I've been bitten by the muse and creative streak quite a bit lately, doing everything from pyrography, painting, and of course, writing, my greatest passion. It may be boredom, it may be mania or hypomania, or it may just be me feeling better considering the condition I was in a few weeks ago.
With bipolarity often comes creativity. Whether we shape it into creative genius or not is on us. In our ranks are Virginia Woolf, Rosemary Clooney, Sylvia Plath, Beethoven, Honors de Balzac, the Michaelangelo, Lord Byron, Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, and William Faulkner. Just for giggles; Winston Churchill, Florence Nightingale, Buzz Aldrin, Ted Turner, and Ozzy Osbourn are labeled as Bipolars. There are many more. I just like these guys most... and Churchill threw me. Usually I pride myself on being able to peg the bipolars in my history classes.
Now, with me, when the Muse sings, I have to listen. It is a compulsion. I cannot not write. It is something I will do until I die. And hopefully I'll get good enough to try to publish and add my name to the list of "Celebs with Bipolar."
Personally, when I'm doing whatever my creativity is leading me to, I'm quite like Michaelangelo, the guy who painted Biagio da Cesna's face as a demon in Hell in his "The Last Judgement". If I'm interrupted bad things can happen. My effort is in my work, and my work alone. Anything less than perfection is not accepted. I have words that need to be penned, lines to be burned, and brushes to be stroked.
I'm sitting back, listening to beautiful death metal, banging away on the keyboard (or whatever) in my own little tranced world. I can tolerate interruption exactly ONE time. After that the wolverine up there starts coming out. To interrupt me, especially in my writing, is to set me back hours or days. These minutes add up. It takes time to calm down to the point where I can concentrate and trance again. I don't care how much I like you, it takes time for me to kill the urge to stab you in the eyeball with a rusty spoon because you cannot respect me enough to not bother me when I tell you my muse is singing. An artist and her art is like a mother wolverine and her pup. Bad things will happen if you mess with the pup.