When Depression Hits Harder Than Normal, Writing Isn't An Option

Since I was a child, I have known I possessed the gift, talent, passion (whatever you would like to call it) for writing. I admire poetry, but I cannot write it. My writing has never been 'deep.' To me, it was always something that was ordinary, which was why I never felt my writings were worthy enough to be shared. I write what I feel, and I'm slowly learning that that's okay, and it's enough. 

My love for writing blossomed as my illnesses began to take on a more severe level. I never felt comfortable sharing my thoughts with anyone. Major depressive disorder causes some very dark and disturbing thoughts. The very few times I did share my thoughts, people usually ran. I didn't blame them. If I had the choice, I would have run from it too. 

Writing became the only outlet for me. It allowed me to express my thoughts, feelings, and even prayers, privately. I wasn't trying to please anyone, because it was just me and my pen. Once I realized that writing is what I'm supposed to do with my life, I had to think about sharing everything; putting it all out in the open, making myself vulnerable, and opening myself up in ways I never would have imagined possible. I thought the hardest concept for me to grasp in finally pursuing my writing, would be the fact that I had to literally make myself defenseless by opening up and showing my true colors. I couldn't have been any more wrong. The hardest thing out of all of this is that I cannot write when I want to. Artists are interesting individuals. Those who possess the talent of drawing, typically say they’ll feel the urge to draw no matter what they’re doing or where they’re at. The second they sit down, however, they just don’t feel like it.

Being a writer is an interesting concept. Being a writer with major depressive disorder and many other mental illnesses is even more interesting. I lack any sort of motivation to do anything when my depression hits harder than normal. Depression can mask everything inside of my head to the point where the only things I ever think about are the dark and depressing thoughts. Journaling in my room is easy, I can write out exactly what I'm feeling. I can write out the dark and depressing things all I want, but if I’m not blogging – if I’m not talking about the important things – I feel no satisfaction.  Writing here, I'm talking about the things that need to be brought up; I'm trying to end the stigma behind any kind of mental illness, and that's where the vulnerability comes from, I have to open up about my illnesses. The inspiration and motivation to write goes straight out the window the second my depression consumes me more than I typically allow it to.

Mental illness, in general, feels like a war between my heart, body, mind, and soul. My first instinct is to run. I want to run as fast and far from it all as I can get. Before long, either my depression or PTSD catches up first. When the depression won’t stop chasing me, and it finally catches up, it convinces me of how worthless my entire existence is. From there, my anxiety kicks in and causes the racing thoughts. My second instinct is to write, because that seems to be all that helps these days. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that.

People seem to think mental illness is some kind of trend. There’s this crazy idea going around that it’s ‘cool to have because it causes you to think about life in a different perspective.’ While that’s true, you don’t need mental illness to do that, nor do you need it to fit in or impress anyone. Nothing about my illnesses is poetic. Nothing about them is a depressingly beautiful concept that's worthy of anything. Art can come from mental illness; some of the most beautiful pieces I’ve ever seen can come from the artists illnesses, if the artist suffers from any kind of illness. However, that does not make their illnesses poetic or artistic in any way. Mental illness is awful, and I will never be able to stress that enough. There have been some wonderful outcomes as a result of my illnesses, but that does not make any of the illnesses a good thing.

Passion is one of my favorite words to ever exist in the English language. It is defined as a strong and barely controllable emotion. Listening to someone talk about their passion is such a beautiful concept to me. I like watching their face light up as they describe what they love most in this life. Maybe I have a passion for listening to other’s talk about their passion, because I have my own passion for writing. I envy the people in this world that are able to step out on stage and dance their heart out. I envy the people in this world that are able to sit down and pick up a pen and write something beautiful and poetic whenever they feel the urge. I envy the people in this world that are able to sit down and create the most beautiful piece of art I’ve ever seen with only a pen or a pencil. I envy the people in this world that are able to do what they love, whenever they want.

All in all, the hardest thing about living a life with mental illness is the fact that it robs me of so much. Depression has robbed me of joy and happiness. Anxiety has robbed me of a healthy thought process and the smallest things in life, like taking myself out to eat alone. PTSD has robbed me of self-respect and has convinced me that I deserved every single traumatic thing that has ever been done to me. My eating disorder has robbed me of a healthy lifestyle; it has caused my body severe shock and trauma by starving myself one minute, and binging the next. My self-destructive behaviors, specifically cutting myself, have robbed me of enjoying the freedom Christ has given me. Mental illness has robbed me of doing the things I love the most in this world.

I think the most beautiful concept of mental illness, is the fact that you can fight it. I will continue to fight this war until the day that I die. I will continue to fight this war so that I may enjoy the things I used to, or the things that I want to. I will continue to not only fight this war for myself, but for those who are suffering alongside of me. Do not let your illnesses rob you of the things that you love and deserve in this life. It’s a beautiful life despite all of the pain and suffering. We are only given a short lifetime and I want to live it well. I want to live it as fully as I can, and as well as I can. 

If you or someone you know needs support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, or text START to 741-741

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