This is a journal; This is a confession; This is exasperation; This is desperation; This is a cry for help; This is catharsis; This is therapy; This is praxis.

Is this melodramatic? It probably is, but I don't care.

Whatever it is, I'm simply fed up with the state of things surrounding my art: the world around me, the community it's a part of, my work ethic, headspace, disabilities, and mental illness. I decided to make something about it on the off chance that saying the things inside my head out loud might help to dislodge something that's been severely jamming up the works.

I'm sorry that I'm like this, and I'd prefer it if I wasn't; but I likewise wish things could have been better for me and my art in a thousand little ways that have all added up over the years of me doing this.

Consider this a plea for anyone who can help in any way, to do so - while acknowledging at the same time that I am part of "anyone," and that I've been trying my hardest to do so, too. I need reliable, consistent work, I need patrons, and I need reassurance that people will care about the things I truly want to make so that I'll be okay.

I obviously understand very well that I am ultimately the one most responsible for myself, and while acknowledging my own limits, I want to do better. Ideally, the best that I can.

I just need more help, because ultimately; I'm still only one bun.