I don’t understand human relationships despite monumental effort put into doing just that, and as a result cannot network and have serious difficulties finding a new job, and can’t make any money. I dropped out of college multiple times due to suicidal depression. I’m in constant pain and loneliness is eroding my will to live. Plus I had a bunch of expensive dental work done in my 20s due to personal neglect from said suicidal depression, and have only recently climbed out of other medical debts due to a relative dumping money in my lap to clean the slate.

So to maintain my agonizingly painful and stressful lifestyle I’m already at my limit and basically doing it alone despite the presence of people who say they love me but whose love I often seem incapable of feeling. This leaves me with little time and energy to write, which itself has barriers of procrastination and anxiety. Even if I did finish a book I’d still have to sell it, and I don’t know how to do that.

I’m infused with this learned helplessness that pain and failure and alienation drilled into me, and I struggle to believe in myself with regards to doing literally anything, from cleaning up after myself to losing weight to doing schoolwork. So for something as monumentally important to my self-image as my writing and art, there’s a lot of anxiety that gets in the way.

TLDR: I’m an absolute mess pscyhologically and I fear what my art will reveal about me to others (and myself)