The transit strike has been partially forestalled. I was able to keep my appointment with the retiring shrink in the afternoon. I felt nothing when he wished me good luck and shook my hand. Just mild annoyance. The task of finding a new doctor is daunting. I wish that one could just be assigned. Afterward I went to Union Square and bought another pair of Blundstone boots, black ones. I can't afford this; I used the credit card in a burst of "who the f-ck cares?" They are the most comfortable shoes I have found--I can easily fit my orthotics inside them--and they are a relative bargain. I am sure that they are much cheaper in Australia, but I will probably never go to Australia in my life.
My mood is no better. I truly appreciate all the comments from yesterday. The funny thing is, I do know that I am talented. And that I have created some beautiful things (I hope). But these exist in some category that seems to exclude me. Maybe it is because, when I was growing up, no one celebrated my talents. My swimming, that got me attention. And the funny thing is, I did not have a particular talent for swimming, really; I just worked so hard at it that I became quite good through pure determination (and thankfully, I am well coordinated). Toward the end of high school, and especially in college, it felt great to have some status as a musician, but maybe it was too little too late.
I hope I don't sound like a whining spoiled brat, which is always my fear. I am very lucky in so many ways. That is why this depression/mania is such a nuisance. It seems to be the one big thing standing in the way of my finding peace.
4 comments:
It doesn't sound like whining - part of the deal for the truly creative is that everyone else gets the beauty while you get to stand, as if in the wings, just outside the radiant glow of your creation; somehow YOU get to be the onlooker on the fringe of a great shared experience.
True peace seems, to me, to be something usually only available to those with the most limited imagination. Maybe it's easier for it to exist in a vaccuum.
That was beautifully put. I did tell a friend yesterday that I would rather be untalented and at peace than talented and struggling 95% of the time. I mean it.
Thats tough.
Do you always feel that way, or are there times when you would not trade places for anything, I wonder?
Stu
My friend who suffers from schizophrenia refuses to take medication because he feels it will sap his creative juices, leave him in an uncreative zombie state. I don't know where/if there is a 'happy' medium. But god damn it, it hurts to know that you, my friend, people suffer. I'm teaching an Intro to Humanities class in January and the point of the class is: what does it mean to be alive? Madabandon, you've made me think about the human struggle behind a piece of music or art. Of course there's a story behind every painting or song. But it's so much more than that, so complicated and HUMAN. You are not a whiner. I think your words help you, help us, better understand the struggle behind/within the creative spirit.
Post a Comment