Pen-less Writer

I changed my twitter username. The reason? Quite simple. I lost my Art the only thing I kept for myself. I should mourn. But I can't seem too. I know there is too much of everything that I have to do. Again, I wish I was somewhere else. To the biggest "what-if" of my life. Before, my art was my art. I thought I was good at it. I thought it loved me the way I did it. But it didn't. And I wasn't.
What hurt could compare by being fooled to believe that you belonged somewhere when you don't? That's what I felt. I felt I belonged to writing and it belonged to me. But to certain circumstances, it drifted away and away. My bubble, the bubble binding me to my art burst as I feared. I was exactly the person I detested way back. Shallow. With no means of expression. It was hard to see how people seem to be way better than you in your area, your zone, your territory when they don't seem the type who belong there. You want to keep them out and be selfish. Keep your piece of the world all to yourself but you could never.I read their works far better than mine.Who was I then to claim that I was a writer when my works couldn't be compared to theirs? Some call this insecurity, but why should I not be threatened? We're all animals. Competition is a part of our lives. But I never expected it to affect me as much as it is affecting me now. I felt my self-confidence drop to zero. Now that my art, my asset, my love was gone .... What am I to the World? Where's my place in it? And:

If I would ever write again,
I would write through blood and tears
that cause me pain
urging me to surrender once again.