Writing gives you a glimpse of what it’s like to be manic depressive. Bipolar. So does all art I suppose. I’m sure I’m not the first person who has said that. After all Hemingway killed himself and Van Gogh cut off his ear. Talk about a depressive state if I’ve ever heard of one. The highs are so high. The words are pouring through your fingers like Spiderman’s webbing. You are simultaneously witty, poignant and intelligent. You are making readers laugh and cry and ponder their very existence on the earth. You are resolving latent psychological issues and becoming a better person. All through the power transferring from brain to MacBook Pro. And it just keeps on rolling like a boulder down the mountainside. Until it stops.
Nothing.
Silence.
Dead.
And there you wake up one day without the words. Sometimes they are gone for years. Sometimes just for a few days or a few hours. You feel like you can’t even type a grammatically correct sentence let alone a poignant observation on personal experiences that somehow sheds light on the deep-seated fears and longing of all humanity. There are no witty remarks. There are no laugh-out-loud anecdotes. Just a big, fat, blinking cursor on a blank page. It laughs at you, mocking your inadequacy and lack of intelligence.
And it won’t stop blinking.
Posts
And you said you have writer's block not able to write posts and all. If you write like this then why claim writer's block.
ReplyDeleteI like this blog. You've got style, Kate Waller. Or should I say, Kate Baller?
ReplyDeleteHowever, I think your comparison of bipolar disorder and writing is a bit weak. We know you can do better.