Nervous Energy

If you’re thinking of starting on anti-depressants to improve your mental health, you should be aware that they’re accompanied by a long list of side effects. I’m proud to say I researched them thoroughly before talking to my psychiatrist and that I felt ready for anything. I was expecting the headaches, the weight gain, and the nausea, and my doctor warned me to keep a close eye on how the pills affected my mood because, according to her, “feeling sad might be bad, but feeling nothing at all is worse.”

With that in mind, I started on Escitalopram and wrote my feelings down on my journal semi-consistently. I definitely saw an improvement, though you shouldn’t expect a miracle if you’re considering medication to help battle depression and anxiety. You won’t wake up the very next day with a positive attitude and a love for jogging, but, in my experience, it did make it easier for me to recognize the bad days and soldier through regardless of wanting to stay in bed. Sometimes, that’s easier said than done, but at least my head is clear enough that I’m not easily stuck in a loop of self-hate and unfounded doubt.

The one thing I wasn’t warned of, though, were the bouts of energy my body would go through that first month. My meds made me restless and fidgety - more than usual, I mean. Sitting still to write stories was nearly impossible and I found myself pacing my room and shaking my hands, over and over. Going through that while mid-pandemic did not help either.

In that chaos, I picked up a marker and started drawing. Well, I say drawing, but perhaps scribbling is a better definition. I didn’t care what I was doing, I just needed to get my nervous hands moving in a repetitive motion. I drew a shape, and then another, and another one. Then, I filled in the negative space with angry stroking.

Black markers are great for that kind of aimless art; you don’t need to create anything good, simply put some shapes on a page that vaguely resemble something and color everything in between in black. You do this over and over, until the energy subsides and you can function like a normal human being again.

I liked to draw when I was younger, though my talent for realism always fell short of my expectations and I’d often abandon new projects when they stopped being interesting. As an adult, I moved on to coloring pages and watercolors, which always helped me relax or get busy with something when boredom settled in. Black markers, however, felt more labor-intensive without being difficult. It wasn’t about being good or pretty; it was about maintaining mental health through getting things down on a page.

Sometimes, I would come up with something I was proud of. Other times, I would rip the page off, crumple it to a little paper ball and throw it in the trash, yelling, “Dishonor on you! Dishonor on your cow!” because being silly takes the sting of bad drawings away.

Now that my body has settled to the medication, my peeks of energy are few and far between, but I still have the markers and the drawing pads. Along with meds and therapists, art can be quite beneficial to our mental health because, when you look for peace through a craft, perfection takes the backseat. All you want to do is feel comfortable in your own skin. That much I can do.