I was suspicious the last time I had the “flu” in February. I’d felt similar back in November. And now again at the end of April. It appears my flu is just anxiety attacks. /sigh. It calmed down a bit yesterday after taking some baby aspirin. Today I took a couple of my anxiety pills, spaced out during the day. That helped. Ah the wonders of self-diagnosis.
The bipolar I can deal with. I really dislike anxiety. REALLY. I don’t even feel anxious worried, or stressed about anything, sheesh. I know, I should just look on the bright side. (sorry for the scarcasm). This too shall pass, but I’m hoping this doesn’t become an every 3 month thing.
I know. I’m fortunate. I used to deal with this daily. And I know there are many of you out there that suffer with this daily. I’m just whining.
No, not true,
I live with my bipolar self. I feel blessed to have found a way to write fearlessly and freely. However, I will admit the temptation of abusing my condition for the sake of creativity still exists. I’ve found that temptation is a terrible lie.
Thirteen years ago I lost my hold on reality, and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and GAD. It was a creativity dry and emotion free 5 years after I started my BP medications. I endured the numbness and side effects because i feared the place I’d fallen into more than comfort and loss of creativity.
When I was a younger writer I “taught” myself how to spiral down into dark depression, or use substances. When I was an adult, I threw all that work into the garbage. Good riddance.
I’ve recently been blessed with freedom in writing. I love the sound, taste, and rhythm of words. Sometimes I fear I sound pretentious. I don’t mean to. I am just trying to write fearlessly (thank you Pat Pattison/Caroline Harvey).
The article below covers the topic better than I have.
“When we say that people need alcohol, drugs, or mental illness to produce great art, we are saying that the art is more important than the person.”