Depression Drawings Novels & Stories

I wrapped a towel around my waist and made my way to the bed. I picked up my sketchpad on the floor as I sat on it. I opened the shelves of the table and took out a pencil. I needed to draw. Apart from seeking solace in the forest, drawing was another art of freedom for me from all my problems. My peace, and would distract me from any trouble in my heart. With the soft glow of the bedside lamp, I found myself remembering the bitter memories that I had tried to suppress many times. A past that I don't want to relive anymore because it would shatter my wolf if I were to relive that pain and suffering.

I mumbled. Elliot looked up at me and slowly reached to grab my arm, “It's just a theory. I'm not saying that that's exactly what you have, but it's just something that you can relate to.” he said and showed me a page from his book. “So, most people with major depression have conditions that can be identified from the 5 things listed: feeling sad or irritable most days, less interested in most activities you once enjoyed, lose or gain weight from a change of appetite, trouble sleeping or wanting to sleep more, feeling of restlessness, unusually tired, feeling worthless or guilty, difficulty concentrating, and lastly thinking of harming yourself or committing suicide.”

I couldn't shut it off because I needed, craved, to feel the pain he once felt. A week after the disappearance that rocked the whole town, four in one day, I broke up with my boyfriend. Not like he did anything, but because Dean mostly complained about him, subtly though. Now, I live in self pity, memories and endless tears. At least mum and dad had each other, that's what matters, deep down. That, no matter what, their love stands strong. Cry together, laugh together, staring into each other's eyes, as though searching for the secrets of the universe. Their love was beautiful, and even in pain and depression, they had each other, but I wanted to be alone. I was going to college in a few we

I have filled eleven pages in three days. The drawings are all of Chase. Not his face exactly, not a portrait. More like the quality of him, the shape of what I see when I look at him with the part of my perception that operates below the ordinary level. The darkness that has been around him since graduation, which I first saw as smoke, as something atmospheric, has changed shape. It is not smoke anymore. It has weight now. It has structure. In the drawings it looks like something geological, like rock strata pressing down, like the accumulated mass of something that has been building for a long time and has reached the point where its own weight is the force that drives it.

A call to remind me that I was wasting away and I was no longer taking care of the things that really mattered to me. It's been less than five hours and I had already finished my first drawing and that was after I had been able to do two drawings yesterday. But the drawings were all filled with themes of sadness, frustration and confusion… especially frustration. Frustration at how I had been treated in the last few weeks. I needed to go out and clear my head. I opened my email to check for the few invites that were usually sent to me. I rarely attended events because I was too introverted to talk to anyone. Ever since my best friend had died some years back, it had been hard to reconnect wi

The lab was very quiet for a moment. I moved to the far wall because standing still in a room that smelled the way this one smelled while processing what Kaelen was reading was not something my body wanted to do. The drawings stopped me. Crude, scratched directly into the stone rather than carved with any skill, but specific. Bodies in various states that I was going to file in the category of things I had seen and would deal with the feelings about later. Wolves. Figures with something flowing out of them that the artist had rendered as light, though whether they had intended it to look hopeful or terrible was genuinely unclear.

And the first thing that caught my eye? The drawings. The first one was dark. Black scribbles, angry strokes all across the canvas like someone tried to scratch their pain into it. In the middle, a small girl drawn in thin red lines stood alone, facing a locked door. She had no eyes. Just emptiness on her face. The second was a mess of words, written over each other—"HELP," "ENOUGH," "WHY," "PLEASE"—scattered across a shape of a woman curled up, her back to the world.

For long, I'd shut out from everyone since I couldn't find the true happiness I seek. I'm 24 now and I live alone in my private flat. Various types of canvas and sketching tools occupy eighty percent of my home. Most days, I try to put what I learnt into practice but I end up doing the opposite, sometimes I cry other times I spaced out and on rare occasions, I get depressed.

Damn. Another deep breath later I shook my head then moved his sketch aside and started drawing my latest victim instead. Willing my mind to think about my latest kill, I started sketching, fast. The lines, the shape of his slouched body, and the fear show his level of stress without showing off his face. The blood dripping from his stomach made them perfectly in line with the moment his life was slipping away. My wrist moves hurriedly, line after line, shading, shaping Rudy the tattletale. The coloring comes next, then I decided to stop when my back felt too tired to continue.

Although Mia still couldn’t fully open up, constantly keeping her guard up against the world, Sarah found she could at least communicate with her in simple ways—like asking her to draw. Patients with psychological disorders often struggle to engage in normal conversations during an episode, but they can express their emotions and needs through alternative means. One common therapeutic method is to have them draw, allowing them to convey subconscious feelings and emotions in the most direct way possible. Every psychologist learns this technique, and Sarah had excelled in this subject, earning a perfect score in her coursework.