shorter and longer pieces of prose I have written
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Writing about depression Writing about my depression is one of the hardest things there is. This is not because the concept of depression is so indescribable, but rather because of the way I write. Writing is a transformative act; the mundane becomes special, the decent becomes beautiful, the beautiful the divine. They are positive transformations. What do I transform something negative into? Into what do I change the ugly, the foul and the sad? Do I make something beautifully horrendous? Or horrendously beautiful? Neither seems quite right to me. What good does it do to transform sadness into insanity? What good does it do to turn it into beauty? There is another issue with negative transformations that stem from the act of transforming itself. It is a consuming and manipulative practice. The words I use are exaggerations, as a lot of art is. In its own way it is more intense than the real world is. Words exaggerate, illuminate, and nestle into your subconscious. As a consequence I, as a writer with depression, have to be careful about what words I allow to take hold of me. Writing about depression is almost impossible for me. It is something that is not beautiful, but also not ugly; yet I should not classify it as anything else. I cannot describe it properly without unintentionally romanticising, or undermining the issue. I cannot write about it in a way that will satisfy me as a writer. How does one turn darkness into something beautiful without being inaccurate in either direction? One day soon I will try. |