Reflecting on the Connection Between My Depression and Passion for Writing

Creativity and depression have a complex relationship. In one way, writing helps me process my mental health, but in another, my depression helps fuel my writing. In this article, I dive into this interesting dynamic.

I’m a very (read: EXTREMELY) sensitive person. I cry often (read: A LOT). I crave connection with others. I practice empathy and challenge myself to see other’s perspectives, regardless of how I feel about a situation.

I shamelessly cry while reading or watching movies. I can’t kill bugs, so I catch and release them outside (that spider might have a family, OK?).

Once, my roommate’s cat killed a mouse and I not-so-jokingly demanded we hold a moment of silence. Last year, I found a dead bird outside and made the time to bury it in a garden. I can’t watch horror movies because I can’t stand seeing someone — even a fictionalized character — in pain.

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Navigating life with deep emotions

I believe my sensitivity contributes to my kind and thoughtful nature. It’s something I value about myself. It’s encouraged me to be an empathic person and has helped me become more self-aware and open. But my sensitivity means that I feel my emotions deeply.

I’m wounded by comments others might shrug off. I reflect on moments that others seemingly immediately forget. It takes me forever to get over a breakup and has led me to forfeit dating altogether. Nostalgia is my friend, but equally an enemy. Sometimes I feel strange, almost outlandish, because I feel and express my emotions in ways that others don’t.

They say that crying or asking for help is a sign of strength. When you cry as often as I do, it starts to feel like a weakness. You start to feel like the problem. Sure, my sensitivity is my greatest strength. But it’s consequently my greatest weakness.

I’m convinced that my sensitivity has contributed to my depression. My feelings are constantly amplified. When I’m in a good mood, I radiate warmth and happiness. I move gracefully through the world, dancing in grocery stores, eagerly chatting with strangers, unbothered by others’ perceptions of me.

But when I’m sad, I’m sad. The pendulum swings in the other direction completely, and though I can slap on a smile, it’s clearly performative. My self-esteem plummets, and I’m unkind to myself. I dread talking with others and sluggishly move through the day eagerly (if you can call it that?) awaiting the return to my room.

Writing as a tool to express my feelings

I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. When I was 5 years old, I remember declaring that I would someday make a career of it. It’s been wrapped into my identity since childhood. In college, while others groaned about writing essays, I was secretly excited to investigate complicated themes through the written word.

Writing is a release for me to explore emotions (of which I have many), write my innermost thoughts, and make sense of feelings that I can’t seem to articulate in real time.

My sensitivity allows me to empathize with others. It grants me the ability to connect and feel deeply for people—be they friends, family, or fictional characters. It allows me to create characters who feel real because I feel their very real emotions through them.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I’ve longed to be a writer since childhood and have developed depression in adulthood. In some ways, I believe the two go hand-in-hand. It’s my sensitivity that helps my writing.

But feeling deeply consequently means that I will feel all emotions deeply — including feelings of despair and hopelessness.

The therapeutic effect of writing on my depression

During depressive episodes, writing has always been something toward which I’ve turned. I’ve written three full manuscripts, all while coming out of depressive episodes. Writing while depressed allows me a space to escape my own emotions and channel them into fictional characters and problems.

It’s also a puzzle — constructing a story, a character arc, or even a sentence, takes time and thought to piece together. It’s a distraction for my brain but also … enjoyable?

I write comedic scenes and remember that there’s humor. I write declarations of love and remember that there’s hope. I write emotional scenes and remember that my character will come out of it and that I will, too.

I like to think that I have a talent for writing. I suppose when depressed, writing reminds me that I’m good at something, which makes me proud of myself. Writing, especially working on a manuscript, is something to work toward and complete.

It has, quite literally, gotten me out of bed because I know that by working on a story, I’ll be one step closer to my dream of publication.

The unexpected benefits of depression on my writing

The “tortured artist” trope has long been used to describe artists such as Van Gogh, Ernest Hemingway, Sylvia Plath, and Kurt Cobain. It seems almost semi-glamorous; Taylor Swift even recently made an entire aesthetic of it with her new album “The Tortured Poets Department.”

I often joke that I sometimes feel like a tortured artist and that I must be deep in my feelings (and therefore somewhat depressed) to write anything of worth. I confess here that I do think that my best writing comes from when I’ve been my saddest.

I once admitted to my therapist that I wanted to be in a depressive episode because maybe then I’d be able to find the motivation to write all the time. (Note: this is not healthy. Don’t wish for depression. I’m working on it in therapy; it’s fine.)

A few years ago, as I was coming out of a severe depressive episode, I started working on a new manuscript and consequently finished a story that was semi-inspired by my experience.

Writing it, though painful, was incredibly cathartic. On the page, I was able to express feelings that I felt too embarrassed to share with friends in real life. I was able to imagine conversations that I wish I could’ve had and utter words that I wish I could’ve said.

The takeaway

I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising that I write while depressed or even that I write in general: writing is a space where I do not need to be embarrassed about my sensitivity because it’s a space where that sensitivity is valued.

It continues to be cathartic, fun, and motivating.

And it’s the one thing in this world that helps me make sense of the nonsensical things around me.