Here's something that didn't at first seem to be a problem: I wrote a blogpost yesterday. Have a look if you like. It's just one of those throwaway ones that I do from time to time.
There's nothing particularly wrong with it, in fact I quite like it. But it has created a kind of problem in my mind. Because I wrote it feeling a bit hyper, agitated, and so on, and then I realised that I accidentally hadn't taken my medication for a couple of days.
(Now people will tell you that this won't, in fact, make any difference, as these things take weeks to change your brain chemistry and so on, and they may well be right. I can respect that point of view if they can respect me respectfully saying that, in my experience, it seems different to me. All I can tell you is that, for me, it does appear to make a difference, and I can tell by a change in behaviour and feelings usually whether I have or haven't taken it. I might be completely deluded about this, but I'm prepared to argue the case about what I feel in my own mind. I don't discount the possibility that things might take upswings and downswings regardless of what medication is or isn't there. People who are quite used to experiencing depression become quite attuned to these things. I'm just saying that medication is possibly a factor.)
And then I thought: Ah, shit. This reminds me of how I used to write blogs all the time. Those of you who are regular readers will recall the times when I'd write about two or three posts a day. I'd hardly have time to do anything for all the time I'd be spending at the computer. I'm pleased to not be doing that anymore, for many reasons, largely reasons about needing a life, and the space to think and do other things. On the other hand, though, there was some great rushing joy that came flying back about just sitting down and watching the sparks come flying off the keyboard. It felt like old times.
So I wondered: Maybe this is some part of me I've suppressed through medication for a while now. And maybe it's a good, creative part of me. Regardless of what you think of yesterday's post (and it took only about five minutes to cobble together, so don't regard it as a work of high art, not that you did anyway) it did arrive almost instinctively quickly and was a hell of a lot of fun to write.
I've always liked to think of me as not being a 'talented' individual but someone who works hard to achieve results, such that there are results. But then I wonder. I wonder if the 'talent' I thought I didn't have was actually there in the first place, due to a lucky accident or some kind of mixed-up brain chemistry mumbo-jumbo. I don't know how to express it really, other than to say I'd probably have a better chance of expressing it, I think, if I were feeling a little more depressed or hadn't taken my medication properly - if that makes any sense whatsoever.
So I'm kind of torn: on the one hand there appears to be that agitated, confused, aggressive, slightly unpleasant state of being, which is nonetheless apparently boon for my creative output; on the other there is the more anchored-down, slow, turning-circle-of-a-battleship person who is a lot happier but also a lot less able to get things started and finished. And I'm wondering whether there isn't some way of getting the best of both worlds.
I don't know what the answer is, by the way. There is no way of knowing, I suppose. I guess I am just expressing the thought that I'd like to have the creative bursts without the feeling a bit weird at the same time. But I don't know if you can uncouple one from the other. And that annoys and disappoints and delights and frustrates me all in one go.