Depression and creating

As most of you know, I am a creative person. For me, it is not just some aspect of my personality, but a way of life. To me, creating is as essential to my being as food and oxygen. Yet, I do not always create. I have several different venues and mediums that I use to express and release that need within me. I write, poems, prose, songs, blogs, I do art, mostly drawing, and I play music. I own 4 guitars, a bass, a set of drums, a mandolin and 2 harmonicas.

When I am watching a very good movie, I want to create an epic novel, or a series, that is like no others. I know that is within me. I have several books in my conscious that I often think about. I have written a book already and started 4 or 5 others. I have over 20 poems and songs written and many more in my heart. I have been drawing and painting for over 40 years. Right now, there are 3 or 4 pieces begging and clawing and scratching to get out. I play lots of blues and rock and country, but I prefer to make my own songs. I have 4 completed and 3 or 4 wishing, hoping, praying to be finished.

When I have an idea in my head, it eats at me. It consumes my thoughts and concentration. When there is an art piece forming in my heart, it will not leave me alone until complete. Complete means actually tangible. There are times when those pieces, those ideas, scream constantly. I can not eat or sleep or walk or talk until they are released. Right now, 2 books are hollering very loudly. My guitars taunt me endlessly when I am near them. I hear music and say “Oh, how I wish to be playing.” There are 3 drawings yelling and screaming and banging my head to be let go and flourish. So, why am I not doing it?

Depression kills my creativity. Not always, most often times, it just delays it but I know I have lost some good quality pieces from ignoring them for too long. The past few months, I have had some extra time in the afternoons. Have I been creating? NO! I have been doing the one thing in life I can master: naps. I know I have some depression going on, some changes I am going through, but I have done some quality creating while depressed worse than now. I just can not seem to force myself to do any of it. I can not seem to gently persuade myself into doing any of it. I mean, my guitars are setting right here. My books need only be plugged into the USB port. My drawing paper and pastels and stuff are setting right here, right behind me now. So why?

Time and decorations

How interesting the changes of time! Things that once were so extremely important that day the next seem to just fade away, gone but to memory. The holiday seasons cause me to reflect (perhaps to much) on the past at times. Today I am noticing that a few things that were once “tradition” a main stay, extremely important, of not only my holiday doings, but of my family’s, are fading or gone. Of course, like many on here, this time of the year is a huge struggle with depression for me. You know, wish I had a special someone to be with or buy a gift for or have sex, that sort of thing. Then throw in the fact that the past month or so I have been going through some major changes, well, here I am bloging about it. Through all of the long and short term relationships I have had, only one was what I consider to be the relationship that I actually gave 100%. Never even thought I could, but hey, that is a different story and there I was doing it. How it relates is that that is one example of what is lost or gone or fading. That relationship was the one that I made the “total commitment.” One major part of it: sharing and combining Christmas decorations. When this relationship ended, 8 Halloweens ago (and now 8 Christmas’ and New Year’s and yadda yadda), I can recall a day shortly after that we met at my storage unit. She was taking her stuff. Her folks were there and I just stood there in quite shock and numbness watching and answering vaguely a few questions. At that time, I had no feelings of like or dislike or care or concern about who‘s stuff was who‘s and all that, but I guess my actions of these past 8 years has told the true story. I can vaguely recall her opening the boxes containing the ornaments and such and her possibly, maybe… well, to be honest, I do not actually recall. All I know is that since then, I have not decorated for Christmas. No trees or stockings or lights, not even cards for a while. This year, same as the others. I am not even sure if I have any decorations any more. Maybe she took all of them, I do not know. If I do have any, I have no idea where they are or what box they might be in or any of that. I have always been a little kid for Christmas. I love to decorate and give gifts and bake and eat and fudge and even the music. Even at 39, I still could not sleep on Christmas Eve. That was then. Today, well, I guess I still care, but there is no passion. I still love to give gifts and I spend way too much money, but that is just a part of it. Yes, this is about Jesus and He is in my heart always, not just one day a year or one day a week, but 24/7. I have my son and that is more than some. I get to buy him gifts and my family, but… The TV commercials and newspaper ads hurt. Oh, buy her this expensive necklace, diamond ring, Mercedes-Benz, whatever so I just stop watching TV and looking at the ads. Yeah, I can do all the damn logical thinking or Dr. Phil “you don’t need anyone to validate yourself” rubbish, but it just does not always seem to help. Makes it worse at times, actually. OK, enough complaining because you all have enough of this. I guess I am just saying that oh how time chances things. This year has not been as bad as the 7 before. In fact, I even caught myself singing to a Christmas song on the radio this morning. Not with much passion or enthusiasm as before, but it is a start. When I was shaving this morning, I was just thinking about how I have not decorated for Christmas in all this time and just where are my decorations anyway?

crossing

‘Twas night as he walked home. As he reached the viaduct, he stopped, then pulled on to his back a thick rectangular piece of grey carpet. This 2 foot by 4 foot piece of carpet was tossed over his back as if a blanket from the cold, or perhaps a cape. Strange because the night was warm and clear, the stars bright and the lack of wind caused the evening to be very pleasant. As he begun his accent, he held the carpet piece corners, one in each hand as though the carpet where a cape or wings. Certainly any one would know this would not save him from a fall from this mighty viaduct, yet, to him, this is essential to carry this carpet upon his back, as if there is no choice. Once on the viaduct, the nice smooth wide sidewalk was no more but now a rail. Not so thin as to not allow decent footing, but there is a great covering of ice, smooth and thick and translucent, causing him to reach for the handrails that ran on both sides. As he placed his footing sideways to the rail, the handrails instantly changed into broken and busted and twisted. The handrails also were covered in ice, with thick sickles hanging from them causing his hands to loose their hold. The hand railing to his left broke off and fell to the ground far below. He held fast his right hand grip as he himself began to fall. For a moment, the fear of falling to his death over-whelmed him. Panic ensued. Yet, he took another firm grasp of hand railing, pulled the carpet back even on his back, and continued to climb as the fear of falling subsided. Soon, he is beyond the rail, onto some cement stairs, then onto the top of the viaduct. The sidewalk returned, but is now rust colored and crumpling. Loose reddish brown rubble causes his footing to be unstable, but he continues onward. Not just continues, but with joy in his heart. He begins to sing, sing as he never had before. Loudly, beautifully, as he always has known he could, yet never done so before. The beautiful sound of his voice carries far and wide as he hits each note with great grace and volume. He always knew he could sing like this, always. Now, all the World knows as well. Quickly, the song is done as is the top. Decent comes quickly, but near the bottom is a layer of fruit, impeding his path. This is but a mere slight obstacle, not worthy of such name, but rather just silliness. Yes, they are lying side by side, in neat tidy rows. Yes, they are ripe and large and beautiful and... Well, he just has to know. Just as he would reach the bottom, he bends down, taking a nectarine, then lets the carpeting fly away. As he dismounts the viaduct, he takes a nice big bite of the fruit. Oh yes, it is indeed very tasty. Sweet and juicy and as fine a nectarine as he has ever tasted, and he has tasted quit a few! He stopped his walking to enjoy this fruit and a spectator came over to him. This young man professes to being a huge fan and eagerly spoke of awe and bewilderment of this man’s accomplishment. The young fan feels he has never seen such a great achievement, feeling that he could never do so in his simple life time. “No, my friend, that is not truth. For one day you will do the same, just as I have done this day.” The fruit is gone into his belly, only the pit remains. The man tosses that seedling to the ground, stepping on it, grinding it into the earth as he goes upon his way home. Then I woke up for the 3rd or 4th time that night/morning.