Scottish Words Illustrated stalled in 2012.

I’ve made drawings all my life from as far back as I can remember. Even just holding a pen for me is like Linus and his blanket. I cannot remember a day when I didn’t doodle or draw. When it stopped it was a shock, and that was when I realised I was ill.

Child drawing on a rock with a rock.
I drew all the time when a child and I would draw on any surface available as all children do. As I grew to adulthood I kept on drawing but I did curtail what I drew on out of communal courtesy and whacks from my granny.

That was in September 2012 when I also stopped updating this site. One day I was making drawings, the next day I wasn’t. No decision, no drama, no emotion.

Back then I thought death was preferable to living. Not suicidal, just not caring to be alive anymore. I had depression and didn’t know.

Strangely enough, desiring death didn’t bother me but stopping drawing did. That stoppage was what prompted me to go and get help.

My depression was invisible, misery inducing, and debilitating. I had no real reason for feeling as I did. I made enough to pay the bills, my family were healthy, no relatives had died, I wasn’t oppressed, there were no bombs going off in our neighbourhood.  Being depressed is not comparable to real tragic circumstances but the feelings are just as real. But the worst for me was the total loss of motivation and willpower.

Sleep is mostly what I did, day and night, hour after hour, apart from the drudge of going to work and the duty of walking the dog. That’s how I functioned (just).

And because of the nature of depression I was certain I was worthless at the lot. What was the point. I was convinced life was short and brutal. Why we human being persist in our continuance, apart from an apathy to make an end to it, was beyond me.

The dog was a lifesaver. It demanded a walk no matter what. And out of a miserable sense of duty that was what I did. And we have green spaces and woodland (which is proven medicine) minutes away which the dog got me to, day after day.

And so time passed. I did get help. Friends and colleagues were supportive. And slowly, very slowly, progress was made. The dog walks continued, the need to constantly sleep decreased, and making drawings slowly stuttered back into existence again.

Looking back over that extended period I can see the changes going on in my head made visible in my doodles (although I was unaware of this at the time).

Now I’m back. The stooryduster cartoons begin again and so too does this stooryduster-blog.



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