me, at 8 years old: undiagnosed, unmedicated, sitting on the floor drawing my silly little comics about talking animals, ignoring the homework whose existence I already forgot about, blissfully unaware that I won't ever get an education to a proper real job unless I put my art away and focus on school. I will either die after a doomed and wretched life, or live long enough to see everything somehow turn out ok, and I have no choice but to be at peace with those odds.
me, at 18 years old: living a doomed and wretched life.
me, at 28 years old: diagnosed, medicated, in therapy, sitting on the floor drawing my silly little comics about talking animals, while on a conference call with an accountant about how to legally file my income taxes for my art. Never finished a school for a real job and never worked a day in a field I actually studied for, but I did live to see everything turn out ok.