I love art. I think it's fucking brilliant. I put artists on a pedestal. I cannot imagine myself doing anything with my life that isn't artistic because I have so much passion for being expressive and creative.

But there's a problem—I've always jokingly referred to myself as being "artistically retarded," but lately it hasn't been in an affectionate manner. I really do struggle with my vain attempts to become an artist. I like photography, but I currently do not have the resources to turn it into a hobby. I've been told I'm a great writer, but I tend to find writing dreadful. Let's be honest here: nobody really gives a fuck about writing. I don't even give a fuck about writing.

More than anything else, I want to draw.

I'm incredibly jealous of all of you artistic types out there. I mean, I'm certainly happy for you; you have all worked so hard and practice constantly to improve your skills, and you really deserve all of the praise you get, because you guys are amazing at what you do. But sometimes I get tired of looking from the outside in.

I've tried drawing more than a few times. I've had a few sketchbooks, but I burned the first one in a spontaneous fit of teen angst years ago and the others are probably sitting in the depths of my closet somewhere. It's extremely discouraging to realize that any mentally-stable three-year-old could outdraw you any day of the week.

This kind of self-conscious defeatist attitude is bullshit, and I know that. Everyone tells me that practice makes perfect, but sometimes I just don't think I have the capacity in me, and it really sucks. I would give anything to be able to draw with the slightest hint of coherency. I would kill to be able to just randomly doodle something on a piece of paper without being cruelly reminded of just how hopeless it is. I want to believe that I can just practice like hell and get it over it in time, but I'm starting to believe that I'm just damned to perpetual bitterness for my entire life.

I don't... know.