The Art of Depression: Conclusion

Well, ponderbots, we have reached the end of The Art of Depression:A Mini-Series.

I want to again thank each artist who boldly and graciously sent in their work. It has been a wonderful month of exploring depression from different angles.

I hope you readers have been as inspired as I have by all of the incredible pouring out of spirit and creativity. Take that inspiration and use it to fuel your own creativity!

Stay tuned for upcoming series!

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The Art of Depression: Karly Robinson

Artist:

Karly Robinson

Portrait

Do the next thing,

take that next step

God only knows where,

but you know how

And I know why

Don’t think ahead,

you’ll want to die

God only knows how hard you try

And I know why

You perfected the pain,

soaked up the rain

God only knows when to free your chain

And I don’t know why it’s taking so long

I just know you’ll come out strong

Ending up right where you belong

Hold your head high,

keep your eyes up

God only knows where,

but you know how

And I know why

Don’t give up hope,

you have a light

God only knows it can shine so bright

And I know why

You perfected the pain,

soaked up the rain

God only knows when to free your chain

And I don’t know why it’s taking so long

I just know you’ll come out strong

Ending up right where you belong

Step by step

Breath by breath

You are going to make it through

Through to the other side of your future

Step by step

Breath by breath

You are going to make it through

Through to the other side of your future I know

You perfected the pain,

soaked up the rain

God only knows when to free your chain

And I don’t know why it’s taking so long

I just know you’ll come out strong

Ending up right where you belong

The Art of Depression: Shannon Light

Artist:

Shannon Light lives in Alaska and is well known for her inventive choreography and passionate dance teaching. Having faced many traumas, she uses her skills and creativity to bring beauty out of the trials she’s faced. She builds others up and shares her own stories to bring hope to those who have faced similar struggles.

About the Piece:

Shannon wrote these song lyrics to paint the picture of her personal experience with Bipolar Disorder.

Skin

Some days I feel everything

The others are just numbing

Can never find the in between

I’m always all or nothing Half my bones in the city streets

the other half sleeping in my sheets And I don’t think they’ll ever get

The chance to finally meet I never said, I never said that I wanted

I never said, I never said that I wanted

This

Never wanted to be here now

One foot in the grave

The other on the ground I can’t process what I’m feeling now

This skin I can do without


Happiness and butterflies

Overwhelmed, entranced with my own mind

Life created for me tonight

The world’s my playground I dance in my spotlight

Wake up to realize I don’t recognize

The person in my eyes

Ready to terrorize I’m alone again

Monsters creeping in

All the butterflies

Lost inside my mind

Emptiness and darkened skies

Overwhelmed, alone inside my mind

Hiding in my web of lies

No one knows I’m fucking terrified

Wake up to realize I don’t recognize

The person in my eyes

Dressed up in disguise It’s time to finish it

There’s nothing worse than this

All my emptiness

Fills me up tonight I can’t get dressed,

 my hair is a mess I can’t do anything, restless wandering

Suddenly breathless,

I’m paralyzed I feel the butterflies

Entranced with my own mind


It’s all the things I never say

It’s the parts of me I hide away

Storms rage inside of me tonight

It’s all the prayers I never pray

The endless nights I spend awake

Wars rage inside of me tonight

It’s all the damage I have done

The mistakes I’ll never overcome

I fall apart again tonight It’s all the things I never say

That make me hate myself today

I can’t change who I am inside

I’m drowning in my own pride


You walk through the door

My heart hits the floor

Somethings changing

My body’s shaking

Pretend that I don’t care

You’re laughing as I stare

We keep playing this game

Day after day

The smell of my perfume

The way I walk towards you

Somethings changing

Your body’s shaking

Now you’re pulling me in

Your lips against my skin

Hands wrapped around my waist

Why do I feel safe?

Maybe I’m just another girl

Maybe you think I’m immature

Maybe it’s you that’s insecure I don’t care anymore

Gotta push you away

Like I did yesterday

Temperature rising

I’m realizing

 It’s all the wrong things

That make you right for me

 I’m giving in

You’re giving up again

You don’t know I know why

You choose her every time

Emptiness in your eyes

I’ll wait while she runs you dry

You’re just too comfortable

In feelings that you know

But baby I

I will change your mind

You walk out the door

My heart hits the floor

Tomorrow begins

And we do it all again

And maybe I

Someday I

Will change your mind


Time slows

Lost in your eyes and

I Don’t know

Where my disguise is

Your mind

Wrapped up, entangled in mine

Tonight I cry

 Lost in your arms and you

Know why I‘m scared of trying

You’ll be

Right there reminding me just

To breathe

And all those nights I spent alone

Wondering why I let you go

Now I know you’re always there

Eyes in mine, hands in my hair

You pick me up, I’m finally safe

All my doubts begin to fade

I hang on every word you say

My fear of falling falls away

Time flies

Alive in your eyes, baby I will defy

The demons you fight

Break you free

Free to fall back into me Into trust

This is the story of us

You’ll find

Someone’s chasing your mind

For the first time


I like the way you look at me

In your eyes,

no disguise, just galaxies

You’re pushing past my past just to get to me

I like the sweet things that you say

When you’re gone,

I’ll be strong, keep them locked away

I took a chance on a chance and you’re here to stay

Just like yesterday


I’m on my knees

Lost in the empty space

Surrounding me

I’m giving up on who I thought I’d be

I can’t restart my broken heart

Then I look up

Oh oh oh

So many stars

Oh oh oh

It’s not so dark

Oh oh oh

I won’t fall apart

Oh oh oh oh oh Oh oh oh oh oh

So many stars

Down in the dirt The tears are falling

And although it hurts

There’s hidden beauty where

The darkness lurks

I’ll find the light, it’s time to fight

Just look up

Oh oh oh

So many stars

Oh oh oh

It’s not so dark

Oh oh oh

I won’t fall apart

Oh oh oh oh oh Oh oh oh oh oh

So many stars

The Art of Depression: Evan Hall

Artist:

Evan Hall

“Return of King Melancholia”

Behold,

Bemoan,

Forebode,

Forewarn,  

Bleak the blackened gates open

King melancholia rides home

On his dread horse Morose.  

The misanthropes are at their old games,

Murdering pheasants in the once mirthful meadows,

Their howls drowning out the coo of the doves.

Bleak, bleak

This bittersweet day

Starless every night  

Lightless every day.  

Have loose  

The ghouls will play,

Plundering

Pillaging  

Plundering

Pillaging.

Siphoning my well of endless love

How I wished the vampiress  

Would have stayed.  

For it was her fangs I betrayed.  

The Art of Depression: Marc Cid

Artist:

Marc Cid

Follow His Work:

https://neutronstardust.wordpress.com/

Things You Can Say About Depression

That You Can’t Say About Bronchitis

0.

I have bronchitis, I told them,

so I’ll be keeping quiet,

and to myself, if I go out at all.

Sorry in advance for all the coughing.

Let me help you, they said.

I.

said I fixed my bronchitis

when I quit cigarettes.

I told her I didn’t smoke.

Then you don’t have

bronchitis.

II.

said everybody gets bronchitis

every now and then, you just need

to stop thinking about your lungs,

find a way to distract yourself

from breathing. How ‘bout

you pick up a night shift

at the bar I’m working at?

I’ll put in a good word

if you just stop coughing

all the time. Every time

you let yourself cough,

you’re making it worse.

III.

said bronchitis is a symptom

of modernity, the manifestation

of the misalignment between

your bronchial tubes

and your invalid attitude.

You should try doing yoga.

IV.

the record, I was too busy

doubling over from clusterfrag

coughs detonating behind

my ribcage to respond.

They patted me on the back

and nodded sagely.

My point exactly. See?

I know what I’m talking about.

The Art of Depression: Kirsty Niven

Artist:

Kirsty Niven

Follow Her Work:

https://wutheringmites.wordpress.com/

Pieta

I have become utterly numb.
My skin has hardened to cement,
a statuesque shell of dissociation.
Blood streaks my skin, bruises blossom,
but no pain can get in.
This cocoon has petrified itself around me,
solidifying under every slight,
every glancing blow, every slice.
I watch the cigar burn down
until the embers graze my calloused fingers,
just to see if I can still burn.
The singed scent fills my nostrils
and yet coldly I only look on.
A laceration, a punch, a kiss from the whip –
and still nothing is all I feel.
Each nerve is dead, stillborn in my veins.
Love ricochets against me, unrecognised –
too foreign a concept to a fossilised soul.
Only the nectar drips of wine seep through
the stone of my scar tissue;
a red tear leaking through my mask.

The Art of Depression: Andrew Wetmore

Artist:

Andrew Wetmore is a poet from Anaheim. He is the lead singer and writer in The Gold Harvest and owner of Subphonic Press, maker of fine DIY chapbooks and zines. His poetry has appeared in The Los Angeles Press, Crooked Teeth Lit, City Brink, The Insomniac Propagandist, and many others. 

About the Piece:

These poems are from a series he wrote called The Building of Saints. After he moved here he spent a lot of time driving around going to job interviews. Often in his spare time found himself sitting in his car in front of all these funky apartment complexes which he used for poem names (he is originally from Chicago so the large complexes are very new to him) and wrote using the numbers for the addresses as his word count per line in the stanzas.

Follow His Work:

Instagram: @thegoldharvest and @subphonic_press

Pine Meadows

Maybe night may

shape faces. Blush on ivy leaves, brush the solicitor’s

cheeks. Split ends

strand

yellow pylons cracked

vertically. Through the neighbor’s walls, washing children down the

sink. I have

great

affection for those

left to ruin. The water’s post baptism, still. Washing

children down the

sink.

Meridian Gardens

Sunday televised sports

salt on your tongue

vaguely

eavesdropping

on another’s idea,

double checking their facts.

I

have

been subtly angry

stranded amid overstuffed cushions.

Halfway

between

gravity and sleep,

dust settles over the

family

portraits.