hoodie of despair

i turn to anger
after the sad
of rejection
because maybe i feel more in control
of the anger?
the ride goes like this:
you hurt me
(intentionally or unintentionally)
i feel rejected
i get
then i get
pissed off
i never needed you
in fact
i’m fucking brilliant
without you
& round & round
goes the merry
until i just want it all to
so maybe
i should see what happens if
i crawl inside my despair
pull it tight
around me
& see if i can feel the hurt
see if i can heal
the hurt.

if any of y’all are familiar with my self-portrait series…i have a sweater of depression in that collection. so this is my hoodie of despair. i tried to ink a sloth on her head…but it may look more like a lemur? i was having trouble transcribing the image of a sloth from my head to the paper….

this is what happens. that frankenstein’s monster emerges from my feeling of rejection (real or imagined or hinted at or whispers of) and then i go from victim to monster in the blink of an eye.
i want to stop that.
not that i don’t love & appreciate my inner monster…i just want to have her behave a bit more appropriately. and by appropriate, i mean in a constructive way, not a destructive way.
something to think on….

ps. three nights in a row i have dreamed of being at some sort of party, gathering, group function. also, i cannot stop the reoccurring dreams about my ex husband…thoughts?
the best i could come up with is that my ex husband represents bad relationships? bad decisions?
but what does a party represent to an introvert with misanthropic tendencies who still desires community?
more to think on….

hell hath no fury…

it’s my frankenstein’s monster complex
you see
it makes me turn
when my love
& devotion
are met with
disdain & indifference
if they will not
love me
they will
fear me
at the flick
of some toggle switch
buried deep
in my mind
i go from
cute & cuddly
to writing white hot
& claws.

one of those dysfunctional defenses that gets you through the abuse…but then wreaks havoc on your efforts to heal & change….
i turn on & off like a light switch.
he loves me…he loves me not
i am lovable…i am a creature of your nightmares
i am struggling with this right now. i want to heal this relationship with this person who meant so much to me…and he is not responding. so then, historically, i become aggressive and nasty. i have the urge to do so. i have it so bad.
but my inner voices (via tarot card readings) urge me to calm those aggressions and trust in a better world. one where i do not become an avenging angel wielding a sword of fire….
so maybe i should see what that looks like?

whether the boy ever talks to me again or not–it would behoove me to NOT have this kneejerk reaction to any perceived rejection.

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
when i was twelve
i could see
he was happy
for the chance to hit me
& from that day
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

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….

behind blue eyes II

who made this monster?
i can’t blame him
he did throw fuel
on the fire
but if there wasn’t already
a spark….
i can’t blame them
they poke me
with sharp sticks
but they are simply
to make s’mores….
the ones who loved me
the ones who molded me
out of clay
they shaped me into this
& now i can only hope
that my destiny
is not to make
more monsters….

my ex likes to point out that i was already damaged when he met me. of course, he fails to realize that he could have helped me heal–he didn’t have to break me further.
& though my kids are matricidal maniacs…i don’t think it is intentional. i don’t know what evolutionary purpose it serves to drive one’s mother crazy…but i don’t think they do it on purpose.
i feel like it is my job to teach them a better way.
i feel like i am failing at my job.
yes, my parents made me into the raging bitch i can be at times with their layers of emotional abuse, physical abuse, and neglect….
but again, it is my job to heal.
to be better
if not for me, for my children
(but totally for me, too)

behind blue eyes

i hate being a mom
i fucking hate it
i want to drop them off
on their dad’s
& let him be a fucking martyr
for the next 17 years
i hate all this motherhood
it is not fucking worth it
i hate being the bad guy
the fall guy
the whipping boy
& scapegoat
taking all of the abuse
those matricidal maniacs
dish out
taking it
with a smile
isn’t motherhood a fucking

so this is the page in my journal that i wrote when i was in the middle of a meltdown

it had been a long day. one of those days that started really nice with my feeling on top of the world…but the higher you are, the further you have to fall.
first i tried to set up an arrangement with my 14 year old where he would keep the floors clean in exchange for a monthly payout. it was like negotiating with someone who spoke a different language & ended with my mopping the floor while he pouted.
and pouted
and pouted
(the boy can hold a grudge)
so later i suggested we all go for a walk–insisting he should come because the exercise would help him feel better. which it did.
but then it was my 8 year old’s turn. my 8 year old is like the velociraptor in jurassic park who jumps at the fence, strategically to find the weak spots. i am a rapidly deteriorating fence to my 8 year old’s attacks.
he stopped halfway through the walk and refused to move because he wanted me to make hot chocolate even though i explained (over & over & over) that we were low on milk and could not make it until tomorrow when i could get more milk. which of course he translated to my being an unloving mother….
long story short, i was fragile by bedtime.
since i broke my knee in june, i have been sleeping downstairs. the 8 year old & 11 year old insist on sleeping in the living room with me. the 11 year old has started waking up with headaches from sleeping in a chair.
so i decided it was time for us to more back upstairs.
i haven’t seen the upstairs in months.
i ask them to clean it regularly. they either ignore me or tell me they did clean it.
i should have known better.
knowing me & how i react to out-of-control messes & how i react to realizing no one has been listening to me…i should have known better. but i went up those stairs, saw the unbelievable mess of the upstairs, and had a meltdown.

i have control issues.
i have anger issues.
i have issues with cleaning up other people’s messes.
i have issues with being ignored.

it was more than i could handle. i became a monster.
through journaling (three pages in all) i worked through some of it & am hopeful that in the future i will handle myself better.
also, the next morning i had a talk with them. i apologized & tried to explain why i behaved as i did.
hopefully, i didn’t do too much damage 😦

cool calm & collected

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

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 more they ignore me
the louder i tell myself
i never needed them
the more unpopular
i am
the more inspired
i am
to perfect being a pariah
the less they see me
the harder i try
to stay
what happens if…
what happens if i fight
that reflex
what happens if i try
to be appealing…
holy fuck
the mere thought of it
goes against
my very fiber
maybe “self-sabotage”
is just how i roll…
i’m too fucking angry
to be appealing
to be soft
to be inviting
is there a way
to seek my audience
who i am?

dove soup

the dove sits on the telephone wire
watching me do yoga, poorly
like i was feeling out of sorts
& yoga only confirmed
how badly my mind & body
are aligned. how ungrounded
how uncentered i am
& the bird watches all of it
through my picture window…
usually a lone mourning dove
is a comfort
an echo of my own lonely heart
but today it feels like a taunting
a mockery
& all i want to do
is shoot the damn thing off of its
spy’s perch
& have dove soup for lunch.

character study

(a personal observation)

life is like
menstral cramps
the pain comes
on a cycle
it’s bearable
it knocks you
on your ass
but it
it goes away
is good

i am working through some stuff that has been buried away for twenty-four years. i guess after getting all the childhood stuff examined & the major relationship stuff worked on, it is time to look at little injuries throughout my life that weren’t so little after all.

blanket of anger

my anger is a blanket
i cannot
get out from under
no matter
how i struggle
i am suffocating
in my own
i kick & kick & kick…
he cannot hear me
no matter how loud
i scream
& all i can hear
is echoes of him
in our children
i scream
& scream
& scream
& no one hears me
& nothing changes.

yup. more angst at the ex. fuck me when my kids start trying to gaslight me in a little mini-him gesture. i have no tolerance for it. i call them on it.
do i call him on it?
would it do any good?
i guess, at least, i can hope to raise a handful of men who do not gaslight. who know better….

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