Sunday 25 January 2015


Okay I give up, I'm a night owl and however much I want to be something else I always revert to getting stuff done at night. It's when I'm relaxed and creative and calm and logical. It's easiest to focus on painting and drawing and going through reference pictures and looking for inspiration. I do other stuff too, like cry and play puzzle games on my phone (a difficult combo since the tears make it harder to see the screen) but that I can do any time of day.

One of the reasons is that I don't have a good reason to go to bed. I wait until I'm really tired so I can minimize the time spent lying awake and feeling like poop on a dead hamster. I have no reason to get out of the house and no reason (or will) to get out of bed. Sometimes I wake up feeling rested and just force myself to keep sleeping because reality is just too horrible. (By "sometimes" I mean most days.) 

Every day I stay in bed longer and go I bed later. I force myself to eat. I think about death and wonder what it feels like. I drink coffee. 

Being less medicated, apart from making me shake and feel nauseated and cry uncontrollably, makes my brain function differently. And by that I mean that I feel smart. I can use my intelligence. So can my depression. I hate it. I get WAY more creative and I have more energy to do creative stuff. 

I like this externalising of my depression. I don't want to view it as part of me, of my personality. I want it to be a separate thing. It makes it much easier to specify - if not to anyone else then to myself - what is ME and what is just my demon. The black, sticky, cold demon stuck to my back. Like the bug in that ep of doctor who. With Donna. Except not a bug, a huge, heavy, sticky, rotting creature that wraps it's long, thin arms around my throat and hangs there, strangling me. The creature is whispering to me. Whispering that I'm as useful as a dead hamster. 

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