Tortured poets: fact or fiction?

Romanticizing mental illness doesn’t make you a good writer ✨

During my freshman year of college, I took my favorite class during my entire four years: Modern Poetry. I arrived at my tiny Christian liberal arts college a fervent Sylvia Plath devotee, so studying poetry seemed just the thing. And it was. 

Sylvia Plath (eventually the subject of my senior thesis) spoke to me. I also raged against society’s expectations, having grown up in a fairly conservative community. I longed to “eat men like air” with Plath’s Lady Lazarus. I didn’t understand what felt like resistance and empowerment to me, to others was a romanticization of depression.

Of course, all many people know about Sylvia Plath is that she died with her head in a gas oven, and now she’s the patron saint of the sad girls. 

In certain online enclaves, mental illness is a badge of honor. Groups many of them young women, many I’m sure lonely and rejected in their IRL communities turned to the site for comfort. They weren’t ill and in need of help. They were special, they felt things deeper than what normies could ever understand. Alienation became a badge of honor.

As you can imagine, the Sylvia Plath canonization on Tumblr is next level. 

This was the backdrop to my professor's warning: it does not make you special to be sad. 

He pleaded with us not to romanticize our pain. We could of course “use it,” but being mentally ill would not make us artists. Almost 50k people die in the US every year from suicide, and not one of them is Sylvia Plath. 

My defensive sad girl brain found this offensive at first.

But when I calmed down and really listened to him, I heard his true message loud and clear. 

He revealed that he was never productive creatively when he was really struggling. He couldn’t deny the Sylvia Plath effect. He’d been a poetry professor for far too long. Artists, and especially female poets, are disproportionately mentally ill. 

I think people with mental illness are often drawn to creative outlets to understand themselves and the harsh external realities they’re facing. For me, I remember being a lonely child and turning to my notebook when no one else was there to listen. Writing for many is a coping mechanism, a coping mechanism you can practice and sometimes even excel. 

Now, coming out of a fog of stress, I’m thinking again about my professor’s message. For the past few months, I’ve been too overwhelmed to write much, even though I’ve longed to and I know it would make me happier. Writing requires health, all action does. And the sicker you are, the less likely you’ll be able to do the very real work that writing requires. My takeaway is if I want to write, I have to do the work to stay healthy and when I’m not doing well, to accept that sometimes life gets in the way of what I love and stay the course until I hit better weather. 

I’ve heard from a few friends that they’ve experienced the same difficulties, but I’d love to hear your thoughts too if you’ve made it to the end of this blog.