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2 years ago
I am not well.
I have been sick for months, if not years, and it took an insane circumstance for me to realize the full extent of my situation. The events of losing my grandmother, and more recently our family dog, have brought up feelings on me that I was convinced I had left behind. Or more accurately buried so deep under a numb state of mind that I stood in a denial of their own existence. I have come to realize things about myself that have affected both my mental and physical health to a great extent, and over the course of processing the grief and the sudden realization of a sudden shift in my life things got much worse.
I've started taking heavy medication again. It's been over two years of being clean and I just never imagined I would fall back into the point of needing it again. The side-effects take a hard toe on me, and it's a long painful process to manage together with my emotions. More than the 'getting used to' the medicine, the whole process of having to go to doctors, change therapists, change dosages, diets and routines is heavy and uncertain. Days go by without me even realizing. Without me feeling I'm making any progress. Quite often it feels hopeless and useless.
For all the people I owe art too, my patreons, and overall all people directly involved with the work I have spat out so far, I'm sorry. I failed you. I have tried to live this illusion of admiration that you guys had over me, of a person who was kind, caring, dedicated and applied, over my so called qualities as a both person and creator, but the truth is I don't feel like an artist anymore. More than the impostor syndrome I keep nurturing this feeling that I wasn't meant to be a creative. I lost passion not just for art, but everything else entirely a long time ago, and at this point I'm not even sure I ever felt that passion in the first place, even at the very beginning of my art journey and my life. This feeling of being a husk, just devoid of feeling anything other than this dread and tiredness is unbearable at times and prevents me from functioning altogether, and nothing comes out after I stare for hours long at a blank canvas. I just cannot see an escape from this situation, and the process of trying just makes it even worse somehow.
In a way I've tried to make things get back to normal, or at least to an acceptable level of normal. A state where I could at least think more clearly to rationalize the things I was feeling and fight them off, but as much as I tried, even acting as if nothing had happened, interacting with people who I thought I'd close with, making jokes, playing games, browsing twitter, It just doesn't feel enough. I've drifted away and I don't have the strength to swim back. I can't bring myself to talk to anyone anymore. I loathed writing this for a while, hoping that I could at least be in a better state to choose the right words, but I don't think any amount of words I write could ever make anything well again. I keep thinking when I'll come back, I make compromises with myself, but more often than I'd like to admit I just feel more and more all this will come to a conclusion. Sometimes I'm not sure I'll ever be able come back.
I'm tired. I'm so tired.
I have been sick for months, if not years, and it took an insane circumstance for me to realize the full extent of my situation. The events of losing my grandmother, and more recently our family dog, have brought up feelings on me that I was convinced I had left behind. Or more accurately buried so deep under a numb state of mind that I stood in a denial of their own existence. I have come to realize things about myself that have affected both my mental and physical health to a great extent, and over the course of processing the grief and the sudden realization of a sudden shift in my life things got much worse.
I've started taking heavy medication again. It's been over two years of being clean and I just never imagined I would fall back into the point of needing it again. The side-effects take a hard toe on me, and it's a long painful process to manage together with my emotions. More than the 'getting used to' the medicine, the whole process of having to go to doctors, change therapists, change dosages, diets and routines is heavy and uncertain. Days go by without me even realizing. Without me feeling I'm making any progress. Quite often it feels hopeless and useless.
For all the people I owe art too, my patreons, and overall all people directly involved with the work I have spat out so far, I'm sorry. I failed you. I have tried to live this illusion of admiration that you guys had over me, of a person who was kind, caring, dedicated and applied, over my so called qualities as a both person and creator, but the truth is I don't feel like an artist anymore. More than the impostor syndrome I keep nurturing this feeling that I wasn't meant to be a creative. I lost passion not just for art, but everything else entirely a long time ago, and at this point I'm not even sure I ever felt that passion in the first place, even at the very beginning of my art journey and my life. This feeling of being a husk, just devoid of feeling anything other than this dread and tiredness is unbearable at times and prevents me from functioning altogether, and nothing comes out after I stare for hours long at a blank canvas. I just cannot see an escape from this situation, and the process of trying just makes it even worse somehow.
In a way I've tried to make things get back to normal, or at least to an acceptable level of normal. A state where I could at least think more clearly to rationalize the things I was feeling and fight them off, but as much as I tried, even acting as if nothing had happened, interacting with people who I thought I'd close with, making jokes, playing games, browsing twitter, It just doesn't feel enough. I've drifted away and I don't have the strength to swim back. I can't bring myself to talk to anyone anymore. I loathed writing this for a while, hoping that I could at least be in a better state to choose the right words, but I don't think any amount of words I write could ever make anything well again. I keep thinking when I'll come back, I make compromises with myself, but more often than I'd like to admit I just feel more and more all this will come to a conclusion. Sometimes I'm not sure I'll ever be able come back.
I'm tired. I'm so tired.
That sounds like depression. Sorry I haven't been around much lately. I hope you can find something that helps.
