One of the downsides of being stable in my bipolar world, is losing my creative edge. It’s great that the medicine controls my rabid mood swings and thoughts, but it also steals my creativity and emotions.
My husband knows how much I love to paint. Our home is like a mini gallery of my “work.” He bought me a couple of painting canvases for Christmas. I haven’t painted in two years. I painted a mural for the local history museum that took me all summer to do and I haven’t picked up a brush since. It was also during the same time I upped my medicines for the last time. Not a coincidence.
I miss my emotions. I’m dealing more on an intellectual level, with ration and reason guiding me.
I can’t paint that.
It makes me feel like how they must have felt in the Renaissance when everything was perfect right angles and made logical sense.
I don’t want to paint that.
And this is my inner battle.
I don’t want to paint because I can’t paint what I want-emotion. What I’ve always painted. I don’t know where to go from here or how to incorporate into my artistic quality. I don’t want to admit that I have to admit there is a change that has happened for my well being and that I am not that same person anymore. Because when I put it on paper or canvas it will be real in that moment, space and time. I will be what I create. And that scares the crap out of me.
I don’t think I’m ready for the change.
I don’t want to be ready for that change.
I don’t know that I can face being different to myself and having to accept part of my life, that emotional life is over for now. At this time. That emotional part is gone for now. And this is how I have to grow now.
And think that is the saddest thing I wrote today.