The common theory for why writers are often depressed is rather basic: writers think a lot and people who think a lot tend to be unhappy. Add to that long periods of isolation and the high levels of narcissism that draws someone to a career like writing, and it seems obvious why they might not be the happiest bunch…. In Touched with Fire, a touchstone book on the relationship between “madness and creativity,” Kay Redfield Jamison, a psychiatry professor at Johns Hopkins, reported that successful individuals were eight times more likely as “regular people” to suffer from a serious depressive illness…. [A] study conducted by Nancy Andreasen at the prestigious Iowa Writers’ Workshop found that 80 percent of the residents displayed some form of depression.
Growing up, I remember reading about writers and being struck by how so many seemed cursed with depression or depression-related issues…and how many met untimely ends. Hemingway swallowed a shotgun, Sylvia Plath stuck her head in a gas oven and died of carbon monoxide poisoning, Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald drove each other mad…and so on down the list. What was it, I wondered, that caused so many brilliant, talented writers to flirt with depression and/or other forms of mental illness? Many years later, I’m all too familiar with the writer-depression connection; it turns out that creative types tend to be prone to depression. Something about thinking too much, I guess. Or maybe the insecurity, lack of self-confidence, and low self-esteem. Yeah, that sounds familiar.
I’ve dealt with depression my entire adult life and, being a writer, I feel something of a cliché. As one who spends a good deal of time in my own head- which is where writers tend to hang out- I’ve come to understand that’s not necessarily a good thing. Combine that with long periods of solitude spent at my keyboard, and it’s not difficult to understand why writing and madness have historically occupied adjacent real estate.
A few months back, Andreas Fink at the University of Graz in Austria found a relationship between the ability to come up with an idea and the inability to suppress the precuneus while thinking. The precuneus is the area of the brain that shows the highest levels of activation during times of rest and has been linked to self-consciousness and memory retrieval. It is an indicator of how much one ruminates or ponders oneself and one’s experiences.
For most people, this area of the brain only lights up at restful times when one is not focusing on work or even daily tasks. For writers and creatives, however, it seems to be constantly activated. Fink’s hypothesis is that the most creative people are continually making associations between the external world and their internal experiences and memories. They cannot focus on one thing quite like the average person. Essentially, their stream of ideas is always running—the tap does not shut off—and, as a result, creative people show schizophrenic, borderline manic-depressive tendencies. Really, that’s no hyperbole. Fink found that this inability to suppress the precuneus is seen most dominantly in two types of people: creatives and psychosis patients.
The research also shows that writers, generally speaking, are lousy lovers…but though I take issue with that, it’s another issue for another time. For our purposes, I’m concerned that so much of the depression that seems characteristics of writers and other creatives matches what I’ve dealt with for as long as I can remember. I can finally claim to have something in common with Hemingway, though it’s not what I might have hoped for.
Experience has shown me that it’s unlikely depression will magically cure itself and disappear. If it hasn’t vanished of its own accord by now, it’s doubtful it will happen in the foreseeable future. For me, then, the key is awareness, treatment, and counseling. I’d hoped that by this point in my life I’d have a handle on my depression, but simply not the case. I’ve come to see that its something that will always be there; it’s just a matter of how large and aggressive the demons are.
If this is the price for my creativity, so be it. We all have our crosses to bear; this just happens to be mine. There are worse things to deal with. I suppose the good news is that this goes a long way towards explaining why I’ve spent my life feeling like a square peg in a world of round holes. I’ve never really felt as if I’ve fit in- anywhere- but at least now I have some empirical research to explain why I’ve felt that way.
Thankfully, there are no shotguns in our house, our oven is electric, and I don’t like alcohol enough to drink myself to death…so it looks if y’all are stuck with me for the duration.
Party on, Garth….
