Art, Personal
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This sea is a sea of grief

Hello dear reader,

As you can probably surmise from a variety of breakdowns in the last few weeks — lovingly? neurotically? — documented across a variety of social media platforms, I am not in a good place. Or have not been. Or have been on the way out of the not-good place, but always find my way back to it.

(Have I confused you yet?)

There have been many factors to factor into this era of deterioration, not least of which are housing issues and friends issues and loneliness issues and work issues and mental health issues and general lack of confidence in my workplace issues and getting locked out of my studio in the middle of the night with a massive A3+ printer delivery so I had to beg a stranger in the studio who lives all the way in Wood Green to please lend me their key because everything of value that I own is locked in my unlocked studio issues.

That being said, I can’t really complain too much. I’ve been on-and-off crying (as in full-on sobbing) for no reason in particular, or for every conceivable reason with no particularity. But my point is that I have been sad, and I don’t know how to get out of it.

Sometimes, the only way I can distract myself without feeling even more like shit, i.e. wasting away in front of the television, is to draw and paint and make something. Even though I usually hate what I make 10 seconds later. It provides that bit of relief that I need, a reprieve from whatever useless fucking thing has set my brain on fire.

And I used to think that the art that I made in lieu of having therapy was inherently bad with no value and no deliberate purpose or message — and perhaps, part of me still thinks that — but now, I think, a little bit, like I maybe see it a little differently, like it doesn’t mean it doesn’t have any meaning or that it was made mindlessly or whatever.

Because it’s what’s worked to calm me down and it’s what’s led me out of my own head before I get so completely lost in it. I always say that I’m not homesick — and I’m not; though that doesn’t mean I don’t miss the people in my life who are now so far away — but living on my own and dealing with people who may not have my best interests in mind and struggling to keep afloat have all been difficult, though valuable and necessary lessons.

I am still not in a good place. I thought I was nearing the end of this cycle of depression (because you can tell when the lows are about to hit, and there’s nothing really to do except to wait them out), but I think I’m being roped back in. I called a GP today to set a repeat prescription for my SSRIs and I won’t run out of the meds I need to function properly. I made good food for myself even though all I wanted to do was eat like a college student again. I’m learning to take care of myself, whatever that means.

It’s hard and I’m tired, but I think this might be an important time. So, I’m also paying attention, and I’m dealing with it the best way I know how to.