When is thinking no longer thinking?
Is it lifelong mental illness, or did I just lose the plot?
I’ve been trying to write this essay for a while now. Each time I sit to focus on a single idea, I come up with five others. A few are half-baked single sentences sitting in my notes app with a list of artists and books I want to use. Others are bullet-pointed and outlined, ready for me to begin writing, but I feel like I’m not ready; I’m doubting my abilities. Each time I sit in front of the computer, the words don’t come, but then I leave to make a snack in the kitchen, and the sentences start forming clearly in my mind; the same thing happens in the shower or when I’m trying to fall asleep. The pressure to make everything perfect is off, and the doubts quiet down; I can clearly form a sentence in my mind. The moment I sit back down to do the "big" work at my desk or easel, the what-ifs pop into my head. What if I read or interpret a subject or idea the wrong way? What if I leave something important out? What if I put too much into the essay and no one can follow my ideas? What if that color in a specific area of canvas isn’t right? I’m filled with so much doubt lately. When did this start? I’m thinking too much. Is it possible to think too much?
I want to dig into the deeper parts of myself to begin giving shape to extended creative personal essays, but I’m experiencing imposter syndrome. I think I peaked in my 20s creatively, and now I’m trying to pick up where I left off and make something of it all. With so much space and time at my back and in my memory like a lingering ghost of my past self, it feels like I can’t grasp anything. When I think something is finally clear, it quickly comes loose, and I lose my train of thought. I lose the plot, and I lose the thread. I’m always thinking, but my thoughts seem so distant, and I can’t even settle on the right metaphor for how I feel.
When is thinking no longer thinking? When does the process of thinking need to end and make way for doing? When is thinking taking you away from your craft? I’ve been wrestling with this question for months, possibly even years.
I’ve been working on my first large oil painting in about seven years. To be fair, I’ve been working on it off and on since December. It’s been painted over three times, a smear of white paint covering over the doubts, a ghost of the previous images always poking through, seeking its next future, while being a constant reminder of my earlier failures. I’ve been simultaneously doubtful and excited by the painting’s direction all week. At the same time, I’ve also been struggling with this essay for about three weeks.
In January, after months of testing and sessions with a psychologist, I was formally diagnosed with OCPD, or Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder. Although it is one of the most common personality disorders and affects between 3-8% of the general population, it’s very misunderstood and under-researched.
1“OCPD is a condition in which a person has an obsessive emphasis on details, order, and regulations, as well as a desire to attain a flawless result, sometimes to the detriment of everyday life.”
OCPD is often grouped with OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), which will affect about 2.3% of the population at some point in their lives. OCD is characterized by intrusive thoughts that then compel a person to engage in behaviors to relieve feelings of distress and anxiety. They are vastly different, and I happen to have both. Fun. When I think back to my childhood and OCD, I can pinpoint the moment my compulsions began at around age 10. However, with OCPD, I can’t seem to locate a fixed point in my past, though I can find multiple moments where it seems to have been a part of my personality. I recently started questioning my inability to fully commit to my creativity and whether the mental block is somehow linked to OCPD, this fear of not doing it right, of not being good enough, or wondering if the next idea will be better than the one I am currently working on. I’m not trying to say this isn’t how many creatives regularly feel with or without mental illness playing any sort of role. However, I still wonder how much of this feeling stems from OCPD when it’s no longer just spending time with an idea and becomes a block I can’t get past.
But the art of getting myself to the point of creating feels like an art in itself. It’s a mental illness in action. Its medium is doubt, control, and endless tedium; it’s exhausting, and I can’t help but feed it. I know if I could push through the moments I have and get to create, it would quiet down, but those few precious moments take months to achieve.
I start with an idea that feels and looks real in my mind; it’s a complete marble sculpture, yet somehow, in the process of thinking, I take the sculpture apart piece by piece, chiseling away and finding every flaw. When the mental deconstruction is over, I’m left to reassemble with the pieces scattered around amongst the detritus and dust left in my wake. My therapist let me know this was self-sabotage and I need to be on the lookout for moments I inflict this on myself. I add this to my list of thoughts.
You would think knowing the reward ahead would be enough to push forward, but that is the cruelty of OCPD and OCD; it takes all rationality away from every action in your life. It leaves you unsure of yourself at any and all costs. I’ve even wondered if it’s maybe just who I am. Unable to feel the difference between myself and my illness.
Creativity was my lifeboat as a child when I couldn’t understand what was happening in my head. I wasn’t just absorbing art but actively participating in a way I find difficult to do now, beyond the consumptive qualities of reading about and looking at art. What was once my escape no longer always feels that way. This is partly due to age. Time's ticking is becoming louder. The pressure to create now is alluring and dangerous and a ticking time bomb of both potential and a waste of precious time.
I recently saw an artist on Instagram give advice on being more confident in yourself as an artist. They said to not put off your ideas until later, to stop leaving sketches wallowing in a sketchbook and telling yourself you aren’t ready for that idea or leaving it for the “right time.” When they have an idea, they act on it within the hour, from the initial concept or sketch to actualized on paper or canvas.
I’ve tried adopting and adapting this mentality with my writing by jotting every idea or moment of inspiration in my notes app or journal. It doesn’t have to be thoroughly thought out or make sense to anyone but me. I’m leaving a trail of breadcrumbs to follow later. The same applies to art projects; I take a few notes of an idea and verbalize it to my partner so it’s not sitting in my head where damage can be done. I’ve also developed a habit of timing myself when I become overwhelmed and unable to start a project. I’ll set a timer for an hour to only focus on writing or editing without distraction or time to paint and do nothing else.
While sitting with these thoughts, I read Drifts by Kate Zambreno, a novel about a woman named Kate who is trying to write and complete her manuscript, Drifts, the book you are holding in your hands.
The narrator is constantly beating themselves up for being behind and unable to write, instead thinking about other writers’ and artists’ lives. She feels she isn’t making progress on the book. When she expresses this to her closest writer friends, they encourage her that everything she is doing outside of directly writing is still work towards the novel, all the journaling of ideas, the mindless thinking and staring into space, the consuming of art, snippets of books read, ideas floating around her written or not are part of the process and are in no way meaningless or not informing the work. It’s all synthesizing.
Drifts describes the state our narrator is in. She wants to define and give form to these drifts of thought and disparate ideas.
“For some time, I have been interested in the writing one is doing when one is not writing.”
“Art is time… it must be slow; it must take the time it needs.”
“It is becoming clear to me that the narrative I am interested in deals more with the holes than what is filled in. I don’t need to remember what the trees looked like, but how moved I felt when I walked through the spaces between them…A way of making the day and layering time, which is increasingly what the project of art is for me.”
Perhaps with all of this thinking, I am merely layering time. Maybe everything I’m thinking about is added to whatever finished piece of art or writing I eventually publish or call complete and hand on a wall. It doesn’t just include what is seen or read but all the bits I know about, all the thoughts and doubts I carried for months or even years that are a piece of the creative puzzle you see. Each letter, space, word, brush stroke, and mixed color is made from all my journaled ideas, my mindless thinking and staring into space, my consumption of art, snippets of books I read, and the ideas floating around my head.
A few weeks ago in therapy, I told my therapist I was once again feeling stuck, not moving towards anything, not looking forward to anything, just waking up every day without a plan; every day seems the same, and I don’t see anything on the horizon. A few weeks later, during my next session, I told her I was feeling too much of everything and felt mounting pressure to make something and to do something every day to the point where I felt dizzy, drunk, and unable to see clearly through my multiple thoughts. I lacked the pinpoint viewfinder I needed to create. Instead, I was experiencing everything in panoramic. My therapist reminded me once again that I don’t need a mission every day; sometimes life is just life. Then, when I feel everything is too much, she reminds me to slow down and allow myself to focus on one thought at a time. So I set my alarm to write for one hour.
Paula Grech, Department of Mental Health, Faculty of Health Sciences, University of Malta, Msidea, Malta. “Walking on eggshells: A life defined by obsessive-compulsive personality disorder.”
Wonderful piece Katie. Thank you for the vulnerability and courage to continue to pursue the art you love.
“Perhaps with all of this thinking, I am merely layering time.” This is just EXCELLENT!! You are a phenomenal writer, Katie. No matter how many times you keep losing the thread, each time you pick it back up & keep writing + creating results in you weaving something quite profound, and I’m glad you’re sharing it. I loved every part of this essay, and I can relate to so much of it. Also I definitely want to pick up “Drifts” now!