Misery does, indeed, love and need company. Sometimes I ease up on my overwhelming dark thoughts because I don’t want to bring others down to my level. It’s one thing to have good company down at the bottom, but quite another to drag someone down to the bottom. Not that I would be able to—I don’t think most people are so suggestible that I could say a few words and all their hope for themselves and humanity go flittering away. Nevertheless, it seems important that I not take the chance (on the flip side, no one needs to worry about depressing me with dark thoughts: I only ever dig my own holes. I can jump in and out of other peoples’ holes pretty easy. That sounds indelicate and lewd, I know).
I’m also not looking for a cure—if one could cure such a thing. I believe in the link between misery and creativity. I don’t think I could just excise my harsh introspection and dolor, leaving me happy, healthy and writing epic feel-good novels. It’s all wrapped up in one cohesive globule of awfulness and weirdness. I probably would never have gotten into art or started writing without it, and it keeps me connected to this work and the importance of this work to me—and to others one day, I hope.