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Truth and illusion. Who knows the difference…?

A line from “Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf

Well… to tell the truth, I am.  For good reason.

An audience member the other day compared me to Virginia Woolf, and although I’d heard the name before, I didn’t know much about her, so I researched it.

Turns out me and Mrs. Woolf have alot in common.  Our views are similar, she was often referred to as a feminist, although she deplored the term, preferring to be referred to as a humanist…  She was a prolific writer (although I am not published, I have amassed quite a large amount of work in the past couple of years), and unfortunately for her, she was bi-polar and a manic depressive.  She committed suicide at the age of 59, feeling the onset of another depressive spell, one she feared she would not be able to survive…. welcome to despair.

My sanity has been questioned extensively, although I feel quite sane.  I am aware of my proclivity for extreme spells of emotion, despair, depression, and the occasional obsessive trait.  I count… over and over and over again… I will count anything, the lines on tiles, of paintings, the walls in rooms… anything at all…. I stop myself when I realize what I’m doing.  My awareness and management of my so-called “symptoms” does not preclude me from getting a 66% positive score on a schizophrenia test, but it makes me able to function effectively on a day-to-day basis.

After having pondered and analyzed the hell out of my mental condition, I have come to the conclusion that I am not insane… I am bored, and misunderstood.  I find it difficult to communicate with most people, generally because they have no understanding of the scope of the subjects I broach.  The everyday is not something I want to live for the rest of my life… I want to live the life extra-ordinary, and for that to happen….  well, I’m just going to have to risk my sanity.

Many, many creatives of great accomplishment have tragically committed suicide, spent years in rehab from addictions of many types, fallen to the weakness of their inability to manage their mental state.

One would have to wonder then, if it’s worth it, to explore the realm of the unreal (dreams), and attempt to bring them to fruition through whatever means the creative chooses to use.  

The thing is… if we (creatives) choose not to… we choose a fate worse than death.   Like flowers withering unbloomed on the branch, there is life, but no beauty.  I refuse to waste my life doing tasks that are beneath me.  I am capable of so much more….  We all are.

Musicians are nothing more then people who have figured out how to use their equipment to produce beauty with sound.  Some have even managed to create great beauty with faulty equipment (Beethoven being a prime example).

I have the same equipment as everyone else, ears, lungs, and a voice.  I will produce beauty with them, just to prove that I can.  My sanity be damned…… none of you live in my head…. I DO.

Reposed from LiveJournal

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