My hair is on fire!

(no subject)

Sorry guys!

All this running here and there left me completely forgetful! I didn't mean it, I swear! :O Here's the URL to the completed project and all that jazz, plus another assignment from another class, if you are so tempted to check it out. I'm reinstalling again at the end of April, and I'll change the documentation (and URL) when the time comes so keep your eyes peeled!

Lots of Love <3


begging for music

has your taste in music changed beccause of your depression?

music used to be all my life but know i can listen to anything and i just don't give a damn. i can't pick up any good songs...
I can't share music with my friends.
My hair is on fire!

(no subject)

Hey guys. Ok I lied. One last, REALLY easy thing to do.

Give me a list of all the names you either have been called, directly or indirectly, because of your mental illness. Or, any names you've heard referred to the mentally ill.


Out There


My hair is on fire!

(no subject)

Ok everybody!! XD;;; I just need a bit more from you guys (I know I've asked so much already!! >o<);;

I need a sentence or two (short, plz) in responce to any of the articles below. I'd prefer if you'd tackle as many as possible, and even ones noone has touched. There's on without an article, and others with links, and others with the full story posted because you have to sign up to access the article and jazz like that.

Your sentence should be a breif, generic statement in responce to the headline of the article, but I am giving you the background information just incase you want to know what's what. In the installation, the participants walking through will ONLY see the headlines, that is why your sentence (responce) must make sense if the person doesn't have the background article to read ok? :D I'll post in the comment, my examples XD;;;

Please number your responces in accordance to what number you're replying to XD;;

1)Mental Illness: all in our minds?

2)Escaped sex offender back in custody at mental hospitalCollapse )

3) Man dead in stadium fall was mentally illCollapse )

4) Mother deemed mentally ill; killed three year-old son -

5) Rise in Homelessness Among Mentally Ill -

6) Expert warns mentally ill could face house arrest -

7) 'Mentally ill' man in vigilante killing -

8) Mentally ill: Gifted by God, or Natural Born Criminals?
If you need more, or don't like certain ones, tell me and I'll add more.
My hair is on fire!

(no subject)

I found a solution to make the masks less of a shock value and more functional. I will have the masks (equipped so that audio will come through one of the ears) wearable. Viola. No?
My hair is on fire!

(no subject)

Nicole, we admire your commitment to your project and your objective of increasing sensitivity towards people with mental illness. We are, however, a little concerned about how you can fight stigmas by making monsters. Your masks are horrific. Why? It seems to us that if you want to increase sensitivity you would need to draw people in and that would require that you take a different direction. Clarifying this aspect of your concept is essential to the overall success of your project.

What do you guys think? I'm not done yet. I'm working on getting my site up so you all can see what's what.

I worked out a verbal arguement of how to fight them. Hahaha. Fight. I'm all rared up and ready for a fight, I might surprise them with being too aggressive. Maybe I read too much into it. I was... offended, almost when they called my masks horrific. I mean, they ARE, but that's the point, they are mirroring the human suffering. Human suffering is not happy smiley faces and fluffy bunnies. But at the same time I understand what they speak of. To get people to become more sensitive requires you to draw them in, and for the things producing information to be more approachable. Yes, got it. But, for someone to learn, it would sacrifice what I believe a key element to understanding a part of what mental illness is.

The entire heart, where the masks would be, is in a very small, tight area, the audio is not pleasant to listen to, neither are the stories written on the doors a pleasant read, so why would I go and make the masks pleasant? I feel that in installation work, the space must work with the visuals and audios, and vice versa. Mental illness is uncomfortable for most people, even people who have had experience, dealing with someone who says they want to die, and maybe the only way to alleviate these pains is cutting their arm, watching the blood run, etcetcetc is not a pleasant experience, no matter how you dice it. Why would I make the representations voicing the audio of similar things comfortable when it is obvious, it isn't? I mean, yes, maybe more people would listen to it, but if you're unwilling to make the sacrifice and commitment to face the grotesque-ness of it, then I don't think you're really ready to listen. If a gross masks frightens you, I doubt the audio will make you stay much longer.

Am I wrong? Maybe I am ranting.

Maybe I spent too much time explaining the debunking of the myths so much that they think that is all my project is about. How else to word it? I am trying to simulate the experience of a situation. The situation of dealing with the truth about what mental illness is. Sure, people who walk through this project may only understand the stigmas and how they are not true. Maybe people will never know what it's like to be mentally ill, but I am trying to convey an intense feeling, emotionally, mentally, physically, to match the heavy topic, the heavy audio, the heavy visuals. Maybe it's more of a walkthrough. This is what you say it is. This is what the mentally ill hear.... This is what they feel. Can you feel how uncomfortable it is? You don't know the pain, the emotion, you don't have the illness, you could never know, but can you not feel the resonation of the emotion? It's infecting you. Not the illness, but the emotions accompanied with the self-doubt, the hyper-awareness, the intense anger, sadness, etc etc.... And this, this is their responce to you. Their responce to the outside.

I'm debunking stigmas as I go, but it is not the sole purpose of the project. The project is to also give an insight of as to the seriousness, and the weight of the actual issue. I would like to say, an experience of what it's like to be mentally ill, but since there are so many different mental illnesses and everyone's experiences varies, it would be unreal. Instead, I would like to create a deep uncomfort in the participant. That they felt that they were intruding on something private, in a sense, they are, because it is like reading journal entries to that of which they won't fully ever understand. An inner glimpse. This is what we are face with. This is what we feel. This is our reaction. Superego (Society) -> Id (People w/mental illness) -> Ego (Peoples responses to Society) of the monster.

Maybe I've lost myself. Does anyone get it? Care to ask questions? Respond? Complain? Compliment? Sorry I've been neglectful, I love you all, it's just life has almost swallowed me whole on a few occassions as you probably all have experienced before.
girls in white dresses

the anatomy of dysfunctionality

i'm not sure exactly what happened. my mother is schizophrenic. we don't know what was wrong with daddy, but he sure was fucked up. i might have inherited my mothers disease. i don't know. i haven't been to the hospitals since i was fifteen.

people tell me, "you should be on medication for that" or "maybe there's a better way..." yeah, fucking suicide. like that's going to happen. they have no idea. the drugs erase your mind. i can't remember anything about the years i was on meds. just a few scattered names and faces. not enough to build a memory from.

i'm trying to tell Zeet how i feel, that i don't hate her, i hate myself. i keep hearing someone screaming, and i'm not entirely sure it's just in my head. what's she saying? the blood in me is going so cold right now, i don't even care anymore. it's hard to keep track of my thoughts. i keep thinking about little black bugs, and how they'd look at you for hours, not even moving. i'm not sure how this is relevant to the current topic of conversation, but i'm sure that it is. when i bring up the topic, she begins to cry. i feel bad and now i'm thinking about the bottle on my nightstand labled "medicine". i have a new medicine now, and it's better than anything i've ever taken before. it took some adjusting to the diminished lack of self-control, but once the blood gets moving... it's all awash in a crimson haze. the pain, the memory, the guilt. it all goes out the window. there's this fast, feral glee with this stuff... i'm watching her cry, and all i'm thinking about is pulling those shiny little pretties out of my medicine bottle, and going to work on my hands. hands. that way they hurt whenever i move them for weeks. she's made me feel guilty about being this way. about being posessed of strange quirks and foul visions.
"i am so sorry you ever met me, Zeet. sometimes i think about that. i think about how happy you could have been. what if..."
i don't get any farther, because then she's on me. her tiny little fists crashing into my pale little face. i'm feeling better now. what if she goes too far? what if i die? i hope it makes her feel great again. like before she liked me.
"don't deny me your existance ryan! i don't love you, but i'll be damned before i let you discount everything we've seen!"
she's yelling and i love the way her teeth catch the light. she had to repeat what she said next at a later date, because her kicking me in the ribs made me lost conciousness.
"is this the only way i can maintain your attention, my bitterness?"

when i wake up in the hospital, they are talking about me being institutionalized. my mother is not as sick as she once was, and thinks it's a good idea. i resist until she decides i can still be free. at this time i am seventeen.

sometimes i dream about drowining in ink. always black, this ink. always tastes bitter. some days are better than others. sometimes i don't wake up bleeding from self-inflicted wounds. sometimes though, i don't wake up at all it seems. when i check the calander, i'm missing days. i wonder if it's a fugue sort of thing. i think now that maybe i should be hospitalized, but i'm afraid. i'm afraid so i continue to walk around the city at night, living my days in ever increasingly complicated ways. i draw a lot. and sometimes i even sing. it makes my friends at church sad when they catch me walking past thier houses, singing. i don't know where they live, but the say i pass thier houses sometimes. i sing about how nice it must feel to catch fire. sometimes i'm singing my favorite bands, but other times it's my own. i think my own is sadder sometimes. so do my friends at church. they keep telling me that god loves me. i think god is dead. maybe god had some sort of purpose for me, but because it's not around, i'm just crazy. my visions are the death throes of a dying deity.

(this is a journal entry from my house. i'm sorry if it's unusable. i think i even submitted it too late, but i thought it might be relevant anyway. i'm usually not as broken as i was that day, but sometimes i'm even worse. i guess what i'm trying to say with this is that mental instability, like anything else, is an adaptive process. i really don't need any sort of medication. i just need to learn a new lesson everyday about how my brain works. over the years, my madness has become a more sedated thing for the most part. mostly just empty delusions and a few scattered compulsions with a mix of hallucinations. but i'm still a person. i want to love, and be loved. i want friends who i can help. i want to be at least mildly happy, and perhaps even have a family of sorts in the people i most closely interact. thankyou for taking time to read this. it's important to me sometimes that people hear me, even if distantly. have a pleasant night)