attack of the buttheads

i started writing this post a couple of weeks ago.  unbeknownst to me, dusty started reading it over my shoulder & got all pissed off.  you know, instead of initiating a conversation about it, just got pissed off & hateful towards me.  so i stopped writing it & haven’t felt like trying to write ever since.  last friday, i made dusty leave again.  go back to wisconsin.  again.  & i realized i would rather be alone than to be put in a box.  i would rather be alone than to be told who i am.  i would rather be alone than to not be heard.  to not be understood.

i don’t know if he reads my blog or not….i guess i will find out.

what do you do
when the one person
you always want to tell your thoughts to
funny stories
what happened today
just now
what happens when you no longer
feel safe
talking to that person?
when you feel it might be a bad idea
to open up
to that person?
what happens when the person
you used to wait for to walk through the door
what happens when you start dreading
his walking into the room
when you feel like you have to guard yourself
your heart
your thoughts
for surely he will find something
to criticize
something
to attack
some flaw in you to burst wide open
and leave to spill onto the floor
as he walks away

the other day i was in tears. in the barn. yelling at the sheep. the other day i let my sheep get the best of me. i wondered–loudly and with a great many curse words–what i was even doing here, on this half-assed homestead, trying to get milk from meat sheep who clearly hate me, running from me, and in the case of tyler durden the ram, stalking me and ramming me in the thighs until i cry.

what am i doing?

the other day, i tried to talk to dusty.

stop. right there. that was my mistake. i tried to talk to dusty. i tried to talk to dusty. dusty. who on the day of my brother’s funeral (8 years ago) asked me what was wrong, and when i told him i was upset that he didn’t bother dressing up for my brother’s funeral, he responded, “well look at what you’re wearing.”

dusty.

he likes to ask me what is wrong, and then punish me for having feelings. lately he asks me why i don’t respond when he asks, “what’s wrong?” but the weird thing is, i don’t remember him asking me. i think i have learned to tune him out so that i do not even hear him ask because then, if i hear him, i want to answer…and then i get punched right in my emotions.

so i don’t even hear him anymore.
i don’t look forward to seeing him.
i don’t tell him anything.

or i try not to. i can be a bit of a blabbermouth, forgetting who i can & cannot trust with my feelings. i am like that. soft in the head.

so i tried to talk to dusty, about “us.” it was, of course, somehow interpreted as an assault on him…maybe it was an attack. i don’t know the fuck anymore. but i tried to talk to him. i used the wrong words. then it got ugly.
he accused me of being a facebook junkie (i’m not)
and i responded by slamming shut his video game
and possibly breaking his laptop?
and then
he murdered three of my potato plants.
and tried to knock the internet dish off of the roof
with a steel t-post.

this is where i stopped writing.
his laptop is fine. my potatoes are trying to recover, but look like my heart feels.  wilty & broken.  undernourished.  struggling to survive.

 

chaos

good chaos
bad chaos
& all the chaos
inbetween
my muse
& my unamused

what keeps me busy, inspires me. what inspires me, keeps me busy.

on the bullfrog song homestead with me:
7 sheep
8 hens
8 pullets
2 chicks
7 muscovy ducksings
7 turklings
1 gosling
2 toads
1 tarantula
1 cat
1 dog
2 beehives
4 minions
and one ex-husband.

i welcome most of these things. okay, all but the ex-husband. i have realized beyond a shadow of a doubt that i do not want to live with him.

whether he’s good or bad, i do not want to live with him.
i want to get on with my life.
and he is not my future.
i do not love him.

tripping joggers

how do i rationalize spending $100 on paper (sketch pads, etc) when i have no money? i dunno. some of the paper is for the minions who love to do art almost as much as i do. you know, so it’s homeschooling. and i spent only like $70 on solstice (christmas for you non-pagans) presents…so maybe it’s okay? also! i’m getting some of my deposit back from my apartment in madison that i moved out of almost a year ago.

funny story.
after trying to leave exhusband#2 multiple times i again agreed to get a place with him…even though he was actively cheating on me right in front of me.
ah, the lies we tell ourselves.
agreeing to live with him against my better judgement, i did so insisting that we move out of madison. madison is just too damn expensive, and exhusband#2 does not like to work, and i have yet to be paid for what i do every day. so i wanted to move somewhere where we would not be living paycheck to paycheck…but he did not want to abandon his girlfriend.
so
after trying to find an apartment for a family of six in another town with absolutely no help from exhusband#2
for some reason
i agreed to keep living in madison?
in an apartment we could not afford?
i paid the deposit. living off of credit cards and student loans, i paid the $1050 security deposit.
we moved in.
a month later, biking with the minions, i came across him making out with his girlfriend (whom he was always in the process of breaking up with) on the bike path by our house.  
i freaked out.
lost it.
crashed my bike.
broke my arm.
and kicked the slut in the knee.
the wrong slut, but the slut i was aiming for….
i got a citation for “disorderly conduct” and had to go to court and pay a fine.
so i told  him, “if you don’t break up with her by the end of the semester, i am moving out of madison.”
he didn’t.
i did.
going even further into debt to lease a u-haul to move me & four minions two hours away from madison….

did  i say this was a funny story?

and i found someone to sublet the madison apartment. a “friend” who said she would pay me the deposit…but never did. and then lied to me about it…repeatedly.

so i had pretty much written off that $1050 until yesterday when the landlord contacted me to say he was sending me the deposit. how much? i dunno. but at least some. a little more money. to rationalize my buying $100 worth of paper.

it’s for the art, people! i have priorities! it’s for the art!

i don’t have cable or a smartphone or a car or new clothes or fancy appliances…but by god, i have paper to draw on!!!
and some to mat with, hopefully, so i can put some of my inkings in a local gallery? dare i dream that little dream?
paper
i love you so.

(this inking/comic is another in a series i am playing with where i take random things i have written over the years. random sentences. random ideas. random “stories.” i am taking all of that randomness and trying to turn it into visual art. i used an ink stain and a random thought to create this one. very casual.)

(aww crap. i totally forgot to do the photo progression like i did in yesterday’s post. then you can see where i’m getting my ideas from the lines in the ink…but i forgot. or rather, i was wrestling with crazy minions while trying to do art & was lucky just to finish an inking! the more i do this however, the more i should remember to photograph my procession to whimsy.)

lips

so i looked at this ink stain

inklips

and i did not draw a labia.
but then i was like, “lips are lips are lips.”
and drew the other set of lips one would find on a lady.

i am currently single and sexually inactive.

if you have read my blog, you  know what an incredible mess i am. today i had to sit my kids down and explain to them that my childhood was so fucked up that i have a lot of anger issues and that i feel really bad for being screamy and calling them “spoiled brats.” (not at all my finest moment…really really bad, in fact.) i tried to tell them that i had really bad role models. that my dad was physically & emotionally abusive. that i am trying–even when it seems i’m not. i’m trying to be a better mom. i get so angry when i feel like no one is listening. so angry. and you know what kids like to do? they like to not listen.
and my dad had us all doing chores from the age of five. like on a child labor level. and i don’t want to do that to my kids because it was awful. but then i get all pissed off when they don’t help me and say “no!” when i ask for help (hence the nasty name calling.)
and then my anger is intensified by the fact that i just spent the past 14 years with their dad who did the bare minimum…and had a bag of tricks for encouraging a person to not even ask him for help…
you know, like ignoring them…
or snapping at them…
or agreeing to help & then not…
until you got to the point where you just fell into a black hole of despair whenever you needed help. i mean, you can see the able-bodied man right there…but when he tells you you are “controlling” or “playing games” when you ask for help…you stop asking.
especially considering your parents did the same trick.
ignoring you when you asked for help.
ignoring you when you asked for attention.

sigh.

so, yeah. i have anger issues.
and i know my kids are the last people on earth who deserve that anger…but they are right there. and kids are brilliant at provoking. that’s what kids do. yesterday my three year old dumped paint on the floor and then later in the same day, dumped pebbles all over the floor. it’s what kids do. they test their environment. they push the envelope. they learn by doing. poppy is excellent at being a three year old.

recently on facebook, some trolls got mad at me because i said i choose not to spank because being spanked only taught me to fear my parents and to not trust them. i said i want my kids to not be scared of me–i want them to come to me when they are scared.
and that upset some women?
i’m really not sure why?
i try to never judge another person’s parenting because parenting is so fucking hard with so many fucking decisions to make.
but they called me a “sensitive twit,” and started commenting things like, “let us know when your kids go to prison.”

there are studies that show that screaming at your kids is just as damaging. i think so anyway. i’m kind of pulling that out of my ass. but i think i read that somewhere. i think about that every time i lose it and scream at my kids.

but i’m not going to hit my kids. i’m not. as much as i want to sometimes when the anger is white hot inside of me and my eight year old has just pelted me with a bouncy ball after screaming, “i hate you.” i’m not going to hit him or grab him by the arm or physically hurt him in any way. i’m not going to spank a three year old for dumping out paint…but apparently i will scream at an eleven year old for not putting the paint away….

parenting is fucking hard. especially doing it alone. their dad gets mad when i call myself a single mom because he thinks that is insulting to him??? we have been divorced since 2010, but i am not allowed to say i am a “single mom.” of course,  i have felt like a single mom even when we were “together.” the other day he hadn’t called in a while, and i started fantasizing that he had died. fantasizing that i was free to live my life. fantasizing that i could find the kids a new dad that would show them how to be nice to the mom….
and then i felt disappointed when it turned out he was still alive.
i am an awful person sometimes.

i want to be better. i want to heal. i want to know what to do and to believe i am not fucking up my kids–constantly. every day i make it through without screaming, i mark it as a win. i hope i can move that bar up a little bit…one 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

i’m writing this because no one ever responds when i ask for feedback

when i was nineteen, i started going to therapy because i was dating a guy who i knew was bad for me, but i could not break up with him.
i knew he was bad for me before i even started dating him. me & another friend would make fun of him all the time calling him “geek lord” and telling each other horrible true stories about him. lets call him “lester.”
lester was all industrial & goth (it was the early 90’s.) he owned a “mystic bookstore” and was a total pervert. he would brag about how many times a day he masturbated–while attending to his store. he was so lazy he would pee in a pitcher instead of walking to the bathroom.
so i knew he was gross.
but i also knew he had the hots for me.
and somehow i started dating him. i’m not sure how it happened. i only know that i have extraordinarily low self-esteem and just want people to love me but cannot believe that anyone can actually love me.
so i started dating the “geek lord,” and he would do things like lock me in his basement to keep me from storming off. he once called my answering machine (the 90’s remember) and  left between 20 & 50 messages starting with “fuck you, bitch,” and ending with him softly moaning along to a ministry song.
everyone i knew told me to break up with him.
“i know i should,” i would answer, but i would stay.

so i started going to therapy.

among many other things, my therapist told me i had the social skills of a five year old. i was nineteen at the time.

the social skills of a five year old.

crap.

i eventually broke up with him for good. i was trying to shop & he wouldn’t let me shop. that is a weird line in the sand especially considering i really don’t like shopping. however, i had decided i needed to change my wardrobe. if i just changed my wardrobe, everything would magically be better, right?
so i needed to change my wardrobe.
years later i realize that this is part of having anxiety & ocd…but back then i just recognized it as a need that i need need needed.
lester went shopping with me. but every store it was all about him & what would he look good in? then he got tired of shopping and insisted i was done.
i refused to stop, and he tried to force me into his car.

so i ran. literally.
and then i changed my phone number.
i changed my locks.
i stopped going anywhere in that small college town that i might see lester.

it was the first time i had to go to extremes like that…but not the last.

so i am sitting here. feeling defeated about no one responding to my blog. no one responding to my facebook. and jenny lawson not validating my existence. so i am alone; alone and arguing with children and dogs. all while i have just gone to extreme measures to break up with yet another abusive narcissist whom i desperately looked for love from…

and i wonder…where are my social skills now? have i made it any further?

and wondering if maybe my therapist was being generous in her assessment.

why am i so needy? why am i always searching for that love i believe i will never find? why does it feel like a knife in my heart when i look at someone else’s blog and their “about” page has more likes than my blog has in its entirety? what does it matter…or why does it matter?

but it does, somehow.

fuck. i just feel so alone.

and i read jenny lawson’s book, and i sob because she might be fucked up…but she has people who love her. i don’t have that.

and worse…i can’t even imagine having it.

not so tight

i like to be held
but not so tight
a million years ago
i wrote a short story
about a woman who would
sneak away from her lover’s grasp
in the night as he slept
she would dance
and stretch
and feel free
before sneaking back in
so that he would not feel lost
unloved
missing her

that’s kind of what it’s like
as an empath
in a dishonest relationship
giving the other person
what they want
no questions asked
and only sneaking away
if at all
to fulfill your own needs.

but no more.
no more for me.
i like to be held
but not so tight.

i turned off all my empathy
to push him away
i did not do it on purpose
i wanted him to leave
and sought protection for my empathic ways
but in the doing
i shut off all my empathy–my ability to care
and was left with only tremendous anger.
so much anger.

now i am working on
turning my heart back on
working the anger out of my soul
without leaving a gap
big enough
for him to sneak back in.

i found this article today
17 things that happen when an empath loves a narcissist

and i realized that i have been doing 1-12 since 2002
but i have finally reached 14!
it is a slow and painful
so painful!
process…
but i am moving forward now.
no more circles.
no more destructive cycles.

(crap…i forgot to take a picture of the ink stain)