This post deals with my mental health and may contain potential triggers for anyone struggling with depression and suicidal thoughts.
This is going to be a difficult post to write, maybe difficult to read. Its part in response to 
Its a statement of intent, I am going to heal, I am going to grow. So Ed, what am I growing? I am growing myself.
I have been in my cave of despair (to coin my friends term) beset by a string of personal tragedies, three to be exact, which began in November 2020. Bad luck comes in threes right? My mental health has suffered - nay, eroded - It was weak to begin with.
I've hit the bottom, the state of mind where you want to lay down and die and beg God to do the dirty work. My personal cave of despair.
A desire to blink out of existence, be erased, never have been, create a parallel universe without you in it - spare your family more pain, your pain. Selfish selflessness?
These emotions, for me, are selfish. I'm acutely aware of that, and the guilt that brings. A downward spiral. A hard trap to get myself out of. An inner monologue of angry bees buzzing negative thoughts in my head.
What though Death at times steps in
And calls our Best away?
What though sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope a heavy sway?
Yet hope elastic springs,
Unconquered though she fell;
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
excerpt from 'Life', Charlotte Bronte
Needs to happen...
Monday was my epiphany perhaps. I broke. Crumbled. Succumbed. I could not support the pain inside any further. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. I exposed the depths of my anguish in a cry for help to my friends, all of them. I let myself show vulnerability. That is difficult for me, to admit I need help, to not keep my dark secret emotions locked away in their own personal oubliette.
I was not okay.
I needed change.
I found...
(I know this sounds like a cliché)
I was not alone.
There was light, in that darkest of hour. There was support, I just had to ask. The demons were still within me, but I could spread the burden. I spoke to a psychologist, a friend. I will be speaking to him again, now that I know I can.
He advised me to do an exercise he called 'Dumping', To write a letter or a journal to exorcise my feelings and emotions into something tangible, make them an external thing, that I had control over. I am no writer when I am in that state. My thoughts, feelings and emotions are hard to pin down at the best of times, like catching ghosts in the corner of your eye.
However, I can draw. I can take that well of anger and pain and guilt, and throw it into a picture heavy with meaning to me.
I WILL GROW
I will not annotate the following images. The progress between stages is clear to see. As it is so personal I don't feel comfortable with any further vulnerability caused by explaining it further. Art is supposed to be an intimate, personal experience, and whilst what I produce may not be worthy of that official moniker, I invite you to draw your own meaning from it.
Materials used: HB pencil, Printer paper, Generic Copic markers.
This post has been an experience for me. I intend to improve my mental health, one step at a time. I owe it to myself and my family. This is my mission. Thank you for bearing witness to my intent. It will help me hold myself accountable.
