Everywhere I see beautiful art, and in my own hands I struggle to produce anything of well-practiced structure, consistency, and technique. It's all blind experimentalism, and it looks bad because that isn't what I intend to use my work for. I don't want to use my work, for the most part, as strict self-expression. I'm a character artist, first and foremost. Perhaps I just need to get back into designing characters straight from the heart... But I don't seem to produce pretty or even worthwhile results from doing so.
I'm tired and sweaty from walking the dog. I feel sticky and gross, even though I just had a shower... But I was far too mortified to be seen while dirty even for a moment. I just can't, not with the things people say about me in person.
Everytime I desperately attempt to draw a full body reference, I fail pathetically to fit the damned thing on the canvas. I just can't seem to make the form of just a standing person, one of the simplest things. I suppose this is what I get for only drawing busts most of the time. If I want to design characters, how am I supposed to do it when I can barely draw an entire body? It's endlessly frustrating. Sometimes I appear to be able to do it without an issue, but 90% I simply can't progress or finish or struggle desperately with making the pose look natural and not anatomically incorrect. I'm genuinely, actually, so very terrible at drawing. Everyone seems to scold me for thinking so, but if they knew how little I'm able to actually accomplish artistically, they'd understand.
As of right now, I don't have a worthy portfolio at all. Not even in the slightest. I'll never be able to get into a school with my grades nor pathetic skill level. It's painful. It's so painful.
Why can't I just suck it up and do studies and simply turn it into character art? Why is that so hard? Why is it still so difficult, no matter what I try? What magic part of my brain do I have to activate to progress past this amateur, baby-muscle stage? Why am I even able to draw to this degree if I still can't do exactly what I want with the skills I've painstakingly tried to develop on my own? Am I too stupid?
Not having another person in the house to help with pet care is kind of driving me a bit crazy. I have work I want to be doing, and my dog just constantly seems to need something, even after I've taken care of his basic needs and given him as much attention as I can bear without needing another shower or a new change of clothes. I sincerely hope I'm better able to keep the peace with my mother when she comes back from her trip. I've been so stressed and angry in her absence, and it's always been difficult for me to stay on a good sleeping schedule when that happens... Which directly ties back to taking care of the dog. The dog needs to be taken out at 5 AM, and I've been waking up at noon on average. I woke up much earlier today after knocking myself out at midnight out of pure boredom.
I feel a familiar kind of ill. When I feel "sick", I don't necessarily mean I've caught something, but that my misery manifests something awful in the pit of my stomach. Like I've grown a black lung, or a dark fish is swimming through my organs, swift and slick, carefully sifting through my blood and bile. I feel sick. I do. I feel very, very sick. And yet again, I struggle to understand why. Where does this feeling come from? Has it always been there? I've only started to notice the depressive sensation when I started doing morning pages, so I presume it's just that I'm finally letting myself feel more aware of my emotions. This is... Probably a good thing.
I know I shouldn't curse the sensation, and that I would do better to let myself process it, so I'm going to try. I've been letting myself feel, but only behind closed doors. I've still largely been avoiding talking about how I feel to my friends. I can't do that to them. I can't rely on the people who have already been through so much in life. I feel the beginning of tears well up in my eyes. The tell-tale sting. I must truly love my friends, and for some reason that deeply surprises me.
I always second-guess myself and my feelings. Nothing I feel, good or bad, is exempt from the immortal scrutiny of my self-doubt. I sincerely wonder what I'm going to do about that. Just what do you do about that, as a human being? I'll have to figure it out on my own, I realize, just like everything else I don't know. Nobody really cares to show me through important life lessons.
It must be that the world doesn't have the time, anymore.
Maybe I'm not really entitled to that sort of help. It's already high time I grow up and hit the milestones I've never had the guts to. I think the only milestone I absolutely refuse to pursue is romantic relationships. Too much trauma and vulnerability I'll hardly ever be ready to face in that area. There's a special kind of toxicity in those waters. The kind that makes you feel like you're already drowning when you sink a single foot into the riverbed, rather than truly submerge yourself.
I wonder, though, if I'll ever be able to move past that. I will need help for that particular hurt. Right now, the Alexa accompanies my thoughts with the sound of Frederic Chopin. I'm not much into classical music really, but... My mother said it was her current favourite thing to listen to, and it reminds me of her in her absence. I think I'll never forget that fact about her, even when she's long gone from this Earth.
Today I woke up feeling a bit worthless, but it quickly dissolved when I immediately went to work on my few main responsibilities in life. I've come very far in such a short time, if I really think about it.
Talking to people keeps me sane and alive. Even if I'm no good at phone calls, I think I feel more alive every time I take the time in my day to call someone.
I shouldn't have done such a thing as neglect my friendships with people... Recently, I've tried to catch up with the people I've been out of touch with. They seem to all be coming at me, lovingly, at full force. I can't afford to lose a single one of them. I don't want to abandon anyone. I don't want to abandon myself. Right now, I feel light and airy. I'm back on my medication, and nary a cruel thought enters my mind. I've been doing my best to treat my friends with kindness, and making an effort to be myself (louder than I usually do, as I'm quite afraid).
It's a strange world we live in, I think. This morning, I was chased by a few curious, potentially aggressive yellow jackets while on my morning walk with the dog. I blindly ran across the road 2 or 3 times to try to escape them. I could've been hit by a car if that road was any busier. I'm sure onlookers thought I was a bit cuckoo, as the yellow jackets after me were most likely too small to see from a distance. I was also making ridiculous noises, in a voice akin to Mickey Mouse on helium. I've actually been chased by these insects all month, and have changed my dog-walking route twice in my efforts to try and escape the awful things.
If it isn't very clear, I'm a big coward! I only really like insects from a distance, depending on the species. I used to feed the playground anthills my lunchtime muffin crumbs as a child (before the other children bullied me into stepping on the ants instead), but the order Hymenoptera have a precarious place in my heart. They are vital members of the local ecosystem as predators and pollinators, but I'll be damned if they don't frighten the daylights out of me with their loud buzzing and venomous arsenal. I try hard not to kill yellow jackets, wasps, bees, or the like. It's best to avoid when you can... But I hardly seem to escape them, no matter what I do. Last month, another big fat yellow jacket made its way into my room through the windowsill mesh! I was lucky to have not angered it with my proximity...
...But I found it dead from dehydration and fatigue by the backyard window later that same day. It made me kind of sad. Yellow jackets naturally burrow into things... In all likelihood, that yellow jacket was trying to build a promising new nest for the coming autumn, but found only its doom. I think sympathy is due even for the smallest and most annoying little animals of the Earth. Not that it'll actually do much for humans as a species, but I think it's important to exercise compassion whenever possible, in any case. It's important to be able to see yourself in the body of another animal, just as it is another person... Empathy. While it's true that insects are more instinct than true "emotion", we still wouldn't have agriculture without them.
I'm trying to think of why these yellow jackets keep bothering me... My winning theory is that I smell like food. I'm starting to think I should use exclusively scentless body wash and shampoo. Most buildings are scent-free nowadays, to boot. I use this obnoxiously fruity-smelling vanilla and blackberry shower gel my mom gifted me, and while it's already starting to run low. It really might just be high time for a change.
It's been getting colder and colder, fast. I'm grateful for it. The insects I fuss and go out of my way to escape will either hibernate or die off soon. Yellow jackets in late summer to autumn forage and hunt constantly in preparation for winter, and my neighbourhood full of plentiful, food waste-filled trash bins and pretty, well-kept gardens and old-growth trees... Must be simply perfect for the pesky things to thrive. I usually don't have the time to work out this stuff in my head, since I'm so distracted.
If I really inspect my thoughts and worries, I start to realize how sensitive and shy I really am. After all, one of the main reasons I changed my dog-walking route besides avoiding mere insects was because an old woman yelled at me from across the street one day while walking Spirit, my Shiloh shepherd. She was mostly friendly... But it still scared me so much that I flat-out refuse to walk in that section of my neighbourhood anymore. My agoraphobia hasn't been all that friendly to me over summer.
Every time I go outside, I worry terribly about my appearance. Do I look shabby, odd, suspicious? Would someone ever lead their children away from me at a first glance? Do I look like a grown man? Do I immediately register in people's minds as a teenage girl, or a woman? Does my gender presentation confuse people? Am I masking properly when I'm just outside walking my dog? Do I look overweight? Are my clothes ill-fitting? I just... Never know, and the fear consumes me, so I avoid going outside. The world just outside my front door, while beautiful...
...Is in all honesty, more alien to me than the surface of the moon. I live a strange existence, in that way. One day I'll feel at home on Earth, but for now, I'm taking whatever steps I can manage to take to move past my fears.
I've not really paid much attention to my friends, lately. I've been missing them, without really realizing it.
I wonder what's going on with me, lately. Well... I know the answer. It's because I'm not properly medicated, and that's always the most embarrassing thing to admit after I rampage and cry and write things I deeply regret. This always happens. Never go clean against doctor's orders, folks. It's really, really bad for you. Never underestimate the hell your mind can put you through for little to no reason other than you are suppressing your worst feelings, and because it can.
I had a moment of clarity, sooner than I used to have, that I should calm down and take proper care of myself before I gave into worse and worse impulses. I already look like a wreck, and get strange looks when I leave the house in my pajamas and a ratty coat in order to walk the dog. That's my own fault. I'll be okay. Right now, this is the best I can do. Today, I have plans to try finishing a few things in my WIPs folders... For some reason, I feel like luck is on my side today, and that I've properly recharged and recovered from whatever was holding me back.
As much as I flounder and fuss and cry and scream and rage when I'm left to my own devices, I always return to a medtitative state and seem to absorb wisdom from thin air, although I struggle time and time again to put it to use. I can just feel things glue themselves to my mind quietly, gently, and I'll suddenly have an indescribable feeling of déjà vu. My inner machinations have always been strange and flighty, and it's interesting to look back on the morning pages and see my direct thought process laid out for the world to pick apart.
I'm thinking, once again, back to the time I re-discovered my fragmented childhood diary. I was never very good at keeping a diary, but I guess that's changed. Entries ranged from months to years apart, but one thing was clear: I've always been painfully aware of my surroundings, despite my penchance for daydreaming. Escaping into my inner world has never been the option I needed. All would have been forgiven, were it safe to be present, and were there someone to guide me through the most important parts of life. Something no one really talks about is... Just how understated in importance it is to truly sit down and talk to your child. I will forever scream my adoration and sincere wish for the proper love and care of children, despite having no real desire to parent anytime soon.
I hope the person I end up becoming is immovable, wise, and independent. I'd like to be something like my blood father, but perhaps not nearly as excitable. I think the biggest personal goal I have is one day being able to call myself "calm" in nature. Calm. That's what I want. Peace. Peace is hard, but it doesn't have to be, once you're prepared to let go of the things that hurt you and prevent peace from making itself at home in your heart. It's a vulnerable thing. Oh, I'm suddenly in tears. I don't understand it. I've been crying for more profound, unselfish reasons lately.
It's strange. Everything is strange. It's been much colder and cloudy lately since the autumn equinox passed, and going outside is finally more pleasant... But I do miss the sun. I really wasted this summer away by being terribly afraid. What a waste... This was the only summer of being 21 years old that I will ever have, and when you realize how short life is... Oh, how much that starts to break your heart.
Don't be afraid to go outside, future self. It's where you belong. The sun is where you belong, and your face belongs to someone you probably loved in another world, another life, another time. Don't be afraid to start a conversation, or to try something new. You'll always be clumsy, but your clumsiness doesn't equate to cruelty, and it never has. Your mistakes sometimes may have been out of malice, but it doesn't make your efforts to be good cancel out. You just want to be good. You just want to be okay.
I'll make sure you're okay, one day. I'm what you have to speak for, and what you have to care for, and what will care for you in turn.
Isn't that the truth of this world?
I feel heavy. I've been sleeping too much this week. Yesterday feels like a thousand years ago, to me.
Time blends together. I raged around the house cleaning, somewhere around noon today. I was crying hard and angry... But at what? Why was I so angry? Why is there anger within me, while I live such a peaceful life, in a lovely new home? What suffering is there to be had? What's wrong with me, I sometimes ask myself. I suppose it's... The fact I feel like I'm failing to succeed at even this so-called peace. Peace and daily living is an uphill battle. There is always fear and loathing. There is always something my family wishes to nitpick and scold and bash and yell and scream about. There's always something missing, something I forgot, something I did wrong. I'm always wrong, and there is no right answer. There is no guidance, only wrongdoing.
What kind of peace is that? More like a piece of work, and a pain in the ass. I feel so guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. What on Earth can I do right? I haven't been able to draw properly in what feels like for 2 weeks now... It's making me miserable. The one thing I'm desperate to be awake for, and always striving to improve... And I can't even make a good sketch worth leaving to rot in my WIPs folder. What a pain. What a pain, what a pain, what a pain!
Will I always be so unsatisfied with living? Will I always be stuck here? Will I die like this? Will I get fired? Will working make me into a better person? Will they ever put me on better medication? I feel like everything being set up for me just isn't enough to save me from this pit of misery. Why do I have to summon the power of bullshit to fix my life, and myself? Why can't anyone be truly there for me? Why do I have to be alone? It's too scary to go it alone so unprepared for everything. I'll never be able to face this world by myself, it looks like. I'd be much happier just focusing on taking care of myself if people in my life didn't treat the most basic level of self-care as a measure of my worth, and as a currency for paying any sort of attention to me.
I wish I didn't have to parent myself, and that I could just make good art, for once. Good art that serves the purposes I need it for, and actually satisfies me. I'm desperate to finish something, anything... Why can't I finish anything, lately? I know the answer, but the answer angers me. I should just be strong enough to not care that others don't care. I should be heartless. I should be stoic and noble and strong in the face of my grief. I shouldn't be feeling this grief at all. I wish I was as hardened as other people I know. I wish I were responsible and reliable and just... Human. I'm hardly a proper human, a real human. I often feel like giving up on trying to be one.
I've been having nice dreams when I sleep at night... It makes me never want to wake up, but the idea of that also scares me.
There's hardly any way to win over myself. All I seek is comfort rather than solutions, since that's the only thing I have the strength to face, and that's the only thing that's familiar to me. I can't be trusted for much else on my own, and that's the biggest problem with me as a person...
...I figured it out.
Ah, what a pain. I need to be more gentle with myself. I need to remind myself that taking care of myself actually feels nice, and so does writing.
I feel strange and sick.
I feel... What do I feel? I don't understand it, but part of me wants to feel remorse. Remorse. Deep remorse. I don't feel like a good person, let alone a good friend right now. I don't understand. How do I change? How do I stay motivated? How do I stop returning to the way I've always been? I've always felt this sense of "I'll never change. I'll never find forgiveness from anyone because I can't change for the better". All I want is to change! I just want to be different! Different, better! Better! I want to be better! I never want to be afraid or small or childish ever again! I might have slept too long.
I constantly feel like what I do is evil. I'm evil. I do bad things. I was born evil. I can't change. I was born to fail. I was born to crash and burn. I was born, born, born to suffer and make everyone involved with me suffer terribly, too. I'm some kind of narcissist, I'm told, just because I hate myself. Because I'm fixated on myself, desperate to change my being into something of actual worth. Because I'm forced to face how terrible I am, all the time. I'm tired of it. I'm sorry for thinking I was ever marginally important or willing to take on responsibility I didn't deserve. I'm sorry, I guess. I can't do the bare minimum for anyone. I'm unreliable. I'm selfish. I can't be good, ever. There's nothing worthwhile in a single cell of my entire body.
What I want is unattainable, in some regard. I can't have what I have right now if I was anyone else; I can't have the same people back once I leave to focus all my energy into changing myself into something completely different, should I ever succeed at that. It would be too long of a time, and nobody would have any attachment nor anything in common with me anymore. I feel so, so, so sick. I feel like my entire being wants to invert, to throw itself up. Expel, destroy itself. Everything hurts. I always feel so guilty. Guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt. Guilt, for everything and everyone. I'm always at fault. Everything's my fault.
Is it my fault? Is it really? Is every little damned thing my fault? Is everything something I have to be responsible for? Do I have to take on everything people throw at me? Is it bad to let some things rot? I don't understand anything. I don't understand my thoughts anymore. They're all garbage. My work is all garbage. It'd all be better if it wasn't made by me. If I was a kinder, more intelligent and responsible person, maybe it wouldn't all look so bleak, nor simply be such untrained, worthless fluff. If I was just able to do everything everyone wanted of me, I wouldn't be here. I'd be so loved. I'd be so beautiful. I wouldn't need help from medicine. I wouldn't need shots in my stomach. I wouldn't need doctors, or dieticians, or even a physiotherapist for my injury.
If I was just... Cared for, properly. That's all it would've taken, really. To build me into such a person... That's all that was missing. I wouldn't be this way. I just need to go through the motions of this realization again and again, because it hurts. I need to remind myself to care for myself how no one ever has, because it's too late for people to do the same for me, now. It's too late. I'll never get those years back. Those years of asking, begging, pleading, bending over backwards, doing tricks. I'll never find a source of happiness from that past. It was all terrible.
I just need to try again, and again, and again. I will feel this way again. I will go through this thought process again. I will cry, again.
I feel strange, but not so sick, anymore.
I'll try to finish commissions today, and see if studying makes me feel better. I'll try to eat well, and see if that makes me feel any better. It probably will. It's just that it's morning, and I'm all alone. That's why it feels this way... Maybe I'll try getting rid of my ill-fitting clothes, too.
I feel a special kind of melancholy today. I'm not so sure why, though. I'll figure it out the more I think. I feel an inescapable sadness, every day of my life. Whether it comes to me late at night or early in the morning, I just feel as though every day has been a waste because I haven't done everything perfectly. Even on a good day, there's two or three things I missed completely. The criteria for a perfect day has never been reached for the past six or seven years, nor has it ever... But my entire adolescence was spent hyper-focused on trying to fix in myself what everyone gave me hell about, but never bothered to show me or guide me kindly themselves. It was always just complaints. Impatience, anger. Is it my fault that I was born, I wonder. I wonder, indeed. Why was everything always impatience? No love? Why do I feel nostalgic for the present? Why do I feel like I'm wasting something so important? Why? I'm trying so hard to exist correctly. I'm trying so hard... I just want to feel more than emptiness and constant discomfort and restlessness. Why is that so hard? Why is it so hard to entertain oneself? Why is it so impossibly hard to discipline myself, and to stop giving into my worst impulses? Why is it so hard to get help? Why does every little thing have to be controlled by my own strength of will? Can't something, or someone, just care? I barely have enough will to get myself out of bed most days. If I didn't have to eat or drink, I'd be bedridden forever.
It's such a scary world. When I think about my first job, I don't think about what job it will be, but rather how I will act when I inevitably mess up so bad that my boss yells at me, and is then disappointed enough to fire me. If it were me right now, I'd wait for the train nearby home so I can jump in front of it. I can't handle failure. I can't be vulnerable in front of people. I can't cry in front of people, or I'd look like a child all over again, and I'd be rejected even worse. I'm so tired... I keep thinking about how I'm being shoe-horned into learning how to drive again. The only reason I failed to complete a driving course when I was 17 was because... Nobody in my family wanted to help me practice. I begged and pleaded for months and months. No one gave me the time of day, and then blamed me for my failure when I lost the willpower to try finishing the online segments. I'm so scared, in all honesty, of the same thing happening all over again. I'm scared, more than anything, of my failures actually being my fault, rather than partially the fault of my completely unsympathetic environment. I'm so tired of doing everything alone. It never works. I never seem to learn anything when I'm alone.
I suppose this can be considered sensitive information, or over-sharing. I don't care. I don't see a clear reason why anyone would use this information against me, or how they could identify me. It doesn't matter what I put on the morning pages; it just has to be my thoughts. That's more or less just something I can say to comfort myself, and prevent myself from deleting this page and never writing again. I feel a bit lighter, after having let out such thoughts. I don't want to come to people very often for such things. It always feels like I'm complaining and being annoying when I do. None of my problems feel like actual problems, but just unsavoury facts about me that make me look stupid. I feel so annoying when I talk to anyone. I'm not better than anyone I know, nor am I equal. I feel like the lowest of the low. I feel like everyone's embarrassed to know me. I'm the friend that cries every other moment that I let myself really think... I don't think anyone is interested in the kind of person I am at all, what I am, who I am... I'm sure if they did bother to look, I wouldn't have much of a personality to look at. I don't really "feel" my inner self at all. I don't know what that person inside is like.
Mundanity and negativity, Julia Cameron said, will likely compose most of the body of writing in a lifetime of morning pages. That's something I think about very often. How much will fill my morning pages, by the end of my lifetime? How long will that life be? Will it be a life well-lived, or better forgotten? I live right next to a graveyard... Will the right name be on my grave, one fateful day, and countless days after? Is my life destined to be short and unremarkable, or long and complex? All these questions floating around in my head all the time... Even when I don't realize it. Are our bodies really a prison for the soul, or is the soul only present when the body is? I wonder if they are a prison indeed, because lately I've been caring a little bit more about the vessel I operate, and that operates me. I've been fussing and worrying over sensations and distractions, and having epiphany after epiphany in silence. I forget and remember these on a routinely basis. I just need to sit down and think every now and then to remember I'm alive, and not just here on Earth to suffer. I should be more motivated to care for this vessel. It's all I got, and what I got is fine. I'll be okay. I'll make it through learning to drive, and get a job just fine. I'm a good worker in the right conditions and under the right care. I was a brilliant student who simply lost all self confidence. I'll be okay.
September is already coming to a close. The illusion of time passes too slowly and too quickly for all living things. I'm not sure what I'm going to be like in the future, in any sense of the word. As a nonbinary man, how will I choose to present? I once again feel like giving up any hope of presenting in a masculine fashion, and reduce myself to taking on she/her pronouns to make it easier on the people in my life. But that makes me feel actually nauseous. I hate to say it, I do. But I think I'd rather be without a family, like I have always felt lacking in, than to be forced to be something that pleases someone else more than myself.
Because the exchange of gratitude between you and that person will never feel like enough. They will never acknowledge or praise you for being what they want out of you, as much as you struggle to be that thing. To that person, you're doing the bare minimum to please them, and you're still a fraud; you still aren't perfect. It just leaves room for resentment. Also, simply think about it. What does it even mean to praise someone for being 100%, perfectly feminine? Who bothers to measure the femininity of their own child? This is why you must always forsake your blood the moment they choose to reject you rather than understand. Bite the hand that feeds, and cruelly withholds.
I don't know what will become of me, in this murky, uncertain future. If no one helps I will surely just give up for real. There's no hope for a 21-year-old in this dull modern world if they don't even know how to differentiate themself from others. If you don't know how to be yourself after a certain point, perhaps that spells doom. If you don't have a clear self, perhaps no one will seek you out. Perhaps I'll never find a way out of miserable fear and loathing. Whether or not I reach a real-life conclusion, I shouldn't be afraid to at least dream about the life that I want. I've always wanted to live in Nova Scotia; a nice cottage by the sea.
A cottage by the sea, accompanied only by a lovely Maine Coon cat, my allergies be damned. A cottage by the sea, where I may always draw and write in peace, dreaming of cowboys and of Montana, a place I'll never have the courage to know myself. My friends I've had overseas and thousands of miles away... May very well have gone past me in their busy lives at this point, so I imagine I've sought out a husband. But then again... I'm not sure if I have the real-life capacity to love like a well-adjusted human being. It's not worth trying so hard, I think, for a thing such as love. Everyone can love, but not everyone can do it healthily. I'm afraid to imagine love. It always comes back to the firm idea of forcing myself to be perfect so I'm finally worthy of it.
It's a strange life I live. I play a waiting game. A game where I wait for someone to notice the depth of my suffering, and wait for their consequential disgust, or for useless pity. There's no such thing as help in this corner of the Earth, in this slice of history. I find it funny how all my dreams of independence and helping myself rely on such an impossible idea: having courage. I'll never have enough to pull me out of each pit of horror I find myself in.
I hope I'm just in despair right now, and that none of it is true. It's all so painful. How low of a person can I be reduced to, in my search of happiness? How hard do I press myself into the ground before I start digging my own grave? After entertaining the idea of giving up, and of being codependent forever, I think I've already had enough of it. I can't keep wallowing or being miserable. I can't stay so impulsive and negative. My spirit will die, if I do. I can't keep doing that.
I need to stop being afraid of entertaining the idea that I can be happy. I can't stop dreaming of it, instead bothering with conditions and what-ifs. I'll be fine. There's only one way out if you tire of misery: change (and closure). Lately, I've felt suicidal, and it's probably shown itself best in the morning pages. Truth is, I'm stronger than I'll let myself admit. I won't bother with turning every morning page into a life story, since the entire body of my writing will do that well enough, and that isn't the point of why I'm doing it. I'm going to try to read a good deal today, seeing as my usual routine of drawing appears to want to evade me.
You know, I'm always this miserable when I can't draw... I guess I love it that much. Suddenly, I just worked out what my problem today actually is: I'm unsatisfied with my gender identity, and ashamed of my impulsive nature getting in the way of my success time and time again. If I had it my way, I'd look softly feminine, and happily dress as such. It's just difficult to present clearly as anything at my current weight. But, I can't just blame everything on myself. There's no clear solution when thinking like that. I hope these thoughts will be out of the way today, now that I've worked out some important things. I'll be fine, but I hope I'll have the courage... And the room to settle for more than just that in the future.
Finally on time with morning pages. What is it about the "morning" part that I seem to be having so much trouble with? Well, my sixteen-hour-long sleep seems to have "fixed" me for a spell. "Stream of consciousness" is a word roosting curiously on the forefront of my mind. What I do as regularly as I can possibly manage in writing is writing as much of my thoughts as I can decipher and understand and spit them out on the page without order. As directed, of course. That's what makes such a complex concept pulled off all the more easily. Morning pages are key to a healthy creative life, or so I've been told. I'm starting to think that's the case, too.
I can't fight the process I naturally come back to, and need to stop hurting myself creatively. It's a battle often fought within me by my better nature and the worst impulses of my OCD. OCD that I developed as a response to always being told I must fix everything about myself, by myself. Words from people who didn't care to teach or listen. When you realize your most vicious and painful rituals completely surround attempting to make yourself a better person for the sake of others and you feel like you're failing at the simplest every-day things in life, it might change you, somehow, some way. But maybe not in the way you'd like, because everyone wants control over the kind of person they become.
The funny thing about trying not to wound the natural-born artist in you is that they don't tell you how stupid you'll feel when you realize you're falling blindly back into your old habits when you blame your artistic ability and own nature... Instead of just admitting you're perceiving a failure that doesn't actually need to be identified. Instead of just admitting that you're being too critical, you're too critical. You did it again, while the truth was right there in your hands, in your heart.
They don't tell you how stupid you're being. Well, except maybe yourself, when you're caught alone. You're the one realizing what an idiot you are, as you type mindfully and compute and sort the stream of chicken scrtatch from potential genius in your brain.What I do every time I write morning pages properly is meditating. The easiest kind of meditation they don't tell you about, and possibly the most constructive form of it. But so like a human, every mind will resist meditation. The mind likes to be loud and armed with purpose. My flounderings and failures and poor planning with my dedication to this exercise are a resistance and an impulse that I'm sure every student of Julia Cameron has experienced.
I need to take the dog outside soon. Maybe I will after I'm finished writing. I'm sad today, because I wasn't present during my best friend's birthday, since I was sleeping the day away sick and probably higher than I should have been. Missing in action, and in spirit. Planning for anything ahead of time has been so difficult... I felt something extremely strange while in bed yesterday. I had gotten off my computer and straight into bed, eyes glued shut like an altricial baby bird.
I was searching my body while in a highly meditative state, and could suddenly feel every creak and flaw in my tendons, bones, and bloodflow. It changed me. I felt so vast inside; I could feel exactly how complex I was and how big I was compared to the entire universe. I could feel the imperfections of my own ability to sense the world and my own body like tiny glitches and noise in my own hearing, sight, and touch. I could feel where tiny things hurt and why. Could feel the fluid around my hurt ankle and soreness from where my body didn't agree with how I was lying down. Very strange experience. I remember it so vividly, and dreamed about it several times last night.
I've been very ill and stressed as of late. Been neglecting myself lots. It's hard to get out of bed. It's hard to find much willpower to do anything. A short period of depression, since I'm carrying a bit more emotion than I can handle on my back. I was lazy with morning pages, and kind of paid the price. I was surprised to find texts from friends this morning asking if I was alright. I don't think I really was, yesterday. I've been saying plenty of concerning things around people, and have found that my usual interests aren't even on my mind. Just a little bit ill. That's how I feel. I have hope, though, that I'll be able to face the day with newfound strength today. I have lots of work to do around the house... I have a belated birthday present to finish drawing, and many apologies to be giving out.
I missed these completely because I fell ill.
Hello, morning pages. We're going to do this right.
I feel sick. I might've eaten too much, even though in reality it was less than what I usually eat. I feel sick for other reasons, too, but I don't want to dwell on those thoughts. I'm finally free, and will remain free. No more pain and suffering. No more distractions and staying up late. I simply can't live like that anymore. It's been so hot outside, lately... I'm finally starting to get completely sick of it. Where's sweater weather? I want to wear a thin jacket outside without looking completely insane, or feeling like I'm on death's door. Words now drift around my head. Agoraphobia. Independence. Freedom. Distraction.
Distractions, distractions, distractions. I've been waking up at 2 PM lately. It's awful, and my body always feels sore... But I can't seem to get up when my alarm rings. More, more, more sleep. It doesn't help things. I don't particularly hate sleeping, but I hate it when my days feel, or have been cut short. So much time for all kinds of work and progress just... Lost in the wind. And then I punish myself. It's time to start over again. There's always next Monday to retry the doomed-to-fail ritualistic way of living. It's wasted my life and time for 6 years. That's a long time.
I can't afford more distractions. I can't. I mustn't fall victim to old, unhealthy comforts. Suddenly, those words from over a year ago now sting deeply in my mind. "Your comforts here are over". In the end, it was to help me, but it was too strong. Too sudden. Why did no one understand how fragile I was? Why didn't I see it, either? Is it because I've been forced to ignore it, to think it isn't all that bad, and that it's just a fault I can fix at the drop of a hat? It's my fault? I'm lazy? It's all my fault?
It's all my fault? What a joke, I think. I was set up for social failure, but now I'm being set up for a life of success. I wonder how well I'll actually do. Failure isn't an option. Giving up isn't an option. Ignoring the world around me isn't an option. I need to wake up. I need to. I need to stop crying. Why am I crying? For once, I don't understand these tears at all. They confuse me. I feel heavy and strange. Everything aches. I wonder if I'm losing any weight, with how little I'm able to eat lately. I don't think I like meat very much anymore. Too much of it feels awful. Too difficult to digest.
More words in my mind. Stream of consciousness. Consciousness. Spirit. Willpower. Choice. What even is a choice, when I hardly give me a moment to feel real? My mind has been cloudy and fuzzy and dark ever since I was born. Everything was a daydream, a figment of imagination. I couldn't focus on reality for more than a moment. The times I would feel real were the times I felt the worst, and they compose my clearest memories. The times I would embarrass myself, or be cruel to others, compose the rest of such memories.
Being real on a regular basis can be the worst. Cruel intrusive thoughts compose my clearest thoughts, and I find myself cringing and gasping aloud at the horrors my mind conjures. I don't want to hurt people. I don't want to embarrass myself. I don't want to be cruel or obscenely vulgar. I want to lock myself up. I want to hardly have such strong emotions. I can never describe myself as calm. I'm truly quite angry and volatile and afraid. A scared animal. A cornered cat with no claws.
What's left to think about? This is the first time all week that I've managed to come this far with morning pages. What an awful, awful week. But now I know the answer to my pain. The answer to my poor sleep and misery and self-punishing was that I was being tormented by guilt. I don't want to be around people who tear into me for my attention, and refuse to let go of their childishness. I can't afford to be with people who don't want to grow up. I, most of all, need to be encouraged to grow up.
I don't want to antagonize authority and be combative and angry all the time. I don't. I can't be available to such people. I will never let my guard down for such people ever again. I'm here on Earth to enjoy the freedoms of adulthood and its wisdom. I'm here on Earth to make sure my friends don't become misanthropes. I'm here on Earth to get the shag mullet I've always wanted. I'm here on Earth to draw the things I've always wanted. I'm here on Earth to grow whatever's in my heart. I'm here. I'll be fine. I feel sick, but I'll be fine.
It's really hard right now.
Oh, it's all going to hell. I can't focus. I can't finish things. This is because I haven't gotten my thoughts out of the way like I should be. I haven't been reading, or sleeping at a good time. I need to ignore everyone and everything but myself. I need to be selfish right now. I need to to do the things I'm meant to do. I need to cut people out of my life. I need to show no mercy to the things that hurt my progress. I need to find reason within myself to keep trying. I can't procrastinate. I can't ignore things. I can't sleep in late. I must sleep, sleep, sleep. I must wake up at a good time. I must take care of myself. I must continually motivate myself to live. If I want to work, I should instead be wanting that work through living. I need to look towards the future.
I'm so sad that I can hardly keep this up lately. Late, late, late every single time. I can hardly call it "morning" pages. There was a severe tornado warning today, but nothing happened. Part of me almost wishes it formed, just to spice my life up.
Today, I've been reading about a cult taking place in a boarding school. It was sickening. I have been feeling cold and sick lately, and very dizzy. Autumn is fast approaching, as is my best friend's birthday. I need to plan something nice... Sometimes I feel like I'm going to pass out. My ankle has been a lot stronger as of late. I went to sleep at 4 AM today, but woke up about 5 hours later. I played Breath of the Wild for much of the morning, but hardly made much progress. I've been trying to catch myself good horses; solid coloured ones, preferably black or white. Happened upon 2 memories, only to realize I didn't quite enjoy this incarnation of Zelda very much.
Her voice begins to irk me, just a bit. I'll give her the benefit of the doubt, as she actually has a character and a clear personality now. She seems troubled. I feel dizzy and sore. I might go to sleep after this. I suspect I have a fever. I'm suddenly very hot. My body feels heavy and weak. My eyes burn. I'm definitely running low on sleep, which is rare for me. I usually sleep 8 hours, no matter what time I get to bed. I'm struggling terribly with commissions at the moment. I have to re-draw things, over and over. Nothing feels sufficient. I think the trick is to use a smaller canvas size, and pretend I'm drawing my own character, for this one. I think that'll do.
I keep sitting with my legs on their tip-toes and it's starting to get on my nerves... Why is it so hard to sit normally? My back and neck feel very weak; almost no musculature to support my weight. I suppose it'll be easier when I start shedding pounds. I still taste yesterday's dinner, no matter how much I swallow it down. Grr. I wonder if there's a surgery that will finally fix my acid reflux. It's begun to annoy me to no end. 20 years of acid reflux is far too much. I was practically born with it. What an annoyance. I feel so tired. I wonder if I'll have the time and energy to finish my commissions. The day I finally finish my work, is the day I feel free.
If I manage to land the job I'm looking at, I won't need to open up a single commission... Unless I feel like it. Extra money can't hurt, but art is such hard work. I hate it, sometimes. Back on the subject, I've become very concerned about my posture and gait while walking... It took 20 years for me to realize the way I naturally walk is simply just... Painful. There was nothing wrong with my ability to move inherently, but I could never develop my muscles, balance, and overall gross motor skills as much as I wanted to because it just... It simply hurt to move past 10 to 20 minutes at a time. Well, what do you know... I'm glad I finally have a physiotherapist.
I'm scared I'll never finish those commissions before the year ends... Grr. And I've already spent all the money I earned from commissions at the beginning of the year. I'm rather terrible at saving money, just because I'm so deprived of things I need and simple enjoyment. I wonder if I'll ever be able to get into plush-making like I've always wanted to. If I make a nice full-sized stuffed scarecrow to hold at night, maybe things won't feel so bad. I always go to bed with a minimum of 4 pillows. 2 pillows for my head, 2 to hold in a body pillow formation. I guess I'm naturally a cuddler. It's so strange to share such things with the world. I'm rather glad my Neocities activity is practically radio silence.
I can't finish.
I'm sorry, morning pages. I failed, yesterday. I haven't been reading the book. I've gone without eating for long periods. I haven't been studying. I haven't been good to my friends. I haven't been honest. I haven't been kind. I haven't done any of what I promised I would. I feel, honestly, like giving up. I can't think of anything. I can't think. I want to give up. I want to give up. I feel sick. I'm so tired. I can't stand the thought of this being out in the open for people to read, sometimes. I feel like quitting and trying again in the morning. Maybe if I actually read the book, I'll finish the morning pages properly. I don't want to be lazy. I miss everyone. I want to get back to work, but I'm lonely. I struggle to understand these feelings. I played a lot of Breath of the Wild today. I think I came farther than I ever have in one day. I'm so tired, but I just want the satisfaction of colouring and finishing a drawing. I just want the satisfaction of completing a character design, and feeling like I've improved upon things greatly.
I've been getting some attention on Pixiv, which surprises me. They seem to actually really enjoy my art style. I even received a comment on my first post... I was rather shocked to see the notification. It looks like I'll actually finish the morning pages before midnight... I won't forgive myself for skipping. I can't afford to procrastinate anymore. I was so angry that my normal scheduling was interrupted by family this weekend. I actually kind of hate weekends...
They always mean I can't draw or sleep in peace, because someone is always there to watch and to judge me. I've always hated weekends. Weekdays and weeknights, staying up late... I hate it, yet feel more secure in them than any other time. I'm so used to my abundance of free time. I'll be so frustrated once I finally get a job, I just know it. My head feels heavy. I'm super hungry and tired. I feel sick. I'm starting to sound like a broken record in these entries, honestly. Always sick, always tired...
I want to go home, but I'm already home. I want to get back to work, is what I always think when writing... Unless I truly have something important to say. I never have anything fun to talk about to people lately, and I've felt better being alone than I ever have before. If I truly lose everyone... How long would it take for me to realize I'm miserable, and have nothing to show for all the trouble I cause others? I would miss everything and everyone so much, but I can't focus on people very well lately. It's all draw, draw, draw. Draw again, try again, desperately try to finish... Fail, fail, fail. My perception of my creative process is so bonkers. I'll say I'm feeling great creatively one day and that I'm a failure the next. I need to read that damned book already. It's already been two weeks and I'm not even done reading the introduction. I haven't been in proper touch with Dad lately... I broke another promise. Maybe on Monday I'll see if I can call him.
Mundanity composes much of the morning pages, but even then... Lately I struggle to come up with a single thought. I'm running dry... I might burn out of energy soon, and for a long time. I need to read. I desperately need to read, but reading a physical book has become so hard for me. My eyes skip over words, and twitch and roll on their own. It's painful to read, and my brain no longer absorbs text the way it used to, when I was a knowledge-hungry, ever-curious child. Almost midnight already... Will it ever end?
It's been a hard day. Today... This is all I can stomach to write, and I know that's cheating... But something is still better than nothing.
I've paused to think while in the heat of a drawing, and figured I should get my thoughts out before I forget. I shouldn't have procrastinated as long as I did, but late is better than never. I haven't eaten a single bite today, but I hardly noticed that at all with the medication I'm on. I'm going to lose the pounds pretty fast. Hopefully I don't get sick. I don't feel tired at all, and I've stayed plenty hydrated. I am suddenly inspired to use Pixiv for my extra anime-style art.
It didn't occur to me until today that it's the perfect place to develop my range of style, and nurture the interests I've long felt I should stifle and ignore because it would clash with my more realistic cowboy-themed art, and was "cringy" or "bad"... It's also a popular website where I could easily develop some buzz for my art. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. I've noticed I have a love for curating aliases or separate identities that suit different online spaces - but I currently have only two concrete identities for social media. The one I share here, and has a love for realism, is my "default".
The idea and identity that helped make this website as pink and cute as it is - the child in me that enjoys fun, bright colours and silly plotlines and simple, gimmicky things - is what I like to call the low-poly angel. It is a sweet, feminine, and nostalgic creature native to my heart. It delights in the new and shiny, but also in the old and reminiscent. It is the part of me I've hidden away in places like Neocities, and stopped expressing myself in artistically until only just recently.
Shame fills me when I try to include it in my surface-level, "default" self. It is effeminate, and doesn't suit the masculine image I've long tried to put up, and to empbody fully... I think the low-poly angel is partially internalized transphobia, to be honest. Deep down, I still fear I won't be accepted or taken seriously as a trans person if I don't look or "act" the part. Quite silly, actually. Lots of things about forcing myself to be something different for the sake of other people's views and opinions of me... Is just stupid, and I continuously fall for it. It think part of me really wants to fit in, still. That was a big part of my old ways... Trying to conform and be accepted.
I've tried to feel at home with so many different identities, but it never worked the way I truly wanted it to. I wasn't identifying with things, I was trying to be something I saw and wanted to feel. I would see people perform all these gender gymnastics and see the sense of community they all shared by being that very thing, and desperately want to feel welcomed somehow. I've been alone all this time, and still am. I'm a different colour; maybe a shape, that fits in with nothing else.
It's more than just being a man that uses exclusively they/them pronouns. It's always been more than that. It's been about being so alone that you'll try anything, or fall for any trick, or run into your fatal flaws. I don't think I'll ever feel the way I've always wanted to feel. My interpretation of things like my friends' poetry, the experiences and wisdom of complete strangers, and my own identity will never be anything but broken by my lack of experience in life... That is, until I'm much older and wiser and practiced in being a proper human being.
...And not what I presently am. I think I simply need to accept that fact, rather than force its change. I think I will change naturally, rather than by choice. That's how it's always been for the things that I've long hated about myself. No matter how I fuss and fight and fix and falter, I can never get the results I've always wanted. It's truly painful. It feels like defeat, sometimes. Defeated by my own nature and being. But... I think the first step to true happiness is by nurturing and recognizing that other self in me. I shouldn't hide it! That will never change anything, and good will come of being my fullest, truest self in time. I expect I'll be full of hurt and doubt at first as I proceed, but this realization is likely one of the most important ones I've had in a while. I'll be okay. I will be happy.
I just woke up. I can't remember what I was thinking about last night, but I wanted to include it in the next morning pages... My body feels a bit heavy. I suppose I'm still groggy. I need to stop making a habit of staying up late, but I ran into that feeling again where I "didn't do enough". I need to relax. I don't even work. What's there to worry about? It's just my insecurity getting the better of me and ruining my health. I'm glad, however, that I'm close enough to the usual time I've designated to write morning pages. I need to start going to bed at 9 PM again...
Morning pages are often mundanity, but I've noticed it's the peaceful kind, and the kind that I don't often get to experience positively myself. It's begun to help foster a more positive mindset in me, I think. I still need to read more of that book... It's hard to read, since I've found my bedroom either has harsh light or painfully dim light. Yesterday I realized the solution: just read in the living room. That'll kill two birds with one stone, in a way, since I've been wanting to move around more and attempt to make the rest of the house "more lived-in".
My mind isn't so empty. Maybe I'm well-rested. I feel a slight bit of soreness, but I was able to stand with nary an ache. Yesterday, walking the dog was strangely painful. I can't wait for physiotherapy to kick in. I'm glad our insurance covers it... The idea of insurance has begun to scare me. How on Earth will I deal with it once I've flown the coop and moved out? Modern life is a lot to take in stride. I think of college a lot... I have to patch up my grades since school turned me out during the worst depression of my life.
I wonder if I'll make it, out there. I'm sure I'll manage. I'm not stupid, just unprepared at the moment. Just disoriented and getting back up on my feet. I can't take punches while on the ground, but I'll win the fight once I'm standing. I'll be okay. I need to affirm that: I'll be okay. I've decided to pick back up some free online courses I was doing last year, because I was struggling so bad. I need to set a good time to work, and stick with it. I've almost completely forgotten everything I've learned, so I think I have to make it a point to include studying in my routine for the rest of my life, to stay super sharp.
I've been low on funds for a while, I need to open up commissions again, but before I do, I need to finish my last two. I also need to study good commission practices hard... I've been messing things up with clients a lot. I didn't know how to send invoices before I began! So unprepared. It's not that easy. I think I'm awake now. I need to find a way to deep-clean these awful glasses. They simply refuse to be wiped 100% clean, even when sprayed or wet-wiped. It's frustrating, since I've been directed to wear them all the time. I've been revisiting a lot of old artworks I made last year to keep track of my artistic development. The results are extremely satisfying, and the process fun. I've been heavily inspired to work on my RPGMaker games, too... I think with some work, I'll be able to finish it this time. I just need to make the story, character designs, and assets... Then it comes down to learning how to script and balance the game. I'm thinking on some Castlevania-style music, as well... I've been steadily learning how to compose music myself as I mess around with FL Studio.
I can apply myself to anything to learn it. I have a lot of willpower and creativity. I could be a one-man army. I need to eat something. I can't run on empty like I've been doing lately. It's unhealthy. How will I power all this stuff I want to be doing? How do I even stay awake so long on low food, I wonder? I'm kind of nuts. But I can't push those limits any longer. I need to take care of myself. I'll be okay. I don't need to worry about anything right now. I can just apply myself, and watch my ideas come to life just as I wanted them. Maybe even better.
I have all the tools I need, and all the skill I need. I'll be okay. I'll find happiness if I come to think positively about things. It hasn't been so bad at all because I've been putting in the effort, remember? I'm trying. I need to keep taking care of myself, and to keep trying.
Late to writing again. Today feels bad. I feel sick and unlovable. I want to hide. I'm full of regret. I've cringed at myself all day. I might sleep the rest of the day away if I don't happen to draw. I feel heavy, like lead, but my lungs are light. I'm well-hydrated and cleaned up, so that takes away a bit of the gristle and grime of being inside a depression. I might just be thinking too hard and too long about things that don't matter. I need to read, but my eyes hurt. I feel hungry, but I feel sick when I eat a small bowl's worth of anything. I need a better posture, but it's so hard to sit comfortably with how my desk is shaped and how my drawing tablet is placed, but I might have found a solution for sitting when I'm not drawing.
It already feels a lot better to sit, and I don't yet feel any pain. I keep feeling a ghastly numbness in my injured leg. I messed myself up so bad by rolling my ankle, huh? What a pain. Sometimes I wonder if everyone finds me annoying and loud. If they really like me, or if they want to leave me behind. It's still hard to walk without a limp. I feel bones click in my ankle every time I walk normally. Squicks me out.
I don't know what to draw, but that's a half-lie. I can't decide on what to finish, because everything I've attempted to draw the past 2 days has ended up in my WIP folder and I lose the desire to draw it. I feel really sick. I don't particularly feel like writing morning pages lately, and I still haven't figured out an artist date... Maybe it could just be playing a new game I simply haven't re-visited in a while. I feel... Really, really tired. Maybe if my mood improves, it'll go away. Maybe I should just lie down for 10 minutes. Sometimes that helps.
Whenver I think of the things I've done wrong I feel like God's mistake, but don't we all? People I know insist it's fine to mess up, but I often just feel like the slightest imperfection in me is enough reason for ruin. Soiled, ruined, tainted and unsalvageable are words that I feel I represent often. God. Maybe I'm just tired. This'll probably go away if I sleep. Eating didn't revive me very much at all, nor did drinking water, so it isn't that. I'll be okay. It'll be fine. Perhaps I can afford to use affirmations for myself.
It's embarrassing in some way, I think, to have the morning pages be publicized. I'm technically not supposed to do so, according to the book. It might be holding back my deeper feelings if I hesitate at all to write, in fear of what people may see, think, or even say about me, or the content of the morning pages... But I need to archive this. This works for me. It has been working for me. I've been... More okay than I've ever been lately, even with the appearance of my moping and foul moods.
I'll be fine. I need to affirm that. I'm okay, I'm making progress, healing is painful, and my art is beautiful. I need to remember that. I'm capable of good. I'm not helpless. I have inner strength, and a functioning willpower. I'm not born broken or wrong. I'll be okay. If I pour my heart into the morning pages, maybe someone will cheer me on in secret. Maybe I will indirectly help someone, somewhere, someday. All is well. I've done what I need to do for today. The rest is just play. It's going to be fine. Don't think so rough.
...I look forward to physiotherapy. It might feel really good. I'm anticipating the relief of the stretches. My foot looks so busted up, almost misshapen in places. I really underestimated how fragile I am. The other day, I realized I have proportionally really tiny feet, and a tiny ribcage and shoulders. My frame is like that of a bird's, just underneath a soft, thoroughly-scarred casing. I was made to be a beanpole. I was made to be small, but stupidly tall. I'm clumsy as a newborn deer. Gangly, with long legs and arms. I need to remember that I'm fragile, and take care of myself, like I do my favourite mug. I was unable to use that mug before it cracked a bit... But it's too beautiful, so I refuse to throw it away. It was a gift for myself and my mother. I should see myself that way. I'll be okay.
Late again. Sleeping late is bad for me. But this time, I've actually eaten something... But I fear it was a little too much. I've been more active and on top of things, but the schedule being thrown off by poor sleep has made things feel wobbly. I'm not going to let it get the best of me anymore. I have to take care of myself. I have to do the things I need to do, and give into the creative ideas I'm most afraid of. It's going to be fine. Since starting morning pages, I've felt like a powerful machine.
I've found such joy in taking my time and trucking through the day at an easy pace. I understand this time I have now, in being unemployed and healing physically and emotionally, is so precious. I'm so lucky to have this much time and care being given to me... I need to be grateful for all I have. I need to use my time wisely, and look forward to next year. I'm excited for my first winter in a new home... I wonder what my neighbourhood looks like under all that snow. I feel compelled to try and fix my posture, and have been trying to work on walking without a limp.
I want to see what I can do with my art. How will my art style continue to evolve? Will I be able to pursue more ambitious pieces? Will I benefit from a college education? Things like that excite and scare me. But the promise of college... I suppose my time is best used for developing life skills and self-discipline. I feel very tired today. I guess I'm experiencing a food coma. I have so many inspirations and ideas and distractions in my life.
I'm a machine. I feel like, sometimes, I'll never run dry of inspiration. I've discovered that music can be extremely distracting when drawing, and often hurts my ears after a while. Bummer. I kind of wish I could re-live this summer. I barely went outside. I missed out on finally getting some colour back in my skin. I kind of feel sickly, if I really pay attention to my body. I don't want to take a nap, as it would seriously mess with my sleep tonight, but I don't think I can help it. I'm so out of focus.
I really want to specialize in making character-centric art in beautiful scenery... Or attempting comic art. Just something, anything to help me roll into action for writing the story I want to put into the world. I'm so tired that it's taking me forever to think or write anything. Maybe I'll get my energy back if I go on a walk, but I'm not looking forward to feeling sweaty and gross. It's been really hot outside today... But not for long, hopefully. I really want to sleep, actually. I won't deny it. I'm so tired. I feel like I weigh a ton. Grr. I want to sleep. I want to sleep. I want to sleeeeeeeeeeep. But I have work to do, dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. I just have to do it, and then it'll be fine. My eyes kind of hurt. All the things I spoke of are going pretty well. Oh my God, though. I'm so tired. It feels like it's taking all my strength and focus to get morning pages done today.
I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'll be okay.
Sorry I'm so late, morning pages. I didn't have a very good start to my day. Been forgetful. I'm so angry. I feel sick. I haven't eaten all day (until only just recently). I've been chipping away at this artwork and feeling a little bit terrible about it, but also just been enjoying how therapeutic it is to render something in colour again. I want to finish a drawing for once. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired.
Nothing can really describe how I feel right now. I'm so melancholy, but that's not the right word at all. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel so sick.
I just want to work. I wish I had a job. I wish I could feel useful. I wish I was worth something more than this. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick.
Also, I really want to get back to drawing. I want to prove myself wrong.
I'm a little late to the morning pages today. I was up 'till 4 AM last night streaming drawing on Discord. I'm very tired, but I managed to sleep up to 9, so maybe I'll be alright. I feel very stiff and achy and alone. Alone, but not necessarily sad, upon further inspection. I'll be alright, I think. I don't have much in my head at the moment because I'm not that well-rested, but I came up with a new idea for a story on the spot, as I usually do. But I already feel kind of guilty of its contents and purpose.
Sometimes I just feel like my artwork and stories are worthless. That they'll never be completed, polished, or even just loved regardless of what I do with them. My body aches. It aches. My lungs feel sore and heavy. What's wrong with me today? Being aware of my body really sucks sometimes. I don't feel like doing very much today, even after trying to revive myself with food. I feel kind of sick, even, but my nose isn't plugged at all.
What should I do today? Maybe I should just read and take it easy. I haven't been reading the book lately. I need to work on my last two commissions, while I'm still in a good art kick. I wonder if my clients have forgotten about me. I don't want to take advantage of that whatsoever, even though in my fatigue and pain I'm tempted to. I'm so tired. I'm a lot more tired than I initially thought, but I really don't want to lie in bed all day either.
Maybe I should try walking a little bit, or sit in the sun. Maybe I could sort my clothing for once. I need to be away from this stupid desk! It's going to kill me someday. My back hurts. So do my knees. Even my hands are kind of sore, honestly. Everything hurts and is stiff! I already smell bad and it makes me kind of peeved. I need a standing desk... That'd be nice. I did a little stretch just now and it should NOT have felt so intense (in a good way). I'm killing this body, I swear to God.
I love it when my friends tell me about the things they love with just this unbridled passion. I wish I could seem more enthusiastic and responsive when they do, but I'm just... So immobile and sluggish by nature, I think. It feels like that sometimes. I have very slow reactions to things. I don't know if I have any wisdom or developed thoughts to share today. This is usually what my mind sounds like, I think. Complaining about aches and pains and being generally quite empty.
I think part of it really is to do with how well-rested I am on any given day, or just how well I"m taken care of in general. I'll be okay today if I just get up and move around. Can't keep doing it like this. I'm hungry. I just realized how ravenous I am. I haven't had much appetite at all lately... There's really good lasagna in the fridge. Maybe I'll actually heat something up rather than make it fresh today. That won't be so hard, I think. It's taking forever to get to colouring my artwork and it's starting to bug me.
I have so many WIPs sitting in a folder and it makes me feel so sad and insecure. However, I think I've gotten the hang of rendering things nicely. It isn't that hard or cumbersome, just time-consuming. I have to be careful with myself when I consider taking a piece on for completion... My body will pay dearly if I don't pace myself. Makes me sad. I just need to be positive and careful, careful, careful. I can't keep doing this to myself, I'll just up and die one day. I'm sure Dad would be heartbroken that I didn't learn a thing or listen to him.
I should call him today after going for a walk. If I don't go for a walk, it wouldn't be wise to call him... I feel like he'd chew me out for it. It makes me nervous, when I anticipate that. I know he just cares about my well-being, but I worry. What do I worry about? I realize I don't really know, but it always just feels so painful to disappoint someone again. I feel like I'll never be forgiven, and I'll never get anything right no matter how much help I get. But that mindset won't get me anywhere, now will it?
I've been getting lazy with things again. I don't know why Alexa didn't wake me up today, or sound the alarm to start writing. I stayed up far too late last night, and now my body feels like lead and crumbling soil. I've had no luck on DeviantArt so far in searching for good tutorials and re-sharing them. Too much NSFW art, and the new tagging and search system is just awful... I need to read the book dad gave me some more, but it's much harder to focus on the weekends.
I've realized that I live almost exclusively in my room. I haven't been able to make my whole house a true living space. Maybe I should just be walking around more, or walking around in general. Maybe I should start cooking meals rather than seeing food as merely a means to end - fuel for my wretched body, solely for powering more artwork. I need to care about what I'm putting in my mouth beyond that, and remember that I'm not just puppeting a machine.
It does feel like that a lot of the time, though. I want a new desk. This desk has actually been quite horrible on my back and my joints. There's hardly enough space for my tablet, and when I type, my elbows... The bones dig painfully into my flesh. I try not to notice it, but I'm constantly in pain. I'm constantly at my desk, and for the past summer, that's how it's been. I wonder how much weight I put on as a result. I'm in a lot of pain. A lot of it. I'm in so much pain, now that I bring attention to my body. I need to care about myself. It looks like a pretty morning out there. Maybe I'll try walking... Carefully. I hope that I don't fuck up my ankle worse. I slightly rolled on it again the other day, but felt no sting or stretch, just panic. The pixel portraits have been going extremely well, though. I need to pursue pixel art in general more.
Since I have almost every version of RPGMaker, I intend to use my skills to make games. That's been something I've long tried to do, but couldn't put my focus and time into it properly. It's been 4 years since I last published something. It was only a demo game, with lots of mistakes and borrowed assets, or assets I simply didn't bother to make myself, and came with the system. I've had so many ideas over the years, and plenty of drive, but it would always fall flat because I could never focus my energy or maintain faith in myself to succeed. I need to create. It kills me inside when I can never make the worlds of thought in my head come to fruition. It genuinely hurts my soul. This book I'm reading has really reminded me that creativity isn't just something human beings do, but rather an actual need. A mental faculty that keeps us alive and well, no matter how unskilled we are at it. Artist's block and everything like it... I wonder if it's anything to do with struggling with your self worth, and nobody really realizes it.
I wonder why my thoughts go into such detailed directions. When I review what I've written, just skimming it to reassure myself of its length and my progress, I realize I don't sound like myself. My thoughts are usually few and far in-between. Whimsical and fleeting in nature, like a woodland nymph. My head's a fantasy full of sad cowboys. Fictional, symbolic pain and these splintered mirrors of myself dulling my real-world aches. My lungs feel heavy upon my ribcage. My muscles all stiff.
I should really go for that walk, but I'm terribly scared of this world. I'm scared to be real. I'm scared to get a job. I might cry. Morning pages really make me think, and that's something I've long been avoiding. I need to think, I need to process, I need to act. I need to be alive, and unfragmented. I should open my blinds and let some fresh air in while it's still warm.
I almost feel like I don't know what to write, but that isn't going to stop me. I had to sign some documents this morning, and took my stomach shots for the first time. My handwriting is honestly terrible. Makes me feel like a kid. The injection wound kind of stings when I sit down, and my fingers feel weak and rather sore for some reason as I type.
I organized my computer files the other day and still feel ecstatic over how neat and clean everything is. I have a few ideas of what to do for the long weekend besides struggling to draw. Maybe I'll update my Toyhouse and make pixel art portraits of my characters to fulfill my incessant, obsessive-compulsive needs for consistency. I feel a little sluggish and sick all of a sudden. Maybe it's my medication, or the fact I haven't been drinking very much water. Maybe both.
My clothing problems appear to be nearing their end, as I have plans to purge a lot of clothes, and my mother intends to help me build a closet drawer. I'll finally be free of these stupid hampers! Thank God. I'm very tired. I have too many ideas that form at the drop of a hat. I need to slow down and think clearly and constructively. I want to collect more references and tutorials like I do on Pinterest, but so much of Pinterest is stolen and poorly-screenshotted art. I kind of hate it. So, my solution here is to share properly-sourced artwork and tutorials from DeviantArt (which, by the way, is hopelessly littered with NSFW even on the front page, no matter how many filters I use). That way, I can satisfy my obsessive-compulsive needs and actually benefit from it creatively.
The sentence above makes me feel crazy. Moving on, as I don't want to dwell on that for too long. I need to stay positive and get to work. I'm doing my best. I'm tired, but brimming with hope and energy. I've been listening to the same song on loop for what feels like 2 months now. I did the same with the Cutie Honey theme song for an entire year in 2019; hopefully I won't go that hard with どうにも止まらない. Such a good song, so catchy. I'm actually making an entire animation to one of the renditions of the song; maybe I should resume working on that again sometime. I just haven't felt like it at all, because I'm naughty. I'm an evil little man. I'm still so mad that someone took the username "werewolfcowboy" on DeviantArt. Son of a bitch, I wanted that. That's me.
I'm so restless all of a sudden. I need to work. I want to work, I want to create! It's my whole life! It's my every waking thought and action! I'm so lucky to have built up my skill as much as I have! I'm an artist! Euphoria fills my heart whenever I'm able to make something that satisfies my inner art critic. I don't even feel like talking to people very much today; I want to work and work and work and work and work and write and write and write and write! I just need to pace myself this time, and the next, so I don't get discouraged like I usually do. Ouch. My stomach really stings every now and then. At least I don't have to take those stomach shots more than once a week. Lucky me.
The second day in my life of morning pages; I've been so distracted by a conversation that I almost forgot to write an entry. I feel warm and fuzzy. I'm glad I've finally utilized the Alexa mom gifted me. It's more useful than any alarm/reminder system I've ever used. It's annoying and almost startling, and it feels more tangible and memorable than simply reading a notification on my phone. I need to take a walk today, but I'm afraid my sprain will flare up again. I keep limping on it and it's making the muscles and bones in my foot feel tender. I keep getting distracted. I'm in the middle of a drawing right now, and I'm rendering it so lovingly. I've been developing a character I've long simply never understood how to write, and it's finally began to come to me. I've accepted him into my heart. I've put myself in him, and put those I love into him also.
I've never done this before; taking inspiration from real people in my life. People I love... My father, and my best friends. I love them. But all of a sudden, I doubt that word, "love". Love has always been an action rather than a thought or a word, hasn't it? Love is a favour, a touch, and the way you look at someone or something, isn't it? I've had little contact with either person in real life. This is why I worry how true my love is.
I'm a person who simply has their heads in the clouds so much that I don't act on love. I'll think of it, but then I'll imagine it's safer, more acceptable, more "right"... To do it next time, rather than in the present moment. And that's how my entire life has passed me by. I haven't hugged or smiled at my parents, or done more than ask how their day has been. I feel so often like such a bad and careless and heartless person.
But I've never meant for it to be this way. I don't know how to be kind. I don't know what the truly kind and loving things are, in ordered lists and catalogues. Because of that, I feel inhuman, and because of that... I realize not a soul has showed me how, or done the same. You learn by example, after all. Compassion... Well, maybe it's natural. The desire to help and to heal is present in so many, sometimes even in the most brutish and ill-intentioned of bigots. Everyone wants to be good, but everyone has different ideas of what that means, as well as the criteria for goodness. In many people's books, I've been dubbed "good", but from the same people's mouths... Selfish. Ignorant. Arrogant, whatever that means. Stupid. Immature. Ugly. Lazy. Useless. So, then, what's the truth? How do I find kindness? How do I become good?
I wonder if I'll ever change for the better. I want to, but similarly to kindness, I've simply never been taught how to care for myself. It's such a pain. All these opposing forces and ideas in my life leave me so confused. Sometimes I wonder if I'll regret making this website. I have it linked in a few places, and it's a lot of personal stuff. I don't reveal all that much in my diary, I think, but my feelings are bared and splayed out like an injured bird.
Anyone could take these words and use them against me, reveal weaknesses and unsavoury facts about me to a wider, more scrutinizing audience. I wonder if people think me the most annoying creature in the world, despite this being the first time I've dared speak up.
I think that fact alone could break my heart.
I prefer this to my own handwriting. I'm faster and more relaxed this way. I live such an insane, tiresome life for someone so sedentary. I wonder if doing this will be the thing to save me, if nothing else will. I need to call dad today - so we can talk about this. I really want to know if he does morning pages too... I want to know, seeing as he himself told me the book changed his life. I want to change my life, but I keep shooting myself in the foot. I'll say I hate living, and want to die, but then I'll figuratively shoot myself in the foot rather than in the head. I'm a coward. I've always been such a coward. A scared and lost child dependent on their mother. It's... So shameful, when I think about it. I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed, and tired of it. I want to change my life. I want to change. I have to.
I've been thinking about God lately.
When I opened the book and started reading about God, I would start to think, "is God real?" and... Cry. I would always cry. Always. But thinking about God and accepting that I was crying and traumatized in such a profound way made me so emotional in a way that boosted my creativity. I realized today that keeping my bedroom window open might help with my agoraphobia, so I'll try keeping it open. I have to realize that it's okay if people see my face. It's okay if people see my face while I go on living my life. They'll mind their own business. I'm not weird, or ugly. I need to remember that. I'm not weird for being visible; I'm real. I'm just... Real. Lots of people don't know who I am, and lots of people will never acknowledge me, but but many seem to remember my face. Do I have a memorable face, then?
I recognize now that I am afraid of being acknowledged as legitimately human. It's one thing to just be a face behind a keyboard, but to be a person you can hold, hit, or simply touch? That's so unfamiliar, so genuinely terrifying to me. I'm a shut-in because I'm afraid of one day being forced to face my brokenness. Of meeting someone who likes me, and wants to truly know me. See my face, feel my skin on theirs, and so on. A true, natural love all human beings are capable of in some way.
One day, I won't be known just for the sake of being someone's dress-up doll. I'll be recognized as human, and that makes me cry. I'm crying as I type this very moment. I think it makes me cry because, well, it hurts. I almost don't want to ever achieve that humanity, yet crave it in my soul every day. It's torturous either way.
I should write letters back to my friends. It's been upwards of a year now since I've received them. I feel selfish for having left my stamps to collect dust, and I always forget my friends love me. I forget. I don't even know where I've kept their letters to me, and it makes me so sad. Everytime I open my eyes, it feels like my room is disgusting somehow. I live out of the hamper since I don't have any room for drawers, and it's still far too many clothes that I struggle terribly to fold and keep safe. Not to mention... It's kind of musky in here, and I struggle to do anything about it.
The airflow in here is just awful, and I hate keeping the vents open because it gets too cold within minutes. What do I have to do to make it stop? Wash the walls? I feel so... Nasty. Unfeminine, and kind of dysphoric, honestly. Hate this scar-ridden skin. I found more keratosis the other day - this time on my calves, of all places. It never ends. I can never win with this skin on my body. I don't break out often, and had an easy time with acne even as a teenager, but at the cost of my skin feeling like dirt (apparently). Thinking about my pallid, corpse-toned skin makes my agoraphobia worse. I look so sick and nasty.
I just want to be okay. Save me, morning pages.