I destroyed one of my favourite dresses today. I was painting in it – my stupid fault – in the one corner of the bedroom I can work in. Our house is too small for anywhere else.

Thing with acrylic paint? It dries out. And when you’re depressed you don’t do much of anything. So my green paint dried so much I had to squeeze hard to get it out. All over my dress. I have an apron, so that was my fault. The small house, the careful savings of my benefits (for mental health issues)? Those are classist bullshit.

I just hate being so fucking stupid. Poor, stupid pathetic and thinking anyone wants to see what I make. All I make is pathetic rubbish.

Yesterday I found my first attempt at re-starting painting. I had printed out pictures of my “muses” to help reference from: Michael Carmen Pitt, Danusia Samal and Jamie Bochert. I hadn’t got to Rami Mslek yet. I looked at those accomplished and successful people and now I wonder what the fuck am I even doing?

I am a failure. That’s it. That’s all. I took a decent painting and ruined it because I thought I could make it better. I can’t even make my life better.

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore.

I don’t know.