Venting Pain It seems I cannot do anything right, it makes me wanna fight. I feel mediocre and pathetic,suddenly I feel poetic. I do not understand my own limits, can't even count my minutes. What am I doing wrong? All my motivation is nearly gone. - I go to make art, and all I feel is a steak-knife in my heart. I feel hopeless, I just do not understand. I sit at my desk, face at the screen. I just want to ****ing scream! My talent is gone, I feel like I am having symptoms of withdrawal. I pick up a pencil, and I **** it up. Nothing I make is worth my time. - People look up to me because of my art, but what do they do when they realize the artist is torn? "I wonder why they never show there face." I JUST WISH I HAD SOME SPACE. I feel the eyes looking up to me, and I can't even look them in the eye. I don't want people to know the real me, I don't want them to see my past. The guilt, the overwhelming guilt. Is like spiders on my back, crawling farther each time I make a white lie.