Roses are red,
Music is cool,
I’ve got ADHD,
ooh look a squirrel.
I grew up as a hyperactive child before any real proper diagnosis of ADD was ever done, and managed to some extent with a restricted diet free of many of the stupider E numbers.
So perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising that I’ve struggled with focus for a long time, and perhaps not in ways that others might. My mind often flits from thing to thing before I’m finished with it… Sometimes it’s almost as if I fear finishing things, fear taking that step.
As I say, I’ve struggled with this issue for a while… So I’ve decided to see what happens if I stop struggling so much. Allow myself to drift from idea to idea, with the added proviso that I at least try to finish things when I can.
Perhaps it should be obvious that I often feel as though I have a bit if an identity crisis. I find it hard to categorise myself; am I an author, an artist, a designer, a web coder, a video game maker, or… What?
Perhaps, for now, I’ll content myself with calling me a nerd.
So, I’m still here, still out of work, still trying to Make Good Art* and keep myself alive
Working on writing things is becoming increasingly difficult, as my depression has caused motivation to be very hard to come by. I stare at a blank canvas and nothing seems to flow.
I am trying to continue to be positive, making little dumb animations – made from CG cardboard for a reason I can’t quite recall but hell, doing something stylistic is reason enough sometimes. I’ve also tried putting my opinion out there a bit in a pixel-art inspired video too.
And yet, I feel like I’m falling at times, like I’m scrabbling up a cliff-face made of loose shale, cutting at my fingers and knees and only succeeding at slipping ever backwards. I try to get people interested but it doesn’t seem to happen, engagement seems always to be so low; I feel disheartened.
There’s no positive twist to this blog post unfortunately; I can do nothing more than explain my feelings and thoughts and then I feel as though nothing more can be done.
I admit, I am quite new to this whole social media promotion thing and am struggling to know how to get more people interested. Any real meaningful word of mouth or “going viral” all seems very far from what I am capable of, and all the while is the ever-present doubt, and the feeling that I may be struggling in this area simply because I am actually just.. well, shit.
Oh, and for those who missed it, here’s the first Cardboard Theatre video:
My fantasy novel, which is now renamed “The Harbinger Rises” – Book I of The Red Bargain has now been completed. Or at least, the first draft has been. 116265 words including the glossary, which is about at the level I expected it / planned it to be.
So; now I need to get a printout so that the friend who’s agreed to do a readthrough can do so, and I need to go through it myself and edit it; I am n ot wholly sure what to look for and what to do but I suppose I can find guides online. Part of me can’t help thinking to myself.. now what?
So, the time came and we all gathered together and headed out while wearing our Lair of the Nerd shirts to try and get some publicity going.
I’ve realised recently that I have trouble with attention; I am much more likely to hide than to allow myself to shine, in part because I fear things going wrong and in part because I just can’t bear the attention. How much of a factor that is with regards my depression, I do not know, it’s something to continue thinking about.
I sometimes wish I didn’t worry and think about things like “the future” so much, but such is the nature of this tangled mind of mine. I sit, I ponder, and my mind seems determined to focus on the things that I have no control over, and determined not to accept them.
I worry sometimes whether I’m deluding myself. These are often my darkest moments, when the muse has gone quiet and I’m sitting with a notebook or an app of some sort in front of me, and the thought presents itself: “I’m not actually any good at any of this”.
At these points I start to doubt my abilities, and begin to believe – and I’m having to tell myself now that this belief is in spite of evidence to the contrary – that I am simply not cut out for anything other than what I am right now.
Suffering from Clinical Depression is a little bit like having a narrator with you commenting on your every mood, twisting and distorting the facts until they fit with what this narrator wants them to say, making everything bad, scary, or a source of guilt. Only the narrator is yourself, which makes realising when he’s wrong rather difficult.