A Stone in My Head

There’s a stone in my head. A problem unsolved. A tangled knot I can’t think clearly. Words unspoken, no-one is listening. Thoughts diverted into my body, a stoop in my shoulder, tightness in my hips. My body has absorbed stories, buried them deep down in the flesh. My body tells each and every one of my silences.

            I am dancing, and moving, twisting like a contortionist. There are a million different positions to twist the body into. A million tiny corners in which the words are hiding, cling onto blood and bone and flesh, wishing to hide until death.

            If silence is death then words are life. I will shake the words out of my body and write them on this page. And that will be the end of the stone in my head. 

For a long time in my mid twenties I lived as if there was a stone in my head, something I was trying to say but could not express in words, something that got in the way of living. My head was getting crowded, and I was suffering from insomnia. As I tried to write this stone, I discovered a book called ‘Why do People get ill?’ written by psychoanalysts Darian Leader and David Corfield. The book explores the idea that there is always a psychological factor that contributes to illness, and that we cannot fully understand what makes us ill unless we take it into account.

The book changed the way I saw illnesses I’d had while at university, a backache, that made exam study difficult, and chronic fatigue syndrome that caused me to repeat my second year. I began to see these illnesses as the manifestation of something I couldn’t express in words.

Becoming well again, meant learning how to articulate myself better, and to write about everything that had happened to me. Nothing was taboo. I tried to ignore the voice that told me not to write about certain subjects, (I would worry about whether I’d publish it later). It took years to write until I felt happy again. There had been a lot of silence in my life, and it took a long time to unravel my feelings, to soften anger and numbness into sadness, and understand what I had been through. It was a difficult journey and there were many tears, but I have left my sadness behind on the pages of my notebook. Now my thoughts are much clearer, I no longer live with a stone in my head.

Writing Exercise : ‘Things I have been Silent about’

I love the title of Azar Nafisi’s book, about growing up in Iran, and her family’s secrets, set against the backdrop of the country’s revolution.

For this writing exercise simply write the words ‘Things I have been silent about’ and write whatever comes to mind. Try not to ‘choose’ writing topics or censor yourself. As writing teacher Natalie Goldberg says, ‘if something feels scary dive right into it!’

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Writing for Wellbeing Workshop, July 11th 9-11.30 Centrepoint Basel

Writing for Wellbeing; exploring your past, present and future in words

Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those, who do not write, compose, or paint can manage to escape the madness, the melancholia, the panic fear, which is inherent in a human condition” Graham Greene.

We are all writers just as we are all talkers – Pat Schneider

In this workshop we’ll discuss research about how creative writing can contribute to physical health, emotional well-being, and help you make life-changes. Through three writing exercises you will explore your past, present and future. We’ll share friendly and supportive feedback together, and you will also learn techniques to make journal writing a regular part of your life. Space is limited to 6 people. Please book in advance.

Contact kate_orson@hotmail.com, 0764256516

The desire to write

Imagine the desire to write as a physical force flowing through you. Leave behind the circling of your mind, and enter into the body. Learn how to listen to the silent language under the skin and translate it into words.

Writing is about desire. It often stems from a time of suffering, when there is something in life we cannot have, a frustration that gives way to creativity.

I’ve noticed in my own writing, that my ideas for fiction often come when I’ve reached a dead end, when there’s a pain or sadness, that I can find no solution to. This feeling dissipates when I get an idea for a short story or a novel. The writing becomes a way of transforming the pain into something positive.

Sometimes fiction does not come easily to me, and I need to work through my feelings in a journal. This writing is almost always about desires, for transforming pain and suffering, for finding happiness.

When I was 17 I noticed that writing short stories filled with so much physical energy I felt like dancing around the room. Later I used journal writing to overcome depression and chronic fatigue syndrome. I noticed that writing seemed to give me physical energy. But I assumed that writing was an activity done with the mind, not the body.

Then I discovered, James Pennebaker’s book ‘Opening up’ and read with amazement, about how writing about significant life experiences leads to improved physical as well as mental health. In his study participants wrote about ‘the most upsetting event in their lives’ for fifteen minutes on four consecutive occasions. In the following six months participants went to the doctor 50% less than those who had written about mundane subjects.

In his book Writing From the Body, John Lee explains how the desire to write is a physical force. This idea is what informs my writing and teaching. That writing is not an act of thinking divorced from the body, but one of feeling. When I write in my journal I try to bring my awareness to the present moment, to sink and ground myself in my body, to become aware of my breathing. That way I can feel the desire to write in my body. I can listen to this feeling, switch off my mind and write what it tells me.