I've decided... After a long long time of fumbling stumbling and pawing my way through the darkness brought on by my worsening condition and mental illnesses and afflictions. That perhaps I'm not good enough, that even if I continuously doodled scribbled my hands to the bone, and ended up 90 years of age I'd still be the same idiot trying to improve yet getting no where... Maybe it's the manic depressant bipolar disorder speaking but I think I'm going to set the pen down, bury my artwork in a box somewhere in the attic and continue being that awkward human that can't even formulate simple conversations face to face...

As sad as I feel, things just seem to not pan out for me. I can't hold a job (which is borderline ludicrous as I put 120% into work but due to lack of persuasion or being "popular" for lack of a better term I always end up in the same position at any job i end up in, I mean why pay someone more for a position if they go out of their way to do that job anyways getting paid the same? My social skills are a joke, but not the witty fun hilarious kind, the kind of joke that's worse then a pun not even worth the breath to muster a Ha. So getting things that would further my.. Hobby is just going to always be out of my reach. There was a point in time where I actually thought maybe I could make money with my art... Hell my friends seem to think so, well say so but I can't seem to get past the idea I'm being used for car rides or help with manual labor when needed.

Also being borderline schizophrenic isn't helping the idea that everyone is being 100% truthful as I try to be, even if I lie to myself saying "well I'll get better someday." Or "maybe I'll get enough courage to speak with that cute girl." Always ending in with the voice of poison breathing doubt into my head spilling sweet nothings into my mindscape such as "your worthless, 28 years old, no job, still crashing at your parents, and just a goddamn waste of atoms and molecules." Or "she's going to think your a creep, why bother with the humiliation? Your just going to get laughed at, or eventually used like the tool you are." And this is just the tip of the ever growing iceberg. The deeper darker thoughts from these voices I'll keep to myself.

My therapist and or psychologist say that my issues will get worse with time, so I have that to look forward too if I live that long. Honestly it seems to feel as if I'm doomed to spend my life as a hermit, scatterbrained on the outskirts of the fandom and real life to a point where reality is blurred sleeping disorders are abundant and the only solace is feel is sitting alone in my room with nothing but my mind.

I'm writing this not as a cry for help, but for who ever (if anyone at all) had kept up with my art or acknowledged that It and or I existed.

That being said, I'm going to bed or rather, I'm going to lay awake in bed. I'm most likely going to either keep all my art on here or bury it on a disk and toss it in the card bored box I'm going to shove to the back of the attic. I've not decided yet, however the pen is down, possibly for good.

~Asylum