I am in a state of melancholy, filled with apathy and the wish to be by myself. I travelled home for a few days but I cannot seem to make any conversation. I have barely talked too. I discovered Modigliani today. He died too, at 35. Any past artist I feel a connection to or I can relate to died young and their lives weren’t that brilliant: Mapplethorpe, Vincent Van Gogh, Sylvia Plath. He is described as ‘a passionate individual with a decadent, self- destructive lifestyle’. My, don’t even know where to start on that. Does being an artist come with all this, the whole package of..mess. Do they have narratives on how awful and beautiful it is to feel everything? To have no one understand you. You try to talk to one of your best friends about this but they bring a story on how they know someone who loved drinking so much, he had a lot of money but he realized he was going to die but now all he does is water. Good for you, I’m proud of you. That probably sounds sarcastic but it isn’t.There’s constantly a war in my mind. I’d love it to stop, I’d love to have better things to describe my mind times like this. I want to go a whole week without being disappointed that I woke up. Thinking of how all these artists have an almost similar narrative before I even knew about them, before I was even born. What is cliché? Is it a fundamental characteristic to be mentally ill and be an artist? When thoughts of..I might not grow old, I might not actually make it. Then I feel this sense of peace come over me. There will be an end to this madness: the constant fight not to relapse, an end to being a fuck up, an end to be being destructive, an end to the thirst of being intoxicated because it can silence my voices and delusions and I can live. I am normal when intoxicated. (Why do I have to be normal.) I won’t feel the crashing feels of love, I always love, understand, love love love unconditionally like please stop, you’ll still get hurt however unconditional you are. But I’m not like that, I can’t stop being vulnerable and not everybody receives you the way you are. I want an end to the fight to remain soft.
One day I won’t need to act normal, I won’t have to be amoebic, I won’t have to say, ”I can’t defend myself right now because what I did happened, it wasn’t my fault but I take full responsibility”, I won’t have to keep apologizing just because. An end to the rapid cycling bipolar episodes. I want a morning that I have not cried. I want peace. I just want peace.