How Art Helps Mental Health

      ***ATTENTION: If you do not believe in mental illness, or criticize those who have a mental health issue, I suggest you go click the little x in the right corner.  Thank You.***

      I've heard a lot of different arguments about art.  The most popular among the "haters" is: "These so called "artists" need to get a real job, instead of doing nothing."  (Which, FYI, it's really hard work to make something pretty.) 
      I've heard that Fan Art is not real art. (Which, it totally is.  It takes as much effort and creativity to create a piece from an existing T.V. show, book, song, etc..)
      I've heard that art is pointless, and that schools shouldn't be offering it.
      This is why I chose this topic, since it such a hidden controversy. 
      I have a friend who is going to college, studying to be an art therapist.  I had never heard of the profession before, but art therapy is commonly used throughout other therapy options for those who cannot voice their feelings. 
      (If you read my previous post, The Truth About Self Image: Positive vs. Destructive, then you will know my viewpoints on therapy and such.  If you haven't, then I suggest you read it, because this is sort of a follow up post on it.)
      It was suggested to me by my doctor that I use art to give my feelings a voice. 
    

 

      When I first was diagnosed with PNES, I did this piece.  I never gave it a name (partially because I'm horrible at that sort of thing), and I didn't feel the need to.  When I showed it to my doctor, he made me draw random things in our sessions, like: trees, houses, fields, etc..  Finally, he asked me to take a shading pencil, use my left hand (since I am right-handed), and scribble some emotion out.  At first I thought what you are probably thinking: "That's weird.  Like, really weird."  But, I did it, and the pit in my stomach started to alleviate. 

      Art relieved my anxiety and depressed feelings.

      Soon (after getting supplies and such), I began to make it a little more routine to do my art.  This was also around the time I got into Doctor Who, so I also did Fan Art.

 

Top left: "Angels Take Manhattan"

Top right is a Cyberman

Bottom left: "Come Along Ponds"

Bottom left is a portrait of Ten and Rose

 

 

      The art actually helped my pain. 

      It gave me a voice when I was voiceless. 

      It made it a little bit more manageable.

 

 

      I think that art therapy is a brilliant way to help anyone.  Yes, I'm biased on this.  I think that it should be used more.  I also think that it should be incorporated more in the schools.

      There is scientific proof that art helps improve mental health.  There's a quote from a jazz artist: "Then why am I so screwed up?" (Huffington Post interviewed a few people about this subject.) "But without music I'd be a lot more screwed up and would be missing the thing that gives me the most happiness in my life." 

       To me, his quote says something.

       But, then again, it's all in opinion.  You all know my opinion- that art helps your mental state, but the question is: what's your opinion?







The Truth About Self Image: Positive vs. Destructive

Dear reader,
      
      This is not one of my dorky, average posts.  This post is going to be personal.  The pictures you will see are my personal pictures... of me.  Me, my family, my history.
      Lately, I have seen, and read, a lot of blog posts about positive body image, and it doesn't sit right with me.  Don't get me wrong- I'm thrilled that there are people out there trying to convince individuals it's alright to be how you look.  What doesn't sit right is: the posts are all written by adults over twenty.  I haven't read one written by a teenager, or young adult.  And, I'm not sure how many of them went through what causes such self-conscious, self-destructive thoughts.
      I'm not writing this- I'm not telling you my story- for a pity party or any of the sort.  I don't want that. 
      I'm writing this- I'm telling my story- to tell these girls and boys that it gets better.  That it IS okay not to have a million friends, to not be popular.  It is NOT okay to hate yourself.  Because, trust me, it is more destructive than a bulldozer taking down a porter potty. 
      This is a picture of me before my senior year (which I just completed.):

      I can say I was average.  Moderately bullied, liked by my teachers, either stood out in my class or blended into the walls of the class.  Here's an example:  I was a junior in a class of seniors (Bio II- not required, but intriguing.)  I'm completely nervous surrounded by predominately seniors, yet I can dissect a cow's eye when the star football athlete squealed like a little girl when he got squirted by vitreous fluids (which, admittedly, would be gross, but is still funny to tell the family), tell that it has cataracts when it wasn't asked, and can name more bones in the human body off of the top of my mind than the teacher could.  Oh, yes, I stuck out like a sore thumb, and was ignored, thought really weird, for it. 
      Here's another example:  Algebra II- a predominately junior class, a very hard class to someone who didn't have a clue on what they were doing.  I blended in with the off white brick wall better than ever, sat in the back, and didn't answer unless I was called on- which was rare.  The teacher and I were cool with each other.  Though I stayed in his class, he always told me I needed to be in this honors or AP class.  "Because I want one student who listens to me." He told me one day after I asked why he never transferred me into a more challenging class if he knew I could handle it. "I'm selfish for it, I know.  But, you are one of my best students, and I want to keep that." I guess it's a good thing I was on his good side, a teacher's pet of sorts, because I would have gotten in trouble A LOT.  It also helps I told him from week one I don't have a tolerance for stupidity. 
      My Junior year was too simple, though most say it is your hardest year.  Of course, SAT's stressed me to the maximum, just like any one else.  But it was one year where I had some achievements where I didn't struggle to get.  I had a boyfriend, great friends, a somewhat social life, and the bullying had stopped.  Everything looked up, or so I thought. (I have always wanted to say "...or so I thought." in something, just because it is so cliché.)
      Here's a picture of my Junior Ring Dance and Prom:

 

      I have said before that I was "average."  Average is such a deplorable word.  It's a word that we tend to use to try and feel good about ourselves.  (Unique is another word we tend to use to defend ourselves.)  When, in reality, we are all odd.  Again, don't misconstrue what I am saying.  It'll make sense in the long run (Or not at all.  I don't know how you think.) 
      I did not say that I was in the group of outcasts in high school, or that I tried so desperately to make friends.  I didn't say that it actually ate away at my being that I was a nobody.  I didn't say the truly personal things, but gave a sweet, brief description of my junior year.  You know, the year that looked up? 
      I can tell you all the sweet, little tidbits that I used to make myself feel better- how I compensated with my intellectual talents rather than trying not to worry about climbing the social ladder- but this isn't about trying or wanting, it's about what really happens.  For me to tell you about a self-positive image, you need to understand what it's like to have a self-destructive image.  This is what a self-destructive image would look like:

      Here's what it feels like: it's like your body is caving in and crumbling in on itself; like your dieing while living; like you have no control over yourself; like you are just a walking shell of who you used to be. 
      I would know; I was there.
      My freshmen year, I had my first toxic relationship, which bled its way into early sophomore year.  After I mustered up the courage (believe me, it took everything to finally understand the severity of the situation), I faced what felt like the end of my world.  It wasn't the break up.  No- that was simple.  Like ripping off a Band-Aid on a wound that still bled.  The issue came with the rumors, and lies, and horrible feelings that came afterwards.  I was told, "Why don't you just write yourself a suicide note, and die?" by someone who was supposed to be one of my best friends.  My other "friends" blamed me.  It was constant for months with the stares and whispers and lies.  (There is a part to this that is way too personal to put in.)
      Then it stopped, and I moved on, or thought I moved on.  My grades improved.  I was ready to face the world.
      People don't usually think of bullying happening in relationships.  But it does.  It's called emotional/mental abuse.  Every little thing can set off your abuser- how you look, how you act, even what you likes and hobbies are.  In my opinion, it's as bad as the other abuse types. 
      I can tell you it's easy getting over toxic people, but then I'd be lieing.  It nearly killed me.  Even two years later, I'm still dealing with what happened. 
      Some days it feels like I've crawled in a hole, like I don't deserve anything that I have.  It feels like everything that I am is done, like I'm slowly suffocating.  There's this horrible anxiety pain in my chest, and I think I'm dieing, and I sometimes gets so flustered that I can hardly talk and I shake and I cry.  There are just days where there is nothing I can do but lay in bed and read or watch Doctor Who or House.  It's what my doctor calls the onset of depression, but not quite there.
      There is a reason you need to know what it's like to be self-destructive.  To know what it's like to not know whether you want to live in this world.  To know what it's like to just feel like empty. 
       Here is what self positivity looks like:

      Self-positivity is a great thing.  It takes a while getting from horribly self-destructive to thinking good about yourself.  It's also not easy.  It's looking in the mirror after taking a shower in the morning, and saying, "You are beautiful."  It's wearing the make up if you feel better.  (I wear eyeliner out because it makes me feel better about myself.)  It's working towards a goal, because YOU want to. 
       I won't lie to you.  I'm not so self-positive.  But I'm also not as self-destructive anymore.  Because I know how it sits on a person.  I have what is called Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Myoclonic Seizures, a conversion disorder, caused from suppressing my feelings and stressing out too much.  I will possibly have this underlying disorder for a while, and will have to monitor my stress levels to keep from having seizures.
       When I was diagnosed, I had no friends.  I didn't get to go to school (which to some seems like heaven, but when you loved school, it can be very depressing.)  People stared, and, I will admit, it bothered me.  A lot.  I mean, I had a hard time holding my pencil steady to do chemistry formulas at first.  It lead to me becoming depressed, self-destructive.
       I am this way because I was not accepting, didn't get the help I needed.  I was very self-destructive in a subtle way. 
       What do I do to help from falling in a deep well again?  For me, I pray.  I read.  I paint and pastel and draw.  I watch Doctor Who and House.  I take time myself when I think I need it.  I hang out with my cousin.  And I try.  That's really what it is all about when you are so used to feeling negative.  You surround yourself with the positive- which, for me, happens to be my family- and the things you love. 

 

       No one can tell you to be positive about yourself.  Only you can make that decision.  But, let me tell you.  It feels so good to have the positive. 
      It's a gift to be alive. 
      It is perfectly fine to have a hard time.  I still have a hard time.  But, what ever you do, do NOT let anyone make you think you aren't worth living.  You are.  You were put here on this earth for a reason.  Sometimes it's to just become a house wife.  Sometimes it's to be a scientist who will cure cancer.  Or, if you're like me, it's to be a teacher.  In some way, shape, or form, we all change a life.  But, we can't do that if we aren't here, can we?
      Surround yourself with the positive, find what is making you self-destructive (and stay away from it), and, then, find what makes you happy (and surround yourself in it.)
      Again, I did not write this for a pity party.  I wrote this for those who don't know that there is another way, because there is.  I wrote this so those will know what it's like to struggle with your image.  I wrote this, not to change a life, but in hope to influence one. 
     
                                                                                                  -From someone who really understands

Paper Towns by John Green

 

(This is a clickable image.)

 

      John Green has this profound ability to make you believe something.  He can make you believe that it is going to be this great, fantastic, absolutely thrilling adventure going on (even if it's just two teenagers running around), makes you fall in love with this creation he has made, and then crushes your soul (either by killing off a character, or something equally tragic.)  But he does it in such a brilliant way that I keep coming back for more.

      After reading this book, I went into my moms room, nearly in tears.  This is kind of how it went down: 

      Mom: Did you finish it?

      Me: Yes, yes I did.

      Mom: Did you like it?

      Me: Why does he do this to us?  Why does he raise our hopes so high, make us believe that everything will be okay, end good this time, you know?  Whyyyyyy (Cue very long, dramatic sigh), oh whyyyyy (a few tears leaked here), does he make everything so sad?! 

      Mom: Why do you read his books if you know you'll cry?

      Me: (with my mouth agape) Because he's absolutely BRILLIANT!

      Mom: Well, it's the price to pay for a brilliant book, I guess.

      Well said, mother, dear, well said.  My tears and sorrow are the price for such a brilliantly written novel.

      Any who, after that rant, I suppose I should get the actual book.   I just thought it would be nice to know what you were getting yourself into once you picked up the actual book.  I mean, I waited and waited until I saw the movie trailer to it, because I knew how he worked.  But, don't let this discourage you.  I highly suggest you pick up the book.

      Quentin... is like a lot of the nerdy teenagers in all of the world.  He is best friends with the band geeks, his ex-girlfriend was a band geek, he has a crush with who he think is the most amazing girl in the world, and so on.  The only problem with Quentin is he is incredibly paper, according to Margo, in the paper town of Orlando, Florida.  He likes the same old, boring routine, that is, until Margo Roth Spiegelman and he sneak out into the night to go on some crazy, eleven part adventure. 

 

 

      Margo Roth Spiegelman (I haven't the slightest idea how you would pronounce her last name.  Honestly, it's a bit of a mouth full to begin with.)  is a doer.  She is crazy to go on the adventures she has, but must truly be insane to plan all of them out herself. 

      She takes Quentin out on this amazing adventure in the middle of the night, getting revenge on everyone who she felt wronged her.  Be warned, you will be a giggly mess in part one, because they do some pretty crazy things, like: throwing fish in peoples cars, taking pictures of cheating boyfriend's tiny region, removing a guys left eyebrow.  If that isn't enough, they broke into SeaWorld, just for the hell of it.

 

 

      That's the thing about Margo.  She sees the world so much differently than Quentin, yet he doesn't even begin to care.  Then again, he can't even begin to fathom what goes on in her mind.  What Margo wants, is adventure.  Pure, unplanned adventure.  And she gets it.  In a way, so does Quentin, because she brought out a side to him he didn't know he had.

 

 

      Then, all of a sudden, Margo goes missing, and Quentin takes it upon himself to find her, and becomes a little obsessed with the idea of finding someone who he believes wants to be found, but really doesn't.  He searches EVERYWHERE for a month.  Then again, who wouldn't search EVERYWHERE for a month for the person they love.  I don't want to even begin thinking about the amount of gas it would take to go everywhere, or why his parents were so chill with him leaving like he did.  I also don't have a clue as to why John Green makes these teenager's parents in all of his books so chill and... a bit strange to be honest.

      To find out the end of the book, you will just have to read it.  It's too big of a spoiler for me to just tell you.

      The movie is also coming out soon, so I will definitely be going to see that. 

      If I were asked to rate the book (1-10), though, I'd give it a twenty. 

 



 

The Jurassic Park Series

 

      This is not an ordinary post.
      This is not a review.
      This is not in this time period.
      This is... Jurassic Park!
      Around my house, Jurassic Park is a family favorite.  In fact, we went out and bought all three movies, sat in our living room, watched them, and then discovered we are enthralled by the prehistoric era. 
      Just recently, Jurassic World hit the theaters with a BANG!  I went to see it on Friday night with my cousin, and was blown away.  It may have been from the Indominus Rex, the Mosasaur, or even the Raptors.  Despite the occasional muscle twitch, it was a fabulous experience to have (and what's a better movie to go to after not being able to go to the movie theater for a year?)

 

 

 

      Dinosaurs, real true dinosaurs, were around 65 BILLION years ago.  These creatures were developed in a lab from a fossil containing the blood of a species of dinosaur.  From there, the lab continued on and developed their own species of dinosaurs, such as: Spinosaurus Rex, Indominus Rex, and the Mosasaur.  I haven't the slightest clue what the Mosasaur is a hybrid of, but I know the Spinosaurus Rex is a hybrid of a Spinosaurus and a Tyrannosaurus Rex, and an Indominus Rex is a hybrid of a Velociraptor and a Tyrannosaurus Rex. 

      For some of the youngest girl's comprehension reading I have her read out of the dinosaur workbook and answer the questions.  And, at times, she'll tell me random facts, like: "a Triceratops has blood flowing throw the horn things on its back." 

     

 

                                 <---- Mosasaur

 

 

 

      My cousin and I had a fangirl moment over Chris Pratt after the movie.  She liked his looks and I liked how he's like "Stop!  You will not be attacking any idiot today Blue!  This is not in my job description!"
      Jurassic World is a lot more about how someone in the Lab was working for a totally different person and made the Indominus Rex this horrifying creature (and, believe me, it was TERRIFYING.)  It kept the same idea of the Jurassic Park films, but it was its own in a way. 
      To wrap up this rant of a post: I am pleased to have a mom that makes dinosaur lunches.  I didn't get one, because I was at a doctors appointment in Richmond, but these are my three sibling's lunches. 

 

       If you enjoy these, check out her blog: Yummy Bites by Amy.  You can find her on: Blogger (http://yummybitesbyamy.blogspot.com/), Pinterest, Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.  She does American style Bento lunches, and, recently, is branching out to other subjects such as sewing (she has a Facebook page called Sew Chic, Geek Boutique.) 

Hands On Learning (Part II): Exeriments, Experiments, Experiments!

     

 

 

      Allergies are kicking our butts this week, so a majority of what we've done is worksheets.  However, the kids and I have done a few experiments to pass the time between swimming, games, and my reading. 

      The first one we did was a density experiment.  This was a home run as far as experiments go.  It's simple, fun, and educational- which is, of course, the goal for this summer.  You will need: a pitcher of water, vegetable oil (we used Wesson, but you can use whatever kind you would like or have in your kitchen), a jar (I made spaghetti that night, so I took the three jars I used and cleaned them for the kids to do the experiment with.), salt & pepper (for the observation part), and blue food dye. 

 

      It honestly depends on how many kids you plan on doing the experiment with, but with three kids I thought a pitcher of water would be safe- taking spills into consideration.  We took it step by step, so I could ask each kid their observations on the project. 

      Step One: Fill each jar half way up with water.  I allowed the middle girl to do this, so she could do something.  About half way through it, she decided she wanted to go inside, so I did the rest. 

      Step Two: Add a little bit of food dye.  I took the tip of a safety knife, and used some blue food dye.

      Step Three: Measure out 2/3 vegetable oil and pour it into the water.  When I asked what was happening, the twins very excitedly told me that we made a lava lamp.

      Step Four: Sprinkle salt in your "lava lamp", and watch the oil move up and down.  Now, you can end the experiment here, but we carried it on with pepper.  The twins were less enthused with the reaction with the pepper.

      Step Five: SHAKE IT!  Shake it like you've never shaken it before!!!  Since there were three, I decided that we should have a constant and a variable.  The twins shook, while I allowed the third to settle. 

 

      I think all-in-all that it was good fun.  I highly suggest doing this with elementary age children, not only for the education purposes, but for their reactions.  It's priceless!!! 

 

 

 



 

 



Hands On Learning (Part One)

 

       I have said before that I love to learn.  I love all subjects: English, Grammar (though Grammar aggravates me equally as much as it intrigues me), History, Science, Mathematics, Foreign Languages, etc...  My ideal day would be to sit in a library with a pile of books in my possession and read until my heart was content.

      However, I have more than just a passion for learning.  I love to teach.  I love the many different ways you can teach a child, creatively, not in a uniform way.  My philosophy is, observe how the child behaves on their own, then use their habits as a learning style.  I, for example, learn the best with flash cards and homemade quizzes.  I learned history by reading historical fictions, and learned science by sheer will and experiments.  But, that's me.  I'm a tactical person.

      In tenth grade, I job shadowed at the local elementary school for a third grade teacher.  The only thing I had to complain about was the way they expected the children to learn.  The teachers both praised me and reprimanded me for my creative tactics.  The problem is, the school systems aren't paying attention to how the children act and behave.  (Two totally different things in my opinion.)

      My mom, knowing I'm going to school to study elementary education, gave me the task of tutoring my siblings for the summer.  My brother was exempted from such (except experiments, which he requested I do), but the girls need the help.  Rachel, 10, struggles the most, and I am taking a new approach to her learning styles.  We can all agree straight up studying is horribly boring, and sometimes it just doesn't work.  Truly, it depends on the students. 



      I decided to do a little of both hands on and uniform work for Emily, 11, and Rachel.

      For Rachel, we chose a workbook that holds all of the subjects: mathematics, science, social studies, and language.  I chose this one, because it seemed a little more engaging, rather than completely brain numbing boring.  For Emily, we chose two smaller workbooks (Grammar and Mathematics), seeing as she is going into seventh grade.  It's very clean cut, which is good to prepare her for higher grades.

      To add to Rachel's workbooks, we added flashcards, and the "Times Table Ball" (which, surprisingly, all the three kids enjoy.  They ask to play with it consistently.)

       

                                   
     To go with the work book activities, we did a "I can feel my heartbeat" experiment.  I thought it would be a little boring to the girls, but they enjoyed themselves.  I mean, giggling, laughing, and I got an ear full of "Can we do it again, Abby?!".   I can not begin to explain the level of joy I felt when they wanted to continue doing the activity.  It wasn't just jumping jacks and pacing's, though, they had to multiply their pulse by ten to get their heart rate per minutes.

      With that part, I expected to have to help with the one who struggles in multiplication, but she did the double digit multiplying without the help of me or a calculator.  It verifies my idea that kids learn more in experience rather than books.  Don't get me wrong, books are a necessity, but the idea is to enforce the rules and what they had learned. 
      Needless to say, it was a good first day of summer school.
     
      ***Note: This is a series post!!! There will be more to come!!!***
                                                              

  

         

Dear America- A Coal Miner's Bride: The Diary of Anetka Kaminska (Lattimer, Pennsylvania, 1896) by Susan Campbell Bartoletti

     

 

(This is a clickable image.)

 

 

      It's been a very long time since I have written a post, but, now school is over, and I have much more time to read and watch all the dorky shows that I love. 

      When I was in middle school, I was a major history guru.  I lived and breathed to read the historical fiction novels my mom brought home from the library.  And, nothing thrilled me more than these little joys.

      The one that I am reviewing tonight is Dear America- A Coal Miner's Bride: The Diary of Anetka Kaminska (Lattimer, Pennsylvania, 1896.)  Anetka is from the time when Poland was being run by the Czar of Russia.  Her family is poor, her Mamusia (mother) died and her Tata (father) is in America, trying to raise her dowry.  Here she meets Leon Nasevich, a Pole working for the Russian military.  Leon is a light-hearted man with a troublesome demeanor.

      In America, Anetka's father meets Stanley Gawrych, a widower with three daughters.  In return for three boat tickets, Anetka's father agrees that he can marry her.  When Anetka hears of this, she is furious.  She wanted to marry for love, not traded off. 

 

 

 

      She married, and became a mother to Violet, Rose, and Lily, but she never loved Stanley.  He died in a coal mining accident before the Union got massacred. 

      Dear America books are wonderful for younger kids (reading level is third-fourth grade), but I like to read them if I don't have time to read a 400 something page book.  Below are some links to other Dear America books.

 

    

      There are many, many more Dear America books on Amazon.com!!!  Don't miss out on a little adventure!

      Also, check out The Royal Diaries!