Venting Having talent & being suicidal is exhausting.

[it's_all_a_game]

I'm very close to ending my life right now. I feel like this planet isn't worth sticking around in. However, I have talent for writing literary fiction (not trying to brag) and it's eating away at me. I could be like Toole and have my Mom publish my stuff after I'm gone, but I'm not motivated to write now, being death seeking and all. (All I've managed to get down is a few plot and character outlines.) It's sad knowing my work will die with me. Why can't Buddhism be right and I reincarnate as someone new, and start my life over? God, I hate this awful world.

 

[blahblahhh]

We can allll start our lives over right now! It's hard to try and see the moment as brand new when we are hurting. I would love to hear your plot synopses. I love words. Isn't it fucking tough trying to create inside the pain? Buuut maybe that's where the best creativity resides? This world does suck but you seem cool man!

 

[Makko]

I still want to live for a while because I believe that there's quite some pleasure to be squeezed out of my abilities. The question is if that pleasure by itself is great enough to live for.

No great art is created by average joes and janes living normal lives. It's either the brainchild of a mad genius or the scream of a tortured soul. Or in the best case the brainscream of a tortured mad genius. These people are seldom rewarded in life. They created as a way of coping and died in obscure misery. Then X years later their art is recognised and traded for millions, but that's other people's business.

 

[blahblahhh]

We can allll start our lives over right now! It's hard to try and see the moment as brand new when we are hurting. I would love to hear your plot synopses. I love words. Isn't it fucking tough trying to creative inside the pain? Buuut maybe that's where the best creativity resides? This world does suck but you seem cool man! I

I still want to live for a while because I believe that there's quite some pleasure to be squeezed out of my abilities. The question is if that pleasure by itself is great enough to live for.

No great art is created by average joes and janes living normal lives. It's either the brainchild of a mad genius or the scream of a tortured soul. Or in the best case the brainscream of a tortured mad genius. These people are seldom rewarded in life. They created as a way of coping and died in obscure misery. Then X years later their art is recognised and traded for millions, but that's other people's business.

I hope you are still afforded the opportunity to create! Maybe you're the "brainscream of a tortured mad genius?" Not putting it past ya!

 

[WornOutLife]

Well, maybe Buddhism is right or maybe there's just eternal nothingness. We'll only know it once we're dead.
I'm glad you have a talent. I think most human do have a talent but the hardest part is to find it.

In my case, my talent is being a polyglot. I can speak 4 languages and plan to learn some more before catching the bus!
However, once I'm dead the languages will be gone with me while your literary works will probably still being published all over the world lol.

You'll "keep on living" somehow.

 

[aneurysm]

it's said that there's an action (productivity) component to talent/intelligence.

 

[Nexey]

If you're good at writing fiction, then I'd imagine that you'd also be good at writing diary entries. It's another form of literature that doesn't require nearly as much effort. Even short blurbs of a couple of sentences count.

The diary you keep doesn't have to be physical either. You could argue that all the vent posts you have made (including this one) could be considered as a sort of diary entry.

 

[booray]

I think having talent and being suicidal go hand in hand. For example, Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway, Sylvia Plath, David Foster Wallace. The list goes on and on.

 

[finalexit]

I have so many music projects that I've been pushing myself to finish and release to "leave behind" for when I'm gone. But I always get paralyzed by mental illness and work in small bursts. Whenever I release something I lose my mind over perfectionism and obsessive anxieties. Lots of extra self doubt and hate lately too. Pretty hard to get this stuff done and out there, and actually been wanting to remove all my creative work and evidence of existence lately.

 

[Mentalmick]

Not a problem I'll ever have.

 

[ihatemen420]

Relatable. I'm also a writer. For a long time, I had decided I wasn't going to kill myself until I published my book. (Which is basically my magnum opus) But then I thought about it and realized that there's plenty of damn books in the world. It's the same logic as to why it doesn't matter if I die. There are literally 8 billion people. They're all replaceable. They don't need my book. They can read literally any other book. Or die. Whatever. Doesnt matter ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I used to think I owed it to the world to give them my story, but I don't owe the world shit actually lol

 

[watchingthewheels]

Quote:

I want you to hear. I want you to know what's in store for you. There will be days when you'll look at your hands and you'll want to take something and smash every bone in them, because they'll be taunting you with what they could do, if you found a chance for them to do it, and you can't find that chance, and you can't bear your living body because it has failed those hands somewhere….


"Not enough?" asked Cameron. "All right. Then, one day, you'll see on a piece of paper before you a building that will make you want to kneel; you won't believe that you've done it, but you will have done it; then you'll think that the earth is beautiful and the air smells of spring and you love your fellow men, because there is no evil in the world. And you'll set out from your house with this drawing, to have it erected, because you won't have any doubt that it will be erected by the first man to see it. But you won't get very far from your house. Because you'll be stopped at the door by the man who's come to turn off the gas. You hadn't had much food, because you saved money to finish your drawing, but still you had to cook something and you hadn't paid for it.... All right, that's nothing, you can laugh at that. But finally you'll get into a man's office with your drawing, and you'll curse yourself for taking so much space of his air with your body, and you'll try to squeeze yourself out of his sight, so that he won't see you, but only hear your voice begging him, pleading, your voice licking his knees; you'll loathe yourself for it, but you won't care, if only he'd let you put up that building, you won't care, you'll want to rip your insides open to show him, because if he saw what's there he'd have to let you put it up. But he'll say that he's very sorry, only the commission has just been given to Guy Francon. And you'll go home, and do you know what you'll do there? You'll cry. You'll cry like a woman, like a drunkard, like an animal. That's your future, Howard Roark. Now, do you want it?"

"Yes," said Roark.

"Howard," whispered Cameron, "I've never told it to anyone...."

-End quote

Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead

 

[GenesAndEnvironment]

Not a problem I'll ever have.

A-fucking-men.