I always think of that quote by Ernest Hemingway. It says “there is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” A little outdated with the typewriter and somewhat morbid with the blood. It makes me feel better though, because the pressure of writing is taken off of me. No one has to be told how to bleed.
I think about how depression brings out the best in artists. It is arguable to say that without depression, their work lacks depth and relatability. I was given anti-depressants and they worked immediately and did their job well. Did my artistic ability go away? No. Not necessarily. Did it lack depth? You could say that.
I have been off of them for long enough to be able to notice the changes in my mind. I found my urge to bleed in front of my computer. To let all of these emotions drain through my finger tips and onto a blog that no one reads. However, when someone bleeds, it’s rather messy. That is how I feel; messy. My feelings feel messy. My head feels messy. I am no writer, but I do bleed.