I think I stopped feeling silly about how much Sleep Token has influenced how much I want to pick back up my practice (and honestly my motivation to practice) yesterday when I was on a binge of Chaotic Witch Aunts older videos and found out they had a small section of their alter dedicated to Florence Welch, and how they talked about how much Florence + the Machine influenced their witchcraft, and it was honestly very freeing lmao.

Creativity and Mental Illness

I can only speak for myself and in relation to my illnesses but I’ve come to find there are several levels of creativity in relation to mental illnesses. Now I’m not really talking about that level where you’re on your meds and everything’s  going swell. Rather, I’m talking about those episodes. You may have them while on meds and you’ll most certainly have them off your meds. These are the levels of creaitvity I’ve noticed while experiencing a depressive or anxious episode.

I’m trying to use the term creativity rather than writing because there are several forms of creative expression and, although writing is mine, it may not be yours. So, let’s start with a bit of an introduction before I get into this. 

Hi, I’m Katey (sometimes I spell that Kt), though several of my followers call me Kate (which is fine but I do prefer Katey a bit). Anyway, I was diagnosed with both anxiety and depression in 2016. I tend not to specify what type of anxiety I have because it manifests itself in many ways, but most notable are social anxiety and (existential) death anxiety. My former GP thinks that my death anxiety could be a form of OCD, but she was hesitant to classify it as such because I seemed to be managing it well. Which I think may have been true at the time, but recently it has started to consume my thoughts again. After my diagnosis, I was prescribed SSRIs, and I have been on them since (well except for those three months but we don’t talk about that). I like my meds. They make me more functional, and I’m significantly less likely to have drastic mood swings (remember those three months we don’t talk n about? Well in that time, I was easily angered and upset without provocation. My meds are good). I’m not happy all the time when I’m on my meds. I do experience anxiety (most recently the death anxiety) and bouts of depression. But these episodes are shorter and less intense than they would be if I weren’t on my medication. That being said, since I moved in 2017, I haven’t gone to therapy (and I miss that), and I’m also in the process of looking for a new family doctor. And when I get a new GP, I will ask to be referred to therapy because will the meds help, they can’t do everything.

Anyway, enough about me. I want to talk about those levels of creativity.

The first level: you’re functional. You may or may not be inspired. But creating doesn’t seem like a chore, and you actively seek out ways to be creative. Thant’s not really what I want to talk about. I want to talk about those less functional levels. You can still create great work in some of these other levels, don’t get me wrong, but you are definitely feeling mentally subpar.

The next level, let’s call it the second level since I called the previous one the first, is where you feel a bit “meh”, but you can basically muddle through. Your mental health is probably fine, you’re just not in the mood to create anything. If you had an assignment due, you’d probably be bullshitting it. 

The third level is that odd burst of creativity your mental illness provides you. You aren’t at your best, but you’re nowhere near your worst. You’ll find a way to incorporate your illness in the piece. And it will probably work. The piece is better after you’ve incorporated the raw emotions you’re currently feeling from this little episode of your illness. Alternatively, you may not be experiencing any episode at all. Rather, the lingering effects of a previous episode have stuck with you so much that this piece is a product of that past event. It’s not too dark, nor too tragic. But it was definitely inspired by a time where your brain was not your friend.

The next level, less so. You’re still producing content, but it’s not the same. It’d not necessarily bad. Actually, some of it is quite good. But looking back on the work, you definitely remember fighting with your illness at that time. It’s dark -physically or metaphorically depending on your medium - and moody. Someone unaware of your illness may have thought you researched depression extensively for it to be accurately reflected in your work. Nope. You were actually experiencing a pretty intense episode when you made the thing. It could have been a short episode, or a long one but you were pretty consumed by it, and you didn’t create to create. You created to cope. Some may have seen your finished product as a masterpiece of its kind, but you know better. You know it was merely a coping mechanism. A productive coping mechanism. But a coping mechanism nonetheless.

Welcome to the final level. The worst level. You do not want to create. And you know, you’ve learned, that if you force yourself to create something ... it will be shit. So you don’t. You’re not in the mood anyway. Your head hurts. Your heart aches. Thoughts are racing in your head. You just want to lie in bed all day and watch Netflix. So that’s what you’ll do. Your illness has won this round.  The other shitty thing about this level? You can skip all the others. You can go from feeling inspired to “fuck everything, let me sleep” without warning. It’s happened and it fucking sucks.

What am I trying to say? I really don’t know. Maybe I’m hoping someone else relates? Also, seek the opportunity to be creative. Whether you’re on meds or not, in therapy or not, when your mental illness is rearing its ugly head: try to be creative. Your illness can’t win all the battles. And if it wins this battle, there’s always another one. You’ll be at a different level, and creativity will strike. 

Even this post. It’s something I’m writing while my anxiety and/or depression - I can’t pinpoint which yet - are weighing me down. They don’t want me writing my stories. They don’t want me in those fantasy worlds. So here I am, writing some non-fiction about how I feel. And it’s kind of making me feel better. I didn’t write this as a coping mechanism but it sort of ended up as one. Sure I’m not creating the content I want to create, but I’m creating something. I created this post. And that’s not nothing.

New Year ... What?

It’s a new year, everyone's trying to re-invent themselves, work on their new year's resolutions; go to the gym, eat healthier, be more positive or social … all of it. For some, however, it stays the same shit different day. For me, it's your typical same shit different day kinda scenario. Don't get me wrong, I want things to change, I have resolutions like everyone else … just not the kind you would dare to think.

I'm a troubled person, been troubled all of my teenage years, but never mentioned anything to anyone as to not be a burden. I went through some terrible suffering, hell even now I still go through the same kind of situation but now it’s the aftermath. It’s the things that haunt me that get to me. I still cry at night, I still stay up all night overthinking what it, still blame myself for things that I can't control or wasn't even my fault, falling on the same (bad) coping mechanisms. You know what? It sucks. But you know what's even worse? Is thinking you were on the right track to getting better or at least trying to then all else comes crashing down and you just want to scream and shout and be mad at the world.

 I have bad anxiety, but it was getting better. The cutting? I had been blade free for about a month. I still smoked in high anxiety situations and still had trouble sleeping but it was getting better, I was seeking help; new year, new me right? Wrong. Two weeks in, I feel like something's not right, something is off, something happened but I couldn't put my finger on it. I get home from work late Friday night like I normally do and her school bag isn't here, the lights not on in her room … and she's not in it-weird. No one came home either earlier that day when I got home from school, took a quick nap and then left (late) for work. I didn't even get a text till my first break at 8- completely unrelated to anything. Something still seemed fishy, but I put it to the back of my mind. The next day both parents are gone when I wake up at 2:30pm-typically though, nothing rang any bells, no alarm going off assuming my mom was at work like normal and my dad was working overtime or out to the gym, or out running errands. I was only there for the half hour that I was up as Saturday night is date night for me and my boyfriend.

 I get a text asking where I am at about 4:50 from my dad and asking about my room and why I wasn't there cleaning. Told him I was going to the movies and that I'd do it tomorrow before work. Then I get that next text, complete game changers. "we need to talk" " Don't worry your not in trouble". My heart is already racing and I knew something was wrong instantly, starting to panic, but having to keep it a secret as I was having dinner with my boyfriend's parents at that moment. I kept asking what was going on and if it was oma or my sister. All I got was a "we'll talk tomorrow I'm driving". I know my dad texts and drives when it's really important. I text him back trying to confirm he'd tell me right away if it was bad …. no response. I knew something bad happened, and my suspicions from Friday start to creep back.

 I get home late like I normally do and don't sleep properly as I'm up worrying what he has to say. The good news was that my sister was back home in bed like normal so I ruled her out, must be my oma, or maybe it was my uncle? Wo knows.

 I woke up early Sunday morning, getting up right away and going downstairs, wanting to get this talk over with. I sat there for 15 minutes before my dad walked in the door with his coffee (like he normally would). I waited for him to settle down and get all set before asking what was going on. His cue "ok" was more than enough for me to get my heart racing and feel all nervous and jittery. He told me there was no nice way to put it and that he was going to come right out and say it. The next thing he said would leave me in shock, would catch me off guard.

 "On Friday, your sister tried to kill herself" ….

 I go numb, my body's in shock, I'm trying to process but it's not processing. I feel as if time's stopped. He said more but I wasn't paying attention, I was just looking at him in disbelief. I know she was having trouble, I knew she was kinda going through the same thing as I was, but I thought it was over, or at least it wasn't that bad. I come down and start to realize what's going on, my dad staring at me with a what, and what am I thinking. I could feel myself start to cry, but I didn't want to, not in front of my dad, if he was being strong for me, I had to be strong for him- but I just couldn't help it. I started balling. My own sister, my cute little sister who's a huge pain in my ass, but I love oh so much and would do anything for … would have been gone. No warning, no goodbye, none.

 My dad walks over and hands me a tissue as I'm uncontrollably sobbing. He waits patiently for my response, using his caring tone as to comfort me. I told him that I just want her to be okay, but he sees right through that answer, he knows I meant it sincerely, but as he's my dad, he knows before I why else I'm sobbing uncontrollably. Again, he waits for a response and I know from experience he wouldn't let me go until I gave one: so I told him the truth. That could have been me". Last March, or April, one of the two months, it all flashes back to me of that horrible night; the plans I made and all the things that went wrong, all the things wrong with me, and I was going to leave everything behind. If it wasn't for my current boyfriend, who texted me that night, I would have been gone, I would be gone. And only now do I realize the pain it would have caused, hell, I only have some idea as she only attempted and it didn’t work, but it hit close to home as I could have died the same way.

 My dad starts speaking about how she doesn't want me to know and that she wants things to go back to how they were before, but how could they? I didn't know what to say or how to look at her. He starts to say that she has her phone taken away after 10pm, and that I need to be tested for depression and anxiety and that it runs in the family and the counseling that would follow-which would include everyone. Just so much information at a time.

 I went upstairs after installing the app and making an account with one of the union mental health outlets at my dad's request, and at that point. I would have done anything he said, no hesitation, no questions asked. When I got upstairs, I started balling again, texting my boyfriend to text me when he got up, not even 20 minutes later does he call. I try and keep it light but he knows somethings wrong, as I told him last night something didn't feel right and we had this whole talk of if I feel like shit I need to call him-anyways, that’s what I did. Anyways, I get to the point, it takes me a bit to get out as I didn't wanna have to admit it out loud, and then I start to cry again, him not knowing what to say. But who would, how would you react if your girlfriend's sister tried to overdose? That day was meh, just me trying to process everything, I still went to work surprisingly, but I knew it would help distract me, plus I had a specific job to do that day and it needed to be done. But the days to come … Monday I was a complete disaster. Kept breaking down and crying non-stop, especially when I (finally-long story for another day) seen my boyfriend. I'm surprised his step-dad didn't say anything when I pulled up to his house cause I'm sure my eyes were red and puffy from crying so much and lack of sleep.

 It's now Wednesday (Wednesday morning in the am technically), and I'm not crying as much, but I still have a few breakdowns. I keep replaying the whole thing in my head and I keep playing out how I could have lost my sister, how I'm supposed to be there for her and I wasn't and it's just a lot.

 Things have changed in the house-despite my sister's request. She still got up and went to school Monday morning, but now we have family dinners-something that is so foreign to this house, it's kinda like, what do we do? Let me tell you, the Sunday we had our first one in a long time, it was so awkward and the tension in the air could be cut with a knife. I never really said or looked at my sister until today when I asked her to pass my the bouncy balls in her way for my kitty to play with. I also learned earlier at dinner that everyone must stay until the last person is done eating (unless I have to work or go to school), and I'm just astounded at what's happening.

 So 2018, what the fuck have you done? It wasn't even the middle of the month before everything becomes fucked up. I guess that's just life though, and life likes to throw curve balls at ya. In all honesty, I'm just so glad my sister was okay and that she's still here with us.

 So to anyone-if that- is reading, please, I'm begging you, if you feel like my sister, please know you are loved and cared for and that there are other ways, you do have a way out. Please, from the bottom of my hear, from someone who has almost committed and someone who has experienced multiple people attempting … please get help and stay, it's worth it, trust me. It'll be a lot of work, but completely and utterly worth it in the end. Talk to your parents, siblings, significant other, teachers, principle, other family members, your priest, a councilor… anyone. There is always help available to you.