Writers and Depression - overcoming darkness with light

When I recently received a compliment that likened me to the poet Emily Dickinson, many stars were shining in my eyes... But I couldn't help dwelling for a bit on Dickinson's reclusive tendencies (she famously did not leave her bedroom even for her brother's funeral, though she did open her door a crack that day - no doubt a monumental gesture for her to make at that point in her solitary world)....

The reasons behind Dickinson's introverted/reclusive personality have been debated umpteen times, all the way from agoraphobia (an anxiety disorder) to obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). Dickinson's fascination with death and suicide - not to mention her gradual withdrawal from the world outside her bedroom door - however seem to suggest that Dickinson was suffering from extreme depression. Further research confirmed that depression/bipolar disorder could indeed have been behind Dickinson's eccentricies.

The results of the study I've linked to above can't be all that surprising, hmmmm?  If you have friends who suffer from depression, you'd probably notice a startling similarity to what Dickinson went through - creativity coupled with a melancholy soul, resulting in a far-too-sensitive appreciation of the effects the darkest of thoughts can cast on all of us.

I hate the thought that my creativity might come packaged with its very own, hard-wired potential for self-destruction. But the link between creativity and depression has always seemed crazily strong to me, no pun intended:) 

It would be hard to pin down though whether it is the writer's solitary nature that enables depression to gather a stronghold on their personality, or whether inherent depression in fact causes a writer's need to be solitary from the start. How frustrating is that? As a writer with potentially depressive tendencies myself, I'm crossing my fingers in the hope that the link between the imagination and depression will be explored in greater depth in the future, if only to stave off the spectre of macabre melancholy for some moments longer:)

This leads me to the most troubling thing about depression - other than turning reclusive (which I do tend towards hmmmm). Sadly, suicide is a scarily real alternative for those suffering from depression. Writers are certainly not exempt from this dangerous aspect to the dark well of nothingness that depression can cause, as a certain letter from Kiana Davenport to JA Konrath shows. You might want to have a look too at a few other articles/posts on this correlation between writers in particular and depression:  Writers and Depression, Writers 'at greater risk of depression' survey finds, and a personal piece by Nancy Etchemendy.

The important thing to remember though is that - no matter the uncertainty, anxiety and downright confusion that surrounds this issue, anyone (and I mean ANYONE) who feels inclined to give in to depression/suicidal thoughts mustn't ACT on such thoughts without giving professional help a chance. Please do not assume that there is no one to help you. With rates of depression going up all over the world, and new treatments being developed all the time, there is help out there for those who seek it.

I really daren't imagine what it would have been like for someone in Dickinson's times not to have had a way to reach for help when she needed it. Writers in this age should ensure they're aware of the many therapeautic and medical options available to them now in the fight against depression - we shouldn't be sacrificing creativity and individuality and simple happiness because of wonky chemicals in a brain not created by us, not when there's a chance to keep illnesses like depression at bay.

And hey, if it's the thought of never being published that's driving you down a spiral of negativity, don't forget that you now have the option to self-publish! Yes, you can actually unilaterally find an audience and continue that dream of writing for a living right now - all this without sacrificing monetary gain, professional recognition and - most important of all - your life.

On that note, much prayers and good wishes to all writers, big and small, depressive or melancholic or euphoric or anything-in-between. May our dreams of starry nights come alive with the knowledge that we can live very long - and very healthy - lives alongside our creative impulses if we seek help when we need it. Goodnight to all, and God Bless!:)

Writers and Depression - overcoming darkness with light

A Compliment For Poetry? Who'd Have Thunk It?:D

I've been a reader for as long as I can remember. I'm betting I learned to read before I could even walk, tho my mum might dispute that:) But I've definitely been reading since forever...

I can even recall vividly the moment I completed an entire book in one sitting: in case you're wondering, the book was Enid Blyton's The Enchanted Wood.

I stayed cosy and warm on my living room couch, unmoving and absorbed in those black words on white paper, for close to half a day. And wow, it was amazing to get drawn into an absolutely different - weird and magical - world from the one I knew I lived in.

That sense of wonder and awe at the power of the written word to compel a reader to travel all over the Earth and beyond has stayed with me since childhood. I'm always surrounded by books at home. And somehow, as messy as it sounds, I find a way to surround myself with books of some sort or another when I'm at work.

I love reading. I simply adore reading. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't read another book. And I really can't fathom how some people go their whole lives without reading books. Everyone's different, of course. But to not read out of choice... That form of existence is anathema to me, and would no doubt depress me out of my wits.

Now that I've got across my love affair with reading, perhaps you'll be able to understand why writing became my more obsessive love. Maybe I'm trying to reproduce the magic I experienced reading the works of others. Maybe I simply feel an urgent need to contribute to the library of fascinating, everlasting stories that the human community has been compiling since the dawn of all things dreamt and spoken. Maybe I'm a dreamer who enjoys escaping reality sometimes:) Whatever the reason, I write every day, even if it's just a few words on my blogs, and I never fail to enjoy the experience of dancing with language and thought each time I write.

I think that ever since I read The Enchanted Wood though, I've been hoping also that some reader out there might just find my writing as wonderful and enchanting as I found Blyton's so long ago.

This hope was more like a dream, you know - ie, I never really thought this would happen in reality. I've since been proven wrong, and gradually developed what I thought was a healthy relationship with writing and being a writer.

But - somehow, there's always a 'but', isn't there? - when I started putting my writing up as ebooks on Smashwords and Amazon's Kindle Store, all the old doubts crept back in.

I'd spend days wondering which works would get the most attention from readers, which would be the most attractive and enjoyable to others. What if no one liked anything? What if every single piece of my writing sucked big time?? (yes, I became a bit nutty at one point:D)

Whenever these thoughts plagued my writerly mind, I girded my loins (hmm, never thought I'd ever use that phrase in my writing) and reminded myself of the power of self-promotion:D Frankly, I thought my short stories would do far better than my poetry, and was prepared to market 'em for all I was worth.

But the funny thing is, out of all the works I've written so far, it's my poetry that's given me my first (four star) Amazon review:)

Given the wonderful compliments in that review - especially a comparison to Emily Dickinson that made me go numb with shock (and awe lol) for some seconds *still jumping with glee inside as I write this* - I've become more convinced than ever that this is the path my life must take, but I've also realised how insecure a writer I can be.

I didn't think I'd need validation from others, but that's obviously untrue, especially since it was after that review that I began to feel really good about the effort I'd put into arranging all those messy words into perfect, neat, remarkable little sentences. All those late nights and frustrated thoughts of never making it as a successful author finally seemed worth something tangible, real... something Blyton-ish in power:)

Hmmm it seems that, for this writer, validation from readers is akin to sweet, soft balm for the writerly soul:)

Whatever happens from now on, at least I'll always know that someone out there has read and liked my work. What a gorgeous piece of knowledge for any author to have at the back of their mind as they sit down to create beloved, intimate tales for others to read:)

A Compliment For Poetry? Who'd Have Thunk It?:D