|What I look like when I'm writing - obviously an older photo|
Back when I started a year and a half ago, I mentioned how my therapist told me that I needed to write to help me with my depression. I halfway said it as a joke, because I don't technically have 'a therapist', but the times that I have consulted with a licensed therapist, they have advised me to write.
"An artist who does not create is a menace to society." This was a point made in Where'd you go, Bernadette by Maria Semple. The truth of this statement hit my heart like an arrow. I am a creative person. I need to create. Words are my life. I love to hear them, look at them, read them, say them, and make them up.
When Dewey was going through treatment, everything about me was put on hold while I focused all my energy on keeping my family together; buoying DH up as he was depressed and without hope, cheering Dewey on because he didn't want to die so he needed to fight this, desperately trying to do what I could to ensure that Huey didn't get passed over and that he knew that he was loved and cared about just as much even though he didn't have cancer. I put all of my desires aside except for one; the happiness of my family.
I have discovered that in the aftermath, when I wasn't desperately trying to hold my family together any more, that I was lost. I went into a major depression after Dewey's treatment was complete that went on for much longer than I thought was necessary, but nonetheless, it was there. I was so lost and so dark and felt so hopeless. I wanted to cease to exist.
And then I started this blog. I started it because I wanted to rant and rave and whine and moan, because I needed an outlet, and because I wanted to document my 'weight-loss'. (I haven't lost any weight). It took me a long time to find my rhythm, my voice, my whatever. I'm not perfect or fabulous or anything, I'm not that full of myself, but I have written some things that I'm sort of proud of, and I have found a groove that makes it easy for me to write. I've gotten over the fact that no one reads this blog; this fact has given me the freedom to write what I want, how I want, and to figure out how to write. I use this blog as a writing excercise and creative outlet and it has helped me mentally immensely.
It's hard to write when I'm feeling uninspired, or when life gets in the way, but I have found that I am making time for it now because I need it. I have given myself permission to not have to write otherwise my blog will not be popular. Screw popular. I don't need to be a famous blogger, but I DO need to write.
This is preventing me from spiralling down into my rabbit hole so far that it takes a long time and a nervous breakdown for me to find my way out. Don't get me wrong. I have my spirals, and they are not pretty, but they are prettier than they used to be, and I can pull myself out without thinking that I'm going to have to commit myself.
Words, I love you.