behind blue eyes III

i inherited my dad’s
raging temper
i inherited my dad’s
control issues
but i’m pretty sure
the self-loathing
is all mine
did he ever feel bad after screaming
at us
did he ever feel bad after
hitting
us
when i was twelve
i could see
he was happy
for the chance to hit me
& from that day
forward
i never gave him an excuse
to lay a hand
on me
seeing that particular glee
makes it difficult
for me to believe
he ever felt the remorse
that haunts me
every time
my throat is raw
from
screaming.

i also have my dad’s blue eyes…hence the reference to the song “behind blue eyes” which i always identify with a little too much.
feeling like a monster might be written into the very fiber of me…but i will continue to try to rewrite it. i know there is hope for me.
if not in this lifetime, surely in the next….

cool calm & collected

the two fathers
battle
inside me
my birth father
angry
violent
scary as fuck
my inner father
patient
understanding
kind
the father who taught me
to hurt others
the way i was hurt
& the father
i hope
will lead me
back
out of the darkness
i don’t want
to feel this seething
all consuming
anger
anymore
i want to be held
to be told
“it’s okay.
you’re okay.”
i want
to finally
heal.

in my dad’s yearbook, they took the first letter of your last name & wrote three words to describe you beginning with that letter.
“cool calm & collected” was under the photo of my father.
i always found this strange. but! to everyone not in our immediate family, he was cool, calm, & collected. he saved his enormous anger for us.
i saw this again in my ex-husband. he was the greatest guy ever to everyone…except me.
it is difficult to reconcile this jekyl & hyde treatment. impossible even.
having no access to the kinder version of my birth father, in seeking an inner father, i have to start from scratch.
this might take me awhile.

the violence we inherit

i wonder as i replant all of the basil babies
my son’s cat
dug up in the night
i wonder
was there a voice in my dad’s head that day
a voice that urged him to stop
or to at least take a beat
& think
about what he was doing
as he loaded his gun
or was he too loaded himself
sound voices unable to reach a brain fevered
with the excitement of an excuse
to do violence
what did he think about 
as he blew out my cat’s brains
& destroyed the last of my childhood dreams of love
dreams of feeling loved
of feeling safe
as much as i want to do violence
to my son’s cat
i will not
i know the feeling will pass
i know it is important not to hurt my son
know if is wrong to hurt an animal
who is just doing what animals do
i hope my son
feels loved
i hope he feels safe
i hope his cat appreciates that even though i am 
sometimes void
of the empathy that normally haunts me
i am able to recognize right
from wrong
however
even though i assure myself that i am not
my father
i am grateful to the cat
for having the sense to hide
before i found my damaged seedlings
so that belief
did not have to be
challenged.

i don’t remember how old i was when it happened. i’m pretty sure a lot of the details were told to me. but i don’t remember by whom. all i know…or all i was told…was that my sister had put nester the bunny, my baby brother’s pet, on the deck in a cardboard box. my sister did this so she could clean the living room. she cleaned in an obsessive-compulsive way. she cleaned because it was something she could control. she cleaned to survive. so nester was put in a cardboard box on our deck so my sister could do what she had to do.

my cat was a farm cat as my parent’s didn’t believe in house cats. my cat was a big tomcat covered in scars. i loved my cat like nothing else. 

my cat found the bunny and with his own set of survival skills, he broke nester’s neck. this is what i was told.

i remember that midnight then ran under the deck to hide. i am not sure how he knew to hide. but that is where my dad found him. telling the story for years after, my dad would say my cat was laughing at him while my dad pulled the trigger.

what about me?

where was i? was i screaming? was i crying? i remember knowing. i knew my cat was going to be shot. what did i do? was there anything i could have done?

i was already damaged by this point in my life. recent readings have me wondering if i suffer from attachment disorder due to emotional & then physical barriers that kept my mother from bonding with me as an infant & into my childhood.and the violence my father was capable of kept me in a pretty constant state of fear. i am pretty sure i was just hanging on by a thread at this point. my dad had already been responsible for at least one other instance of killing someone i loved when he put my pet mouse out in the rain. 

i think this was it.

the straw that broke the camel’s back and left me unable to love. to trust. to bond with another living creature.

…until i had children of my own and found a fierce love somehow…somehow…still burning inside me.

“foxy” 16X20 inking on canvas…$200

the screaming game

who would have guessed
a morning
without yelling & screaming
would feel so luxurious?
who would have guessed
a day
without being abused
by midgets
would feel so
refreshing?
was motherhood
the model
for getting
information from spies?
the methodology
for breaking suspects?
i spent a childhood
hiding from
loud voices & harsh words
how did i never suspect
motherhood
would be much
the same?

(i know all there is to know about the screaming game….)
the minions are with their father so that i can recover.
i felt it, in my bones, the tired worn down feeling. i felt it, in my heart, the seething anger. they push every button they can find, & i collapse in a heap.
this is motherhood? this is my life?
how do i fix this? how do i change my household into a more peaceful place?
i do not accept that this is the way it has to be…yet i cannot figure out another way.

…to be continued…

more comic doodles

titled: notes from the motherhood

i’ve begun to fantasize about billy bob thornton

billy bob: these children giving you a hard time, ma’am?
i can take care of them for you….

my thinking: i’m not sure what he means by “take care of”
but at this point i’m ready to roll those dice.it has been a hard time at madness manor while children’s nastiness runs at full speed. i am not sure how many of them wished me dead yesterday. i wonder if those parents who spank & do worse are actually doing the right thing because being a kind & affectionate mom seems to be failing miserably? will they grow up to be nice adults despite being assholes as kids? i was physically & emotionally abused as a child–which prevented me from being an asshole–but now i am a hot mess of a grown up. will it work opposite for my kids?
these are the things i wonder as they scream horrible things merely because they did not get what they wanted….
to beat or not to beat my kids?
i do not have the stomach to be an abusive parent…but i can write comics!

obviously i need to look at what billy bob thornton actually looks like. i plan to practice that with some google pics….
meanwhile, i did doodle some pictures of nasty little children
& one doodle of one of my actual children, but not looking nasty today. pleasant children mostly today….

tolerating the intolerable

one of my gifts
my dysfunctional super powers
one of the survival instincts
that kicked in
early
was an ability
to tolerate
intolerable
situations
breathe through
breath held
one day at a time
with the prize in sight
always
with my eyes on that prize
…escape
ignoring with all my might
the pain
surrounding
me
until the day
i would no longer
have to.

i spent my abusive childhood waiting for the day i could run away. i moved out of that house the week i graduated high school.
in every dysfunctional relationship, i plotted my escape. tolerating the intolerable until i could safely leave.
all the messed up places i have lived…i pretended it wasn’t so bad until the day i could move away.

motherhood is the only place i refuse to do that…
wait…or am i doing it? holding myself just together enough until the day my spawn finally fly away from me….
fuck…how can i even tell? it has become second nature.

in plain sight

i fall apart
in plain sight
where no one
can see me
you think by now
i would have learned
to stuff
everything
down
to not make a fuss
but
no
i fall apart
in plain sight
where
no one
will see me.

i lived in a housing co-op of over thirty people. i had two kids when i moved out; i was pregnant with my fourth when i moved out.
i mistakenly let my ex-husband also move into the co-op where he made my life a living hell.
i had multiple break-downs.
anyhoo! sometimes i would be struggling with my children & losing what little mind i had left, on the verge of crying or straight up crying in a room full of people…and no one would do a thing to help me.
they all just pretended it wasn’t happening.
which is a perfect mirror of our society.
we pretend the ugly/uncomfortable things are not happening. i am sure i am guilty of it too.
& it just fucking sucks ass.

(those of you who see a person hurting & reach out to them–y’all are amazing)

ps. this inking was inspired by the view from my front porch. i love my new house 🙂

my way

i’ve got a chip
on my shoulder
i’ve got
an axe to grind
&
fuck you
i’m gonna do it
my way.

more of this. anger…angst…figuring out who i am. the hero or the anti-hero…i think i am more of the second one. when i try to be the hero things just get messy.
so maybe the trick is accepting that i am not the hero.
& wondering if i ever really even wanted to be the hero.
i mean, i showcase my flaws–i don’t hide them under spandex. i definitely lean to the dark side while still holding something of a moral compass.
i guess things just aren’t as black & white as hero & villain. & who would want them to be? things are much more colorful this way.

a horse called fury

i am not a martyr
for my cause
i am not
going to suffer
so you can
live
without sin
i will ride in
on a horse called fury
i will swing
my sword
indiscriminately
&
i will
burn
this motherfucker
down.

you will all be relieved to hear i was able to download more criminal minds after i figured out that the site i use had changed addresses & i was following a dead link…. yup.
in last night’s watched episode, my favorite character (dr. reid) said, “everything falls apart…the trick is letting go.”
which i’m sure he was saying right to me–yes?
it feels to me like i am often watching everything fall apart.
add in trying to figure out who i really am…am i a good person? or am i a serial killer who just has not yet been triggered? i honestly lean more to the latter these days.
i am exhausted by thoughtless people.

speaking of! i am playing with two new ideas for comics.

the invisibles

and the misanthropic philantropist

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