#i hurt all the time
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I think I might just corn on the kill myself
#emil.txt#i genuinely cannot feel anything beyond agitation right now#i had a heart attack scare this week#i had my art stolen#my parents told me i can't borrow my car even after i pass my driving test even though they said that i could before#i passed up covering a coworkers shift to put aside time for someone who didn't even end up spending time with me today#I have to go to work in 100+ degree weather tomorrow#i hurt all the time#i have a test on Wednesday
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having no friends (and i really mean none) is so painful
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Go just leave me alone. I’m tired. There’s nothing for me anymore. Never has been. Done trying
#none of it makes sense and it won’t ever#I don’t have the energy to do anything beyond what I need during the day for school and work#I hurt all the time#always confused and crazy#no one really cares and no one can make a difference it’s just how it is I wasn’t meant to have anything#or be anything or have anybody#it’s me and me alone. I’m tired of having to reach out only to get cut#forget anything of me. better forever
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lead balloon (the tumblr post that saved me)
if this comic resonated with you, it would mean the world to me if you donated to this palestinian family's escape fund.
--
no creative notes because this isn't that kind of comic.
I know I don’t owe any of you anything but I still felt compelled to write about my long term absence. And I feel far enough away from the dangerous spot I was in to be able to make this comic. I have a therapist now, and she agreed that making this could be a very cathartic gesture, and the start of properly leaving these thoughts behind me. I am still, at seemingly random times, blindsided by fleeting desires to kill myself. They’re always passing urges, but it’s disarming, and uncomfortable. I worry sometimes that my brain’s spent so long thinking only about suicide that it’s forgotten how to think about anything else. Like, now that I've opened that door for myself, I'll never be able to fully shut it again. But I’m trying my best to encourage my mind in other directions. We'll see how that goes.
I am still donating all proceeds from my store to Palestinian causes. So far, I've donated over $15K, not including donations coming from my own pocket or the fundraising streams which jointly raised around $10K. In the time since I made my initial post about where this money would be going, the focus has shifted from aid organisations to directly donating to escape funds.
If you'd like to do the same, you can look at Operation Olive Branch, which hosts hundreds of Palestinian escape funds or donate to Safebow, which has helped facilitate the safe crossing and securing of important medical procedures for over 150 at-risk palestinians since the beginning of the genocide.
#cw: suicidal ideation#cw: suicide#cw: self harm#cw: mental health#cw: depression#i made the balloon the main representation of my self destructive urges for a reason but im not going to explain it#i tried to keep a lot of the details in this vague#it would be my worst nightmare if this comic encouraged someone to hurt themselves#so. please dont#for a long time even the thought of making this comic felt so insipid and narcissistic#with the state of the world as it is#having the only threat to your life be yourself felt so privileged and trite and shameful#but doing this comic made me sit down and process things in full#and im just. very grateful i didn't give in to my thoughts back when i sincerely felt i'd be more useful to the world dead#i also feel the need to say that this wont represent everyone's battle with mental illness. its unfortunately different for all of us#there is no fix-all#and im afraid this might be one of those comics that either resonates a lot or misses the target by a mile#i made it for myself foremost. and now that its done im glad i did it#thank you for reading#and please stay alive#stillindigo art#stillindigo comics
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Painkillers are a boys bestfriend
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you said you were stuck in a time loop, which was fine. i feel like late-stage capitalism has us all in a time loop, ammiright? you came barging in at 5:33. in the morning. i hadn't even processed the idea of coffee.
but you had this look of utter panic in your eyes. terror like the ocean. you grabbed my cheeks. im in a time loop.
i don't know why in movies the first reaction is to deny it. when someone is panicking like that, it's not appropriate to ask them to calm down. it didn't matter if i believed it, what mattered was that you believed it so much that it was consuming you.
so here we are. i pour you some of the dark roast. "you look like utter and entire hell," i say.
you push your fingers into your eyes. "you always say that."
i try to think of something funny to say that i wouldn't have said on previous time loops, but jokes don't land without the proper timing (lol). "remind me to think -"
"-yeah, of a joke that only works in the future. and before you say anything, i know you're pissed i just stole your punchline." you bolt the coffee, which is wild. it's very hot. you don't seem to notice.
i blow on mine to cool it down. i both am very pissed at you and also i can't see you in this amount of panic without wanting to help. but i'm also not really sure what we are, not since i saw you kiss her like that, no offense. it just was like, kind of rude when you knew i liked you.
and besides. i'm just like, barely a person. i write omegaverse fanfiction. i love the concept of a time loop, but what the fuck am i gonna do? send an alpha in there? i open my mouth.
you point at me. "you're about to ask why me. and then say some disparaging shit about yourself. i'm just a nerd who plays dnd or something. that self-own is slightly different each time." you sigh. "i know you think you can't really help me. i don't know who can help me. i only came to you because you fucking believe me." you check your watch, sigh, and throw your head back. you cover your eyes with one hand. "i've come here on 26 separate revolutions," you say. "you have believed me every time. and yeah, i have no idea how you fit into this but i just -" you sigh again. "i just like fucking talking to someone about it."
"do you need more cof-" i start, but you're already holding the empty cup out. i frown at it. "you're not getting any more until you promise not to bolt this one like an animal."
you laugh a little and sit up, pushing your hair out of your face. "okay, that's new dialogue. but to be fair to you, i'm not usually this rude. i'm still pretty new at all of this." you check your watch again. another sigh. i guess you're cruising for a personal best in the Sigh Olympics.
i almost tell you im not an NPC but i've played enough video games to know i'm very much an NPC. i pour you another cup. "so what happens in the loop?"
"really bad explosion." you mutter into the mug. you put your elbows on the table (rude) and bury your face in your arms like an angsty teenager. one hand floats up while you talk, because evidently you literally can't talk without your hands. "i have to save the day and there's this bomb and i have no bomb training and it keeps moving, you know."
"do i die?"
you peek up from your arms. "yeah. bigtime. you keep trying to run or stay or do anything and you always super die."
"oh."
"to be fair, like, everyone dies in it though.... so you're in good company."
i hate that you make me laugh. i hate that being around you always feels tingly and strange, this electric tension between us. something that is evidently (given how you stuck your tongue down a stranger's throat literally 3 days ago) (well. 3 for me) super one-sided. i take a sip of my coffee and close my eyes.
i die today, i guess. a little spark of panic starts at the top of my hands and starts whipping up my wrists.
"shit," you say. you look at your watch and jump to your feet. "i have to go. if i can come back, i will. i am still trying to figure out when is best to do everything, you know? the order of stuff. maybe morning isn't good for us."
i look up at you and think about how you keep kissing me in the back of my car and in alleyways and in the dark. and i can never fucking get a read on you. and i also think about how incredibly panicked you look. how broken. how long have you been doing this? "i don't want to die," i say.
you glance downwards. "well, you're not really dead, you'll come back in the loop."
"but i will have died." my hands are shaking. i am trying really hard to stay calm.
you push your hands through your hair again. "i really have to go. i will have this discussion with the next version of you, though. it is like, something i am thinking about."
"but i don't get a next version," i say. i don't really have the language for this, because i haven't had 26 tries with you. i only have my memories: you, a week ago. drunk and telling me you loved me in my ear. you, kissing her anyway. you, months ago, throwing up on my birthday, whispering to me i ruin everything i touch, always, over and over. please don't ask. i can't ever fucking have that be you.
i run my finger along the rim of the mug. "i don't want to die in this one."
you seem baffled by this. "i get that but - time will reset, you'll be fine, you won't even remember we talked about this."
"but i know now." i stand up too. "i have to live the rest of this day knowing i could die. knowing i probably am going to."
"you could always die, to be fair."
i feel my hands get out of control. "earlier, you said i always say a different insult about myself. what if you're just going through different parallel universes and those are all just different - but real - versions of myself? what if you're not in a time loop, you're in a fucking universe loop?"
"if it helps, i've wondered this too. also, you're hot in all of them. if that helps."
i point at you. "no flirting. i'm trying to figure out if i die today."
"who's flirting?" you catch my wild hands and give me that long, perfect smile. like we're in this together. "i won't let ya die." you check your watch and sigh again. "well. maybe not this time."
i grit my teeth. you are so not making quips at me while i try to explain the existential dread i'm having. "does the time loop reset if i fucking kill you?"
"honestly i don't know how long it continues after i die, because i just wake up. it could be that the loop goes until the explosion for everyone, and we're all in the loop, or it could be that when i die, the loop restarts. when i die i wake up, is all."
i pull away from you and stalk into the kitchen and start doing all 3 of my dishes. "okay, first, you know i was joking. and secondly, this is exactly my point. you don't know if this is just a parallel universe. maybe in the ones where you died, the explosion happened and nobody reset and it's just you travelling." i have to stop and push my heel into my eyeball. "... how often have you died?"
i look at you. you look at me. you give me this very sad, halfway smile and a little what can ya do shrug. something in that action seems so old and weary that i want to burst into tears.
"i have to go," you say. "really. for real. there's this family of five i save from getting into a car crash. and i know it's like oh but we're all gonna die in the explosion anyway, what's the point. and..." you shrug again. "it matters to me, is all. at least i saved them for now. at least i saved anything."
you pad over to me and wrap me in a tight hug. you always seem so tall against me. i feel your cheek rest against the top of my head for a moment. for a second, it's just us, and the space is warm, and my heart is a little broken hare.
you leave me there, and i stand in my stupid badly lit kitchen with my stupid mugs. i think about you. i start texting my mom that she needs to get out of the city, but it feels pointless.
i don't know what to do. tomorrow is the same day for you. but i have to prepare to die in my today.
#warm up#prose#i just realized that there's a horror film in there about being someone NOT in a loop.#if i wanted to make it longer i'd have them come back like SUPER battered and hellish.#on round like 999#like halfway through lunch like - YOU . I LOVE U . IM SORRY . I RUINED IT BC I LOVE U CANT U SEE THAT#but like. yeah man what happens when someone else in control of ur destiny#what happens to all the versions of u that DO die...#i also wanted a pre-redemption time looper - this person#(who in my brain is they/them)#is absolutelyyyyyy toying with the narrator bc the time looper is caught up in like#an emo angsty '' i can't have what i want bc i ruin things'' self harm spiral#and like literally the way out of that spiral is to TRY bud.#but this is a person pre-redemption. still kind of an ass. still not really listening to her#still a little bit ignoring that they kissed someone 3 days ago#still KNOWS she likes them and DOES like her back. but is just too chickenshit still.#we're talkin that person we've ALL dated that's like ''i can't be with u anymore bc i am Too Broken and I Can't Stand Hurting U"#... i imagine they grow up tho. eventually.
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tango doodles
first you make up a guy and then you struggle to draw him correctly
#i need to stop drawing all the faces in 3/4 this is just silly.#gahh#anyways yes! im still on my quest to make tango look at least a little older#because every time i hear his voice the image in my head doesn't fit the sound at all.#dude has a raspy voice that doesn't exactly fit a little guy. if i could id draw him with more realistic proportions but i cant.#because um. reasons.#i can't just give up on my creachur cmon now...#ive noticed recently i tweaked a lot of my designs to be less cartoony. not sure if i like that actually. hm.#man i keep saying stuff like 'oh i gotta make weirder designs' but then i do the exact opposite??? huh?#i should stop trying to be normal. it's really hurting my image#GOD anyways. tags under the post yes.#tangotek#my art#sketch
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Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".
[plain-text version of this post can be found under the cut]
Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"
And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".
Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.
At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.
So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!
Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!
Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!
Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.
Plain-text version:
Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".
Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"
And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".
Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.
At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.
So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!
P.S. Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!
Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!
Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.
#hlep#original#mental health#my sympathies and empathies to anyone who has to rely on this kind of hlep to get what they need.#the people in my life who most need to see this post are my family but even if they did I sincerely doubt they would internalize it#i've tried to break thru to them so many times it makes my head hurt. so i am focusing on boundaries and on finding other forms of support#and this thing i learned today helps me validate those boundaries. the example with the milk was from my therapist.#the example with the towing company was a real thing that happened with my parents a few months ago while I was age 28. 28!#a full adult age! it is so infantilizing as a disabled adult to seek assistance and support from ableist parents.#they were real mad i was mad tho. and the spoons i spent trying to explain it were only the latest in a long line of#huge family-related spoon expenditures. distance and the ability to enforce boundaries helps. haven't talked to sisters for literally the#longest period of my whole life. people really believe that if they love you and try to help you they can do no wrong.#and those people are NOT great allies to the chronically sick folks in their lives.#you can adore someone and still fuck up and hurt them so bad. will your pride refuse to accept what you've done and lash out instead?#or will you have courage and be kind? will you learn and grow? all of us have prejudices and practices we are not yet aware of.#no one is pure. but will you be kind? will you be a good friend? will you grow? i hope i grow. i hope i always make the choice to grow.#i hope with every year i age i get better and better at making people feel the opposite of how my family's ableism has made me feel#i will see them seen and hear them heard and smile at their smiles. make them feel smart and held and strong.#just like i do now but even better! i am always learning better ways to be kind so i don't see why i would stop
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Scary Sunset.
I'm concepting things way outta order in this story, but I'm sure you can piece things together. Context is for a storybeat where, after defeating and capturing Adagio (thus having all three sirens in her possession), Sunset enacts her revenge plot to release the sirens on Canterlot as Thea discovers she's been manipulated. In a confrontation, the two scuffle and fight over the siren orbs while Sunset struggles with her conflicting wants and emotions.
#mlp#sunset shimmer#twilight sparkle#twiset#the orbs are the glass balls sunset carries on her back btw its in her cast line up art#deep down sunset hates thea. she was named “twilight” by celestia. the time of day succeeding sunset. she was always her replacement#but at this point in the story sunset's also fallen for thea. so it's also a conflict of wills in sunset. love or hatred.#hence the “don't make me do this” language. she's rationalizing her hatred and violence as thea forcing her hand and getting in her way#when in reality she doesn't need to do any of this. it's her last stand and outburst to cling to a life of revenge that she's grown too#fond of. because she knows thea has the power to change that and disrupt her identity as a pathetic victim who fell from glory#and that's scary. thea's a very scary thing to sunset because suddenly sunset wants something and to be someone new.#she suddenly wants to change. to be better for someone else. and she never thought or believed that could be an option for her#anyways toxic yuri yayyy#my art#the grand galloping 20s#character design#i hope i got across the pained conflicted emotions in sunset's face tho i belabored over them these past 3 days#i hope a look of anger and dissonance and guilt and “oh god i don't really wanna hurt you please just obey me” while trying to intimidate#is readable. if so it's all in the eyebrows babey
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genuinely i think it's important for adults, especially in the plague times, to play pretend in our day-to-day lives. when i rub my back down with tiger balm so i can sleep without pain, i imagine i am a valiant knight tending to an old injury i received from a dragon. when i go to the store to pick up eggs and milk, i am a lone cowboy riding into town on a mission. when i turn my collar up against the wind i am a femme fatale who's killed 4 husbands and is scoping out a 5th. when i stomp around in the snow i am a doomed polar explorer. if being a little bit silly about my walk to the pharmacy helps me remember that life can be full of joy and whimsy, then so be it.
#this is a pointless text post#my most embarrassing version of this is that whenever it was foggy at the lighthouse i imagined i was emily bronte#or that i was taking a walk in the fog with my good friend emily bronte :^)#so much of this is also tied into the fact that my body hurts all the goddamn time#i am trying to make my pain something i can live with#is this gonna be how i learn that normal people don't daydream about being In The Past#anyway do u guys imagine these sort of scenarios too or am i just a freak#greatest (s)hits
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you think YOU had a bad day at work?
bonus: sid shrieking "no!!!! NO!!!!!" loud enough to be heard in the stands and on camera
#this is now my FAVOURITE game i've watched in real life knocking the game misconduct one off the number one rank#he was so annoyed the entire game and so annoying about it :')#he kept shrieking away on the bench and i couldn't hear a word from where i was seated#but you could just hear this constant yipping away dhfsgfkjshgfsjf PLEASE it was so funny your 36-year-old babygirl was BARKING#drew kept sitting there like... is mom okay... i don't think mom's okay...#also extremely good for me (since he wasn't really hurt) was the whumpfest of it all oh my god what ancient gods did he anger.........#geno kept Hovering in concern#po kept giving him little shoulder pats the way a sweet brave babyboy would try his best to soothe a rabid little dog#ek of course kept trying to slide right inside him and also kept skating up to him and STARING him in the face in concern/lust/both#also guys this is my first time in canada ever!!!!!!!! i'm excited#anyway. very good game for me sorry for this post but you know i love a#long post#sidney crosby#evgeni malkin#pittsburgh penguins#also!!! to all who celebrate#ramadan kareem/eid mubarak#<333 staying with a friend here through the eid celebration and they've been cooking and everything smells so good
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Sleeping off
#wolfstar#harry potter#the marauders#padfoot#remus lupin#adelaida art#finally finished! after over 9 months! it's my baby now#I've started it with a totally different mood in mind - bc my mood was at a bottom of a very big hole then#but time passed things changed and here we are with a more tough night but only one shoulder hurt and it's early morning and quite pretty#and we can sleep off the night and it's all good#madame pompfrey will fix those scratches in 15 seconds or less so i call it a win
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And from then on the Chain made sure they knew exactly where Hyrule and Wild were at all times. Especially Wild.
A comic for my bestie @mirensiart ‘s LU pain sharing au! I love all the angst potential of it but I wanted to do smth a lil silly w/ one of my favorite duos :)
#linked universe#lu hyrule#lu wild#lu legend#lu sky#lu warriors#lu wind#lu four#lu time#lu twilight#don’t think too hard abt how wild managed to trip on a tree root and fall backwards#I just think he gets hurt in all kinds of borderline impossible ways#Which for an au where they all share each other’s pain is kinda silly goofy
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did somebody say dadkarios
#bg3#baldur's gate 3#gale dekarios#galemance#dadkarios#pregnancy cw#just a man and his slightly terrifying wife and goblin offspring#the sign won’t stop her because she can read but she’s ignoring it#this was inevitable we all knew it was coming#i almost regret spending so much time on these but they’re so pretty#i love decorating the wizard tower#side note have you ever had a baby pull your hair it fucking HURTS#they’re out for blood from day one#spoilers for future stuff but poor cyra goes through fucking HELL with that baby and it looks nothing like her#also i'm fully a gale abs denialist. where's his tummy you cowards make him Soft
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after jasons death bruce "accidentally" slips harvey a crowbar while hes in arkham and kisses his cheek and says, voice soft and colder than ice, "make him hurt for me honey"
it takes 6 guards to sedate and drag two face off the joker the next time two face sees him and for the rest of their lives as soon as harvey sees the joker he goes after him like a rabid dog.
#harvey voice: you know why im not killing you jokes? cause you can only die once and i want to hurt you so much more than i want to kill you#jason was harveys baby too after all#spent my entire boring work meeting thinking about how robin!jason bruharvey would end in the joker dying no matter what bc of two face#this is all bruciemilfs fault btw. theyve been making me insane about bruharvey#bruce wayne#harvey dent#two face#also bruce doesnt tell harvey to kill or not kill the joker bc he cant request someones death#but he also cant make himself ask for his sons murderer to be spared#i dont think any version of bruce would be comfortable with openly planning someones death let alone actually doing it#but after jasons death he gets so cold and numb to everything that he just turns away from it#he knows hes being too violent.knows hes hurting people too much but the only time hes not remembering how small jasons body was in his arms#is when his blood is roaring in his ears during a fight. maybe if he becomes the worst monster in gothams shadows#no more little boys will go cold and silent. no more fathers will stand in the doorway of rooms that will never be full again
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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
#writeblr#warm up#this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru#but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist#ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school.#like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it.#was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes.#but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create''#when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work#part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just#like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent.#speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r#ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week#this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice.#''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism#imagine if we said that about literally any other profession.#''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt?#u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky''#we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY#''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''
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