a little vent since i have thoughts that i can’t express anywhere because nobody will listen or rather everyone seems to just tell me i’m being silly or overemotional. I can’t write anymore.

I can’t write. I am a person who doesn’t love writing but I don’t hate it. Writing is writing and I have to do it. I have to write. And I can’t. Not the way I want to. I can’t write original stories. I can’t write what I want to anymore. I can write fanfic so quickly and effortlessly but when it comes to myself it’s like trying to draw water from an empty well. it’s nothing. Or worse it’s sludge and toxic. It’s not usable. It’s nonsense. I feel broken. I spent so much to get a career in a field telling stories and now it’s like every time I go to write things it’s not working. It’s not. I have nothing inside me anymore as i write a million words in fanfic effortlessly.

I want to write. I need to write. I have to create or what was the point of getting so burried in debt that i found myself in this whole from which I cannot escape. I just... I want to stop being consumed by this feeling of inability. I want to create but every time it’s like “what characters? What story? Can you make anything that isn’t fanfiction? Can you actually write without that crutch?”

“Can you actually make anything your own?”

And it’s this mocking and incessant voice laughing and taunting in the distance telling me look you can write you just have nothing inside you. You have no stories in you that are your own. You’re just a mouth swallowing and spitting up what you’ve already heard a hundred times before and you’re always just going to be this pathetic mouthpiece for things you didn’t even make. That any success in praise is praise for an author that already gave them a bias towards those characters in that fic you are reading.

You’re just playing with dolls that somebody else made in a sandbox someone else designed and like always you’re playing alone because nobody wants to be there to hear it. And then I try to explain and get told I’m silly. That it’s art block. That I’m just in need of inspiration.

That I just need out of my depression. Out of my lifelong unceasing depression. That I just need to live.

And nobody seems to listen. They all say art takes time. They all say art is a progress a progression...

But I don’t have that luxury. Time isn’t going to make it easier to pay my bills, Time doesn’t make my depression better. Time isn’t going to save me or help. TIme hasn’t healed me or my woods. With time I have festered and rotted. Time has dug out everything that made me feel okay and replaced it with anxiety and fear.

I am not okay.

I cannot write. It doesn’t matter how good playing in the sand looks. It’s doesn’t matter what people say about what they read on ao3 it’s not real writing. Not the real I want. I want to create but even when I have the means it’s just nothing. Even when there’s every reason it’s nothing.

I want it back. I want my art back. I want the only thing that made me a person worth knowing back. I want the thing that made me a person back. I just want a reason and art is my only reason and if I can’t make art then why did i choose this path at all? Why am I pretending that I can succeed? Why am I pretending I have a reason to live?

I don’t know what fun is. I don’t know how to be a happy person. I don’t know how to be anything anymore and everyone just tells me:

‘you’ll get over it.’

‘you’re imagining it’

‘you’re fics are so good tho’

‘i love your art! your art is so great’

‘you’re plenty fun’

and just.... i’m so tired and nobody understands.

I’m so tired and I just want to go home and I don’t even know where home is anymore. I'm lost just like I always end up being and I just wanna go home