We’re Off You Know

Depression took my love for drawing and art. I used to spend hours just sketching, drawing, playing with shading and colors but now, I can't even finish a face. I find myself saying "Give it back. Give it back to me right now." Like it's a person that took something out of my hands, but it's not. How do I get it back. There's got to be a way to get it back. I can't be a person that just does nothing. Art was all I had, all I was interested in and it's just gone. Fucking gone. Everytime I try to draw, I just feel like it gets worse. I hate this alien feeling.

Begging and praying to whatever higher power or entity there is to bless me with the strength to just get up and do something.

The older I get, the more I realize that it’s not the getting physically old part that scares me, it’s the fact that I feel like I missed out on a complete childhood (due to things that I couldn’t control or help, and also in part to other smaller things that I could have done differently). I’m at a stage in my young adulthood where it’s lonely, and because of that, I’ve had time to think. I wish I wouldn’t have wanted to grow up so much when I was little. The questions I had back then about being an adult were (and are still being answered) and I just wish I would have taken more time to appreciate that I didn’t even know, and that I didn’t have to know at that time. I question things like a child, and sometimes I feel a little stupid for it, and I feel even more stupid for trying to think like an adult when I was a child. I wish I could go back and just let my childhood happen, and that I would have stopped waiting so eagerly for the next thing and just be a kid, but I can’t, and that’s okay. I have the rest of my life to be a kid, and an adult. While turning into an adult has hurt a little, I know that allowing myself moments to be a kid now will make it hurt less. A scraped knee hurts just as much to an adult as it does a child, we’re just expected to respond differently, and honestly, I think that kind of thinking is what makes adulthood hurt so much. In the end, we’re really only just bigger kids, and childhood doesn’t have to have a definite end.