Despite the difficulties and the wild swings and the erraticism and the strains that what I'm going through place on my personal relationships, I am enjoying a period of creativity right now unlike any I've ever known.
I'm making my boxes and I fucking love them. I made one a couple days ago of which I'm incredibly proud. As part of this endeavor I discovered SCRAP and am terribly excited by it.
Six Birds Cards was born, and I have hopes of trying to market them more seriously in the very near future.
I've written more than I've ever written in my life. I went this week and got Writer's Market 2009 and Guide to Literary Agents in order to learn more about writing query letters to potential publishers and about writing a complete proposal for the book whose pieces I've worked on.
This is all just part of the picture, of course: the good part.
Next week I have my first psychiatry appointment and I am both relieved and nervous. I am relieved because the rapid cycles of my mood and anxiety are wearing me out. I'm exhausted. I'm nervous because I will be on medication. Forever.
My therapist assuages my fears by telling me that I'll be much more level and that, while I won't have the same bursts of energy and motivation and optimism, I also won't have the long periods of complete blackness and apathy either. This is really scary to me.
I'm afraid of losing moments of relative brilliance.
I'm afraid of losing the parts of me that--though immensely challenging at times (just ask C!)--make me ME.
I'm also afraid that I'm just one giant fucked up package of crazy and that people will be afraid to be part of my life.