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I’m sick of saying that I still don't have anything done. I hate telling friends I’m trying something just to give it up. I’m still unsure of my emotional state. I’m still incapable of focusing lately. I don’t feel like creating, I’m tired of asking Google how to find motivation. I don’t think I’ve ever made something that’s as good as I’m capable of.
I hate not having a reason to look my best. I only ever take care of myself with the intent to show the internet. If what made me successful was an imposed sense of stress then I am so so glad that I hated myself.
I didn’t luck into this position, I struggle with decisions. I wouldn’t be my own friend, I’m too inconsistent.
Without immense pressure nothing ever gets finished and if these words make it to your ears it’ll be a fucking miracle.
I’m fortunate to know more good people than most do,
I wish I had more friends I could be physically close to.
I’m pretty good at like 20 different skill sets, at the expense of never being great at any one of them.
I hate not having a reason to look my best. I only ever take care of myself with the intent to show the internet. If what made me successful was an imposed sense of stress then I am so so glad that I hated myself.
I didn’t luck into this position, I struggle with decisions. I wouldn’t be my own friend, I’m too inconsistent.
Without immense pressure nothing ever gets finished and if these words make it to your ears it’ll be a fucking miracle.
I’m fortunate to know more good people than most do,
I wish I had more friends I could be physically close to.
I’m pretty good at like 20 different skill sets, at the expense of never being great at any one of them.
