Ah, the crazy creative stereotype. I know that by chatting with some folks on Twitter, many of us are not immune to it. I’ve talked to plenty of other writers who suffer from mental illness. I’m one of them.
It’s hard to write, but it’s a part of me. Anxiety is a real bitch, and so is depression. It’s gotten to the point where it’s tough to manage with just diet, exercise and GABA supplements, so off to the psychiatrist I went, merrily (?) trotting into the building to see what he could prescribe for the panic attacks I was having that jolted me out of a dead sleep.
To put things rather bluntly, the past few months have been tricky to navigate. And I haven’t been writing or painting lately.
I loaded myself up with extra work late last year, and my left eyelid started twitching to the point where it was completely CLOSING shut. I was told it was a combination of eye strain, stress, and caffeine.
Really? That’s the story of my life.
So it went on non-stop. And I was afraid people were taking notice.
I went to the eye doctor and he jabbed me with 3 CCs of Botox. Botox. Yes. It was bizarre. But I have to say, it worked. I felt really strange going into the clinic and saying I’d do it–here I am, sneaking up on 40, but I have no concern for wrinkles (I don’t care, and I’m not judging you if you do)–I just wanted my damn eyelid to stop twitching.
There are many, many family things going on as well, but I won’t get into all of them. The saddest is that my brother will be leaving after he finishes his PhD. I’m happy for him. I left after I finished my degree, and he should, too. The world needs someone like him, his genius, his creativity, and his strange sense of humor. I will miss him, though. Luckily, he’ll be a short flight away.
Our dear friends also left to move up north. I’m also happy for them, but will miss them dearly. Luckily, Mardi Gras will be calling them back…
I’m at a crossroads with career things, too. The next few months will decide my next steps in life. Should be interesting.
I was on a few pills back in the day: Lexapro, Wellbutrin, Ambien, and Buspar…the only thing that worked was the Buspar. So he prescribed that for panic attacks, and Prozac for depression.
It is still not easy to admit, and it’s not easy to *take* this stuff, because that puts the writing on the wall: I’m nuts. I’m not thrilled about being on it. But I would be thrilled if I could just get my creativity back. I’m not so sure I believe medication drains your creativity. I suppose I’ll let myself find out as time goes on and my affair with meds goes deeper.
The medication is helping, I think.
Hell, I even wrote a little and painted a little last night. Is that what life is about? I had forgotten.