Yikes, it's me.

I'm very conflicted. I don't understand myself.

Sounds like some cliche shit, so if you don't want to read further down it's fine. This is my deadass diary after all.

If you knew me well, you'll know that I'm an artistic person. I'm not claiming I'm a talented artistic person, I'm just 'artistic'. Even though I'm passionate in drawing and writing, I'm not equally good at both areas. Let's say I enjoy them.

And I enjoy them so much that it made me think if I could turn this into a possible career. An artist or an author, those were the options I had for my future job.
Regardless of how that idea sparkled in my head, the answer has always been very clear since I was a child.

No.

It was just a false hope, a false dream.

My art isn't like those that people would remember of. Same goes to my writing. I still have problems when writing and my art doesn't improve as I don't have time to invest in it.

I accepted the fate that I won't be a successful artist nor an excellent writer.

But why do I still feel so upset?

As my ass rots in the middle of nowhere, my love to read and write slowly crawls away. My ability to draw is reversing back its steps to a stick figure. 

And 
I'm 
Unhappy.

Why do I feel like I want to still achieve it knowing that my skills are not worthy of being up there?

It feels as if the passion that drives my fingers to type down the keyboard and to grip firmly on the pencil has just, washed away.

Studying here just makes me feel worst about myself, that I'm not as smart like my friends. And I still struggle to keep my shivers in check whenever I'm in front of a crowd.

The longer I stay alive, the more I notice the bits that haunts me everyday,

And I accepted those bits to be imperfections that I choked upon,

Yet I still choose to swallow them, reason stays anonymous,

As a result I'll just continue to suffer, loosing my fingers in the process.


That's all for now.

Paint me an ungrateful sinner
-An unhappy student

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