When you're a creative person, no matter what it is you do (drawing, painting, writing, sculpting, sewing, etc etc) you will have "I suck" moments. These may at times be countered by "I'm so cool" moments. The "I suck" moments however, are much more dramatic. There are some talented people out there and they do what they do, and they don't give a shit what anyone thinks of it. Coincidentally, those are usually the people who are the best at what they do and without even caring, they have a million people showering them with praise and compliments. And then there's people like me... who feed off of the reactions of the spectators. See, I care too much what people think about my art. And about my singing. And about all of my other little creative endeavors. In fact, it's this very thing that causes me to fall short on my road to improvement. If someone doesn't REALLY like something I've done, it kills my confidence. A little snowball of "I must not really be good at this" causes an avalanche of "Well, I must be a shitty person who no one likes". I could trace my past to all the things that I think bred this awful insecurity in me, but what good would it do? I can't take any of it back.
I feel like I'm waist deep in mud. Just like it would feel to try and walk or move waist deep in mud, is how I feel about where my talent is at this point. I try SO hard to be good at my art and singing only to find after all the effort, I've barely moved an inch. Is this it? Can I really not get any better? And why do I have to care so much what other people think? Were I able to stop, would I finally get really good? It's so frustrating to think about it actually makes me tear up and feel a sort of rage in the pit of my stomach.
I'm so fucking sick of handing over my confidence to other people. What I mean by that is.. I let what people say about my singing or my drawings determine how I feel about myself in those respects. If someone doesn't react just the way I was hoping, I hate myself and have an "I suck" moment. It's stunting my ability to get any better. My muse packs her bags and splits. My imagination slumps. Maybe I'm really not even as good as I thought I was.. and no one has had the balls to just tell me to give up. Like when a 5 year old draws an ugly squiggle and everyone tells them how great it is. Have I been lied to by the few people who DO like my art and singing?
When I ask myself the question "Why don't you just stop then? Stop drawing and painting and singing and everything else" the answer is clear. I can't. It's what I love to do. I MUST do it. But rather than enjoying it as I should, it just stresses me out. Because I know in the end I'm not "that" good. And god fucking damn it, I want to be good! I want people to like it!
Plan A. I have to stop caring so much what other people think. It's a catalyst for feeling like a failure every time. No one ever reacts the way I want them to. No one ever likes what I do as much as I wish they would. Not even Karl. I'm in this one alone. Step 2 to Plan A, I have to quit spreading myself so thin. I need to really concentrate on the art, or the singing, or one of the million things I try to get good at. Only then will the "jack of all trades, master of none" cycle end.
You know, I thought self esteem issues were bad when I was a kid and teenager.. but they were nothing then compared to how they get when you're an adult. When it's not ok to be a basket case anymore. You have to fake it. Act like everything is fine. That's the adult thing to do. It goes from being kewl to be emotional to being even kewler if you can bottle it up and hide it from everyone. Putting up a tough front and acting like you prefer to avoid confrontation or talking about your past makes you mysterious. The way I see it, I have a problem I'm about fed up with now, and I can't help but think never having anyone to talk to about it except for a fucking blog on the internet isn't going to fix anything, or even begin to help it heal.
These days, it's like I have a big growth. Right in the middle of my body. It's heavy, painful, uncomfortable, embarrassing, and I can't find a cure. I have to carry it around, hoping others won't notice it while trying to function as a normal person and ignore it... or hide it. Just when I forget it's there, it flares up. I wouldn't say it causes suicidal thoughts.. but rather a wish that I didn't exist. I really resent people sometimes who grew up well. It's not fair what I had to go through. I survived, but at what cost? Pieces of my sanity were ripped from my soul and thrown in the trash. I'll never get them back.
Well, now that I've gotten that off my chest I feel a bit better. Upon analyzing what I've written already, I guess it's pretty obvious I'm depressed right now. I imagine I have been for a while. Nothing to do but see if it passes.
