Enough Silence

I'm not really any better, but I had better learn to deal with it, because it's going to take a while to get my medication right and for therapy to "sink in".
It's been a bit of a dilemma over what to do with my blog over this time, becasue I was so determined to keep my depression out of it.. But it is something that happens periodically; I was free of it for several years, but the black dog has returned. It's part of my experience and as such, appears in my art...
I'll post a few pics of what I've done recently - as soon as I can take some decent ones. I didn't realise how difficult it is to photograph mostly black or very dark pieces. I'll keep trying.

Meanwhile...back in my head:
Apart from fibre art, I also love the art of words, of being able to put them together so they express exactly what you want to express. The next bit is dark and sad and.. well, yes... depressing, so feel free to skip it, if you want. I've tried to express how the last couple of months have been...

Melancholia

Depression, or as I prefer to call it, Melancholia, since the name 'Depression' is wholly inadequate to explain the dark despair, is an exceedingly ugly state of affairs.

It is a desolate, barren landscape, unbroken by any features or living things, save for stones that keep getting lodged in your shoes. Time becomes an endless stretch of bland emptiness crawling by, torturously slowly, provoking persecutory taunts of uselessness, time-wasting and oxygen theft. Judgment is twisted, perception distorted, every overheard comment at best a slight, more often an accusation, always finding something wanting in you.

Getting out of bed, getting dressed, making food, any movement at all, is an exercise in swimming through syrup, hardly worth the effort. Emotions swing from a numb detachment of complete indifference and meaninglessness, punctuated by falls into valleys of varying depth of cruel and torturous despair. Despair, all-consuming and overwhelming, that demands relief by whichever means possible, whether by copious tears, dependent clinging to any possible hope, sedatives or oblivion by one's own hand.

Sleep is a blissful escape, but frequently withheld as if some form of punishment for unstated crimes. When occasionally granted, it is often restless and filled with exhausting, incomprehensible dreams. Decisions are unsurmountable, thinking is slowed to that of a frame-by-frame action replay. Memory is a sieve with large holes; everything that must be accomplished must be written down, listed, or it is gone forever.

Concentration lapses mid-conversation, when the pervasive inertia takes over and staring blankly into space, as if in trance, comes naturally. Falling comes naturally, too, the feeling of involuntary free-fall into a pit of darkness, footfalls of hope whizzing by, out of reach.

Fatigue, physical, mental, emotional, accompanies every action, as the futility of all effort becomes clearer and clearer, the meaninglessness of existence more obvious, hope more elusive and obliteration more and more compelling, if only to escape the searing pain of the despair...

I'm sorry

I'm sorry if you came in here, hoping to find something. I feel like a shell of what I used to be. Just numb and blank, with the occasional tears, but I don't even know why I bother with the tears anymore.

"My life is just...

... a slow train, crawling up a hill...." - K. Melua

I've been absent

... or should I say my mind has been absent. I'm struggling, withdrawing from everyone, going through medication trials and just dragging through a day at a time. I'm sorry, but my enthusiasm seems to have gone AWOL...

Trying to paint happy pics

Fabric paints on cotton. They will all be combined into a fabric journal. I'm still tearful and very dejected, so just pics for now.

Nothing new

I'm not even doing much fibre art. But my Viral Load piece arrived safely in Cape Town and Inno 2008 opens Monday.

The hospital's beautiful gardens

Currently doing (on fabric)

Pics from hospital

Thank you Kate!

I had to start work again today - fortunately my boss is letting me do half-days until I feel more on my feet.

So I came home at lunch-time, to find a fabric postcard in my mailbox from Kate who blogs here. I burst into tears.

Kate, I don't know how to thank you... it's gorgeous, just the sort of thing I love and the gesture touched me so deeply.

Thanks to the other people who have emailed me - I am going to reply, but the ole brain is just a bit slow these days...

Nothing today

Too much despair.

Please, Universe

I NEED a new job. I am so tired, so unfulfilled, so stressed when we are busy, so resentful of all the time and energy my current job robs from me every day. I can't just resign, I'm the breadwinner and have to earn.
I am worth it. I am a hard and thinking worker. I am intelligent. I am worth a decent salary. I am tired of being in a profession (nursing) that is viewed like glorified waitresses and paid pathetically, expected to work ridiculous hours and accorded very little respect. I feel robbed of the future that I thought I would have once I finished my hard-earned degree. Ok, I was naive then and it was my choice. But now I want to make a new choice.

Artmaking alone is not a realistic money-earning job for me. It may become an add-on and will always be a passion, but I need something that will dependably earn me enough to manage on, or the anxiety over money alone will completely paralyse me.

So please, Universe, I'm putting it out there. I need a new job.

Have to tell you something funny...

I knew it would make a good story afterwards. The hospital I was in, also does a lot of rehab of alcoholics and addicts, so they search all your stuff when you come in. I had packed my usual array of scissors (those for paper, those for fabric, those little ones for threads, you know what I mean), my needle book with thick needles, thin needles, the ones for beading etc etc, and a box of pins, and some works-in-progress(WIPs), threads etc. (Oh and a few clothes, shampoo, soap, toothbrush.)

Contraband! Dangerous sharp objects! A depressive with sharp objects is a huge red flag. Scissors, needles and pins were all confiscated and locked away in the office. Imagine my chagrin! In one swift move most of the equipment that constitutes my identity was locked up. I MEAN, who am I without needles, pins and scissors??? (Just as well I didn't bring my iron!). The scissors I understood, but what were they thinking: Suicide by acupuncture??? I had never realised us fibre art types lived so close to the edge!

The following morning, I began to wonder how on earth I was going to work on anything. Luckily I found a NEEDLE parked in one of my WIPs. Oooooo! I looked left. I looked right. Feeling like a naughty girl I sat quietly and sewed. They didn't seemed perturbed by the fairly normal sight of someone sitting sewing. (Even WITH a needle!) So far, so good. Now all I needed was a sharp edge on which I could cut the next piece of thread...

Sharp edges are hard to come by in psychiatric institutions. You can rub the thread against various edges, but you get a horrible fuzzy end that is impossible to thread through the eye of a fine needle (most certainly not aided by the tremors caused by a new anti-depressant...)

Then I scratched again amongst the belonging they had let me keep. I'd also packed some drawing/painting materials and among them a PENCIL SHARPENER! Spread the word! This innocent little gadget is the answer for those long airplane trips where they won't let you have scissors. The little blade on a pencil sharpener, while not lethal enough to hijack planes, hold hostages, inflict suicidal damage to oneself or homicidal damage to anyone else, actually works pretty well to cut a thread!!

I was up and running. After a while I realised they weren't planning to give me back my weapons of mass destruction until I left (I guess other people might try to steal them with more evil intentions than sewing....) so I just gave up and soldiered on with my one needle and my pencil sharpener. And it worked just fine. That, of course, did a great deal for my sanity, and a pencil sharpener is a lot cheaper than seeing a psychiatrist or a psychologist, I can assure you... 'cause I did that too.

So now you know. Run off quickly to the stationers and make sure you have a little pencil sharpener just in case one of your little eccentricities turns into a raging psychosis in the night and the men in white coats come to escort you away. Or even if you just develop what they call "the common cold of psychiatry": depression.

But!
Fuzzy brain an' all, I did discover the pencil sharpener scissors! :)

Slowly, slowly

I am dreading going back to work on Tuesday. I've been doing various psychological exercises, some art, (will post photos as soon as I can locate camera borrowed by daughter) and a heck of a lot of wondering why on earth I am here. Found out yesterday I had reached the limits of various funds on my medical aid from my little jaunt to the loony bin. (It's true what they say: money can't buy happiness but you sure can get to be miserable in comfort!) Had I known how much it would all cost I might have opted... um... some other option, but let's not go there.

Now follows a round of motivation letters from doctors, treatment plans, progress reports, "ex gratia" submissions - man, I've gone from being an eccentric but fairly normal person to being a 'case' about whom various reports are being written, faxed and emailed around. (What are they saying about me? Is it time to develop paranoia too?) ;)

One day at a time is the order of the day.

Construction - please be patient

I solemnly swear that it is not only the neural networks of my own brain that are FUBAR. I am trying to interface these with Blogger and Picasa to try to set up a gallery of sorts on my blog. Please be patient as various unintended and strange things happen, until I get it right. (They really shouldn't let computer-illiterates like us loose on the Web now, should they???)

Edit (later): It works! I figured it out! I have a new toy! It is very incomplete, unorganised, in random order, uncaptioned etc etc, but I can do a bit at a time and eventually there will be a way people can see the sort of work I do without having to wade through tons of old posts. (I always go to the galleries first if there is such a link, and have always wanted my own.)

Note to self: Yesterday I was accepted for Inno 2008. Today I got my long-desired gallery slideshow started up. Good things are happening to me. I WILL work on focusing on the positive.

Meanwhile, has anyone seen my marbles anywhere?

Inno 2008 - I'm in!

I'm sobbing as I write this, but these are very, very happy tears. I just heard that I have been juried into Innovative Threads 2008. I've entered three times and been accepted all three times. Could I interpret this as a sign that I absolutely must keep going through each day, not only for the sake of my children, but also for my art?

Bloody, bowed, but still the captain of my soul

I'm back from hospital. The medical aid only covered 14 days. But I'm not sure any more time there would have made much difference - it was basically to figure out what path to put me on. I'm still feeling dreadful so won't be blogging much until I feel I can say something positive. There is enough gloom in the world without me adding more negativity.

When I started this blog I was so determined to keep any mention of my recurrent depression to a strict and casual minimum, but recently the depth of the despair has just engulfed me. I'm sorry.

Maybe later I'll have the courage to post pics of the art I did in hospital and in the lead-up to it, but it's gloomy and I don't want to bring anyone down. Like my psychotherapist showed me, you get what you focus on, and your thoughts have such a major influence on how you feel, that I've decided I need to deliberately work on beautiful, uplifting works to balance the gloom a little...

... because I do want to contribute beauty and happiness to this world. I'm leaving the unfinished depressive works aside for now (I do want to finish them at some stage, because I feel they are authentic and also deserve to be heard) but I am now starting on a fabric art journal with uplifting images, bright colours and maybe even prettiness {{gasp!}}

Depression is a very lonely kind of hell, so thanks once again for the support received in emails, comments, sms'es, personally etc ... so often, kind words are all you have left to cling to and I have clung to many of yours. And that includes all the kind staff and other patients, several of whom became friends, in hospital. And especially my psychotherapist who has the ability to cut to the chase and challenge me, in such a kind way.

Gratefully,
Karen

Going to hospital again

I had an appointment with a psychologist in our nearest town (1.5hrs away) today. I'll be going into hospital (again) from tomorrow for a week or two. I feel a bit stunned at the sudden decision, but actually relieved to not have to fight this darkness on my own. I was barely hanging on.

Happy artmaking, everyone; see you when I get back.

New vessel done

"Bind Me Together"
April 2008
Fabric vessel. Fabric scraps, threads, beads.

See this post for the process of making this. On top is a row of fabric beads made by wrapping and stitching scraps together into a sphere about 2-3cm in diameter and then attaching seed beads individually.
I feel as if my life is in tatters. My depression is worse than before I went into hospital last year and I'm struggling to cope with things I KNOW I have found very easy before. I feel like I want to keep excusing myself and saying "but I'm not usually like this, I'm usually more together..."

The "observer consciousness" part of me finds it very apt that this bowl has arisen from this desperate time of trying to hold everything together. Many tears fell onto this work. I followed some (very tattered) instincts and several times along the way I wanted to give up as I thought the result would be too ugly, but I can't sit and do nothing, so I just kept on - and now that it is done, I really like it, because... it speaks for me. It witnesses. It's proof. It's tatty and organic and raw and rich and chaotic and a lot like me. And I like it.

And that ought to make me feel good, so why, I wonder, do I still feel as though I am stumbling around in a very long, dark night....?

Burning Man and creativity

In a recent issue of FiberArts magazine, there was an article about the Burning Man festival held in the Nevada desert, USA every year. I just finished reading a fascinating article about the Art of Burning Man by Darryl van Rhey. Some very, very interesting thinking and quite affirming to read as someone (an 'outsider') who is unschooled in art but has a "burning"(excuse pun) desire to make art all the time...