Draconian Alone
Member
- Jul 20, 2024
- 51
And it felt so sudden too. It felt like one day, a particularly stressful day too, it was just snatched from me and I haven't been able to get it back.
It would feel better if I had one of them. But now both my ability to draw and to write have been seemingly wiped away. It's like when I get to a google doc or a blank page, it's like there's some sort of mental block. Like one night I was hypnotized in my sleep to just not do it. It would also feel better if at least I could hate creativity, that I quit out of my own free will rather than just being dropped outside to fend for myself. But that wasn't the case. And so every time I read a good book, or a good comic, or even just look at a nice piece of art, I can't help but feel deep rooted mix of envy, guilt, regret, shame, and resentment.
My habit for writing was already very weak and my desire to draw was often harried by the frustration of no recognition or appreciation. My art and writing aren't even that good. When I had a social media account, nobody cared for what I made. Nobody said anything to me. I was speaking into thin air. And yet, creating was mine. It was ugly, it was amateur, it was annoying, but it was mine.
I'll be brutally honest with myself, there's nothing else for me. My family will never truly love me, because deep down their instincts won't allow it for someone like me, even if they don't realize it. My nonexistent social life is a constant spiral of the others rejecting me, and thus me rejecting the others in turn, that there is nothing left for me in that avenue, I am an utter pariah and inhuman to my peers. They'd never admit it though, the hand they had in it, the vilest of their words they keep locked in their head, because revealing it would not be fit for polite society. Damn them all. Everybody tries to delude me into thinking I am smart, despite struggling with everything, nobody sees it. Everybody thinks I'm crazy. My social anxiety has gotten so bad that I avoid going out in public as much as possible, because the sight of someone having the gifts of life that I don't drives me nearly to the point of tears. Kinship, friendship, relationships have all become a tired fairy tale to me. The only tangible thing of that sort for me is dignity, and even then, I laying awake losing sleep fearing that I am about to lose even that.
And an even worse thing about it is that the creativity is still there, but being blocked from coming to my fingers, like a flood just being held back by a dam. I still think about my stories. Every day. But now I'm a thinker, not a doer.
It even comes back in small doses, in small unsatisfactory ways. I'm in a discord roleplay group, and I write in that way. Because the picrews didn't have the options that I needed for my characters, I actually got up and drew them on my tablet. But that was months ago. And I often feel frustrated with my fellow role players because god, sometimes, if you want something done right you've got to do it yourself. And sometimes that something is making a functional story.
Hell, I guess this could count as writing right now. But I don't think it counts.
It would feel better if I had one of them. But now both my ability to draw and to write have been seemingly wiped away. It's like when I get to a google doc or a blank page, it's like there's some sort of mental block. Like one night I was hypnotized in my sleep to just not do it. It would also feel better if at least I could hate creativity, that I quit out of my own free will rather than just being dropped outside to fend for myself. But that wasn't the case. And so every time I read a good book, or a good comic, or even just look at a nice piece of art, I can't help but feel deep rooted mix of envy, guilt, regret, shame, and resentment.
My habit for writing was already very weak and my desire to draw was often harried by the frustration of no recognition or appreciation. My art and writing aren't even that good. When I had a social media account, nobody cared for what I made. Nobody said anything to me. I was speaking into thin air. And yet, creating was mine. It was ugly, it was amateur, it was annoying, but it was mine.
I'll be brutally honest with myself, there's nothing else for me. My family will never truly love me, because deep down their instincts won't allow it for someone like me, even if they don't realize it. My nonexistent social life is a constant spiral of the others rejecting me, and thus me rejecting the others in turn, that there is nothing left for me in that avenue, I am an utter pariah and inhuman to my peers. They'd never admit it though, the hand they had in it, the vilest of their words they keep locked in their head, because revealing it would not be fit for polite society. Damn them all. Everybody tries to delude me into thinking I am smart, despite struggling with everything, nobody sees it. Everybody thinks I'm crazy. My social anxiety has gotten so bad that I avoid going out in public as much as possible, because the sight of someone having the gifts of life that I don't drives me nearly to the point of tears. Kinship, friendship, relationships have all become a tired fairy tale to me. The only tangible thing of that sort for me is dignity, and even then, I laying awake losing sleep fearing that I am about to lose even that.
And an even worse thing about it is that the creativity is still there, but being blocked from coming to my fingers, like a flood just being held back by a dam. I still think about my stories. Every day. But now I'm a thinker, not a doer.
It even comes back in small doses, in small unsatisfactory ways. I'm in a discord roleplay group, and I write in that way. Because the picrews didn't have the options that I needed for my characters, I actually got up and drew them on my tablet. But that was months ago. And I often feel frustrated with my fellow role players because god, sometimes, if you want something done right you've got to do it yourself. And sometimes that something is making a functional story.
Hell, I guess this could count as writing right now. But I don't think it counts.
