Welcome to November.

I spent a lot of time recently just trying to realign my artist self.
I honestly do not know why I even call myself an artist anymore.
Real talk, I don't fucking do anything. It had been so long since I made anything that when we get together on art days I will start something but I can't seem to execute.

I spent the last hour going through old drawings and stuff I've made and I looked at it and just felt embarrassed by it all. I'm sitting here at an art club, that I put together, with artists that just /have/ it.
I was looking through my old stuff to kind of re-affirm that I had it too. Trying to prove my lying brain that I am worthy. Or that I am of some kind of something...

I fucking don't. I have nothing. I cringed at my old drawings, thinking I had made something of note. I felt shame, and even just wanted to outright delete everything from my RedBubble.

Why did I believe people when they said I was talented?
Were they just being nice? Why would people just lie like that?
Why did I buy into the idea that I could make something of value?

I've been thinking about it a lot because Tucson Con just passed and my girl friend said she had a hard time, much like I did. What was bugging me was that her artwork is a lot better than mine. Which got me thinking about things. I just confirmed with myself that I just can't cut it anymore. I don't have what it takes.
I foolishly tried to do con for 4 years. And barely scraped by each time. I invested so much in myself only to hardly get by.

It's a reoccurring theme in my life. I think I'm cool, and I do the things and it turns out that I'm not, and I'm just a piece of shit.

I sit here today, certain of that fact. Facing it isn't as hard as I thought. Because deep down I knew I was just pretending that I could be something. Going through the motions, just doing the things I thought were "good" for me.

I really just want to disappear, as if to just reinvent myself or be someone completely different.

I also thought that today could be the day I work on finding myself through art.
Why don't I just create stuff in hopes that I find my voice?
Why not work on stuff that does make me feel good?
But then I remind myself I've been already doing that and it's not gotten me anything.
It's been a charade. Smoke and mirrors the whole time.

Maybe it's just a bout with artistic depression. Maybe it's just a combination of that and actual depression. Maybe it's reality finally kicking in and I'm able to comprehend it.

Either way I feel like garbage and I can't fight against myself because I have no actual ammunition.
The shit is very honest, and real. I can't argue with it.