Hope.

So. 

I started just writing what I want to write. And hitting send. Just in little bursts. Nothing revolutionary. Maybe it’s too little too late. Or maybe I’m getting lost in a crowd. The important point is that I do not CARE. I don’t care if my pain is an inconvenience or annoying to others. It’s done me no good to hold it in and has been a festering wound. You truly DO need to mourn and grieve to move through things, to break old patterns.  

I need to do this, because I’ve been frozen in time in an insane traumatized rage from years of undealt-with nonsense. The current negativity and overwhelm and lack of safety in society and appalling behavior I see around me… the rudeness and entitlement and selfishness and lack of attention span has taken a final toll. Rather than just letting go of anger I instead became resentful of extra love and kindness, extra effort I put in. I became transactional and exacting and used my brain to comb through the inconsistencies of others rather than moving on and living my truth.
I think I am done. I think…

1. I no longer care how popular I am. Maybe I’m screaming into a void. I don’t know. But actually, I know I’m not.

2. Letting go of yearning after accolades and popularity and recognition makes me a better artist. If I have three good fans who are not fans at all but appreciators with their own creative dreams and lives, that’s three times better than nothing. I have at least ten or twenty, maybe even fifty times that. So how lucky am I?

3. It’s time to let go of the negativity, forgive myself for having these blinding depressions, get willing to TALK about them because THEY ARE REAL, and get on it. I have people around me and things to do.

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Hope.

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