I sometimes wonder if the fuckton of psycho/physiological distress has made you the writer that you are today or if you could write so beautiful even despite of it. I wouldn't wish that on anyone but your transparency on the matter and your writing acknowledging so many ill aspects of our lifes and how to maybe deal with them is balm and food for the soul! It certainly has helped me a lot. I wish for the scales to always tip for the better days for you, thank you Pia!
I…think about this all the time, anon. Though your message had me thinking about it a bit more over the weekend (I would’ve responded sooner, but I had no idea what to say). <3
The thing is, I never planned to be a writer or an artist. Not like, as my main professions. I always wanted to be a scientist or to lecture media at university like any good media studies wanker graduate. But because of health, and mental health stuff, I have sort of been concertedly blocked from almost everything I’ve wanted to do on a professional level. Which has been very frustrating and…difficult. Glen says I’m a type A personality not allowed to live a type A life.
Ending up with art and writing - I have loved both, I do love both, but sometimes I have days where I stare out of a window and am aware how much of it is contextual and situational. How much of it is circumstance, and not ‘my childhood dream.’ (Whatever, dreams change, sometimes it’s good that they do). Glen calls me a fiercely independent person and I think most people who know me, know that I’d be happiest being financially independent and mobile, but I’m unable to drive, and I’m unable to be financially independent, and…writing and art both give me a measure of like…self-agency, but I work too hard at both a lot of the time to sort of carve a niche for myself where I feel like I’m working. Ultimately, I have used what I love to harm myself for not being able to do more.
I wish that was uncommon for people with chronic illness or chronic trauma, but apparently a lot of us do that to ourselves. It sucks. I’ve never met a chronically ill person who was like ‘yeah I love being able to do hardly anything it’s such a relaxed lifestyle’ (like the government kind of wants you to believe of people on disability welfare as I am).
So I think about…I think about who I’d be without all that distress, and what I’d write (if I’d even be a writer) and I always think you know, I wouldn’t be this person, I wouldn’t be writing this stuff, I wouldn’t be all of these things. I’d certainly not be writing trauma recovery stories as a central theme. I’d be so unrecognisable to myself. It’s such a weird thing to contemplate? But you can’t help it either.
But then on the other hand, I’m also tremendously grateful that I can reach out to people with this stuff, that I can share it, that there is a space for the things I write and even its heaviness or angst. That I’m not alone with it (which is on the one hand sucky, too many people are suffering basically - but on the other hand, means we’re *not alone with it*), and so on. Do I wish things were different? Sure. But being able to write what I do for people like yourself make things as they are now a whole hell of a lot easier to deal with and live with at times.
I’m so…fortunate, so grateful, that I can turn some of it into stories that resonate with all kinds of people, regardless of their life experiences. Sure, it’s not content for everyone, or even most people, but for those of us in this weird blanket fort that is Fae Tales and SAL and TGA and everything else, it’s like…you know sometimes it’s not a bad place to retreat to when life is hard. :)
I wish the scales to tip to better days for you as well, anon. <3 Thank you!