new adventure and it kicks off tomorrow morning. I have my fingers crossed.