I’m terrified of succeeding, of coming close to succeeding, it’s like a cliff I can fall off, and it’s my self belief that’s the problem. I don’t believe in my ability to believe that I can succeed, I know I’ll trip myself up so I stay well away from even coming close to some sort of success. I think I would like to be a tattoo artist, that the inherent people-pleasing aspect of it and the fact individuals will be asking for something that they truly want with all their heart, something important to them, might drive me forward and make up for the motivation that I lack in creating things purely for myself. It’s a service, a craft and a trade.
But I hold the idea at arm’s length, I don’t think I could cope with how good it might be. I’m not good enough, not shining and bright enough, not positive enough, not robust, real, committed, cool, confident enough. What I am is foul, decrepit, melancholic, bitter, shy, cowering. And I’m scared of my anxiety rendering me unreliable and the pressure being too much. It’s been too much before. My heart is in my throat thinking about it, seeing other people’s work, looking at my portfolio. My heart sinks.
I’ve always run away from things I might not be good at, the best at, things that seemed too ambitious, even socially. I’ve taken a step back when friends surged forward, just dipped a toe in.
But I hold the idea at arm’s length, I don’t think I could cope with how good it might be. I’m not good enough, not shining and bright enough, not positive enough, not robust, real, committed, cool, confident enough. What I am is foul, decrepit, melancholic, bitter, shy, cowering. And I’m scared of my anxiety rendering me unreliable and the pressure being too much. It’s been too much before. My heart is in my throat thinking about it, seeing other people’s work, looking at my portfolio. My heart sinks.
I’ve always run away from things I might not be good at, the best at, things that seemed too ambitious, even socially. I’ve taken a step back when friends surged forward, just dipped a toe in.
Or I’ve forced myself to move forward, I read ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’ and tried to do everything I was scared of, but ended up in situations that felt like too much and ran away again. And now I’m just paralysed.
It’s hard to breathe now, I don’t think I can think properly to write. I want to cry as apprehension at even the idea of trying to find a tattoo apprenticeship squeezes me in its fist. I looked at a character sheet by an accomplished artist and felt the cold fingers tighten, felt myself give up before I’ve begun, because I don’t know which way to swim in this vast sea of possibilities and impossibilities, so I just let myself go limp and heavy like a doll, like a petulant child and sink down into the murk.
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