My Art is Broken

My art is broken.

Some say that art is apart of you, like an arm or a leg, and if so mine is broken. I haven't been productive in any kind of art flow since...I can't remember. Last year there were a lot of things that made me feel a lot of intense emotions, which I turned into art. This year, the new 2015, I haven't made any art. I can't even write poetically like I could. There are no drawings or doodles on anything that I have on paper, it's just a dry well. Art isn't really something I have been focusing on intensely though either, but then again I've never had to focus on art...it always just...came to me.

I think maybe the problem is that I'm in a crossroads between being a kid and being an adult. For the most part the adult side is winning (unfortunately) and it's killing my art flow. Also, another common problem, is that there are many young adults creating art that is mind blowing and I can't do what they do so I don't do anything at all...not even trying. I find too since I took a break from school this semester that actual homework created a place for me to procrastinate and then create art. School was my base and art was my frame, kind of like a house, and that's what I lived in. Now without the base I can't build a frame. It bothers me to a degree that I can't create anything. I still love and enjoy color, but now so it's more of what other people can do rather than what I can do. Not sure how that makes me feel either.

It's not like I don't have a wave of emotions, they just aren't as intense as losing three best friends within a few months of each other. My emotions are mainly just being aggravated, bored, and lonely. Sometimes my depression comes in to play and I think about suicide but eventually put it back in the box that it hides in in the dark places of my mind. This is the way that it is with life I guess...you go to work and do this continuous cycle forever until you're dead. Sometimes I literally don't even get the point of living. Really though, not saying suicide is the ideal thing, but when I think about life and how the government is and how people are I just don't know why I'm here. One person in amidst millions and only one percent know my name by the time I'm dead. There's just this vicious cycle of surviving with all these rules about what's right and wrong. We literally have nothing to compare ourselves to, just kind of winging it here. Kind of like my parents with me during childhood. Their first and only child and they used to punish me for small petty things that didn't even matter. What they thought was right sometimes turned out to be wrong and the entire time they were being judged for everything hoping that I just turned out to be a decent human being.