The Story behind “Soon it will be over, and then you will be fine.”2 2 November 14, 2014
It comes and goes in waves. If affects 1 in 10 of us at one point or another. I avoid the ongoing conversation about it like the plague… because, frankly, it’s a downer. It’s an important conversation, but so unpalatable.
But, I create pieces about all my other joys and struggles. I guess it was gonna pour out into a piece sooner or later.
Depression. It’s a real bitch. It hurts, and doesn’t hurt. It numbs you and makes you feel like a living pile of garbage. For me (and so many others), it’s seasonal and cyclical. The bright side of it being a cyclical affliction is that there is a beginning and end to it. Emphasis on “there is an end to it.”
(On a side note, if I ever get around to starting that punk band…we will definitely be called “Cyclical Affliction”…not.)
Anyway, here is the story behind…
“Soon it will be over, and then you will be fine.” – Bronze, Sterling silver.
I have been thrown around by it for as long as I can remember. Up and down and up and down again.
There are always signs that it is on it’s way. Thunder rolls in, far on the horizon. I see it from where I’m sitting peacefully in my little rowboat full of gems and silver and self worth and peace.
Then it’s here. A sudden, violent storm. It tosses me up, up, up like a rag doll and then before I can breathe…I’m tipped into that dark, deep ocean.
At first I fight it, I struggle hard. Treading water. Mouth full of salt and sea. Screaming and Crying.
Try to desperately find a footing. Go to work. Make dinner. Clean the bathroom. Take a bath. Get dressed. Get up. Can’t get up.
The accomplishable tasks diminish rapidly. I find myself sinking slowly to the ocean floor, giving in.
And I lay there in the shadow. Staring up at the lightening that’s parading on top of the waves. Safe and quiet. Sound is muffled and life is kinder because it cannot reach you here. You don’t have to move but to ease your back into the muddy ocean bed.
I watch gentle, dark colours bleed from current to current. The picture is murky. But that doesn’t matter, because mostly my eyes are closed.
My husband kisses my forehead and says, “Soon it will be over, Love. And then you will be fine.”
That simple action is like a tiny glass bubble. A float. Every day he brings me more. He ties them to my fingers and toes. In the evening, he sits and sews them patiently onto my dirty pyjamas. When he holds me, they appear around me, settling permanently on my skin.
Usually it’s two weeks before I realize that I have risen to just inches from the surface of the water. It’s a final battle. I heave myself into my little row boat and lay there in my gems and silver and self worth and peace. Oar locks are at the ready and the worst is over.
Then it’s time to create something.
So I’ve made this piece.
I’m mixing metaphors here, so bear with me.
The tools to deal with depression are everywhere and nowhere. They are floating around.
The circles echo the shape of the glass floats. There is a shovel at the bottom of the ocean. These two details are the parts of this piece that reference the above metaphor for depression.
Poetic ramblings aside, really you just have to dig yourself out in the end. The wheelbarrow carts away the rubble when the worst is over. When you’re through “digging in the dirt”, and the hardest emotional and mental work is done…for this time ‘round. When you’ve found the answers you needed, or decided that you didn’t need the answers you thought you did.
I let this piece come together on it’s own. I just made, with no set boundaries on form or media, or content. I was strangely emotional when I crafted it, which was a really wonderful departure. It’s a large bib-style necklace. If you’d like more information, or are interested in purchasing this piece, you can email firstname.lastname@example.org .
If it speaks to you, it’s done it’s work.