Liquid cotton
I had thought that when I get things done at home and finally go to Dublin to my husband, I’d be calm, happy, productive and everything would be fine.
It’s not.
Instead I’m showing more and more signs of depression. Not the silly one, that you can treat with a movie and a chocolate bar. It’s the one that’s made of liquid black cotton.
I’m still doing stuff and I want to create things, which means it’s not a major breakdown, and everything will probably go back to normal when I find a job, but most of the day I sit in front of my computer and do stuff online, chat to people or mostly wait for my friend T to appear online; also sending some resumes and seeking job. And I lost my appetite.
My job search is quite chaotic; I can’t get myself to start a proper search, I just send a CV to anything that has a “graphic designer” and “Dublin” in it, I don’t even check all the requirements.
I like Dublin, it’s a very beautiful place really. I wish I liked going out alone, I’d spend more time outdoors, photographing maybe or just walking, but I get bored without company way too soon.
And everyone I love and like but one person is so far away. I miss them very much.
Synesthesia: yearning
A quick photoshop manipulation. I wish I had paints and canvas.
Emotional painting
When I had depression, I had a constant feeling of swimming blindly in a black liquid, as thick as cotton.
Since I experience synesthetic feelings, every emotion on this black and thick background had shape, colour, size, texture and opacity.
When I tried to paint this, I synthesized all shapes to basic figures, squares and rectangles mostly, but the rest of the features stayed as I had seen them in my head. First I would start a composition. My subconsciousness was looking for some kind of symmetry and order, so after a while the whole composition would change into a set of squares.
I would paint with emotions, with my brain only controlling technical stuff, and without a major involvment of my will. Sometimes I would spend half a year on one picture because the colour or the texture weren’t right. The effect was never exactly as I’d anticipate it. It was the only way I could express emotions, and nobody knew this until now (I told a friend).
And when most people see my paintings, they usually say that they’d paint something like this in half an hour and it’s not real art because it doesn’t show people or objects.
I stopped painting a few years ago, because the feedback I was getting was depressing. I’d like to start again, I think.
Vampires
I was in a hospital of some kind, and I was a vampire but was able to hide the features. One of the doctors was half vampire.
They all knew some of us were vampires and they started testing all people’s blood and features. I got away because my fingernails were short and regulars. Three other were caught, because their features were showing, and they were chained to the wall in a place where the sunlight was supposed to be in a few hours.
Those three were somehow able to control my actions. They almost made me wait with them for the sunlight, but I managed to get out of their control and I flew off the window (passing the half vamp mad doctor, an elderly, grey-haired man, chanting madly in a dark room) and flew with supersonic speed very far away, before the dawn.
Then I was an observer of trading something between two persons, in broad daylight, but in an abandoned place, in solitude. Both were scared, one of them started bleeding from her mouth and another one from his eyes, and they noticed they both were vampires and someone had set them up and wanted them dead.
Then I woke up.
