I occasionally convince myself that I cannot draw, write, or do anything that I would usually find fun, or edifying. Everything sounds like a bad idea, and my mood takes a turn towards melancholy, resulting in me staring at a blank sheet of paper for hours, filled with self-loathing.
Talking with people about it usually has the opposite effect of what I’m looking for, and inevitably leads to even greater frustration. I know that my anger at them is not justified, but that never occurs in the heat of the moment.
This will usually last for about a week, and will finally end with my shakily drawing something weird and kinda dark. i drew the following one just this morning to mark the end of my latest art-block: