Echoes of Winter
It is my greatest fear -- I wake up one day and the fire has gone out: I can no longer create. My dream has died. Superman has become Clark Kent forever. Creativity is a superpower after all, it allows me to fly. It allows me to go to worlds no one else even knows of. I am so happy when I create. Yet every now and then a monster attacks -- a thing called depression. Last week he tapped me on the shoulder.
You see, my inner world is a pond at the peak of spring. It is full of life, speckled sunlight and the smell of roses. Manet is my interior decorator -- most of the time... other times, without warning, I go to my lake and everything has changed. The water is frozen, the sunlight is gone, replaced with a gray, creepy light. There is no life. I am numb. I can not create in such a place, no one could. I just sit motionless. Lying on my couch, I watch movies and fall asleep. Food doesn’t taste good and everything is boring -- particularly me. I want to do something -- anything, but I can’t. It is winter in my head and I am ugly, lost and hopeless. Nothing will ever work out. I will never be happy again.
Going to work, everything feels odd and out of sync. I grab scraps of paper just in case an idea flutters by and I want to write it down. It does. Before I know it, I am in a flock of thoughts and I jot them down as quickly as I can: bright monarch plans, dragonfly darting ideas. I realize it is spring in my head again. My pond is buzzing with life and I am so excited -- a kid with a butterfly net trying to catch everything I see. I couldn’t be more alive.
My inner world only knows two seasons -- they come and go on a schedule I can not fathom. Luckily, there are far more springs than winters these days.
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