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Writers. They are those eclectic creatures everyone wants to be. According to most Johnny Depp portrayals of authors, we drink excessively, smoke endless cigarettes, experiment with mind-altering drugs, and then prop ourselves up in front of a typewriter and expect miracles to fall onto the page.

If that description doesn’t sound familiar to you then you don’t know jack about writers. No seriously, writers are actually hardworking, sane individuals. Not unlike other human beings we sometimes get caught up in the throes of depression. I can attest to this from experience, not just as a writer, but simply as a human being.

Depression, whether it’s clinical or self-diagnosed affects people from many different walks of life. Unfortunately we live in a society or rather in a world that is very conducive to this disease. Being a creative individual may actually expose you to more of the stress that causes depression. Creative types spend a considerable amount of time noticing and analyzing the nuances of the environment we live in. We notice and are inspired by the little details that most people miss. A lot of times it is these same details that cause us to feel pain and to harbor a foreboding sense of hopelessness. As an artist you respond to these feeling by creating something which expresses your thoughts and emotions. So does this mean that one can only produce something meaningful when one is battling bouts of depression?

Of course not. You see I thought yesterday was going to be one of those days. You know the type of day wherein you wake up cursing the sun for having the audacity to shine while you are trying to wallow in your misery. Yeah, one of those days. I knew what the cause of my discontent was, but I still found myself fighting back tears. I continued with my morning routine because as you know- kids don’t give a damn how your emotional health is. They want their breakfast and it had better be good. So I made a decision. I was going to fake it until I made it. Following the advice of my grandmother I said aloud, “Devil you are a liar!” I asked God to remove the storm clouds from above my heads and from under my eyes. Then I just let go.

Depression, humph! Ain’t nobody got time for that!

Let me make this story short. Since I homeschool my son I’m in complete control of his schedule. I decided to switch things up and go to the park before we started any of his school work. Let me tell you how prayer works honey. As soon as I stepped outside of my door, it hit me. The warm sun greeted me while the breeze flirted with my hemline. We were experiencing unseasonably warm weather. It was as if God was saying, “Look boo, I got your back.” It was then that I realized just how ungrateful I had been. To think I was going to allow myself to be overcome by darkness. All I had to do was make a conscious decision to be happy. Allah took care of the rest.

When we arrived at the park I sat down and wrote. I wrote about how grateful I was to be worshipping a God that not only hears your prayers, but who answers them in ways that our minds can’t even conceive. I was able to concentrate on projects that I had long since brushed to the side. More importantly, I laughed and played with my son. He never had the slightest inclination that mommy had woken up feeling like doggy-doo that morning.

Do you battle with depression?  How does it affect your creativity?  Let’s talk about it in the comment section.

Here are some links on writers and depression

http://www.nytimes.com/1994/11/14/books/exploring-the-links-between-depression-writers-and-suicide.html

http://www.elizabethmoon.com/writing-depression.html

http://narrowpathstohigherplaces.com/writing-in-and-through-depression/

http://www.vanityfair.com/magazine/archive/1989/12/styron198912

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I’ll probably never have white teeth

I smoke too much coffee drink too many cigarettes one

To cure the hangover from my insomnia the latter to battle

Regrets

 

These things are not lady-like

Who said I was a lady

Like type of woman who said

I sit with my legs closed, heart open, toes painted stomped on scarlet lips the same

 

Mind consumed with creating a home a space to maintain thoughts

Have no face to represent them, I cannot say how I

Feel, nevertheless keep it real because women like me are

Underrated, overworked, under-sexed, over-controlled,

Underestimated, insides rare thick skin overdone I’m over this

 

And you overjoyed?

My name is Housewife Hilary

Capitol House I keep a Capital Home

I’ll probably never have white teeth but I’ll bet

My husband has clean drawers

You are no bundle of joy

my little brown sun-drop boy

For quite some time now

we’ve been together,

you and I, me and you

my sweet, caramel kiss.

You’ve seen some things you shouldn’t have seen,

been some places you shouldn’t have been.

But that’s ok because,

me and you, you and I

we’ve been riding it out,

since 2007

when you burst onto the scene

my life hasn’t been the same.

My little brown sun-drop boy.

I must admit I was not prepared

for you,

and for the hardships you would bring.

I had no pain.

in bearing you,

but you know what they say.

I’ll get my fair share of heartache,

you prove that everyday.

Although my language is not very deep,

and I do not possess the idioms

with which to speak,

although you’ve stretched my patience

and my womb,

and sometimes I’d like to beat yo a$$

because you are no bundle of joy.

I love you dear son.

Moon in my midnight sky.

My little brown sun-drop boy.

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