Writing Makes Me Sad

Nobody seems to understand me when I say this, but writing makes me sad. I get nothing but puzzled looks and questions like, “Then why do you write?” when I say this. And I give them nothing but puzzled looks in return.

That would be like a runner saying, running makes me tired and you asking them, “Then why do you run?”

For starters, sadness isn’t a negative, it’s an emotion. All emotions are equally important. A human life spent only in joy is not a human life at all. The same goes for a human life spent only in sadness and a human life spent only in anger. You need every emotion, that’s what being human is.

Secondly, the reason I am sad is because I pour every little ounce of me into my writing. All of my fears, anxieties, secrets that I won’t even reveal to my therapist. I speak about them in my writing. I open doors whose doorknobs are covered in dust. I pull out skeletons and reveal loves that I previously choked down. 

If extracting your soul was a possibility, then I will live eternally through my writing, as my soul lives in its every word. Whether I write tragedies or comedies, I am writing about me. Vain, I know, but true. There is nothing I know better than myself. And even that, I hardly know anything at all. 

I have spent the entire day so far writing. And I am extremely sad. Therefore, it must have been an extremely successful day.