This is my secret identity.


Do you know that feeling you get when you feel inspiration wash over you, to the point where you feel like you could finish that huge project you've had brewing in the back of your mind for years? The feeling you could get all your little projects done in no time, give it a week or two and you'll be ready to tackle the big beast slumbering behind your dreams?

I kept getting that in tiny doses, once in a while, for short periods of time. Lately, it's been a never-ending dopamine scramble to pull out my sketchbook, let alone open it to a blank page. Pencil to paper? It's herculean.

Inspiration is perspiration, I know that. Then why is it so hard to get silly scribbles and loose drawings out, let alone even slap together something presentable?

I can look deep, deep inside myself for those answers. All I get are questions. "Why am I not good enough?" "How come I'm so bad at this?" "Where do they get their inspiration?" "Why am I so uncreative?" The Ego eats me alive to figure out why I don't measure up to these other artists.

But then reasoning works in. These artists started out like I did at some point. I feel comforted and strengthened by that fact. But then I look up at the thousands upon thousands of drawings I need to do. So daunting and monstrous in massiveness I can barely fathom it.

I'm frozen, feeling driven to get things done, then the skids come to a dead stop at the realization that I'm a monkey with a crayon claiming to be more.

Circling my room staring at my life of shopping at art stores, going to expos, learning things from my Mom, letting my entire world focus on these things, but I feel as if I'm not ready to go all the way. I was in deep in high school, so why can't I work as hard now? I must have pulled away slowly, without realizing it?

It's a cycle of doubt and frustration, and every time you feel like you're out of one problem you start to realize...you're back where you started. The fresh air doesn't clear your thoughts, the tea doesn't silence the doubts, talking with friends only makes you feel more useless than before.

What do I do? I put my entire life into this.

And all I can think is "Why?"

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I just typed all of this as the thoughts ran through my head.

Don't look into it, I just...need to vent.

Sorry for being infinitely dead lately. I hope I can pull through.