Pain Is Art, Art Is Pain

I don’t consider myself a depressed person. In fact, I’d say I’m generally an extremely happy person, sometimes so much so, it induces the feeling of nausea in others. The constant smiling can get tiring. Yes, I’ve become sadder as I’ve grown older, as I’ve discovered the highs and lows of the “real world” beyond high school. Things can get depressing out here. I always find my way back though, back to happiness and joy and awe for the abundance of beauty that is life. I am not sad or angry or depressed, but when I write, something changes. I write the way my thoughts flow, slow and steady, but often the lethargic movement of each line creates a nuance of suffering, pain, unbearable sadness.

I don’t worry that I’m depressed, but rather, that I’m depressing. I don’t mean to be. I’ve always been drawn to it for some reason, falling victim to the “pain is art” theory. I’ve always reveled in the dark and mysterious language of pain, wishing that I would have enough upset in my life to write a disheartening autobiography like Sylvia Plath or Frank McCourt. It’s so honest, so open, so raw. I like being moved to tears that way.

On the few occasions I do get sad, I find it hard to get rid of the feeling. I think I like the attention, like the pity, and yeah, it’s fucked up, but that’s me. I am fucked up, but no more than anyone else. Everyone’s got issues. Everyone wishes they were smarter or dumber or skinnier or fatter or nicer or meaner or whatever they aren’t right now. The rest of the world will always appear to have it easier than you, but really, no one has an easy life. I’m not even sure what would make life easy, or even if it could be easier, it certainly wouldn’t be better. We learn from the hardships, and no matter how many times someone comes to this realization, it still remains true. Life wouldn’t mean anything if it was easy, if it was a straight and narrow path. Life wouldn’t mean anything if I didn’t get depressed from time to time. Life wouldn’t mean anything without suffering, without pain, without art.

So if I sound depressing, I apologize, but at the same time, I don’t really care if I make you sad. After all, pain is art.