Less Boohoo More Haha

I realise that often my writing has the tendency to be dramatically depressing.  Many people who I’ve known read my writing for the first time are shocked, and those who don’t know me tend to reach out as if I am going to off myself tomorrow.  

In person, I tend to appear as a carefree, happy go lucky guy with maybe a dark sense of humor.  Yet in the writing, all I am is the dark.  Partially due to the fact I write mostly when down, but also because “happy” writing I feel is uninteresting and uncompelling.  

I would never argue these two sides are healthy.  I think it is probably quite unhealthy I have a hard time being as real and serious as I would like to be in person, or as fun and humorous as I would care to be through writing.  These are symptoms of a fracture in me that I’m still learning to bridge.  Part of me is still a little kid that covers up pain with laughter.  Writing becomes the only release, and I overload it with despair.

Also, I fear much of my humor wouldn’t come out well in writing.  The delivery of a line like “Today I drank a bottle of wine and didn’t kill myself” could be said, and be funny.  Posted on a blog or social media would invoke a flurry of terrified friends and relatives who now believe me to be a suicidal alcoholic.

As I was working on the novel recently, I was taking out some of the humor, as it is a serious and depressing tale.  I realized, though, that I lived this story, and there was humor.  There were things and people that helped me smile through the pain, remind me how tears can come from a place of good as well.  I need to work harder to include such realities.

            I live a balance of the good and bad, the pain and pleasure.  We all do.  We shouldn’t be ashamed of life.