The thing about mental illness,” says journalist Bryony Gordon, “is that it doesn’t want to be on the outside. It wants to be in your self and it wants you alone, isolated, thinking you’re a freak. That’s how it thrives. It does not want you to talk about it being there.”
Charlie Clift, the co-creator of Let’s Talk, a photography campaign designed to shake up preconceptions about mental illness, knows the feeling. “I had to take a year out at university because of depression,” he says. He was one of the lucky ones. “I could talk to my parents and to my tutors and friends.” Clift took up photography during that lost year. He’d go up to strangers on the street, chat, take their portraits. Fast forward a decade and he’s now putting his photographs on the street, except this time his 17 sitters, who include Alastair Campbell, Sue Perkins, Anna Richardson, Jordan Stephens and Bryony Gordon, have their experiences of mental illness written on their faces. The effect is powerful, poetic, startling.
“I wanted to find a way within visual images of not hiding people’s thoughts,” says Clift, who collaborated with illustrator Kate Forrester in a dynamic creative practice that saw interviewees divulging their inner demons. Forrester transferred their most salient words on to her human canvases and then Clift took their portrait. “Painting on someone’s face is a very intimate act,” says Forrester, “made more so by the sensitive content. But the creation of these images was a surprisingly joyful experience.
“It was humbling that these people had agreed to be so open with us,” she says, “about such difficult and personal aspects of their daily struggles, putting themselves out there to reassure others that they are not alone.”
Not by any stretch of the imagination. Every week, one in six adults experiences symptoms of mental illness, such as anxiety and depression, according to the 2014 Adult Psychiatric Morbidity Survey. One in five adults has considered suicide and nearly half of adults believe that they have experienced mental illness in their lifetime, with only a third of them receiving a diagnosis.
This is unsurprising, given the stigma attached to mental illness in our achievement-driven, externally focused culture. Vulnerability dares not show its face; it is safer to project sanitised versions of ourselves. Clift hopes his 2m-high portraits emblazoned with “oblivion,” “innately sad” and “you have to put on a face” may assure others that our whole – but fractured - selves are acceptable.
“If you suffer with anxiety or a panic disorder it doesn’t mean you can’t also be strong, fun or capable,” says comedian and writer Sue Perkins. For her, having “everything raging” drawn on her face was “very liberating. This is just another part of me – a very human part. There is a fear in us not to disclose problems because we will be perceived as weak. I know I am not weak. We are all a work in progress.” Imagine what it would be like if we wrote our darkest thoughts on our faces, Perkins adds, and bumped into our neighbours. “It would be like: I can’t believe you get anxious, too. I had no idea.”
When Alastair Campbell left Clift’s studio, he kept his make-up on. “My cab driver asked me about it. I then did my whole boxing session with it still on.” Steve Wallington went for a break during the shoot. “A man walked past,” says Clift, “and said: ‘What’s on your face?’ ‘My most difficult thoughts,’ Steve said, and this guy just opened up, about how he’d lost his wife, about being a father, and how hard it was, as a man, to find people to talk to.”
Bryony Gordon
Author and journalist
I have OCD and am in recovery from addiction, but untreated, mental illness snowballs into a million other mental illnesses. I feel like my brain is wired wrong; it doesn’t want the best for me. Left to my own devices, my brain would like me dead. When I am feeling “wrong”, it’s like I am the wrong person, doing the wrong things, feeling the wrong things. I don’t fit. I’m not wired right. So I have to be vigilant. I felt very naked having my words on my face. It felt very uncomfortable. But it’s a wonderful way of taking the shame and fear out of mental illness.
Nathaniel Cole
Freelance researcher
With depression, it’s knowing that you should be going out to work, or even doing something simple like taking a walk, but you can’t face any of that. It’s like a monster that holds you back. If I’m having a difficult moment, I let my friends and partner know. I like to write down what I’m feeling when I’m struggling.
Oli Regan
Actor
I grew up as an only child – or “lonely child” as an eight-year-old me would say – and often felt left out. When I hit 17, I knew things weren’t right. I began taking drugs and drinking excessively. Sometimes the people with the most pain hide behind the biggest smile. I got diagnosed with bipolar, anxiety and severe ADHD at the ripe old age of 25, after years of no help. Volunteering for a year with Mind made life worth living. I’m helping people I don’t personally know every day, which is really humbling.
Sue Perkins
Comedian and broadcaster
I have a panic disorder kick-started by a benign brain tumour called a prolactinoma. Before medication, I’d feel like my eyes were being pushed out of my head. The pressure was intense, as if everything was about to explode. I felt as if someone had pointed a gun at my head and was about to kill me; that’s how extreme the fear was. I got used to the feeling. I just kept on going. I still get panic attacks, but they are less frequent. Having my face painted was profound. I read those words as if they were a stranger’s, and found myself thinking, “I must help you.” How awful that we don’t make time for self-care.
East of Croydon by Sue Perkins (Michael Joseph) is published on 18 October at £20
Steve Harris
Disabled activist
I suffer with anxiety and depression. The anxiety can feel like I am constantly howling at myself in my mind – part of my mind assumes terrible things are imminent. The depression can be a relief as it’s the opposite of caring so much, it’s total numbness. When I first realised the extent to which I struggle with mental health , I went through denial and anger. With a lot of education, therapy and support, I’m learning that this stuff is part of being me and that while I can be ashamed of feeling weak, nobody else judges me as harshly as I judge myself.
Jordan Stephens
Rapper in Rizzle Kicks
Running through custard, that’s how a bad day feels. I’ve got ADHD, but my main issue is self-sabotage and taking anger out on myself. I find harmony terrifying, though I am at a point in my life where I am very calm. A bad day is like having dirt on your glasses and you haven’t got the energy to clean them. It’s like I am another person, who doesn’t want to do anything, to write, eat, exercise. Wearing my heart on my face wasn’t unusual for me. I am quite open. I want to be part of a mental health movement that creates a language to describe how someone is feeling from day to day.
Lucy Allen
Counsellor
When I’m in a bad episode of depression or a bad life event, I feel the deepest sadness that I just can’t place. It runs right through my body. I feel a lot of shame and embarrassment when I’m low, like it’s not valid. I also see everything through a tinge of darkness. My advice is talk talk talk. Find a therapist, keep trying different ones until you find the right one for you. Don’t be put off. Celebrate the small successes – getting up or leaving the house are major victories sometimes. Be with nature.
Emily Hartridge
YouTube presenter
My anxiety was severe and although I don’t like labels, if I was to label myself I’d say I had GAD [generalised anxiety disorder]. So that means you have a general feeling of anxiety all the time. You feel hot, you can’t sit still, your mind is racing. Well, imagine all those feelings every second of every minute of every day… and there you have anxiety. For me, exercise has been a game changer. I do boxing and yoga and have found them to be so helpful because for that one hour you are disconnected from the outside world.
Alastair Campbell
Political aide and author
On a really bad day – and it’s far from every day – I think, “I don’t really want to be here.” I feel sad, but with an intensity that goes beyond feeling sad. I feel both dead and alive. I am conscious of being alive, awake, breathing, needing to eat – but inside I am numb. The pain is almost physical. It’s not all bad – my resilience comes from my depression. It’s helped me withstand a lot of pressure, from social media or wherever, and now I care about what matters and care little about what doesn’t. I have bouts of creativity when I come out of my depression.
A free outdoor exhibition of Let’s Talk will be on display from 8-22 October in Regent’s Place, London, thanks to the support of British Land and Mental Health UK. If you are affected by any these issues or need help, call the Samaritans on 116 123
