How Art Saved My Life

I was so depressed, my world consisted of staring blankly at the wall in the shower, with the water so hot I burned myself, begging my body to let me feel, I was carving into my wrists with thumbtacks, just to feel the pain, I hated my body my mind, myself. All I wanted yo do was lay under my covers and disappear... I thought about dying, everyday, I forgot what it felt like to not want to die. My world became so dark, I pushed away friends, and I told myself I wasn't good enough for my hobbies. I wanted to quit... I couldn't take a pill with out thinking of swallowing the whole bottle... or stand on a bridge without wanting to jump. At this point I was fucked, to be blunt. I was going through stuff, my mom was convinced a clean room was a happy me... And I didn't care about much but it killed me to see her look so sad... and that she thought she had failed at parenting.

I was throwing away things... and I came across a canvas I had gotten for some occasion. Everyone fell asleep. I got out all my painting things and just started, by the time I was done I was smiling to myself for the first time in a long time... I glanced at the clock and it was 2:00 am. Skip forward a few months and I keep painting, I'm still depressed but something makes me feel useful and if you've ever been depressed, you know that is rare. It was almost the end of summer and a music festival was coming up, and a family friend was going to set up a both for her company, "Brave and True." She makes jewelry and uses all the proceeds to create and send out packages to children who have experienced trauma or abuse. This, this was my cause, I finished a few more paintings and I was ready, nervous as hell that no one would want them, my dad originally told me that they weren't the kind of thing people spend their money on, and it wasn't nearly good enough. So the date was approaching and I was shaking with anxiety, fearing sitting in that booth with canvases baring my would hanging like dirty laundry, my broken pieces all smarter for strangers to see, I was terrified they'd hate it, or that if they criticized it that I wouldn't be able to keep going.

The first day of the festival came, and then the next and by the end of the festival, and had sold a majority of paintings making about $300! They lady who bought the first painting was willing to pay $300 for the one painting alone but going in expecting nothing I blurted out "$100" making my first sale. I donated all the money the the cause, and it was an amazing feeling. I cried, out of joy, out of love for the people around me, out of sadness and, the feeling of being overwhelmed. But that was my first taste of change. Months have passed and that was the beginning of a new me, surprisingly the months to follow my first sale where the worst and most suicidal times... but now; god now I get up and I look in the mirror, at my blemishes, my not perfect tummy, or any "flaws," my once sad eyes, and I smile. I go outside when it's sunny and paint while listening to the birds, and when it's rainy I sip tea and paint by the window. I build things, and I draw, and I sing, and write music. Art fucking saved my life, but I saved my own life, in the sense that I didn't give up, because a million people could have told me everything I had to live for and I'd be deaf to their attempts; and I don't care how narcissistic that may, or may not sound, I am happy I didn't overdose, or jump of a bridge or slit my wrists. I am happy to be alive, to paint, to laugh, to cry... to breathe. In life there is one person you are stuck with forever, yourself, and you can be you best friend or your worst enemy. Thank you for reading my story, if you are interested in the brave and true company, buying art, or even more stories, let me know. Sending love to all who need it... your life it is important, and worth fighting for.