Random Crap that isn't art

I just needed to get this off my chest but im proud of the actual writing

TW (?): Venty topics all around, self incrimination/depreciation, vomiting, panic attacks, religion

Concepts. Writing. Drawing. Animating. Failing.

Repeat.

That's my whole life.

I sat on bed, contemplating whether the last brush stroke was good enough or do I tap the screen with two fingers.

Tap.

Poke and slide.

Shit, that last one was better than this one. Three finger tap.

Dammit, it won't come back now.

I looked up at the rest of my bedroom after hearing a knock on my door. It was my dad. The door creaked open as a goofy smile shined at me.

"Wanna watch something with me?"

I crossed my legs, sitting up and staring, subconsciously hiding my iPad with my forearm from the fear I'd be judged. How funny that I crave the validation but I'm too scared to ever show or say it. Because that would make me an attention w- I should shut up.

"Ummmmm... how would you feel if I said no? Sorry I'm in a big drawing mood right now and I-"

He just shrugged. That's it.

"That's fine, just wanted to ask!"

You're so selfish. Just hang out with your own f***ing dad. He's always working anyway, so get off your lazy ass and spend some quality time with the guy. You'd probably enjoy it, anyway.

But I don't want to. I want to animate. Before I could say anything more, he was already gone. Shit.

I stared into the wood of my closet door that was across the room. So that's why I never get anything done. In a constant dilemma about what's morally right, ain't you, Neph? Christian, you say, yet you write about murder and violence. Ain't it funny that the character design for Neph is still so relevant? Guilt sucked me up like a vacuum.
_________________
"Hey, hon. Can you mute, a second?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"Sometime this weekend.. me, you, and dad have to have a serious discussion about that conversation you had with-"

She stared at me. Bore holes into my brain. I felt my heart start thumping. It wasn't from the butterflies anymore. It was from terror.

"O-okay."

What else was I supposed to say. "No"? "No, right now"?

Okay.

That's all.

The door gently slammed shut. I turned back to my PC. My eyes fell hot. It felt like I had a fever. My stomach punched my insides as the acid-ridden feeling of anxiety flooded into my arteries. My hands and feet fell numb, as if they had lacked blood flow for the past two hours. Pins and needles everywhere.

I unmuted.

I couldn't stay quiet.

I don't blame them. They didn't hear any of this. They simply joked,

"Dude why are you breathing so heavily?", and giggled.

It got worse. Choked sobs with the intent to be silenced broke out of my throat like mice. I couldn't speak. I couldn't think. I couldn't do anything. I pulled my legs into my chest, determined to snuff the pain that had spread through my body like wildfire.

"Neph? Are you okay?"

"N-no.."

"What happened?!"

I could barely manage to breathe, let alone speak. I couldn't control my ragged breathing- the way it engulfed my system was strangely familiar. My gasped for air made my lungs expand and press against my stomach, which already felt expired like milk. My emetophobia popped in for a visit.

You aren't going to puke, Neph. You're being excessive. Please just stop.

My hands were shaking. It felt like I was in the beginning of March again. I had gotten the flu, and I was nauseous all throughout the performance of Freaky Friday for school. My vocal teacher said I have a large voice, actually, fun fact! I was surprised. During the closing night celebration, I barely ate. I was scared— terrified I would eat too much for my stomach to handle. It's a stupid fear. I eat a lot anyway, so it's not like a singular egg and a fruit bowl would do anything. But I just couldn't. I couldn't eat that night. On the way home I was fighting tears, fighting making a singular cry to signal my distress. I was too scared to talk, so I had to message my mom all the way home. My brain screamed "if you talk, you cry. If you cry, you gag. If you gag, you'll puke". I collapsed in bed and sobbed for close to an hour that night. I never even vomited.

The shaking was close to that. So close that I knew I was having a panic attack- or an anxiety attack- I don't know the label and I didn't care. I wanted to scream to loudly, as long as it was muted. I wanted to punch someone but hug them as well. I wanted to use myself as a punching bag and scream at myself to be more careful, because-

"T-they know."

"...Shit."

I broke down sobbing. I couldn't help it. What scared me the most was the unpredictable. How would they react? Two people who are more religious than I even could be. My mom and my dad.

I stared at the discord profile picture— which had no green ring.

I'm sorry I can't keep my big mouth quiet.