A little over a year ago I began writing. It started out that way because I had an idea for a website. The idea was to link everything in life somehow to bacon. It sounded like a good gimmick. The writing started to take a turn. The articles I began to write started to be less about bacon and more about my mental being.
My mind was spun out of control. I began to believe any and every bit of gossip or lie I was told about me and everyone around me. What started as a way to relax and express my thoughts brought out another side of my mind.
At times my mind stopped the manic or depressive thoughts. It also affected my writing. How could I continue writing the way I did without the deluge of emotion. I was told I had the heart of a poet or that I was a good writer. The truth is I am not.
I am just an ordinary man. I have had something’s happen to me that really are not unique. They happen to a lot of people. To write about those events require a little spin on things. How can I write about something that isn’t real? If I were it would sound made up. Which it would be.
So even though I had many clues I was mentally unstable I let the dark side of my mind create havoc with my friends and family. All for a story it seems. My life became fiction and fiction became my life. The ordinary seemed as if it was extraordinary. Twists and turns with every move I made. Always a hidden agenda from anyone who conversed with me.
Now I am not sure if it was the medication I was on or a total mental breakdown. I wanted to continue to write though. When my mind wasn’t in chaos I had nothing to write or express. The normal parts of life to me were not exciting.
If I do return to normalcy I think I will miss the odd quirks of madness. There is a little magic that it brings. It would be better to keep it within a story and not into life.