Maybe this is my medicine working. Evening me out. Maybe I spent years so manic and depressed that I am used to the fluctuation of my feelings and this steady hand feels frozen. I feel frozen sometimes. I don’t recognize myself in photos of the times before I got better. The times when faking it was shiny and included bursts of manic creativity. Now there is reality, it feels foggy and beige. No rebel no rage. Colorless, the red is gone. the red of the flames that burned me and the ones that fueled me. I miss that intensity. The intensity which drove me insane.

I don’t know who i am anymore. Before i got better I carefully constructed a beautiful mask to hide the utter misery below the paint and that mask became me. And now ive discovered that under the paint was only skin. No sunshine or freedom. i am colorless, the painter disappeared. Everything is linear. i am blank. Monotony is invading and i just want to scream to break the spell

maybe everyone was right. maybe medication makes you someone else