/ic/ - Artwork/Critique

At first I thought I was disillusioned with the market, I thought maybe it was too saturated, too many fish, but I pulled through because I wanted to make art, not money. Then I thought I was disillusioned with myself, that maybe I wasn't disciplined enough, that maybe I've been studying wrong, that maybe it was my personality. But I pulled through because I wanted to make art, not become the best.
Then I realized why it always had felt so shitty: I was disillusioned with people. I don't believe in people. I don't know if I'm right or wrong, I just don't. They're weird and alien and I can't understand them. I can't like the art they like. I barely talk to anybody IRL outside of small talk, can't get any deeper than that. I regret it when I do. It's always like when you try to say an inside joke out of context and nobody gets it so there's that awkward minute of silence, so I try to act stupid to fit in and it works, but I don't want to. I always tell myself, no, this is isn't the right context. And it isn't, I can read people. It's just the same with art.
I can't go on like this. I enjoy art by itself but I it's impossible to survive like this. I don't know if it's me, if it's others, if it's just all in my head. I just need to believe that there's somebody out there. I can't be this useless and obsolete, there has to be somebody who thinks that what I do, what I am is acceptable. Not amazing, just acceptable.
I'm so fucking exhausted. This isn't that 20s depression shit, this is something else. I feel like an old horse who can't run that fast and doesn't go well with tourists, and nobody cares either way about it. So I just stay in my pen, I forgot how to run, I'm just sleeping and eating, slowly going crazy in the narrow space and waiting for the day when the man will take me to the slaughterhouse.
It doesn't even matter where I post this, here, Reddit, a shrink's file, a bathroom wall, a bottle in the ocean, it doesn't matter, nothing ever comes back.
Fuck.