#[[yall why is boredom so painful i CANt]

[solaiced]

CASE 6: SUKUNA RYOMEN LIKE TO MARK HIS BELONGINGS.

!content!: minor character death, blood, mentions of breeding/pregnancy (sorry yall i cant help myself), mentions of exhibition, and sukuna.

wc: 1,6k

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

A blink and your servant is gone. Well, not gone, laying on the ground. Dead. He's dead. His head severed. He wasn't exactly special by all means, but that didn't mean Sukuna could kill him right in front of you. Staining your kimono with blood.

You look up at the King of Curses, having the guts to glare at him as he feigns ignorance and boredom.

"This is the sixth time, this week, you imbecile!" You complain. Only you could insult the most fearsome king of all time and get away with it.

He clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes as if it was obvious, "He was too touchy. Have to remind the lower species of their place."

You narrow your eyes, grumbling. "You might as well pee around and on me like a dog to mark your territory, don't cha?"

His eyes light up, and you warn him, making an X with your arms, "Do NOT."

He kisses his teeth, rolling his eyes the way a petulant teenage would, after getting yelled at by their parents. He shrugs, wrapping his lower arms around your waist.

"I'll find a loophole to mark my belongings, don't you worry, woman."

And that's probably how he got you on your back, completely nude and at his mercy. You were bloodied from all his bites, all harsh enough to draw blood, but not enough to kill you. Your moaning could've been heard from the nearby village, from how loud you were being.

Sukuna smirks as you try to kick him away weakly, nesting between your legs to collect the sweet nectar coming out of your slit. Like an undeserving sinner tasting ambrosia for the first time ever.

His four eyes trained on you, watching your every reaction, twitches and sweat drops fall down your dewy skin. Your nipples perked up, hips lifting up like a woman possessed.

“Do you understand, now?” He asks, nursing the bite on your inner thigh, swirling his tongue on it to appease the pain but not heal it. Your blood tasted like the heaven he’ll never reach. But he wasn’t about to let you go, no.

“Hh-‘nderstan wha?” You manage, hands reaching for Sukuna’s pink hair and the sheets, anything to stabilize yourself.

Taking your hand, pitying you with a small pout, he chuckles, kissing your knuckles like the ungentlemanly monster that he is.

“That you’re mine, you don’t belong to anyone or anything else. I made you, I’ll keep you until I’m bored of you.” His cruel words stab into your heart, tears prickling your eyes.

“But don’t fret. We have all of eternity to spend together.” He smiles condescendingly sweet, leaning in to kiss you, only to deviate at the last moment and latch his mouth onto the bloody bite around your pulse.

Your screams renew, nails digging into Sukuna’s broad shoulders as you thrash around him. His hips pin yours down, crushing you under his weight.

“S’kuna…” You mewl, running your fingers through his, for once, soft hair. He hums in acknowledgement, wondering why you sounded so breathless.

“Crushin’ me.” You huff, looking away and exposing more skin to devour. Sukuna shifts, letting you breathe as his teeth dig into your soft skin, kissing the flesh after he’s done marking it.

“Don’t worry, I don’t want to kill you, yet. You are to die with me. Never before.” It’s like a vow as his canines retract, kissing and licking away at the red liquid oozing out the little punctures he created.

He’s never going to admit it, but your blood brought him more comfort than needed, cocks pulsing between his thighs, warmth washing over him like a comfortable blanket.

Sukuna moans lowly, supporting himself with two arms on each side of your head. He breathes heavily, lust glazing his eyes over.

“I’m going to make sure everyone sees me when they see you.” He nuzzles your nose with his, scenting your face. He inhales your smell, angling your face towards him with his upper left hand.

“I’m gonna have to fucking breed you so that they get the idea, hm?” He threatens, eyes narrowed into glaring slits.

You shakily reach for him, mumbling incoherent words.

“Don’t, I’m yours.” You sniffle, the wounds stinging you.

“Does it hurt?” Sukuna asks gruffly, sliding a hand down your stomach to your hips. You nod.

“Wan’you to-to fuck me.” You stumble over your words as you wrap your legs around his hips, moaning when your cunt grazes his lower cock, twitching painfully.

“Really? Are you wet enough to take all of me?” He knew you weren’t, at least not yet, for both his cocks would absolutely destroy you for any other cock, if you’d been able to escape and live a life with another man.

And when you hold up one finger, he chuckles, amused at your underestimation.

“One day, I’ll ruin you. I’ll eat you to keep you with me forever.” He kisses you, biting your lip and pulling on it, pulling away to place hickeys down your throat. You moan weakly, shuddering.

“Fuck me, now.” You order, hand wrapped around his pink locks, unruly by your touch. Sukuna smiles deceivingly soft, wrapping a hand around his lower length and pushing it inside of you slowly, careful not to tear you more than intended.

You mewl, tears slipping out of your slit shaped eyes. You bring him closer, catching his lips and slotting yours between them, like a long forgotten puzzle finally coming together.

Your bodies join together, yours always reaching for his unconsciously, and his always bringing you closer, as per your requests.

He moans loudly when he bottoms out, pulling away roughly in embarrassment and blushing, hiding in the crook of your neck to bite more “ownership” marks into you.

Your nails scratch his back, leaving your own marks. You huff out a tired chuckle, happy you could at least return the favor.

“What the fuck are you laughing for.” Sukuna growls, face crimson red at the noises he let out.

“You’re mine, too. I marked you.” You wince when his tongue licks over one of your wounds, drawing blood once more. Your body was a bloody massacre. And that was all because of your husband.

Said husband’s hips jerking at your words, sweat dripping down his powerful muscles each time he twitched. Sukuna angles your hips to reach deeper, making you wail, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Calm down, I haven’t even let you ride me, yet.” That sentence made you open your eyes, happy he’s letting you on top for once. You slide your hands down to cover his upper cock, jerking it off while his lower one tasted heaven.

“You’ll let me?” You ask, out of breath because a few measly thrusts. He nods, licking the punctures he made on you.

“Right now? Hah!” He barks out an evil laugh. “Absolutely not. I want to cum.” Did he just… insinuate that you couldn’t make him cum alone?

Now that got you offended. Using the best of your left over strength, you flip him over, pelvises flush against each other. Sukuna’s eyes are wide, like he didn’t expect insulting you would have such a reaction.

“Watch me. Both cocks will be spent when I’m done with you.” Your hips cant up, dropping down and repeating the motion. He looks like he’s about to moan, but he’s holding back. You thumb his lower lip, pulling his face closer so that you can kiss him.

“Don’t. Keep riding me, and maybe I’ll consider cumming.” He sounds strained, but still smug, which you do not like at all. You grind your hips down and lift them up and down occasionally. Sukuna keeps a taut smirk, hips bucking up occasionally. You keep his upper cock close to your stomach, using a hand to jerk it whilst you bounced on his lap.

Sukuna suddenly grabbed your wrist, stopping your motions. You look up, legs trembling when they finally stop.

“What is…” You’re cut off by a growl, Sukuna’s eyes lifting to glare at you.

“Don’t. Move.” Only then do you realize that he was shaking. His hand was trembling as it held your arm, claws out.

A small laugh escapes you. He was about to cum, but he didn’t want to, not yet.

“Cum, my king. There is no reason for you to feel ashamed of cumming early.” You tease, kissing his cheek softly. His eyes roll to the back of his head when you clench oh-so-sweetly on him. He tries to shove you off, but you bring him with you, making him cage you in with all four of his arms.

“Let me pull out. Now.” Sukuna orders, hips stuttering. You wrap your legs around them, bringing them closer.

“No,” you hum, disobeying him was not a first, but he almost looks furious. “Also, you can totally pull out. You just don’t want to.”

His head drops to your breasts, biting around the flesh. You keen, trying to get him off.

“Don’t get all smart with me.” He thrusts in you, balls slapping your ass and coarse pink hair brushing against your clit.

Sukuna buries his head between your boobs, hips coming to a stop before you feel liquid filling you up, eyes squeezing shut.

One of his hands comes to worsen your condition, pinching your clit between his fingers as you let go and reach an unexpected orgasm, eyes crossing, back arching and moans loud enough for Uraume to wake up.

“Now,” Your king starts, sounding just as out of breath as you, “if I see another servant trying to touch you, I’ll fuck you in front of him and I’ll kill him if he gets hard, okay?” That wasn’t a question, you knew that much. But you didn’t dare respond, for fear he would stop kissing and licking your wounds.

[txchikaze]

--- I AM BORED

[somedaypast-thesunset]

im honestly so much better than i thought i was. 

like you have no idea whats going on when ur in the war. you dont know who youre shooting at, what the fuck is happening, who you are - you have no idea. and in this war you go through shit that is like unbearable in some ways and you do it and you dont know how and at the end of the day when its all over youre just left with this massive action that formed every thought you now have and you dont know what any of it really meant. 

but like i have beat myself up for time for not being super amazing totally together. like i dont have a job. my work experience is small. my depression is heavy, heavy, heavy. 

but what i needed to see was someone else who has felt this same loss. i needed a comparison to know that i wasnt as fucked up. even though i lived through all the shit i lived through, even though my mother was dead by the time i was 20, even though my dad died 5 years later - i’ve never been on such levels. 

does that mean im heartless? i dont think so. clearly i am very bothered by these deaths and massive losses in my life. its something i think about everyday all day. but i have dealt with serious ptsd for like.. a decade. 

and i never cracked.

and then on top of this i continued to take huge abuse after the intial trauma stopped about my trauma. and i never cracked. 

no. listen. 

i have no idea how i am here today. i have no idea how there is a man downstairs on heroin kicking the walls and thats not me. how is that not me. i have felt such pain. i have felt such sorrow. but never have i been such a person. literally my worst moments the deepest darkest moments last maybe 10 hours. not because im not prone or i dont feel it as strongly. i feel it so strongly. ive felt all the worst feelings. i feel like im 50 years old bro. its not even just like dead ppl. i saw toooooooooooooooooooooooo much. i know tooooooooooooooo much. 

what is it inside of me that has kept me from making this worse for myself. I COULDVE HAD A BABY. do you know how easy it is to do THAT. its easier to make a baby than buy drugs, really. i couldve had like.. multiple babies. like i look at people and im like omg that couldve been me. and not even like.. oh im better than them its like omg if it wasnt for this like one fucking difference between me an them, i would be that. i would be them. i would have children and do meth an like ...

how in the helllllllll did i do this? this man within two months of a death is so distraught by his grief he cannot function as human towards other. yall i didnt even get drunk. i didnt have time to get drunk. i had real life responsibilities towards myself and other people. while living with a total piece of shit who put holes in my wall. okay. my father dies and im living alone now with a man who put holes in my fathers walls. i try to break up like a week before and i cant because my dad is still in the hospital and everything is so crazy because like we know this man is dieing. 

have you ever watched a man die? have you ever WATCHED a man die? have you ever in your life watched a grown ass man choose to die in human excrement in diapers cant stand cant walk - have you ever in your life watched that?

my ex did. twice. and i had to have that man arrested and to this day i feel guilt about having to do that because he had to experience this trauma as well and he had to handle it however he was going to handle it and he couldnt handle it either. 

i imagine its like the same when you watch someone die of cancer in some ways. like not the exact because theres no choice with cancer. but i guess the question why remains. why did cancer have to befall you. why does cancer exist. why does cancer have to kill you. 

depression killed both of my parents and both of my parents lived with it for AT LEAST 40 years (my father probably longer).both of my parents chose not to do hard drugs. my dad was a very light alcoholic if you could call him one at all - he drank sincerely recreationally but it became a crutch to deal with everything else.

and i even get having the most important person you knew die. and do you understand that i know this so well that i even understand that right now you think that no one else “gets” how important this person was to you. how mighty an great they were because when a very important and beloved person to you dies there is so little room for the negative even though it can rear its head. 

my parents shaped everything i am to this day. they are dead and i absolutely live in the exact EXACt same lifestyle i lived in when they were alive. i changed absolutely nothing about myself in my grief. it has only been literally this year where i have been like okay. its time. and with my mother ... i dint. i i kept a giant GIANT wooden piece of shit box for these people as a symbol of respect when sometimes i really hate them sooo much and i am soooooo angry with them. 

sometimes i forget that im about to be 30 because i feel 15. i feel like when i woke up at 15 except now i am living my nightmares. everyday. and i still wake up everyday, i still try and instead of going batshit insane i took the time to truly explore how i felt about these people and the things that happened to me. instead of just crying about it and being sad and oh no hes dead it was like i knew there was a solution. and i think in some ways its true about my inplanted addiction to instant gratification. an i say this because i did it to myself by using the internet and other things (weed) to instantly satisfy boredom and anger an sadness. what i wanted at the time was to instantly solve how i felt. both times. and not like just make it go away but to “overcome” grief. like i would be enlightened by the grief and oh you know - my mother, shes found her peace now. my father, no longer suffering. its all supposed to happen its all alright. 

and i guess i also in this moment dont want to lie to myself - at 19 i was really unenlightened. at 19 i think i acted ... u know, im having a moment. and its not lke a deep one but i think for like.. maybe 8 years or so i kind of disregarded my ex’s feelings at the time. everything i felt overshadowed it and i kind of gloss over how i cheated on him but “didnt cheat” because i “broke up with him before i di anything” even though i 100% cheated on him. like i spoke the words of breaking up to him before i physically involved myself but it was like a plan between me and this fucking dude sooooooooo its really low and this is like so much shame in my life. i hold so much shame an regret over my actions that i just quickly tell this part of the story of my ex but its pretty bad. and then questionably bad things happened afterwards due to both of our immaturity and insecurities. my life was fucked before she died but i cannot fully say i never hurt someone. i cant say that. thats such a lie to myself. in my grief i did in fact hurt someone else. i disregarded another person and like its soooooooooooooooo hard for me to give any leverage to my mother. like she never made me feel or do anything fuck her. but my main abuser in life died. a person i saw like.. everyday of my life until i was 16. she was soooo important to everything i am today and to be really fair - i’m probably still fucked up because i absolutely refuse to deal with what she did. like i dont want to relive it any more than i already do even though you have to through it to overcome it. 

i smoke weed uner the influence of my father and i think i smoke weed for the same reason he drank - my mother is the reason i smoke weed. for the most part. like im really haunted by my father sometimes but i became so accustomed to this weird life with him that i mostly have like a culture shock where i realize other people didnt do this and then i get over it. sometimes i think about what he looked like when he slept and how it looked like he was dead. sometimes i picture the foot rotting off his body. recently ive pictured the blackheads on his back. they were really bad but not in like im traumatized way - my mother picked at his blackheads and i started doing it an its just a weird gross probably semi normal thing so like even though i have these images sometimes of my fathers illness what i am most haunted by is the words my mother put into my brain. i was brainwashed. i feel brainwashed. and sometimes i repeat scenarios she did. sometimes i do things she did and not like a nostalgic oh i have my mothers traits but like sometimes i lie. sometimes i tell lies. sometimes i have told lies to be able to get someones attention or pity. like not often at all. not even a handful of times in my life have i done this. very spread out. its not common. and its so shameful but i saw my mother do it and she did it pretty well and people would feel sorry for her and give her attention and it wasnt good or deserved in anyway but it worked.

sometimes. sometimes i have exaggerated illnesses. sometimes i have downplayed symptoms i am having. and i do this i think because i was trained to do this. my mother told me i was sick, she told me the symptoms and it was all repeated from there. i have been extremely lucky to have like no major medical issues since i was a child. i have never had to deal with anything happening because im actually pretty physically healthy outside of the toll depression takes on my body. i coud of course quit smoking but i dont have lung issues. i was told i had asthma for 13 years. we had to move. we had to fucking move bro because i had “asthma” and i had to take the inhalers and of course man of course it wasnt ust inhalers it was the fucking plastic tube that somehow made it better you held between the inahler and your mouth. 

to bare it all - i dont even know if im allergic to pine. my mother said i was allergic to pine so no more real christmas trees but what if this bitch was doing it to me. ive never had like extensive exposure to these trees since then. who the fuck knows.

why is it - okay. when i go to the hospital they ask me allergies and i repeat verbatim the same thing my mother said to every doctor i ever met, “sulpha, pencillion, amoxicillin and codiene” 

tell me why as a child i frequently had penicillin and at no point in my memory was there like some reaction upon taking this. and everyone remembers it. we all know the banana flavoured medience. and i remember taking it so many times an then suddenly i didnt  and suddenly it was apart of this list and like maybe i developed an allergy but what if she just decided? how did she find out i was allergic to these other things? i am REPEATING A MANTRA by a woman who nearly killed me using prescription drugs. 

i make alot of excuses. im probably lazy more than depressed because if i was sooo scared i could get tested for my allergies and know for myself. 

do you know how upsetting my birth certificate was? and it wasnt even my mothers fault, it was more my fathers fault. but all these little dumb things and its not like ths is crazy never heard of its small things that other people experience too but they hold so much weight like can someone tell me why my mother stopped spelling her name right? like shortly after my birth she no longer spelt it theresa and spelled it teresa. and i had such a moment at her funeral when i saw her name spelled right and asked why it was wrong. that she had spelled it without an h. her parents were like .. confused and appalled that i suggested she had done this an like of course her name was with an h. and fair enough guys. you are the people who named her. which means it was in my lifetime that it changed. and on legal documents even though she maintained her first real name (mary) she spelled it teresa. but these old documents and the way my father spelled it was theresa. whats in an H? like maybe im crazy right. maybe im just making a big deal out of something small but usually when something lke this occurs its because ssomeone else made the mistake and usually youre a foreigner. like someone wrote your name on an official document wrong and now thats just it. but this woman .. she went to private school like she had to have had official document before 1990. this woman made a concious choice to drop the H in her name. why? was it a choice? did she just like slip up one time and went with it for 19 years after? like did she fuck it up so majorly in some public way that she had to convince other people this is how she spelled her name.

and like its been a really long time. and i dont have a lot of these documents anymore. to be fair, i have like 7 remaining objects of my mothers. i dont even know if i have documents with her writing outside of a wedding guest book from 1980. so sometimes - sometimes she wins. sometimes i think that maybe im wrong. maybe i just think she stopped doing it but like why would i notice this? why would i think about it so much? 

sometimes i try to think really hard about her but i did such a job at blocking her out and smoking away these memories i literally cant remember more than like 10 - 20 memories of her. i spent half of my life with her. closely. and like.. i remember when i was in like grade 3 - 5 because i was walking to a certain school and i remember this is like.. no you know what. i have atleast 5 seperate memories of this and thsi in itself says something - faking sick. i faked sick religiously. and like i knew this bitch would buy it because at this point im a clever angry bitter child with no true subconcious yet. im like i know my mother will buy into sickness - thats who she is- and i wont have to go to school.

so i start the day before at bed. im coughing. im coughing really hard because of my asthma right but im not sick at all im good but im forcing these dog coughs at 2am and she wakes up and its like oh well i guess youre sick and im doing this so often i have a memory of her frustration like she almost almost knew but this was her job and now im playing games. and its like man you trained me to do this but your power was taken and now im using your training against you and all you really wanted was a sick kid. so im giving you all you wanted and none of it is real. and like im aware of this complexity at this point. even really early my father is now pissed at her and they dont trust each other. and theyre fighting about me and shes saying look at this and hes saying this is what you did. this was what my mother did to me. he knew that like i was turning cold because she was cold towards me and he knew it and he was telling her youre doing this to her stop doing this to her and she didnt so it just kept going.

in grade 10 i faked a heart problem. i freely admit this because i feel like its “okay” because it coincides with dropping out of school. but now im desperate. like im so desperate in this depression and my first year was her trying to kill herself and getting kicked out of the house and im like omg i cant do this anymore im not going to school something is going to give even though school is  a relief from home, i was starting to have all these expectations at school academically and socially and i couldnt keep up and something had to give and i couldnt get rid of my parents so i was done.

my father wanted me to “get a job” but it was like... you know. someday youre going to have to get a job. and in my own volition, once my mother had left for a year, i got a job. i was semi comfortable. on my first day of this important job my father became gravelly ill and spent like .. a month in the hospital. and im still going to work. im like 17 years old, everything has gone to shit and im still going to work. and im on the bus everyday crying to my friend that its all so fucking awful and i just want to like party and get high. 

so i started. and i spent all of my earnings on partying and getting high on mdma and k and weed. in one summer. it was like 3 grand or something which is alot of money for me in any time of my life thus far. thats the only time i ever earned a significant amount of money. 

but then i stopped. because within me i knew especially the hard drugs were beginning to do their damage to my body and i was drinking too much and i did carry it on for like a year before my ex put his foot down and i decided i didnt want to be a person in a relationship on drugs like that. we smoked weed and it was fine. 

and like on paper seperately - bratty attitude filled choices. i lied and faked an illness to get out of school, partied while my father was ill. and like i knew this. and in my early 20s i frequently reflected on these choices and actively knew i had to choose other things. was it fun? yes. was i with close loving friends? yes. was i safe? yes. was it the right thing to do? no. and i feel like if i dint make that choice back then i couldve set myself on a better path. but i gave up. i gave up and i give in for this moment and i never fully recovered, i just choose to smoke a shit ton of weed instead. i couldve learned real coping skills but i chose not to and now im almost 30 and i suck, utterly suck, at life. but it could be worse and i could be him. 

we finally spoke - no he answered the call and spoke whatever he wanted to to me still. that he couldnt deal with this and blah blah but its funny i guess as i told a friend i had said my last word were that i was not going to speak to him again. she said he mustve replied because that usually gets him. and its sad i have to resort to feeling like im not going to speak to him again to get any response. and im not being crazy and needy or whatever like you signed up to take care of someone who has major trauma surrounding this issue and you knew this. like in june im crying about how this was my parents fault. i have a whole process i have to go through over the course of my life because like i cant decide randomly one day to face this fear and anxiety. this type of issue has to come up as it will and it may not be a good time for me or anyone else but i now have to face and overcome this issue that is not just a medical problem but DIRECTLY related to my parents neglect. like every time a doctor asks how this happened how many times why has this happened this way i have to explain just the bare bones of how my parents how TWO GROWN PEOPLE thought this was okay TOGETHER and let it go. leaking blood and pus. this is like ... what this cyst has caused me in emotion and mental damage is sooo much morre than the cyst itself. the cyst is simple. knowing the neglect of it caused it to come to such a point that it has to be surgically deal with is painful. how did they fuck this up for me? and its like i couldnt just get surgery at 18. at 18 i didnt have a flare up. i have to wait for the flare up to deal and im like just dealing with it as it comes you know because its normal and i guess every few years i have to get this thing lanced thas just who i am now? i guess? but could be worse. could be wayyyy worse. like it coul be on my face, first of all. it could be like in my labia and i would have ppl touching my labia and doing things. it cou be on my actual butthole. it could reoccur every week. every month. 

eventually i got a few moments to speak a full thought and i told him it was extremely important to me to have someone capable of dealing with the worst of my anxieties and traumas before during and after this incredibly important moment i am about to face and optimistically overcome. i just know i will be very not okay about it. i know this, i did this by myself its not even like im playing it up for others like im by myself in public sobbing soo hard they cannot take proper vitals. thats how much this is for me. i will not have someone be neglectful or judgemental or take away my right to feel the way i have to feel in order to break through this. like im not taking away anything from anyone else, i’m just laying out what is require and if you can do that, then fine, but if you cant then no im not going through with this.

he made a weak argument and i explained that the last time i had to deal with major medical hospital things was my mother. so i am not okay with this and i am freaking out and this instability hes displaying completely on his own makes me question what im doing. and he continued to rattle off these excuses and started into “you want to talk about traumas, what about ...” and i just turned the phone away and waited until he was finished because you cannot tell me that im not allowed to feel any sort of ways about anything or talk about my mental illness or the things ive gone through and immediately launch into your own. there is give and take and youve already taken everything im willing to give now. he says i have to give him a straight answer because he needs stability and to figure out what hes going to do. 

.......

to live with this, i have every right to feel depressed and uncomfortable and unhappy. 

i need to begin the process of mentally letting him go. i want to feel free to talk to random people and open myself up to random people and experiences and i dont want to even think about anything with him. like honestly, there is no future with him or associated with him. he cant fix some of these things, its not going to happen. and im going to allow him and give him opportunities in the future to still be shitty to me. and future me needs to understand that this is just proof for why i have to let it go. 

and like im frustrated - in my perfect world ive abandoned this dream because ive found something better an more fulfilling to me. its so hard to abandon something without anything else. and like i get really aggravated when im in my i dont know what the fuck to do moments. and eventually i find something - anything - and i really try to put myself into it. like that becomes my new job because im trying out all these roles in life and maybe this one leads to something. like i enjoyed jewelry, a lot. but ike i wanted something bigger and grander and to be apart of something and like i guess build on the jewelry. like i went from collecting bones in a forest by myself to showing in an art gallery and going to receptions and making new friends - i like the beginning of my art career story. its glamorous and hopeful. 

and then i thought like i could be more than an artist. i could have a gallery or a studio, i could curate shows, do events - i could contribute to the arts and culture in the city and possibly resolve or find resolution for some of these issues. and i learned like.. a lot about art. i basically forced a semester of art history and basic art techniques down my throat and practiced daily. i wanted to feel knowledgable and professional and like prepared to take on the 1%

and i just lost that. like i built that for myself, by the way. thats not off the back of a man or relationship. amongst all my shit, i created a very minor artistic career. and i was / am well respected for my dedication and quality and like ... i really received a lot of praise. i got very little known hatred towards me. my shit was good enough it sort of overtook an ex friends venture an made her jealous. i was the first person in the city hands down to create a website dedicated to arts in the city. like maybe in 10 years there will be 50 more but i was the first. i was the one who knew how to do it. i left just a tiny make with my minor career. that i built. by myself. in the 5 years before and after my dads death. 

but its not that like i dont “want” to do that anymore. i think i do? but the city is not about it. the numbers to bring people out are small. the money is non existant. the quality of talent is not great. i think if i had entered a more viable scene i couldve graduated from what i was doing but as it stands its just not going to happen. and making money from art is really hard and no one respects a person who just paints unless theyre like the most amazing artist and i guess really i have nothing i want to say anymore. ive tried to express alot of things through art and things are left unfinished. im just ... not an artist like that. 

but im not even like mad at myself for it - 20s are your time to find yourself. im not an artist. and maybe i wont be a wildwoman land developer either. i know that if i could decide on something, if i could find something i actually cared about that i could achieve it. it would literally me be just saying 100% doing this and it being done soon after. no games. no waiting around. if i really wanted it i would invest everything i have into it. i know that.