Sometimes the hardest thing to do is just getting out of bed. It’s a son of a bitch. You fight forever to just stay awake, but then you got responsibilities and life and all kinds of shit like text messages being like “are you still sleeping. sorry.” and you don’t even respond, you just think “Aw who is dis bitch.”
..”Oh shit, it’s my mom.”
Moms are great, cause you can try to walk as hard as Johnny Cash, but when your mom calls, you just wanna be as soft as chewy chips ahoy, and just as sweet. I’m lucky, cause i got two moms. But i’m even luckier, because when i finally got the nerve to drop out of school and tell someone i needed help, i called my mom on the Fung Wah bus back from Boston. Her mom had just died, but my mom was still a mom to me, and told me to do whatever i needed to do to get better. Depression is a black hole, and all it does is gain mass and darkness, while your orbit falls apart. So the feeling of “I’m not good enough,” is something i think applies double as an artist.
It’s hard or maybe impossible to separate the value of your work from your own self value. My mom used to cry if i didn’t come home for dinner, when i was a teenager, and at the time, i thought she was fucking nuts. But cooking is a lot like art, cause you pour yourself into it, and all you want, ALL you want, is someone to be like “Damn, that was good” Sometimes, it hurts when you make a nasty meal and they tell you so, but often times, i think it hurts even worse when no one tastes your food at all. It goes untouched, into the fridge, or maybe the trash. But it works both ways, “I’m not good enough” doesn’t always mean your art sucks = so you suck, it often feels like “I suck, so my art sucks”. And when it goes in that direction, you can always fix your 3 point perspective with practice, but you can’t always figure out why you’re so fucking sad with practice.
I am sad a lot, and it’s almost impossible to draw when you’re depressed. Really, it’s impossible to do much of anything when you’re depressed. What do YOU DO when you’re paralyzed? It doesn’t help to talk to people about it, because most of the time, all you hear is shit you don’t wanna hear: “things will get better” “you gotta stay positive” These things make sense, when you’re not paralyzed. But you can’t get a car going with square wheels. That shit is gonna clonkdaclonk all the way home. I got square wheels, and i don’t know why, but as soon as i accepted it, i was able to figure out how to get myself going somewhere. It’ll never go away, or at least, i can’t expect it to, and it’s shaped who i am, and my day to day emotions.
Every day, i feel anger, hate, and depression. People always say “hate is such a strong word” and people are genuinely averse to using the word. People are afraid to feel a strong negative emotion towards anything, because there’s nothing more motivating than hate. When you’re depressed, you’re paralyzed, you feel weak and tired, and all you wanna do is hide. You blame your genes, your family, your background, your culture, your race, your gender, your sexuality, whatever hurts right then. Something is hurting you, and all you can do is try your best to protect yourself. Hate makes you want to kill the thing that’s hurting you. There’s a reason that militaries demonize the other side, because the only way a person runs toward a threat, when they can choose to hide, is when your survival instinct is blinded by rage. It is dangerous to hate something or someone, and every comic book villain is defined by hate. But so are the heroes. We call it things like justice and responsibility, but Spiderman hated that robber that killed Uncle Ben, and Batman hates Joe Chill. It’s scary to think of what you would do if you hated something enough.
Depression is a sickness of prolonged sadness. And i don’t kid myself and believe that i’ve cured it. Really, i’ve only transformed it. It’s just prolonged anger, and it manifests as Hate. As soon as i realized it wasn’t going away, that’s what it became. I’m okay with it and honestly, i recommend it for people on the go. People say it’ll rot you inside, but no one tells a clinically depressed person that. But if you’re angry, people believe you’re doing it to yourself, and that’s the point. No one ever lets an angry person off the hook, you’re responsible because we all know a basic truth: An angry person gets things done.
Maybe this why i can’t get down with the faux-community of the comics scene, why i don’t want to Drink-n-Draw, why i don’t care about your kickstarter, because fraternizing with the enemy only puts you in danger. Freelancer is just another word for mercenary to me. I wanted to kill myself, now i want to kill comics. More men die from suicide because they tend to go for violent solutions. I grew up seeing violence, violence in the street, in the home, against me, against others. When i was in 7th grade, i threw a metal stool across the room at a kid for picking on me. Depression turns you inward, but the violence remains. You can’t cure depression, because you can’t cure your life, you can only end it. They say suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but it ain’t, because sometimes you just gotta face the music, and it’s a sad song that’ll never change. That violence won’t go away, neither will the sadness, but you can add some drums, and march to war.
Life’s a bitch and then you die. and you gotta fight for every peace. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is get out of bed, but then you remember how much you’ll hate yourself if you don’t, and you’re back in action. If you find yourself lacking in motivation, nothing helps more than to truly hate yourself.
This article previously appeared on Think Faest