The Courage to Create

Not all artists are insane. I'll give you that, but there a fairly large number who lived with a mental illness of one stripe or another. 

Creative types are notorious for refusing to either get diagnosed or for refusing to take their medication if they have been. I am beginning to understand why.

I have two half-finished paintings, a novel and a number of short stories running around my brain with nowhere to go. And, yes, I am going to blame my meds. 

I'm a big advocate of people taking their pills. You don't stop just because you feel better. You talk to your doctor if you're not feeling better. I always preach this to myself and, in the past, to my patients. 

But, when it comes to creativity, I think they might be eating that alive. It takes courage to create. Let's think about courage. The base of the word itself is "to rage." In Old English, it had a connotation of vengeance. In French, it has a history of meaning "to have heart." It takes some of both of these characteristics to dare to lay your heart and soul and mind on the line, creating something new from thin air. It requires an openness, a trust within yourself. 

I think the meds are killing that part of me. 

Granted, I hear voices. I'm not emotionally stable. I can't go into many public places without having a panic attack. I also can't write or paint or even do the less courageous crafting. I am too calm inside to do that. I am too guarded to let go. I need pills to make it through the day instead of a paintbrush or a pen. 

Are there any creative types out there who understand this dilemma? Have you ever quit your meds so that you could be creative again? Do any of you function just fine in this department while still on all your medication? 

I can't see me not taking my pills, but there must be some way to do both. 

Emotional Neglect

Do any of you feel like you've neglected your children when you were depressed?

I don't have kids. I talked to my therapist about that today, the possibility of children one day. She said that I had all the qualities to be a great mom, but she also said that studies show that bipolar parents tended to emotionally neglect their children in times of depression. I still have mood swings despite all the mood stabilizers I take. 

I told my best friend about this part of our conversation, and she tried to assure me that I would never do that. But, the truth is, I don't know. It would never be intentional, but I know how I feel when I get down. It can be down on the floor in the fetal position, a position where I am no good for anybody. Is it a risk worth taking? 

Then, there is also the thought that there is a genetic component to this illness. Do you bring a child into the world knowing you might well pass on misery and pain? 

I asked her the question about men, too. Her answer surprised me. She said he would be kind, compassionate and probably have a family member or close friend who lived with mental illness. It made sense. She said if he didn't have those qualities, he was probably a predator looking to feed on the weak, my paraphrase there. 

All in all, it was a good session. She encouraged me that my attempt to go to the class was progress in and of itself, whether or not I had a panic attack. She also said that my thinking about a future relationship meant that something dead inside of me was coming back to life because I had NO such desire before recent developments. 

At noon I have my therapist appointment, same time every Monday. It hasn't been a satisfying experience lately. There's been too much talk about disability and not enough talk about what's going on inside of me. I understand the necessity of this, but it doesn't make me feel any better about it. 

I've been thinking about the future. I've been thinking about the past. I've been thinking about how the two collide. I want children, but I don't think I will end up being a mother largely because of my own childhood. I need to talk about this with her. I don't want to talk about it at all. Those are usually the things that I need to talk about the most. 

I'm frustrated by my lack of progress lately. More than one person has said I am expecting too much too fast. It's been 7 months since the first voices came and changed my life. 7 months sounds like such a long time to me right now. I want to be better. I want to be able to read a book again or sit through an entire movie. I want to paint and write. I want to finish the things I start. 

I don't have much to say tonight other than that. I don't understand why this has happened to me. I don't know what else I can do to make things better than what they are now. Frustrating.