Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts

08 May 2019

Writer's Block



I haven't written very much in the past year since our nephew Cillian died. Oh, I've written a few bits of poetry, website posts for the Ocean Cruising Club, my blog on sailing - but I haven't picked up a big project in the past year. I seem incapable of concentrating long enough. I suppose the time shall come. I've never really had writer's block so this is new to me. But I think it's a bit more than that.

I think the passing of a young man, combined with all the dire warnings about the state of our precious earth have taken their toll on me. I'm weary. The unprecedented decline in species due to man's trashing of the earth has confirmed what I've suspected for a long time. We're heading for a mass extinction, annihilation. So why bother to write?

In the meantime, I am forcing myself to stop working and trolling the net idly and read more instead. Reading will eventually inspire me to pick up that pencil again. But what I've been reading is Michele Obama's book Becoming, which although inspiring also exposes hatred and divisiveness among people. Destructive people. And Climate Justice by Mary Robinson is supposed to inspire individuals to act but instead points out how little has been accomplished and how difficult it is to move the needle. Maybe I've succumbed to depression again?

I have been trying to get a bit of inspiration for my mom's memoir again and have picked up The Shoemaker's Daughter, which I hope will help. Also waiting in the wings is Red Famine about Stalin's starvation of millions of Ukrainians to death. Such joyous topics, but the background is needed to write my story effectively.

We have released a new edition of Happy Hooking The Art of Anchoring so that's something. It's our third edition -- who would have thought? A webinar is coming up. And we've delivered a webinar on sailing in Galicia, so perhaps a new guidebook is in order. But who knows?  I just know that I haven't been in the mood to concentrate for prolonged periods on starting a big project.

I've installed Grammarly on my laptop and I must say, I am impressed to a degree. It picks up more than Microsoft but it still misses quite a bit and yet insists on things being wrong when they are stylistically correct.  For example, above I said I was weary and Grammarly insists that I'm wary instead. I tell it no, I'm tired but weary is more evocative. They disagree. Who writes the algorithms anyway?  Can someone be both a tech guru and a grammar wiz at the same time? Such important questions beg to be answered.

If I can get past this depressive state, perhaps I can work through such issues and find joy in writing again.


15 April 2018

Blocked

I have never experienced writer's block before, but I have now. I have not been able to write for three weeks. On the 26th of March, our nephew took his own life. Aged only 26, he had been tormented by bipolar disorder of the most severe type for several years. We can only hope he is at peace. I have now written this in his memory.

A boy no more

A little boy brimming with hope
Exuding joy from every pore.
Giggling with puppies, swimming with fish,
Bouncing balls with supernatural skill.
A young boy who wanted nothing but
To make the world a better place for all.
A young man who wanted love
For everyone and everything
And gave his freely to all he beheld.
He loved people, trees and dogs.
He loved to walk in the woods
And swim in the oceans, rivers and lakes.
A spiritual man who believed that
We are here for a higher purpose –
one we have yet to discover.
A kind and gentle spirit who
Took good care of his wellbeing
With natural sustenance and hearty lifestyle
Studied nutrition to discover how
to make the most of this body
that hosts us on our earthly journey.
He cared about all beings with a
Sensitivity that may have overwhelmed
A lesser man than our brave lad.

But the gods are cruel in their own
Cruel way. They shrouded his mind in a
Unnatural sheath that had no adjustments
And came with no instructions.
This semipermeable mem-brain, once light and happy,
Sometimes let much too much pass through,
Other times closed to let nothing in.
From on high, everything was possible.
But nothing begot nothing from below.
Doctors had no answers, only pills and potions.
But medicine didn’t fix things, only plastered over it.
On an even keel was not living.
He tried to deal with it, as only he could.
Searching for answers among those who knew.
And coming back to us from time to time
To give us a momentary glimpse
Of the young lad we knew and loved so dearly.

Yet, life grew more burdensome and
the battle proved too onerous.
Powerful demons devoured his spirit.
Drove him to the cliff’s edge in search
Of a better place, a refuge from the mind
That started out so beautiful and kind
And now was relentless in its daily assault.
What was on the other side, he reckoned,
Must be better than what he suffered here.
One attempt, then two, despite denying all, 
three was the day that we got the call
that our little boy was no more.
His soul took flight into the universe
Unbound by this earth’s crushing weight.

Fly, free spirit, fly, find peace at last. 


bipolar affective disorder

26 January 2016

Does mental illness instigate creativity

I have had some of my most intense creative moments in times of depression. Not that I've suffered depression that often. But when I did, I seemed to feel more deeply, more dramatically. That caused an outpouring of emotion onto paper, perhaps thinking that would revive me. If depression gets too deep, however, it can paralyze. Been there, too.