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Creativity When Depressed?


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Does anyone else write, draw, paint, etc more vividly when they are depressed? Does it help you cope? Heres an example of what I wrote today. I encourage anyone else to share what they've written or drawn lately if thats allowed.

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Great divide.

In one singular moment I split in two.
I watched my loving half fall to the side.
I walked over to half of my love and tried to pick it up.
I couldn't.

You see, I'm not strong enough to reassemble the pieces.
Half of my love/my loving half walked out of my life.
The pain and agony from this is more than I can bare.

Every single time I look at you,
Everything comes rushing back.
I get short of breath.
I feel my ribs contract.

(Here it comes again)

I start to smile, I start to feel.
Then I remember.
I've lost you.
And the pain starts again.

I grip my neck and wish for the pain to end.
I sway from side to side hoping it goes away.
I start losing my breath.
Shorter. Shorter. Shorter.

(Am I dying)?

I feel as though I am.
Right in front of you everything drains from my head.
My visions start again.
Drilling a hole right through my mind.

("Fear is the mind killer")

It is the fear of never being accepted.
You accepted me.
You were the only one to have appreciated me.
Now as I look at you, I ask why don't you love me?

 

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Being creative is a part of my 'normal' me but I do often write my thoughts down as they come to me which turn out a bit like poems. I like yours they seem really honest. Right now I am coming up to my final project in my art A level and I have picked to look at mental illness. It's hard for me to expose myself in this (well to me at least) obvious way as I don't really like including my personal experiences but I think addressing it is really important. It makes me slightly nervous but it also makes me feel empowered.

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I hope other people will lend some of their experiences. It would be great to see how other people put emotion into a creative form. Heres another two.

 

Falling...

One dream into another.
Pushing through the mist and convoluted messages.
Is a symbol really a symbol if you turn it upside down?
Even the most perfect shape crumbles under the warped pressures of my imagination.

Watch as zero slowly becomes infinity.
It sways and shifts more.
Distorting into the umbilical cord around my neck.

They say you lay in the bed you make.
But what if you don't like that bed?
What if you've pulled the covers so close to your face you suffocate?
What if you feel this bed is a representation of your fate?

All your struggling wont stop the covers from closing in.
All your screaming wont stop the dreams from rushing in.

Toss..
Turn...

I woke up in another cold sweat.

----

You and I~

We spent the night with a dancing firefly.
I remember back then, when you seemed so shy.
As the cold breeze wrapped around our necks,
I embrace the feeling of our first love filled high.

Day after day we spent our time together.
You and I
No matter what the weather.

Now the time is upon us.
I reach into my pocket for a loving locket-
A sign of my love;
A sign of my heartache lost.

As the night wears thin,
I want you to feel the light within
Everything we've seen, everything we've touched.
Let our lives begin.


My love and I


My love and I

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Very nice writing, always! I am very creative when my mood is somewhat stable. I know there are depressives who are able to channel the darkness into something wonderful, but depression unfortunately robs me of what I love most. Sometimes in depression, I can write poetry. Fiction is my outlet of choice, and it's hard to create multidimensional characters when my own emotions are either blunted or in chaos. Since I've felt a touch better lately, the "spark" to write is coming back.

 

- Christina

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Some writing that went nowhere, a quick and unedited exercise after looking at a photograph: (TRIGGER WARNING: From the POV of a woman who has difficulty eating due to her depression. May trigger any struggling with an ED)

 

The Shack

 

 My mind was in over-drive that night, like a train ready to run off the tracks. For a while, I stayed in bed, with the bitterness of Grey Goose on my lips and the ash of cigarette on my fingers. I thought of the things he said; the things I said; who I was; who I wanted to become;  the monotony of everything; the pain that comes with being a woman who just thinks too much. Sleep never came.

 

      When the sun rose, I couldn’t find it in me to eat breakfast.  I liked my stomach as empty as my one bedroom house. Food seemed offensive -- something to fill me, but not make me whole. Something awakened in me by the foodless counter, a need to move with my body and not just my mind. I wanted to run, as I did as a young girl, and find a place where I had no obligation to be me, only to be “be.”

  

  I opened the creaky front door and stepped out, barefoot, in my nightgown. The grass was dead; I remember finding it odd that I never noticed it before, but it made its presence known, like dry straw against my soles. I had no direction. You see, I could only go East or West. East led to town, where the sounds of traffic screamed, people stuffed their faces too much, spent money in shops too much – it was just that – too much.  North and South were out of the question, due to demons from my past that would make you retch. West, I had no idea where that led, so it was my only choice.

 

                I walked until my throat was dry and my heels on fire. I would have kept going, but I saw a small shack. The thought crossed my mind that maybe I had walked too long and too far. Maybe the shack was not really there, and some type of mirage. The door, blue as a robin's egg, was open an inch or two - an invitation.

 

. . .

Edited by neurotic_lady89
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Wicked work, Abandon! You've a way of making your words flow so easily, I hope to see more from you. :happy: I also try to use depression as a 'tool' for my art, but a lot of the time I'm too energy defeated to even pick up my pen. My latest was a more peaceful piece (which I'll post below), though I tend to draw demons and evil things (so generic lol) when I'm down.

WzK9XNT.jpg

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       Something I've been doodling around with for a while now.  It's how I imagine it might have gone if my spouse and I had met many, many years before we actually did.  I'm also working on a fan fiction for the BBC Sherlock series, and a fantasy fiction involving dragon riders.  Usually I write poetry when I'm depressed. Writing helps me work through things.

       Tracy wandered slowly through the aisles of the discount department store, her whole attention narrowed to the span of a few pages in the book she was reading.  As she turned the page, her bookmark fluttered to the floor.  Bending over to pick it up, she and her book were sent spilling to the floor when someone bumped into her from behind.  She grabbed at her book as it slid away from her across the dirty floor. 

  ‘Dang it, now I lost my place,’ she muttered to herself, reaching forward to retrieve her book.  Just as she was about to pick up her book, a young man’s hand entered her field of vision, scooping up the book and bookmark as he extended his other hand to help her up.  The hand was attached to a hirsute and well-muscled forearm that extended up into even bigger biceps that disappeared into the sleeves of a grey short-sleeved dress shirt.  As she grabbed his hand, she noted that his fingers were strong thin, and she absently admired the relatively delicate wrist as it narrowed between the broad palm of his hand and the corded strength in his developed forearms. 

               As she stood, she followed strong legs in comfortable fitting blue jeans up to a broad, hairy chest and wide shoulders not disguised by the loose fit of his dress shirt.   She studied his face, noting his prominent cheekbones and creased chin, and wondered if the eyes behind those industrial frame glasses were green or hazel.  As she looked at him, she felt a familiar, light-headed sensation begin to wash over her, and breathed deeply as her vision slowly began to gray out like it always did when she stood up too soon.   She wobbled a bit, and he quickly dropped her book and held her by the shoulders to steady her. 

               ‘You didn’t hit your head, did you?’ he asked, gently rubbing her upper arms.  Quietly, she shook her head.

               ‘No, this always happens when I stand up too fast.’ Patiently she waited for her vision to clear and when it did she looked around her, embarrassed.  ‘Sorry to cause so much trouble.’ she apologized.  ‘Guess I shouldn’t read and walk, huh?’ she joked.

          ‘No, it was my fault,’ he corrected, suddenly embarrassed.  ‘I…um…wasn’t watching where I was going, either.’ he stammered, his attention on her long, shapely, bare legs.  ‘You wouldn’t have fallen on your face if I hadn’t bumped into you.’  Reluctantly he dragged his attention up from her legs to briefly look her in the eye.  She noticed that his eyes shone brightly with extreme intelligence, and that they did seem to be more green than hazel. Idly, she wondered if they changed color with his mood.  When he realized she was watching him, he dropped his hands to his sides and turned red.

            Quickly, she looked away, to keep from embarrassing him further.  Apparently he was so shy that even a little eye contact flustered him.  Being shy herself, she understood the feeling.  Right now she felt like a grade-A, bumbling klutz. 

               ‘I’m sure I would’ve found something to trip over soon enough.  I usually do.‘  She smiled self-deprecatingly and shrugged.  ‘I can’t even walk a straight line when I’m not reading.’  As she said this she looked at him sideways and smiled. Blushing again, he offered her a tremulous, closed mouth smile in return.

 

That's not the end, but that's where I'll end it.  It s*cks, I know. I think I went too far describing the male character, but I couldn't help myself. Thanks for starting this, Abandoned. :Coopwink:

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Wicked work, Abandon! You've a way of making your words flow so easily, I hope to see more from you. :happy: I also try to use depression as a 'tool' for my art, but a lot of the time I'm too energy defeated to even pick up my pen. My latest was a more peaceful piece (which I'll post below), though I tend to draw demons and evil things (so generic lol) when I'm down.

 

 

Thank you so much Moogie, and thank you for contributing. You have a wonderful style. I really like how that piece came out. What was your inspiration?

 

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20years, I really like it and it doesn't stink at all! Its wonderful to have an outlet. I'd very much enjoy reading some of your poetry also if you feel up to sharing!

 

-------

 

Frizzle, thats a really great quote that I dont believe I've seen before. Thank you!

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this is the last proper poem I wrote:

 

Realisation bites. It dwindles.

Then re-emerges as tears held in, soft bruises p-ricked, welling.

Will this be my life.

Will it hold it close beneath the surface breathing in my ear, waiting for collapse.

Will it whisper to me, telling me I am lying, that this, that living is not for me.

Will I marry and have children, grow old and wrinkle - all with this blackness lurking.

Will my happiness forever be stung with the ingratitude, the pain.

Will it never be true.

Will I die lonely and old

or young and in this bliss.

Edited by Realreason
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this is the last proper poem I wrote:

 

Realisation bites. It dwindles.

Then re-emerges as tears held in, soft bruises p-ricked, welling.

Will this be my life.

Will it hold it close beneath the surface breathing in my ear, waiting for collapse.

Will it whisper to me, telling me I am lying, that this, that living is not for me.

Will I marry and have children, grow old and wrinkle - all with this blackness lurking.

Will my happiness forever be stung with the ingratitude, the pain.

Will it never be true.

Will I die lonely and old

or young and in this bliss.

 

Very nice poem real, and very impactful. I like the power of it. Thank you so much for sharing it with us!

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People can say

 

People can say,
That this is all my mistake.
But they dont know.
That I can write their story.

What if I could pull you into,
A place where you could understand me.

People can say,
That this is the way it is.
But they dont know.
I'll change the story.

I'll make you all understand me.
You will believe me.
Someday soon, I'll make you understand.
Someday soon, you'll be just like me.

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Thank you for this thread. Very inspiring.

 

I love to paint and write poetry when I feel down. I don't have anything to share right now but perhaps I will in the future. I do find colouring eases stress for me.

Thank you for stopping in! What kind of painting do you do? Oil? And its ok if you have nothing to share right now, In time I look forward to seeing some of your work!

 

 

Stop.

 

When your lips part, a fist comes out.

My skin is clear, my jaw in tact

But my heart,

Bruised. Beaten. Blue.

Like rotten fruit

Waiting for disposal

To disintegrate

To become nothing

To become something new.

 

Very strong emotions. I love it.

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How funny that I hadn't been on this forum in awhile and today (while going over some stuff I wrote) popped in to see if there was a forum about creativity and depression. Low and behold, haha. I think trying to find a way to describe misery and hopelessness creates a very unique type of dark illustration. As much as I hate my depression I've always thought there was a sort of romanticism in it, it brings out an odd beauty in the world that I think only a depressive can truly see. That and I think it has been shown in a few studies that there's a strong link between depression and creativity. Maybe I'll share something if I'm feeling brave later. But really great stuff everyone, just shows that a flower can bloom out of even the most desolate of landscapes.

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How funny that I hadn't been on this forum in awhile and today (while going over some stuff I wrote) popped in to see if there was a forum about creativity and depression. Low and behold, haha. I think trying to find a way to describe misery and hopelessness creates a very unique type of dark illustration. As much as I hate my depression I've always thought there was a sort of romanticism in it, it brings out an odd beauty in the world that I think only a depressive can truly see. That and I think it has been shown in a few studies that there's a strong link between depression and creativity. Maybe I'll share something if I'm feeling brave later. But really great stuff everyone, just shows that a flower can bloom out of even the most desolate of landscapes.

 

Thanks for stopping by Dog! If you feel up to it you are more than welcome to post something. When you're ready of course. I do truly believe that great things can be created out of nothingness and hopelessness. I'm always reminded of the Junkyard Flower, surrounded by trash and twisted metal but still blooming none the less.

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When I really had hit my lowest of the low with family issues, crap with Natalie, seizures and everything in 2010 and 2011 I recorded 2 albums... "Out of the Darkness" and "Tracing." The second one really hit the darker stuff. I gave a few copies out to friends, even one to Natalie.

 

"Tears, Darkness, Memories" is easily my saddest song...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0tcywq4J6ks

 

Its been awhile since I've recorded anything with lyrics, lately its all instrumentals for some reason.

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9/4/12 5-7-5 English Haiku

 

'Breathing'

Breathing is too much

for me today; maybe I’ll

stop for a minute.

 

====================

 

1-25-14 Free Form Poem

 

'How Often'

How often can I

Pull myself out of the quicksand

Before I lose the desire to escape it

And simply let the thickness of it

Fill my nostrils and my mouth

Like a silent scream?

 

=======================

I dislike the form on the last one,

I feel like line breaks and punctuation

tell half the story.

Edited by 20YearsandCounting
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