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Description
remember when I used to make art for the sake of making art?
When I liked to tell stories and draw these dumb little doodles all the time.
...I miss those days.

I want to turn the ship around...because I know what happens if I keep going in the direction I'm headed. I'll get a regular job, one that supports me but one that's never fully satisfying. I'll work and work and work until I'm dead and that will just be the end of it. I hate to even think about it. I had so many goals, so many dreams and sometimes I feel like I've had to dash them away for some reason or another. It was always I'm too young, I'm too poor, I'm too scared to try to make things better for myself. I saw the bottom and I knew that if I stayed where I was I would be there eventually, but what am I willing to sacrifice in order to keep from ever ending up there. I don't have any delusions. I'll never be a very wealthy person and that's fine, but I don't want to struggle. I want to know that I'll have a home and be able to put food on the table without having to wonder where the money comes from and in order to do that I have to change. I hate to say it, because its just one more dream put on hold while I try to straighten myself out, but I have to do something different.

I've been doing a lot of soul searching and for the past year I've felt...kinda hollow and like I wasn't really getting anywhere. You run into a piece of glass often enough and eventually you'll stop trying and that's sort of what's going on in my head. I still want to make art, but its been one compromise after another. It started with just going to a community college instead of shipping myself off to an actual school where I could learn animation properly and all because I couldn't afford it...still can't. It just went downhill from there until I questioned my ability to do any of those things. Family didn't really help...I feel like they hold me back, keep me in check and force me to make decisions that I'm not sure about.

I had a house...still kinda do. I moved in back in 2014 with every intention of fixing it and making it my own. It like me was a little run down, a little broken. It was old. Its about to turn one hundred next year, but I like the feel of it. Its warm and inviting in is own way. All in all it was cozy. I didn't have much, a bed, some shelves a dresser and some ambition. Everyone saw a dump, a place that needed to be torn down and I just saw something that needed to be fixed. I repaired some walls and put in a brand new carpet which was a good start. I felt like I was making a difference and that I was finally going to be happier....but then the divorce. The second divorce my mother was apart of. She had married this man with the full intention of using him as a finical crutch and he being a good fifteen years older than her was happy to oblige. I should have objected at first. You can tell when someone just isn't any good. He degraded her year after year and spoke very lewdly to my sister and myself. Towards the end I had developed a severe distrust of people in general, was in therapy, and prescribed multiple medications to cope with my insecurities. I'm not ashamed, I need the help and I'm better now. You can understand why I gladly offered my mother and sister to stay at my little house until they could get back on their feet.

This place was our little sanctuary, and while it certainly wasn't built for three people to live in I couldn't complain. We've always tried to get along and be open with each other, but there was no room to make the improvements. I didn't care then. I thought that they might stay for a couple of weeks until she found something a little larger, but a couple of weeks turned into a couple of months, which turned into a couple of years. I finished college during the time they were here, which was a good start, but by the end of it I felt so mentally drained that I didn't want to deal with them anymore. The cozy little house turned into a hoarder's dream by my standards, such a small space was easily filled with things. Sometimes I would walk in to find trash in my bed, and that's just how I felt, like garbage, like I was something to be tossed out, and that I deserved every horrible thing that ever happened to me because I was worthless.

I grew to resent them. Its a feeling that makes me sick to my stomach. They are my family after all, and I wanted them to know that I still cared, but part of me couldn't keep my mouth closed any longer. I was mad. I told them. I told them that I felt belittled and taken advantage of and they didn't care. So I got angry, fought about the smallest things because it was the smallest things that would set me off, and instead of listening they would just blame the medication. It wasn't strong enough they said, and that I should go back and get stronger stuff, and that really really pissed me off. I felt like my mother was comparing me to her mother who has a mental illness. I felt like she wanted me to be like her. She wanted me to sleep all day everyday and do nothing else because that's all the medicine would allow her to do. She wanted to ship me off to some psych ward where I'd spend the rest of my days coloring with crayons and staring out a window with glazed eyes because that's where crazy people needed to be.

It hurt. It hurt so bad to hear things like that coming from them. I felt helpless and I wanted to be alone all the time because I was scared that I would end up like that, and worse still felt that maybe that was the place I needed to be. During this time my father contacted me. He's the sort of person that I don't get to hear from as much as I like and I think he saw just how torn up I was and took me away for two weeks. In two weeks I managed to really get over some mental hills that were blocking my path to a better future. He showed me that my being sad and angry all the time was really just a product of my being in a place that sucked, and that the best thing I could do for myself was to move out. My mother wasn't going anywhere and my sister had started college in another town. I should do what was best for me. So I started looking for places...not very actively as I still hoped that my mother would eventually leave. It was May when I finally told her that I no longer planned on staying. I guess part of her maybe felt guilty or perhaps it was just one more slap to the face when she decided the same thing. She's finally moving on to live closer to her work. I don't know what will become of this little house...seeing it in the condition its now in it probably should be condemned. I'm moving on to hopefully live better, and take care better care of myself.

It will be hard. When I was in the little house I didn't have to worry about the rent. Which was pretty much why I could go on living there. It was a chance to do the thing I loved, my art. Now I don't know. I hope I'll get to draw as often and I hope that one day it will be something I get to do solely as income, but nothing is ever certain. and I will keep trying, but I'm exhausted, and I want so much more than just to scrape by.

and I want to thank the Da and Fa communities
You guys are amazing and I really do wake up every morning just to keep making things for you to enjoy. You've all be such a huge support and I feel like I can talk to you and learn from you. Give yourselves a pat on the back for that, and I do want to give back. I really do. You've done so much for me and words can not express how much I appreciate everything.

Description
remember when I used to make art for the sake of making art?
When I liked to tell stories and draw these dumb little doodles all the time.
...I miss those days.

I want to turn the ship around...because I know what happens if I keep going in the direction I'm headed. I'll get a regular job, one that supports me but one that's never fully satisfying. I'll work and work and work until I'm dead and that will just be the end of it. I hate to even think about it. I had so many goals, so many dreams and sometimes I feel like I've had to dash them away for some reason or another. It was always I'm too young, I'm too poor, I'm too scared to try to make things better for myself. I saw the bottom and I knew that if I stayed where I was I would be there eventually, but what am I willing to sacrifice in order to keep from ever ending up there. I don't have any delusions. I'll never be a very wealthy person and that's fine, but I don't want to struggle. I want to know that I'll have a home and be able to put food on the table without having to wonder where the money comes from and in order to do that I have to change. I hate to say it, because its just one more dream put on hold while I try to straighten myself out, but I have to do something different.

I've been doing a lot of soul searching and for the past year I've felt...kinda hollow and like I wasn't really getting anywhere. You run into a piece of glass often enough and eventually you'll stop trying and that's sort of what's going on in my head. I still want to make art, but its been one compromise after another. It started with just going to a community college instead of shipping myself off to an actual school where I could learn animation properly and all because I couldn't afford it...still can't. It just went downhill from there until I questioned my ability to do any of those things. Family didn't really help...I feel like they hold me back, keep me in check and force me to make decisions that I'm not sure about.

I had a house...still kinda do. I moved in back in 2014 with every intention of fixing it and making it my own. It like me was a little run down, a little broken. It was old. Its about to turn one hundred next year, but I like the feel of it. Its warm and inviting in is own way. All in all it was cozy. I didn't have much, a bed, some shelves a dresser and some ambition. Everyone saw a dump, a place that needed to be torn down and I just saw something that needed to be fixed. I repaired some walls and put in a brand new carpet which was a good start. I felt like I was making a difference and that I was finally going to be happier....but then the divorce. The second divorce my mother was apart of. She had married this man with the full intention of using him as a finical crutch and he being a good fifteen years older than her was happy to oblige. I should have objected at first. You can tell when someone just isn't any good. He degraded her year after year and spoke very lewdly to my sister and myself. Towards the end I had developed a severe distrust of people in general, was in therapy, and prescribed multiple medications to cope with my insecurities. I'm not ashamed, I need the help and I'm better now. You can understand why I gladly offered my mother and sister to stay at my little house until they could get back on their feet.

This place was our little sanctuary, and while it certainly wasn't built for three people to live in I couldn't complain. We've always tried to get along and be open with each other, but there was no room to make the improvements. I didn't care then. I thought that they might stay for a couple of weeks until she found something a little larger, but a couple of weeks turned into a couple of months, which turned into a couple of years. I finished college during the time they were here, which was a good start, but by the end of it I felt so mentally drained that I didn't want to deal with them anymore. The cozy little house turned into a hoarder's dream by my standards, such a small space was easily filled with things. Sometimes I would walk in to find trash in my bed, and that's just how I felt, like garbage, like I was something to be tossed out, and that I deserved every horrible thing that ever happened to me because I was worthless.

I grew to resent them. Its a feeling that makes me sick to my stomach. They are my family after all, and I wanted them to know that I still cared, but part of me couldn't keep my mouth closed any longer. I was mad. I told them. I told them that I felt belittled and taken advantage of and they didn't care. So I got angry, fought about the smallest things because it was the smallest things that would set me off, and instead of listening they would just blame the medication. It wasn't strong enough they said, and that I should go back and get stronger stuff, and that really really pissed me off. I felt like my mother was comparing me to her mother who has a mental illness. I felt like she wanted me to be like her. She wanted me to sleep all day everyday and do nothing else because that's all the medicine would allow her to do. She wanted to ship me off to some psych ward where I'd spend the rest of my days coloring with crayons and staring out a window with glazed eyes because that's where crazy people needed to be.

It hurt. It hurt so bad to hear things like that coming from them. I felt helpless and I wanted to be alone all the time because I was scared that I would end up like that, and worse still felt that maybe that was the place I needed to be. During this time my father contacted me. He's the sort of person that I don't get to hear from as much as I like and I think he saw just how torn up I was and took me away for two weeks. In two weeks I managed to really get over some mental hills that were blocking my path to a better future. He showed me that my being sad and angry all the time was really just a product of my being in a place that sucked, and that the best thing I could do for myself was to move out. My mother wasn't going anywhere and my sister had started college in another town. I should do what was best for me. So I started looking for places...not very actively as I still hoped that my mother would eventually leave. It was May when I finally told her that I no longer planned on staying. I guess part of her maybe felt guilty or perhaps it was just one more slap to the face when she decided the same thing. She's finally moving on to live closer to her work. I don't know what will become of this little house...seeing it in the condition its now in it probably should be condemned. I'm moving on to hopefully live better, and take care better care of myself.

It will be hard. When I was in the little house I didn't have to worry about the rent. Which was pretty much why I could go on living there. It was a chance to do the thing I loved, my art. Now I don't know. I hope I'll get to draw as often and I hope that one day it will be something I get to do solely as income, but nothing is ever certain. and I will keep trying, but I'm exhausted, and I want so much more than just to scrape by.

and I want to thank the Da and Fa communities
You guys are amazing and I really do wake up every morning just to keep making things for you to enjoy. You've all be such a huge support and I feel like I can talk to you and learn from you. Give yourselves a pat on the back for that, and I do want to give back. I really do. You've done so much for me and words can not express how much I appreciate everything.