A few years ago, when I struggled with depression, I managed to cope with my daily symptoms because I engage in one of the best activities – writing. It has become so beneficial in my mental health recovery because it helps build my creative thoughts. I get to come up with ideas that allow me to develop my problem-solving skills, improve my memory, develop my vocabulary, enhanced my reading comprehension, and build my self-confidence as I engage with different people. Writing was the best stress reliever and anti-depression activity that changed my life.
I like writing because it helps me express my thoughts and emotions. I write a lot about anything, and I get to see a glimpse of what I want to understand about myself. Sometimes, when I find myself having too many thoughts, I write about it, and it makes me feel good. Writing helps put my life events in a wider perspective and allows me to develop a useful list of goals that keep me going. Writing contributes a lot to my daily accomplishments, to be honest.
However, lately, I am losing interest in writing. So I went to my counselor and told her everything about the diminishing joy I am currently experiencing. I told her that I do not see writing as helpful as before. I even expressed my dismay that writing is no longer helping me get rid of my depressive symptoms. To my surprise, my counselor was not that shocked about the news. Honestly, I was expecting her to ask a few more details about when and how writing lost its charm in keeping my mental health stable. But then I figured she already know what had happened.
The Constant Redundancy That Made Everything Part Of The Usual
One thing I like about writing is the experience of expressing my thoughts and feelings without getting any bad reactions. Of course, I experience a lot of worries and fears all the time due to my mental illness. But things were controllable because there is no judgment or criticism in writing. I can write anything about my life without worrying that people will find out and laugh about it. I can write whatever I want about other people, such as how I hate, love, or thought about them because nobody knows what I write.
But then eventually I find it a little bit boring. I write about the same people I used to hang out with. I write about how they mean to me, about how they make me feel every day, and things like that. At some point, I got tired of all the redundancy. There is nothing much to write about them. There is no new experience and encounter that spice my relationship with these people. It feels like I only write the things I am thankful for these people because I have to. It is not enjoyable anymore as there is nothing much left to write.
The Habit Has Become A Necessity Instead Of Something Special
When I engaged in writing, I became so into it that I spent most of my time writing about things every day. Every time I felt something or anything that had to happen in a particular minute, I quickly jot it down. I try to write it in a journal, sometimes I create poems, and I even try making up stories relatable to my daily life occurrences. The experience is calming as it gave me enough time to manage the anxiety and depression symptoms I am struggling with. However, after a few months of doing the same thing over and over, it felt like my whole writing experience is all about “just writing.” It does not feel special anymore as I found myself doing it out of schedule. It does not bring me happiness anymore. I write something new because it makes me feel like doing what I am programmed to do.
Writing has been an essential part of my mental health recovery, and knowing that it does not work anymore sadden me big time. I love writing because I can get to be with myself. But now that I find it boring and impractical, things are becoming hard to handle. My depressive symptoms got worse, and now I have to develop another coping strategy that could stop all these unwanted thoughts and emotions from ruining every aspect of my life.
Talking about this issue with my counselor, I was not expecting her to provide me with answers or whatsoever. I know it is about me and my mental health struggle that I have to deal with accordingly. But I am so blessed that I get a chance to discuss my worries with her. Because right now, someone that can wholeheartedly listen to me is all that I ever wanted.