Depression, and passion for writing

I’m starting to wonder if my lack of creativity and motivation to write has something to do with being so sedentary. Living with depression, I don’t really get out and do things very often. My days are mostly the same, spending time in my room on the internet, doing nothing really that productive.

I know that depression dulls out feelings anyways, and that’s definitely affecting my writing. But I think too that lack of input isn’t helping.

It’s a little disheartening to hear the stories of great writers and the lives they lived. Adventure isn’t an active part of my lifestyle, and I feel like I won’t ever live up to other writers who have simply experienced more then I have.

I wish my illness would play some sort of role in spicing things up. Use it as my muse. But it does just the opposite, depression really means blank, nothing, empty. There’s no foundation to build upon. I don’t know any way I can write about nothing. You can’t describe it really. It’s just there and it sucks.

I find myself wanting to just rant about how bored I am, but I refrain because I don’t want to overly bore the people who happen to read my blog. It lacks substance enough as it is, I don’t want to make this a big whining pit of despair.

The medication I’m on also sort of dumbs me down. It’s like I have all these things going against the grain for me. Life is trying to tell me to sit down, shutup, and slowly die. I won’t do that though. I still push on and do my best to write. I hope that if I keep doing this, maybe a year from now I won’t have so many problems. I might not have creative experiences to draw on, but I can still hone my writing skills.

I really enjoy doing poetry lately. It’s funny because I used to hate poetry in highschool. Thought it was the lamest thing ever. Now, I enjoy the freedom it offers you as a writer. It can be as structured or unstructured as you want.

One thing I’ve noticed about writing is that I actually still want to do it while I’m super depressed. I still care about it. And that’s huge, because most things I stop caring about while in a deep depression. I may not be able to write much while feeling that low, but it’s a good sign that I still crave it.

I’ve been afraid to commit to writing for a long time. I’ve always wanted to do it, since I was young. I went through phases of thinking it was lame, people would make fun of me, etc. It was only recently that I realized that was all bullshit, and I can do whatever I want with my life. The people who would call me “artsy fartsy” aren’t people I respect anyways.

Now It’s all I can think about. I’m a little obsessed. Which could be a good thing or a bad thing, as I tend to get really attached to something, and then slowly lose interest until I quit. I’ve learned some things about discipline though, and I think I might need to stick it out through the hard times when I don’t enjoy.

All I know is right now I feel passionate about writing. And it’s good to feel that way.


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