The finish line seems so far away...

Ever simply burned out?

I was actually a pretty good runner in my days, and won oodles of races, me the invisible reject of school. There was one race, a cross country race in fact and hundreds of different school pupils where taking part alongside myself. I can still remember my heart jumping out of my chest as I readied myself for the whistle. When it rang out, I leaped forward into the mud bath and began my race. I had it all planned out in my head like a schedule, of when I should run a little harder and when I should run a little softer. But in this plan, I had fatally left out the list of problems that could arise. I was rounding a corner, covered in mud from head to toe and I ran over my ankle, by trainer coming off in the mud some way behind me. I had not registered my trainer coming off, that is how focused I was. If you have ever broken your ankle, you will know how white the pain is, so white you feel for a slight second that you will either faint or vomit.

I bent over my ankle in agony as dozens of competitors ran past me unblinking to my situation. If ever there was a literal metaphor to how I felt in life, that moment summed it up perfectly. I was hurt, muddied and it didn’t seem to bother anyone around me. I could have simply stayed put, in fact I should have in hindsight. But I didn’t. I don’t have any outstanding qualities, I am actually just a bit of a bore to be fair. But one quality I do have in bucket loads is determination. I am pretty sure that it is my ever boiling cauldron of determination that has got me thus far in life. Maybe I was inadvertently having a Fuck It! Moment, who knows. I did however force myself up onto my feet, half way through the race with another good half an hour to go until the finish line. And instead of quitting the race, I ran on. Believe me there was nothing glorious or exhilarating in running on, I cried the whole way. I simply could not allow another situation to run me into the ground. And so I finished the race and somehow out of my team came first. But finishing the race had nothing to do with winning, it simply was a Fuck you to all those who had run past me. Of course I was in a cast for months and in the end after that one race, I have never been able to run again due to how badly I had broken my ankle and the further damage I had inflicted upon it by running on.

And there is the morale of my story…

I was writing like a train on opium for months and months, in fact I finished my first draft in eight weeks, a manuscript of over six hundred pages. I felt elated and great when I had finished it, but after stopping, the consequences of rushing ahead fell on me like a red brick of reality. There were many times throughout that first draft when my good pragmatic mind told me to chill, that this year was about learning to be still, about learning to simply take a step back. Instead of obliging this newly constructed routine, I had indeed set it on fire and all that was left was a pile of ashes. I had burned myself out. I should have stopped, but I didn’t listen. I went on and wrote a seven hundred page second novel in the series, written within three months.

Then I stopped….

The one thing I do not respect enough, is the fact that I am a bi polar suffer, big time. It accounts for my incredible speed and inability to stop. I am constantly fighting my mental health because bi polar in particular has such a stigma attached to it and I have been fighting it these past eight years. I have been rendered immobile by it, unable to function by it and in my mind it is such a curse. My moods spiral constantly and I am always having to work with myself. But the biggest problem I have is trying to separate myself from it, so that those around me can see me and not it. At times it has been my greatest ally, for some weird and wacky reason it can really open my mind to knowledge, and I drink myself into oblivion with knowledge, particularly history, science, politics and philosophy. But its traits seem to pop up everywhere in my day to day life. I was writing myself into an abyss, it was and always is great to begin with but it will come to an end in the most explosive way. And so, I spiralled into depression, really bad depression. And when you are that low, anyone who suffers from it will know that you can’t function to the same level anymore. And if there is one thing I hate, it is having to sit in one place.

From darkness their springs light…

Yeah well when you are in the depths of depression, you cannot hear anything but your own voice, another thing I hate. Listening to my own voice constantly. I wanted to write, I was in love with my characters and storylines and most of all I wanted people to come and join Eveline on her journey. But I couldn’t bring myself to sit at my desk for weeks. I found fault with everything in the world, even my own stories. It doesn’t help much when it’s the depth of winter outside and the sky is always grey, the trees are bare, there are hardly any birds about and everything just takes on another meaning, as if your depression and the outside world are connected. I deleted my social accounts, everything. I couldn’t bare it any longer and it was in those dark weeks that I had to make, or was forced to make some decisions.

Decisions, decisions…

The first day of spring, is my favourite day of the year and it came by in a gentle manner and with it came a fresh dose of reality. I couldn’t lie in my bed for another week, and I felt some life in me too. I began to become filled with new ideas and perspectives. I was coming to life alongside everything that had been asleep during the winter months. I wrote a long list of the things I love; Game of Thrones, books, books, books, nature, healthy food, classical music etc. and I came to an agreement with myself. I would write three days a week and the other days of the week, I would immerse myself in the things that I loved. I would try to go for walks, despite feeling anxious. I would buy a book a week, despite being pretty penniless. I would listen to the most beautiful pieces of classical music and more importantly, I would learn to walk at a slower pace. Much easier said than done, but in my eyes, my books, my characters and their stories depended on it. If I wanted to bring them to life in the best way possible, I had to change some of my ways and better myself. Bi polar doesn't simply fade away, but you can learn to cope with it and that’s what I forced myself to do.

Re writing…

For another six months, I slowly began to re write my first draft and boy could I see the difference. I was so down and put out that I hardly recognised that by burning out, I was able or given the chance to really see everything in a different light. And so I have been writing three days a week ever since and when I feel guilty for not being at my desk, I simply pick up my lists of pro’s and con’s and remind myself of why I fell into a fiery pit of hell. It is so hard in this day and age, where our society is constantly moving about to simply stand still without feeling guilty. But it has done me and my writing the world of good. It hasn’t meant that I stop suffering from mental health, but it has altered little mechanisms within me and we all have to start from somewhere right? This coming from a pretty cynical and pragmatic woman, who really has never had any time for soft speeches on how you can improve your life etc. etc.

Have you ever found yourself in the same place? How did you cope? If you are a writer, did you give up or press on?

Iseult x