(no subject)

Of course, noting the lack of writing Wellbrutin causes, I suddenly find something with plenty to write. Nothing of a grand adventure, mind shattering. But the words are out there, circling closer. It is such an immersive burden lifted.

Not to say that this does anything for my grammatical endevours. (Is that a word? It should be, dammit, because I just made it up and it SOUNDS right now.)

Who would I be without being a writer? I have never given the thought any question, any bearing, any curious glance in my entire life. I found writing earlier and fell into it with the fervor of a religious zealot.

But stripped away of that, I only know a few thing about my self. I love cats and never turn one down. I have a sweet tooth the size of the entire North American seaboard, and I like science fiction and fantasy films. But these are just things I consume.

They are not things that make me who I AM. I've never ascribed to the idea that good writing comes from balanced places. But maybe...just maybe...they are right. YOU GUYS are right. Maybe I don't have to torture myself to make my words concise and moving.

Maybe. As much as I've cursed this idea, there is truth in that the Crazy gives an intensity that sanity does not. But spending my life trying to dig into the Crazy is exhausting.

Maybe there's an easier way, so long as I stay stable, on medication, and learn the trade-offs do not mean not writing completely.

The balance between patience and obsession is such a fine line. Maybe someday I'll figure that out.

With help from all of you, and Jesse and Pat's never ending encouragement over my writing for over the last 30 years..maybe they're onto something.

Now whether or not I get off my lazy ass and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT, instead of wasting it here on a website that became obscure 10 years go...maybe it's time. Certainty I'm feeling better from the lupus, in leaps and bounds, lately.

It' the perfect time to start exploring what writing can be other than self-obsessed shots across the bow of an internet journaling community.

Maybe. I didn't sleep well for a couple of days, which means a ridiculously long nap today. But maybe even in sleep, ideas will percolate and eventually form a picture I can expand on.

Maybe. Stranger things have happened.

This entry was originally posted at http://quirkytizzy.dreamwidth.org/1084861.html
Maybe imagine it like coming down from a drug and now experiencing the world without the focus of rush and intoxication (you should know enough about that state yourself).
It will take it's time to get accustomed to it, it will be a different way of writing or being creative than before, but - what exists, this actually can't be broken so easily. You'll be able to pick it up again. It will only look and sound a little differently then from what you've been doing before. Maybe even it will only sound and seem like that to you in your own thoughts, but not to somebody else on the outside!
Only let time pass and digest certain events and the new circumstances...
There are two thoughts that stand out to me:

The goal is to live, to have a shot on any given day of having a proper life. That's difficult-to-impossible if you're constantly teetering on the edge of psychosis. In its way, that's not so different from the impossibility of having a life because you're fucked up most of the time, as was the case 20ish years ago.

The goal of the choice remains the same: to keep your psyche in a place where it moves you forward, or at least doesn't hold you back on its own.

There's value in being able to articulate your feelings, but rather less in knowing their every hiccup and contour. The appeal of daily introspective writing has always had its limits for me, because [a] I don't necessarily need to write it down in order to articulate it, for reasons that amount to a really LOOONNNG and unpleasant story, and [b] eventually that emotional archaeology offers less value in its results than the effort to took to conduct it.

You were an expert at being too sick to function long before this disease of yours got you in its claws; the difference this time is that there's zero self-will (as they say) involved in staying there, whether yours or others'.