There was a time when I wrote depressing stuff like this on the regular, much to the dismay of the people around me.
A downer, they called me. As if I’d forced them to live with my angst. They also threw out other adjectives like cringe, annoying, and lame.
Perhaps my biggest crime wasn’t the cringe or the regular servings of depresso. Perhaps it was taking their words to heart and not writing anything negative for years after that.
But I’m only human, and I, too have my demons to face. Despite running five kilometres every day, I still wish I could get blackout drunk from time to time. I am a father, but I wish I could be the child sometimes. And despite calling myself a writer, I can’t tell you when I’ve last written… or even read seriously.
So here I am, reacquainting with Mister Impending Doom, a visitor that likes to bring his friends like Miss Jittery Heart and Shortness Of Breath. Visitors I’ve stopped mentioning because heaven forbid I pull someone down with me.
Interestingly enough, my lessons learned would come in the form of watching other people’s art. There I was, listening to The Insomniacks perform live—one band out of what, 100,000 others?—who sang with so much sincerity that I was enraptured by one song in its entirety.
And before I knew it, three minutes had passed me by. Three minutes of forgetting about Impending Doom and his friends. Three minutes of not hurting. Three minutes that taught me the exact reason why I should share my art.
Because we may not be the best at what we do. We might not even amount to anything à la Vincent Van Gogh (while we’re alive, at least). But there could be that one person looking for a respite from their pain, their three minutes of escape that only you can provide.
And what is cringe, anyway? You could be cringe to someone yet a kindred spirit to another. Heck, you could be cringe to the same person in different points in their lives. But you could also be the reason why a jaded writer would try picking up the pen again. And it would be selfish not to share that beauty with the world.
So this is me trying again. Trying to pay my three minutes forward. And wouldn’t you know it, the thirty minutes it took me to draft this story ended up being another sanctuary from my pain.
But this is a cringe ending if I’ve ever written one.
Stuart Danker 
I’d love to hear your thoughts!