Is...
An artist who can't draw.
Two fucking weeks now. I've gone through all the "it will end soon," "it's just a bad day," "it has to end soon, right?" and "it's just a phase"s that I have in me. It's not ending. I try every day, and every fucking day I have no fucking motor skills. It's just gone. I've regressed, and if I take today's trial, I've regressed to where I was in college. I lost about what, five to seven years? Oh yay!
This kind of trembling rage I have in me right now is not good. It's the kind of stuff that makes me give myself concussions. Right now I want to cut lines into my veins with my pencil in hopes that adding blood to the mix WILL ENABLE ME TO DRAW. Because you know what, I've hit my limit. I have tried everything I can think of.
It the grand scheme of things this shouldn't matter one tiny bit. I'm just a little emo artist going all "woe is me, life is pain." Well it matters to me. It matters to me a whole fucking hell of a lot.
"You can't compare yourself to other people." I'm not. I'm comparing myself to me. And I feel like shit at myself for even typing this down here. This shouldn't matter, I shouldn't matter; I should just shut up, sit down and take it because as soon as I post this everything will be sunshine and rainbows and perfect because life has to make me eat my words.
Bring it, bitch.
Two fucking weeks now. I've gone through all the "it will end soon," "it's just a bad day," "it has to end soon, right?" and "it's just a phase"s that I have in me. It's not ending. I try every day, and every fucking day I have no fucking motor skills. It's just gone. I've regressed, and if I take today's trial, I've regressed to where I was in college. I lost about what, five to seven years? Oh yay!
This kind of trembling rage I have in me right now is not good. It's the kind of stuff that makes me give myself concussions. Right now I want to cut lines into my veins with my pencil in hopes that adding blood to the mix WILL ENABLE ME TO DRAW. Because you know what, I've hit my limit. I have tried everything I can think of.
It the grand scheme of things this shouldn't matter one tiny bit. I'm just a little emo artist going all "woe is me, life is pain." Well it matters to me. It matters to me a whole fucking hell of a lot.
"You can't compare yourself to other people." I'm not. I'm comparing myself to me. And I feel like shit at myself for even typing this down here. This shouldn't matter, I shouldn't matter; I should just shut up, sit down and take it because as soon as I post this everything will be sunshine and rainbows and perfect because life has to make me eat my words.
Bring it, bitch.