I feel a boiling pot of rage burst from within me whenever I put pen to paper, the loathesome burst of energy, crying, screaming.
You should be better than this, you NEED to be better at this, if you aren't well, you're just going to be forgotten by the world.
Your art is all you offered the world, without it, what value do you add to people's lives?
If you do not continue to paint, to draw, to write.
I have already walked halfway, but the other half...
It's painful.