FDashdajis

我们这些发展中国家的穷蛆怎么配和别人发达国家的艺术家比呢？怕不是出生的时候就低人一等。我们的天赋和生命都被无意义地耗费了。
做什么都不会成功的。
我是个废物，板上钉钉，无可非议，赚不到任何的钱，我竟然没有在20岁成为画师，这就是我的错，我全部的罪孽就在这里，我全部的爱也在这里。我不爱我的oc，我不爱任何人，我彻底地厌弃我自己，我彻底地对自己绝望。同龄人永远都在构思下一张画该怎么画，我只想永远地厌弃自己的作品，然后永远沉浸在游戏里，但我沉浸在游戏里的时候我也是没有快乐的，我不知道什么事情能让我快乐，所有人都应该杀了我，让我滚，这个永远孤独和悲伤的国度里只有我一个人也只能有我一个人，我不知道我的前途是什么，我唯一知道的就是我应该去死，我很可能明年就死了，到那时我会寻找各种各样的方式，我这个荒谬可笑的生命应该被彻底地完满地结束，我就算在最快乐的时候也是悲伤的，这样那样的人，他居然在20岁21岁就成为了画师，就算我在20岁彻底搞明白了这个世界是怎么一回事，又有什么用？就算我比99%的同龄人都要不庸俗，又有什么用？我不知道为什么他们可以像工厂的流水线一样不停作画，为什么他们可以不受任何小时候父母对他们的方式影响自己的前途。为什么他们总是成功的那么轻松，为什么这个世界总是要对一部分人生来就不公平？我试过像这样赚钱，但没有任何成果，所有的人看到我的样子看到我的言行就想彻底地远离我，因为我是个恶魔是个煞星是所有灾厄的来源，所有一切的根源就在于我在更小的时候不像他们那样幸福。没人会因为我的画喜爱我，也没人会因为我什么才能也没有就去喜欢我，所有人只会因为我没有才能就去恨我。就算我一分钱不要也不会有人来找我为他作画，任何一个平台都不会为我这样的人提供流量。当我画完一张图的一瞬间我的所有快乐都在那个时候消逝了，我就算明白这是为什么也不会有丝毫的长进，我的所有创作都由痛苦驱动，仅仅是因为我不够完美，我的才能不够纯粹无暇，我生在一个错误的时代，我的出生是错误的，我不应该看到任何同龄人的作品，我不应该画画，那是一切罪恶一切痛苦悲伤的源头，我的所有经历都告诉我我的所有作为都会走向无可避免的失败。快乐从一开始就不属于我，我被隔绝在所有的幸福之外，没有任何同龄人会看得起我，我有无数次想跪下来求他们舔他们的脚，为什么不能承认我？
I am worthless—beyond doubt, beyond dispute. I can’t earn any money. The fact that I didn’t become an artist at the age of twenty—that is my fault. All my sins are here, and all my love is here as well. I don’t love my OC. I don’t love anyone. I utterly despise myself. I am completely hopeless about myself.

People my age are always thinking about how to draw their next piece, but all I want is to keep despising my own work forever, and to lose myself in games forever. Yet even when I immerse myself in games, I feel no happiness at all. I don’t know what could make me happy.

Everyone should just kill me, tell me to disappear. In this land of endless loneliness and sorrow, there is only me—and there can only ever be me. I don’t know what my future is. The only thing I know is that I should die. I will probably die next year, and when that time comes, I will look for all kinds of ways to do it. This absurd and ridiculous life of mine should be completely and perfectly ended.

Even at my happiest moments, I am still sad. People like them—somehow they became artists at twenty, twenty-one. Even if I fully understood how the world works at twenty, what would be the point? Even if I am less vulgar than 99% of my peers, what would be the point?

I don’t understand why they can keep producing art like an assembly line in a factory. I don’t understand why they can shape their future without being affected by how their parents treated them when they were young. Why is it so easy for them to succeed? Why is this world always unfair to some people from the moment they are born?

I tried to make money like this, but achieved nothing. Everyone who sees me—my appearance, my words, my behavior—just wants to stay as far away from me as possible. Because I am a demon, a harbinger of misfortune, the source of all disasters. And the root of everything is that I was not as happy as they were when I was younger.

No one will love me because of my art. No one will love me for having no talent. Everyone will only hate me for lacking talent. Even if I asked for no money at all, no one would come to me for commissions. No platform would give exposure to someone like me.

The moment I finish a drawing, all my happiness disappears. Even if I understand why this happens, I still won’t improve at all. All of my creations are driven by pain—simply because I am not perfect, because my talent is not pure and flawless.

I was born in the wrong era. My birth itself was a mistake. I should never have seen the works of my peers. I should never have drawn at all. It is the source of all sin, all pain, all sorrow. Everything I have experienced tells me that everything I do will inevitably end in failure.

Happiness never belonged to me from the very beginning. I am cut off from all forms of happiness. No one my age will ever respect me. Countless times, I have wanted to kneel down, beg them, lick their feet—why can’t they acknowledge me?