There are times when I feel like drowning. Wallowing in my sadness, sinking slower and slower to the bottomless pit of despair and hatred until I realise that it’s too late and I’m scrabbling for air but the weight of it all crushes me and I’m left with nothing left to live for.
I’ve realised that the only thing that I enjoy doing now is writing. The ability to inhabit a character’s mind makes me forget everything. Even when writing on here, I put on a persona of sorts. Thinking and Inking is me 80% of the time. The other 20 % consists of me alternately hating myself, trying to control my social anxiety and feeling like my writing is crap. Which it is, most of the time.
I had to get this off my chest, because writing is easier than talking. Thanks to you, my lovely audience who likes and comments on my work, I feel like I can keep going. Thank you.
(I’m probably going to delete this later, but I’m still immensely grateful for such a wonderful audience.)