The author and artist talks about the excruciating silence she faced when her husband died and the different methods she has tried to cope – from ice baths to singing bowls and yogic sleep
Victoria Mary Clarke has been on a mission to confront loneliness. Photo: Steve Humphreys. Make-up: Oksana Schelling
It’s a sunny, Sunday afternoon and it’s warm outside and other people are walking their dogs and kids in the park, or sitting around chatting with their friends. I’m rolling around on the floor in the dark in a huge hall with 30 or 40 other fully grown adults, all of whom are howling their heads off and screaming and sobbing and sniffling and bawling. We have all paid to be here. This is what extreme loneliness can make you do.
When my husband was alive, which was nearly two years ago, it was hard to be properly lonely. We were a bit isolated because fame can create barriers. It makes other people feel like they don’t identify with you because they don’t know if you are very different to them.