I ended up quitting my job due to the constant art vs. reality arguement in my head. I felt too hollow and thought I needed more "me" time. Now I'm struggling with trying to get rent paid and trying to find work that doesn't involve me belittling myself and cleaning hotel rooms or washing dishes.
I know how you feel though. I go back and read something I had written a year or two ago and I really feel like I've been moving in a counter-productive pattern lately. And it makes me wish I had never done drugs, because I was so much more creative back then. Now I just feel jaded, like there's nothing new left for me to accomplish.
There are definitely times when I miss who I used to be.
I was reading your other journal and it's pretty interesting. Especially the alpha male entry, because I do the same thing. Every time I see my parents it's like I'm trying to prove that I've done something with my life, but as soon as they're gone, everything crumbles again and it's "How's that job going for you? You're making good money, right?". I hate lying to them. They've been disappointed with me their entire lives, but atleast I can give them the illusion that they've raised something productive. Something that has moved beyond the small-town constraints and found success with what they were never capable of doing. As if part of the family had evolved somehow from one generation to the next.
All I've done is traded one facade for another.