So, you mean, there's no absolute explaination as to why this is happening to me? It's bullshit. Ape fucking shit. I hate this. I hate all of it. I hate that I look at my art and don't feel anything anymore. I don't want to attach do many emotions and expectations to my art. No one really cares and it's not supposed to have so many layers anyways. I hate how I just fall in love with someone or something and in the end all it ever does is makes me crumble. Only when I thought art was therapeutic, it started taking such a toll on my mental health. I hate having it on the top among the list of things that make me anxious. It's not something that's supposed to trigger any negative alarms in me. Why do I care about my paintings so much? So what if I've witnessed so many of them from the scratch turning into colorful narrations? At the end of the day, it's just some inanimate fucking canvas that doesn't give two fucks about my feelings. I am allowing myself to feel too much. Or maybe it's all an attempt to brush off sadness that never stops chasing me. Like really, think about it. It's fucking silly and stupid. The same things that make you happy hold the power to make you cry. Ugh. Earlier I used to stay up late at night in an attempt to dodge nightmares and now I stay up wondering why my art is not good enough.