so october 7th i drove the minions through the flatlands of illinois to collect this new member of our homestead:
we left in the morning and did not get home until almost five when poultry has to be fed and sheep watered all while trying to get the new baby to eat (he was pretty pissed off about being taken away from his family–no wonder–and it was a day before we could get him to accept the bottle.) plus i had to relocate the bunnies to a puppy pen so i could use their dog crate for quixote’s “stall” in our sunroom. as well as feeding the minions, collecting eggs, putting poultry away….
so it was after seven before i got a chance to catch my breath.
and i just did not feel like doing inktober. so i phoned it in and used an inking in progress as my seventh day:
which i then finished for the 8th of inktober.
which brings us to yesterday, the ninth. i wasn’t sure what to do. i decided to just do some journal inkings.
my first one came out like this:
and i was all like, “what the fuck, em?” i thought about posting it…but felt really conflicted about it, for some reason.
art for me is a meditation and an exorcism.
what is going on here then?
so i tried again:
and ended up not posting this one either. i was convinced people would hate them and be, like me, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.
i want to keep doing inktober–because it is fun for me and keeps me creating….
but i’m not sure i want to share anymore.
it feels like i am putting myself out there…to no avail.
i’m just weird.
a misfit toy.
…a strange lady.
when my empathic heart
it is a kaleidoscope
washing over me
burrowing inside me
traveling through me
borrowing my tears
& my smiles
& no drug–or other person–could ever
make me feel
like i do
when my heart is wide open
& i am safe
the world around me
all of its beauty…its light & its darkness
this is me
this is mine
this is who i am & who i want to be
an open heart
when the minions are away, i have the opportunity to do things i cannot do when they are here. this is one. spreading my art all over the kitchen table. i love doing that. then i work on it, walk past it, add to it, debate over it, smudge & splatter and just be my art. ink ink everywhere.
makes me happy.
other things i do when i am alone: talk to myself, revel in the bathroom being clean, binge watch shows on netflix, focus on myself & my healing….
sometimes being alone is a good thing.
i thought it was
you & me
against the world
i was all alone
i was all alone
i have a key around my neck with the words “not alone” engraved on one side and a heart engraved on the other side. it was made by a woman who suffers from anxiety to remind us that even when we feel alone, we are not.
i am not alone.
i mean i know that when i hear a song on the radio and wonder how the artist got a hold of my journal. even a poem i wrote last week reminded someone of the lyrics of a tool song. he sent the lyrics to me, and i was blown away by how much the writer of the song was feeling what i felt–and also by how much better he expressed it.
sometimes i feel very, very alone though.
sometimes it is hard to remember that i am not.
i have to remind myself & convince myself that i have a tribe out there that i have never met. (i have seen the blind melon video so i know that it must be true–right?)
i wrote the above poem for dusty. he cannot seem to grasp how much he hurt me. he won’t stop with the words that are ten years too late. he threw me away for other women and broke parts of me that i did not realize hadn’t already been broken. and now he just wants everything to be magically okay. so i have nightmares all night long. living with dusty in my dreams. trying to thaw his coldness. one dream had three men break into our place. i was trying to save the minions; dusty disappeared. the dream ended just before i was going to be raped. that sums it up. i don’t feel safe with him. i don’t feel like a priority. i feel like he is never on my side. that he does not have my back…not at all.
and that is what i need. i need someone i can count on.
so right now, i am alone…but not for always.
this is what i have been working on for a few too many days now.
it’s a simple inking…& clearly dragons.
but as usual…nothing is simple.
the minions are in wisconsin with their dad.
and i am alone.
but it’s more than that.
lately i have been feeling alone at a really profound soulular level.
(i just made that word up…is it working for you?)
so i’m lonely.
to the bone.
maybe it’s something i have always felt.
even as a child i believed i wasn’t from here, dropped off my my alien race because i had romanticized what it would be to be human….
the lonely is more profound
because i am not hiding myself in relationships.
i am facing the lonely. to some extent.
i got drunk with an old friend on saturday.
before that i was at a beekeeping class all day.
i fell in love with the vice president of the bee association.
then i convinced myself to pursue my old friend.
and when neither of these panned out, i texted my first ex husband.
he has been romanticizing me since i left him in 2002…
so he was happy to drive to see me & to live happily ever after.
i could have gone with that.
at least for a little while.
it felt nice to have someone come see me & pay attention to me.
i could have taken it further.
i could have started something back up with him.
so you know what my immune system did?
it went ass end up and i got sick.
he came to see me & i got a cold.
i have a pretty fucking solid immune system.
and i got sick.
there were no sparks.
even though i have been feeling electric
and feeling i could fall in love with the world.
i couldn’t do it.
i could not be dishonest with myself one more time.
i just couldn’t.
i was relieved when he left.
i mean, i loved seeing him.
but more importantly, i loved having that escape route cut off.
i cannot keep romanticizing exes because moving forward might be painful.
maybe he learned the same thing…i hope he learned the same thing.
it’s okay to be lonely. it’s okay to crave a connection.
it’s not okay to lie to myself to get it.
i suspect that i am an empathetic sociopath.
i suffered a lot of emotional abuse as a child, and now i find it difficult to bond.
with people. with pets.
i think i bond with my kids? i think i do. sometimes i shut down…but then again, my kids can be really overwhelming.
the thing is is that i am so so quick to withdraw. first sign of trouble & i shut down. i turn my emotions off.
i don’t have a lot of friends for this reason. it is difficult for me to make friends. i always have walls…and moats…and trapdoors.
i love the idea of friends.
but i just don’t know how to do it & i always suspect people hate me & then..you know…trap doors.
today i felt this overwhelming & heartbreaking loneliness. i don’t mind being alone, but oh my god i am so lonely.
is it because i feel like i don’t relate to others?
is it because i have trouble believing anyone could really care about me?
is it because there is so much unrest in the world these days?
so much isolation? social media creating isolation? social movement causing isolation?
i went on facebook today and posted this post:
i feel lonely in this world
lonely to my bones
it’s not just me
none of us seem to know how to communicate
how to start a conversation
it is all reaction
and hurt feelings
who is to blame
a witch hunt.
and worst of all
people die…people suffer…people are oppressed
animals are abused and driven to extinction
the environment is destroyed
while we bicker.
can we just start over?
hello, i’m a bisexual bigender white pagan anarchist feminist
single stay-at-home mom on state aid
no–wait–i’m a human being.
different from you, but also the same
& i’m so so lonely.
will you be my friend?
and i immediately felt better. i felt like i put everything out there that i was afraid of saying about myself. those things that might make me troll bait.
this is the crap i do on social media. expose myself. lay everything out and wait to be crucified. fortunately, i surround myself with people on facebook who are understanding & nurturing…for the most part.
either that or they are a little afraid of me.
i have been known to scare people…and i’m okay with that.
& in that vein…here are some clown balloons.
it’s probably not a good sign that i am googling things like “i just want to talk.” and looking on wordpress for blogs with “lonely” and “lost” in them. i would go on a dating site, but they give me the heeby-jeebies. i usually end up deleting my profile after a couple of hours. i end up getting way too much attention when i go on dating sites. how desperate are these people? i wonder. and i effectuate a hasty retreat.
what does it say that i find so many others when i use search words such as “lost,” “lonely,” and “just talk to me”?
maybe we are all lost & lonely & looking to talk to someone…anyone.
it’s been a long time, if ever, where i was in a relationship with a kindred spirit. someone i could open up to. someone with whom i did not feel lonely or lost. did i ever have that?
maybe. maybe once.
but i have spent a lot of my life feeling alone. i was born unconventional in a conventional small town. the quiet one. the strange one. it’s always been difficult for me to find people who understand me.
i know there are others like me.
i’ve seen the memes on facebook.
but somehow i have trouble believing they would understand me either. how can everyone be so different and strange? and how can i be so different and strange that i don’t even fit in with the different and strange?
i think i might be a different species. logical conclusion, right?
and i’ve decided that vincent van gogh is the patron saint of misfit artists. sorry. i was working on drawing while the minions made me watch doctor who. you know the episode with vincent van gogh? it makes me cry every time.
i don’t want to die alone. i mean, i know everyone essentially dies alone. born alone; die alone. all that. but i really mean, i don’t want to die alone. i want to find that one person. that one person who makes sense. and that one person who understands me.
i know that’s asking a lot.
but it could happen…right?
i feel like a failure.
what’s worse is that i feel like i am a failure at being a failure.
other people seem to be able to make a life out of failing.
i can’t even do that.
i want to tear a hole in the world with my teeth.
there is so much pain inside of me.
and when it comes out–
i feel even worse because i am causing pain.
i won’t tell you.
but i am a monster.
an awful horrible monster.
and that is not who i am supposed to be.
i don’t know why i am a monster.
i want to be a good person. a helpful person.
i can see that person in my head.
but i am not that person.
i am a monster.
i can see in my head
the person i was supposed to be.
kind & nurturing.
not a complete fucking mess
so angry at the world that it tears me apart
and spills ruination on anyone
i tried to so spells
to help me find balance
let go of negative thought patterns.
i think i somehow charged the stones
to do the opposite.
now i am an even bigger mess.
i started reading jenny lawson’s book
which highlights her struggles with mental illness
in a funny & heartwarming way….
i am frankenstein’s monster.
i wanted to love…
but all i can do is cause fear
i am an abomination.
i was once a sweet child.
a hopeful child.
but i grew into an abomination.