it feels just like secondary 2 all over again
suicidal
except i don't feel like killing myself this time- inside of me is already dead.
there is no fire, there is no passion. i let it slip away
i feel so demoralized after discovering amazing people, at the same time i feel so disappointed in myself when i look at myself and what i've achieved.
nothing.
i haven't achieved anything.
there's nothing i've done that i would put on the shelf after i've died, there's nothing worth remembering after i die.
i have to do something soon
short, heavy steps.
*****
i want to be an artist and i hate myself for how i buried the artist part of me down under
*****
it's the quiet dead of night when my depressed self emerges and feelings takes a toll on me and i want to paint but there's a physical block/
my mind is overwhelming, my hands have lost their touch
and i blame myself for that
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