Depression Doesn’t Make Art

All the great artists were messed up. Picasso fell into a huge depression, and look at what he produced. Just imagine, if he had medication, how much art we would have missed out on.

Okay, if someone says that to you, deck them.

Maybe not deck them. At least not physically. But tell them: Is your art worth that much more than a person’s life?

And imagine, if Picasso had access to medication that had helped him, not just how much better his life would have been, but how much more art of his you would have to appreciate?

Continue reading “Depression Doesn’t Make Art”

Writing While Depressed

I need to get more writing done. Right now I have the time to do writing.

Instead, I’m going to take a nap.

Instead, I’m going to cry.

Instead, I’m twitching because I’m overstimulated.

Instead, I’m going to stare at my computer screen. Not brainstorming or thinking about writing. Just staring.

Welcome to trying to write while wrestling with depression.

Continue reading “Writing While Depressed”

It’s not a discipline problem.

They say that if you’re stuck home, you should have lots of free time. They say that if you’re not producing something and you always said you would, the problem isn’t the amount of time. It’s the discipline. They say that now is the time to be creative.

I wonder if any of them have depression.

Since this whole pandemic things started, my free time has shifted. I do have a little bit more once I dig through all the various obligations both family and ministry give to me. So if my problem is simply not having enough time to write, well, I should be able to produce some more!

And I have produced some more. Two more short stories have gone out!

But this week… I’ve done very little in the realm of writing. According to what they say, the problem is all me.

They’re right, but not necessarily in the way they think. Continue reading “It’s not a discipline problem.”

A Writer Without Words

Between vertigo and breaking a molar in half, I’ve hit a few roadblocks in working on yon novel. It’s interesting, though, when pain helps and when it hinders.

See, I suffer from depression. It paralyzes me when it hits. I can’t get out of bed. I can’t deal with people. Any kind of social interaction drains me. My hollow heart swallows any emotion; only desperation claws its way out of that shaft.

Yet, when I’m feeling down, that’s when I often do some of my best writing. I spill that desperation onto the page. Black feelings become dark jottings become anxiety-ridden fictions.

Look, depression sucks. I don’t recommend you look into renting space in the depression apartments. But at least for me, I’ve been able to harness those dark times, even while combating them through self-care and medication.

But for about the last week, I’ve been able to do little-to-no writing. Why? Oh, vertigo. Continue reading “A Writer Without Words”