It's been rough lately, not gonna lie to you. The past few days, I've spent about 12-20 hours a day in bed, usually just sleeping. When I try to get out of bed, I usually only stay happy for a few hours before I return to the comfort of being not-awake. Which is only slightly better than being awake, due to chronic nightmares.
Worst of all, though... it's severely impacted the urge to create. But not in the way you might think. In fact, my urge to create is so strong. Like a desperation, almost? Like I need to do something, anything, worthwhile to escape feeling so useless and pathetic all day.
And so I try! I sit down and try to draw. Sometimes I get a few unsatisfying sketches in, and sometimes I only get through the process of setting up before I'm already packing it back away. Why? Why is something that's brought me so much joy in my life also such a great source of pain for me?
I know the answer. It's not uncommon for people to attatch self worth to their ability for creation. Unfortunately, it's been the only thing I have been praised for during most of my life. If not still, actually. It's something I'm good at. Or... better at than your average person. Which, let me be clear, shouldn't matter. Fuck being good at something. You should create because it's human nature to do so. Regardless of skill levels. And yet...
It's so deeply rooted in me that my only value on this Earth is my art. What I bring to the table in general, actually. I'm only as good as what I can do for others. FUCK! Even my whole manifesto of my portfolio site is hoping to bring others joy. And there's nothing wrong with that, except that's all I care about. I so badly care about my value and worth as a human on this Earth. About my worthiness of taking up metaphorical and physical space.
Drawing isn't fun for me on the daily basis. In fact, it's very rarely fun at all. Every once in a while, I'll get a small spark of joy when I get something just right. But it's always attatched to how it looks, how it's recieved, how I feel about the piece. And that's dogshit! It's everything I'm against! I hate it being this way!
I don't know how to heal my inner artist. I don't know how to tell little me, who used to rip up and throw away his drawings that didn't turn out good, that creating isn't about what others think. I don't know how to unlearn the idea that the only thing I'm worth is what I bring to the table. I don't know how to disconnect from these ideals forced into me.
Man. I swear this was, like all my blog posts, supposed to be more positive. And here we are instead. I don't have the solutions to this one. I don't know where to even start. This healing seems so unachievable I genuinely just want to stop creating all together some days. I hate showing off my art in spaces I can get feedback. I'm terrified of trying out new areas of my art, in fear of failure. I'm so scared and sad and angry when I create. It's such a passion of mine that brings me so so so much grief.