I’ve been examining the difference between living one’s life in depression or taking one’s life prematurely. Â Here I’ll post examples notable to me from the perspective that each person had an honorable mindset and the outcome was essentially the same.
Robert Frost lived with depression for most of his life, living through the  death of his wife and three of his children (as results of physical illness), the depression of his daughter, and the suicide of one of his sons.  He died naturally, remembered and respected by many.
Ernest Hemingway suffered depression, likely induced by his experience in World War I and heightened by his negative outlook on mankind. Â He married (multiple times) Â and had children, traveled, and achieved success and reverence as a writer. Â Still, he shot himself at age 61, I imagine never having found relief. Â He watched many of his close friends die, and this is said to have affected him worst of all.
Jimi Hendrix led an enjoyed and celebrated life. Â He became a professional musician in his teens and worked at nothing but writing music. Â While appearing to hold a positive attitude, he experimented with drugs (as did most of his generation) and overdosed.
Similarly, Charlie Parker was open to the success of his musicianship. Â However, he was addicted to alcohol and heroin, and died as a result of his indulgence in drugs. Â I haven’t read any biographies on Charlie, but judging from his music and a few interviews, listening to the way he speaks about music with this distilled passion from anything else in his life, I would argue he was depressed. Â The drug abuse and the rockiness of his relations to other people are evidence.
Examining each of these people, people whom I admire, they each exhibit the need to indulge. Â Frost was the only person who did not have an abuse problem and did not die “before his time.” Â Still, his depression was admitted and evident. Â Examining the others, they each grasped what life had to offer, though due to difficulties with other people or mental illness, they still suffered from depression.
Ultimately, I wonder if it would be worth supporting myself with a job (one I liked or not), and trying to wring out as much enjoyment of life as I could. Â The problem is that since I tried to kill myself in November, this is exactly what I have been doing and my outlook on my own life has gotten even worse. Â I do not believe life itself is pointless, meaningless, or unworthy of being valued; I simply do not see how my life will change enough to make me value spending more time here. Â Imagining I begin taking medication (SSRIs), and live the rest of my life, I’m not sure what would take place in the next 60+ years that would be worth experiencing. Â With the numbness I already feel towards everything I enjoy, and that I have begun to feel sick to my stomach every time I hear music, I’m unsure what there is that I am supposed to see. Â I suppose if I do kill myself, I can be given credit for acknowledging the value of life in theory, and that my suicide was not an affront to life generally or my own life, but my condition. Â If I cannot find relief in medication, I do not know what can save me.
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I really can’t find any peace. I’ve been having rapid mood swings for the last three hours. I’ll talk to myself and calm myself down, then five minutes later I’ll blow up over something so trivial. I’ll get angry and think horrible, violent thoughts and feel like I’m some sort of murderer, even though I’m a pacifist and see no point in fighting over anything.
I can’t keep my head out of tragic thoughts. I want to forget what’s going on outside my door and just play Marvel vs Capcom, but I worry I’m wasting my time; that enjoying anything is a waste. Tornadoes have been ripping through adjacent towns and states on the east coast. I’ve tossed around the idea of devoting myself to charity work, but sickeningly I would hate it; I went to Catholic school for 11 grades and am an Eagle scout. I never felt any rewards from performing charity or service work. I always felt just helping those around me or being polite felt the most rewarding; or if a stranger was uncharacteristly nice to me, that felt the most rewarding.
I keep cycling between thoughts. I can’t calm myself down or let my mind relax; I feel I’m neglecting my responsibilities. Am I allowed this time to relax, or should I be doing something more important and worthwhile? I never thought I’d say this, but I want to get out of my own head. If I had a gun, I’d put a bullet in my head so fast. The worst part is if I get over these feelings for now, a couple hours, when I try to go to sleep tonight they will all flood back into me, an endless torrent of thought, for better or worse.
Very interesting thoughts, GC. I’ve often thought about great artists, writers, musicians and their link with depression. But the bottom line is that nobody really cares about the torment they went through. Their depression is a mere footnote in history compared to what they produced. When someone says “let’s talk about Hendrix”, does anyone talk about his suffering & loss of control? No, we talk about Hey Joe & Little Wing & Voodoo Child.
My point is that these great artists illustrate how insignificant & irrelevant human happiness is. I suppose there were many times when Beethoven was crying alone in despair trying to deal with his horrible affliction, but nobody gives a damn about that. All we care about is his 5th Symphony. So I would say, if you decide to live, focus not on enjoyment because enjoyment is pointless. Focus instead on the tangible things you leave behind as evidence of your existence. Nobody gives a damn, or will ever give a damn, if you were happy today or suicidally depressed. But if you write a great song, that’s what people will talk about 200 years from now.
I know this post probably sounds cynical & sarcastic. But if you think about it, it can be very inspirational, too. The next time you feel like absolute shit, just remember that you’re the only one that cares. Then you might realize how pointless it is to feel like shit. Well at least that’s the thought that gets me through most days.
That attitude is an affront to any artist; that the common fan only cares about the media, the product, with no respect for the artist. The natural turmoil one goes through to create something, that is supposed to subside upon completion of the project. The adoration means nothing; perhaps the admiration of particular people, mostly other creators. As soon as one song is done, all that matters is the next. As soon as one story is finished, all I’m focusing on is the next. But between the cycles of creation, there’s only the struggle to survive long enough till the next idea.
That you’re struggling and no one cares, no one will help or mind until you provide them with something? That seems awful, that you’re struggling alone and no one can respect or appreciate the work you’re doing. Why bother? If no one understands the struggle, how can they understand the work? No one appreciates the work I’m doing and it’s making me want to pull the trigger. I used to want my name in textbooks, stated as an example, a vanguard in musical and literary study. I gave that up when I realized it was pointless; no one would recognize the struggle. If it’s all for me anyone, why bother leaving anything behind. Sentence me to dwell in my own head, and leave me be.
That attitude is most certainly an affront to any artist. It doesn’t change the fact that it IS the general attitude. Does anyone have a clue what Balzac suffered through? No, we just know he wrote some great literature. Van Gogh? Oh the famous painter who cut his ear off. Even the act of cutting his ear off evoked no genuine sympathy; to the public it’s just a spectacle. But now take the works of Balzac & the paintings of Van Gogh… these things have lasting, profound impacts on people.
This is the case with all of us, whether we’re famous artists, unknown artists or regular people. The fact is that our feelings don’t matter. What we *do* with our feelings is what matters. We are pistons in a machine, and what we feel is irrelevant compared to our duty. Epicurus, the Greek philosopher who said the point of life was “be happy”, was an idiot. How many happy fools have lived their lives and contributed nothing to the universe?
Give the world 1000 miserable, doomed souls like Van Gogh, Maupassant, Beethoven, Hemingway, etc and they’ll be far more valuable than 8 billion schmoes who are happy to be alive and stagnant in their satiety. The purpose of misery is to increase productivity.
I completely agree with your last line; there’s a scene from The Third Man that illustrates this greatly:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dv1QDlWbS8g
Still, the idea that we’re each our own martyrs is disturbing me; that despite acknowledging our contributions, people won’t appreciate them, which is leading me to want to keep it all to myself. I’ve always agreed with the adage, “In life, whoever has the most fun wins,” but the last year has not been very fun.
Hahaha, I like you, Gray. Any fan of Welles is ok in my book 🙂
That speech nails it perfectly. It answers the fundamental question of Buddhism (why does suffering exist?) in such a witty & poignant way.
What you said about wanting to keep it all to yourself is also true, and between you & me, I’ve got a basement full of my “great contributions to the world” that no one has ever seen because I haven’t yet decided if the world is worth giving them to.
Or maybe it’s just because I’m afraid these contributions suck & I don’t want the world to tell me so. Therefore I’m hiding behind a “God complex” by saying the world isn’t worth my efforts… when in actuality it’s just a cover for my insecurity.
Could this possibly apply to you, too?
The idea of martyrdom is funny. On the one hand it implies the ultimate selfless sacrifice. But on the other hand, isn’t it all about arrogance & a possible superiority complex? I’m probably getting way off topic, but this is interesting stuff.
In any case, maybe we could do like Emily Dickinson. Just fill notebooks full of your private writings without publishing anything. Then after you die, let fate sort it out if you’re destined to shape the world or not. You sound like you’re a writer or musician or artist of some sort. I would say the act of creating your art is satsifaction enough to get you through the day. If it is to mean anything to others, let the world sort it out after you’re dead.
Wow, I stopped visiting this site for awhile and missed your reply, so sorry if this is coming super late.
I am certainly not afraid to share my work. I show people all the time. People ask to see my work; some like it and some don’t. The issue is that their appraisal gives me no satisfaction. I haven’t thought about this for awhile, but there seems to be a point in every entertainer’s life where they start to appreciate people enjoying their work, and I have yet to reach that point.
As far as martyrdom in the Biblical sense, I do not see that as arrogant at all. That really is altruism at its truest. As for artistic martyrdom, to hide it saying the world isn’t deserving of it, but to still consider oneself an artist and share that fact about oneself would be foolish. It’s not that people don’t deserve art; it’s that people don’t recognize the work. Maybe it’s just that I am not in a position to profit from my art. To have the motivation to create, my mind must be free; currently, it is cluttered with struggling to find ways to make enough money to live and eat. Toiling mindlessly like this is a waste; it robs any creation of its satisfaction.
As for Emily Dickinson, I hate that *****. Her work sucks and should have been kept in her notebooks. The history of her work is that she wanted her sister to destroy the notebooks, but her sister shared them with a newspaper or some company and they published them. Regardless of her attitude toward her own work, the cliched “I’m an artist but all my work sucks” attitude is for the fucking birds. I took a creative writing class in college and half the class was like that. We would have to share in small groups. There’d be three girls, two guys, and me. The girls would all say their work sucked, to which I thought “Good, don’t bother reading it to me.” The other guy’s work actually would be bad, and mine would be comedic but no one would find it funny. So we all failed to entertain each other, but my work entertained me because I obviously found it funny enough to write down. Anyway, that mentality that one’s own work is flawed and not worth sharing, there is immeasurable truth to that. If you can see flaws in your work, expect everyone else to. If your work is good, but others disagree, at that point I don’t know what to do.
Wow, I got off topic too. This post is a month too late.
I would say that the ultimate duty of the artist is first and foremost to the self. Any other considerations aint worth jack. This means that whether or not the world appreciates your work should not factor in to anything. The creation of art is much like sex with the final orgasmic moments being the incarnation of a piece of work in a whole form.
If I were religious I would say that given that we are made in the image of God and God is pure creative force, the artist derives a profound satisfaction from the artistic process.
Now if the above is true what does it matter whether the slackjawed yokels appreciate what i’ve produced? The reality is however that it is everything because one of the impulses of the artist is to in essence give birth to something which will transcend him.
It may have been Freud or Hamilton who discussed this idea of humans needing to immortalise their genetic data. In this case our art is a map of our consciousness and is just as representative of who we are as a physical living child. This whole effort is comopleted when the wider society takes on what we have created and participates in its creation. Every piece of art is ongoing creation – when the world embraces our work this process is allowed to continue.
It’s more that writing music is what I am best at, and it’d be great if someone would pay me to write so I can chill and play video games.
More seriously, there is great satisfaction in creating in the sense of seeing a product of pure imaginative design and the power that comes with it. Writing music makes me feel powerful.