finding the way home

So it's been awhile and I think for a long time I lost myself. Blogging can be tedious to me and at the same time, it feels like it betrays a private part of me, exposing something in me that isn't meant to be seen.

Honestly, if people were meant to know it..wouldn't they just..know it?

I try to remember that people cannot read minds. Most importantly mine. It's complex and confusing even to myself but alas, I'm home again as I like to call it.

I'm tormented by the choice of medicating myself to balance my bipolar disorder or trucking through it. As most people will tell you, they are at their most creative when they are depressed and I find that to be truthful to every extent.

I lose my desire to write, to create, to express..all of it. I lose the philosopher in me and the dreamer. And then I wonder..is it all worth it?

I'm not trying to kill myself so why am I trying to drown this part of me? I don't know. They say it's better to lead a happier life. True enough, I can be happier when I'm on my medication but wouldn't that be true either way? For example, if I lived in one house or another, couldn't I be happy? I don't know. I'm still pondering that.

Anyway, the news tonight is that I've been coerced ;) sweetly and yet forcefully into starting my book again. I have the desire so I have plans to begin as early as tomorrow. Wish me luck.