Panic attacks and anxiety disorders

Anxiety has often been associated with my creativity, and to read the third chapter of May in the unconscious and creativity, I think it's a relief to see someone else recognizes and addresses the neurosis that is creativity. May quotes: "As Picasso said:" Every act of creation is first and foremost an act of destruction "(May 60). Here comes the anxiety for me: I can actually deconstruct and then rebuild my vision on paper, without leaving any detail? Will it make sense? Is it a waste of time that I heard nothing more of myself to the fact that I can waste time and write nonsense with the best of them? But as it continues to May, these are brief moments of anxiety, with moments of gratification of the gap that follows, the unconscious continues to supply. It's up to the creator to receive. It's like we're an antenna capturing radio waves of the unconscious. If something is a little off, the transmission fails, but the supply is still unconscious, is the antenna fails. May says: " believed that the relationship was of relief: the awareness of the vagaries controls wild, illogical, unconscious, while consciousness remains unconscious drying banal, empty, arid rationality" (May 59 ). For me, every day fills the unconscious with radio waves need to radiate to my conscience, but is simply a matter of emotion that reminds me, the sight, smell today and relaying it in a moment writing tomorrow. The meetings, talks and hopes to contribute even though I'm not paying attention, or at least I think that I'm not paying attention. "Language is the symbolic repository of significant experience of ourselves and our fellow men through history, and as such, comes to us in creating a poem to capture" (May 85). These are small details where you will find the greatest inspiration and intimacy of creation.There is no doubt that creation is a labor of love, but follows the methods of playing the man. He is happy and fearful, and exhausting. At the same time, I am one with my work and outside of work, seeing it grow inside me, embedded within the depth limits of my mind, waiting to be born on paper. I am the proverbial mother: cautious and lover of the works within my soul. Each one is my son, loved equally and individually. I've been pregnant my whole life in words and pictures, developing within me, the immaculate conception of another world, carried in the womb of my soul. I give birth to myself with every word written, spoken and thought, and that is anxiety in the raw.May, Rollo. The value created. New York: Norton, 1994.