I’ve been back home for over a week now, but part of me still hasn’t landed.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Years ago, I went through a dangerous period of depression, but thankfully I received a lot of support from friends and family and managed to climb out of that valley. So many great things have happened in my life since then that I figured it wasn’t even possible for me to go back there.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Until now. Let’s take Sunday as an example: I had the afternoon free to do my creative work while Craig caught up with his pile of Post-It notes and other odds-and-ends. Hooray, right? I was finally back in my space and able to tuck into my novel.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Except I couldn’t write or draw or do anything. I couldn’t muster one iota of belief in my abilities, nor did I feel like I had anything to say. By the end of the afternoon, I’d given myself permission to just be a person with a job and not create anything else.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Thankfully, I recognise this as something chemical going on in my brain and body. How? Because it’s free-floating; there isn’t any cause, and it can attach itself to anything.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Here’s how stupid it gets: Yesterday morning I was making a new box for all the postcards Craig’s collected, and I found one featuring a little trollish character with a ginger beard and a kilt that touches the ground. The caption read: “Hamish in John O’Groats”, and I started crying. What? Why? The loose thread of reason running through the emotion had something to do with Craig being willing to have a “Hamish” thing in his collection, that he’s make me part of his life. I was grateful, yet didn’t feel worth it.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Last night, we met friends in Thurso and went to the art show taking place at the high school there. I loved how democratic the show was, featuring names and images we recognised from galleries and shops right alongside rank beginners, with everything in-between. Some of the pieces were horrible, childish muck, and others were arrestingly original, beautiful, or fun. (Prince Charles’s watercolours were actually quite good.) So it was a nice night out, and provided some inspiring input.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Best of all, though, was talking to an acquaintance<\/a> there””a ‘transplanted American’ who writes a great column for the local paper. When I confessed to not being quite myself, she said she’s just come back from several weeks in the States and is feeling the same way. It was such a relief and a comfort that I just had to hug her.<\/p>\n<\/p>\n