There are, it seems, 10,000 blogs in English talking about
various mental illnesses. Mine is one of those.
Of course, I want to talk about other things as well, with
an emphasis on sharing my experiences in midlife dealing with bipolar2 and
anxiety issues.
I don’t think I’ve been doing a very good job of it. I’m not
good at self-promoting. I feel I have something to say but, really, are my
experiences any better or worse; is my writing better or worse than the other
10,000 bloggists? I read some incredible blogs, some that literally want to
make me stand and cheer.
I look at what I write and it seems flat.
I really used to be better than this. I was a columnist for
two daily newspapers. I’ve been a journalist most of my life. I used to get a
lot of kudos for my columns and it kept me going. I enjoyed writing them. I am
acutely aware, right now, that my short sentences must sound like a jackhammer
on the brain.
In the last several years, I have forced myself to write
through the illness for my own mental health. This does not always produce
entertaining or enlightening material. And let’s face it: no one wants to read
vanilla blogs.
It is a great sadness to me that writing only comes when it
comes. Several days go by and I just can’t do it, even though I have something to
say. And when I do, it all seems so flat; sort of the writing equivalent of a
flat affect personality.
Is it the medication? I think that plays a part. When I miss
the highs and lows I also miss a lot of the creative spark that could send my writing
flying in all kinds of exciting (and dangerous) directions.
Am I more afraid? Perhaps, but I’m getting over that. Pretty
much everyone who knows me knows what I’m dealing with. There are certain
things and people I can’t write about, family being one of them.
I think it is possible that I fear wasting the reader’s
time. I’m probably doing that right now.
Author David Foster Wallace worried extensively about his
medications hashing his creativity. A switch in medication led him into a downward
spiral resulting in his suicide. Considerations of dropping medications for the
sake of creativity are not to be taken lightly.
As much as I miss a lot of the old me, I understand why I
must stick to my medication. The mania that was so self-destructive is held at bay
and the depression, well . . . it’s handled as best as can be expected.
My psychiatrist has suggested subbing Celexa for Lexapro
when I get back from New York. I doubt it will make me feel like a ‘new man’
whatever that means, but I’m more willing to experiment (with her supervision)
than I would have been two years ago.
The basic problem is I can experience all the lows but the
highs bring with them a certain glib silliness without the energy and
creativity I would like to experience again.
My psychiatrist said I should mentally prepare myself for
our (my wife and I) upcoming trip New York City. I told her that I was doing
that by imagining every terrible thing that could happen to us.
Why do I do this? Simple – it’s insurance for the anxiety.
If I go through every bad thing that might happen, if it does happen, I’m mentally
prepared for it and it’s less of a big deal than being surprised. If nothing
happens and I have a good time – it’s a bonus.
This is the typical thinking of people with anxiety issues.
It’s why so many of us find it hard to relax and have a good time. Going to New
York is me pushing myself far out of my comfort zone on the off chance that I
will actually enjoy myself. It beats sitting on the couch wondering: what if?
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