I want to start a creative project. No, actually, I want to FINISH a creative project. I have so many in my head, but nothing ever gets off the ground because I have the attention span of a small child.
Technically, I'm working on what I hope to be a graphic novel, or a mediocre webcomic with a modest following. The last time I spent any significant time on it was at an airport in Utah two months ago. I made a lot of headway on it and was really enjoying the story line. I think I treat myself to creative stuff. When I know I can relax, I'll start taking and editing pictures or writing bad poems and decent short stories. I've beat it in my head that all my creative stuff is a hobby and that's it. It won't feed my travelling addiction or keep me in the latest bookstore. Right now, I'm thinking about all the class work I need to get done, but instead of doing any of it, I'm sitting in my room procrastinating like hell on the internet because I don't want to lead a group project.
God. How much time have I wasted procrastinating on the internet when I could be procrastinating on something I love to do?
Meh. I blame everything on being terrified of indulging myself and having a near manic desire to fit in. I lose myself in the things I like: sex, work, talking to people, people, writing, whatever. It scares me because I lose control, but I also like that I lose control in those things. When I'm in that head space nothing else matters, but it scares me because I can't control it, but... well, you get the picture. I don't know why I do that. Maybe I'm holding myself up to other people's standards? I mean getting good grades means nothing to me right now, but I still have this strange notion that I can't do badly this semester (or I can't do badly on this assignment, etc.). It's the same thing with careers. I feel like I should be going into one of those "successful" careers of the last post, even though I'm also fighting against it. Whatever it is, I still have a tendency to deny myself the things that I want most (cue memories of Lilly).
The raging desire to fit in is one of those stupid ticks I got growing up. There came a time when I started to feel distinctly different from my family. I was too young for my siblings, too old and far away from my cousins, and I saw my nieces and nephews infrequently. Shy in elementary. Awkward and occasionally picked on in middle school. By high school, I pretty much lost all interest in my peers. I made a lot of friends though and we all bonded over music, art, our interest in sex, and our mutual awkwardness. But I was always much more interested in talking to my teachers, even though it made me feel a bit awkward (which is all still true now). It didn't help that the adults in my life all treated me like some golden child the whole way through. They loved putting me in front of crowds, make me lead things, or give speeches. This made the closest of my friends jealous of me and everyone else put me on a small pedestal.
Needless to say (but I'm going to anyway), I hated it. Stuff like that still makes me a bit uncomfortable (when my prof looks at me to speak up in class, when my manager gives me the keys to something because I'm "responsible and can handle it", commanding the attention of a room, leading anything), but I still end up being in those positions. I'm the kind of person who thrives on love and affection. It kills me to have people put me at a distance or set me apart. I hid my past from a lot of the friends I have now and I still get pointed out as "intelligent". All that being lonely stuff is probably what led me to the depression. Oh and I'm also really distrustful of people when they tell me I'm good at something.
Blurg. See, if I wasn't fucked up enough to actually finish something, I'd be just fucked up enough to be an awesome artist. Ciao loves.
---Rogue
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