The drug of creativity is not a need. It is a part of who I am.
The constant transitioning from writer to sculptor is metamorphic every time. And though I say constant, there may be months and even years between each transition. I have two passions, which I must vent, but I cannot give 100% to both. What the hell do I do, if I want to give each my best? Sacrifice, albeit temporarily, one passion, which is like saying goodbye to a friend.
So what changes? I still suffer from insomnia and the constant battering of my head space by intrusive thoughts screaming to be heard, acted upon and released into the world of creative reality. I am still borrowing pens and scraps of paper from complete strangers as I go about my daily routine without a pen–I just can’t get into the habit of being prepared for those thoughts when they come.
Although I am at the mercy of my thoughts eighteen hours a day, for the last two years I have conceded to risking the loss of the ones that come while I lie in bed trying to sleep, when I never have the pen I always plan to put on my bedside table. I used to drag myself down to the kitchen, where I would scribble down that thought I absolutely could not forget, praying to put pen to paper before that fantastic sentence would flit from my mind and be lost forever. However, sleep deprivation was ruining any chance of creating anything the next day: a vicious cycle. I would compare it to being a junkie–I have been a junkie–but the drug of creativity is not a need. It is a part of who I am.
So some would call it a curse and in some ways it is. But, unlike drugs which need to be quit to save your life, if you quit what is essentially the essence of who you are, you will be no more.
Thank you Life for my blessed curse X