I watched Sophia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette today, instead of dwelling on my anxiety, and created a little painting afterwards.
Good luck, art thieves. My signature is in there four times. 😉
Art theif: *furiously scrubbing signatures, adjusting color balance*
Art theif: but it isn’t even that good 🙄
I have anxiety. I assume that's apparent? Anyway, it worsens before shows. At the show, I am a rockstar. After, I am usually nursing disappointment in human-kind for one reason or another.
The things I wish I had are always intangible, and come down to wishing away loneliness. I've learned it’s far better to be alone than in poor company, but communities are where we thrive. Or —self destruct. Choose wisely.
It does not feel good to know people are more isolated than ever. People get weird alone. When you haven't connected with another human being in so long— by choice or happenstance— it tests your fortitude. Weird emotions come out. Strange cognitions and old voices, buried deep, bubble again to the surface of your mind.
Hence, anxiety. Pills don't help me with this. I wish antidepressants could untangle the noodles of my brain, but that's something I have to do on my own.