My news is I suffer greatly with depression. Only getting out of bed when absolutely necessary. I continue to put on a smiley face mask and sometimes attend art or writing classes and groups. I work one or two shifts per week.
Safe in my room I paint, draw, write, eat and continue to increase in size.
I am waiting patiently for uni to recommence. My hunger is not only for food but also for knowledge, information and social interaction with those who also seek it.
Like chooks we gather at the coop’s gate awaiting the farmer to reach into his bucket, to throw, scatter words and thoughts for us to hurriedly eat.
I have 3 paintings in an exhibition at an art gallery. Tonight is the gallery birthday party which I must attend.
I am working tomorrow from 6am so it won’t be a late night.
I leave my safe haven, dressed in the colours of my melancholy. Blue representing sadness and black, bleakness. Or could I also be mourning the demise of the great soccer team with whom I once belonged. The Broadway Bruisers whose colours were… exactly, need I say more.
I attended the birthday party of the gallery, which can not blow out candles and eat the cake that we shared. But it stands proudly displaying the finest art that ever adorned its walls (I have to say that, I am exhibiting there). The place was packed, and as a somewhat recluse, or even a person who sometimes suffers agoraphobia, it was a battle to be there. But I smiled. “Oh how nice to see you again”, while all the time I was screaming inside “GET ME OUT OF HERE!”. I endured an hour on the arm of a dear friend who accompanied me. Then I escaped and returned to the prison cell of my mind.
The world is safe
and I am too
are the black
and the blue.
Here endeth the ravings of a mad man.