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In "Flailing Failing Falling," every dried-up fleck of paint and the weighty texture on the canvas tells a story of pain and struggle. It's like each rough patch and clump of paint represents the moments when I feel stupid, like I'm just destined to fail. The heaviness of the texture mirrors the weight of those emotions, dragging me down into a pit of self-doubt. It's a tangible reminder of the battles fought within, where every stroke is a wrestling match with my own sense of worth. But amidst the mess and the pain, there's also a resilience, a determination to keep going despite the odds. I don't want to fail. I can't fail again.

Painting is therapeutic for me. I express my trauma, recovery, fear of improving, hope, despair, profound shame, anger, true joy, newfound sexuality, and qualities in myself I never knew existed. I am breaking through and processing. I love seeing my artwork evolve with my mental health. Sometimes, I imagine breaking through a black-painted window and escaping a dark room, a lightless place filled with razors and broken mirrors. Outside, there are shards of glass everywhere. It is still painful, but I finally escaped. And the wounds will heal. They are healing. I pour my soul into my paintings because I must stay grounded. My parts, my emotions. I urgently and compassionately create visual representations of them because if I don't, the...