happy mothra’s day

i am not the best advocate of mother’s day.

my own mother–my most vivid memory of mother’s day is when the teacher in grade school had us grow marigolds to bring home and when i presented her with the marigolds i grew for her…she said, “ug. i hate the way they smell.”

and then when i became a mom, everyone would turn to dusty and say, “what are you getting her for mother’s day?”
and he would reply, “she’s not my mother.”
not that he got his own mother anything either.
that was one of my first glimpses that our marriage was not going to be a blissful & magical one.

now i have kids who want to do nice things for me on mother’s day, and i just feel uncomfortable. i feel like a fraud as a mom.

i just feel like a fraud.

especially on mother’s day.

sigh.

maybe i will spend the day planting marigolds.

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when in depression-ville…

sometimes depression can help my art.
wait.
no.
reverse that.
art helps with my depression.
and who better to embrace while severely depressed than my tragic alter-ego, moses jones: superstar.
doing this little bit of this page really helped. before i started working on it i was just listening to goyte tell me “your heart’s a mess” on loop (& i’m all like, “no shit, goyte…way to state the obvious….”)
and crying
so much crying.
i’m sure i will art journal about it…this feeling so fucking alone and of waiting for someone to throw me a line….

oh, wait, i guess i ended up throwing myself a line.
(threw myself a line/drew myself a line…you get it)

so this is where i will be if you need me.
drawing the line.
rescuing myself…again.

a foundation for failure

he’s built the groundwork
for my psychotic break
just one word
a whisper
& the grasp
i so desperately hold
on my reality
my sanity
crumbles
so many careful years
he spent
just building on
to damage done
by my parents
by other men
i even handed him
the ammunition
trusting
that he would not hurt me
with it.

though my ever-faithful tarot cards (as well as every other experience i have ever had with dusty) warned me there would be conflict and that it was best if i did not engage…just let it blow over…holy fuck, he knows how to get me to engage. i try so hard to walk away. i say over & over, “i don’t want to talk about it.” but dusty is relentless until there is nothing left of me. just a glimpse of who i used to be as i morph into something i never want to be.
one of my parents.

this was our last dance.
i asked for a sign, and i got it.
there is nothing left here.
i need to move forward.
like, nine years ago…but better late than never.

this journal page is dedicated to my friend nexus who has been very supportive & encouraging of my art…and who knows how it feels to burn at the stake ❤

midnight, my love

when i was a little girl
i had a big, black tomcat named
midnight
that farm cat
was my best friend
i bonded with him
in that special way a child
can lose her heart
to an animal

one day
my dad shot & killed midnight
an event he joked about
for years after
did he know
he killed a part of me
that day?
did he care?

funny how one event
in a young child’s life
can fuck up that person
for ever after
one event
can crush a child’s ability
to find love
to bond
to have normal relationships
with neither animal
nor person*

so my parents are here
& my mom may or may not
be senile
i honestly can not tell
what is senility
& what is a fucked-up
mind games
but she keeps telling stories
about the only cat she ever liked
& she keeps calling that cat
midnight
finally my sister corrected her
& told her that the cat
she is thinking of
was actually named “licorice”
(which is my mom’s favorite candy…
so how could she forget?)

and my mom replied,
“then who was midnight?”

& my whole world went red
as forty years of rage
poured out of me
& at my parents

i have only once before
gotten that angry
& that was when i found my ex-husband
making out with another woman
just one block from our new home
where we were
“starting over”
again

at least this time i
(hopefully)
won’t get a citation
for disorderly conduct….

for all my screaming
& profanity
for as much as it relieves
that certain pressure
on my soul
for all my screaming
they still didn’t hear me

but maybe i can start healing
anyway….

 

*i’m sure there are more than one…but this one is monumental

repulsed by romance

she is the reason
i divorce so easily
she is the reason
i fear relationships
no
them
they are the reason
it is the two together
i don’t want to end up trapped
you see
trapped in a marriage
to a man
like my father
slowly
bitterly
losing my mind
so i run
away
live in fear
craving a connection
but
repulsed
replulsed by romance.

this self-portrait pretty much captures how i feel right now.
like there is not much of me left.
a demon me with a halo of stars.
little bits of me.
flying away in the wind.

so dusty is down here to help me. and he has been so much help because as it turns out, i can barely deal with being in the same room with my parents. i am constantly nauseated and crawling out of my skin and looking for a place to hide.

so dusty was a life-saver…. except. i dunno. i was being nice to him–affectionate–trying to make sure he was surviving okay. doing for him what i would want done for me.
but i guess that was the wrong thing to do?
because then he got pissed off at me for sending mixed messages?
yelled at me and accused me of hurting him.
what the what?
so now even more of me has shut down.
i feel like i am barely functional.

my parents are here–they started my destruction.
dusty is here–he finished me off.

all my best destroyers in one house for the holidays.

too many men

too many men
haunt my heart
they would say
i didn’t love them
enough
i would say
i loved them
too much
a bright light
i burned out
to nothing

i had another dream/nightmare about dusty last night. why? why? i keep asking myself that question. why is he haunting my fucking dreams? why do i spend my nights chasing something i do not want? begging him to take me back?

he would love to know that i have reoccurring dreams about loving him.

i would love to know why i am having these dreams. what does he represent? what does our fucked up relationship represent to me?

why am i being haunted?

i replay the dreams in my head. i look for clues–for meanings. maybe i am over-thinking it. maybe i should just let it go…instead of being pissed off all day long because of it.

in my dreams

he is still in my dreams
& i want him so badly
it is pure pain & longing
something i used to feel
when i was awake
with him
without him
that crazy desire
my skin on fire
willing to do anything
anything for him
…but what he asked of me
it killed me on the inside
killed my burning desire
leaving me empty
& new
but still feeling the pain of it
when it shows up in my dreams
& i wake up crying
for love lost
& cruel reminders