INKtober ninth

you’re sort of perfect
you’re sometimes
perfect
sometimes
just right
for me
sometimes
the worst thing ever
the thing that
tore me apart
turned me
inside
out
&
into someone
i no longer
recognized…
you’re sort of the devil
you’re sometimes
the devil
sometimes
the end of me
sometimes
my favorite family
&
my best
friend
being there for me
when
i
least
expect it
an every morning
coffee date
the warmest hug
in the whole
wide
world.

so many conflicting feelings as i sludge through whatever this is going on. i mean, i keep falling back in love with him. what happens next…i invite him into my life…everything is groovy…& then things go horribly wrong.
but what exactly happens?
is it him…me…the two of us together in one life boat?

also…i could not think of how to draw me. i was stumped. so i just drew, and this is what happened.

i dunno.

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INKtober eighth

am i delusional
or spot-on
what is my motivation
here
is this a healthy urge
or a desperate
& warped
longing?
what is it i really
want?
i don’t know which ending
to root for
the one where we finally
work things out
see the error
of our ways
& determine to love each other
right?
or the one where
i triumphantly
move on?
if my life is a movie
would i be yelling at the screen for me
to run to him…
or away?

so many questions. i am trying to sit still and not do anything right now because my brain is obviously suffering some sort of…what? maybe i’m having a stroke. i just don’t know which way is up right now. the other day i googled “is it possible for people to change?”
i mean, i really want to believe he can change…sigh.
so basically i am emotionally paralyzed right now–or, rather, it’s like when they put a patient in a coma intentionally so they can deal with something life-threatening.
it’s like that.
i am in an emotional, self-induced coma for the time being.

INKtober seventh

holy crap
what if
what if
you can’t do
normal
what if dysfunctional
is the only
speed
you move at?
you say you want
stable & secure
but then
then
you secretly shop for
fucked up
you crave crazy
you love the lunatics
lists of issues
are a turn-on
is this your sickness?
is this something
you can recover from?
or is damaged
&
broken
just the way you
roll
your own
warped
happy
ish
ending.

went with my love of egon schiele again for inspiration on this self-portrait. it seemed suitable for a post on my love of damaged people.

swimming in the grey matter sloshing about in my head…makes for a interesting though entirely confusing trip.

 

stay

he saw my damage
he loved my damage
he wanted me to
stay
damaged…
i
i wanted
i wanted to heal
i wanted to fly
i wanted
to
be
free
he clipped
my wings
he built
my cage
he told me i should
stay
damaged
he did all he could
so i would stay
damaged
because
if i was damaged
i would
stay
his.

this was inspired by reading mike’s manic word depot’s post “don’t want to be fixed.”

another take, i guess, on people in relationships trying to create the reality that works best for them–regardless of what is best for their partner.

i have been having a bunch of realizations (epiphanies if you will) about my relationship with the father of my children. lots of lots of stuff to dig through there.

(hey…if you are typing too fast & fuck up, “lots” turns into “lost”…which also makes me spin with epiphanies…just that word…lost….)

broken people

i’ve always loved the broken people
always always
i am drawn to them
but not like a moth
to a flame
because i am also the fire
my damage
at least as deep
as theirs
i love them because i think
they will understand
they will know me &
they will love me
because i am like them…
thing is
when both of you
are broken
who is picking up the pieces?

*this post was inspired by all the feelings i have when i hear lovely the band’s song, “broken.” which, coincidentally, played on the radio as i was illustrating this page.

i think a lot about this, especially since the song came out. i mean, dusty always said he was attracted to me because he could tell i was damaged. and even when i look for a healthy relationship i always find myself oogling those obviously broken men, trying to cover up their damage with cynicism & dark humor.

seymour was not broken. while i was with him, every broken man i saw turned my head. i never had that problem when i was dating damaged guys. i focused on them & obsessed over fixing them. but seymour had nothing for me to fix. so i wandered away. stupid girl. stupid stupid girl.

turns out, those of us who are broken, we need someone who isn’t broken. if we the broken choose other broken people to love, all we do is keep on breaking each other.

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.

crazy broken love

*this is a work in progress

for anyone who wasn’t with me for my whimsical ink stain adventure (all of them are on one of the pages up there) that started with inktober 2016 when i discovered my love for making inkstains and finding pictures in them,
this is what the process looks like.
i make an ink stain, dripping ink randomly on wet watercolor paper.
i let it dry.
then i just stare at it.
for as long as necessary.

it’s therapeutic
and fun
relaxing
and it helps me to expand on my drawing style and discover new creatures.

i haven’t done it in awhile…not since last inktober when i started the month of ink…but then pooped out.
however, i was thinking
just thinking
of writing another letter to seymour
and i started this inkstain as a page on which to write crazy broken poetry about love
for seymour.

i keep asking the universe for a sign that i should either keep up my pilgrimage…or give up on it.
i mean, i guess you could say that seymour’s ignoring of my ongoing expressions of devotion is a sign in itself.
but i would really like something more definite…if that’s not too much to ask.

*i like to post the process of these pictures because it is interesting to me how they develop.