The only method I have left to being the writer so many say I could be is to peel away the layers I have hidden behind for most of my life. The medications. The therapy. The denial. The psychological self abuse.
Before she passed away, a very wise woman told me that when she performed her healing gifts upon me that all she could see was me being controlled and restricted. At the time, I had no idea what she was referring to. I had committed myself as much as I could to learning the art of energy work and manifesting destiny. I was more confused than ever.
After she passed, I eventually figured out her message. The meds I take to control my ADHD. The stimulants level me out psychologically and make me more predictable, but a common side effect is dulling down the naturally creative side. I have to sacrifice a big part of what I am in order to do… what? Fit in with a society that doesn’t care to understand a divergent mind? It’s more convenient for society to slap a label on someone and kick them on down the line.
I can compose while on the stimulants, but it takes significantly more focus and the words are forced instead of allowing them to flow. The story becomes more clinical/matter-of-fact instead of something that captures the emotions surrounding the scene.
What will the answer be? Changing meds? Stopping meds? The problem with stopping the stimulants is that they do allow me to focus as well as push the darkness out of my head.
I have to peel back the layers of physical damage as well as layers of trauma in order to realize my true creative potential.
How that will work out is anyone’s guess. Nothing else has consistently worked to this point so I have nothing to lose.
Off The Rails 