I realized that I wouldn't be half the artist I am without my diagnosed clinical depression. And there is nothing wrong with admitting it. Because crazy is perfect, and fucked up is perfect. And I want to tell this person that. I know how they feel. When I was diagnosed, my deepest fear of being put on medication came from the not knowing if these chemicals were going to change me, make me feel less. Because without my art (and without everything that comes with art), I would have nothing left inside of me. And I was so afraid of that, because, above all, I knew I wouldn't survive without being able to spew art out of myself in some capacity.
But here I am. Alive, well, on my way to living my dreams and happy. Sometimes it gets rough, but I am still here and I might be fucked up, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
And I wish I could share that with this person.
No comments:
Post a Comment