Skip to main content
Today we have a special guest, author Brian Kirk. Brian writes delightfully dark, unsettling stories. He's had several published in various magazines and anthologies, and his debut novel, We Are Monsters, was released in July. It is a frightening look at the world of mental illness and guaranteed to keep you up at night.


The Monsters Inside Me

My debut novel, We Are Monsters, takes a close look at the world of mental illness. This is not only a subject I find fascinating, it’s an issue I personally face, having dealt with obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) all of my life.



Most people associate OCD with repetitively obsessive behavior. People wash their hands ten times before leaving the house, have to flick the light switch fifty times when entering a room, or must make sure the fibers on a rug are all facing north. Otherwise… Well, nothing. It’s a compulsion without any clear impetus. Logically one knows they won’t die if the water doesn’t sound a certain way against the drain.

While many people have that form of OCD, I don’t.  Mine manifests in body ticks, inescapable thought loops, chronic anxiety, and periods of depression. No fun, I’ll tell you. But in no way debilitating, thank God.

I’m not trying to sound like the suffering artist here, or that there was anything supernatural at play, but my OCD spiked to previously unprecedented levels when I began writing We Are Monsters; again, a story about mental illness.  

I began having severe panic attacks, which I’d never experienced before. My thought loops became increasingly negative and emotionally destructive. I spiraled into a deep depression that wouldn’t lift.

For the first time in my life I found it difficult to write. The words clunked off my fingers, they didn’t fit together well. My brain felt like it was caught in a fog. The ideas that emerged seemed meager. More than once, I was tempted to quit.

Fortunately, I didn’t. In fact, I feel that writing the book is part of what helped pull me out of that state. I rationally knew that what I was experiencing wasn’t real. The negative thoughts were lies told by the disorder. The writing only appeared poor through the window of my warped perception, the ideas paltry to my depressed mind.

And I didn’t want that lying, marauding prankster to get the best of me. So, I said, “Screw it. Who cares if I write a bad book? I won’t be the first person to do so.” And I kept going. Slugging words through sludge.

I wish I could say that one day the clouds parted during a particularly profound scene and my depression lifted. No, writing, along with other life changes, including medical assistance, lead to my recovery. Which I’m happy to report continues to this day.

But writing through the darkest parts of that period proved therapeutic in a number of ways. One, it proved that I could do it. That I would not quit writing no matter what. Two, once my perception normalized I was able to see that the story was far better than I feared at the time. You cannot trust the warped perception of depression, it lies. That was a valuable lesson that I can apply the next time I find myself in a depressed state. And, three, it resulted in a story that rings truer than it may have otherwise.

While authors are able to write from viewpoints outside their own, there’s a deeper quality that comes when one experiences something firsthand. Part of me feels that this trial was the price I had to pay to write the book I desired to write.

Good thing my next book is about an author who becomes a bestseller, falls even more deeply in love with his wife, and makes a ton of new friends. 

To be honest, this wasn’t a subject I wanted to talk much about. I’m sometimes afraid that by thinking about it, it could happen again. Ultimately, however, I feel that it’s important to talk about it. I know several other writers who face the same struggles, and have been helped by knowing they’re not alone.

There’s a stigma attached to mental illness that we need to abolish. 1 in 5 Americans suffer from some form of mental illness each year. It’s time we stop making the subject taboo, and start looking for proper solutions.

My debut novel, We Are Monsters, is part of that burgeoning conversation. I hope you’ll check it out. Here’s a brief description along with links to the online retailers where it’s sold.


The Apocalypse has come to the Sugar Hill mental asylum. 

He is the hospital's newest, and most notorious patient – a paranoid schizophrenic who sees humanity's dark side.

Luckily he's in good hands. Dr. Eli Alpert has a talent for healing tortured souls. And his protégé is working on a cure for schizophrenia, a medicine that returns patients to their former selves. But unforeseen side effects are starting to emerge. Forcing prior traumas to the surface. Setting inner demons free.

Monsters have been unleashed inside the Sugar Hill mental asylum. They don't have fangs or claws. They look just like you or me.







And for anyone interested in striking up a virtual friendship, please connect with me through one of the following channels. Don’t worry. I only kill my characters.













Comments

  1. Very powerful post, Brian. I'm so sorry writing "We Are Monsters" affected you that way, but I'm glad you got through it.

    Depression took two friends and a grandfather away from me. It's a terrible disease. The stigma against all mental illness needs to end so more people will feel they can seek help.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Friends Unseen

 Catherine Cavendish is the author of  several novels and novellas, including The Devil's Serenade, Dark Avenging Angel, Saving Grace Devine, and The Pendle Curse. Today she's here to talk about some rather unsettling imaginary friends. When you were growing up, did you have an imaginary friend? Did they seem real to you? Maybe sort-of-real. You could talk to them, imagine their responses, play with them - but you probably kept the ‘relationship’ within certain boundaries, however young you were. In my case, I invented an entire family of siblings – three sisters (two older, one a few years younger) and an older brother who looked out for us girls. Being an only child, I found them comforting, and fun, but I never imagined them to be real. They, in turn, kept themselves firmly lodged in my own mind and never attempted to cross any boundary into the real world. In my novel, The Devil’s Serenade, my central character also had an imaginary family when she was a child

October Frights Blog Hop Day 5

 WHEN AUTUMN ARRIVES   Fall is here. I can smell it.   The air of each season has a certain feel, a certain smell, that defines it. For a long time, I thought this was just a subconscious thing. We know the date and thus the moment you get a cool day at the end of August, you start thinking about fall.  But a few years ago I decided it has to be more than that. There must be some internal mechanism, an interpretation of the data the senses are gathering, that lets a person know change is in the air. Just like you can sense when a storm is coming even if the sky is clear. It happens all the time. You go outside on a beautiful summer day, maybe to check the garden or walk the dog. Fall, Halloween, the end of summer, none of that is on your mind. Yet the moment you step outside, a cool breeze greets you and you instantly think, "Autumn is here." There’s no reason to actually feel this way. The day is warm; that slight chill in the air is just a stray current, same as whe

Women in Horror Month Guest Blogger: Yvonne Navarro

Yvonne Navarro has written more than 20 novels and 100 short stories. Her novel deadrush is recognized as one of the most inventive takes on the zombie myth. She’s won more than 5 writing awards and been nominated for several others. Her short stories are frequently features in annual Year's Best Horror anthologies. She is a font of knowledge about writing, but in today’s blog she’s talking not about the craft of writing, but the life outside it. ====================================== Live in the Moment by Yvonne Navarro             So here I am, having agreed to write a blog (again) and with no concept of what to write about (again).   I’m a writer, so I should write about writing, right?   Please.   I’m one of the Old Ones.   No, I’m not ninety years old (although sometimes I feel like it) and banging this out on an antique Remington typewriter where I hear a ding! and have to use the carriage return lever at the end of every sentence.   But there were