Annoyances with Creativity

There's something that's been bothering me for a bit now and it's really getting on my nerves: my lack of creativity. It's gone. Just . . . gone.

Some of you reading this may not know that I'm an artist. I draw, paint, and sew. My artwork is a huge part of who I am and is something that brings me joy, helps me escape.

And now it's gone.

My creativity started to suffer shortly after I was started on Geodon. My inspiration started to slip, my muse dried up, and my desire all but left me. For a couple of months I forced myself to paint - Chinese brush style paintings like this one:

(That's my horse Chance, by the way, who we had to put down in December.)

But I couldn't do anything else. Nothing else would come out. 

I haven't painted or drawn anything for a month now. Not because I don't want to - I do - but it's like I can't. I want to be able to sit down and draw and paint and feel good about what I'm doing. But it's not there. I have no inspiration, no muse. I have no desire. I have no vision.

I decided that I would force myself to sketch a little every day - even if it was horrible or lame - I would sketch every day in hopes of getting my inspiration back. I'm struggling with this. I sit down to my sketch pad, pencil in hand, and stare at the blank page. Draw a dragon, I think. Pencil touches paper and nothing happens. Think. I try to flesh out basic shapes but I don't see what I'm trying to draw (in my mind's eye). How about a fox or a horse then. Again, pencil to paper and nothing flows. I try to think of a pose, I try to picture the anatomy, and I'm left with stiff, abstract shapes that suggest they might be something. 

As if this weren't bad enough, I have something else going on - apathy. I want to draw and paint so badly but at the same time I could care less. My desire is gone. Any joy I get out of creating is gone. There's no real motivation because I don't get anything out of it and I struggle with it anyway. 

And I fucking HATE this. You have no idea.

I think my problem is 2-fold. On the one hand we have Geodon, which took away my creativity and my libido (Geodon is an asshole). On the other we have my depression, which I think is very much alive and well in me. The depression brings with it the apathy and the lack of joy. 

No wonder I can't create art.

Not only can I not create art (which is the hugest blow to me), I also can't write. And I don't mean blogging - obviously I'm blogging. No, what I can't write is my book or poetry. I've been wanting to write poetry but nothing - and I mean nothing - comes out. I'll get 2-4 lines and I'm dried up. There's nothing more. I'll sit down to work on my book, fingers poised over the keys, and not one word comes out. I just stare at the screen, my mind alternately blank and racing and nothing gets written. 

This is all so very frustrating.

Tonight I'm going to try sketching looking at reference photos. Just animals. Maybe that will help. I won't have to think about poses. I'm going to keep trying to spit out lines of poetry - maybe something will flow eventually. I'll keep trying to work on my book - as daunting and futile that it seems. 

It's all I can do.

Bleh

I have this need to write, but at the same time I feel very apathetic. I just don't care.

I told J today that I don't have depression, I don't feel depressed, I'm not down. And for the most part, that's true. I don't feel depressed. And I'm not depressed.

But right now I am most definitely down. I've been down most of the day. Not depressed - just down. And my irritability keeps shooting through the roof. Everything sets me off. Everything. I nearly lodged my sewing bobbin in the wall yesterday because it wouldn't feed right. I threw it at the wall and then broke down sobbing.

I'm overwhelmed by everything. Everything. Even small things. J and I were supposed to spend the day with our friends. Well, their kiddos are sick so we couldn't go. I felt like I couldn't cope with life. I couldn't find a matching sock in the laundry and my world about fell apart.

This is not okay. This is not normal. I know I'm still in a mixed episode - I get that. I do. I know it's going to take time for my Geodon to get to therapeutic levels. I get that. I do.

But can't I get a break?

I mean yeah, I'm not depressed. Which is fucking awesome, thank you. But this constant irritability and agitation, racing thoughts. I get distracted easily. It's hard for me to carry on a conversation sometimes. And being overwhelmed by everything. It's frustrating. Fuck it, let's be honest - this shit is infuriating.

I'm tired of having symptoms that won't go the fuck away. I'm tired of snapping at my husband and my son. Especially my son. I have no tolerance for him. And it pains me so much to say that. You have no idea. Actually writing that out? Almost in tears (I'm not in tears only because I'm stifling them).

So yeah. Can't I get a fucking break??

In other news, I painted a horse today. So that's good. I was going to post the picture but blogger is fucking up the quality. So check it out here if you'd like to see it.

That's all I guess. Cheers, y'all.

Fweeeeeeee

I don't even know what that title means . . .

I'm trying not to write depressing vent posts - at least not too often. I've been slacking in my posts recently as well. Stuff going on, stuff that I'm not sure I want to share here. So let's just say that I've been mentally and emotionally drained. And so very tired. I haven't been sleeping well the past week. At all. So much on my mind.

I'm still battling my depression, and it's been worse lately. I'm not catastropizing it, I'm trying to ignore it and move on. I'm trying to stay positive and I'm changing things that I'm doing (for example, I'm not painting anymore of my Bipolar Chronicles paintings unless they're not dark or focused on suicide). Hopefully that will help stop the suicidal thoughts. I know I'll still get ideas for new paintings - and I'll write them down and then not paint them. I'm going to sew again and try my hand a acrylic painting (I've always done watercolor).

I'm frustrated, to say the least. I've taken a nuvigil (my "upper") every day this last week and I'm still below the surface. I'm still drowning. I'm functional, yes. I can fool people into thinking that I'm doing well, yes. But I certainly don't feel that way. I'm empty and withdrawn and a shell. I want to stay away from everyone. I want to be alone. But I'm ignoring this (or at least trying to), and forcing myself to stay busy, and do things, and interact with people.

I made a bad decision last Friday night (suicidal+pills=bad). Discussed it with M, and I did email Dr. C about it. I'm terrified I'll be put on another medication - I don't want that - but I don't know if there's any other option at this point. I definitely don't like how I'm feeling now and I don't need another Friday night.

We'll see what happens. I'll of course update here for the 3-4 random people who read this. Until then I'll be plugging along, telling myself I feel fine and trying to ignore how empty and sad I actually feel.

You've Dreamed A Thousand Dreams, None Seem To Stick In Your Mind

And all the people who've seen it all before
And all the people who really understand
Know they're right, and have done it right, could I get to be like that
I'll know what I don't know, it's harder everyday
Can't lift a finger, can't hurt a fly
I've found I always move too slowly
One things for certain, I'm insecure
I never knew till someone told me that....
If that's all you will be, you'll be a waste of time
You've dreamed a thousand dreams, none seem to stick in your mind
Two points for honesty
It must make you sad to know that nobody cares at all
Nobody cares at all
They never care at all
- Guster

So much in this painting. And in this song. So many dreams, such indecisiveness. What do I truly want? What's important in life? Why do I have so many racing thoughts? What is this painting even about?

8X10, watercolor

Exploring again

I'm not entirely sure how to start this post. There have been a few interesting things going on over the past few days. So lets just start with the mood run down, shall we?

Saturday. I worked Saturday, and it was my first day of training for charge nurse. Yay? Notice the question mark? Yeah. I was so withdrawn and down and otherwise out of it on Saturday. Not really there. I tried to be there. I really did. Especially since I was training with one of my two best friends. But no. I faked it alright . . .but that's not the same, is it? And it got me thinking about if I really wanted the position or my job anymore. I have, after all, been thinking of changing areas for the last 2 years. But that bit is for another post. Too long for this one. The important thing is that I wasn't there. I wasn't happy. Even though I tried to be.

Sunday, if you read the previous post, I spent in the ER and in bed. Which was a delight. I'm still getting vertigo spells every now and then. Which sucks.

Monday - aka Christmas Eve. My psychiatrist Dr. C wanted to see me. Because of the post I emailed him about cutting myself. He's worried. We went in around 1130, J, myself and our son. We talked a bit about my post. We talked about my continued depressive downswings. We talked about my medications and what we could add/tweak/try. What was scary is how concerned he was. What was scary is how he mentioned being able to get me in to see a specialist out of state. What was scary is how difficult he thinks my bipolar depression is and will be to treat. And what is scary is all of this. All. Of. This. And what is scary is that I'll be fighting for the rest of my life. And what is scary is the prospect of having deeper and worse depressive episodes where I may not have the self control that I do now. It's enough to make me want to scream and cry at the same time. To pound my fists against the wall, hard enough to bust through, to draw blood, to do anything to release the fear and frustration and anger and hurt.

But that would be playing it up, yes? Making it worse than it is? Being dramatic for attention? Fuck the fact that this is very real. The risk is real. All of that? All of that is real. The tears I'm fighting back while writing this . . .they're real. But why should I wax poetic . . .I'm only looking for attention . . .

Tuesday - aka Christmas. We left the house for my mom's with me in full blown vertigo - which made for interesting stumbling episodes. I have to say it was rather pleasant. Yummy food, hanging with my bro . . .and after we headed home and my friend the bottomless pit of my soul said "hey Cami, you know what would be awesome? It would be awesome to question your existence!". So instead I went and took a nap. At least with sleep I can ignore the emptiness. I, of course, didn't tell J this. Again for the seeking attention thing. So instead I hid that pit as best I could.

And now I'm typing this while listening to Silversun Pickups. Over the past few weeks, and more noticeably the past sever days, my anger and irritability has been increasing exponentially. I'm barely able to contain it. Often I can't. It's boiling just below the surface and I don't know when it will finally blow. Some escaped last night when I blew up at J over cough medicine. I screamed at him over fucking cough medicine. That's not okay. I calmed down. I apologized. But that never should have happened in the first place. And I felt horrible. And I beat myself up over it. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can't I just cope? I know the answer . . .but I don't. And nobody gets it.

Tomorrow I'm going to box. I'm going to kick and punch the shit out of my heavy bag. And I'm going to make tomorrow better. That's what I tell myself. And I'll believe it.

While writing this post, I've come up with another painting idea. This will be number 33 in a series that was supposed to be one . . .I don't think people will like this as much as some . . .it will invoke negative feelings. Yes. 

I'm up WAY too early

It's 0430, Thursday morning. I don't actually need to be up until 0540. But I can't sleep. The night before last, I got a whopping 3 hours (probably less) thanks to my congestion and inability to breathe. My congestion was better last night (though I still had to get up numerous times to blow my nose and baste myself in Vicks Vaporub). But I've been awake since 0300. Part of the problem? My bed is being taken up entirely by my hubby, son and dog. But the main reason is that my mind is racing. Going over scenario after scenario of just about everything. It's frustrating and I can't turn my brain off.

I'm especially fixated on my artwork. With Dr. C and M wanting it for a presentation, the dim hope on the horizon of having some pieces published in bp Magazine, of making my own prints and books to sell online . . .it's overwhelming. I want my art to be published. I want my art to be seen. I want my art to help others understand the illness, the struggle, and to show people they are not alone in how they feel. That would be the best gift ever - if somehow my work could help another person.

The first step to all of this, is having my work scanned - professionally. In doing this, I ensure a high quality, high resolution digital image to make prints, etc. with. The problem? It costs money. J found an art gallery that does the scanning for $15/sq. foot. For my size paintings, that's around $15 each. Which for my 22 paintings thus far is $330. And honestly? That's an amazing deal! (We found a couple places charging $60-75 per painting).  If I have my way, and hopefully (most likely) I will, I want to just have all of them scanned. Now. No waiting. Put it on the credit card and let's go. We did leave one piece with them to do a trial scan and print to check for quality, but from the look of other scans they had just finished, it's sure to be good.

And I know I'm impatient, and I know J is going to point out that we're spending $800 next week on getting my timing belt done, and Christmas is almost here, and all the other countless things that cost money. I know that. I get that. But I am impatient. And? This actually is very important to me. I feel like I need to get this done. Not want - need. I feel pressured, frantic, like it's now or never. And I'm not quite sure why I feel so sure and so strongly about this getting done. But it needs to get done. And I think I'll continue to feel anxious until it does.

I have other things to write about, but I'll save it for my next post. And I figured I ought to post a painting with each blog entry I write.

"Catch and Release"
14X5.5

Do you see, how the wind in your hair now feels differently?
Catch and release, the lure above.
     - Silversun Pickups

This painting is about being caught - either in or out of depression - only to be released. For me, I'm typically in the depression, caught, and being pulled up, only to be released back down to the depths. What's the lure above? Anything you want it to be - family, friends, God, willpower . . .That part is up to you.

OMG it's Monday!

Well, it is. Yesterday? Mainly a win. And J managed to wow me with some insight. Insightful insight. Yeah. That kind.

All kidding aside, he pointed out some behaviors I wasn't aware of. For example, my neurotic thinking/behavior when it comes to working out and eating. Normally, one works out to feel good. And that's what I did. Operative word being did. It's become so that I don't work out to feel good - I work out so I don't feel bad. I beat myself up if I miss a day at the gym. My mind cycles: I missed a day, now I'm going to gain weight, I'm going to gain back the 25 pounds I lost and I'm going to gain more and I'm going to be fat and I better work out harder and  I better restrict my diet more and oh crap I had a cookie and now I've done it I'm such a failure why do I even try . . . That's what I do. With a lot of things. Apparently. Having J point it out made me realize that. Forced me to identify it. I do that with my workouts, my diet, my artwork. All or nothing. If it's not all, I screwed up and I berate myself for it. And hey, what might that do to my already unstable mood?

I have a very strange way of thinking as well. For as long as I can remember, I've had to have something to look forward to to keep me going. As a kid maybe it was a new book, or going to my dad's house, or a new pet (I had lots of rats, snakes, spiders and lizards). As I got older, it was who I was working with on a specific day, something I was saving up for, buying a gift for a friend . . .any countless number of things. I've always needed that. Something to keep me going.

Now . . .I find myself struggling with this. Trying to find something to look forward to. The past year . . .it's been harder. Last January, I looked forward to being alive. Then I looked forward to appointments with M, or a stretch of 3 days off in a row. Small things to keep me going week to week. In June and July, I looked forward to our vacation in California. When we got home I looked forward to fall, to Halloween. But still I needed the little things too - seeing M weekly, having dinner with friends every week. Something, anything to latch onto. And I'm struggling so . . .freaking . . .hard with this. What am I looking forward to? This week? Seeing Dr. C, seeing M, a tattoo touch up on Friday. Next week? I don't know. I need something. And therein lies the rub: I can't do this forever. No one can live like this and be happy. Only empty. To live like this is to be empty and dark and hollow inside. Which is exactly how I've been feeling. Most of my life.

And the revelation from J: I haven't always been like this. No. While we were dating, I wasn't like this. After we were married, I wasn't like this. Up until 6-12 weeks after A was born, I wasn't like this. There was a period in my life, however brief it was, that I was truly happy. Not hindered by my mental illness (unless you count my manic episode and subsequent depression that almost ended my marriage, but that's a story for another day). The point is, I can function without having that thing to latch onto. I've done it before, why can't I do it now? J had a good analogy: there's a hiking trail here called the Incline. It's a mile up, and a 41% to 68% grade. It's a steep bastard. Anyway, when J was hiking it, there was a guy with a stick. He'd throw the stick up the hill, and hike up to it. Just gotta make it to the stick, just gotta make it to the stick. He'd get to the stick, pick it up and throw it up higher. Gotta make it to the stick. Oblivious to everything else.

That guy with the stick? I'm him. I'm so focused on these small goals or achievements or things to latch onto that I'm missing everything else - I'm chasing that goddamned stick while being oblivious to my own family/life/self/happiness. What the actual fuck, self? And now, now comes the difficult task of fixing this. How? How do I fix this? I've only not done this for 7 years of my life! Perhaps this insight is the first step. Probably it's the first step, let's be honest. But that doesn't make it any less daunting. And add in the fact that I have absolutely no idea what to do, and you have a recipe for . . .not success. Guess I know what I'll be working on for the foreseeable future.

On another note, my artwork. Ahhhh, yes. My one painting that turned into a series of 22 (with 5 more ideas in the composition stage). I brought my paintings to my appointment today with Dr. C per his request. He couldn't quite get past the first 5 or 6. I guess, I had kind of thought my artwork was powerful, but I don't ever get to see people's expressions first hand - only written responses on Deviant Art, or facebook. I know some of my work is disturbing, but it's nice to have someone actually look at it. And I mean look. Not just see it and become worried about my mental state or wonder what's wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with me. But to have someone look, to see, and to ask intelligent questions or allow me to explain the meaning behind the pieces . . .it means a lot. So far, the only people who have have been J, M, and Dr. C (aside for some friends and random people on Deviant Art). I think most people, when they see it, they only see the obvious without looking for the meaning. My work is powerful. Especially if you know me. Especially if you know someone with bipolar or depression. Especially if you are someone with bipolar or depression.

So I appreciate any and all feedback. I'll be scanning all of my works onto a thumbdrive to give to Dr. C. I'm looking into having my art professionally scanned to make prints and art books. I'm looking into possibly getting my work into a bipolar magazine. Possibly into an art show. Hell, I don't know. I want my work out there - this more than anything I've created before. Maybe it can help someone going through what I've been through. It's nice to know you're not the only one.

"Just Another Day"
11X7, watercolor
I'm dreaming again / Of life underground
It doesn't ever move / It doesn't make a sound
And just when I think--That things are in their place
The heavens are secure--The whole thing explodes in my face
It's just another . . . . . . . It's just another day
It's just another . . . . . . . It's just another day . . .
(but) There's a smile on my face . . . For everyone
There's a golden coin . . . That reflects the sun
There's a lonely place . . . That's always cold
There's a place in the stars . . . For when you get old 
     - Oingo Boingo

The important line, well, one of them, is "there's a smile on my face, for everyone". Because despite what I feel or what I hear, I have to have a smile on my face. Otherwise, people might know something's wrong. They might know I'm different.

I'm getting down with the sickness

I say that because I'm sick. Mentally, yes, but I have a wicked cold (that was a joke by the way, we all know I'm mentally deranged :P ). Delightful headache, nausea, chest congestion, runny nose, sore throat . . .all the fun stuff. Oh, and the trots. I've got that too.

Awesome.

Surprisingly though, it hasn't done too much to my mood. Which is pretty nice. I'm annoyed with being sick, I'm cranky because I'm sick . . .but I'm not necessarily down. So even though I feel like crap, I'd still chalk today up as a win.

Yesterday was a bit of a roller coaster mood wise. I worked yesterday. It started fine, I was in a pretty good mood. Just tired. Going through the motions. By early afternoon my mood plummeted. I was feeling depressed and angry for no reason. I couldn't figure out what triggered it. When I got home I felt withdrawn and tired. It was just . . .frustrating. If I had a reason for feeling the way I did, that would be one thing. But I had no reason, other than being me. And that's obnoxious. And stupid.

Anyway, in this post I thought I'd share what is arguably my most disturbing painting. Most people who have seen it truly don't like it. And tend to worry about my safety and sanity. Again, click for a larger view.

"A Clean Execution"
11X7, watercolor.
Now, most people see this as simply my suicide. What I'm planning, what I'm thinking or seeing or wanting. And surprisingly, that's not it. It is about suicide, yes, but only a little. The figure is more the embodiment of my depression. And it's blowing its brains out. And what emerges from the chaos is hope: in the form of 2 sparrows representing my hubby and son.

Not as disturbing now, is it? But some artwork is about shock value and is done in order to make you think. Maybe this contains both - I don't know. As disturbing as it is, this is one of my favorite pieces I've done.

More tomorrow, hopefully. I'm tired and my cold medicine is wearing off.

Oy Vey

Let's start with yesterday, shall we? Yesterday was a win. A fairly solid win. Worked out, had a doctor's appointment, got a tattoo, Christmas card photo shoot, painted. All in all I felt pretty good. A wee bit cranky at times, but good.

Today was difficult. Woke up in a bad mood. I exercised, which helped, but I couldn't shake the black cloud over my head. Not only that, I was feeling a bit down. I think the problem lay in what the day had in store for me. See, Thanksgiving means that we go to J's aunt's house to eat. Which is fine, except there's a lot of people there. I mean, a lot. As in 20 or so. And that many people talking, and moving around everywhere and in general just being there . . .no. I'm having a hard time dealing with situations like that. I don't want to deal with situations like that.

So I did the only thing I could do - I put on a mask. I smiled, I joked a little, even a couple of genuine laughs. But it was a mask. At times it was hard to keep up the charade. There were so many people and I didn't want to be weird. I didn't want to be strange. I wanted to fit in and seem normal. Notice the word I used? Seem normal. Because I sure as hell didn't feel that way. I felt tense and nervous, withdrawn and shy, tired and anxious . . .but I had to look happy and normal. No depression. No feeling like I was crawling out of my skin. Not a hint of my anxiety. Keep that mask on tight. No one can look underneath it. For what lies beneath, some wouldn't like or accept.

The whole time we were there, I wanted to leave. I wanted to curl up somewhere, anywhere, and hide. Pull a blanket over my head, block it all out - the noise, the light, the sights - block it all out and sleep. But you can't do that. Not with 20 family members around.

I made it through though. And when we got home, I realized, again, how utterly exhausting it is to keep that mask on. How bloody tired I was, mentally and emotionally. How much I wanted to hide away and be left alone and isolated from everyone, if only for a short time.

And I hung up my mask, with my many others, for another day. Who knows - I may need it again tomorrow.

"Which Mask Today?"
One of the paintings in my series. It's a self portrait, of course. All those masks to choose from. Which on shall I choose? My true self, the expressionless self, who may be depressed or manic or happy or anything but often changes on a whim for no reason, that's the mask that no one wants to see. The one that singles me out. So, which mask makes me seem normal?

Not quite a win today

I didn't write last night. I was too bloody tired. Spent the night before up with my son - poor guy is sick, so I got a whopping 3 hours of sleep. I worked yesterday, and I actually had a good day. Yesterday was definitely a win.

Today though . . .not so much. I called in sick to stay home with my son - he didn't go to school, still sick. It started okay. I was cranky, irritable. Lack of sleep I assumed. We went to Target to find some pajamas. Nothing wrong with that. Perfectly normal. Until we were driving home. I broke down. Bad. And I had to be quiet so my kiddo wouldn't hear, wouldn't know. Do you know how hard it is to sob quietly? While driving?

I got it under control until a block from my house and it started again. Where did this come from? I've had several good days! And it was for nothing! Nothing at all. I composed myself. I have to be strong after all, no matter the pain inside. So, into the house, blow my nose, wipe my eyes before my son could suspect anything.

He wanted to play with his army men with me. I had him set them up while I folded laundry . . .and cried. Silently. I'm strong, remember? Only I'm not . . . But I was okay. We played army. J came home from work early, we took my truck in for an oil change. I put on my happy-everthing's-fine face. But that emptiness inside was back. I hid it. I ignored it. I told myself it didn't exist. I almost convinced myself. Almost.

I went to the gym this evening, which usually helps clear my mind. It did, for awhile. Ate dinner, started working on my latest painting. Well, finishing it is more accurate. And, joy of joys, I almost broke down again. This is getting old, to say the least. And discouraging. Obviously I'm doing much better than I was even a week ago . . .but this has got to stop. I can only cry so much. Surely I have no tears left. And every time I think that I break down crying again.

I don't know what to do anymore. Keep plugging on I guess. It's all I can do.

Might as well share one of my newest paintings with you. It's titled "You Think I'm Strong . . .You're Wrong"

You definitely need to click on it to view the larger version to read all the little words on there. This is one of my favorites of the 19 I've done so far.
This is what's written on the back:

And you know and you know
Cos my life's a mess
And it's starting to show so before
I'm old I'll confess
You think that I'm strong you're wrong
You're wrong
I'll sing my song my song my song
      ~~~~
Life's too short to be afraid
So take a pill to numb the pain
You don't have to take the blame
  - Robbie Williams

And it's so true for me. I'm not as strong as you think I am, as I let on to be. I'm fragile, I'm weak, I'm small. My state of mind over the last 3-4 months has worn me down, people notice now. Notice something's wrong. Possibly very wrong. I know there's chatter. I try to ignore it. And I do take my pills to numb the pain . . .

. . . .God bless us everyone . . . .

Today is a win?

I ask tentatively. It was better, yes, but still I had mood issues. My main issue, the one I seem to struggle with the most, is the feeling of emptiness, of hopelessness, of worthlessness. As if nothing in this world truly matters and I should give up trying.

That being said, today actually was a better day. I didn't feel as depressed. I wasn't constantly on the verge of tears. I joked and laughed a little. Annoyingly though, I was rather irritable. Quite a bit irritable, lets be honest. Very snippish. Very annoyed with everything. I hate that feeling. The slightest thing can set me off. I kept it mostly under control, thankfully.

Again, the big problem is that feeling of emptiness, that life and everything is pointless. Thinking back to middle school and high school, I think I've always had this feeling. I think it's always been there. It doesn't let go for anything. I remember always having to come up with something to look forward to. Maybe buying something, maybe getting a pet (I had lots of pet rats and lizards). But I always needed something to look forward to, to keep me going.

And I find myself doing this now. I can look forward to getting my sparrow tattoo touched up this Wednesday (and adding one to my collar bone). After that, silly as it may sound, I'm looking forward to my appointments with Dr. C and M. After that? I don't know. I'll have to come up with something. But there in lies the rub: it's as if I can't truly push myself on without something to look forward to. This is more than little goals for motivation, like meeting mile stones in weight loss. These are things to keep me living. To keep me moving forward so I don't sink back into that black, black hole.

I wish I knew why I do this. Why I can't just truly be happy and content. Maybe I'll never know. Maybe I'll have a breakthrough in therapy. Maybe this is just how I am and I might as well deal with like I always have. I don't know. What do I know?

On the plus side, between yesterday and today I finished 3 paintings. My one original painting idea has blossomed into 17 paintings so far. I have another one in the works right now. Who knows how many more ideas I'll get. As long as I keep getting them, I'll keep painting them.

Dots and Dashes

Today was a bit of a challenge. I was cranky, irritable, and depressed. All for no good reason. No reason at all. I don't know what it is, what made me feel like this today. I had no real motivation. Not to do anything except for paint or sleep or workout - the only three things I seem to be capable of doing any more. Which truly makes me feel horrible. I should be cleaning the house. Putting away laundry. Doing something useful with my time. But I don't. I workout, I shower, I paint. I try not to nap. But oh how I want to nap. Especially when I feel like this.

I also feel bad, I know, because I've had several bad eating days this week. I feel guilty. I feel fat, despite my 23 pound weight loss. I feel as though I'll gain all the weight back overnight because I had a few bad days.

Maybe these things are contributing to my mood today. I don't know. I was near tears most of the day. Tonight, I started getting giddy and laughing at nothing - crazy manical laughing - and I think it came out instead of me crying. Like my body was looking for an alternative release of emotion because we're both so sick of the other route. I just really hate this.

Anyway, here's one of my latest paintings, "Dots and Dashes"

Inspired by the lyrics in a song by Silversun Pickups:
See you in the room next door
Your feet float above the floor
Dress torn above your knees
Like you've owned it for centuries

Dots and dashes on the wall
You tell me about the falls
Of kingdoms and champions
You've seen a thousand times before

The painting is slightly about suicide, as I have suicidal ideation more often than I like to admit. But it's also a statement about bipolar disorder. You see, bipolar disorder often controls you, dictates your actions, your feelings, your thoughts. It has a way of molding you its every whim or desire. You become like some macabre marionette, dancing around with no will of your own.

Those dots and dashes on the walls? They're actually Morse code. They spell out "help me" over and over again. Pleading for someone to stop the control and power that bipolar disorder has over me. Lest the unthinkable happen.

Don't worry - I'm not suicidal. Thoughts from time to time, but not actively suicidal (yes, there's a difference). But this . . .this is how I feel. Like I'm being controlled. Like I have no say in what I do or how I think or how I feel. Not all the time - but enough for it to be bothersome. Enough for it to affect me. Enough for me to plead and reach out for help.

Tomorrow is another day. Maybe it will be better. Maybe I can cut some of those strings controlling me.

Insert Clever Title Here

No clever title. I lack the brain capacity for that right now. Very busy at work today - only 5 deliveries, but still very busy. I'm tired. Drained. And a bit off.

I had another down day. It was one where the only thing I wanted to do was beat up on my heavy bag and cry. And do both as much as I needed to to release the negativity. It's hard to do that at work though. People would look at me strange. They may start to talk . . .

Instead, I kept everything bottled up, like I always do. Like I have to. Wearing one of my many masks in order to function and not bring attention to myself. I know I've mentioned before how tiring that is. To hide everything. To play the happy person who's in control, who's strong. Who does not suffer from mental illness. I play that role every day. And I'm quite good at it. Though my facade is faltering as of late. Maybe because I'm tired. Maybe because I've given up a little. Maybe because I don't care to any more.

Maybe all of those things. I wanted to cry today. I did. I was on the verge most of the day. I held the tears back. I can't do that at work. Though I wanted to. Oh how I wanted to. I wanted to leave. Escape. I don't want to work tomorrow. I don't want to wear a mask. I don't want to interact. Why can't I be okay? Completely okay? Why do I have to fight just to function semi-normally? And why can't I believe it's not butter? (let's be honest - that's one of life's great mysteries)

I'm still plugging along. Plowing through each day as best I can, trying to look like I'm okay. I'm hoping this weekend to post my paintings up here. I have 13 so far, with 5 more in the works. I'm like a painting ninja! I'm also thinking of compiling a book of them when this series is all finished. And offering it for sale, as well as prints. We'll see. It's a neat idea.

What is this I don't even. . .

Today was . . .annoying. To say the least. Which I think is probably true of every day with bipolar disorder, but anyway. I was just. . .down again. Not terribly depressed, no, but not myself. Not happy. Not enjoying anything. I was irritable and cranky. All I wanted to do was paint but I had other things I needed to do. The necessities of life, if that's what you want to call it.

I went to the gym of course, and probably pushed myself too hard. I was going to get an oil change but the shop wouldn't have my truck done in time for me to go to a meeting. So that got scratched. And my meeting. Ugh. It lasted way longer than it was supposed to. And involved lots of petty bickering between coworkers. I sat, mostly quiet, only rarely offering my two cents. I'm often overlooked anyway.

So I didn't have much time to paint. I did the background for my next two, and let them dry while I picked up my son from school and then ran a couple of errands (I paint almost exclusively in watercolors). My kiddo went outside to play with his friend which gave me an hour of uninterrupted paint time. When he came in, we played a little, I made him dinner, and he played with his army men while I finished one of my paintings (I'll share it after I get pictures).

And even though I painted, and finished a painting, I was restless and unsatisfied. Unhappy and frustrated. Down and withdrawn. I stared off into space for awhile, unable to focus on anything. Not that I wanted to. I wanted to disappear. And I still do. To have several days with nothing and no one around. To do my own thing and not worry about responsibility. To workout or paint or read or sew or sleep or stare at the wall with no interruptions, no judgement, no expectations. Will that help me feel better? I have no idea. Maybe it will only isolate me further. . .

I work tomorrow and I'm not looking forward to it. One, I know it's been busy. Two, I'm charge in the nursery. Three, I'm not working with whom I would like to work with. And four, it means I have to interact with people. I'm not in the mood to interact with people. Maybe that will change tomorrow. Tomorrow is a new day, a fresh start, so it may very well be alright. I'll assume it will be alright. Everything will be alright.

And maybe the more I tell myself that, the more I'll believe it. And the more I believe it, the more likely it will come true. And if it comes true, then I've solved the problem of bipolar disorder and unhappiness, and other mental illnesses. There's no sarcasm there, by the way. None at all. I've told myself that I believe that.

Anyway, my moods are being a fickle bitch on the rag who has seemingly run out of chocolate. Somebody get this bitch some chocolate! STAT! I know we're still working on my meds and that maybe - just maybe - we'll get the dosing right and it will help. And that maybe - maybe - things will fall into place and I'll feel normal again. Crazier things have happened.

Now, does anyone have any chocolate?

Let this be the end . . .

The past 4 days have been brutal. An emotional roller coaster that ended mostly in me crying. Not just crying - sobbing uncontrollably. A constant feeling of despair and hopelessness. I cried so much . . .I don't think I have any tears left. It's been a long 4 days. Tiring, dismal, having to try and keep the facade up. I hate it.
Today though . . .today was better. Not great. Not quite me. But better. I was still down, still withdrawn, still irritable . . .but not as bad. I was even able to joke and laugh today at work - a refreshing change. I'm hoping this is a sign that I'm turning the corner. I see some hope on the horizon.
You may notice this is a short post. I'll be honest: I'm tired and I don't feel like writing about how deeply depressed I've been - I'm worried it will bring everything flooding back and the small victory today will be washed away.
I'll be calling M tomorrow to touch base, and my next appointment with him is next Monday. I hope my days continue to get better. I hope the depression is leaving. And though I know this will never be the case, I hope this never happens again (two major depressive episodes with suicidal ideation with interventions to keep me out of the hospital in less than a year is just too much for me to handle).
I'll write more on Wednesday probably. Post some paintings maybe. We'll see.

I've been busy

With painting, that is. I posted my first in what apparently has turned out to be a series of paintings. I have 3 more completed with the 5th one almost finished. All are vent art of some sort, and all have meaning behind them. I also have inspiration for a 6th. I guess that's the one good thing about depression - it usually inspires me.
As to how I'm doing, I don't know anymore. I was trying to live day by day but that's not working. I truly need to live moment by moment, because my mood can change so rapidly. I might be plugging along, feeling pretty good, and WHAM - sudden mood shift and I feel hopeless and like crying. It's so very frustrating. It's annoying too because I'm doing everything right. I'm eating healthy, working out (religiously), doing my positive readings, NOT isolating myself from friends, taking my meds, going to therapy, utilizing my creative outlet . . .and still the depression hangs on. So I do the only thing I can do - I push on, blindly hoping that things will get better, that I'll find that light at the end of the tunnel.
For my paintings, I'm debating on putting them all in one post, or spacing them out over several. We'll see. At any rate, they'll be up soon.

When I Fall

I wish I could fly
From this building, from this wall . . .
And if I should try
Would you catch me, if I fall . . .
When I fall . . .

Lyrics from one of my favorite Barenaked Ladies songs, and the inspiration behind my latest vent art. I heard this the other day and an image popped into my head - one so powerful for me, that I nearly started crying in the gym (I was working out when it came on). I had to paint it. It captured so perfectly how I've been feeling - like I'm on the edge looking down, contemplating that final jump. Do I jump? Or do I press on?

It's a simple painting, highly stylized, but it came out exactly how I pictured it. There is symbolism in there, the drab greyish colors represent my mood, that blue balloon, more vibrant than everything else, is depression - at the forefront of everything I do - and the sparrow, my hope, my salvation . . .is it leaving me? Or guiding me?

I had therapy today, and again I cried. I feel so lost and frustrated and hopeless. I feel like nothing is getting better and nothing ever will get better. It's a horrible way to feel. A horrible way to be and to live. I just want the nothingness and the emptiness and the despair to go away. But it doesn't. It hangs on like a stubborn parasite that I'm powerless to shake loose.
M though, he's wonderful. So wonderful. He helped me see that there is hope. I've been through a worse depression than this, and I made it out alright. I'll have good days and bad days, moments of happiness in the midst of the hopelessness. I'm doing everything right. I'm doing what I can and what I should to beat this. There is light at the end of the tunnel, however faint it may be.
I do hope M is right. I hope I feel better. I hope my sparrow is guiding me.

Hope

My latest piece of vent art. Figured I'd share it here. Painted it about 4 weeks ago - colored pencil, coffee, and ink.
Because with desperation, comes hope.