Is it just me, or does it seem like there are more articles about mental illness on the evening news lately? Not that I’m complaining, its a good thing - really it is, but I also can’t help but feel its cold comfort that this issue is suddenly hot and worth talking about.
It appears that the major media outlets all covered this study today:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-19959565 (This is a link to the BBC study but most networks all give the same summary).
http://ki.se/ki/jsp/polopoly.jsp?d=130&a=151722&l=en&newsdep=130 (This link is from the Swedish Institute where the study was done).
Essentially, the report concludes that mental illness (e.g. bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, depression, autism) is linked to creativity (e.g. writing, dancing, photography, research).
I don’t think its a coincidence I keep a bound hardcover copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s work on my nightstand. While I prefer to write short story or essay style pieces myself, I do find poetry interesting and enjoyable to analyze.
I remember being in high school literature classes and finding it strange that other students couldn’t figure out the meaning of the poem we were assigned to read simply by tweezing apart the word play of the author. I eventually dropped literature in my final year of high school because I found it boring. Looking back I wonder if I shouldn’t have been in an accelerated class instead.
I was always a voracious reader. One of my earliest memories was of reading bedtime stories to myself until I fell asleep. All the classic fairy tales: Aesop, Mother Goose, The Brothers Grimm... My parents never read to me. My father was too lazy to bother and my mother, who sadly was pulled out of school after grade 5, wasn’t comfortable reading books. So I did it myself. Growing up, I’ve often wondered how many parents actually read to their children at bedtime. It seemed like all the families on TV did... oh well. It was probably just another fairy tale.
Recently I’ve been wondering why I didn’t make more of an effort to write considering how much I liked it. I can’t say for sure but two things come to mind off hand:
- Firstly, I never received much encouragement at home in this area (as mentioned above).
- Secondly, and probably more influential/traumatic, were the bullies in my grade nine literature class. An incident I
remember specifically, was when a poem I had written for school was published in our high school newsletter. Sure its only a high school paper, but when you’re a little kid from a small town it was as awesome and just as great as if the New Yorker had come calling. But what I thought was a blessing turned out to be a curse. I remember the morning when the paper was passed out, the group of girls who all turned on me after reading my poem. They scoffed, and spat, and called me a fraud. They said there was no way I could have written that. Despite their inability to support their accusation with proof (any previously published work which I had apparently copied), mob mentality ruled. I don’t know why those girls hated me so, and why that poem was such a trigger for them, but they ganged up on me all year long. I didn’t write much after that. Didn’t see any good coming from it.
I wish I had a copy of that poem today. I’d like to re-read it and try to understand the whole thing. I do remember that it was a sad poem and didn’t have a very happy ending. The girl died in the end.
Wow, I haven’t thought about this in a long time. It wasn’t until this past year - when I finally found an amazing doctor (and by amazing I mean a doctor who possesses the traits of compassion, commitment, patience, objectivity, intelligence, competence and respect) - that I started thinking about writing again. I was working through a manic episode at the time and I was describing my dreams to him. I had never discussed how dark and scary and intense my dreams were with anybody before then. It was a milestone for me I suppose.
My dreams always came and went over time, but have been there for as long as I can remember. I kept them bottled away until that day in his office. After I described my dreams to him I held my breath. I was afraid of what he would say. If he would even believe me. After a moment of silence he straightened the thoughtful composure of his countenance and suggested that I should be writing horror stories.
It was the first time anyone had ever encouraged me to write, especially in a genre that was branded taboo. I suppose it would be prudent to add to this discussion that the teachers at the catholic school I attended frowned on the topics I wanted to hone my grammar and writing skills with. After so long I just gave up.
Its hard to do a full 180 after all I’ve been through.
But I’m trying. Actually, it’s been through this blog that I’ve attempted to start writing again. Its the first time I’ve ever written about my dreams. And thats due to my doc’s support. It was strange to suddenly start writing it down, all the dark thoughts and images in my mind, then send it out to the world, but at the same time extremely cathartic.
I think I should make more of an effort to scribe my dreams. It probably wouldn’t be too long before I’d have my own collection of short horror stories.
One of the other issues I have about writing is inconsistency. My dreams and thoughts and creative moments come and go in unpredictable cycles. They can not be forced into structure.
Its clearer to me now, since I’ve been diagnosed and have been making an effort to reflect on things past. Just looking at this blog over time I can tell when I’m running high (e.g. dreaming more, writing more, sleeping less, acting out) and then settling down or swinging low (e.g. too bummed to write or care). Last year I had so many intense dreams and was relieved when they tapered off over the spring and early summer. But since August they’ve started up again. Terrifying dreams where I’ve been fighting zombies or stumbling upon corpses while swimming in the lake. I’m going to try to write them down again. I really should.
Sitting down at my laptop this evening, I had no intention to write about any of this (my dreams, writing and mood disorder), but obviously the news article I stumbled across hit a nerve, and it ran deeper than I thought. I’ve always suspected a link between my mood swings (my mental illness) and my levels of creativity and productivity. I suppose I felt a sense of validation when I read the report linking creativity and mental illness. Then I figured venting through words seemed appropriate.
Countless times I’ve wondered if an earlier diagnosis would have made my life any easier or happier, but now I also wonder if I had a more open-minded and nurturing environment growing up would things have been different for me. I’ve discussed my parents a fair bit, but haven’t really sorted out nor reconciled all the negative experiences I had in my school years. I was tormented, bullied and outcast consistently and harshly from grades 7-12.
There were only 4 teachers in my entire time at high school that ever reached out to me and had a genuine conversation about my life and self. I wonder if it was because 3 of them were science teachers that I ended up studying science at university? I never felt like any of my arts and literature teachers liked me for some reason. Except for one substitute teacher. He took over grade 10 literature after the regular teacher suffered a nervous breakdown. No joke. The bullies at my school were hardcore and no one was spared their wrath. They eventually pushed 1 of the 3, and the only female, literature teacher past her breaking point. She was a good literature teacher, tough but fair. I respect and appreciate that now, but back then most high school kids hated her b/c she challenged them to work, think and discuss. I suppose it was this that caused the childish resentment necessary for bullying, and their fuel was found in her painfully obvious struggle with obesity. They broke her. I never saw her again. I graduated a couple years later and she still hadn’t returned to teaching by then. I hope she’s doing better now.
I truly hated high school. I don’t really want to go into the subject of bullying here and now, but let me just point out it can make your life hell. More to the point, I wonder if those bastards hadn’t broke our best lit teacher and scared me away from writing would I have taken a different path? I’ll never know. And I know that I shouldn’t spend too much time dwelling on it, but perhaps its worth a brief visit back to this place in order to take back my self-confidence, esteem and worth. Perhaps some inspiration too.
Argh! I still have so much to reconcile. It seems like the more I dig, the more I find.
There’s something to that saying: ignorance is bliss. I suppose that’s why so many of us drink. But also why so many of us write or express ourselves through the arts. I’m going to try to start writing again. We’ll see what happens...
