I don't post journals on here much anymore, but I just wanted to vent about something a little bit.
For those of you who don't know, I attempted suicide last year, and landed myself in a mental hospital for a week. After I got out, I was on a high for a while. I survived. I had all this new family who loved me. My dad was back in my life, my sister was talking to me, and my brother was no longer living with my mom, so we could have a real relationship again. I was getting married, I visited my best friend, who I actually met 5 years ago when she commented on a fan fic of mine, and we hung out for a week. Things were okay. I finished the written version of Vigilante. I had an entire graphic novel, a book, and a children's book under my belt. But slowly, things got worse. I had to get off my medications, my sister and my brother turned on me for no reason, and my roommates forced my partner and I to leave the house we were paying for. I was suddenly faced with the fact I had been sexually abused as a child, and had to deal with the loss of the family I thought I had. I was forced to confront the reality that no one wanted me around. Not my mom, not any of my siblings, one of who refused to go to my wedding because I was getting married to (at the time) a woman (my partner just came out as trans).
But there's two things that haven't changed since I was 12 years old, and I picked up a coloring book and decided instead of coloring what someone else drew, I wanted to draw something myself, and when I decided I didn't like who the Phantom of the Opera movie ended and I wanted to re-write it. I love drawing and writing more than anything else in this world. My characters kept me warm at night, and writing notes for an idea for a new story helped when those nights when I wanted to cry myself to sleep after my mom finished tormenting me. Like I mentioned earlier, I even found my best friend, and later maid of honor, through my written works. Then I started reading Requiem Mask and Black Nostalgia and I realized I could put my art and my words together, and To Haunt a Phantom was born. When I craved more LGBT representation when I was coming in to my sexuality, I wrote Vigilante, and created these characters who I adore and I have spent so much time refining and developing.
But no one cares. I created these worlds and these people, I spend hundreds of hours drawing pages, trying to make meaningful plots and decent representation, into trying to refine my style and make my art better. But there are hundreds of thousands of artists and writers doing the same thing, and we can't all be noticed and be able to make a living doing the thing we love. I hate that art is something I love to do so much, but I'm not really all that good at it. And I can't force people into enjoying the things I create. But it's so disheartening that the one thing I thought I had going for me, turned out to be a bust. I want to be able to grow and improve as an artist, but when I step back from something I've created nowadays, I just feel disdain for the thing I created, knowing there's someone out there who can do it better, and when I share it with the world, no one is going to notice it, no one is going to care. I wish I was one of those people who was okay creating content no one would see, but the fact is, I'm human, and I desire some sort of positive gratification for the things I create. Every single artist is like this. I want to be able to make something people enjoy consuming, but I can't, and it hurts a lot.
It's been harder and harder for me to keep finding reasons to keep going, especially when the things that used to make me happy just cause me more pain.
I don't know what to do anymore.
I just wish I didn't feel like this anymore.
I just want to stop existing.
(And I know my mom likes to snoop on my social media accounts because she doesn't know how to have a life outside of people who don't care about her anymore. So Lauren, if you're reading this: fuck off. Go get a job or something and get a fucking life)