I would love to be an artist but I am not creative.
And I mean it very, very seriously.
Since I was little I expressed keen interest in ‘the arts’. I loved to draw and paint and sing and write and in general do all things creative, including thinking up the best way to climb a tree, or a building even. And I considered myself good at it. I considered myself good at everything, great perhaps! And I didn’t need or care for someone to confirm or tell me otherwise.
And then something happened. Life happened. Comparison happened. Or fuck knows what happened.
I would say I blame the internet but I think it started earlier. Or at least the problem is more deep rooted than just feeling less talented than Samantha from San Francisco or Gemma from Norwich.
At some point in my life a very poisonous and destructive thought process started and has been majorly affecting the quality in every field of my until then wonderful life. The process, according to which, not being the absolute best means you’re a helpless loser and a piece of shit, basically just a waste of space.
This process, however, does not motivate you to take action. Because you’re not good enough anyway. No point trying if you’re going fail. No point trying if you’re not any good and you’re just gonna waste your time and everyone is gonna laugh. Why bother?!
The process is a cheeky little cunt too. Because while it tells you how worthless and useless you are it also tells you how much better you are than many, maaaaaaaaany others. That you were made for great things. That you have all this hidden potential, so many talents, and are all round amazing. But because you’re not good enough you’re never going to fulfil your destiny of magnificence and fame. Of champagne, diamonds, fur coats and chihuahuas in designer bags.
So here I am. 31 years of age and I have no idea who I am, what I want, what I am good at and what I absolutely suck at. I do not know how to proceed, which way to move, how to move even. Just what to fucking do?!
Who put this mechanism into my retarded mind? The evil voice that constantly tells that you’re just not good enough. Or at least not as good as others. You’re kinda better than some others, but those are the ones you wouldn’t want to compare yourself with to start with anyway. You don’t want to compare to the worse! Weighing 95kg is totally fine when compared to someone morbidly obese, but I want to be a model! Or at least look like one. 45kg and 1.80m. Doable, no?
After about 8 months of theoretical unemployment I was supposed to find what I like, what I don’t like and what I want. I have found fuck all. The more I dig, the deeper the hole, but there’s no treasure at the bottom. Not even the sad, stinky corpses of my goals and ambitions. My dignity isn’t there either.
So yea… I would love to be an artist of some sort. Or do something where I am surrounded by beautiful objects, people, literature, music, ideas. But it isn’t easy to make something out of nothing.
Nothing being me, something being the life purpose I have not yet found.
This is an older note I wrote some time this spring. This is precisely what I am trying to fight in myself, what I am working on, what has been bothering me and affecting my quality of life.
Yes, you can probably tell I am not in the best mood today. I sprained my ankle 2 days before the holiday of my dreams. Life is full of surprises, let’s see what comes out of this one.