self control has always been so difficult for me. i have all of these imagined motivations and dreamed goals, and yet i simply cannot bring myself to pull away from distractions and sloth. perfection is constantly what i strive for, failure is such a looming inevitable, and i find myself quite paralyzed. perfection is not realistic, failure is important to grow, and yet, the thought of being unable to achieve everything first try makes me want to revert to toddler tantrums.
art, and my expression through it, is one of the absolute most important things to me. i cannot imagine my life without it, and having any sort of career not rooted in art is nauseating. i am so scared of not having an artistic job that i shy away from working towards it, because what if it doesn’t work out? what if i’m not good enough and nobody wants what i have to offer? what if it was never meant for me? except that is just the thing that motivates me as well. when i am doubted, the fueled fire burns until i char all my days with progress in place of perfection, and working step by step instead of turning away because the goals are too large.
self control is not a constant in my life. i ebb and flow into girlboss grind culture and then wean off until i am rotting in bed, wondering why i cannot continuously create what i so desperately crave to create. my excuse pit is bottomless; i’m just in my luteal phase, i stayed up too late last night, someone close to me hurt my feelings, my family responsibilities are mountainous, i’m on my period, i’m too anxious, i’ll just finish this episode, i deserve another week off, i need to re-film this self-tape before submitting, i have to use my led face mask and high frequency wand, i miss my dead dog, i miss my dead family, i miss my dead friend. but my dead friend’s dad can somehow carry on. he is shattered infinitely more than me, and yet he comforts me. he works. he learns. he encourages me and takes the time for me and i still try to rationalize that the reason i can’t focus is because i miss my dear, dead friend.
maybe self-control wasn’t made for me.