REFLECTION FROM MARCH 7TH, 2008
RE: CARVING OUT MY REASON TO KEEP ON LIVING, THROUGH FITS OF MANIC AND DEPRESSIVE BIPOLAR CREATION.
WRITTEN 3/7/2008 @ AGE 26
It’s funny, I’m sitting here reading more about bipolar online (I got to go home from work early – it’s a snow day!), and on this particular website they really downplay the fact that there might be a correlation between people who are artistic and people who are bipolar–namely, that people with bipolar illness are more apt to be creative types. They even go on to say that there’s a danger in making this association, but I think it’s a rather natural jump. I mean, as far as I can tell, when I am in my manic or depressive states, I think that is when I write my very best.
This makes sense because when I am in these extreme mood states, the reason I’m in these particular states, as far as I’m convinced, is because my brain chemicals are imbalanced…too much or too little serotonin, dopamine, whatever. Anyways, the imbalance causes me sometimes to have too little of these critical chemicals and sometimes to have too much of them. When I have either too little or too much, I am at my most creative. I believe that I am able to express myself creatively with far greater capacity than the average Joe Schmo. I am able to do so because I am able to experience life in extreme mental and emotional conditions–conditions which are not typically available to average persons, unless through the use of particular illicit drugs.
I believe that being in a natural state of euphoric mania offers far greater creative capacity because, although you are experiencing perhaps the same euphoric state, you are doing so with the availability of self-awareness and greater clarity. Although I have not control over my euphoric state — I do have control enough to record what comes to me, what comes into my mind when I am in such a state. I think that is a marked difference between creativity produced by illicit drugs and natural born creativity. Anyways, I could go on but I think I’d just end up repeating myself at this point, and you get the point anyways. I’ma read some more…
Okay, I’m tired of reading. I was thinking though, about how my mind races oftentimes with just incredible amounts beautifully carved-out, articulate thought. It really upsets me usually, when I have these waves come over me and I’m not in a position such that I can sit down and just write them all out. I like best to capture them while they are coming to me, because the wording is just so precise and particular and absolutely beautiful that it’s usually difficult to later recreate the word without the emotion that’s in fact spurring it into my mind in the first place.
Anyways, I was just thinking how I really have to have faith — and I’m pretty damn angry at faith right now — but, one instance in which I really have to just believe that things are going to be okay, is when I am writing and feel like I cannot get all my great ideas down or when I am inundated with brilliant streams of thought, but am working or somewhere else where I cannot otherwise take the time to record my thoughts. I have to have faith that what I do get written down is what was supposed to be written down at that point, and that what I do not get written down, if it’s really important, will return to me for later recording.
I have to have faith in that process, or else I’d have to quit altogether writing which I most obviously and most definitely am not willing to do. Writing is my love, it is the vessel through which I’ve learned to love myself. Through writing, I’ve learned what I love and loathe about myself, through my writing I’ve captured my pain and my euphoria to share with others, through writing I’ve given meaning to my otherwise eternally uncomfortable existence–through writing, I’ve justified my reason to live. Writing, in many senses, is the very manifestation of my heart and soul. We are one. I cannot live without it.
I keep thinking about this and the thing is, I don’t want to believe that the universe is either so arbitrary or so cruel to have placed me here in this chronically painful, emotionally painful position. My existence is justified if it has a purpose, you see. If there is no purpose, if my life is without purpose, then I live within either a completely cruel or completely arbitrary universe–which really scares the hell out of me. I need to have a purpose, you see.