There is a thought that I have and it comes to me while I drive

I have not given up on writing. The blog has fallen silent because I have become consumed by video games.

With that being said, this posting has been on my mind for maybe two weeks or so. An idea comes to me nearly every time I am in the van on the way to go pick up a donation for work (I pick up donated goods people want to give to Habitat for Humanity). I can feel part of my mind escape and come back to me while I drive. It's this part that has endless ideas for art or something that might make a good short story. Frankly, it drives me nuts! It never stops. For awhile I thought that entertaining it and writing everything down would relieve me of some of it, as I knew nothing would ever make it fully stop, and for some time it worked. Now though, it has come back to me as if it is a creature all in its own.

Sometimes the idea for a story seems intrusive in my mind and it was the other day while driving down the highway, zoned out and thinking about how I could twist the plot of a story I once wrote to incorporate a new idea I have, that it dawned on me: I know why some writers commit suicide at some point in their life.

A thought occurred to me within a thought, and an idea for a poem about a sailor who had to bury his love and return to the sea came to mind. It was going to be a metaphor for how I feel. The sailor out at sea was me and the love I buried was the creative side of my brain. I wanted to convey that although I am out at sea, I am also thinking about what is back on land. I began to weave detail and then decided to delete it. Now the idea for that poem and the thought about why some writers commit suicide happened all within a few moments of time.

From the small amount of effort I gave to entertaining the idea of the poem, I had some clarity as to what makes great writers go insane. There is simply too much!! Now I am not comparing me to any great writer. Not ever will I do that. All I am saying is that If I were to explore every idea I've ever had, I would have a perfect mold of my body pressed into the padding of my computer chair. simply put, I would become an entirely different person.

I simply cannot do that so I let things go for awhile. The guilt builds up and I try and write again, but quickly delete everything. So the cycle continues.

I am fine and strong so there is nothing to worry about, and I don't have any real reason for writing this down other than to write it down and store it somewhere else other than behind my lips, but I have gained a small understanding of what others have gone through.

I know that there are more genres of people that commit suicide than just writers, but speaking from this new found insight, I can relate and see why some writers do....especially the good ones.