What Happened to My Creative Endeavors?

The other night, I found myself flipping through some of my old writings.  I had pulled out the manuscript of a musical I started writing back in high school (if you can call two and a half scenes a manuscript) because I wanted to scan it.  I don’t know that I will ever try writing that particular musical again, but as a genealogist, I like to make sure things are archived and preserved.  After re-reading it, I started searching through a notebook full of song lyrics and poems I wrote ages ago for some re-writes I did on the second scene in the musical (I later remembered that I actually wrote them directly into the script).  Going through that notebook made me reflect on things and made me wonder why I stopped writing those things.

When I was in high school, I used to draw and I dabbled in songwriting and poetry (which might explain why my grades weren’t higher).  In the years after high school, I continued these pursuits, experimenting with different artwork and a new idea for a musical (which also has gone nowhere).  During my first college career, I started playing with an idea for a webcomic (which, like my musicals, went nowhere) and began trying to write songs in earnest, which I began posting on my website.  I started writing a book, which I am still tinkering with to this day.  I threw myself into these pursuits full force after getting my heart broken in an effort to work through the pain.   When I worked in housekeeping at Bigg’s (a former grocery store), I frequently had scrap paper on my cart, jotting down ideas and song lyrics as I made my rounds.

I used to do so much to indulge my creative endeavors.  But it seems like everything stopped soon after I started my second college career.  I still picked at things now and then, but I didn’t have the gusto that I once did.  Now it seems like that motivation has all but disappeared.  Flipping through my songwriting notebook made me realize I haven’t written a song lyric or poem in several years.  Why did this happen?  Why have my pen and colored pencils lain silent for so long? 

I ruminated on this for nearly a full day before sitting down to write this essay, and I came to two conclusions that, while different, are closely linked.

The first conclusion I came to is the most logical.  My life is quite different now from what it was years ago.  Working as a housekeeper at a grocery store, I had considerable downtime in which to write down ideas or at the very least expand upon them mentally.  When I went back to college, I didn’t have that same downtime because I had to keep up with my studies.  Now, I will be completely honest in admitting that I wasn’t really all that anal about doing homework or studying (sometimes I wonder how I managed to do so well in college, being so mired by my love of procrastination), but creative pursuits did nonetheless take a back seat to academics.  I can’t explain exactly why my second college career was so different from my first, but I have a theory, which I will get to in a moment.

On top of leaving dead-end jobs for academia, there was another, far larger change in my life, and that was finally burying my past.  That darkness plagued me for nearly 15 years, creating pain and trauma that dragged me down and kept me from truly succeeding.  Two years ago, I finally put that past to bed, and an indescribable weight was lifted.  That pain was part of what drew me to the arts (I have been involved with the arts since around fourth grade, but it wasn’t until my life went to hell that I truly understood the power of art and music in healing a person’s wounded heart and soul), and while I am still dealing with the damage it inflicted on me, I don’t feel consumed by it anymore.  I don’t have to focus on merely surviving anymore, meaning that my mind is completely free to focus on other things.

This is, of course, a good thing, but it also leads into my second conclusion, which is the change in my mental state over the years.  Until I went back to college, I was quite literally just doing everything I could to survive.  I couldn’t plan for the long-term because my past prevented me from being able to consider events that far out.  Instead, I simply went to work and went home, doing everything I could to stay afloat.  I was mired by my fear of what would happen if I slipped up, and that fear was an excellent motivator.  But fear, while good at motivating, is also a major hindrance.  It prevented me from dealing with the underlying trauma, leaving art my only outlet.  But even that can only do so much.

My second college career was markedly different from my first because my mental state was very different.  I had already taken steps towards burying my past, and I actually wanted to be in college.  I wanted to get a degree so that I could get a real career instead of just another job.  I also quite enjoyed most of the challenges of academia, and learned things about myself that I never knew, such as the fact that I have a knack for writing.  Discovering my love for writing and studying things I am legitimately interested shrunk my need for my creative endeavors because I was being fulfilled in different ways.  The most prominent is that I started this blog shortly after returning to college because I wanted a forum where I could explore my journey (although, like everything else, it has inevitably evolved to a place for political and social discussion).  I started a second blog dedicated to genealogy a few years later; it was initially just another class assignment, but I have continued to write for it because I enjoy it.

While college gave me a fulfillment I had long lacked, it gave me something even more important, which was a way to address my mental problems.  It was a little over two years ago, in the last few months of college, that I made the difficult decision to seek help for my mental illness.  I agonized over that decision for months because I was afraid.  I didn’t want to admit I had a problem, and I was afraid that the truth of my past might get out (I still don’t talk about it except to a select few because I still fear what might happen, which is exactly why we need to stop stigmatizing everything).  But I finally went to see a therapist, and she helped me begin to address my trauma.  I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, with the former being something I have likely had all my life.  Going back to therapy also marked the first time in years that I picked up my pen to write something outside of academic exercises and my blogs. 

For the first couple of months, I made myself write a poem shortly after each appointment as a way of collecting my thoughts about what we had discussed that day.  I had an idea in the back of my mind that, when I was ready, I might publish them to show people how beneficial getting help is.  Unfortunately, I only wrote for a couple of months before stopping.  Whether it was the medication messing with my brain or simply being overwhelmed by stress and anxiety from finally starting to address my mental illnesses, I cannot say, but both are equally plausible theories.  Regardless, it was an experience in both creative fulfillment and catharsis that I will never forget.  It marked the first time in a long time that I truly felt my art was helping me connect with a deeper understanding of myself.

But was this the only time in recent years such a connection happened?  I’ve thought so for a while, but I’m not sure that this is entirely accurate.  I now believe that my essays may have taken that place, to at least some degree.  I started this blog as a means of exploring my own path; I had blogs previously, but I generally just used them to vent or post stupid internet quizzes.  This blog was designed to have long-form essays and discussion because I wanted something very different, something more thought-provoking and intellectual.

I’ve been exploring art and music through other avenues as well.  I have long been an ardent fan of animation, and I have been studying the craft in preparation for making a short film I’ve had in mind for some time, and I made a test animation of a couple of seconds to test the technical aspect.  For music, I have been spending a lot of time lately transcribing sheet music into a MIDI sequencer in order to eventually use it for backing tracks; I occasionally like to record myself singing, and I have decided it is better to make the backing tracks myself instead of downloading karaoke tracks of questionable quality.

So perhaps my creative endeavors haven’t completely disappeared.  Perhaps they, like so many other things in live, have simply evolved into something else.  I have always firmly believed that art isn’t something that can be rushed or forced; as such, it is logical to assume that your art will change to suit your emotional and mental needs.  Art is born out of a need for expression, meaning that it will reflect that need in whatever form is necessary.  I find it disconcerting that I haven’t written song lyrics in years, but I find solace in working with music in other ways.

I’m not the same person I was all those years ago.  While I’ve crawled back into my shell in some ways, I have become a more open person in others.  I am much more open about my beliefs and opinions, and I am much more willing to delve into my own mind.  Beginning to finally deal with my mental issues has been a hindrance in this process, which may explain why I haven’t indulged in creating art as much.  But those urges haven’t entirely disappeared. 

They have simply evolved along with me.