Yeah, that title sounds quite clinical and dull but it does summarize what I did this evening.
When depression has a strong hold on me I don’t do art at all. In fact I don’t do much of anything at all. I’m quite content (relatively) to do absolutely nothing, not reading, not tv, nothing. I almost did nothing this evening. I almost laid in bed and did nothing. My morning started off well, I felt ambitious and did a couple hours of cleaning. After that I faded fast. I felt lethargic and didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. I knew I was feeling depressed but was not ambitious enough to even attempt to snap myself out of it. I slept on the couch and then in my room. I woke up feeling as though I wasted a day and was even less ambitious than when I went to sleep.
My daughter slowly pulled me out because she held me to a promise I had made to do homemade soap with her. Children suck the life out of me, but sometimes they are the only thing that can force the life back into me. We made soap, we had fun. That led to my evening of painting.
This is what I made:
It’s still wet in this picture but you get the idea. That’s me, I’m the skull. I’m empty, alone and hollow. I’m dark and amongst the shadows. Im surrounded by beauty, life and joy. I’m not so far gone that we can’t all be in the same picture. We share a screenshot. We’re close together but still apart. Almost within reach.