You know? The feeling that you should kill yourself because life is totally pointless?
So dig this (it's dug, mother fucker!). I have just recently broken out of one of the worst Existential attacks in recent memory. I was staring at some of my recent finished work (it's the best I've ever done, I mean, everything has been building to this set of work) about a month and a half ago. I was just reveling in everything. But little did I know that that feeling of Absurdity was waiting patiently with it's fist out just behind me. And I turned right into the fucking thing.
So from then until earlier today I was a miserable wretch. So held down by the human condition that every emotion I could possibly have was heightened. And what emotion could I possibly have with the feeling of Absurdity? That's right, depression. I was on the brink of suicide so many times that some of my more caring friends were trying to get the men in the white coats to come and get me. It was so horrid that I almost didn't go an hour without weeping uncontrollably.
tl;dr: Feeling of Absurdity, hated existence, wanted to die.
I think it's about time to read The Myth of Sisyphus again.
Anti complaint: I've moved my work to a larger studio. Better light, heat and A/C, and tons of space including a room for storing dried paintings.
So dig this (it's dug, mother fucker!). I have just recently broken out of one of the worst Existential attacks in recent memory. I was staring at some of my recent finished work (it's the best I've ever done, I mean, everything has been building to this set of work) about a month and a half ago. I was just reveling in everything. But little did I know that that feeling of Absurdity was waiting patiently with it's fist out just behind me. And I turned right into the fucking thing.
So from then until earlier today I was a miserable wretch. So held down by the human condition that every emotion I could possibly have was heightened. And what emotion could I possibly have with the feeling of Absurdity? That's right, depression. I was on the brink of suicide so many times that some of my more caring friends were trying to get the men in the white coats to come and get me. It was so horrid that I almost didn't go an hour without weeping uncontrollably.
tl;dr: Feeling of Absurdity, hated existence, wanted to die.
I think it's about time to read The Myth of Sisyphus again.
Anti complaint: I've moved my work to a larger studio. Better light, heat and A/C, and tons of space including a room for storing dried paintings.