How many times have I been close to collapse and wanted to give up?
It happened again today; i’m angry, i feel like shit, nothing happens, i don’t sell, nobody notices me. . .
Why doesn’t anyone shit on me? because it does not work? . .
There are always a thousand questions, one leads to another and I feel more and more nervous and depressed because I feel unable to understand what was wrong for the umpteenth time. I repeat to myself that I am incapable, a good for nothing, that maybe I should get it over with. . but it’s worth it? really? Is it really my fault if things are not going well and I can barely get out of it at the end of the month? . .
Maybe yes, maybe I don’t learn adequately from my own mistakes, or, the truth that we so persist in not wanting to tolerate and face, is that we don’t always have control over everything, we are not always the dominant masters of our own life, and perhaps we find ourselves many times within a spider’s web bigger than us that we cannot manage and shape to our liking, that flaunts us, haunts us, harasses us and ultimately drives us crazy, spilling all the rotten and the infected that it procures us with its tedious and insidious presence. An evil that wears us out if we’re not good enough at controlling it and keeping it at bay.
I repeat to stay calm and try again, dwell on what has been, review the passages minutely, calmly without feelings of anguish and sadness, neither regret nor consternation. I’ll get out of it, I repeat to myself, I’ll get out of it. Then in the end, I get angry, I get up and I want to throw everything away, without remorse and without any hesitation. Then I stop, think about it, come back to myself recovering from the hallucinated state of anger and panic in which I was just before and looking at myself from above I say to myself:
you can’t give up, remember, you can’t give up
The real failure is not when we make mistakes, we lose, we fall but it is when we stop getting up, when we say I can’t anymore, when everything goes black and we are convinced that all we have left is the darkness of the night that descends on us. A dark idea, in some respects delusional but the pure reality of things. I know something about it, I no longer know how to count the times now that I should have stopped doing what I do, stop trying, falling, getting up and falling again, and again and again. . But every time I get up I feel slightly stronger and more determined to get my little job done; try, try to the end and get that little recognition and moment of glory that will help make me triumph and make me achieve my success.
Arts is like that. . it’s chaotic, it’s stressful, it’s demanding, it’s complex, it’s a cobweb, which traps you, makes you entangled without you being able to free yourself, making you more and more tired and lacking in vital energy, but you know that if you give up and stop fighting , sooner or later the black spider around the corner, well hidden but observing everything, will show up to tear you apart and devour you without delay. So, after this intrepid day that ended the week for me, I decided to share its vicissitudes with you with the hope that it could have been of help to all those people who carry out an activity like mine, both part-time and full. .
That’s all for now, a greeting from your Adriano
