In ancient Greece there was a great molder of clay, no one k

In ancient Greece there was a great molder of clay, no one knew what polis he belonged to but he was said to be the best clay molder in all of Greece. As a child he loved experimenting with clay making many creations some so creative and imaginative but unrealistic and others realistic and ordinary but still fun to look at. But then one day the boy stopped working on multiple creations and anchored down to perfect as much as he could this one piece of clay. They say that was the day he walked towards manhood. After that day he would always be spinning the wheel and making shapes and designs he was so proud of, shapes and designs no one had or would ever see before. His hands were rough and ridged, always painted with the bronze color of the clay. You could tell from the look of his hands that he worked very hard for multiple hours on end. Now this clay would change sometimes. Some changes he'd let happen when he recognized these changes bettered his work but some change he would fix when the change compromised what he wanted, but the clay would never be to disobedient or disruptive. But then all of a sudden the shape was changing drastically, so fast so ugly, it was ruining all of his hard work he spent years perfecting. He moved his hand to stop it but the clay turned into spikes and punctured his hands. Blood filled the clay, the floor, and his hands, it burned more than anything he had ever felt before. But ignoring the pain he still tried to fix his work and the spikes kept stabbing and stabbing but he didn't care about the pain or the blood he just kept trying to fix his beautiful creation, to no avail. After countless hours and countless pints of blood lost he gave up and just sat andi watched the wheel spin as his adored creation turn into a hideous work of disgusting tragedy, to scared to lay a finger on the clay. Countless days went by as the clay taunted him as it undid all of the greatest designs the Greek loved about his work, the Greek couldn't sleep couldn't eat. Anxiety tore through every aspect of his life. But then one day he had enough but by that time his mold was but a shell of the beautiful work of art it once was but he didn't care he knew he could get his mold back to the beauty he loved. So he tried again to make something he could stand the sight of, tried to ignore the pain and make his magic happen. When the clay molded before he could always do something positive with it and things never seemed impossible until the clay turned on him and kept torturing him with this ridged and tough spikes that would rise up and tear through his hands. But now the pain is more numb and the spikes come up from time to time and if you looked at the color of his clay you'd almost think the clay was bleedingu and not the Greek. But here he is with holes all over his hands fighting for his mold, fighting for what he created, fighting for what he loves. And all he can say is "If I leave the clay to mold itself it will not be something I can be proud of, but with my two hands I can make something worth looking at as long as I live. With my two hands I will make my clay my own and no one else's and if I can keep pushing through the pain and keep going I can never fail."

1 Heart

A little story I wrote to help me get through the tough stuff. I hope it helps other ppl. I don't think it's finished yet but tell me what u think

Good for you. One of the best ways to cope with depression. Write a letter, pour out your heart,(it doesn't have to be sent). Or any type of writing. It all makes us feel better some how.

@jim111 I kinda pour out my heart in the other stories I have but those I think I’ll never let anyone see. Thank you though