Trying to figure out what I can do with all this hatred and teen angst. It hasn't prospered into anything useful. It also doesn't help that I chant in my head that I hate my life. I have this illusion that things are getting to me--that I'm suffocated by the banality, everyone's pressure onto me, an imperative to constantly move and get more. I am overwhelmed by the sheer pointlessness of all of it. Some days I hate my art. Sometimes I hate my victim status. Other days I milk it to a pulp: It is so nineties to be down. Something has to stop or start.
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