Turns out the love stories were all just two dimensional. Whether on screen or on the pages of a bookthey didn’t stand up to scrutinyand so when I became more confident and certain of my own rightsto inspect these accounts more closely I lifted them up and turned them on their head and they simply…… Continue reading Overturning love-stories
On Fitzmary two, the ward I lived on at The Bethlam Hospital, I met Christine, the tattooed woman. Her hair was bleached as light as the sun, and her arms, chest, back and legs were adorned with lines and symbols, and the names of the people she had previously known. She had the fairest skin, yet…… Continue reading Christine- the tattooed woman
I met two women on a ward. They were sitting together in a packed hospital canteen on a sunny afternoon some time in April. They were so entirely and inconceivably opposite it was disarming. One resembled a startled bird. She was scrawny and fragile and twitched as she continuously glanced about her, her eyes darting about…… Continue reading I met two women on a ward.