I feel intense, When I can’t run my life. When I can’t run anything.
I’m sinking in my bed, only for the picture videos in my head, to bully and stress me out and I have school.
I wanted to catch a break, but I woke up tired.
I drew a picture of a woman dancing with a chicken on her head. It was another storyline fueled by an AU that I “wrote” where the characters do something where they receive parts of human culture through pictures but they don’t truly understand it and only work on aesthetic. I dropped it (the story) after I didn’t want the AU with my actual characters on it because doing the art, especially in class was exhausting and I lacked knowledge for it.
As per caption, I really like chickens and if I post my art, you can see them randomly show up at times. I do not take the time to draw animals like I should.
I am exhausted and time marches fast. I just want to make art, but it’s hard when I’m depressed. I write these to talk to y’all I am still taking a break. (I don’t want to take one but I need one)
I’m extremely burnt out mentally and physically right now and I will not be posting and will be taking a break. I’m sorry, it’s just too much right now.
but is it possible to go back to the old things, not the good things, the bad?
and reimagine them as the good they once were, the happiness it gave, the sadness it sheltered.
the bad art that was made… can I clear my mind to remember what it once was? it is reasonable to think it is bad because I was told to do better and it moved my heart, causing it to writhe…my eyes glew up with the idea this person wants to help me, they know the bad, they can help me.
But did they? I can’t seem to draw a picture without hearing critiques, never bad, just mindfulness, but never enjoying the task anymore and wanting this perfection.
A teacher cannot teach me perfection, itdoesn’t exist. Yet, it does. It exists as much as race, religion, government, gender, sex, control. It has to exist…but I don’t like it. My liking doesn’t matter, there are important things.
I don’t exist as an individual, I never have. everything but.
I am a product, A statistic, A follower, A mistake, an Idiot.
Never something as my own.
My opinions only ruin people’s days, but rarely change them. I have no influence. I could disappear, and the only thing that would be sad is that I’m dead or hurt, but it doesn’t matter. cry about the issue and not the person.
And when someone becomes my product, my statistic, my follower, another mistake, and another idiot under me…
well, I’ll still be nothing.
Old art from three-four years ago. It feels like looking at a completely different person referencing a different thing and the only reason why it’s terrible because it isn’t abstract enough, realistic enough, finished enough, or enough in general.
What did you bring to the potluck? 