Probably 5 years ago I went thru a very creative writing stage. I wrote 3 articles on BP that were actually published in professional journals, plus I wrote a lot of poetry. Now I wouldn't be able to write 2 creative words.
I have found BP to be ever changing as I journey thru the ups and downs. Anyway, here is a poem I found yesterday folded up and put in a book. I kind of like it and guess even tho I could never write something like this today, it pretty well reflects how I feel these days.
Pieces of a jigsaw puzzle
scattered,
making no sense,
a picture with no meaning
Will I ever pick up the pieces?
Or will the pieces be thrown into a box,
never to be connected?
Or will important pieces be forever lost
making the picture meaningless??
Meanwhile, a jig saw puzzle remains,
scattered,
meaningless
unconnected
Will anyone help put me together???
I recently threw away many notebooks of my writings because they seemed so foreign in a creativty I no longer possess and most were so
depressing and reflected the pain of being BP. I used to need to try to write it out of my system. Finding that didn't "cure" me, I kind of gave it up. Whatever, I just wanted to share this.