Rhi

Maybe its the citalopram. Maybe its the heart attack I had. But I struggle to create with my hands. There is evidence that I used to create, loads of it. My partner saved it when I wanted to destroy it. I still have these days where I feel like I might create? But then I look and see the world around me with so much more creative luster than I could ever hope to glean.

My art is faded, it is the lack of laughter I can't seem to generate. It is my depression, it is this dark shadow that presents itself as diabetic macular degeneration in my eyes. It's the tremor in my hands that came with my heart attack. It's the neuropathy that causes me to faint when I walk now, this squeezing at the back of my mind that chokes the colors away.

I hate everything I make now. So I just don't... I think, "No one will like this" - when did my art become about likes? About popular views or opinions?

It used to be whatever strangeness came out of mind mind.

It was custom shoes I used to paint.

Tattoos..

And now I don't even know what my style IS. I don't know what I can offer anymore. I always thought I'd do something more with my creativity. But at every turn, every artist is told to give up. After enough turns, I lost myself to it. To life, and bills, and the requirements of my ongoing health struggles. I had dreams of being married, having a house with a white fence and doing art.

It is what it is.