Ever since I went to class last week, I have found that the assignments of having to write poetry has been hanging over my head like a wraith and a scythe. It wasn't until yesterday that I realized why this is. I mean, I used to write poetry every day and throughout the day on several occasions. I quite enjoyed it and found it to be a wondrous outlet for any and every emotion.
However, then there came a time, a long time (several years long), where I wrote about only a few specific emotions and ideas: sorrow, anger, loss, emptiness, voids, darkness, and death. Every poem I wrote in this five to seven year space of time centered around these themes and topics.It is, therefore, no surprise to reveal that for much of my life, I've dealt with serious depression and anxiety. I was diagnosed with situational depression in late 2002, and I weaned myself off my medication in late 2003 when I lost my insurance after moving to California. In reality, I was never declared cured or healed or whatever it is they call it. I was never told by a doctor that I no longer needed medication or therapy, and that may have been why I went through such a long dark period in my life. I will call those years My Dark Ages, simply as a quick referral.
It was extremely difficult to pull myself free from such an intoxicating thought process. It is addicting and changes your body chemistry to continue feeding your mind and brain and body with chemical processes that simply progress these emotions and feelings. One of the ways that I coped with such darkness is writing. Writing personified my demons. It personified my thoughts and allowed me to let them flow out of me and onto a page. It allowed me to accomplish something which was a positive attribute, and in it, I had a lifeline. Literally, it held me together and kept me alive.
When I met my husband, in 2005, I was still a very disturbed person. Yet, through my writing and through my husband, I slowly came back to life. I slowly stopped writing such dark and depressing poems. I slowly transformed my writing into that of love, memories of childhood, and the subtle sadness that lingered from time to time. I did manage to write some poetry about these as well, but much of my poetry would still hold an edge of that sorrow and darkness. Eventually, I moved to screenplays, short stories, and now novels, leaving poetry behind in a transitional rut that I had created.
Now it has been about five years since I wrote a poem with such darkness, and it has been at least three or four years since I've written a poem in general. I'm a bit lost and a lot apprehensive about embarking down the path of poetry once more.I'm not afraid of the depression. I'm simply out of sync with that side of myself and I am subconsciously aware of where my mind needs to wander to pick up my poetic voice. I guess it's time to clean out the cobwebs and dust off the boxes of my mind and go through them. Writing helps, so I don't fear the darkness. Maybe I am fearing stagnation? What more do I have to say in lines and stanzas and rhythms? I'm sure there is much, but for the life of me now, I am still at an impasse.
It's frustrating, but my methods are getting me there, even if a little slowly.
Stay tuned for another update tomorrow. I have much to say and many different topics I wish to share.
Quote of the day: To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong. ~Joseph Pearce
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