I managed to commit to the fight and armed myself against my depression
Well, I did it.
I made a commitment a month or so ago to permanently recognise and mark my depression. I sank lower this winter than I have ever sunk before. As a person who always disdained suicide as an unacceptable measure, I found myself frequently fighting back thoughts of a permanent end to my misery. The thoughts terrified me and added a note of desperation to my struggles that aided in making life a perfect hell for me. So when I started to turn it around, when I started to share my thoughts here and explore my problems this way, I did some looking around online. I googled the semicolon project and upon reading that the original idea was to continue a story rather than ending it, as a semicolon transitions and continues a sentence, I decided that it was incredibly apropos to my life these days. Honestly, experiences like these make it applicable to ones entire life forever after. I am changed. I have sympathy now that I could not have before, not without living the pain. I know how hard the fight is now, that it isnt so simple as just not letting your demons bother you. Depression is a dirty-fighting prick and doesnt fight using grade school rules. You cant just ignore it, you have to fight back. You have to get dirty, get in your punches wherever and whenever you can, and never forget to be ready for the next cheap shot. You have to arm yourself and be ready, so that is exactly what I resolved to do all those weeks ago.
I armed myself. I know myself. I know how I handle lifes ugly problems. I dont. I handle what I can, and in a manner that leaves the people around me thinking me a very logical and self-possessed woman, but the bigger problems? I ignore them. Like schoolyard bullies, I pretend they dont exist, as though this could keep them from harming me. All this does is give my depression weapons to use against me later. So I took this knowledge of myself, added the concept of the semicolon project, and decided to arm myself with a lifelong reminder of my fight. I needed to remind myself not simply that I had fought, but that I will always fight and that I always should. I needed a reminder that no matter how badly I feel I have ruined my life, I can always rebuild it. I needed to know that no matter how utterly destroyed I have felt, I can always be reborn and will always be stronger than before.
So I did more research, asking friends for recommendations, checking portfolios for the artistic influences I wanted to see, and consulting with the artist I felt had the chops to give me what I needed. Once I had an artist nailed down, I reached out to an old high school English teacher. I never had the privilege of having him as my own teacher, but I did get to interact with him and he is on my facebook. I reached out to him because though I used to be a dab hand at writing meaningful prose, I am sadly a good 18 years out of practice, whereas he is a many-times published poet. He helped me work it out, until I was able to bring the influences together into a phrase that I felt encompassed what I needed it to represent.
Now, as of Friday and with the collaboration of a fine artist and a wonderful word-smith, I have the tool I needed. The image is one of hope, of rebirth, of fight. Some may consider a phoenix a bit trite these days, but my girl here is angry. She is a wild celebration and a raging battle all in one. Her pose is not one of weak acceptance or passive inaction, it is one of fierce freedom and admonition never to relinquish that freedom. She rages wildly, grasping that semicolon that represents the severity of my depression and the seriousness of my fight, and beneath her, those words that I needed proclaim to me and to the world, ‘ Blood and ashes mixed and stirred, from such mortal inks as these shall my story rise again ‘
The trick now will be to never forget that this is not simply a pretty picture with pretty words. This is a weapon. This is a weapon that I need to respect and use whenever a cheap shot comes my way, whenever I feel weak or ineffective, whenever I feel it is easier to ignore life than to live it. Whenever I feel that I am overreacting, that my fight isnt nearly so serious that I should have needed something so drastic. Now I will always have on my arm, on the inside of my forearm where I cannot fail to see it always, an image of hope. When I catch a glimpse of those colors, I will have to look. I will have to remember. I will have to FIGHT.