Eulogy to a Creative

I'm going to bemoan one other fact about Schizophrenia and schizophrenia medications that makes my life a living hell  I used to be a creative person. I used to have so many ideas cookin' on my burners that I had to use the grill to cook dinner.  I wrote poetry...ALL THE TIME.  I painted, sketched, made greetings cards... I was just a hotbed of creativity.

NOW???


now I have a really hard time thinking up topics for this blog. I haven' t written a poem in a LOONG time....Any paintings I've done have been relatively pathetic and definitely uncreative in topic.  You see. To create; one must feel....and I do. not. feel. anything. at. all.  Of course, feeling something comes with a humungous risk. If you feel, then you can (and will)feel pain. And while pain is a good base inwhich to grow poetry. It ummmm.hurts.  And it's no fun. Even so, I miss it.I miss the razor's edge....I miss the angst.
And I really really really miss the soaring through the sky in multicolored hues of spasms of laughter...I miss the creative high. The edge that will lift you to the heights and then drop you off on your head when you crash.  I miss the sense of power. The conductor's baton that juggles moods and ideas and perceptions and expressions of ideas.....all flying through my veins with the blinding speed of a super Nova. I miss the havoc; the terror and the unadulterated joy that accompanied creation.


NOW???

I create nothing.
I feel nothing.
I AM nothing.