When I was a younger person, I always thought that the idea of going completely crazy and creating incredible art was quite a romantic notion. So many of my personal heroes appeared to follow that route, so many great literary and musical figures. Syd. Dave. Although I refer to him up there in the title, Van Gogh wasn't on my radar at the time, but he's the quintessential example, really.
Yeah, I wanted to lose my mind, wander madly through the world, and bring back from the fringes of reality art that no other, saner human could ever have imagined.
During Matt Smith's first season of Doctor Who, there was an utterly brilliant episode called "Vincent and the Doctor." I was familiar with Van Gogh's story, of course, but my struggles with mental health had never really seemed of a kind with his. Or the stories of his, anyway. But, as is usual with so brilliant a series, the handling of Van Gogh's troubles was not romanticized. It was brutal and real. And it felt like me.
In the hard years of the last decade, I produced 5 albums worth of music. I achieved most of a doctorate in English Literature. I wrote and I wrote and I wrote, personally and professionally. I amassed a comic and graphic ephemera collection that rivals most libraries.
But I was, to put it bluntly and in a way that I've been told not to, crazy. I was angry and lost and sad and I was taking it out on the only two people I thought would always forgive me. It did not turn out romantically. I did not wander the fringes without doing serious damage to the place I wanted to return to.
Would Van Gogh have traded his art, his solace and inspiration, for a life without mental health issues? Could he have created equally-beautiful works had he not suffered the way he did? And, and this one irks me, how could he have possibly made such a choice? All he knew was how he was.
I think about this a lot these days, as my creativity seems to be spiking.
#BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #ADHD #Art #PTSD
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