visual scribble #1

This old charcoal doodle of mine from 2020 is truly coming back to bite me in the ass.

At the time that I made it, I’m pretty sure I was in a psychotic episode of some sort. I had gone through a series of very scary, very violent circumstances, and at the end of them, I ended up running away from Dubai to Bangalore.

I remember parts of how I felt then… not the bad parts, but how I had to be to make it through them. Art meant everything to me then, expressing myself was a compulsion… a prerequisite to staying alive. I didn’t care about what I was doing, what it looked like – only how it felt. And it felt so good. I haven’t felt so alive since. A surge of energy, the kind of elation that feels so big it could burst right through your chest.

Feeling highs like that is great, till you can never feel them again. And feeling them comes at the cost of complementary lows. Crashes even.

My physical form is still wasting away. Faster than before. It’s wasting away because I keep doing the things I think will finally make me feel alive again. And they never do.

The crashes do hit hard, though. And so does the wear and tear on my body. I never saw myself living for so long, but I’m still here. And for the past couple of years, I’ve spent a good chunk of my time and energy quelling my death wish. I seem to have forgotten to find my wish to live.

Which brings me back to 2020. Being young and desperate – to express, to create, to live – was so compelling in hindsight. I really wanted to die, but at least I really wanted to live too. I didn’t have a care about the technical aspects of whatever I was making, no anxiety over levels of skill or perfection, no constant comparisons to every other human being in the world and what they were making.. I just had something to say, and I had to say it now.

I look back at that version of myself and think, “Oh how naive. Poor thing.” But beneath that, I feel so much envy and yearning. I want it back. I want to be able to make stuff again and feel joy. I’ll get “better” my own way. I’ll figure stuff out. I just have to start. Make something. Not judge myself so harshly. And remember the fun of it all. But most importantly, I have to reawaken the belief that my thoughts are worth taking up space.