Depression is probably, most likely, definitely is the primary source of my creative block.  Every once in a while, the words do flow.  I try to jot them down. I don’t always thinking that I will remember.  Yeah, right.  This is something I scribbled onto the back of some scratch paper at work a few months ago:

When I feel a crack begin to split the carefully constructed shell surrounding my core, my highly trained mind reseals itself with the same anxious nonsense, or worse.  But, I must break through if I am to survive.

From that crumpled piece of pink paper, I gain hope.  Though its message is bleak, at least I got the words out.  Just getting it out there is sometimes good enough to feel a release. Little successes matter.   Now, the underlying issue here is the evil depression bubble that tries to suck the life and love out of everyone.  But, it is something that some, most I dare say, deal with at some point in life.  While writing is cathartic for me, it may not be for everyone (though certainly anyone who is willing to put forth the effort can learn its benefits).

Creativity is not valued properly in modern life, I feel, and maybe that is why depression is so prevalent.  People are so lost in making a living, be it meager or substantial,  that we deny ourselves this innate piece of our beings.  We are taught to suppress it because nurturing it could never possibly lead to a worthwhile career, monetarily speaking.  But, what good is a life without real joy in doing what we love rather than what we have to do to get by? Why have we been fooled into believing that material goods are a means to happiness? And money is the only thing worth making. Sure, I like getting my pay check, and I indulge in some retail therapy, as they say. The high is a good one. There is something about pushing around a big, red Target cart and filling it to it’s brim, and immense pleasure in coming home after a shopping trip, plopping down those shopping bags and devouring them like a child on Christmas morning.  But, it doesn’t last.  Happiness cannot be found if it is not found first within yourself.  Depression will be there waiting to steal it from you, but as for me, I am tired of letting it win.