Change?

A good way to start these is by talking about how I feel. Discussing how I feel is usually a great motivator to write deeply. At this moment, I feel I've lost my lust for writing. Ask me why. My first thought was that I feel different because I'm taking a lower dose of Lexapro. I believe I am slightly different, but why would this affect my ability to write? Don't most creatives feel that loss of creativity on a higher dose? Well, I think the medication was majorly affecting the way my mind perceives stimuli. I felt confused by what I was feeling, detached from everything in a sense. I was unable to have clear and consistent thoughts. Writing was then a way for me to push through this sense of detached confusion to actualize my thoughts from a place of frustration. This confusion, which is clearly seen in much of my writing, has motivated me to be alone and to find a personal outlet. The feeling of writing was automatic. Clearly, I had the emotional and intellectual capacity to understand what I was feeling but it was foggy and I was limited in how I expressed it. Not to say that a whole lot has changed but the past few pieces I've written are different from the majority of my writing. I almost feel disappointed. I feel scared of this. I held onto this writing, identified with it, and began to make plans to further delve into the world of emotional writing. What if I lose the capacity for that? I think the only logical response is that I move on to something else that made me feel the way writing has. I see possibilities there but they do frighten me. I see a greater philosophical and psychological influence as opposed to artistic. Not to say that those aren't arts in their own way, they certainly are. It is to say that if I have a greater capacity to deal with reality on reality's terms, then I must. If I can use better language to express myself, shouldn't I? Considering that much of what I've complained about has been my inability to create meaningful connections and use my conscious in a productive way, it would not only be a shame but antithetical to my values not to. I will continue to write and I will not discard my previous writings, as they are as much of me as this is. There's always the possibility that this is entirely psychological but I'm inclined to disavow that thought, there's too much ambiguity for me to ponder that. It fills me with anxiety because I have no idea where to go with it. This is me trusting my intuition but maybe I should explore this anxiety more. Maybe I should interrogate it. To interrogate it, though, I must not let it control my mind. When I experience this anxiety, I experience the fear of loss. I fear losing this "newfound lucidity". I will sit with this feeling and experience it and once we come to an agreement, hopefully, I will be able to work with it to try and understand and improve. This is automatic to me. This is no different from my other writing in that sense, yet I feel a sense of superiority toward it. When I feel this, I want to run away from it. This is when I begin to denounce any sense of goodness that I'm capable of. It is an overcorrection and it greatly impacts my self-esteem. However, I need to have a healthy sense of self-awareness in order to properly improve and grow. There's a balance here that I don't feel entirely capable of grasping right now. I feel like I need to run until my body truly gives out. That's not a metaphor. I feel like that's a way to understand my capabilities and limitations. I feel confident about this, but then I think about the praise I get from it, and my confidence is shattered because I don't think I should want the praise. I dismiss the entire idea because I feel a sense of confidence. With confidence, comes criticism. I criticize myself first before others get a chance. I tell myself I'm not capable of much so others don't have to tell me first. That's why it's been so easy to write. I was writing for me. I don't know how well I'm capable of doing that, at least right now. I wonder what that would even look like? This clearly is directed towards somebody. I'm talking with and to myself but I'm also speaking to this invisible, unclear person possibly named "society". What's difficult as well is that I feel little pride in what I've written here. It's more comprehensive and well-written than most of what I write, yet I feel no love for it. I wonder why. I think it's because this alone brings so many thoughts to my mind. Each thought can be fleshed out and be its own piece of writing but I don't feel like I have the time or the knowledge for it. I want to do it all tonight but I'm tired, and I wouldn't be able to anyway. I feel like I need to read a million books and write a million pages in order to come close to satisfaction with writing about any one topic. So what do I do? Well, I have a few inclinations here that shouldn't be ignored. I feel the desire to withdraw into myself, and leave these thoughts in a place in my mind that I won't let myself access. I want to waste my brain by staring at mindless content. I want to drink alcohol or smoke weed to take my mind off of it, or to weaken my inhibitions so that I'll write with less consciousness, and not stress about how well I write. Or, on the contrary, I want to take a psychedelic so that I can expand my mind for a period of time and write from a place of spirit and emotion, perhaps attempting to reclaim what I felt before when I would write. Truthfully, I may never feel that way again. That should be okay because life is full of adventure and untapped potential that I am blessed to be able to explore. But I feel conflicted nonetheless. As I write, I feel my mind drifting to sleep. I wonder again if my love of writing is weaker, otherwise, I would force myself awake to continue these thoughts. I wonder if my love of writing and my love of self are intertwined. I feel fear once again. I take a deep breath. Conflict rests easy. I shall too.