feeling it

i kinda feel like
opening my wrists
& painting one last
picture
blood for ink
ink for blood
until nothing is
left
of me.
i know this is not
a healthy thought
a hopeful thought
but it is a feeling
i cannot
deny.
you might even feel it
too
if you were
overwhelmed
unloved
emotionally stripped
to the bone
& pretty much sure
you’d done it all
wrong.

another inspirational post for my birthday.
i have been looking at art on instagram & hating my art…again. so i did this one with a bamboo pen to mix things up a little. i want to be more abstract. but i am not sure how to do that. so i might have to start trying harder. i know it is hard to break those habits of realism. even for someone like me who barely lives in reality.

anyhoo. i am not out on a ledge. i am just having a really rough time. the usual suspects. four year olds & forty year olds.
and birthdays.
and…well…life.

but i’m not giving up just yet.

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never surrender

it occurred to me today
that if i never
put myself out there
if i never take a chance
i won’t have to be
rejected
criticized
ignored
pushed away
i can live a quiet life
just make art
for me
never
expose
my heart
my self
to another person ready
to break me
never stand up
to be pushed down again
i can keep myself
safe
this thought
felt like relief
for just a moment
& then
i found myself
crying
why does keeping
my heart safe
feel like giving up?

damaged

i’m so tired
of feeling damaged
i’m so tired
of feeling like i’m not worth
your time
like no one will like me
anyway
so why even try
i’m so tired
of doubting myself
of hating myself
of feeling like
i
don’t
matter
& i’m doing it all wrong
everything
wrong
&
no one
likes
me
anyway
i’m so tired
of being
my own
worst
enemy.

mother knows worst

every day
tears my heart
to shreds
every day
i some how manage
to survive
even though i long
to just lie down
& not get up again
could there possibly be
anything harder
than being a mother
& seeing the worst of yourself
broadcast by innocents
as you try so fucking hard
to be your best for them…
but it seems
no matter how hard you try
to be beautiful for them
it’s the ugly bits they pick up
it’s the ugly bits they collect
as if it is their purpose
to only mirror
the you
you wish you weren’t.

i had an identity crisis when i became a mom. i didn’t want to be my mom, i didn’t know how to be me, i was grasping for who i was supposed to be (i even got a mom bob and wore capris for a bit.)
looking back,
as a fictional mom, i was doing pretty good…as a mother.
but i was betraying who i was inside.
and eventually motherhood started to destroy me.
a battle ensued.
i think it might still be going on.
so i gave up on being the perfect mom. i tried to find balance.
being a mom and being myself.
it’s an ongoing thing. like everything else. a work in progress. maybe one day i will know what it feels like to feel content with myself as a mother and as a human being.
maybe.

so much anger in this one

i have a touch of the rabies.
my brain feels like it’s on fire.
i tend to absorb energy…something about being an empath…and i had a crazy distant relative show up on my doorstep with all her stuff, inviting herself to move in and tell me everything wrong with my life and me.
her energy was so fucking fucked up. i felt myself turning into her.
by the end of her surprisingly short visit, as she was escorted off of my property by the sheriff, i was terrified.
i hate being scared. i hate it. but i was having flashbacks to other times in my life where i have felt trapped by unpredictable and angry angry nasty people. you know, like last christmas.
i went into survival mode. repeating to myself, “do not engage. do not engage.” laying low and wishing i had a panic room and wondering how i let this person just walk through our front door and threaten my children.
how did that happen?

i don’t know if she triggered something…or if it is hormonal…or if i am just perpetually broken, but now i am spinning out feeling like an awful mom and just wanting to disappear.

so this is a doodle as i was trying to figure out how to draw my children in a journal page i am working on.
yes…children as pygmy demons.
my four year old hates me. seriously. maybe i will work on a journal page about that as well. but he does. he tells me daily. as well as telling me he wishes i was dead.
so, yay mom-time.
meanwhile, i might just have another beer and stare at the wall and practice my skill of vanishing into my own brain.

ps. i was working on this outside to spend time with my therapy goats…so there are some muddy (at least i hope it’s mud) footprints on my journal page.

safe, without you

i hate
that i still miss you
sometimes
i hate
that your sad
sadness
still tugs
at my heart
i hate
that i have to remind myself
not
to
love
you
keep myself safe
by re-living old pain
pain
that never stops
feeling new.

i’m (not) fine!

old wounds
fall open
when you least expect
your insides
spilling out
on the hot
sticky
sidewalk
& you’re all like,
“that didn’t hurt,”
as you refuse
to let
anyone
help
you.

just stuff. processing everything, sometimes things surge to the surface and catch you off guard. but you keep processing through it. stitch it back in. continue the journey.