I’m sorry if this is lengthy.  this has been living rent-free in my headspace for sometime.
The most recent things will be more particular in nature.

I’m sorry I exist so that the potential of you reading this is now an inevitable variable to those who use this site.

I’ve come to a point in my life where the 11th hour of my motivations for living has rung.
I used to have passion.  I used to be a lot of things.  I was a musician, living a double life of excess and determination.
That drive has been long since replaced by shame and fear.  I don’t have many friends anymore as I’ve left that lifestyle, but the echoes of it remain.

My mom and I have a good relationship, but I feel like even she doesn’t really have time to talk with me anymore either.

I’m an artist by profession, but I don’t know how to be anymore.  I don’t know what to create.  I’m unmotivated to make my own anything.  Every time I start, I abandon it as it’s trash.  It makes me wonder if my very perceptions of what is art and what I like are trash.  Maybe my eyes don’t work like everyone else’s.  What I see is sh*t to everyone else.  Maybe my art is just sh*t.  Maybe it always was.

I’m not motivated at work anymore.  With the exception of my co-worker who has been making a name from himself, my company doesn’t have much faith in me to perform.  My work is ridiculed in meetings, my boss barely acknowledges me and I stay late and work overtime weekly, but who cares?  It’s a job, it’s expected.  I know.
I know it’s not a competition and the worse kind of people are those that harbor resentment for other’s successes, and heaven knows my co-worker deserves every accolade he’s received…but it gets harder and harder to feel like I bring anything to the table, and to be honest, maybe I never did.

It feels like no one is listening to me.  The only times they do it’s too berate me for not being online or being available the right way for them.  If my art is trash, maybe my opinions and perspective are too.  I usually keep to myself anyway, but I used to like having discussion about things..I thought people were listening to me.  Maybe they were just taking cues as to how to avoid being that sad state of a being with nothing worth listening to.  If that’s the case, why bother being an artist with nothing to say?

God, this is pathetic.

I’m unfulfilled at work.  I have no life outside of it and I’m not exactly in a situation where I can pack up and move.
I feel creatively unavailable.
I’m selfish.
I live vicariously in the drive and motivation I had in my 20’s…and the fact that I peaked before 30.
Now, merely a frame ravaged by time and consequence.  A cautionary tale at best.  Taking up space and living on borrowed time and empty pity.

I’m tired.

“Oh, Woe is you.  You have so many problems and refuse to do anything about them outside of airing your grievances anonymously because you’re a cowardly self-deprecating sack of sh*t”…I imagine you gleefully typing as there would be no reprisals.

I know it’s not a practical solution, but I’m investigating ways to finally sleep.  The kind of sleep you don’t wake up from.  Any suggestions are more than welcome.

Thank you for your time.