Side Effects May Include Creative Impotence

2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song
If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to
And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd
Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud
And I know that you'll use them, however you want to
-Anna Nalik (Breathe)

Blech, you know you "gots issues" when you are a little sad that you are not sad anymore!  I've been following my plan (mostly, we'll get to that next week) for almost 2 months.  Mental health-wise, I am feeling really good.  There have been a few scary moments, but depression and anxiety haven't been pervasively running my life like they did for the past year. 

So, I feel great...but...I'm sort of in mourning right now...mourning the loss of my creative drive.  Writing has been part of my life since I was in 5th grade and used a thrift store typewriter to hammer out the first few pages of a mystery novel.  Since that time I've always used words to express my heart and my mind. 

In high school I found good company in the form of Writer's Workshop.  Every high school kid is a poet, right?  Everyone writes sad, angsty, forlorn poetry when they are feeling down about whatever (usually a relationship).  But, I was different.  These kids in Workshop were different.  We understood writing as a craft. It was more than just whiny couplets decrying our heartache.  Some of these people were extremely talented.  While I wouldn't count myself among the best and brightest writers, I could hold my own. 

As I've grown, I have been able to see the process of my writing.  Like the Anna Nalik lyrics above, I get some sort of idea in my head.  It's usually a picture.  If I were to describe my writing style, I would say I am a painter.  My words are the thick, rich, oil paints that fashion the picture. It's a compulsion.  If I don't write, there is something stuck inside of me that messes with my mind.  Then, once it's spilled onto paper, I feel like I've laid myself bare for the whole world to see...especially if it gets published. 

The issue at hand is that, when I am happy or balanced, I don't get the pictures in my head.  They just don't come.  Oh, I can still write. I can use the same techniques and tools, but instead of my writing being a Dutch masterpiece, it's more like a Bob Ross.  The elements are all there, but it's missing the spark, the mastery.  Sometimes, I can't even write at all.  There's no compulsion. It's sort of the plight of the artist to be a little insane (or so I've heard). The frustration that comes when the desire to create and the inspiration to create do not match up is maddening. 

Clearly, the answer to my conundrum comes in the form of finding a way to become inspired without being in a state of depression.  That's harder.  It won't come as naturally.  But, I want it.  I'll need to work for it.  The real question is...how?