I posted this on my weekly art substack today but I know not everyone subscribes, so I thought I’d share it here in case it needs to find the right person.
If you’re here you’re probably my friend (even if we’ve never met) and you probably know that I struggle with depression. And maybe you do too. Maybe right now you’re struggling with life, or mercury-in-retrograde, or hormones, or the lies that mental illness whispers. You are not alone. But you are loved. And needed. Even if you don’t see it.
I drew this picture awhile ago but my head didn’t work well enough to add the words I wanted. So I kept it and played with it, adding words and colors digitally but never in real life because I wanted it to be perfect and I was afraid to fuck it up.
But (like me, and you, and the world) it never was meant to be perfect.
So today I sat down and wrote my words on my drawing, and it was far too long and rambly but it needed to be written. I needed to write it…and to believe it.
I took so long to finish it that the pen I’d used for the drawing had run out of ink and so the words I wrote were darker, with a new pen that mismatched the drawing. They were imperfect. I hate my handwriting. I misspelled a word and can’t go back and fix it because this is ink. But all of this is part of what will make me remember this specific drawing…these feelings…these flaws that make me human…this reminder that life is worth waiting for.
All of this to say…I hope you stay. I hope you live fully. I hope you know how important you are. I hope you see the miracle that is you. I hope you eat the sweetest orange.
