(no subject)

One of my favourite authors, scott_lynch, has written an excellent post on his struggle with depression that I really recommend reading. One part in particular resonated with me due to what I've witnessed in others.

Portrait of the Artist as a Special Snowflake

There is another truly unfortunate undercurrent / tradition which holds that "creative types" are simply destined by nature or nurture to be less emotionally stable than those around us. Our mental illnesses are ignored, idealized, and even romaticized as part of what makes us so terribly precious and special. I don't claim that I've never indulged in this fantasy myself, or that I don't understand how madness, delirium, and death make for much spicier artistic narratives than long lives and stable investment portfolios. There is, however, a line between being creative / absent-minded / quirky and being completely dysfunctional as a human being.

Do not fucking romanticize and applaud the inability to live happily in yourself or in others.