The things that I take on
I soon shrug off
’cause I know no one
Will ever be content
With the way things are
Or with what they’ve got
So I’ve given up and now I’m just indifferent
So, I’ve reached that point.
I have a sketch that I started on the day before Christmas Eve. Today, I stared at my closed sketchbook for five minutes going over the merits of actually making myself pick it up and finish it. And I couldn’t bring myself to care at all about it. Instead, I left it on my shelf and went back to reading fanfic and not feeling much of anything.
Am I sad?
I just don’t care.
It is so much easier to just sit here and do nothing. There is no risk of being told that I’m not experienced enough. There is no risk of me being dismissed as some ignorant thing if I stay in my room and keep to myself. Hell, it’s hard enough to write a goddamn post about this because I know—I know—that someone will read this and call me lazy. Call me a coward. Think I’m weak.
I am weak.
I know I am.
Strong people aren’t this hard on themselves. Strong people don’t feel such intense self-loathing. Strong people don’t sit in apathy and feel comfortable in it.
Today, in therapy (yes, I am getting help), I talked my way through where I felt I’d taken a wrong turn in life. In high school, I took creative writing classes and I loved them. I also wanted to do something with fine art, and my advisors all told me that graphic design would be my best bet to avoid being a sterotypical starving artist. This wasn’t said to me quite as explicitly as that, but… Being told that there is almost no market for illustrators put the kibosh on that kind of thinking. And everyone was telling me that graphic design was close to the same.
God, how I wish I’d taken that other turn in life. Gone left instead. Creative writing and novel writing… Perhaps the same thing would have happened. Perhaps I’d grow to feel drained and lifeless at the idea of continuing down that path like I have with my current path.
But maybe they wouldn’t have…
As it stands, there is no use in thinking of the “what ifs” and “if onlys.” It’s a fruitless exercise that just makes me feel lost and useless.
That’s not true. I was already thinking “what the fuck is the point” before the “if onlys” started. And “what the fuck is the point” has shifted quite easily into that dangerous state of mind. Apathy. The “who the fuck cares” point.
You’ll see me laugh, make jokes on Facebook and Tumblr… But it’s like being tickled. I can’t help but react. The reality is that the feeling fades very quickly and I’ve had lots and lots of practice at hiding how I really feel.
All this probably sounds a bit on the scary side of things (what with how such strong apathy is that dangerous precusor to acting on suicidal thoughts), but I need to write it out. Or put it out there. If anything, just to explain why I haven’t been around lately.