attachment disorder

dear sir or ma’am
not that it is an excuse
but i have recently
learned
about
that pop term
mental illness
du jour
& you know
how i always joke
about being that baby monkey
in those
horrific
experiments
jokes
about being raised by wolves
well
i’m so sorry
i broke your heart
turns out
being rejected by mum
really does a number on one’s
ability
to…
well
to fucking form attachments
to trust
to have faith
of any kind
to believe that someone
could
actually
love me
i can tell you now
without a doubt
i ruined
your life
because i am
broken
so….

i have decided to advertise myself as “beautiful but broken.” hey, at least i’m seeing myself as beautiful…i mean, that’s new.
sigh
i have been struggling to get up in the morning. struggling to get through the day. i’m not sure if it’s father’s day, my dad’s birthday, my birthday (all happening in the next few weeks) plus the anti-versary of being molested on the same day my dog got hit by a car…the dog that i had just realized i did love after not being able to bond with any animal after my cat was murdered….
i feel like i am being “dramatic” by taking my life seriously. by acting as if i have any reason to hurt when other people survive much worse…. yet, i feel like maybe i need to give myself permission to mourn…to grieve…but then i’m all “snap out of it” and not letting that happen.
and it all just starts over again.

bubbling cauldron

so much anger
am i angry
because
my brother
was murdered
& i am
too polite
to avenge him?
am i angry
that my ex-husband
destroyed me
leaving me
a broken person
rebuilding
&
no matter how many
times
i ink the story
he refuses to read it?
am i angry
that my sons
will never know
how much
i sacrificed
to be their
mother?
am i angry
at the world
for being
deliberately
blind
&
ignorant?

from my dead brother’s birthday through his death anniversary through holidays heavy with bad memories & deeply ingrained anxiety….
this time of year i can become just a bubbling cauldron of angst. add in a good dose of idocracy fueled by a corrupt government & medical system….
i have only had one public outburst…so yay for that.

rage & sorrow

i don’t know which way is up.
it’s a bad time of year for me.
my mom’s burial…the anti-versary of being molested on the exact same day my dog died…the fourth of july…my dad’s birthday…then my birthday….
i’m hoping to stabilize by mid-july?

every which way

tomorrow i pack it all into a uhaul and head to wisconsin
tomorrow i begin a new adventure
amidst a new moon
& solar eclipse
& the anti-versary of a molestation
that happened
the very same time
as my beloved dog
becoming lost & eventually found dead
leaving me
with no one to comfort me
these same group of days
that my father’s birthday
falls into
this will be
the first dead father birthday
my emotions are a whirlpool
a tornado
hope & despair spinning fast
as i run away
again
from my childhood home
believing i will find an answer
on the horizon.

the above is a postcard sent to a patron for their support of my patreon page. the following are examples of art to be found on my patreon page.


anti-versaries

ah crap. it’s september…such a wonderful month for fall smells & sights…and the anti-versary of
meeting my first big love/heartbreak/betrayal
marrying my first husband
& meeting my last big love/heartbreak/betrayal

no wonder i feel like a big bag of hopelessly crappy crap.

fuck you, september
(please stop being hot now & at least give me some 70 degree weather)

image from an art class…moses jones as an archangel, slaughtering dusy–or, you know, the devil.

anti-versaries….

fifteen years ago
i married the man i thought i would be with
forever
i thought i had done my time
suffered my losses
dug my way back up from hell
& now i was being rewarded
we had a picnic wedding
we had a slip & slide
& a dunk tank
we wore flip flops
made up our vows
and promised to always
always & forever
be there for the other.
what happened?
what went wrong?
like every other event in my life
i have analized
& apologized
& tried to puzzle it out
but i guess i never actually made it out of hell
i was just on a new layer
of fresh pain.

wake up, it’s time to heal

the voices came
& whispered to me
you are not this person
twelve years of anger
a lifetime of anger
you are not this person
it is time to heal
it is time to heal

page4

i recently learned about clairaudience. as soon as i read the description, i was like, “well, i have that.” imaginary friends, talking to one’s self, hearing voices, channeling advice, craving sound, hearing messages in songs….  i do all that.
so now i am trying to listen better.
last night–when i was trying to fall asleep–the voices came, & i was told that it is time to heal.

today is an anti-versary for me. 1997…so what is that? 20 years. 20 years ago, all in one day, i was molested & my dog got hit by a car and died. i have felt the weight of it every year since. i was in a terrible relationship. my life was a mess. i tried to straighten out the mess, but i kept going right back to it. the abuse. the neglect. the anger & hurt.

page5

now it’s time to heal.

it’s time to rewrite what today means to me.
today is the day i choose to start healing.
today is the day i choose to let go of the anger & hurt.
to embrace the beautiful in me & let go of the ugly that keeps me company while holding me back.

time to embrace my role as a mom.
time to celebrate who i am as an artist.
time to see what a healthy relationship looks like.

time to heal.

page6

 

my dead brother

having someone in your life die changes you as much as, say, having a baby.
i would not be the artist i am today if i had not become a mother. i would be a different artist.
and i would not be the person i am today if my brother had not been killed eight years ago today. i would be a different person.

my big brother…sigh.
he introduced me to movies. that is one way i remember him. he took me to see raiders of the lost ark when it was in the theaters and i was all like, “this movie sounds stupid.”
and then i was all like, “that was the best movie ever!”
he took me to see the empire strikes back when it came out
and i remember as we walked back to the car after the movie, he said, “it’s leia. they are talking about leia.”
and i had no idea what he was talking about until return of the jedi.
he brought a copy of terminator home from college and as i watched it, he would say, “surely he’s dead now” every time they thought they had destroyed arnold schwarzenegger.
he introduced me to one of my most favorite movies ever blade runner.
and to another dytopian influence a boy and his dog.

self2

these two pictures were done for a drawing class where i was supposed to do two self-portraits that were meant to be hung together. the top one is from a photo of me as a baby with my brother mike.
the second one is a self-portrait of me in tribute to the polaroid taken of sarah connor  at the end of terminator.

his life and his death are both heavy influences in who i am today.
sometimes i don’t know how to feel about that.

here is a poem i wrote in a writer’s workshop about it:

heavy

when someone close to you
dies
it becomes part of your description
she has brown hair
a nice smile
and her brother is dead

birthdays are the hardest
his last one
i didn’t know
it was the last
his voice sad on the telephone
my pledge to keep in touch
this time

we live in a world
where I can obsessively search for
intimate details of his death
available in short video
burning plane
gray matter splattered on a playground
his last words, “oh, fuck.”

notorious IT guy for the other side
the forrest gump of stolen elections
everything reminds me
of him
the sound of a single engine  plane
sad songs on the radio
politics, christmastime, and charismatic men

i drink irish whiskey this time of year
but it was scotch at his wake
four years now
four years since the last election
four years since the plane crash
a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream
murder republican style

when someone close to you
dies
do you let it redefine you?
hello, I’m connell
a mama, a student, an artist
let me tell you
about my dead brother

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑