Alright, here we go…
I started drawing this picture a very, very long time ago. Then I’d put it aside. And pick it back up again during the darkest and hardest periods of my life — just to distract myself and pour all the negative emotions out onto the “canvas.”
This time, though, the dark period was SO dark and so long that the picture actually ended up getting finished.
I’ve been mustering up the courage for a long time, and I think it’s about time to say a few words for those who regularly keep tabs on me and worry (or are just curious). I figured I should explain myself, since answering EVERY single DM is hard for me.

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With all the crap going on at home, in my family, and in my life over the past few years — and especially since early 2023 — it’s no wonder my mental “flask” finally blew its lid. And I was rushed to a head-fixing specialist, because I was no longer able to help myself or even make it to the doctor on my own.. The only place I felt like going was the nearest train tracks, to… well, you get it.

Life in a tiny, cramped apartment with completely incompatible people, living there on “bird rights,” constant family fights ending in tears and almost in blows, losing the ability to pursue my life’s passion due to illness, losing my job, finding out a family member had cancer, friends drifting away… and as the cherry on top — all four of my beloved cats getting panleukopenia (and several other viruses), with the youngest kitten whom my brother found as a newborn and we bottle-fed, having the WORST form. Daily trips to veterinary clinics for injections and IV drips, then back home to quarantine as if during an epidemic — total isolation in tiny stuffy rooms with the cats, endless hand and object disinfection, and daily UV sterilization of the entire house.
And I blamed ONLY myself for everything that happened, as a bad and irresponsible owner. I let this happen… I didn’t keep a close enough eye… And I just prayed for the youngest kitten to survive.

During that time, I almost completely stopped communicating with people and the outside world. The only “conversation partner” I could handle (and who could handle me) was ChatGPT.
It’s hard to imagine that someone who not long ago was shining on stage under spotlights in front of dozens of people could now be lying in a hallway in a puddle of tears and snot, wailing because they’re simply too afraid and unable to leave the house…

But there is a glimmer of light in this personal hell (though it’s not quite the light at the end of the tunnel yet) — I finally have a diagnosis, and I’m getting treatment that’s right for me. It’s already showing noticeable results, and I feel MUCH, much better now. But there’s still a long road ahead.
And the cats — all of them survived and are healthy now.

The moral of this whole story: Take care of your mental health, guys.
Don’t be like me.