too many men

too many men
haunt my heart
they would say
i didn’t love them
enough
i would say
i loved them
too much
a bright light
i burned out
to nothing

i had another dream/nightmare about dusty last night. why? why? i keep asking myself that question. why is he haunting my fucking dreams? why do i spend my nights chasing something i do not want? begging him to take me back?

he would love to know that i have reoccurring dreams about loving him.

i would love to know why i am having these dreams. what does he represent? what does our fucked up relationship represent to me?

why am i being haunted?

i replay the dreams in my head. i look for clues–for meanings. maybe i am over-thinking it. maybe i should just let it go…instead of being pissed off all day long because of it.

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turn out the gaslight

he drinks from my glass
instead of getting his own
he says he would be in a good mood
if not for me
he accuses me of “gaslighting” him
& i wonder
or do i know
that he is gaslighting me?
he hurls words at me
words i said
stories i told
when i–in a state of delusion–
trusted him
he saves up the words i give to him
like ammunition
to strike me with
as his mask falls off
& he embraces
the person
he claims he no longer is….

yeah. things are not going well with dusty being here. two weeks now. every morning i am grateful for the help.
by nightfall, i hate him.

inktober 10th & 11th…ish

there’s a story behind this. but i don’t know what it is.

that was the 11th. for the 10th i phoned it in once more with a half done inking.

inktober10

and it is still not finished.
my life is overwhelming.
i am very angry about being alone. about doing this alone. so angry. and depressed. and feeling like this is it. this is the rest of my life. i am essentially alone–but! i am also stuck with dusty in my life. i am stuck with raising four kids mostly by myself while their dad complains that he wants to be more involved and i have to remind myself that it is a trick. their dad is an angler fish dangling “normal family” in front of me and hoping i will take a nibble. because he never actually gets involved even when he can be involved. he doesn’t. and i have to keep reminding myself of that.
which is a lot of fun.

fuck.

so i’m grumpy and moody and do not feel like doing anything even though i know that doing something would help me to feel better.

just putting pen to paper makes me feel better.

inktober fifth

okay.
i’m tired of what i have been doing with ink brush painting.
yesterday i used some leftover ink to make random panels on a sheet of paper.
today i pulled a comic out of my ass…
about panels.

inktober5

and then i ended up spilling a bunch of black ink
so in the spirit of sustainability and not wasting and taking lemons & making lemonade,
i did a quick sketch using the spilled ink…which is the inking showcased at the top of today’s blog.
full moon long shadows.

i like it.
i like my art.
i like being me.

so there, world of no recognition…or very little recognition. i like my stuff. i know i am good. i don’t need your fucking “likes” (but, you know, they are nice)

on a personal note
because it has been too long without me over-sharing…
i had half-invited dusty to live here–as a paying lodger…but now i am re-thinking that. i mean, it sounds like a recipe for disaster.
he just won’t grow up.
and it’s not like i am so good at being a grown up…but i manage.
meanwhile, he pays a minimal child support…occasionally.
he has a crap job because he won’t bother looking for another one.
he lives with his crap-ass mom because he won’t bother finding his own place–nor does he have the money to do so.
and he has a crappy car that does not run because he just stored it in a garage for seven years while he made me give him rides.
and now he is dependent on him mom for rides.
and i keep thinking…why?
why won’t he just get up off his ass and do something?

well, i guess he’s just waiting for me to pick him up again.

so what happens if i don’t?

if you’re not nice to the mama…

“i’m a good father!”
he tells me
& tells me
& tells me
and to paraphrase shakespeare,
i think the fellow doth protest too much.
who is he trying to convince?
and i say to him,
“but you are a crappy partner.”
and something eggs at me
until i realize
you can’t be a crappy partner
and a good father
you just can’t…
to be a good father
you have to be good
to their mother.

(i had a full post written…and i lost it. so now i’m pissed off & trying to remember what awesome things i had written….)

page16

dusty came for the weekend because it was misha’s birthday and maybe–just maybe–i was trying to sabotage myself because i was feeling too happy…too healthy…too on top of my life….

was i trying to sabotage me?

well, if i was, it didn’t work! the day after he left i finished my application for the sustainable arts award for moms who are artists &/or writers. i got my shit together and even figured out how to make a pdf file of my pages of moses jones.
two days after he left, i finished all my rough drafts for “mistress of mud.”

page17

of course, why he was here, i was sick to my stomach. literally. nauseated the entire time. so so sick.
my body does that.
if my brain won’t listen…my body goes on strike and some sort of illness manifests. so many boyfriends have resulted in flu symptoms.
meanwhile, dusty is telling me what a good dad he is and thinking that my passivity due to nausea means i am flirting with him?

holy crap.

we were having a good conversation one night. we went out and watched the moon rise and stars fall out of the sky. it was amazing & awesome and we were there together.
then
i was like, “okay, i’m going to bed” seeing as i am always up at sunrise and pretty much always sleep deprived.
and it was a light switch.
gone was nice dusty
& out came hostile dusty.
fuck that bullshit.
he thinks we are going to somehow someday have some fucking happily ever after? and if i don’t reciprocate, i get treated like garbage?
i don’t want to lead him on. i want to be honest with him that it is over and would take a miracle of biblical proportions for us to ever be a couple again…
but i am afraid of his reaction.
i feel stupid for it. silenced.
why can’t i be civil to him without¬† him thinking that means he is going to get laid?
i want to be able to say, “no” without it turning into an attack on me.
fuck this bullshit.

fuck it.

page18

i love my kids…but i hate being a mom….

i hate being the one in charge
i hate being the bad guy
i hate having to be the one who makes sure we don’t run out of
toilet paper
clean clothes
toothpaste
shoes that fit
food
i hate being the one that has to make impossible ends
meet
i have to
no one else is going to do it
i have to find ways to fix
messes that seem impossible to fix
i have to referee fights
that seem to have no end
i hate being referee
i hate being mom
i want to not have to worry about everything
to not be the one who is supposed to have all of the answers
i want to find room in my heart
for me
to not feel overwhelmed by them
i want to be able to breathe

it’s not them though
is it?
it’s not being a mom so much
as my being damaged
damaged by life
damaged by parents, damaged by exes
never taught to love myself
in the way a person needs to be able to
so that person can be a good mom
neglected by my own mom
leaving me unable to cope
abandoned
abused
by the man who was supposed
to do this with me
be there for me
now
i just want to hide, heal, and lick my wounds
but as a mom
i just can’t seem to
there are just too many other things
that need to be
done….

page11

yesterday i collapsed in a heap and all i could think was, “i hate being a mom. i hate being a mom. i hate being a mom.” it was both a relief to think it…and horrifying.

i didn’t always hate being a mom…if you read my wordpress profile thing-y here, it sounds like i used to really think i was a good mom….
(i wish i could remember that feeling.)

though it was a cruel awakening when i became a mom and realized i was working harder than i ever had before–but i wasn’t getting any pay or benefits. after a lifetime of supporting myself, i was now dependent on a partner who was–well–crappy. he would tell me my position as a mom was pointless and why was he the only one earning money? he would tell me to get a job. i was exhausted to my bones–and he was telling me i wasn’t earning anything therefore i was lazy…useless? and he wasn’t the only one. our society echoed him. subtle or blatant, i got the message loud and clear.

i was a mom now–and now i did not matter.

page12

gone was my independence. my ability to just pack up everything i own and go somewhere new. just go. whenever i wanted. be free whenever i felt caged. now i was anchored. by one..then two..then three..and finally four little anchors.

gone was time to myself. my crappy partner put that last nail in my coffin. no art. no writing. (right now i have a five year old begging me to color & i really really don’t want to color–i want to exorcise this demon–i want to write.) no exercise even because no one would let me. seriously. i was not allowed to do the walks i used to do daily to clear my head & keep my weight down. if i wanted to go–everyone wanted to go with me–and it became an unbearable circus…

page13

i know there are people out there devastated because they can’t have children. i used to be one of those people. i wanted to cry every time a friend or a sister got pregnant. i tried for 10 years before i got pregnant. i dreamed of being a mom. i dreamed of having that love in my life. of course, i thought, being a mom will fix what is wrong with me.

but i wasn’t careful about with whom i had my kids. that was my mistake. my biggest mistake. i didn’t realize how much that would change things…taint things. that partner who doesn’t value you–or your role as the mother of his children.

it’s devastating…at least for me…it has damaged me so deeply sometimes i feel like i am unable to love at all.

but i love my minions. i do. as much as i hate being a mom sometimes–i never stop loving them.
so that’s something, right?

something salvageable?

page15

(these illustrations are more¬† from the project i am working on “the mistress of mud” with a friend of mine. yesterday i posted that i hadn’t gotten any work done, but i realized i actually had…and i did the one at the top of the post last night as i played around trying to emulate david mack’s style.)

a shithead in sheep’s clothing

i see you
i see you now
you hide in your chameleon’s skin
you turn the tables
you play victim
you say, “i wouldn’t have done it if you–”
you say, “but look at how awful you are”
you are a master of distraction
a master of disguise
while a moth wears predator’s eyes
for protection
you are a shithead in sheep’s clothing

bear with me, y’all. i am working through some angst & frustration.
nothing to see here!
it’s all a part of the healing….

now i need to go do some art.

(the minions are out of town & i am down in the dumps)