Depression Drawings Novels & Stories

I had known for years that Dad’s gambling would come back to haunt us, but I never imagined it would be this devastating. Desperate to escape my thoughts, I put on some Ariana Grande and grabbed my sketchpad. Drawing had always been my solace, and right now, I needed it more than ever. I began sketching the mysterious man who had been haunting my thoughts the one I had seen only briefly, yet who had left such a deep impression. His piercing blue eyes and dark hair came to life on the paper, and with each stroke, I felt myself falling deeper into his image. Was this obsession healthy? Probably not. But at least it kept my mind off the nightmare unfolding around me.

I never thought I was going to be able to draw or paint again. I had always been such a good artist, before Jeffery and I got married. Infact, everyone knew I had the plans to get professional after our wedding. But then, after all that happened with Jeffrey and Joana on the night of our wedding, I had slipped into depression for some time. For weeks, I stayed home, copped up in my room all day, everyday. But no one suspected anything was off, because they all assumed Jeffery and I were busy on our honeymoon, of course.

He stared at it with so much intensity. “What's behind the inspiration?” “Nothing in particular, I just sat down and... drew.” I explained. I collectively remembered the day I drew the portrait. I had just finished having little fall out with mom, I walked towards my pencil, as I held the pencil, so many emotions began to flow through. Carefully, I began to draw. The drawing took five hours to complete, I had lost track of time. When I was done, I was surprised to see what I had done. It was a well sculptured drawing of a bleeding girl, standing next to a huge creature, more like a huge dog with blazing eyes that could kill its prey. They were both surrounded by the forest, brown tree branch

"See what you have done to me, Zain. You are a ba****t. I will never forgive you for the emotional trauma she made me go through" I muttered and stood up to get my brush and painting equipment. It helps me deal with stress and I have been drawing a lot lately. I was home, waiting to gain admission and it will take me two to three months so what I could do to take my mind off unnecessary thoughts is to draw and paint anything, It's what I know how to do best.

I crawled off of her then walked over to my mother as Stephen sat down by her. She looked as if she was going to pass out, her breathing was violent when she suddenly turned to the side, vomiting into her garbage can as she cried. After she spoke to her father, she repeatedly apologizing to all of us, I could see she felt defeated by everything that happened, sadness filled her eyes which made my chest tighten to see her look so small when she never should. Her heart was larger than life so seeing her in this state was heartbreaking for me. Anyone that could read her artwork can see her depression, how she felt small or useless at times, she threw it all out with her art.

She walked towards her desk, ” Good morning class, today I want you to draw or paint a self portrait. I let out an exasperated sigh, portraits are my least favourite thing to draw. My preferred medium of art is drawing so there’s no way that I am going to paint. I think I’ll do a charcoal drawing that way I can smudge away half the artwork to create my face. I take my drawing media out of my bag and take a piece of compressed charcoal and wrap the bottom half in a piece of tissue. I don’t want to get my entire hand full of charcoal… I’m not the biggest fan of getting my hands dirty. Using the piece of Ashrad paper that Miss Wellington gave out to the class I begin. I decide to start with one

The following afternoon, Abby stepped back from the painting, pleased with her progress. So what if she’d been moping for the past twenty-four hours. At least she had an outlet for the heartache. The canvas was the best cure for despondency. Slapping paint onto a white surface was uniquely satisfying, giving her time to think.

How convenient that the tree he drew happened to almost resemble the acorn tree I had plucked the frisbee from. "Terrific work, Andy," I said. "Thanks." He had a wide grin on his face. "What about you? "Huh?" I was puzzled. "Can you draw something? Are you good in art?" Liv clarified. "Well..." I rubbed my chin. To be sincere, I was a good artist. That was one of the talents I kept to myself. No one knew, except my parents. During my adolescent and teenage years when I was depressed, I would draw and paint. Mostly trees, wolves and gardens. Art was something that soothed me.

Every hateful word, every look of disappointment, every odd silence from Sebastian replayed in her mind, a looping agony she couldn’t escape. As her pencil glided over the paper, Petal realized she wasn’t even drawing what she intended. Instead, the shapes morphed into an expression of her pain—a faceless figure hunched over, surrounded by swirling lines that seemed to threaten, suffocate. Her art, usually a source of joy, had become a canvas for her grief.

I actually lied about not being able to draw because drawing was one activity that fueled the demons in me. I didn't lie when I said the only thing I drew was nude. For three years, I was chained, abused, and forced to draw dirty, depraved art. Men fucking animals, trees, and children. More often than not, they were still life. I hated drawing. The very art I loved the most.