Last week, for the first time, I went to a creative writing group, that has just started to meet here in Truro. I found the prospect of going along quite daunting, because I thought I would be out of my depth. I was a bit.
I didn't know what to expect, but thought I would go because for years I have dreamt about writing something; a novel.
It felt a bit like being back at school, and I hated school. One of the reasons I didn't get on well at school is because my handwriting is awful and I was ashamed of it, so I didn't go very often.
The creative writing group leaders informed us that during the evening we would be attempting to write various things. I had taken a notebook and pencil with me in case they were needed. We did three exercises during the evening, and although I didn't fully understand what was expected, I had a go. I was relieved because I was the only one who was going to have to read my handwriting. In the end I enjoyed the evening, even the bits where we were asked to read out some of what we had written. I think I learned from it and I will attend the next meeting.
Anyway, this is rather a long introduction; lets get to the point of this post. At the group we were asked to do some homework. One thing we were asked to do was to sit down and write something for ten minutes every day; it doesn't matter what we write, as long as we write. So far I've managed it. What follows is the piece I wrote today. It is some of my thoughts about Depression. I hope it is not too gloomy. It's just me reflecting on the subject:
Depression is strange thing; it seems to me that once you’ve got it, it never goes away, not completely.
The doctor prescribes anti-depressants, you take them for a few months; you feel much better, and the future is looking bright.
Doctor says maybe its time to come off the pills, so starts a reduction program.
Eventually, with the future still looking bright, you are pill free.
‘Voila’, end of depression; not so, there it is lurking in the background waiting to pounce, like a cat on an unsuspecting mouse.
Then it suddenly jumps on you.
But, it has changed its tactics, it comes now, not during a dark, gloomy and stressful time, as when it first appeared.
Now its comes out of the shadows and pounces on you when you are walking in the light; when things are going well.
Again it has changed its tactics; now its jumps on you and beats you up a bit, leaves you with some bruises and walks away.
It hasn’t moved in with you like it did when it first appeared.
These days it just tries to wear you down gradually with irregular, unexpected visits.
It stalks you.
Some attacks are more violent than others, at times the attacks are quite brutal, on other occasions it’s just a light slap around the face.
It knows there is no point seeing the doctor again, because by the time you get into the surgery, depression is skulking in the shadows again and cannot be seen.
What to do?