Parental Trauma and a Pizza Box

It's another Socket Seekers post and you are choosing to read it, apparently.

When I was younger and I wanted to be a painter, my mother used to say my paintings were the sign of a sick mind. She had no idea that I would be creating evidence of my sickness and that I would turn the person I turn to for help into the villain of my blog. I checked with my therapist and she just laughed maniacally, so I think she is admitting guilt or I am hallucinating again.

Back when I thought I could paint and draw, I would stare at the clouds and see amazing things in them; now all I see is acid rain and the possibility of a bird dive-bombing me and crapping in my mouth. I used to take these "visions" and turn them into abstract versions of the monsters that haunt my mind. This was sometimes therapeutic.

I remember when all this changed. I was working on a painting in the house. I remember even back then I avoided being around people and preferred to do everything as far away from the infestation of humans that has overrun our planet. My mother came home and was upset—I think she saw I was happy. I had put newspaper down so I could paint, and she demanded that I get all my junk out of the living room, where NO ONE else was until she arrived. That is when my completely rational 14-year-old self took all my artwork, shoved it into a used pizza box, wrote "my junk" on it, and threw it into the void of my closet to rot away.

From that day on, my artwork wasn't that enjoyable anymore. I did go to art school and tried to continue, but I always knew that my art was junk and deserved to be in that closet with all the rest of my unfinished work. This is my new attempt at creating something new that doesn't get labeled junk, but if we do want to label this, let's call it junk food for your mind.

Useless Recap:

• Parental issues; therapy is going to be expensive.
• Failed artist status confirmed.
• Birds are objectively evil.
• "Junk food for your mind" is a great line, right?
  

Disclaimer: This stuff happened, but I am dealing with it. And no, I cannot afford another therapy session a week.