Creative crashes…with bonus depressive rut
I used to write like I was running out of time, and eventually I took myself out of the narrative. It wasn’t intentional, not in the least but here I am today, little to no motivation to do much of anything but lots to do, a couple deadlines overhead like Damocles’ weapon but with little energy to put myself back in the narrative.
A lot of this is tied to my failure to get back on a schedule and to keep it. It’s hard, when you’ve had the same, fucking, routine for years and suddenly it’s yanked out from under you with no warning. It’s too easy to set the alarm and let it snooze, again, and again until suddenly it’s three, four hours later and nearly lunch time rather than the 0700 wake up time you’d planned for.
The other part is depression, that nasty beast that often sidles up when you aren’t looking. It curls around you like a friend, offering things you shouldn’t take like another nap, ignoring your email or chances to go out and see people, do things, enjoy life. It tugs at your mind and convinces you that no one likes you really, it doesn’t matter whether or not you make that phone call or reply to that email; cause actually it’s gonna go do dust anyway so why bother?
That’s …that’s the hard part. Admitting it’s a spiral, that it’s what’s going on rather than your own failure to get your ass up and on the go. It’s hard to create when you’d rather sleep, or eat and then go back to sleep. When even games don’t provide the solace you once gained from them. When the digital doorway swings wide open but you’re afraid to set foot on the other side because what if it’s not enough? That fear that your one thing that usually consoles you, brings you a bit of light on the darkest of days is no longer enough?
It’s hard to create when the darkness consumes you so completely. This comic by my friend Sylvie Reuter is so spot on for me, regarding depression.
How it starts small, and eventually just takes over is how I’ve been feeling lately, about a lot of things. It’s been hard because there’s been so much opportunity coming my way but …it’s also been difficult to feel right about it, like, do I deserve these chances to do good things? I know it’s the darkness creeping in, whispering in my ear.
Hard to do much with it without insurance, hell even with insurance since this country’s options for mental health care are not ideal for someone who is unemployed, has no means of transit outside public trains and buses, and can’t afford weekly visits to an expensive therapist or costly meds.
I don’t even know what I’m hoping to get out of this post aside from getting it off my chest and confessing in a way, I suppose. I’ve fallen into bad habits of not returning texts and calls, getting hermity in a way that’s unhealthy emotionally because the darkness can be convincing when you are afraid of going back into the light. When you’re afraid you’ve ignored one text message, or one call too many and your friends have had enough, they’ve decided you’re not worth it just like you expected them to do eventually.
When you’re always a ‘Maybe’ RSVP that will turn to a ‘No’ out of anxiety, fear that you have no reason to be there, that your invitation was one of pity not wanting to actually see you, that no one will care if you don’t show. That’st the trap you see, that dark, deep void that you get sucked into and is so fucking hard to claw your way out of.
Some days are better than others, and I’ve got ideas on how to climb out of the well filled with doubt, brackish water and debris that keeps me tethered & afraid. For now, just listen, bear with me and know if I don’t reply it’s not you, it’s me. ❤
