Somewhere Among the Clouds – Art and Poetry By Charlotte Farhan

Somewhere Among the Clouds - By Charlotte Farhan

Somewhere Among the Clouds – By Charlotte Farhan


Somewhere Among the Clouds – By Charlotte Farhan

Somewhere among the clouds
my mind reflects back at me
creating faces in moments
telling stories with whipped cream
floating overhead they enshroud
changing colours of our family tree
searching for every branches atonement
shadows engulf my daydreams

Somewhere among the leaves
I am laid down to rest
foliage surrounds my anatomy
craving the light from beneath
rustling below my knees
knowing I am dispossessed
with the numbness of apathy
as the earth moves underneath


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Fragile – Illustration and Poetry By Charlotte Farhan

Fragile

My emotions are encased in glass,

self preservation enclosed them there,

in a mason jar
for safe keeping,

fear like a snake in the grass,

infectious despair
simply to scare,

in my jar
I am left weeping.

Fragility is never a choice,

does the ant get to choose it’s height?

does a butterfly design it’s wings?

I hear “stay safe”
from my little voice,

“fear not”
I reply
“this jar is airtight”,

Outside is not for me
for I see the sadness it brings.


Fragile - By Charlotte Farhan

Fragile – By Charlotte Farhan

 


 

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Am I Real -Art and Poetry by Charlotte Farhan

am-i-real-1

 

AM I REAL?

by

Charlotte Farhan

The nature of reality perplexes most,

nothing can “be . . . ” and “not be . . . “,

so when I tell you I feel like a ghost,

please believe me.

Anything outside your mind can be unsure,

but how does something exist?

Does one have to have thunk it – to be sure,

of flesh and bone is all I consist.

Am I mentally constructed,

are my thoughts my own?

or possibly I came to this earth abducted,

or maybe I arose from my tombstone.

Is my conscious mental state related to my body?

for I see myself below,

separating self as I disembody,

left behind is but a puppet show.

 The earth is like water inside a fishbowl,

diminished in size and dimensions,

all unreachable as it slips into a black hole,

staring at my own reflection.


This piece of art and poetry addresses how it feels to be in a state of depersonalisation or derealisation. I experience both as symptoms of my anxiety disorders (OCD, GAD, CPTSD and AGORAPHOBIA) as well as my borderline personality disorder.

Find out more HERE

These sensations and feelings of being unreal or not being able to know what is real or not – have been causing me issues since I was a very young child. The worst times were when my voice used to speed up and I would hear myself speaking a million miles per hour, but others around me heard me speaking at a normal speed, or when I felt objects were to large or too small causing me to question all perspective, but by far the most disturbing is when you feel like an illusion, like a left over imprint.

As someone who has a degree in philosophy and who has studied philosophy for over 10 years now, “the theory of mind” was and still is one of my favourite subjects within philosophy. It has simultaneously helped me to accept that none of us truly know what reality is, as well as further perplex me and leave me questioning everything even more.

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There is not a lot of understanding when it comes to these disorders, often when people do not understand something or have not felt the things being described – it is easy for them to dismiss. However – why would anyone assume their reality is the same as another? There is evidence that we all experience the world differently without having any kind of mental illness or neurological damage.

How am I to know what you see… and how are you to know what I see…?

When I am touched does it feel the same as when you are touched?

When I eat do I taste the same flavours and interpret the textures the same as you?

Do I see the world as a “glass half empty kind of place or half full”?

Do I think the same thoughts?

The list goes on and on…

It is never as simple as “reality is reality”.

So question these ideas more, never judge another persons reality to be wrong or fake and remember that 1 in 5 people will have a mental illness at some point in their lives and some of us will have it for life.

End the stigma and learn how to better understand others and their reality.


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Make it Stop – Art and Poetry by Charlotte Farhan

Make it Stop - Art and Poetry by Charlotte Farhan

Make it Stop – Art and Poetry by Charlotte Farhan

Waking up,
whipping eyelids open in panic,
heartbeats pound at my chest,
a frame of mind completely manic,
inside is emptiness,
depressed,
with nausea rising as if volcanic,
anxieties flood and infest,
unwanted thoughts,
borderline satanic,
the compulsions arise,
obsessed,
a lump in my throat,
gigantic,
memories pushed down,
repressed.


 

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Between States – Poetry by Charlotte Farhan

Safe Place - By Charlotte Farhan

Safe Place – By Charlotte Farhan

Between States

Closing my eyes,
seeing emptiness, however endless,
hearing sounds of days already had,
voices of lonely goodbyes.

In cornfields we escaped,
laying in beautiful memories beneath future possibilities,
Time is only relevant to my existence,
numbers, hands, faces – clocks stop.

Pendulous over my metaphorical cliff.
Blue surrounds me,
mist kisses me as tears precipitates,
waves crashing below.

Dreaming takes forever,
passing hours – drifting.
Life tries to wake me with flickers of light,
clasping tightly at the reigns of this delusion.

The breeze carries a scent with it,
brushing my hair against my face,
familiarity sinks into the pit of my stomach,
I know this place.
This residence has no name,
no directions given, or maps written.
Stepping through a cerebral maze,
with the house getting further away.

This world between states,
of mind and power.
My consciousness hesitates,
not wanting to let me go.

 


 

Between States - By Charlotte Farhan

Between States – By Charlotte Farhan

Art and Poetry by Charlotte Farhan

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Neuro-divergent me – A Poem by Charlotte Farhan

Neuro-divergent me

 

There are parts of my brain,

people call sick,

inside things can’t configure – to the accepted standard.

There were times when fitting me into a box,

was a main concern.

Or blame – who’s left her out too long

too often, too little.

How about inside,

thoughts, dreams, the others in here?

Feelings which overwhelm,

sensory information begins to concentrate,

like compressed gas in a cylinder.

Pain is all that can be felt,

physical surges through my spinal cord,

to my brain – the host.

Being born with this disposition,

having an environment devastated.

Parents – the same chemistry

Clueless in their own damnation

However happily participating

in their haphazard irony.

Not typical, not normal,

they said and continue to claim.

“she’s weird, she doesn’t look me in the eye”

they whisper whilst backing away.

Thought of as rude, too direct,

judgements made habitually,

privileges left unchecked.

My cognition brought into question,

By those who never had to confabulate.

The world is not odd to me,

as it is all I can see,

you need to cure me.

Not trusting my words and memories,

abusing me,

leaving me.


when I close my eyes - by Charlotte Farhan

When I close my eyes – by Charlotte Farhan

 

Art and poetry by Charlotte Farhan.

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Outsider Art and Poetry – Chained to the Past – By Charlotte Farhan

Chained to the Past - By Charlotte Farhan

Chained to the Past – By Charlotte Farhan

Chained to the Past – By Charlotte Farhan

Chained to my past like a prisoner, with only sorrow to comfort me,
at night the mattress swallows me whole, it becomes pitch black,
let me escape this anguish, this nectarous misery – let me be free,
my torment clenches me tight with gripped arms – holding me back.

Recollection chokes me with the thought of violence,
memories leave me for dead, crying for liberation,
no ability to speak up – I offer silence,
chains are pulled tighter constricting me in my damnation.

Punishment is not a fetish when it is kept unseen,
my head is pulsating, the pressure is mounting in my veins,
steel and blood mixed with sheets I am always unclean,
whose hands are those, the ones holding my chains?


If you have any questions on my work, if you wish for me to exhibit in your gallery or would like to purchase a piece , please contact me via the form below, thank you.

 

I Can’t Look Forward – Art and Poetry – By Charlotte Farhan – Reflecting the physical and emotional struggles of having Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

I Can't Look Forward - By Charlotte Farhan

I Can’t Look Forward – By Charlotte Farhan

I Can’t Look Forward

By Charlotte Farhan

In memories I continue to relive,
not able to endure this universes reality,
my amygdala is highly combative,
the fragmented pieces falling from my dead family tree.

Infected fear filled eyes, like sores from the past,
in the depths of hell, everyone is deranged,
truth sees me branded as an iconoclast,
putrid and filthy I’m seen as the estranged.

The dysfunction of my mind continues to breed,
my hippocampus withering as neurons disintegrate,
dissociated in this mad world of misdeeds,
my prefrontal cortex had no time to decontaminate,

My illness is physical which you can’t see,
I have been rearranged internally,
this sickness inside, a screaming apogee,
with my outward mask fixed eternally.

Eyes alert and looking to the past,
like a bête noire lost with nowhere to go,
the trigger is pulled with a loud blast,
night terrors and flashbacks are the ammo.

We are not all soldiers of war back from global battle,
many of us suffer without being part of the bloodshed,
instead our bodies have been used as personal chattel,
We knew our survival would not cause for medals or tears shed.


This painting and poem reflects the physical and emotional struggles of having Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and how the world reserves compassion for soldiers of war who have this illness but do not extend the same benevolence to victims of sexual violence and rape, who are a larger number of affected people.

I am one of these survivors; using my art, poetry and writing to raise awareness of the aftermath from being abused, assaulted and raped. As well as to help prevent these acts from continuing and to explain how rape culture in part of the every day fabric of life, which goes unnoticed, but is highly dangerous to us as a global community.

If you have any questions on my work, if you wish for me to exhibit in your gallery or would like to purchase a piece , please contact me via the form below, thank you.

Art by Charlotte Farhan

Art Spotlight – The Broken Willow

The Broken Willow – By Charlotte Farhan

The Broken Willow - By Charlotte Farhan

The Broken Willow – By Charlotte Farhan

 

She is a broken willow tree,

she searches for love to nourish her bones,

nurturing her roots from her lake of tears,

wishing for rolling grass and open meadows to plant herself.

Once she was child,

found underneath her family tree,

blame has never been claimed,

she has been crying now for forever,

begging for arms to embrace her,

their hands will never be clean,

whilst they hold on to that skeleton key.

“Take caution” she says,

they leave so effortlessly,

scars are left open,

unclean,

she screams for forgiveness relentlessly.

Softly touching the ground,

the autumnal willow cascades like blood,

she feels something die inside,

the cracks are forming,

she knows she will break into pieces,

she whispers one last time for them,

even though love was denied.

Once abandoned she starts to lay herself to rest,

lowering her head and closing her eyes,

content with the silence now,

her emotions have been buried alive,

she is a broken willow tree.

(written by Charlotte Farhan) 

The Broken Willow - By Charlotte Farhan

The Broken Willow – By Charlotte Farhan

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I Ripped out my Heart – By Charlotte Farhan – Art and Poetry

I Ripped out my Heart – By Charlotte Farhan

 

I Ripped out my Heart - By Charlotte Farhan

I Ripped out my Heart – By Charlotte Farhan

I couldn’t feel anything today,

not one feeling was felt,

shadows of the world like ghosts,

haunted memories locked in,

set to continuously replay.

Desolation in my mind created an echoing sound,

my thoughts rattled in my head like pennies in a box,

my emotions running like deer on a hunting ground.

I slowly began to itch the itch,

the one burrowing into my thorax,

the one which seemed neverending like a bottomless ditch.

Ripping into my torso,

hacking at my ribs as if they were a rotten enclosure.

I started to pick away at my flesh,

trying to get to the prickling feeling deep inside,

pulling up my lungs as if they were a bloody mesh.

My chest felt tight and the constrictions of my rib cage felt like a prison,

All my thoughts turned to the release I would feel if I just reached inside,

my blood is beautifully glistening the purest crimson.

Soon I heard it,

the deep thumping of my heart,

burrowing deeper my hand suddenly felt it,

pulsating in my grip.

The feeling is like none experienced before,

the more I squeezed the better it felt,

as if I were the captor and it my prisoner of war.

Wanting to never lose this awareness of self,

never wanting to abandon my own heart,

like so many had done before,

debasing me and tearing me apart.

I started to slowly haul it out of my cavity,

the ripping was glorious,

the pain was euphoric,

lost in depravity.

Eventually I was left with my heart in my hand,

as it beat its last beat,

the emptiness returned and the emotions stopped,

holding my heart closer,

I began to deplete.

Just me and my heart,

together at last,

no longer spare parts.

Never letting it go,

never losing my grip,

seeing myself lying below,

the nothingness began again,

the waves of time smashed me into unconsciousness,

I became an abandoned ship.

Agoraphobia - By Charlotte Farhan

From the painting Agoraphobia – By Charlotte Farhan

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