🗝️ Sanity Classics: Why I write when my mind is sick (especially when my mind is sick)
Time for some detective work.
Like the camel that asked for just a wee space and stole the entire tent, they are currently trying to manipulate me into letting them squat inside my head just a little while longer. Except I've been down this road before. It's never "just a little while longer". Once I let their puppy eyes seduce me, it's good bye sanity for epochs. So will you please excuse me while I focus my energies on cajoling these needy buggers out of my world.
Meanwhile, I ask you this: Why do some of us have this burning urge to write when our mind is profoundly sick? Just what do we hope to achieve by stringing together coherent, even beautiful, sentences, when nothing in the universe feels coherent or beautiful? Here's a story I wrote over three years ago, amid a phase of raging madness, to scratch this strange itch. I promise you that even though the premise is sad, the story itself isn't. Let me know if the plot sounds familiar? And if you too are fighting mental squatters right now, I send you strength. Don't let the fuckers win.
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Content warning and disclaimer: Contains potentially distressing material, including reference to suicidality. Sanity by Tanmoy is not a therapy platform. Please do not self-diagnose if you experience a mental health concern. Consult a professional.
Never publish a piece on Monday, newsletter experts will warn you, because Mondays have the worst email open rates. Also, never publish a piece that doesn't make at least one important point. No one likes rambling, pointless pieces.
I'm going to test both those rules today. Reach and purposefulness – the twin pillars of effective communication. I don't have a choice because I don't trust myself with remembering tomorrow what I want to say today, right now.
I texted my therapist just before I sat down to write this, fighting off the guilt of contacting her out of schedule, knowing how busy she must be with clients who probably deserve her attention much more. Also, it's important for me to maintain the pretence of being in control of my life between our twice weekly sessions.
I feel helpless, hopeless, and lonely, I finally managed to say, after typing and deleting a bunch of more dramatic sentences. Don't worry, I'm okay, I quickly added. What I really meant to say was, I won't do anything stupid.
She replied soon. Hi, is there anything else you want to share?
Well, I'm trying to find words, I said.
We will find words, she said. We mostly do.
So, here I am. Trying to find words, because I don't know what else to do.
