Creativity & Depression

Not sure how this entry will be received, it’s more than a little personal, will almost certainly be speckled with inclement language, and whether it actually has any place in this blog depends upon the conclusion I have yet to arrive at, to a question I’m not sure is worth asking. If that isn’t tantalising enough for you, I have absolutely no idea where to begin. Still interested? I’ll give it a go…

I am thinking about the link in mine and others’ character between creativity and depression. As a creative type, one or two people have spoken to me about where it all comes from; as a diagnosed depressive of more than half my life, one or two other people have spoken of whether my condition fuels my creativity. There are certainly reasons for believing that depression does fuel creativity: speaking simply from my own experience, the gradual recovery following an episode can lead me to appreciate some of the smallest gestures from people, or the smallest detail about something I see during a walk, for example. This isn’t directly connected to the actual state of depression, but I would certainly say that I observe more when my mood is on the way up again, if only as a reaction to the fact that during an episode, the degree to which I am observant to these things drops almost to zero. It may well be that the relief of no longer being numb and unresponsive to the things around me heightens my senses a little more than usual.

That would be my argument for making a connection between depression and creativity. There is evidence for it too: at the time, and certainly now, I thought that these photographs from a weekend in Southwold in November 2009 had more than a slight undertone of my mood at the time about them – on the day they were taken, I was beginning to lift out of a trough following some profoundly sad news. (Feel free to turn away if this becomes uncomfortably personal to read. Such a personal subject is bound to be as difficult to read as it is to write about, it’s only really aimed at people who are genuinely interested.) At the time of capturing the image of Southwold Pier, I was aware that I would darken the afternoon sky and make the most of that rushing seawater (clichéd as I’m sure those effects are), bringing through the dark tones for that moody effect. Gosh, writing about it like that makes it sound pants, doesn’t it? As for the image of Stacey, my girlfriend, I am quite certain that I would never have taken that melancholy shot if I’d been feeling more chipper.





Of course, during a full-blown episode of depression, creativity, like all other thinking and even movement, shuts down, overtaken by a foul manner of thought that rears its ugly head, eating away at its victim. If you will, please understand that I am writing this in an effort to be helpful to other sufferers, and to help non-sufferers to understand the condition a little better. For the sake of openness, I am going to quote from my diary, to which I forced myself to contribute during my last episode, and as I pointed out before, it is going to be excruciating to read, just as it was excruciating to write:

‘Black, black mood came over me this afternoon. Numb feeling of nothing…’
‘Such a massive twat, a big, responsibility-shirking, spineless, selfish twat. Cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt. Got your own fucking way, didn’t you. Cunt. Doesn’t fucking matter whether anyone else is happy or not, does it? Cunt…’
‘Mood has picked up just a smidgen – I now have the light on (the act of which had taken me over two hours)…’

Oh deary Lord. In my present state of mind, which, by the way is very much improved, none of this makes any sense. I cannot explain to you what caused the mood, nor can I justify those Tourette’s-like comments about myself. I don’t recognise those comments as coming from my pencil, and curiously, I barely even recognise the actual handwriting as my own, scrawled and messy as it is. I spent almost all of two days in my bed. That is my approximation of what depression is – as I mentioned earlier, depression itself has nothing to do with creativity, and everything to do with its polar opposite – a total poleaxeing of the mind. If there is a link between depression and creativity, it is in the recovery from it, and in the motivation to move away from that dank, stagnant, harrowing cycle of self-blame and irrationality.

Having said that, though, given that I was very creative before my depression actually set in (at the age of, ahem, twelve), who is to say that I wouldn’t have been creative anyway? Is it really so necessary for pleasure to disappear completely, for someone such as myself to notice it when it’s there? Of course not. I point you towards the millions of people who live relatively happy lives without ever experiencing this condition. What about the millions of depressives out there who wouldn’t consider themselves to be especially creative? No. Perhaps it’s supposed to be a comforting thought, that depression will at least encourage creative output in the long run, but if you ask me, it’s the recovery, the return of the rational and normal state of mind that should be encouraged for its creativity, not depression itself.

Dedicated to Stacey & Robin for their kindness, and to your good self for following this post through…