But I'll finally lay it out there -- I suffer from chronic, often debilitating depression. I've suffered it all my life. It usually is completely regulated, but the past two years have been full of random dips and dives. Nothing has HAPPENED, you understand -- I just get sad for no reason, and it ticks me off. A total neural thing that is as real a disease as the flu, and just as freaking aggravating.
Today was a rough day for no apparent reason, so I went to bed at 3pm for a nap. I had some of the weirdest dreams, and as I have tried to look for the silver lining in all of this, I will tell you some that are kind of giggle-worthy (it's OK to laugh, it really is the best medicine).
* I dreamed we arrived for a new craft show on the day of set up, but decided NOT to set up until the next day, during the chaotic short hours that doing something like that entails. In addition, I was sure I was in the wrong city. And the wrong arena. Which had been set up backwards. (Interpretation -- I worry about my work).
I dreamed that Oprah was interested in earrings. You may remember reading that she just recently got her ears pierced, as she was terrified of doing it. Yet in MY dream, she not only had them pierced, but she was piercing them all around her ears, across her neck, and up her other ear. None of the earrings were mine. (Interpretation -- I worry about people liking my work. And I worry about Oprah, apparently).
Those are just two of the many nebulous dreams that I was able to hang onto long enough to put them to paper. In retrospect, they're laughable, silly, and easily understood. Who hasn't had the dream of a college committee telling them they forgot to take a class or test, and therefore were going to rip their diploma from the wall? (Another dream I've had -- and apparently many of my UVA friends have the same dream.)
Depression is a quiet but vicious beast. So many people (and apparently, many artists), suffer from it at some point in their lives, but hide it in their heart for fear of the stigma. Well, I'm not afraid anymore. It's a real thing, a real disease, and nothing any of us asked for.
Why am I writing this? In hopes that this will give you the bravery, the impetus to tell your story, to a friend, a family member, a diary, or a blog. Sharing stories can help.
I'm always hear with an ear. Email me any time.