Staying Afloat

My son said something rather intuitive the other day. He said, “It takes less energy for people to find the negative and to point out why something won’t work. For those people it takes more energy to be creative and positive.”

As his mother, I was impressed. Also I feel, he is right. Continually I am made aware of how easily people, when given the opportunity to either find ways in which to make something work or fail, choose the latter method; wherein I normally choose the first. I am my happiest and most enthused with life when I am creating something. While processing the loss of my best friend, I’ve struggled to find my enthusiasm for life. It goes without saying that my creativity nosedived. And, not too surprisingly, I found myself struggling to ignore the silhouette of depression that kept appearing like a ghostly apparition along the corridors of my mind.

Those who have never suffered with depression do not understand it. They cannot understand it anymore than someone with a high metabolism can understand the struggle that so many experience while trying to lose weight or a non smoker can understand the magnetic pull cigarettes have on a smoker. But I understand depression on an intimate level. And when I am not creating something, depression steps from the shadows, extends its hand, and attempts to reintroduce itself. 

The main manifestation of all this creating, and my creation of choice, are stories. Over the last week, I've been busy with my novel, and other facets of my writing career. Let’s pray my efforts will bear fruit. I’m not bothered by the fact that my mind is always spinning with possibilities. I cringe at the thought of living with the opposite. No doubt when the boat were being invented, had I been there, I would’ve been one of the many, searching for ways in which to make it float. Never would it have occurred to me, to begin my mission, by doing otherwise. Failure seems to present itself easily enough without me looking over the horizon, anticipating its arrival. 

I’m not completely out of the woods of depression just yet. But I am in a better place than I was a week ago. I chuckle a bit at the therapeutic ways I use to heal myself. I’m sure when I pass, I will leave behind a bookshelf lined with stories housed in hard covers, a few inventions (some patented, some not), and a handful of small businesses. 

Sane