… at least that’s what line I like to quote from Jawbreaker.
It rings pretty true though, on some of my clearer days.
The fog of depression can be thick and choke the light from almost any room. I’ve sat in piles of dirty laundry not looking for any effort to want to get out of it or do it. A grungy chic my eyes go blind to when all I hear is the thundering voices of degradation, and apathy that volley back-and-forth in my mind. Occasionally this inner-degradation turns outwards, the frustration and neurosis lashing out at any and everything. Road rage can leave me blood boiling and wishing the world was on fire, if I don’t take care to have some fucking composure.
Did I mention in the initial post that I am prone to swearing? I am. A lot at times, none at other times. It falls where I think appropriate. But I digress.
I didn’t mean to ramble on about my dealings with depression and anxiety just for an exercise in talking about my feelings. No — but the thought of the clarity I gain from short road trips. Since I recently took one and had some time to think. There’s something about uninterrupted silence in a car moving down the highway that let’s me think about creative endeavours that require more attention and my own growth as an adult and as a writer who needs to be pushing myself.
Pushing through a few things I’ve attempted to do that I’ve missed goals on, or have fallen behind on. That’s the slippery slope to the thundering thoughts. Picture a mountain slick with mud.
Structure helps a lot. Including applying structure to this so I can finally breathe into my creativity rather than let it be something that lingers off in the distance as if it’s unattainable. Not fame, just my creative side. Depression is a confusing, manipulative bitch a lot of the times.Just to give context to this mental pretzel post. I’d rather transfer that depressive energy and all its behaviours into productivity and let it be a catalyst into getting things done.
The frenetic energy I feel right now I attribute to the weather. The break in the dense grey clouds outside is a relief. Winter is an exhausting trek through steely skies and wind so cold and harsh it sucks the air right out of my lungs just as I open the door. But today it was beautiful, and I felt like writing, even if just to flex my muscles; open and plan out exactly what I intend to do in this space.
Words from The Garden will host and cultivate a variety of flowers both poisonous and dark, and beautiful. Covering a variety of topics. Keep your eyes open for posts coming more regularly.