The struggle of coping with being born an artist, as with many terminal diseases one cannot simply ignore or take off this role like a skin, is a lifelong thing. It consumes you, burns deep, and hopefully guides you to pushing art and creative things out of your pores into a world that wants to be inspired.
You can either take this dark passenger and let it embolden you to create things that never existed before or you ignore it like a mysterious smell.
It will be strange and alienating in some parts, you will stay in for so many nights while others go out, and laugh and party nights away. You may even let cultural events pass you by, movies, things on the news, and lose the ability to waste time. Because time wasted is art unmade.
This strange realization makes art an every day affair that steals you away from your normal life, but this affair, like anything un-normal in the world, is so much more exciting, often not understood by outside forces. But that's alright.
Because at the end of a long night, when you lay your tools down exhausted, you have made something that never existed before. Something real.