Writing

I wrote two short essays on living with Dysthymia. I decided to start this series of essays so others can know about this world and people who inhabit it daily. People who live with it constantly. It's my form of therapy to let go of what's inside, to sit in the exterior world and be seen as what it is, my reality. And surprisingly of all, it's very, very creative.

And while you're shrugging a "Huh?", it's probably one of the most creative spaces a person can have. To shed all the pretense of life and the world, to be at the very core of one's existence, knowing only darkness. It's leaves the mind to wander amidst the darkness anew, to find places few of the rest of you realize. You fear this world because you've never been there. And you fear what you would find if you did, or what you would do.

That's the beauty of being there. Life and death just are. Two answers to the same question. Neither better or worse than the other, but simply a choice of two. There is no gray. No colors of the rainbow to see the whole of the world. You're faced with the simple choice, and you have to decide. Not deciding only prolongs the decision, it doesn't change the choices.

And from there I can find new thoughts and feelings, discover more of me I never knew existed. And learn to appreciate the creativeness of others who have. While I wouldn't wish this world on my worst enemy, I have to say everyone should be there once in their life. I know few do, some because they never realize it's existence and some who simply fear it. At times I am sorry for you.

Because coming from it, you feel alive. Not more alive as some like to describe about death defying events in their life, but simply alive. To know what simply being alive is all about. And that's what writing is about.