Because I have to, of course. Of all the things I miss with being seriously depressed is that I've lost (temporarily, I hope) the desire to write.
Because depression is, for some, an unpleasant subject to consider, and because I am one of those people, and because I don't want The Crow to become unbearable, I've begun a journal over on TypePad.
Because, you see, writing about battling depression is, for me, part of the recovery process. If any of you would care to read what I have to say, I'll give you the ID and password for visitors. But, it's okay, you know, if you don't.
Because.
(My email address is sofie dot onecrow at gmail dot com.)
7 comments:
I'm not sure that what I want to read is important here, typing as one who knows how those waves of darkness can grow and crash with an unrelenting punishment, without warning, occluding the sun for endless seasons.
I think it's more about who you want to read, to know, to feel.
Then there's what I know, that being that you need to express it in some manner, whether shared or not, whether understood or not. That, my One Crow, is important, an Important Thing, but you knew this already.
Jim:
I do need to write and I had started to do so here, but I felt uncomfortable writing about depression without giving some warning, so I deleted the posts which alluded to it. Yet, the need to write about this grows stronger with each wave of darkness. I'm certain that's a coping mechanism.
I'm loving your new moon site, by the way. Hope your time with your mother and Buck went well yesterday.
If you don't mind, Martha, I'd like to be able to read your journal. I don't comment on your blog as much as I used to, but the posts about what you're dealing with have been helpful to me as I try to figure out my own drifting-yet-swamped situation. I don't see an e-mail contact for you, so I hope you can reach me through my profile.
it would be a privilege; i've been where you are, and the spiral up deserves testimony.
I too would like to read your journal. But I'd also like to say something about writing which may or may not help with your problem.
I'm not surprised, given your struggles, that you've lost the desire to write. Even the shallowest stuff (and that's not your style) requires us to trawl round a tired mind and a blunted set of instincts. Writing is work, hard work, though many who dig ditches would not agree. The reason why it's hard work is because we're putting ourselves on public display and none of us want to look back on words that undersell us, that betray us.
Writing can be a therapy and in some cases it is the only thing that holds certain people together. You yourself say "writing about battling depression is, for me, part of the recovery process" The trouble is that this is a very demanding subject and requires unflinching honesty and an endless search for new words to describe a recurring state of mind. But - and here I'm straying into assumptions about this malady; kick my ass if I get it wrong - there are alternatives to a perpetual contemplation of the dark. If you took some familiar object - say a cherished kitchen utensil, a garage tool, your bed, whatever - something utterly concrete, non-abstract, and said to yourself "Today I'm going to write 250 words on that and just that" you would not be straying away from writing as therapy. You would still be the same person, suffering grievously from depression, and that burden would continue to be a factor in what you wrote.
Turning away briefly from the burden itself may allow new thoughts, new insights to seep in. Thereafter you can return the harder, deeper subject and perhaps find yourself writing differently. This may be fanciful but I offer it for this reason: writing (anything) may help but if in fact you feel it does, it may be the act of writing that proves important rather than writing just about the darkness. A final thought: why not try and write about something comical and let depression and a sense of fun fight it out on the screen?
This is dangerous stuff since I'm lucky enough not to understand depression. Please forgive me if you find it irritatingly useless.
PS: I have just read your later piece about the cat and this proves you have the ability to break away from "the darkness". What I am suggesting is, however, even more prescriptive: 250 words on your skillet and, as Larry Sanders used to say "no flipping".
Writing can put a distance between the writer and the problem I think.
I'll write about something that bothers me and when I read it back it is as though I'm reading it like anyone else would..........as a stranger.
Does that make sense?
Writing does help, John. It helps sort out my thoughts, helps me decide what's valid and what isn't.
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