Depression and Writing

Depression is hitting me hard. I think it’s my symptom/condition that I have the hardest time accepting. It’s not glamorous, it’s never fun and never makes you feel special. It always makes me feel like I’m worthless and useless. As an author, this preys on my natural beliefs.

You see, I tend to see myself as a vessel for my stories. But combined with my depression, I feel like nothing BUT a vessel. I feel like I’m nothing without them.

The sad truth is that writing is my whole life. It’s me. It’s been my refuge since childhood, where it suddenly filled a void within me that hurt so badly until then. Ever since I started writing, my days rotate around it. As a kid, I would squeeze it in whenever, would draw my characters everywhere, and obsessed over them.

Now, I wake up thinking of my novels. I spend my mornings wondering what I’ll do until I get the chance to write. My whole day is just spent waiting until the right time to write. I know I dont have the mental energy to write all day, but I wish I could. Already I love writing 5 hours a day, and feel bad if I “waste” even one of those hours not hammering out words.

I know this isn’t healthy, but it is what it is. My writing is my life. The only other thing more important is my wife and my relatives. Literally, unless it’s a basic need, everything else feels secondary. I dont want to travel, I dont want a career, I just want to be good at writing and do my stories justice. I want to accomplish what this drive in me is calling for.

But when depression hits, as it does now, I cant write. Every word hurts, I cant think, and then everything that makes me ‘me’ seems to crumble away. What use am I if I cant write? Not being able to write for even one day is a terrible blow. What if my stories are terribly written? What good am I if i can’t get my stories out there properly, to those who need to read them? I know it sounds dramatic, but not being able to write feels like a poisonous sin that will destroy me.

I know, in some way, that my belief of me being just a vessel for writing is bad for me. I need to see myself as more. But how do I do that? It’s like seeing yourself beyond an addiction, in some way.

And then, what’s wrong with this view, if it gives me purpose and value, even in some small way? I know I should see myself as more, but what if I dont feel like more? I feel like so much in my life just points towards writing, and like it’s the cornerstone of my life. Where would I be without it?

I know, in some factual way, that I am a person without my writing. I’ve experienced that, by having my spiritual projects. But… I just feel like more with my writing. I feel this compulsion and a sense of destiny and being attuned with the universe when it comes to writing. Is that a symptom of a delusion? I dont know what to think some days.

I guess I cant hope to find other people who feel this way. I’ve hoped, and as of yet haven’t found other writers who seem to have this weird perspective and obsession and maybe even delusion with their writing. And yet I hope. I feel lonely, a lot, so isolated with my writing. It’s not the only way I connect with people, but unless someone dips into this part of me, do they know me at all? Will I ever find that I am not alone in this weird feeling?

OMG- More Dream Material!

Last night, I went to bed as normal, and fell asleep as normal.  However! I woke up in the middle of the night (o woe, my muse doth sing at unwelcome hours!) with an IDEA!

Because, you see, I think I fell asleep thinking about how I wanted Chaos to have a nice dom, or something like that. Well! I woke up with a scene in my head of who the PERFECT dom would be! And this kept me up for several hours, just laying in bed and thinking about it.

Now, I don’t want to tell y’all who it is, because I’m worried it won’t work out and I don’t want to raise everyone’s hopes. However! This afternoon I went and napped with my wife and AGAIN! ANOTHER DREAM! This time of who the dom’s second in command/person who looks after Chaos if the first dom isn’t around would be. Oooooh * fans self * so much domming action. So much hotness.

This is maybe all fuelled by the fact that I met someone recently in the BDSM scene who spoke lengthily to me and my wife about their involvement in the scene and how it helps them balance their life, sort of thing. It was very interesting!

Now I just have to write the story, and hope that all the hotness I’ve imagined will come through on the screen. AH! I hope so.

Speaking of hot things, one thing that made my heart skip a beat today was that *dun dun dunnn * someone read part of “A Tale of Two Queens” on wattpad! And they saved it in a bookshelf named ‘amazing stories’ (or something like that). Sensing that they liked the story (and knowing that only about half has been posted and will ever be posted on wattpad), I asked them if they wanted to have a pdf of the novel. To which they said no, they wanted to pay for it!They then went on to tell me how much they liked the story.

My author’s heart melted into a squishy mess. *sobs happily* I know I have silent readers out there, but I’m a ‘glass half empty’ kind of person some days. I tend to beat myself up and feel like a failure. So yeah, this made my day.

So final note: thank you to all of you readers and friends who keep up with me. You make my life just a little bit more sparkly every day, with every like and comment and page view. Thank you, from the bottom of my squishy heart.

“My Name is Chaos”: Chapter Seven, Part One

Not to be a pain buuuut – I’m really loving this story now! It’s super interesting to me, and I just want to keep writing it and writing! I’m so excited to explore Bella and what she’s up to! I’d love to hear some feedback on her, and especially what happens in the chapel here. Let me know what y’all think! I hope you’re having a nice day 🙂

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Speaking of cold, it was cold. Very cold. Icy cold. Freeze-in-your-nostrils kind of cold. Mist up and freeze on your face cold. And there Bella was, wearing a bomber jacket styled winter coat, jeans (with zippers and chains on the side!) and a black wool hat. She had a large smile on, as if she just couldn’t get enough of this white crap everywhere as we walked down the road. Ugh. Also, she was wearing an eye patch to cover her red eye. I was wondering why she was wearing the stupid eye patch when she began talking.

“Your friend Mark tried to run away last night,” she said so happily that I almost didn’t understand the meaning of her words.

“He what?”

She turned that simple smile to me. It looked so pure. It felt pure, like she didn’t have a bone of malice in her body. “Oh, he’s been restrained so he won’t hurt himself,” she said sweetly. “Don’t worry.”

“Hurt himself?” I echoed, almost stopping in my tracks. What was that evil-person code for? Were they torturing him?

“Oh, he was very distraught,” she said before heaving a sigh. “It’s unfortunate.”

“What’s unfortunate? What have you done with him?” I tried to run up before her but she held out an arm, winding me in the face as I tried to pass here. I doubled over, clutching at my poor nose. There were snorts of derision from the troupe of vampires around us. When I looked up, Bella had come to a stop next to some funny looking machines that were parked where the road was supposed to be. Were they motorcycles? Except they had skis on them…

“Skidoos,” she said as if reading my mind. “I guess they don’t have them in hell, do they?” and she plucked a helmet from one and handed it to me. “Watch your nose.”

I took the helmet from her, glaring barbs her way. I had half a mind to just unleash my powers and beat her to a pulp. But then I’d have to fight all her dumb minions and find the portal on my own. Hopefully this way she would lead me straight to it.

“Now you can ride with Mcfarlan,” she said, gesturing to the beefcake-in-charge from yesterday, who was popping his little head into his own helmet.

Grimly, I stalked over to him. He climbed onto the skidoo behind her majesty’s, and I followed suit. Disgusted, I took hold of the back of Mcwhatever’s jacket and hoped not to fall off. I’d been allowed to ride a motorcycle in hell, but it had been tricked so as not to bust speed limits. Like, you now you’re in hell when there’s speed limits on everything. Betcha there’s none of those in heaven.

We took off. Zooming through the city at daytime (without white crap in your face) was a totally different experience. The houses were bright and quaint around here, quickly giving way to shops and malls – and not a single car.

Well, there was over a foot of snow everywhere. Where would the cars go?

Instead there was other skidoos here and there, quickly switching to drive next to us, but always behind Bella. Pretty soon, I looked around and we were leading a whole flock of skidoos. The sound was such a racket. I wondered what the hell was going on. Was I about to be mobbed to death? A public execution of sorts? Was I breakfast for the starving hordes?

We drove up to a chapel. There Bella skidded to a halt, and the entire horde followed suit. I gawked at the number of vampires present. If it was a buffet, there certainly wasn’t enough blood in me to fill up everyone.

No, if this was her legions, then hell was empty of vampires right now. Because seriously, vampires have always been a protected species (don’t laugh) but there was so many right here.

The massive chapel was bursting full of them. They shrieked and squealed with joy as Bella came in, parting for her like the proverbial Red Sea, if the Red sea had still desperately wanted to touch Moses.

Arms were waving towards her. Babies were held out. The air was frenzied, frantic. The crowd closed right after her, blocking us from following her. Mcsomethingorother grabbed me by the shoulders and held me against him to keep me from getting torn from him by the crowd’s movement.

And that’s when it struck me. This was no army. There was no discipline, no ranks. Everyone was wearing civilian clothes and – I looked around at the screaming mouths to be sure. These were humans. We were actually a tiny patch of vampires, in a swathe of humans.

“Friends,” coeed Bella from the spot where the priest was supposed to be. The crowd silenced instantly. You could have heard a pin drop.

Faintly, someone began sobbing. Bella smiled sweetly in that direction. She had her hands on the book reading thing, and was poised to give a speech. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was really curious what she was going to say. Talk about herself as the savior of humanity or what? Vampires came in peace?

Bella began to speak. At first I thought I couldn’t hear her because she was mumbling. But then I realized there really was no sound coming from her mouth. Except I felt it inside. A strange feeling of peace invaded me. Words that made no sense began popping into my head, from some sort of angelic language. Enochian?

The crowd began to sway. I felt dizzy. The big hands on my shoulders held me steady as around us the world began to careen. The words began to hammer through me and I felt that feeling of peace intensify. Bella was walking forward towards the pews, moving her hands as if directing a chorus. The words pulsed through me and I knew I shouldn’t know them, but they took on meaning for me.

What meaning? I couldn’t put it into words. My body was numb and I was swaying back and forth with the crowd. The air pulsed around us. My eyes felt heavy and the light hurt.

The silent words began coming faster, rhythmically more and more intense. The meaning was overwhelming. It was something about peace and peace, but in such a way that… I don’t know.

Faintly, I heard sobs from the other side of the chapel. Nothing in me was disturbed. Iu knew they weren’t in danger, that nothing was in danger in this peace.

And then I cracked open. There was no other way to explain it.

It was if all of a sudden I’d broken beyond the limits of my body, of my own soul. I was no longer just me, a soul amongst so many. I could feel them, touch them. Ecstacy shone through me like a white light that radiated from within and I felt oneness with everything, everyone in this place. I could feel the energy on a different, more pure level than before. I was powerful enough to control the universe. I was beyond my own limits of existence. I could, I could –

I must have passed out. Because the last thing I remember was that pure, unbridled ecstacy. Then the next thing I knew, a voice was calling me.

“Chaos, Chaos,” a sweet voice was saying.

I felt my body being shaken, but it didn’t seem to fit me anymore. It felt foreign, like a dirty old sock you had to put on.

“Chaos,” and I recognized it as Bella. Bella! My heart thudded at the thought of her. Curiosity is what I told myself it was. In fact it was love. Adoration. Something in me craved her, because she was ecstacy.

I forced my eyes open, coming into my body and fitting into it dingily. Before me, Bella was grinning. She was patting my cheeks. At the sight of her, my soul flipped. Bella! My hand reached out and snatched at her, a strangled cry in my throat.

“Shhh,” she caught my hand and pressed it to her shoulder. My breath came ragged as emotions flooded me like a chemical rush. I knew that if only she willed it, I’d be back in that state-

“It’s alright. Stay with me,” she was saying gently and my mind had no choice but to focus on her words. I wanted them so bad. “You went under deep, didn’t you?”

I released a ragged breath. Somewhere, alarm bells were ringing in my head, but I had no idea what was happening. I’d never heard of anything like this. All there was was this feeling, and Bella. She who was taking my hand in both of hers now and squeezing it tightly while giving me such a comforting smile. “You’re okay,” she said in that sweet tone.

I gulped air. My body didn’t want to stay like this. I was like an addict needing another rush, craving it. But as Bella squeezed my hand and I looked into her blue blue eye, the burning need began to subside.

“There,” she said. “there you go. Come on, sit up.”

I was lying on a church pew. There were a few stragglign humans here and there, but the church was now fairly empty. The big beefy dude was standing beside me, glowering down smugly.

Gingerly, I managed to sit up. I wanted to barf. I was sweaty, clammy. Bella crouched before me, grinning wildly now. “So?” she asked eagerly, like we were sharing a secret. “Are we that bad?”

I took another look around. I told myself to take my hand from hers, but couldn’t. I liked her touch. I swallowed, my mouth now dry. “What happened?”

Bella patted my hand. “Secret!” And she drew up to a standing position. “Come on.”

Creativity and Mental Illness

Hi everyone! Recently, a fellow blogger published a wonderful piece entitled ‘psychological changes due to medication’. It can be found here → https://encodey.wordpress.com/2018/02/24/psychological-changes-due-to-medication/

This piece was very interesting for me, and is the inspiration behind today’s blog post. So please give their post a read first!

Now, onwards! Today I would like to discuss (drumroll) creativity and mental illness! Hark! A fascinating topic, really!

So, how has my mental illness influenced my artistic abilities? Well! At first my answer would be ‘derp? No it hasn’t?’ because on the surface everything appears to be the same. I still draw. I still write. But, aha, ladies and gentlefolk – is the result still the same?

Ahhhhh- nope. Not at all.

You see, before my art felt stunted. I had difficulty experiencing color and expressing myself with it. I couldn’t ‘finish’ a picture, always leaving them as raw sketches. To put this in concept, my wifey bought me coloring books to relax with and I had a hard time coloring them in because that’s how stunted I was.

Here’s the thing though. When I was ‘normal’ I used to draw mathematically. Everything was straight lines and the odd curves. I would start with the eyes, finish them, then draw the nose incrimentally. Yet when I was in an ‘episode’ I didn’t draw mathematically. I drew shapes and curves and motion – but it would have none of the details that my mathematical side would have. It was as if my brain was divided and constantly popping from one skill set to another.

Now that I am medicated and balanced on that medication (so just popping pills didn’t do it – I had to get the right cocktail going on) I have noticed a great difference in my art. I use color now. I am actually able to draw so easily that I am illustrating one of my novels with (gasp!) completely finished pictures! It’s like the two sides have merged and made me even more functional than ever before. Furthermore, I am able to do greyscale drawings in ink relatively swiftly that are adorable.

And my writing? Well my writing is actually more explosive of a change!

Before taking medication I struggled to write a thousand words a day. Writing felt like pulling teeth. I loved it, but couldn’t write a sequence. I would write a scene here from, say, the beginning of a novel, then a scene from later, and then a scene from the ending. I would just write a package of floating scenes and could barely tie them all together. It was terribly messy and disjointed. There would be plot holes, hanging threads, the whole deal.

Now? Now?! The first week I started my antipsychotics it was like a booming revelation. For a week straight I wrote 5,000 words a fucking day. I just felt that good, that inspired. And yes, it was all written in sequence.

Since being on medication, I’ve been writing sequentially. I’ve completely finished two novels and am halfway through 4 others that I’ve been working on the side. There are no more floating scenes, just completed books and so much plot work.

What’s more (oh yea, there’s more!)? I’ve started having stories come to me in dreams. It’s like my medication has allowed a sort of communication to happen, and I’m halfway through one novel based entirely off a dream and have started two others as well as received tips and conclusions to others in dreams. WHAAAAT? This is epic! It’s like now that I’m functional spirits are coming to me like ‘hey, here’s a writer, write my story for me!’ and I’m like ‘yeah sure, hand me that!’… and now I’ve literally got over a dozen novels going. I shit you not. I’m not working on them all right now, there’s just a lot on the back burner. But damn, I got so many tips and revelations for my stories from my dreams, I really really love it!

What’s else? My stories are lighter. My stories are brilliantly, genuinely, funny and light-hearted. I’ve found my tone, my voice, in a fantasy world that I came up with when I started medication. Since its conception it’s been a respite, a ‘happy place’ that I go to. It’s become a bursting series of joy and creativity.

Have I lost my touch for writing dark stuff however? Well, I’ve always had difficulty writing serious series. I can hardly make it a quarter way into a novel that’s all ‘dark and serious’ without losing interest and calling it ‘the most boring shit i’ve ever written’. I just don’t do serious. I just don’t do dark. I do complex, I do epic, I do funny and dork.

And what else what else what else? Y’all, this is the final foot-stomper! I have finally, Finally, FINALLY started working on my theology book about Wicca and Mental Illness.

Ya heard that right! I’m writing a book on mental illness! A theological analysis of mental illness through various aspects and I am just SO PROUD of myself for getting there.

Because it’s not easy to write, ya know. It’s difficult, thick, and I have to think theologically and in a straight line to be able to do it. But I’m proud to say that it’s getting there. It might be short, but it Is HAPPENING!

So that’s that y’all! My medication has really affected me a ton! By helping get me on my feet, it has helped me grow as an artist and writer and I am so so proud of the progress that I have made! 🙂 I know it’s maybe an unusual story and that I am very lucky to have found medication that works so well for me. Not everyone is as lucky as I am and not everyone has found the right medication yet. But for me, this is my story.

Have you felt any changes in your art since starting medication? Has your mental illness crippled your art in any way? Do share!