not too long after i began work on a project into circular textile design and fibre repurposing, i had a severe nervous breakdown. i was essentially incapacitated for almost two weeks. during this time, my brain’s coping mechanism was to display all my thought processes as if they were a series of threads unravelling from each other.  
my brain - once categorised and, although a little untidy at times, navigable - was now an out of control mass of tangled yarns pulled haphazardly from their original fabrics. i didn’t know myself anymore, feel any of the joys, motivations, or comforts i once did. 
as i began to recover and start working on my project again, documenting my deconstruction of fabrics became an excercise in personal exploration more than the analytical reverse engineering task it was originally intended to be. taking apart constructed fabric samples with the intent to turn them into something new became a sustainable act of self-therapy.
it was pure luck, really, that i was taken off the waiting list for psychological therapy in the midst of a nervous breakdown. with freezer bags of yarn scraps sat in a tote bag by my bedside, untouched for almost two weeks, laundry piling up in the corner, four-day-old-water on my nightstand, it was the call i needed the most but expected the least. 
the more i spoke and the more they understood, the more untangled the threads became. five-year old trauma was put into the open and for the first time, i felt like it was okay to still be damaged by something so hazy. the memories of my old form, the beginnings of the cloth i used to be before someone cut the warp and let all the weft fall out.
carding and spinning my materials felt as if i was starting all over again. pulling a colourful sample of yarn from the smallest of scraps felt poetic after the month i'd had. desperate for anything with the slightest bit of resonance. for any indication that things will be okay one day.
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