There’s a lot of thoughts and feelings, and it gets confusing.
I have all these ambitions and goals I want to make/reach, and yet when the opportunities/clearances appear, I falter.
Every single time.
It sucks. Not enough.
Abandoning myself and my ideals for the sake of inclusion under the guise of having an identity worth noting is a bit egocentric. My mom called me that a couple of years ago and it’s stuck. Not only because I’m not sure of her context, but questioning it for myself more and more these days.
In March, I had an exhibition I was really excited about and didn’t prepare enough for. So many notes, so many ideas, so little action. Others see the efforts and praise me, while also questioning my own capabilities as an artist, as well as a person. Making horrible decisions has been on brand for me for a very long time. I got to a place where I can feel the consequences and pain in choosing things I don’t want, or know not to do altogether while still fucking around and finding out.
It is repulsive. Not enough.
I put a lot of weight into what I could accomplish. Talking down on things I’d want to join and participate in, all to falter and hide away.
It is cowardly. Not enough.
The folly comes at costs and prices that have gone beyond me. They surpass me in ways. Those things are not me, yet I have comprised a life and identity from it. I have made that something so on brand, so encouraged, that it became what singled me out.
Being a bitch with no boundaries is a crazy combination. Being someone with a mouth that writes things that would not clear as fully is an insane adjective.
There is a lot of fodder, and fading into the background with avoidance is not something I am necessarily content with either. It is settling. It is claiming a sense of humble superiority of being so out the way, so out of touch, that I can shut out things that actually make me light up inside. Things I shit on, because any amount of success feels like bullshit. It is as if I do not deserve it, because waking up everyday is a karma closer to death. That is the only certain thing.
Everything else is up in the air. Missing deadlines, folding, neglecting. It has become normal for me, but hey at least I’m getting out of bed and trying in the little ways. I am unsure on how to present myself, or if my thoughts are worth merit in conversation. I recluse into myself and fortify shrouding. The little things bubble, and then I will go away to cry. It is embarrassing enough to feel a lot in one moment.
Everything is embarrassing.
I think I lie to myself about having my mentality together, or the way I truly carry myself. I believe that I am unnerving. An insane contradiction of a hypocrite that has done all this in the sake of…what?
I am told that I am hard on myself, and to that I can agree. I would like to be softer, kinder, and gentler to myself. It is easy to reflect that with others when I am secure with myself. The issue lies in the attachments and habits.
Advocacy was something that I truly believed I wanted to do, and I thought doing that alongside art was the way. I thought creating a shop was the way. Creating brand identities, illustrations, logos. I struggle to finish at the pace of my own deadlines. My personal body of work is underdeveloped, and so is my character. I put myself in spaces where I am shown time and time again how others view/perceive me. Gifting redemption for the sake of companionship has been a downfall for a long time. Getting to place of being porous, to self isolating has taken some getting used to. Opening up again has me looking to the same old mistakes as if I am bound to repeat them.
Again and again, this reflects a version of myself that I either cannot grasp, or am afraid of. Maybe, suppressing my authentic self through everything has not been the best solution. I am not entirely sure what comes after that.
I have not been the proactive go getter of my own life. More so woe is me, wallowing, undermining, hiding, lying.
Where do we go from here?
