Pass/Fail

Posted by fxckfeelings on May 20, 2010

Writing looks easy; after all all you need is pen, paper, and maybe a table at Starbucks. Then there’s inspiration and an interesting topic. Plus a fully functioning brain, a supportive audience, and, of course, shitloads of luck. Oh, and a trust fund. It’s no wonder then that writing and depression dance a delicate pas de deux with one another, and that torturing yourself for not “succeeding” as a creative mind is a pretty useless, uncreative punishment.
–Dr. Lastname

I’m an older woman with two advanced degrees in creative writing (one from Iowa, la di da). My career, on the other hand, hasn’t risen beyond doing commercial writing, be it technical or ad copy. I get published in small journals here and there, but after my first novel got a handful of rejections, my agent dropped me, and I haven’t been able to finish another novel in order to get a new agent and sell the first. My limited number of published pieces has also made it hard to get a teaching job, even though I got degree number 2 specifically to enter academia. So now I’m stuck working in advertising, and while it’s a good steady job that pays well, it still kills me a bit inside. Nevermind that I’ve absolutely struggled with depression my whole life, and while I take a handful of medications to control it, it’s just an added level of difficulty. Nonetheless, with my illness under control but my dream still very much out of control, my goal is to make this job work so I can settle and maybe even be happy.

You could say writing is a stupid career choice, given the unlikelihood of making money, and that academia isn’t much better, given the current job market. It’s as stupid as counting on a career in the NBA because you’re good at basketball.

The truth is, a large part of being a writer isn’t a matter of choice; it’s who you are, and trying to find a life that fits. It’s not so much a bad choice as a bum calling, with inspiration necessary but never promising to come when called.

The good news is that you’ve got a day job that involves writing, you’re making a living, you’re gathering experience that may inspire your next novel, and you can always find some teaching opportunities that will spiff up your credentials. For your parents, it’s very good news.

I know, my congratulations do nothing but cause your inner-writer chagrin. That voice says you’ve failed to fulfill your creative purpose, find your voice and message, connect with an audience, or put together something that moves people.

The good news, again, is that there’s nothing I or anyone can say to quiet that voice, because it will never let you be entirely happy. Short of getting a lobotomy, that voice will be your most constant companion, and if you succeed in writing a book that sells, his demands become more relentless.

So invent a good, kind speech for your inner narrator to tell yourself. You don’t control the result, so your job is to respect the effort. Consider the many writers and immortal characters, from Chekhov to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, who remind us that we don’t fight against hardship to win, we fight to fight, regardless of the result.

If you’ve learned to carry on despite depression, you can keep on going even if your job isn’t ideal. Your story isn’t dramatic, but that’s precisely what makes it heroic.

STATEMENT:
Let your narrative voice frame the meaning of your efforts. “I wish I could do more writing and teaching, and someday I may, but in the meantime I have good reason to be proud of the compromise I struck between the need to make a living and the wish to do what I love, because it’s hard, it’s the best I can do, and it’s for a good cause.”

I was a promising graduate student in English, doing well, respected, enjoying talks about books and ideas, when something happened and I just faded out of the real world. Nothing traumatic happened to me. I didn’t get dumped or mugged. I just stopped getting my work done and the extensions grew longer and longer on my projects and papers until finally I had to leave without getting my PhD. Whenever I try to go back and finish off my old projects, I just stare at the computer. I’m sort of depressed and medications have helped me feel a little better, but I’m still not good at getting things done. Now I’m teaching high school English and the kids like me and I like teaching, when I’m prepared, which isn’t always. I never know when I’ll get paralyzed and not prepare a lesson plan or fail to grade papers. My goal is not to be the total fuck-up I’ve become.

Some people regard procrastination as a kind of laziness resulting from a secret loathing for work, or a rebellion against bosses, or a rage against life in general.

Those same people, however, are the ones who see mental illness as an emotional failure. They’re not all Scientologists, but they are all wrong.

The evidence is growing that procrastination arises from disordered neurology, the equivalent of “chemical imbalance” except sadder and scarier, because what’s happening is brain damage. You’re probably not firing on all cylinders, literally, since brain images shows cells missing from critical locations.

It happens to lots of people who’ve had depression, even when the depressed feeling gets better. It’s true, theoretically, you could grow new brain cells, but in practice, the damage often doesn’t improve.

I blame your neurons, not to let you off the hook, but to show you that, while you’ve got more ambition than most, you’re running on less horsepower. Which means your diagnosis is, you’re fucked. The good news, as always, is that there’s no point in blaming yourself, and there’s much you can do once you accept that you’re fucked and stop feeling ashamed.

No blame, but there’s no escaping the hook, and it hurts more because you have high ambitions, which causes more depression, and so on. You might not be able to meet deadlines, but you can still cook up brilliant thoughts, and there are worse ways to have a busted brain.

I know, it’s hard to feel proud when the teacher is farther behind on his homework than the kids, but that’s the way your equipment works, so do your best with it.

STATEMENT:
“I still care about English literature and teaching, but I have trouble doing what’s necessary for reasons I can’t help. So my goal is to try to provide good teaching by using a number of tricks, including asking my friends to help me stay on task and stick to a work schedule. I don’t know if I can teach a good course, but I’ll try, and I respect myself more for trying to get half-decent work out of a busted brain than great work from one that’s super-gifted.”