Here I sit again, not understanding why I have to write. There is nothing for me to say. I do not have an "unique" perspective. Sure, I've been through some shit, but so have many other. My pain is not a valuable and uncommon experience, nor am I able to eloquently convey my internal state. I am a hack who pretends to be an artist, but without a compelling viewpoint and with no voice. That is why I don't write, that is why I don't paint. I love doing these things, but I can not do them well.
I'm not sure why my therapist wants me to engage in this pointless exercise.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
-
I dont want to be writing this blog. This image is from some homework my therapist wanted me to do. She is trying to help me get away from b... -
I did something I hadn't done in a decade, that I swore I would never do again. I don't want to go back to those dark days. Even so,...
-
Fat: I'm exercising and eating better. I've already lost some weight. I'm not unlovable because of my weight. I can be attractiv...
No comments:
Post a Comment