I think of a compulsion as something between a habit and an urge; as something that is both things. I do not think that its urge component need necessarily be strong or intense—in fact I think most compulsions are not. Another important distinction to make is between broad, shared or social compulsions and compulsions that are more personal, singular or idiosyncratic.
I think my intermittent compulsion not to write, or to not write, sheds light on another important characteristic of compulsions, in that I realized that I call it a compulsion not simply because I tend to have it now and again (the habit) or because it stems from a desire that is not easily cognizable (urge), but because it has a specific inexplicability to it, a “random”ness. This is the seed of the symptom, I think, and what critical theorists and philosophers are always talking about when they talk about the allure or the call of the object.
Additionally, this particular compulsion fascinates me because of its negative quality: it’s not a compulsion to do anything, but a compulsion to not. In order for that to even be a compulsion—a habit that now necessarily seems to be a response to something—that which it doesn’t want to do also has to be somewhat habitual, which of course means that it might be a compulsion as well. A personal negative compulsion is something I can do and nobody might ever know about it.
But what is the content of that which it refuses to do? My writing is a compulsion, I think, and/ more: it is a means by which I practice my own self-maintenance. I ask this question because I feel as though the mystery posed by the compulsion to not write is partially found in the compulsion it appears to rebel against, mostly because it’s a pretty succinct binary opposition: this thing yes/ no. But the no comes after the yes— it doesn’t seem to simply or objectively not want to do what it, at other times, wants to do: it wants to not do.
When I first tried writing this I kept trying to figure out how to write it: “the compulsion to not write” or “the compulsion not to write.” I couldn’t figure out which was either technically grammatically incorrect or which was more accurate to what I meant, or wanted to mean. I think the point is that it’s somehow both, but the calculus is cleared up when I think of the construction: “to not want to” vs. “to want not to.” This is super important because it registers a midpoint, or an almost inertialess position between A and B. If A is to want to and B is to want not to, to not want to is a position toward the middle, where desire one or the other is cessated. It isn’t this balancing point because it suggests that what one wants, or usually wants, or habitually wants is now unwanted, that is: the desire to do the thing is no longer wanted. It’s still in orbit of A/ to want to, however far it’s managed to travel, but it hasn’t quite reached the cessation of desire or crossed that threshold into wanting the opposite of what it used to want.
So my compulsion to not write is wanting not to, but here’s the thing: if that leaning-towards-wanting-to midpoint of not wanting to is a desire to not desire, wanting not to isn’t. Wanting not to write does not want to abolish wanting to write. Wanting not to write is not opposed to writing or wanting to write. It is simply another desire, which means binary oppositions aren’t necessarily diametrical oppositions.
I reached this conclusion—or, let’s say: I believed this to be true before performing the above analysis because of a quality that both my compulsions—to write and to not write—have in common: they both stem from my embodied desire to take care of myself. In a sense I make both decisions couched within the space of the question: what shall I do that will make me feel good in this way? And I call them compulsions because they answer against my own logic: I often (*think* I) want to do one thing, when my compulsions compel me to do the other. In a sense I respond, or try to respond, by listening to them.
Part of the reason I think that both compulsions stem from the same place is because they both foster feelings of satisfaction, contentment or peace. Still, upon reflection, I wonder if it is odd that I am considering what basically amount to “good” compulsions, when I think the term is most often used for “bad,” or unwanted behavior. Or, I suppose, behaviors that stem from, or are symptomatic of, something that isn’t what we consider negative or having to do with conflict.
This probably idiosyncratic conception of compulsive behavior also seems to link up closely with my own working definition of asceticism, which is usually taken to mean a severe form of self-discipline, usually with an emphasis on abstinence from pleasurable activity. I think of it as any form of self-discipline that one establishes in order to change. As such, it’s something that we all do, and has a lot in common with conversations about “self care.” Both I write and when I intentionally don’t write (the latter especially in response to having identified the compulsive feeling), the act and the non-act both comprise a portion of my own personal asceticism. In fact, the identification—when I feel a way, and identify that as the sensation that signifies the compulsion—is part of my asceticism as well. Just before I identify it as such, I must apprehend it—which sounds like splitting hairs until we think about how often we act from, or in response, to emotional states we don’t realize we’re truly experiencing. And this apprehension is the lynchpin to my asceticism, my ethics and my politics.
As an aside, there is another term/ concept I’ve been wanting to “unpack,” the idea of being arrested, or what we call being arrested, usually in the aesthetic sense—e.g. when we are “moved” by a work of art or something beautiful—but also in the psycho-spiritual/ ascetic sense, which I am sketching the contours of here. But that’s another topic for another essay, but which I’ll probably explore in my next Medium post where I’ll be talking about another seemingly tangential element to my own personal asceticism: nudity.
More soon! Maybe. XO