you are the only person
i want to be
not someone like you
(as unlikely as that is)
not someone who treats me
like you treated me
when i think of dating
i feel repulsed
when i imagine
dancing in my kitchen
waking every morning
my whole body tingles
& i swear
i must glow
with sweet longing.
writing this was easy…sharing it–not so much. so i started wondering as i tend to do. why is it easier for me to share my dark & disturbing parts?
my sad & barely surviving parts?
my anxious & depressed parts?
my struggles & shortcomings?
my feelings of worthlessness & isolation?
my oh so crazy bits?
but sharing something i wrote about love…my feelings of love…for another person…i feel like i have gone too far.
i feel like i have crossed some sort of line.
this shouldn’t be allowed!
and, to boot, it is unrequited love i am celebrating.
yuck. so gross.
why do i react to love as if it is something unspeakable? unthinkable? illogical? is this cultural/generational or is it reflective of my damage? or…is my damage also reflective of my culture/generation?
there are entire movies. entire tv series. books, poetry, and songs. all of these. dedicated to love. all kinds of love.
so why do i feel so stupid admitting that i love someone?
so in art journal psychotherapy today we have learned that i am more comfortable with & even celebratory of my darkness & my damage and will happily shove it right in your face….
but when it comes time to share my thoughts of love & devotion & romantic longing…for a man of all things…to admit that i have these feelings…then i ready myself to fall on my sword.
i find being morose a more natural & acceptable state than being dreamy.
yet i call myself quixotic and think of myself as whimsical? a puzzle inside an enigma wrapped in a conundrum.
do you see the exhausting challenge of being me? of living in my head?
in the interest of balance
here it is
a little of my yang for all of the yin
a silly love song.
it waxes & wanes
the moon inside me
today it is a dark dark place
man nor beast
it is heavy & cold
but also burning like
a demon’s fire
a storm no one will
yay! valentine’s day. shiny happy people and all that.
in my high school you used to be able to buy tissue paper flowers to be given to people you cared about. the color reflected the sentiment.
every year i thought, sure, i might get a flower this year.
nevery year did i get a flower. nevery.
but i still had hope.
i still waited for a valentine.
fucking charlie brown i was.
in my twenties i would make valentines and take them to the bar and hand them out to people i loved.
in my twenties my heart was broken into a million pieces…shortly after valentine’s day. broken in a way that a person like me doesn’t recover from.
it took me years
to realize how damaged i was
how damaged i had been
how much damage there was in my heart…
i am still learning about the damage that is me. twenty-two years later. twenty-two valentine’s days later.
figuring it out.
i thought my soul
was calloused over.
that they could do
to hurt me.
i guess a mother’s
grow too old
to be affected by.
no, wait, this is my favorite self-portrait. it’s me, as frankenstein’s monster. i am really happy about this.
the motivation, not so much.
my parents plane takes off in 25 hours and 30 minutes. i have barely survived. my anxiety has developed its own anxiety.
but i have not killed them nor myself.
there is nothing like having the person who is supposed to love you unconditionally
the ONE person who is supposed to love you
no matter what
there is nothing like hearing her say to you
“you are a bad person”
or her calling you an “asshole”
& a “stupid-ass”
& an “interloper.”
it has been eye-opening. and healing in its own weird way to realize where all this low-self esteem comes from.
and, of course, tons of material for an upcoming tell-all memoir.
my life is very much a journey
it is a river current
dragging me along
it is a careful path
i have forged
not too often…
it is someone else’s path
i love my journey
& am so so excited about it
i want to turn around
& it takes all my strength to continue
…i doubt i will reach the end
but i pick up my walking stick
& journey on.
you know that social experiment
where you stand
in an elevator
facing toward everyone
instead of with everyone?
just for a reaction?
just to see
i am the backward person
in the elevator
my whole life
is me the wrong way around
in an elevator
with none of us
really able to say
you know those days where you can just smell
in the wind
& it seems like something good is bound to
you know those days when your heart just feels
& you cry for no reason…
or for a lost reason…
or maybe there are just so many reasons you can’t even separate them
that’s me grown up, and me as a girl–a two-fer self-portrait. if you are wondering, i did look like eddie munster as a child.
i’m not sure i captured what was in my mind, but i am happy that i got pretty close.
another bonus for those of you who actually read this…my future in greeting cards…i painted this huntress for my sister-in-law’s birthday card. i thought it turned out okay for just winging it.
overall, i am going to rate myself with three stars today. haha.
when i feel alone
that makes it less painful
just makes more sense