#contentcreatorappreciation

“You suck.”

“You’re bad at this.”

“Why are you even alive, lol?”

“Why is this still going on?”

“This is too hard. This sucks.”

Hands are settled to a stop. My body grows slack in exhaustion while my eyes trail on to the comments on the window of my computer. Hate is blaring with daggers; toxicity is pouring out in letters and spite paints it all as a huge front-line notice.

Heaviness weighs down on me. A sinking depth lies within my mind. Tension fills my shoulders. I cross my arms on the top of my desk and rest my forehead onto them.

They’re just haters.

They’re nothing more than words.

They’re just looking to start a fight.

But even so, that doesn’t make the pain any less suffocating.

No matter how hard I try on my own, they keep increasing. 1, 2, 3, 4. More and more, they grow. The hate simply increases.

Is there a purpose for my creation?

Are there any enjoyment found in what I have produced?

Have there been any sense of comfort to those who desire what I consider my own version of art?

“I don’t like how this turns out – can’t you change it?”

“I don’t get it – why did you make it so easy? Make it harder.”

“The plot is too complicated.”

“The art style isn’t my taste – maybe try using watercolours.”

“This is pure shit. Why are you even continuing this? Just stop already, you suck.”

It’s like an echo; repeating over and over against my ears. I can feel my chest constricting, my throat tightening and hands clutching onto me to drag me down.

I get up. I pace around the room.

Keep moving. Keep going.

Don’t let their words catch you.

Don’t let your mind be clouded.

“When are you going to post more?”

“Where’s the next part?”

“Dude, why is it taking so long? Writing can’t be that hard, right?”

“Why are these drawings locked behind some pay toll? It’s just a couple of drawings – they should be free, asshole.”

“This is just like every other people. Just because you can write, or draw doesn’t mean there should be a pay bar. Make it free for all of us!”

“Hey, if anyone paid for the content, share it with the rest of us! I don’t want my money to get wasted lol”

My breath shudders.

90…91…92…

93…94…95…

“I can draw better than this bitch.”

“Seriously, you call this writing? Lol, I can make it better than that.”

“Why is there a hiatus? Fuck this shit, I’m out.”

“Dumb creator can’t fix their own rl shit #ripcreator”

96…97…98…99…

…

…

Why are people so entitled?

Why do people assume our life is expendable?

Do they not realize the blood, sweat and tears that were poured?

Or have they never tasted the blockage or burn outs that many of us face?

I don’t know…And I lost the will to muster anything beyond despair.

I stop pacing.

I stop moving.

I set myself back onto the chair and sigh, staring…My vision blurs. I blink.

It feels like something’s broken in me.

Something hollow.

Something empty.

These people who have seen my work, watched it, continue to berate me. Mock me. Haunt me. Like I’m nothing but a singular number to them.

…No.

A number earns more respect than that.

They have value.

They have a purpose.

I’m just a zero to them.

I’m nothing.

I’m just an empty waste of space.

I’m just a failed creator.

I’m…I’m just a waste of time.

No one would miss me.

…

…

…

“I love your work.”

I raise my head. A person stands out, amongst the hate. The hate goes silent. The person continues typing out.

Please don’t take their words to heart. You’ve gotten me through tough times.

It hurts a lot to have people bully you about what you love.

I know.

But I still think they’re awesome.

I know they’re great.

You put so much heart and effort in them.

Even if people say your stuff sucks,

I still think they’re worth living for.

And I know there’s at least one person out there who would agree with me.

Like how there’s one community who cares about what you do.

Sure enough, that one person invites another…and another…and so much more.

“Give them a break! They’ve been working their ass off!”

“They’re already publishing so hard in between their free time!”

“I love the way you draw the eyes.”

“I’m crying over this RO – I want to hug them so bad!”

“I love their personality. I’ll need to try romancing them with a different MC!”

“This is so cool!”

“Please take care of yourself – take all the time you need.”

These words make me elevate. The suffocation, the hands, the pressure.

They disappear. I smile. I laugh. I cry from the absolute relief as I wipe away the signs of my pure joy at the recognition. All from someone who loves my work.

If the world considers me something worse than 0, then I can consider myself 00. I will agree to that.