Drawing

I'm so fucking tired of my so-called friends who drag me along to hang out and then just park me on the couch to forget all about me. The only thing that I EVER got positive attention for, are my artistic skills, especially drawing. I'm that chick who draws well. That's all people have ever appreciated about me. If it weren't for my drawings, nobody'd ever talked to me in the first place. I hate it. Drawing's become the one thing that makes the world give a damn about me. That's why it started in the first place. As a child, I was already lonely so I made up imaginary friends and drew them. Drew imaginary adventures with imaginary friends and what I drew happened to be above average in quality so people noticed me for the first fucking time and praised the living bajeezus outta me. I mean, when I wasn't being praised and cuddled for my drawing skills, I was getting yelled up and/or beat up for my existance. I mean, ugly fat kid mustn't exist, world keeps proving that to me even now. As long as I produced nice drawings, I was safe, people liked me. But drawing is something I do best when I'm undisturbed (though among people who peek over my shoulder; love the silent attention), so the vicious circle started. In order to have my existance appreciated, I had to draw. But in order to do that, I had to be alone. And that wasn't so hard to accomplish, ugly fat girls are usually alone. And that's how ugly fat girl got better and better at drawing: Having lots and lots of time alone, undisturbed, unnoticed, unappreciated. That's how you get good at this kind of things. By having lots of alone-time. Of course, encounters with people who were as good as or even better than me, were catastrophic. They were a threat to my very existance or at least, to the world taking notice of it. So the pressre I was constantly under, was enormous. And while I was frantically working on improving my skills, I grew to HATE drawing. My mental aversion to drawing at one hand getting me attention and at the other hand stealing it from me, became physical and I had back- and headaches, my wrist would suddenly hurt and I could no longer take the smell of pencils. The dilemma and a vast mental emptiness started at that point. I no longer enjoyed drawing because I'd suddenly realized that all the time, it had only been a way to have my existance noticed in a positive way. But it has also become my only real hobby. But now that I no longer enjoy drawing, now that I no longer feel inspiration and accomplishment now that the truth has come to me, what do I do? What can I kill my abundant alone-time with? There's nothing I enjoy doing. And how can I now get appreciation, now that I can no longer hold a pencil for more than 10 minutes without feeling that immense hate and despair rising inside? What now? More boring alone-time. More binge eating. More being fat and ugly and nothing else because the "drawing" is gone. The only thing people appreciate me for, has gone from me and I hate it for leaving me but at the same time, I hate the thought of picking up the pencil. I want to all the time but I know I wouldn't enjoy it. I'd love to draw comics, but as soon as I start, the mental hate of drawing turns into aggression and panic attacks, physical pain sets in that artists usually feel after HOURS of hard work, but not after a few strokes; I have to stop for it'd break me, but when I stop, I have nothing left to do with myself.

I hate this gift.