You ask me if Konoha is beneficial to my health. Or if this home happens to make me feel more comfortable in my skin, more human. In order for me to properly explain this I must first tell you a story.
Being an artist can be viewed in different ways. I myself had never really considered any way to be wrong, but some people are different that way. First you have the ones that see a piece of art and replicate it over and over. These type of artists are often the ones that master drawing that one thing and show it to as many people as they can. Then there are the ones that think they are taking everything seriously, but really can't reach outside their own talents. Lastly the ones I consider the true artists. The ones that give up everything for their art. Including family, friends, and sometimes food. The ones that are truly alone.
I myself know this feeling. When you become so isolated for your art you just stop feeling. My case is an extreme of course. The stages aren't all bad. It normally starts with a horrible family or world event. As if your mourning someone; which some are, you isolate yourself. Everything you live and breath is art. The life of art may start with you doing nothing and pretending your doing a lot. Or it can start with you doing nothing but art. Either way it leads to you eventually dropping everything else you used to love doing.
Doing so everyone else stops trying to talk to you. The banging on your front door and the overabundance of mail all stops. You ignore it coming up with silly reasons why they might stop talking to you. Completely forgetting your role in their silence you start to think of more malicious reasons. They hate you. Everyone hates you. Your worthless, just sitting their wasting your time with silly drawings. All those words pouring into your conscious mind for so long till you begin to believe your own long winded stories. You mope around the house occasionally staring at old mail and wishing you had done something differently. You don't change though you continue on your journey of art. You hope that if you continue this nothing you have been doing will eventually turn to something. To put it bluntly, doing the same thing and expected different results. The definition of insanity.
When nothing changes you start to become frustrated. You more often then not throw things around the room and scream. Nobody bothers to check in on you and you come up with more malicious reasons why'd they ignore your subconscious screams for attention. Seeking a open hand to save you the internet becomes a important part of your life. You pretend to need friends and act as if all you want is someone to talk to. You know the only reason your doing it though is so that when you turn violent and bitter with your words they won't leave. They'll keep trying to comfort you. The internet however is a comfort some artists cannot be granted. Such as I.
The social interaction you receive from the internet or any instant messaging service keeps you tolerable, perhaps even drags you out of your art induced insanity. I had only one way to interact. It was through a bit of paper that me and a old friend wrote notes on. He would leave it at my windowsill. This boy told me about his day. In a odd way I fed off of his feelings to create my own. I was close ending the isolation though. At one point I left the house. It was for just a mere second put I climbed out the window to reach the note. The fresh air felt great. It all stopped there though. Within the next week I received no reply. The sky was clear so not even the rain could of stopped his interactions with me. So where had my friend gone.
I was watching the news the Sunday of that week. That's when I found out the small group of what I heard was ninja were killed in their trip to our allied country. Starting a war. When they started listing those names I cried. I cried that whole night tell the sandman forced my slumber. It was a whole night I had shook with my own emotions. After that night however I was the most empty I had ever been. At times I forgot what my purpose was. I was no longer part of that outside world. Everything was gone. At this time even the whole the reason I was isolated stopped being of interest. Art was nothing.
One day I got some mail. It was from a man I had never met before. Somehow he had heard of my situation from someone close to me. He asked if I wanted help. Being as I didn't really want anything I never responded. The mail came again a couple of days later. I tried to ignore it but after it came the second time I answered with a no. Though I had said no a crowd of overly dressed men broke into my home and took me. Somehow this didn't shock me nor did it calm me. In the place he took me I was isolated with other people. This idea had never occurred to me before. When we were separated it was just so that one man in the robe could teach me things. Those things are now in my everyday practice.
I use these tools whenever I am on a mission with my new team. Who seek me out when I'm gone. The ones who don't let me isolate myself. These few won't let me hide or be afraid of silly things. They allow me to feel emotions even if some of those emotions are bad. So yes somehow I do feel more human here Tsunade-sama. Thank you for the opportunity to become part of your land.
-Sai
Author Note: I know I haven't been on in a while, but with the summer freedom I plan to work harder on my writing. Please do tell me what you think. I leave anonymous reviewing open for anyone. If you leave hate reviews I won't stop you. It's your choice to take your misery out on others. Please do be honest with me though.