Image: Rushak as a tree
It’s finally over. February. Having worked its foul, soul-crushing necromancy, as February always does, springlike weather notwithstanding, and launched me into March madness. Let the rapid cycling commence: Mania’s mental modifications to depression’s non-functionality, swapping every 24-72 hours, despite medication adjustments.
So … writing with bipolar. It seldom ends well for the characters. Pain and creativity go hand-in-hand with us, and we’re navigating these talus field crossings as best we can, but the process can be difficult. The main character/protagonist becomes the whipping being for all the angst their creator would otherwise expend upon herself. (Not that there isn’t plenty of damage left to be done once MC’s wrung out.)
The main thing I feel during rapid cycling is helplessness. The creative outlet for this is the writing, the story, my suffering hero, Rushak. He is swept along through the tempest, up, down and through, as my moods carry him (given the opportunity to write). My feelings of helplessness during these times are the main contributors to his lack of agency at various points in the story. Rush makes a decisive move, and lands afterward in a place of helplessness, and has a terrible floundering time getting out of it alone, if he even can. In an alternative universe, on a separate world, Lohar abides. He usually dies.
Hail to the suffering hero. Depression or mixed state is the time of his great helplessness, whether the scenes will end up in the book or not. If there is violence in me it will be wreaked upon him, or result in self-harm. Without him, I’m not certain I’d be alive.
Siege of the Spirit 