From ‘Wikipedia‘
Creativity and accomplishment
While the disorder affects people differently, individuals with bipolar disorder during the manic phase tend to be much more outgoing and daring than individuals without bipolar disorder. The disorder is also found in a large number of people involved in the arts.[28] It is an ongoing question as to why many creative geniuses had bipolar disorder. Some studies have found a significant correlation between creativity and bipolar disorder. Though studies consistently show a positive correlation between the two, although it is unclear in which direction the cause lies, or whether both conditions are caused by a third unknown factor. Temperament has been hypothesized to be one such factor.[29][30][31]
A series of authors have described mania or hypomania as related to higher accomplishment, elevated achievement motivation and ambitious goal setting. One study indicated that greater-than-average striving for goals, and sometimes obtaining them, corresponded with mania.[32]
It’s of no concern to me that I seem NOT to be able to write without inspiration, that thoughts and words do not freely flow unless there is an impediment to address, an annoyance or hindrance in my mind that I would wish to set free. I do find that I am more inclined, and able, to write in more deeper, darker hours of the year, which even upon reflecting at a later date, would take some discerning power to understand that depth for which I have used words that conjure up meanings of that moment, but maybe do not in itself constitute my very own general opinion.
It’s not saying that i wished, or do not wish to have some form of depression for which i could feel sorry for myself, and write myself jolly, or lament about my inability to come up with masterpieces all the time. The fable of “every now and then” is good enough for me, and as i wirte to you all now, i know that substance is clearly lacking up until this very point. And maybe further beyond too. For i’m telling you that clearly, I have things to write about, things to say, lament, complain, contradict, comprehend or whatnot, and that while the subject matters vary, time does not standstill for me to ponder and find my words.
The parable of the “who moved my cheese?” series, seemed to glorify the journey, rather than the destination or result, something about the changes we encounter and learning to savour it. And it’s obvious that during the journey our minds think more, wander more, and find more meaning. But it’s not to say that now i have my cheese beside me, life is less meaningful. Just that my opinion about everybody and everything else does not matter much anymore. Just her opinion of me.
I clearly have nothing creative left to write. And not that I’m sad about it. Inspired days will come back.
