Where is My Sickness-Powered Artistry?

I've always loved writing. My sort-of-secret aspiration is to write a book; to be a published author. I say sort-of-secret, because in high school I did not hide it. I would have told people. I did tell people. People knew I liked to write. I was the one who would write letters, notes, and long thoughtful ponderings and pass them to friends. I loved having written interaction. I loved expressing myself. But now, as an adult, my friends don't really know how important writing is to me. I don't share this blog address with people. I do have a blog that I share with my friends, though. I loved that avenue of expression. I loved having friends read it and give me feedback and tell me things they liked that I had said, and all that stuff. It aggravated me (and still does) when friends told me (which at least two have) "I don't read blogs." Really??? I'm not asking you to read blogs. I'm asking you to read one. Mine. It can come to your email account and you can pretend it's just an email. Yeah, I'm still really, really bitter about that. And when one of those friends referred to themselves as a writer today, like they are in the club, and clearly have not clued in that I write, and so they have to explain the club to me, it aggravates me even more.

This aggravation led to the pondering: aren't I supposed to be all artistically inspired in all my darkness and turmoil? Isn't that what people always talk about in TV shows and on postsecret and in books and whatever? That they don't want to take the meds because they feel all real and able to express themselves in deep, deep ways when they give themselves to their mental illness? I would like to know why I don't get to have that experience. My depression is like a big damp, uncomfortable blanket squashing me down and making me feel too weak to do anything, let alone get all deep and expressive. I have written so little lately. I feel like a different person. I think my little author pilot light has died. I can't seem to reignite it. So... why is it nice to be off meds? I can't even find my groove on them....