Here's where it gets personal; this is something that I often don't talk about, because I feel like it's still a very taboo subject. If you are close to me, however, then you know that I've dealt with depression for many, many years. Not the "got a case of the Monday blues," but serious, clinical depression.
Here's the thing: I have not been clinically depressed for several years now. This came about, firstly, in part, to my wonderful Mom, who, when she realized I was suffering, came to my rescue. Secondly, I got the help I needed. Thirdly, I cut out unhealthy relationships from my life and committed myself to a very healthy, loving one.
Here's the other thing, though: when I stopped being depressed, I stopped writing.
I think there's something about feeling an emotion so strongly that you need to write it down. I don't feel that anymore. So I have nothing to write down. A poem about taking out the trash and having a perfectly fine evening eating leftovers and watching CSI with your life partner is not exactly noteworthy. Not that my poetry before was that great; but it was cathartic. And, some people actually had good things to say about it.
I want to write again, but can't seem to conjour up an emotion great enough to write about. So, I'm working on that. In the spirit of finding my writing muse again, here is a part of a poem I found today that I wrote...well, I'm not exactly sure when I wrote it. But I like the sound of it.
We are glaciers of being--
Solid frozen rock submerged in a vast ocean
just barely peaking above the surface.
I am my own eternal history:
ancient skin and bones and blood
pumping just beneath the frozen tundra, and yet
I feel so alone in this frigid wasteland.
