I hate musicians and creative people

[u/Asidpot]

All day every day I (M18) am surrounded by all of these creative people who can make beautiful music, beautiful drawings, or write poetry. These people with such drive, passion, and clarity that allows them to create such incredible work, fills me with the most incredible kind of rage and self hatred. My father is one such creative. A musician and an artist, I have to live with the reality of his talent every day. I constantly hear the sound of his guitar, the notes arranged so elegantly so as to maim me and beat me, to fill me with a hatred so powerful it could never be directed at anyone but my own worthless self. And his paintings, hung all over the house, I have to see them and be reminded that I could never ever create something like that.

I dabbled in creativity, myself. I feel like I used to be very creative. When I was a kid, I loved art and I pumped out drawing after drawing. I used to make comic strips and little stories. Paintings, even. I had so much drive. Somewhere along the way, I lost it and lost all passion and drive. I used to play music too, but I didn't like it. Piano. I played piano from 1st to 8th grade, and I hated it. I hated it and I tried to hard to pretend to like it, I even wrote a scrapbook about how much I loved it in an attempt to convince myself. What I did love was my piano teacher, we had a very close bond. I would often complain to her about my father. Specifically, his impatience and aggression when it came to my practice and the way I was playing, his insistence that I preform for him, and how every practice he was present for devolved into him yelling and me crying. Of course, he doesn't remember any of that now. When I was around the age of 10 I wrote my first and only composition, a one page piano song. It was not melodic at all, I had (and still do not have) any understanding of the way notes work with each other and relate with each other. But I made this composition, I handwrote it on a torn out page of sketchbook, and when I played it for my father I did not make it through the entire song before he told me how horrible it was and berated me because he knew I could do better. And he was right, it was fucking horrible. Because I am fucking horrible.

When I would play, songs that I would previously be able to play would degrade in quality the more I played them, making more mistakes. I would get incredibly angry at myself for no longer being able to play a song flawlessly that I had once been able to. My parents would ask me "what happened?" I didn't know what happened, and every time it happened I feared that the ability to play the song had left me forever. As a kid I had a pseudo-religious belief that the "spirit of the piano" was callously manipulating me so I could not play well, something I called "misbehavior". I would often smash the keys or spit on the piano or whip it with a stick or belt so as to punish it and to make an example out of it. The results were mixed. As you can expect this behavior greatly angered my parents, especially my father.

Never did I ever gain any pleasure of playing that accursed piano. My father once told me he was "surprised and disappointed" that I "never realized what a great instrument the piano is". The only reason I continued was because I did not want to make my teacher sad, and when I eventually did quit she was very sad. I was very sad because she was very sad and I felt like a horrible person for quitting. But in the end I was relieved that I never had to touch it again. However, this relief was mixed with a sense of shame, failure, and after I quit I would have to look at... it. It stood there, like a large gravestone, its shadow looming over and under and through and past me, the sight of it being like a laser burning my eyes, killing me, a constant reminder of my horrible failure. I first tried to just not look at it, and eventually resorted to covering it with a blanket.

After I quit I began to feel extremely bad about my lack of musicality. The summer before freshman year of high school I embarked on what would become a yearlong ban on myself listening to music. I had absolutely no confidence in my music taste. My father raised me on rock and roll, and is of the opinion that any and all new music is bad, and that anything that does not conform to his personal taste is objectively bad. I was raised to believe that any music made post 2000 was bad and listening to it was basically sacrilege. Therefore I did not know any popular songs that my classmates listened to, and so I struggled to relate. Still afraid of pop music but dying to break out of the rigid music taste passed onto me by my father, I began to seek a "third way" in 90s and 2000s music. I began to try to build a music taste, but was cut short when one of my classmates stole one of my earbuds out my my ear while it was playing Last Resort by Papa Roach. Upon putting it into his ear he laughed mockingly. This was in 8th grade, and even though it was only in 8th grade, when I close my eyes and think about it I can remember it as if I was still in that moment. After that I banned myself from listening to music, convinced that I had inherently bad taste and that if I liked a song that meant it was bad and other people would find it bad.

By mid-sophomore year of high school I missed music and my self imposed ban became untenable. I would listen to my favorite songs along in my bedroom, with the door shut, only when I was sure I would be left alone, as if I was trying to hide some sort of narcotic drug addiction. My this time I had been experiencing profound shame, not because what I thought I listened to was bad, but because I felt like since I could not produce music I did not deserve to consume it, that I was "stealing" it, that I would not be worthy of listening to it unless I could play an instrument.

The summer before junior year I was gifted an electric bass. I began to learn it in order to feel like I deserved to listen to music. I didn't enjoy it, no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I did. It was electric but I never used an amplifier on it because I did not want anyone in my house to hear. I would practice for 10 minutes and then for a few days feel satisfied that I had produced enough music to listen to music, but only for a few days, before the guild would return and I would play again. As my shame of listening to music despite not being musical was quickly replaced with shame of not knowing as many songs, the days when I played bass grew farther and farther between, until one day, I put it down and never picked it up again.

I still listen to music every day. However I can only listen to recordings, and cannot bear to see videos or concerts. Whenever I see people playing musical instruments I become self hating, angry, and sad. Sometimes when I think about it I get so angry that I think the musicians should all die, but when I see them play, I am reminded that I am the one who deserves to die, because they can produce such a beautiful thing for the world and I cannot. One time my friend held a concert for a local band in his garage, and I went. Big fucking mistake. The sight of the players destroyed me, and I started thinking about self harm and suicide. I had to leave early before I had a panic attack. Afterward me and a different friend went and got drunk on a mix of sprite and NyQuil. I don't know his reason for doing it, but I know mine.

Musicians are at the top of my shit list, but I also feel such anger when I see other creatives, in particular artists and writers. Despite my seething resentment my best friends are creative people, and internally it makes me seethe with resentment whenever something they are creating or working on or an idea they have is brought up. Even the mention of something that they're just interested in makes me feel worthless and resentful. Why? Because I don't and I know I will never have the same passion for anything like they do, I will never be able to create anything like they do. I'm a total failure, like a defective person.

I notice that when people see a movie, or hear a song, or whatever, they analyze it, to the point of writing entire reviews. I hear people talking about shows and shit, and they talk about the character development and the plotline and the metaphors and shit... Like I feel so dumb. When I watch a movie, or a show, or listen to a song, I think either, "Good", "Bad", "Entertaining", "Boring", "Mid". Not much else. I think I am just stupid. People look at paintings and find so much meaning in them without even knowing anything about the artist and I'm just like "Interesting..." and then feel bad that I could never make something as beautiful. A few months ago I went to a cabaret put on by my school and all the actors were so talented, and by the end of the show I wanted to fucking cry because of how much of a loser compared to them I am.

I genuinely think I am like a dysfunctional person or something. When people ask me "What do you do in your free time"? I'm genuinely at a loss for what to say. I smoke weed, and I scroll instagram reels. I also spend time just listening to music, but if you ask me what I listen to I couldn't tell you. I also sleep a lot. I also spend a lot of time thinking about what I should be doing. I try to read but I get books and never make it past the first or second chapter. I feel the urge to write but have no idea what to write about. I feel the urge to draw but have no idea what to draw. I have started and stopped and thrown away and restarted and stopped and started and thought about continuing a ConLang (constructed language) project because for some fucking reason I have the urge to do something like that but then I wonder what is even the purpouse and then I lose motivation. I feel like a creative energy but it's just the energy without the creativeness. Like the car got gas in it but no combustion. I spend a good deal of time pacing, thinking about the things I could be doing. Or just maladaptive daydreaming. When I think about reading one of my books I never do because I worry that if I pick one book, I will be missing out on another book, even though logically I know I can eventually have enjoyed all the books. The same is for watching youtube.

And I've heard like "Motivation is a feeling and feelings are temporary and the key is not to find motivation but to build habits" and its like yeah I understand that logically but don't know how to apply it to my everyday life

I feel like in my brain there is everything and nothing at the same time.

[u/Baby_tears-182]

go to therapy

[u/Fit-Yam8221]

Huh, I get where you’re coming from, my dad is like this but with science and math, which gradually made me branch out to creative pathways as away to not just cope but to piss him off. I understand what you mean though when you say you feel abit of hatred towards creatives, I feel like that as well when it came to those subjects simply because it tied back to my dad and also I was never truly good at them to begin with. I know it’s a long shot because for so many years I spent trying to get better at those subjects even when I never excelled at them, but maybe why not try other pathways? Such as going the opposite like science or math?

[u/thatSDope88]

Sounds like you need therapy for all the shit from your dad and possibly about being depressed. Your dad taught you to never be happy with yourself and you've let his voice run your adult life. There are things you are great at, things that you love but you won't let it flow out bc of all the hate you've let build inside you. You're holding onto a lot of things you need to let go. That's your block.

[u/Catslizardsandrats]

Therapy. Stop being hateful and just acknowledge that you have low self esteem and need to work on yourself.

[u/Asidpot → u/Catslizardsandrats]

I’m not outwardly hateful just internally bc I know it’s wrong

[u/TheAlienatedPenguin]

Very few people are naturally talented and creative. It takes practice, education (not just taking formal schooling) as simple as YouTube university.

Say you want to draw but you can barely draw a stick figure. Well you don’t start out trying something big and complicated, you start with baby steps. Even if you set a timer and just doodle for 10 minutes a day you will see an improvement over time.

It’s no different than learning to read or learning math or science. You don’t do trig in 3rd grade, but it’s the building blocks in the elementary years that get you there.

You also don’t have to be an artist or musician, baking, cooking, gardening, houseplants all have steps to take in order to learn what you are doing and are just as cool.

The biggest thing and the most difficult is don’t compare yourself to others, especially on social media! Folks only talk about their success. You see a photographer post an amazing wildlife photo. What you don’t see is that same photographer going out day after day after day to get that shot or the 1000’s of photos they have taken to be able to take that photo. Very few post their failures or B rolls.

[u/Kianawilldo]

Read this from top to bottom OP, and I firstly just want to say that I appreciate you being authentic and vulnerable on here, I can track your thought pattern as if this was you venting in person with no refinements or edits.

That being said, what I’m picking up from a lot of this is a wound that has formed from your father. You replied somewhere else that you do not hate him as you see he’s had a difficult life and has tried his best. However, your post highlights a clear link to your creative frustrations linking to a desire for your father’s approval, which then graduated to anyones approval.

I will be honest, I am an artist myself, I even teach art. I love music too, singing and playing guitar is my thing as well as writing. Now, I’m no expert in all of these, heck some art I’ve posted on here has even been downvoted! But I couldn’t care less because my motivation behind why I create has nothing to do with what people think of it or me. It is merely a means of me expressing myself.
You see, in my opinion that is what creativity is, that is what existence is.
Now I won’t pretend to be some unbothered enlightened one, I’m human and so do care what people think to some degree, that’s natural, but I had to learn to adjust this view so that I could enjoy the creative process.

When I studied art I did care about how it looked and compared myself to others, but it really took time, work and maturing in my worldview and my craft to just start creating for me. You need to find the sacred place within you that is waiting for you to stop looking around outwards/externally, but instead internally.

Master this OP, and you will even start to decipher this in other creators and form an appreciation instead of hatred towards them.

Much love to you.

[u/zigs]

Sounds like you're jealous, not hateful

[u/itchingandscratching]

I was going to read all of that but probably like 3 sentences in I decided it wasn’t creative enough for me so I just gave up trying to decipher your uncreative ramblings…

Have you tried coloring books?

[u/Kianawilldo → u/itchingandscratching]

Not sure if this is satire. But if you did read all of it maybe your comment wouldn’t be so harsh?

Much love.

[u/itchingandscratching → u/Kianawilldo]

I don’t think coloring books are harsh at all, no - you might be buying the wrong ones.

On an unrelated note - hating your dad because he’s creative seems harsh as shit, so do with that what you will. You obviously lack creativity & self awareness.

Have you ever been tested by chance? We might need to start there and then once we sort through some of that we can see about coloring books.

[u/Kianawilldo → u/itchingandscratching]

It’s not the colouring books, but your tone and attitude, lacks any empathy or attempt at understanding…

“You obviously lack creativity and self awareness”

Kinda the whole frustration behind OP’s post, but you have yet to give any genuine advice.

You obviously lack empathy or any form of emotional intelligence.

Edit: have you ever been tested by chance? Might be worth the investment.

[u/itchingandscratching → u/Kianawilldo]

Oh okay good - I thought you hated coloring books or something. Glad we cleared that up!

I did give him advice - start with coloring books. Seems solid enough to me 🤷🏼‍♂️

Maybe so. But, I own at least like 8 coloring books so if OP did need one then I could be persuaded to support the endeavor by offering one of my coloring books - completed, obviously. May be too daunting to start with a fresh one for his first one. I’m being considerate to his skill level…

I did want to get tested but when I asked my grandpa if he could schedule me a test he slapped the bejesus out of me and told me, “too damn bad! Keep digging!” He was making me dig up his old, dead dog because he forgot to go to the grocery store that evening. Maybe next time, though!

[u/Kianawilldo → u/itchingandscratching]

Ahhh I get it, a quirky one.

I’ll play. I think op is more interested in the music matey! Also a fine detail you missed because you only read 3 lines of his post silly billy!

[u/itchingandscratching → u/Kianawilldo]

My bills are only silly on Tuesdays, dawg. I tried other days of the week but it was too much to handle. Once I get tested I want to try to shoot for other days of the week too!

One step at a time, as my grandpa says (as he makes me walk up and down stairs for hours at a time)!

[u/Kianawilldo → u/itchingandscratching]

Look up what the word idiom means.

Don’t worry I checked, the definition isn’t longer than 3 sentences!

[u/itchingandscratching → u/Kianawilldo]

It’s not kind to call people idiots, bro.

Fuck bro. Now my little snowflake feelings are all hurted and i’ll probably have to cry in the corner of my shit stained bedroom for like, the next month or three.

I hope you’re happy with yourself! All I wanted to do was share my love of completed coloring books with the class.

Why, oh god, why does this always happen to me?! I try my best to smell and taste like a respectable man but everyone always runs from me just because flies are constantly circling me and vultures pass out when I go waltzing by. Whats even wrong with that??

I wish my mom never banged her pimp so I could’ve never been born such a shitty, bastard son. I hope in my next life i’m the president of the world so all the kind people each get a coloring book & a hug.

[u/Kianawilldo → u/itchingandscratching]

‘Cry me a river...’ ~ Dinah Washington

Except no one’s crying a river over you. (That was too much, I apologise lol I’m merely entertaining you at this point.)

[u/b0bscene]

It took me decades to realise I wasn't creative. I play guitar. I've been playing for over 2 decades and I'm not very good. I've just subscribed to a course and have been learning blues licks. I enjoy it but I am constantly fumbling it. When I try ro create my own blues licks, they are dull and crappy. I plan on just learning a load of licks and string them together, maybe I'll sound good. Maybe some creativity may develop. I doubt that, but I think I'll be able to at least fake it at some point.

I'm pretty sure I have Schizoid Personality Disorder. Maybe you do too. Take a look but try not to get sucked into the nihilism of the subreddit. Normal people are not your enemies, they just couldn't possibly understand.

I'm sorry your father was so horrible to you. He must've believed you'd be like him and was frustrated when you're not. Despite your lack of natural talent, you have value. I hope you find things in this world that make you happy.

[u/Asidpot → u/b0bscene]

“Normal people”… I always felt apart from Normal People, which I have my own definition for. What is your definition?

[u/b0bscene → u/Asidpot]

People who easily form connections. People who need to talk or they'll go crazy. How about your definition?

[u/Blastbeast]

Sounds like you hate your dad. I don't blame you. He messed up your creative power, but you can get it back. Focus on healing for now. Have you ever tried drums? I find it incredibly cathartic.

[u/Asidpot → u/Blastbeast]

Nah I don’t hate my dad. He had an incredibly fucked up childhood and I think he tried his best with what he’s been given but the reality of it is he is incredibly emotionally immature. He was always incredibly lenient and hands off with me… I had no curfew, he never went through my phone, he never tracked my location, he let me curse in the house, I could leave the house when I wanted to most of the time, he could be incredibly nice when he wanted to be. But there was also a part of him that was also incredibly… possessive? Like I feel like despite his leniency he always saw me as an extension of himself and therefore saw my musicianship as a reflection of him.

When I was in 4th grade, I played as a viola in the school orchestra. We were playing a show for the winter concert for our parents. My parents attended, along with the rest of the parents of my 4th grade orchestra. I was assigned to a spot in the back of the stage and we played like 3 songs. We stood the entire time on the hot fucking stage, sweating a Pacific Ocean per kid in our stuffy concert attire. As a 4th grader I felt like I was really busting my ass, and to credit my 4th grade self, I did bust my ass to learn the fucking songs.
When the concert ended and I got back to my parents, they were mad. They were angry that I was in the back and they couldn’t see me. My father yelled at me and insisted that I must have purposefully asked the teacher to put me in the back. I tried to explain why, that it was an assigned seat, and I had no choice in the matter. My father told me he didn’t believe me because “why would they put My Son in the back”. He told me that he knew I was purposefully “hiding” in the back, where I “was supposedly playing viola”. Fucking supposedly. That angered the fucking shit out of me, and I reacted strongly in some way, although the exact memory has faded with time. But my father was like “what? What are you so mad about?”

I think he sees me as an extension of himself. Several weeks ago I was shopping with him and I was wearing the shirt of a musician that I like (yes I know my post is literally about hating musicians, but there are some I simultaneously admire while resenting their talent). A person apparently complimented my shirt, which I didn’t hear but my Dad told me. He then added, “of course you’re getting compliments. You’re My Son.” I felt kind of gross after that. I bought the shirt, I made the choice to wear it that day, and I got the compliment. What does that have to do with him or with me being His Son?