On slaying existential depression (for now)
Takeaways from 'The Van Gogh Blues: The Creative Person's Path Through Depression'
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“Our species can be rightly divided into two groups: those who take existence for granted and those who question the nature of existence.” — Eric Maisel
A few months ago, to make progress on my book proposal (a task I’d been avoiding for nearly a year) I spent a weekend at a boring interstate motel.
I thought a couple days alone would give me the chance to wrap it up. But rather than getting anything done, I wasted my time, struggling to muster interest in the proposal, especially the “marketing” plan. How would I know how to market a book? I’m not a marketer or salesperson, I’m a writer.
Yet that is exactly what publishers want to see from new memoir authors these days: That they can sell their book as skillfully as they can write it, ideally positioning themselves as media darling “experts,” or worse, influencers with large social media followings. I am neither, nor do I aspire to be. Blech. How was I going to pull this off?
That weekend and in the days after, depression developed, but it wasn’t the kind of sadness that needed antidepressants, lady hormones, or traditional therapy. It was existential: I was overwhelmed by a feeling that my creative work, my book, and in some ways, my life, had lost meaning–all from the failed effort of trying to write a convincing business plan for my book.
I felt frustrated, alone and sad until I internet-stumbled onto the work of psychotherapist and creativity coach Eric Maisel, PhD. As he writes in the book “The Van Gogh Blues: The Creative Person's Path Through Depression,” what I was experiencing is not unusual.
Maisel argues that the “tortured artist” trope exists not because artists are more tortured for predetermined genetic reasons, but because psychotherapy and medicine are poorly equipped to treat creative depression, which stems from a meaning crisis, and not (necessarily) dysfunctional neurotransmitters.
“(Creators) experience depression simply because they are caught up in a struggle to make life seem meaningful to them. People for whom meaning is no problem are less likely to experience depression.”
Barriers to making life feel meaningful—such as wedging your art into a monetarily quantifiable form—can quickly bring on depression. Same with trying to mesh creative worth with arbitrary ever-moving definitions of “success,” which is exactly what a book proposal is, well, proposing.
He doesn’t suggest people run off and devote their lives to creative pursuit at the sacrifice of all else, living on a commune and bartering paintings for turnips. Instead, he suggests ways for creative people to find balance — that elusive state of feeling like life has meaning, even if you’re not actively creating something meaningful.
There are many, many gems in his book. He touches upon tools to overcome negative self-talk during a “meaning crisis,” and how to foster self-compassion. He explains why creators are prone to substance abuse, or, as he calls it, a “meaning substitute.”
He encourages all creators to develop a personal life plan to cope with future meaning crises, which are unavoidable but manageable. (I created a creed, but am keeping it private.)
My copy of the book is now heavily underlined in pencil. A few snippets that resonated:
“Existence threatens us in a thousand ways and therefore, anxiety is our constant companion. Writing a short story, say, is really only a small threat to our self-esteem since if we do a poor job, we can revise our story or write a better one. But nature has decided that even these tiny threats must be taken very seriously. As soon as we say ‘I want to write a short story,’ waves of anxiety arise to keep us out of harm’s way'.”
“To heal your depression, you must force life to mean.” Not by pondering the meaning of life, but by pondering “what do I want my life to mean?” (This is his first recommended step for developing a personal life plan.)
“You are what you think. Meaning-making is impossible if your thoughts lead you about the nose, if you have no way to dispute your negative thoughts, and if you can’t penetrate to the real thoughts and feelings behind your customary expressions.”
“A vital aspect of self-support is reminding yourself that success is not a measure but a feeling.”
“It is especially the act of creation that requires bravery. Our ability to make and maintain meaning is threatened by the intrinsic hardness of creative work. It is odd but true that most creators do not recognize this reality. Instead of crediting creating with being profoundly taxing, they chalk up their difficulties to personal weakness.”
Meaning is a shifty thing; it will change throughout life. Now that I’m a mother, I easily find meaning in shuttling my kiddo to volleyball practice and other rather rote parenting activities. Before she existed, I found watching volleyball practice as fun as opening Microsoft Excel. But because my child is my biggest and best creation, I love helping her grow, and it never feels like a waste of time. (The hard part is how I wish I had more hours in the day to meet my creative needs, my exercise needs, and my vegetative-brain needs.)
Taking another swing at the proposal
After finishing Maisel’s book, I’ve had a bit of a mindset shift: Maybe finishing my proposal is like the final days of pregnancy, when my blood pressure went through the roof and I lost feeling in my hands and I started vomiting while my water broke and... OK, OK, that’s a bit much for a metaphor but seriously, I’m not sure which has been worse: Severe preeclampsia or writing the book proposal. At least with the former I got a wonderful kid out of it. Will the grunt work part of writing a book bring me profound meaning one day, or just heartache and agony?
Time will tell, but since finishing Maisel’s book, one thing has changed: I’ve made progress on the proposal, and am now about 85% of the way done. I’ve stopped fighting myself, and gotten on with it. Sure, some of it’s held together with empty bullet points and questionable claims, but it’s far more impressive than what I had a few months ago, when rather than work on my proposal, I stared at the parking lot of that roadside motel and muttered profanities at life itself.
Maisel would point out that I may face that motel moment again, but at least this time, I know what’s really going on underneath all the swearing, and how I define success—and meaning—is entirely up to me.
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Yes! I'm not particularly prone to depression, but preparing a book proposal is enough to send anyone over the edge. As you said, writing the marketing plan is the hardest part. Unfortunately, book marketing has become almost entirely the writer's responsibility. I'm submitting my current manuscript to a bunch of indie publishers, but in the back of my mind, I'm also preparing myself to self-publish. I'll pay for professional editing and design, which seems to be the primary value a publisher provides. The rest will be up to me anyway, it seems. Good luck!
Oh ha. I told you in Notes that I like Van Gogh Blues before popping over here. Go figure. :) have bookmarked to read in full over my coffee tomorrow. 💕💕