With ideas, until I was diagnosed with bipolar, the only thing doctors thought was that I was clinically depressed. I am very creative but jump from one writing, art, and music project to another. Deans list, honor society, and scholarships when I am up, but hiding and frustrated when I am down. At times even angry. That is why I am so glad I admitted I am an alcoholic because alcohol is flammable.
I dream that one day, I will have a muse who can tame the wildness of my creativity to accomplish more opuses—a book and an epic, perhaps.
One thing I realized about change recently (within the last thirty minutes) is that once something is gone from your life, you won't miss it if you allow it to be processed away. I realize now since my wife's ADA negated sexual intimacy, I am finally starting to get it out of my mind so soon, I will be free, and my libido can go to . . . I'd say hell, but I don't believe in hell we are already in hell right here on Earth. At least I am.
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