I hate that my parents always bring up my past. It’s not like I’m the same person as I was in the past. I understand that I made mistakes, but you did too. It’s not like I bring up your’s, so for the love of god… Give me some respect and stop bringing up the past. It’s called the past for a reason.

I think that I’m not enough and that I have allowed myself to believe that that is true for so long now that it has eaten away at my brain so that I am missing parts of myself. I have allowed my heart to disappear and my fingers and art are suffering for it. I’ve just allowed myself to get so wrapped up in this confusing tornado of thoughts.. I lost control for a minute, and now I am trying to regain myself because it is important that I do so. I want to make a thousand pieces of art and I want to make hundreds and hundreds of collages. I want to read until my eyes are burning and I want to love until my heart explodes. I want to push myself again because I haven’t pushed myself in so long that I feel as though I have lost my passions. It’s all too easy for me to fall asleep at night and to just sleep through the morning sunlight as if it is nothing at all. When it is absolutely everything! I want to draw every individual grain of sand and I want to nurture and take care of every single freaking plant. I need to travel and move and document my life because really, I don’t have that much time. I need to produce stupid art and I need to produce excellent art and who freaking cares if it turns out badly because I can always just do it again and again and again until I get it right. I lost myself for years and I don’t intend on losing myself again.

and i will make this anonymous.
i do have two other blogs,
but some people whom i know follow it,
it's kind of hard/awkward to openly, open up,
when i know they're going to be reading it.
so i won't be telling them about this one.
and if they find it,
they still won't know it's me.
i hope you all enjoy this ranting, anonymous blog.
thank you, thanks.