Let’s talk about writer’s depression (yep, if writer’s block is a thing, then writer’s depression gets to be a thing).
Writing Life can be so depressing.
I suffer from depression and most of it is from writing.
The thing is, I get depressed when I don’t write. Writing is a channel through which I bleed out some toxic emotions. It offers me some release. When real life gets too real, it’s time to write. Boss is getting on my nerves and I cant say anything cos I’ll get fired? It’s time to write an annoying character (who coincidentally bears my boss’ name) and kill him/her off in the worst way possible.
Seriously though, writing is an important part of my life.
The problem is that writing fills me with dread. I’m telling you, there are only a few things as scary as a blank page.
So I sweat and I fret and I write and I cancel what I’ve written and start over (and repeat process obsessively) just to fill the page with the right words while the blank page screams at my face – you’re not that good a writer! See? If you were, how come I’m still here?
Anyways, I get through the writing part, and then comes the next depressing stage. The things I’ve written on the page looks like nothing I had in my head a while before. What’s on the page sounds awful. Downright awful. If I felt bad before writing, I feel worse after having written.
Naturally, I felt something was terribly wrong with me. But after doing some reading and talking to other writers, I’ve realized that it’s perfectly normal. I found this TED talk particularly interesting (and encouraging) as well.
Then the next thing to be depressed about is the number of people who actually read (or like) my work. Ugh, don’t get me started on the ‘building your platform’ stuff.
And that’s the writer’s life succinctly.
A vicious cycle of fights, one battle after another – we fight the reluctance to approach the blank page, we fight to get the right words down on the page, we fight to get readers’ attention, we fight feelings of inadequacy; fight fight fight.
If writing life looks gloomy, it is. It’s downright depressing. So the question I’m asking myself is why? Why in the name of good things would anyone want to be a writer? I’ll tell you the only answer my mind can dredge up this early in the morning.
All writers have a subtle and perverse affinity for pain. It’s the only logical reason why anyone would do this for a living. By the way, there should be a word for that. I’m too bummed right now to google for it.
This could be the depression right now, seeping through my mind onto the page, so don’t take this post too seriously. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go binge watch Friends.