The Power of Writing That Bridges the Urge to Die

A writer grapples with defining their craft, questioning the rigid distinctions between fiction and non-fiction, fact and truth. In their writing class, students often ask how to write non-fiction while adhering to facts, and what essays truly are. The writer counters by asking about the boundaries of literature and non-literature, and whether fact and truth are interchangeable.

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We write non-fiction, so we have to write facts. How can we write only facts? What are essays?

While formal distinctions like debut status, genre, and educational background are clear, the writer admits to not categorizing texts by these metrics when reading. Instead, they focus on discovering the "truth" and "sparkling aspects" within the writing, underlining them as they are found.

The article introduces Saito Mie's "You Must Dig Up What You Buried in the Garden," a book presenting various written accounts of one person's suffering. The first part contains writings with emotional distance, while the second delves into the author's inner world. The writer notes the book blurs genre lines, questioning if it's an essay, psychology book, novel, or poetry, concluding that both parts stem from a single individual.

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We are writing 99% bullshit with 1% fact, aren't we, to ultimately write the truth?

The book begins with the author's hospitalization after a suicide attempt. Saito Mie describes feeling unable to communicate with others since age four and experiencing various health issues, including leukemia, eating disorders, autism spectrum disorder, ADHD, adjustment disorder, and complex PTSD. These experiences led her to believe she was fundamentally flawed, and that minimizing herself to fit in was the only way to survive and connect.

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My language doesn't work here at all. I had to speak in the other person's language, by their grammar, within their vocabulary.

"My language doesn't work here at all. I had to speak in the other person's language, by their grammar, within their vocabulary," Saito Mie writes. The writer is moved by the editor's encouragement for Saito Mie to write both distinct narrative styles. The author finds a poignant answer to their long-held questions in Saito Mie's sentence: "I must dig up the corpse buried in the garden. I need to dig up the heart I killed long ago."

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I am crying as I type these words. I cry quietly. I am crying. No one in this world knows that I am crying right now.