...and here it is.

...I’ve been writing, drawing, painting my whole life. I think back and realize it was how I was coping with LIFE. But now, at almost 50, I think myself out of writing. As the argument in my head goes- “don’t you just want to forget that shit?” “Why document it? Just bury it with X, WHY and Zeee.” It’s the never ending conversation within. Drawing and painting I can do, but I question the F@#% out of. Not good enough, what’s the point? Etc.... writing is the same, but different, more personal.

am I alone in this quagmire? It’s a mutherF@#%r. I wrestle with my brain quite often. I’ve deduced life down to the fact that this is going to be my struggle. Like it or not....
 
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