I find believing in myself as much a practice as art making. It’s not something I obtain and then have, but something I work to maintain. The only way to fail is to give up the fight. When faced with self-doubt you gotta be ready to throw hands. You have to.
Your third thought at least should be, “You got me fucked up. I can do this.”
These negative thoughts that crop up, the ones that tell me what I can’t do, what I haven’t done, how the world is fucked, how my family’s fucked, how I’m fucked, I’ve taken to calling my demons. We fight everyday, my demons and I.
This past Monday my mama called me. And our conversations, while always filled with laughter, stress me out. They bring to the forefront of mind the worries I suppress in order to do school and be present here in New Haven. Over the course of the past few years I’ve realized that I’m not in a position to help the way I would like. In fact, right now it’s a detriment to my own wellbeing to engage in certain ways. I have to focus and get my own shit together first.
I won’t go into what we talked about, because it’s really none of your business. The actual subject matter was not as serious as it has been and definitely not as serious as I know it could be. No one has died. No one is in the hospital. No one has been arrested. No one has been shot. Still, after we hung up I had trouble holding myself together.
I accidentally missed a class. I just didn’t notice time was passing. I went to my room where I cried a bit. I talked to God, which was nice, but this nigga never responds. So talking to him, or my dad for that matter, doesn’t always help my loneliness. And I just don’t know why I never seek out company when I’m feeling like that.
I don't paint enough. I don't write enough. I don't study enough or do enough homework. I don't exercise enough. I don't keep in touch enough. And honestly I probably don’t shower enough.
The issue I find with doingthings is in the doing. When I was younger and throughout high school I summed it up to me being lazy. Then shortly after matriculating to Yale I was like, "Nah I'm just Southern." As I became more conscious I started to wonder about the subconscious effects racism was having on my psyche. Towards the end of sophomore year I thought it was racism and depression.
For simplicity's sake I'll call them my lethargic tendencies. I can lounge around all day. I can stare into space for an hour without moving. I feel I've always had less energy than others. I try to avoid commitments because I'm never sure how long my motivation will stick around. It seems as if I would be perfectly happy doing nothing at all.