benchextender

[benchextender]

Trying

You need to have something. You are not enough.

Something calls to me. For the sake of my sanity I usually resist; I know how this ends. Tonight, though, I listen.

The sketchbook is open. Familiar scribbles fill out the pages. Some have dates attached, drawing a picture of scattered, frustrated efforts across several years. Many drawings are crossed out, some accompanied with notes of anger. I have very little memories of these pages, but the feelings they portray are all too familiar.

Before long, I reach the most weathered page. A mirror of my former self. An actual drawing. Good proportions, cute style, a solid result.

It's perfect.

I should be proud, but I'm not. The smoky aura of eraser residue brings back memories of a destructive process. I spent hours across several days perfecting it, obsessing over the smallest details, erasing and redrawing the same features over and over until I was finally satisfied. It's perfect... but it's not mine. I wasn't happy with it until it didn't look like I made it at all. Any slight variation from the style I was going for was a mistake, and had to be corrected.

Keep going.

I leaf through only a few more pages until they go blank. The most intimidating sight. I tell myself not to worry, that everyone learns at their own pace, that I can't expect to be at the level of someone with years of experience.

I just have to try.

It doesn't take long for the familiar feelings to set in. Once again I find myself only able to draw simple shapes and attempt to string them together into something coherent. Anything more advanced is so alien to me, worlds apart from my ability. Images flood my brain. I surround myself with so many talented artists, thousands of beautiful works to admire and aspire towards but all it does now is drag me down.

You need to have something.

Years of inaction and hiding are doing me no favors.

You are not enough.

The mask I live through wears heavy on my face.

This was never going to work.

Is this all I will ever be? Am I doomed to repeat this cycle forever?

What did you think would happen?

Irrational thoughts cloud my mind. I want to tear it to shreds, to throw it all away, explode into a tearful mess and destroy everything in sight, to-

I open my eyes.

Right. It's late. I don't know what I was thinking. I'll just sleep it off, as usual. Maybe I'll get motivated again tomorrow.

Months pass. Nothing changes. The void inside me grows. I hear the call again, coming from somewhere else.

A different medium. Any attempt to use the more advanced tools yields similar results, but there is something I can do here. A rare flash of inspiration hits me. A simple level for a game. Nothing special, but it's mine.

A much smoother process. The design shifts from my original intent but I don't mind. I make sure it plays perfectly, that none of the visuals are out of place, that everything flows naturally. Is this what creating something is supposed to feel like? It's nice. I feel like I'm in control. If only it were always like this.

I finish my level and upload it online. It's refreshing to make something and share it with the world, even if only a few people see it. A respite from the otherwise constant emptiness.

It's not enough.

Before I know it, I'm back to a blank canvas. The most intimidating sight. No matter how many times I do this, it never gets easier to start something new.

You're not cut out for this. Remember how good it felt to finish something? Why don't you play it again?

It really was fun. How did I do that? Why isn't it always like this?

You know why. Just play it again.

Maybe I'll find the answers here. I was happy here.

This is the only way you'll recapture that feeling. Play it again.

I love this part. It came together well.

Play it again.

I guess it wouldn't hurt to replay an old favorite. That can't hurt me.

Play it again.

Maybe this is for the best.

Play it again.

I'm safe here.

Play it again.

A cacophony of color and sound swallows me whole.

Play it again.

I collapse into myself like a dying star.

Play it again.

Months pass.