Why Writers Killed Themselves

So. It is commonly believed that the relative number of writers--novelists, poets, lyricists--who committed suicide is higher compared to that of other professions. I don't know if it's true or if anyone actually did a semi-scientific investigation on that matter.

But I guess what strikes people most about writers' suicide is their lack of apparent reason. People can understand if someone is prompted to commit suicide due to severe abuse inflicted upon him/her, financial difficulties, or chronic illness. But some of these writers were young, successful, famous, quite well-off, yet they took the plunge anyway. Writers' suicide becomes some sort of unsolved mystery that is romantic as much as it is creepy.

I'd like to say that I have a theory, a hunch if you will, about it. It's not something that needs to be taken too seriously but quite intriguing to mull over.

To become a good writer, you need to be sensitive and inquisitive. A good writer is honest in his/her works. Because of that, he will scrutinize a topic thoroughly, not just the positive aspects but also its cruel, harsh facet. He will see things unnoticeable by many, and they're not always lovely. The deeper he digs into it, the darker it gets. And, like it or not, it is this understanding that creates outstanding work of art. But it is also this understanding that can tear him into pieces.

Long story short, people of a particular profession adopt a certain mental attitude. A journalist friend of mine said that a lot of her fellow journalists ended up being pessimistic, having seen so many un-praiseworthy deeds of politicians and stuff. It's only normal for writers who deal with the subject matter of human nature to get depressed. The ones who cannot cope with it well might break down and choose to end their life instead of living the miserable existence of being.

I know it's all very complicated and hard to understand, so I'll wrap it up with a personal experience.

I wanted to write about human existence, mine in particular. So I thought long and hard about it. I finally concluded that my existence means nothing, neither to God, to my family, nor my friends. The thought threw my straight away into depression. Try to reflect on the things along that line long enough on day-to-day basis like some of those writers; it would be amazing if you don't start to want to kill yourself even when you're doing so.

Note: Speaking about writers who committed suicide, there's one writer in that category whose work I really wish to read but haven't: Yukio Mishima. Nevertheless, it seems that Mishima's suicide had nothing to do with depression. He was obsessed with bushido and eternal glory, as far as I know, and his decision was probably triggered by that kind of thing.