Depression is dark, desolate and dreadful but it ignites a fire of imagination. I do know that I have written from the depths of depression, so my brain has almost been wired to work best in those conditions. Stephen Fry used to get writer's block unless he was smoking a cigarette at his computer. Of course, I'm not thinking of skipping my medication for a week so I can whack out a few thousand words of the book I'm working on - now that would be insane. I 'simply' need to re-train my brain to work under different conditions.
Depression was my muse and my Intruder softly spoke creative words. My Intruder has been placed in solitary confinement so it is time for another muse, another creative spark which will fan into flame my imagination:
When did we get to this place, this time and wonderful sense of peace and serenity? It's surprising and slightly unnerving to be able to wake happy and (mostly) free from the putrid, paralysing grip on my consciousness. My mind is not being squeezed by the horrendous thoughts of disdain and dread; I am not filled with anxiety over the day ahead. I can wake in the arms of my beautiful girl, feel her breath on my neck, her arms round my chest and gentle murmur as she sleeps and be at peace.
I am in a new place which is one of potential and promise, optimism and opportunity, happiness and hope. I have days which knock me off my feet and bloody my nose, but these days are getting rarer and are being dragged away into the darkness. If you are wrapped in guilt and anxiety, remember these days are not eternal and these fears are not permanent. Nothing is static and no fear can harm you. You are defined by so much more than you can see right now, for you are defined by the wonderful, beautiful and lovely you.
