WRITERS | INSANITY
Mental Health and a Writer’s Brain
Is the end of the story really the end of the story?
You are a Writer
Whether you sit or stand is not relevant.
Poetry, Fiction, Nonfiction, Gamers, Travelers, Historians, and more, infiltrate our brains as we are usually insatiable readers. The best writers ultimately generate from being lovers of the written word and hunger for more.
Demanding appetites whet by stories everywhere.
Whether you choose to dictate into your phone, make scratched notes on paper, or type on a keyboard, it doesn’t matter.
Your physical approach works for you. You get the job done in the most effective atmosphere you can find.
Writers freely share their methods. They are less apt to offer the repercussions that follow. It is still sensitive in this day and age to discuss our emotional trek. Does it touch the raw bone of mental health?
I imagine it does.
The psychological toll on the journey of a writer may look different in each individual. Regardless of your acceptance of that fact, it is there.
And, that matters.
Some freely talk about it.
Many ignore it hoping it goes away.
And some people simply think of themselves as crazy.
The Process
The road traveled when a story is given life is an ever-evolving one. Sometimes the flow is hard, fast, and furious. It spills out of its own accord and practically creates itself. Characters fill in the color and expose their personalities with a flair. Your story, driven on autopilot, races to the finish line with nary a hiccup.
Other times the layers unfold out of sync, and hair-pulling becomes the natural reflex. The main character is hobbling, looking nothing like you had imagined. Massaging, grooming, and fine-tuning take longer than the clear vision that was presented in your brain. Frustration brews, but you cannot let go. There is a story in your brain that keeps losing translation in the transfer. You stay on it with the tenacity of a pit bull terrier.
Either route exhausts you.
Each creation has a beginning, a middle, and an end.
The phases are uniquely important and gratifying. That first keystroke for me indicates the journey I will be taking. I have gotten right down to madly typing, hair askew, and jammies still warm from my nighttime semi-slumber. In the middle of crafting a new story, I will lose track of time. I may google an item for accuracy, or even get up and stretch to let my details settle a bit. It is a process and rarely looks the same.
What has never wavered and continues to haunt me each time is the end. Not the conclusive finish in the writing of it or even the editing that will follow. It is the actual end.
It is over.
Done.
Complete.
Pencil down; time’s up.
The doors swing open and usher in the overwhelming darkness of heavy grief. Initially, I experience a slight body-numbing heaviness.
But mentally?
Even worse.
Foggy thoughts and an unshakable sadness invade my soul. I had come to love the people in my story, or properly despise them, and now I had to say goodbye. Their all-consuming presence deeply impacted me. I cohabitated with them in my spirit, and they mercilessly moved on.
Their job was done. Background details, majestic scenery perhaps, are rolled up and moved aside. Relegated to a new purpose, they will join a list of previously finished stories. I miss them within minutes of having sent them off to publishing. I pace in my kitchen to drain any unspent energy.
Non-writers may scoff, so searching for solace and any authentic support from them is a dead end.
We have each other, though, right?
Maybe yes, maybe no.
Goodbye Is Never Easy
Grief manifests differently from writer to writer. Regardless, it is all pain-filled. Many times, a writer’s reaction may even be misdirected. Despondency is easily detected, though. It peeks out from underneath. The host body may not recognize it even though it is apparent to others.
It may look like accusations, threats to never write again, or tidal waves of self-doubt. The adrenaline dissipated, and if outside affirmations and kudos are not immediate, suffering is real.
Personally, I wander around my kitchen looking for something to eat. Nothing beats carb overload regret to add into the mix of self-loathing.
Moping for a bit, I wonder what it is all about and why I choose to write.
I have come to hate the after.
Once I was done with my over-analyzing, thorough self-deprecation, gained a few pounds, and finished my other usual assessments of ineptness, I finally turned a corner.
I made a decision.
No more.
I cannot stand the grieving. As a kid on the playground whose shins got kicked, a favorite birthday balloon that popped, or an ice cream scoop that squished out of the cone and landed in the street, I am sad.
Really, no more.
Clapping the dust off my hands, I now bid adieu to my momentary best friend, and I start writing.
Prepare to Move on
I have learned to open new documents in the course of any random day and type a thought, a sentence, an idea, or even a few paragraphs, to save on my desktop. There are currently five projects in various stages of infancy. I scan them with precision and pick the one that strikes me most. It may fizzle out quickly because the love has not taken hold yet.
To change my mind and work on one of the other stragglers is my prerogative.
I created this as my coping mechanism to shake my grief faster by building in immediate distractions.
Preparedness.
Choices.
Welcoming the new lives.
Sadness at the loss of my friend still exists, but I have diminished the stronghold. Only I could give myself the power to redirect my energies.
The new plots, life messages, and unformed fictional characters are free to come out. They have all patiently waited for me to beckon, and I do so with great care.
The sooner I allow them to take center stage, the quicker my pain subsides regarding the ones I had to let go of.
I am not a writer doctor. I don’t even play one on TV. I simply share my method in the hopes that it may help another. If your grief comes with profound sorrow and impedes your daily living, there are professionals to help you navigate your mental wellness.
We are better off facing it. The grief comes, and we should be able to openly discuss it. We can help each other discover additional coping mechanisms and save someone from reinventing the wheel.
I just start fresh.
You are a Writer
Your mental health and wellness matter.
You are not alone.
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