The Artistic Temperament

"I'm an artist... I'm an artist... This comes with the territory... I'm an artist..."

This is what I keep chanting when facing a total emotional/psychological breakdown over something very (I'm told) simple. I get worked up in weird situations like having to pick up the phone to call a family member I haven't talked to in a while. It's ridiculous. Believe me, I'm well aware of how ridiculous it is, but I can't help it. Meds? Out of the question.

I create hyper detailed scenarios in my head of people's reactions. When I try to lie, I imagine the person I'm lying to catching me red-handed in a million different ways; everyone else in the world is Perry Mason and I'm the witness. So I just gave up lying. Then I get into trouble because I'm too honest so I come off as aloof and pompous. So I stop talking. The rage internalizes, festers and spews out in totally bizarre situations. They suddenly get channeled at a friend who makes a little joke. Then everyone is confused. Then I purge with yoga or meditation. Then the cycle starts over again.

Hypo-mania, depression, anxiety and bipolarism. Anger, lust, rage, drop dead insane kicked in the teeth love and then sudden complete detachment. Repenting, lying, crying, cheating, fantasizing and happy endings. All of these in a manner of a few hours.

I had a really great therapist last year who concluded that I have what she referred to as "The Artistic Temperament." "Let's face it," she would say to me, "all artists are a little... different." Took a while for that to sink in but over the past few months, I've come to embrace it. Because, let's face it, I'm either a total fucking looser/whack-job OR... I'm eccentric. Since I don't really want the former as my identity, I resolved to stand on rooftops, shouting my personal proclamation of the latter.

These days, I spend more and more time with other artists. Musicians, DJs, rappers, painters... Yeah, everyone is at least just a little cooky. It just comes with the territory. Artists can only BE artists by stepping outside of what my friend, Brent, refers to as "The Drone World." The Drones wake up every day at 7am, read the same paper, eat the same breakfast, take the same road to work, work the same 8 hours, kiss the same asses, one up the same coworkers, politic the same departments, come home the same road, sit in front of the same TV, watch the same reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond, eat the same dinner, pay the same bills and go to sleep in the same bed dreaming of purchasing or maintaining the same house, the same white picket fence and the same car. They think they "own" their home (the bank owns it). Then, as soon as they pay off that house after a 40 year mortgage, they get back into debt to get a new home. Everything I just described is pure bliss in The Drone World.

Fucking... SHOOT ME.

Let me live happily in a studio apartment for the rest of my life if it means I get to go on adventures in South America, meeting new friends from Australia in a hostel in Madrid, making movies, acting, writing things that will be treasured by others (Even if it's just a handful of them), contributing something to this world other than my broken back. Easier said than done? Always.

The Artistic Temperament is what keeps you from successfully maintaining employment. Sure, you can charm your way into the job but the instant you're in there, it becomes immediately apparent to your colleagues and superiors that you do not belong there. You question everything, not necessarily due to a lack of respect for authority but a constant lack of acceptance for that status quo. The Artist is constantly asking, "Why?" He doesn't do it to be an asshole; he just can't understand. The Artist's brain is wired to create things from scratch. The idea of doing something just because it's always been done that way seems impossible. The Artist genuinely tries to understand but he just can't. The sooner The Artist accepts this, the easier his life will become.

The Artistic Temperament is that thing inside that makes you cry at the sight of a beautiful sunrise or a certain cord on the violin. It's the thing that makes you feel totally crushed at a small set back and yet totally untouched and aloof at something that should be devastating. Everything the Drones tell you about what you're supposed to be and how you're supposed to feel just doesn't pertain to you. You keep trying but it just doesn't fit.

If emotions were sound, then there would be a loud speaker jammed in the artist's ear. When people whisper, The Artist hears a scream.

Art is a demon. It is a curse which inhabits your body and doesn't allow you to follow the Drones. If you don't comply with the demon, the demon turns on you. If you don't use a pen and pad to write your stories down, the characters stay in your head and find ways to manipulate you, turning you against your loved ones.  You'll create stories about them, thing that they do behind your back and ways they are planning to fuck you over.  If you're not channeling your creative energy into your art, it turns on you.

Art is a demon, cursing your ability to simply "be normal."

Art is a gift to the world.

Accept The Artistic Temperament as something that comes with the territory. Once you figure out how to do this, tell me how.