I know it’s a pretty common thing that when you’re sad, you tend to write more, or “better.” I am not a psychologist but I could probably say from my own personal experience that it’s true, and the multitude of authors, poets, etc. who have churned out wonderful pieces of literature suffered from depression or bouts of severe melancholia, even if they didn’t have mental illnesses. It’s easy to write when your heart is breaking, your emotions pour out, and in a sense, you have to pour them out. Otherwise, you would probably suffocate and drown in your own thoughts, doubts and pain.
But what about the other way around? Does writing ever make you sad?
Does introspection makes you blue, or am I just a cynic?
In general, I think that I am a happily happy person doing happy things and being happy and living a happy life. I am not currently suffering from exenuating circumstances that would cause me to be doubled over in sadness but sometimes the more I write and explore the questions inside my head, the sadder I become. Maybe it’s just because of the things that I think about…like the meaning of life, the meaning of love, the meaning and value of anything and everything.
I know it’s silly to say that in the grand scheme of these things, when you zoom out to the “pale blue dot,” our lives are small so that it doesn’t matter what we do. It’s silly because I don’t believe it (because we have to find meaning in our lives so that we don’t just exist pointlessly as invisible dots on the surface of that planet, and the meaning of our lives might be to create meaning for them), but really, when you do zoom out that far, not only in physical distance but also in temporal distance, then what is the value of your life and the things that you place value in? Does it matter that your heart is breaking now, does it even matter that you might think that you might not matter?
I suppose I can look at it from a different perspective, the one I try to have on most days, and live with intention and gratitude that I have the capacity to be a meaningful existence in this world and do something with my life.
Sometimes, it’s just hard. Especially when I start writing. When I start writing and thinking, it goes on like this and I sometimes just get impossibly lonely and sad.
(I think I have been having an existential crisis for most of my life and I am only 22).