i keep having these fucking insane dreams about my dad

last night, i was visiting my brother in my dream. i was at my dad's house, where my brother lives, but it was our old house [my family's] so that was weird

anyway my dad was cooking in the kitchen, and he knew i was there and i knew he was there and i knew to get to my car i'd have to go past him. so i told my brother to stay upstairs, because shit was about to go down.

he was in the bathroom. all was clear. i was about to slip out the door when i saw a really primitive cell phone--an identical copy to my boyfriend's; a blackberry rip off phone from a third party phone service--on the kitchen table. i saw that my dad had rubber banded a piece of paper that had a girl's name, his girlfriend's nonexistent daughter [she has no kids] that my mind made up. this enraged me. i NEVER got a cell phone from my dad, i bought my phone, and even tho the phone i bought myself is better than the piece of shit on the table, i knew that phone was activated, by my dad, who would continue to pay the phone bills for an adult girl who was unrelated to him entirely. he had replaced me.

i was so mad.

i waited for him to come in. he did, resumed cooking and i said,

"you know, i really hate you. you're not a father. i haven't gotten a phone call from you in over a year. you haven't tried contacting me, and i keep having fucking dreams of you. do you even have a goddamn clue what it's like for a little girl not to have her daddy?"
he said: "well, i've been having seizures in my sleep 32 times a night or more so."
me: "oh, that's good, i hope it's for every victim you've psychologically tortured over the past 40 years."

he went silent.

then i went fucking berserk, i started throwing shit from the refrigerator around, i tore down a key chain holder off the wall and threw it. i punched a doorframe through, and many holes in the wall. i tore the refrigerator down to the ground. i screamed, and screamed, and screamed. he just watched. afterwards he told me i was a psychotic bitch and to get out of his house.

then i woke up.

i really, really hate these dreams.

when i was a little girl, i was ambitious. i wanted to make video games and make all the characters and the stories. i wanted to make a whole world to explore. i drew all the time when i wasn't playing games. i drew for hours every single day.

as i got older, and you can see it in my portfolios, i've drawn less and less and eventually, now, it has sizzled out. slowly drained. right now, i have no desire to draw as 'stress relief' and no desire to draw in the next month or so. this isn't an art block, i have ideas, i just don't feel like drawing them.

when i was 12, i think that was my peak. i drew ALL THE TIME and it was all really, really horrid. then i took on... improving my art.

what a horrible decision.

if i had gone on making crappy art, i think i would still be satisfied with drawing. yea it would look like shit, but...

i've procrastinated drawing since the day i decided to improve. because i hate doing it. because i hate it all.

my dream, i left behind less than a month ago. i let it slip through my fingers when i knew if i continued on, i would have a psychotic breakdown. i was so upset, so depressed, so drained. honestly, i've hardly drawn since that day. partially school, partially lack of motivation. partially reading a series of novels that have sat on my shelf for a while now, ha.

there is a masochistic side of me that wants me to continue and keep going. this part of me is what shelled out $400 for 72 art markers. this part of me is what is going to talk about copic markers for 5 minutes to a class of people who honestly DO NOT CARE about art supplies at all. i could talk about literally anything else, but i decided to talk about copic markers since i know so much about the fuckers.
this part of me has also allowed me to compromise and keep it to myself and not torture myself into continuing to make it a career. i'm a hobbyist now. strange.

i'm happier fixing broken computer systems. i'm happier unscrewing, cleaning and reconnecting wires and big machines. fixing an nes i found in a ditch was the only thing that got me out of a depression last weekend. amazing. i'm back in one, but only because i'm in school. ugh. and i still feel like i'm being insulted in my art class. it hurts to an extent. i'm a bit tired of it.