Hello Reader,
*CW: addiction, drug-abuse, alcoholism, suicide, self-harm
During the process of understanding my struggles with mental health, I also grappled with the alleged link between creativity and addiction. When analyzing the creative greats, the prevalent use of mood-altering substances tends to come up (e.g. Amy Winehouse, Ernest Hemingway, Jimi Hendrix, F. Scott Fitzgerald). Somewhere along the way, it became an interlaced thought—that creativity and substance abuse co-exists harmoniously to give us the creative work we look up to. Similarly with the "wine mom" trope, regular and copious drinking or drug-use became a trait that was normalized and expected for creatives, despite its adverse effects. As a young English major with a substance-abuse problem, I subscribed to that. However, upon further examination, I now recognize that a lot of these creatives were plagued with strife, trauma, and/or mental illness(es), as well. Rather than it being an isolated issue or pre-requisite to creation, addiction is a symptom of mental illness. Addiction is a coping mechanism. I don't feel like tracing that history at the moment, but the relationship there isn't between drugs and creativity, but rather as two separate relationships:
a) mental illness and creativity
b) mental illness and substance abuse
In an interview with Lit Hub Radio, Ocean Vuong notes
We look at creation as a battleground. And I think it's one of the greatest detriments to creativity is to see ourselves as participants in a war when it should be participants in creation.
Young and constantly on the brink of crisis, I was loathsome of this idea that I was only able to access what felt like the most meaningful part of myself when I was suffering. Either under the influence of something, or in the midst of an emotional meltdown, I was at my most valuable. Whenever I found myself in those states, I'd write, in hopes of dog-earring something I'd lose in sobriety. Instability, in my mind, became a gateway to that most vulnerable self, and alcohol became the easiest pathway towards that instability. I hadn't known anything else. When I was sober, all I knew was performativity or numbness.
I neglected the fact that, rather, my sober instinct is to repress emotion—repression got in the way of expression, not sobriety.
But, I justified my drinking and drug use by referring to it as part of the craft. I got good grades on my papers, I purged vulnerabilities through getting fucked up, everything felt in order. Except it wasn't. I've been suicidal for most of my life. Getting drunk had a 20/80 outcome—20% chance I create something meaningful, 80% chance I became volatile and suicidal. If that night happened to be part of the 80%, I'd chase an unholy amount of liquor with half a pack of cigarettes and too much cocaine. I'd spend most of my night drowning out the feeling of absolute devastation; getting numb and then bringing myself up again and repeat. No state of being ever felt correct (surprise, I'm mentally ill). It wasn't at all conducive to creation the way I believed it to be; rather, it helped release the difficult emotions that I had repressed over the years.
Considering my relationship with alcohol was acceptable in college, and still isn't far from what's acceptable or normal in my industry, or my age group, it was difficult to grasp that I could somehow have a problem with addiction.
In part, Bojack Horseman altered my idea of what it means to be invincible and destructive, by playing out the parallels of the path I felt I was on. I remember putting off watching the later seasons, because I knew I couldn't handle it if he were to end up not-okay. If the people in his life were to loathe him deeply for everything he's done. There was a painful recognition there, even in passivity, that I, like many others who struggle with addiction, could become him. And, Bojack's problem wasn't necessarily the alcohol. It was just the one habit that was easiest to upkeep, and the one he was allowed to be public about. There was also nicotine, random pills, cocaine, food, sex, and even self-harm. Bojack was constantly running away from things he found too difficult to face. Despite his sporadic attempts to reel back on substances, he'd always move onto something else. He placed himself in a useless battle to delay the inevitable. Your past and your present don’t disappear. It all ends up snowballing. And now you’re even more depressed and hungover. Bojack shows that addiction is more about chasing or escaping a feeling, more than it is about the thing itself. That's probably why it's so easy to romanticize addiction—it's a hopeless chase after something in an attempt to fill the absence of something else.
A few psychiatrists mentioned that it's common for those with certain mental disorders to struggle with addiction. I believed I was somehow in a different situation, simply because I've survived thus far. (Bitch, barely!) "Addiction" sounded too severe. I would hear myself say "it's not that serious, I just have no reason to stop" and know how ridiculous I sounded. I've had a few wake-up calls since then.
Now, after actually having to stop, I'm more willing to admit that it is difficult. It has been difficult. It might be a problem. I've relapsed several times, and I probably will continue to because I don't really want to stop. It feels instinctual. My therapist recently helped me connect that I have greater urges to use during times of distress, especially in coping with anxiety. For whatever reason, I never realized that I truly crave non-sobriety when I'm having a hard time. Because I couldn't identify it, I didn't realize it was a hinderance that needed further support. The problems don't go away.
Ultimately, addiction isn't just about substances—it's about the behavior. You can be addicted to drugs, to sex, to suffering, to sadness, to cleaning, to eating, to shopping, to thrill. It's like an invasive species, with an endless tangle of roots underneath. To treat the dependency, you have to treat the underlying mental health issues—the roots. If the behavior stays the same, then just the substance is different. You can try to sober up as many times as you want, but then what do you move onto?
What happens when you can't get to it?
Can you cope without it?
Is there a pattern of emotions prior to when you choose to use it?
What does it do for you?
What happens after?
There was a time when instigating instability helped me access a part of myself that cowered quietly beneath my rigid fears. She would come out, fucked up, to grieve. That time has passed. The more I learn about my triggers, the longer I'm in therapy, the more I'm able to find different and better ways to emote and cope. As a result, I regularly see a great psychiatrist (feel free to e-mail me for their info), got diagnosed, and started medication. I recently finished an outpatient program for trauma & addiction. I'm slowly releasing the many painful beliefs I clung to, that ultimately harm me now. I'm able to focus on more than just my own suffering. I no longer feel as intense of a need to drown out my emotions, and I'm slowly processing them instead. And, I didn't "lose" creativity by trying to stay sober and getting professional help. In fact, I'm more able to actively do the things I enjoy. And, by having more capability in practicing my crafts, I am able to nurture my creativity.
Yet, the void is still searching. Mental illness never entirely goes away. You learn to manage the symptoms that arise, in order to be a healthier person, but there's no finish line. It's continuous effort. I haven't been able to stay sober for more than a month. In all honesty, I'm still not ready for complete sobriety. It's unlikely I'll commit to absolute sobriety any time soon, but I know it's time to alter my relationship with instability.
So yeah, addiction and creativity both plague individuals with mental illnesses, but they're not directly linked or conducive to one another. Creation doesn't have to be a battleground.
I hope you finally made it to the end of Bojack. He never really does figure it out in the end does he? I know I feel further and further away from knowing how to get out of this with every step I take.
I don’t disagree with your thesis that creativity and substance abuse aren’t mutually exclusive, but what else helps you wrestle yourself into creating ? Sure therapy and medication help silence the monsters inside of us, and learn how to coexist with them in a way. But being a creative with suicidal thoughts can really feel like a roller coaster sometimes; slowly piecing together the fragments in your mind. Until all of a sudden it clicks, and you have to grab it as you crest the peak, while self doubt, fear of rejection and your sedentary emotional inertia bring you plummeting back to the ground.
You mention that through sobriety, you were able to create more comfortably, but what does that look like? How do you fight your demons while creating in a space away from them? My process has always involved succumbing to them and bringing back a piece from the other side. Do you ever miss that space? Can you get there the long way round?
Great read. I could definitely relate to a lot of what you wrote. In my own battles with addiction, I also felt that I was always running from something. I never truly figured out what it was, but it probably was/is anxiety. Whatever could stop me from thinking. Even though my life seems “together” (good grades, good job), I’m still always running. Addiction really is a behavior/mindset. Looking forward to your future thoughts.
From,
an old friend