The Twelve Days of Christmas
The vortex of interminable depression and hopelessness had me in its grip. Day after day the depths of blackness increased. My eyes were dead, my mind seized up, thoughts whirling round unformed, I was incapable of any action however small and necessary. Communication impossible. The ward staff were watching my every move as I was looking for a way out.
One morning a bright, cheerful voice rang out at the reception desk. A lady, not in uniform, was talking about Christmas. My heart sank several feet lower but I couldn’t avoid hearing that there was to be a competition for the best decorated ward, themed on Christmas, which was 4 weeks away.
Over the next few days a tiny spark began to ignite the part of my brain where the fire had died. I began to create images in my head which morphed into doodles on scraps of paper. A couple of the ward staff noticed my sudden new interest and commented on my drawing. Finally I was asked what I was drawing and who was it for.
“It’s the Twelve Days of Christmas,” I said
“That would be a great idea for decorating the ward,” was the reply
“Well, it’s too much for me to do,” was my excuse.
The staff started to talk to us all about getting involved and brought paper, paint, brushes and even scissors. They even brought in books with pictures to copy, and by the end of the week there was a small group of patients getting out of bed and gathering round me, some observing, some drawing, painting and cutting out.
I became aware of my skills and those of my fellow patients. Conversations began and I was able to encourage some of them to discover those skills. It wasn’t all plain sailing, The lords leaping, pipers piping and ladies dancing were not quite as I had envisaged, and some days, I would tear up or paint over my work or cry over it and make the paint blurry. But the results were generally quite pleasing and the efforts we made seemed to make us all feel better. Three weeks later, the Twelve Days of Christmas was up on the walls starting at the reception desk with the partridge in a pear tree, and a cheer went up when we won the competition.
JT — August 2022
This story first appeared on Charnwood Chronicles, a community arts online blog curated by Alison Mott. The author’s permission has been granted for its use here.