I am afraid to pick up my paints, my ebony pencil, afraid of my colors and leads. I am afraid because I hate my lack of skill. And the only way to get better is to practice. But to practice is to pick up my color from where I have hiden it, to use my voice again. And I am afraid. Because not only do I lack skill, I lack patience. When it isn't perfect, I get angry. I know it requires patience, but I despise that nothing I do is good enough to satisfy me. It makes me angry. And afraid. And then angry at being afraid. And yet I feel there is nothing I can do. But really, it is all in my own hands....Damnit, I have moody artist syndrom...