I feel like doing again. It’s probably the meds.
Mental disorders can kill motivation. Not just kill. Murder with extreme prejudice. Before Abilify, I can’t remember the last time I played guitar for me.
That for me? That’s critical. Until last week, the thought of picking up a guitar brought the pain of a thousand failed expectations and words of praise. From OTHERS. My dad saying he’d teach me guitar, but only if I could learn on an acoustic. The friend who bought me my electric saying I could be so good in a year with practice.
That was at least six years ago now, likely more. Since before college, I’ve dropped so many hobbies I still love. Graphite sketching. Video editing. Painting. Usually because someone judged my work unworthy.
That’s why it’s so strange to feel like DOING again; to pick up my guitar and run finger exercises; to look at a folder of my writing and want to pick up the pen and write more. These artifacts of my life no longer scream judgement of failure at me; now they invite, coax, and wait patiently.
I hope I can find patience with myself in theirs.