The only cure for this is writing, for when I am not, the darkness takes over and I am nothing and love is nothing and the universe is nothing and I do not wish to exist any longer. Give me pen and paper and in an hour I will return more hopeful.
For an artist, a writer, depression may be the greatest muse because if you channel it; into paintings, drawings, collages, movies, music, novels, poems, etc., there is an emotional awareness, a visceral sense of existence that cannot be challenged if, and ‘if’ is the key, the artist can indeed use it to create something that expels that bleakness from themself and onto a page, screen, canvas or ears, and they are able to forget it for an instant or longer until the next wave flows through them, casting the dark veil again and again until at one final bout they have not let it swallow their life but they themselves die of old age, and this I think is the challenge for artists; can depression be defeated? Yes. Yes, I believe it can be.
Writing. Why must you sometimes flourish and others, awkwardly stammer? As if my tongue were a boulder, unable to move but for a brilliant breath from the gods, like my hands now, awkwardly hovering over keys with no direction but silence. But maybe silence is key. Maybe silence is the inspiration.