Depression and Creativity

Given the recent suicide of Kate Spade, there has been a lot on social media about depression in artists. As someone who suffers from depression, it has been hard to  read some of these well meaning, but in some cases uninformed opinions and what-ifs.

If only she had gotten help. If only someone had been there. How very selfish of her.  What a thing to do to her family.

We don't know what motivates a depressed person to end her life, even if she leaves a note. Consider that sometimes the depressed person believes that the kindest thing she can do is to remove the burden of her presence from those she loves. A depressed person doesn't always know that she needs or want help, much less what help would look like.

Depression doesn't look the same on everyone.  It isn't always sadness.  Sometimes it's anger, irritation, sometimes a deadly quiet. For the sufferers who are also artists, sometimes we walk a thin line, allowing ourselves to feel the pain, the pull, the depths to fuel our work. Creativity requires vulnerability, openness of all our senses.  In creating, we open ourselves up to criticism, and we aren't always good at facing it.  Telling us to suck it up, laugh it off or get over it is insulting and unhelpful.

Sometimes the best thing we can do for someone we suspect is depressed, is to be kind and gentle. Which isn't a bad approach to take towards everyone.

The poem below is what debilitating depression feels like for me.

Down

 

Up to my neck in current

It’s exhausting

treading water.

If only my feet could

touch bottom,

feel ground.

I see fresh shame

bobbing nearby

I’ll hide that in my pocket

The ballast

is heavier than it looks,

and steadies me.

I see the pain of lost love

grab it with a sodden arm,

add it to the pile.

I’m hanging deeper

in the water, calmer

it’s almost warm.

Loneliness, isolation

guilt drift nearby

well within reach.

They drop in

slow effortless motion

into my pockets.

A little deeper

my nostrils

just above the surface

my feet slow, my arms leaden.

Is there more to add?

How much

deeper

can I go?

What

would

happen

if….