fallen IV

like the rest
of them
you crawled into this world
through a woman
fully expecting
to crawl out again
through grave
you knew you were
different
with your imaginings
of your
stolen
wings
with your hearing
divine
voices
with your little
epiphanies
but all kids do that
right?
angels are wonderful
things
but you always felt
more at home
playing with
demons…
you never expected
that this was a
tell-tale sign
of your
true
nature.

i recently learned about an artist named eveyln de morgan (which is an awesome name.) she did some amazing work. i realized i
actually used her work once before, when i did myself as helen of troy.
this one here is inspired by another one of her paintings, clytie.
she did a lot of religious style works.
i might be borrowing from her a bit more during this series.

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hello darkness, my old friend

the dark falls
the dark creeps
she lurks
& leaps
& crashes
don’t look now
the dark will
envelop
your
heart
your soul
painted black
like my thoughts
like my
dreams
the dark is my
friend
my companion
my
one
true
love
i look to the dark
to envelop
my heart
my
soul
the dark whispers
the dark caresses
she kisses
& misses
me
when i am
illuminated.

i cleaned off my scanner since my last post…you’re welcome.

courting death

self soothing
is thinking about 
the blade against my skin
self soothing
is a match 
to burn it all to the ground
self soothing 
are the words
rolling around 
in my rotten brain
no one has ever loved you
anyway
self soothing
is a free fall 
away from my nightmares
and into a comforting
emptiness
love
love is the easy answer
if by easy 
you mean
impossible
death
makes more sense
no longer fantasizing about love
saving me
only 
hoping
for
death.

death. the ultimate distraction. no. i don’t really want to die. most the time i plan on living forever. but some days there is something deep & dark inside me. an overwhelming lack of hope. 
it has a lot to do with escape. that’s what the thoughts of death are. i mean, when i was in the midst of it, i thought, what if i didn’t die–but just disappeared?
it was all the same to me. well. actually disappearing was more desirable than death.
i am sure other mothers feel this way. i am sure none of us like to talk about it. i talk about it because i have to.
if i keep things inside, it only gets worse. 
squeeze it until it bleeds…& then it can get better.

i am not sure how i feel about this illustration/self-portrait. i feel like i am…too sexy? is death sexy? i wasn’t going for sexy. i’m not sure it is even sexy. trust me, i do not feel sexy. 
i do like the illustration…it feels comic-booky to me. i just feel like a fraud for having drawn/painted it.
don’t ask me why. 
i don’t fucking know.

silly love song

silly love song

i’ve realized
you are the only person
i want to be
with
not someone like you
(as unlikely as that is)
not someone who treats me
like you treated me
but you
exactly you
only you
when i think of dating
of loving
anyone else
i feel repulsed
when i imagine
dancing in my kitchen
with you
waking every morning
to you
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?
but!
in the interest of balance
here it is
a little of my yang for all of the yin
a silly love song.

unreasonable

the pain
that special pain
of losing someone
suddenly
& for no good reason
no
everything does not happen
for a fucking reason
it does not
there are so many
senseless happenings
in this goddamned
existence
unless…pain
unless pain is it’s own
reason
but
that
would be just
completely
unreasonable

this time of year is just one big clusterfuck of bad memories
& bad feelings.
shitballs.
i have this fucking dark cloud hanging over me. every move is like i am underwater. just trying to tie my fucking shoes or something.
& it feels impossible
& i hate myself
for not being able to pull it together.

hurting

you can’t put your pain
in front of someone else’s
happiness
you can’t let your own darkness
eclipse
everyone else’s
light
you can’t
because who are you then?
you are the monster
you fear
the most.
taking what has hurt you
& hurting others
with it.

who can tell i was raised catholic? i swear i am not obsessed with angels nor do i entertain delusions of my own divinity. just the whole concept of wings & horns. the weight they carry. the meanings they portray.

i’m healing from this last dance with darkness…should you be wondering. two steps forward, one step back.
healing
and trying to heal
and forgetting to heal
but then remembering again.

out of my head

i’m so sick of me
i’m so tired
of always being in my head
i want out
not to be someone else
just not to be
me
for a little while
or ever

demonic mom

every night
as they lay sleeping
my heart squeezes
& i think,
“tomorrow
i won’t be a crap-ass mom
tomorrow
i won’t lose my mind.”
then morning comes
& the demons inside me
come out to dance
with the demons
i spawned

i have a really bad habit of not waiting until the page is dry to take a picture. plus these are all on journal paper with the idea that i will do a bigger & better version on some nice watercolor paper or canvas even (ink on canvas is a gamble) if i ever get a chance & like the original enough.
so.
my page is all wrinkly & weird looking.

this is a dark subject that i have kind of made light about. because…well, i have trouble taking my pain seriously.

but tomorrow is another day.

narcoleptic woodpecker

i have whole files full of one line–one paragraph–one page stories. whole journals full of incomplete thoughts and epiphanies. are you ready? i’m going to make them all into comics. maybe. if you’re lucky. turn them all into visual art. use what i have learned in my ink blot tests. use what i have learned in my comic making. use my whimsy and my darkness.

are you ready?

it’s the next step of my metamorphosis. changing and staying the same.

i got a lot done today as i am off of facebook forever…again. i worked on art files & writing files. i had to move all of my stories to google docs because my microsoft word expired and i am one broke-ass mama.
really.
i have no money.
i am living off of credit cards wondering if my ex will ever send me child support. probably not. when the kids stayed the week with him, he sent all their dirty laundry home with me because he didn’t want to use his mom’s detergent as i might not like it.
um…?
so i nicely suggested he buy his own laundry detergent.
i was nice about it.
really, i was. i am working very hard on not being aggressive…passive-aggressive–reactionary…any of those things that kept me in that same destructive cycle with him. i am being a model of cool, calm, & collected.
(that was what it said under my dad’s yearbook picture. my dad, destined to be a violent alcoholic…cool, calm, and collected. so…maybe i will have to work really hard on it as my example of cool, calm, and collected is a bit skewed….)

but i wasn’t so cool, calm, and collected with my kids. i had a screaming fit that scared the crap out of them. what’s the good of not being physically violent with my kids if i am going to lose my mind & scar them accordingly?
“i am losing my mind!” my three year old will say to me.
right.
i always love when they model my bad behavior right back at me.
i have a long way to go on being a sane parent. sometimes i cry, wondering if i would have been a good mom if i had had a supportive husband. if i had had loving parents of my own. if i hadn’t of been broken so severely and completely and eternally.

baby steps.
until i run out of time.

narc2

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