he told me
he was a chameleon
yet i still fell prey
when he found his way
into my heart
& even some things
i fell in love
it makes sense
that i left him
the story of my ex-husband is a sad story. his story is sad. his childhood was a nightmare. he became a narcissist & a chameleon because he did not know how else to cope. or, that is my take on it anyway.
i realized recently why he seems so attractive to me sometimes. he is literally adopting my personality as his own…or at least one aspect of his personality is mirrored from me. he is adopting my words, my style of dress, how i relate to our children, and even my neurosis.
it kind of blows my mind.
and then i feel really bad for him.
but it isn’t safe for me to feel bad for him.
so, instead, i draw pictures & write pages of verse to try to understand my own experience with it. to try to process my own experience…so i can heal & be stronger.
but, fuck, i wish so badly he could heal as well….
& when i do
i look to him
to catch me
& he’s all
as i go splat
for good measure
he kicks me
while i am down
when i stumble
every time i stumble
i still expect him to catch me?
why do i still
hold that burnt out
why do i still whisper
“happily ever after…”
in my head
hearing that voice
it will be different
he really has
so much that i have employed
just to shout at me
this ain’t fucking
beauty & the beast!”
don’t mind me. just working out some angst towards the ex. you know how it is. i think i’m almost done.
it’s that happily ever after that keeps me down.
not being able to let go of the dream of a perfect family. the great american sitcom family. yeah, there’s some rough times, but in the end, we all love each other.
no matter how i look at it. there is no possible way that what he thinks is love, is love. love doesn’t hurt people. go ahead, argue with me about it. but if you love someone. truly love someone. can you really rationalize hurting them? much less do it on pretty much a daily basis?
but, stupid me, it has taken a long time to learn this.
a lifetime of protecting myself enough just to fall on my face again when i believe a person has changed. when i believe a person actually loves me. when i believe a person couldn’t possibly hurt me…again….
this ain’t fucking beauty & the beast.
yes, people can change.
but only if they want to.
i am a three-legged chair
it’s not his fault
i was damaged when i met him
i told him
it’s not his fault
but holy fuck
did he have to break me
here i am
a pile of tinder
good for what?
if i’m optimistic
if i’m romantic
maybe i could light someone’s way
maybe i could keep someone warm
maybe i could find
a carpenter’s heart
to build me
sure, i could do this alone
light me, warm me, build me
& i have done it
but i keep thinking
wouldn’t it be more fun
egon schiele’s “mother & child” is my inspiration for this self-portrait (oh! it’s a mother & child…knowing egon schiele’s work, i thought it was something more pervy.)
i used the painting for two pieces i did last night. this one turned out all come-hither. you will see the other one later today in my next post. it turned out way more sinister looking. perhaps the difference of ink pen on paper vs. ink brush on canvas? or perhaps the spirit of the two different pieces i was working on?
i know i am supposed to do all this work on who i am & heal my own damage rather than to lose myself in yet another relationship. and goddammit, i have been working on it…forever, it seems. so don’t judge me for fantasizing about healing with someone else rather than continuing to heal alone.
wouldn’t it be nice if i weren’t the only one trying to piece together my bits? if i could find a kind soul(mate) to soothe my tinder-heart?
maybe i should wonder why i have so much conflict about this. both longing for & judging myself for longing for a romantic relationship (hold the narcissistic asshole.) ack! more journal pages coming up….
local critiques on my artwork:
fidgit: you’re drawing your butt again?
misha: is that a spider in your butt?
seeing what i can find
they say never to pull away
never to expose the tender pink
but i find it is
the jagged leavings
i am a mosaic
of the bits of me
once again i found inspiration with my expressive figure drawing book. of course the figure i borrowed from was sitting very elegantly & when i tried to copy it, i ended up looking awkwardly sprawled–which is pretty accurate for my appearance.
i never wanted
i would have been
i would have traded the world
how pretty they sound.
there is this thing dusty says to me whenever he feels the need to shut me up. he mentions this mysterious thing he whispered into my ear during our wedding ceremony. he brings it up knowing i have the memory of a chipmunk on mind altering drugs. he brings it up knowing i was so stressed out on our wedding day that i barely remember being there. he brings it up knowing i will feel bad for not remembering his great declaration of love.
or maybe i’m wrong.
but i’m not.
he brought it up recently when we were texting back & forth.
he texted, “i meant what i whispered in your ear that day.”
so i asked, “which day?”
and of course it was our wedding day to which he referred even though that was no where near to being the topic of our conversation.
yes, dusty, you are one up on me. i don’t know what you whispered. i just don’t fucking remember.
so i texted him back to confess that i was too hopped up on anxiety to remember anything from our wedding day.
so he finally told me those magical words that he has held as proof of his good intentions all these years:
i may not be perfect, but i will always love you.
so of course my response was what the fucking fuck? who asked for perfect? i would have settled for a dude who didn’t escape into a pot-induced video game haze instead of being present in our marriage. i would have settled for a dude who didn’t insult me on the day i buried my brother. i would have settled for a dude who helped change the diapers & got up at night to help me with the babies…or who fucking didn’t berate me for being pregnant. i would have settled for a dude who didn’t fuck around on me to punish me.
so i told him, those are just words. anyone can say words. without the action to back them up…just..fucking..words.
every time i see you
how are you still able to break my heart?
how are you still able to make it beat faster?
so fucking hard
i still love you
i have let you go
so many times now
i have become a revolving door for you
another page inspired by seeing dusty and having to fight the desperate longing for him that i thought i had managed to kill.
i’m trying to figure out
how to live
with a heart
that is not broken
so much of my life
has been spent
in my own pain
dancing to the beat
all my days spent
trying to heal
breaking my self
all over again
so much of my life
i have no idea
how to live
wrapping myself up
in my own
i wrote down the thoughts on this page after commenting on someone’s post about broken hearts.
i liked the idea and this poem is my attempt at flushing out the idea of learning to live with a heart that is not broken.
i might play with it more.
the dodo bird is my spirit guide as i try to fly.
reminding me not to be too trusting.
reminding me to survive.
i have been thinking a lot about starting to do comics again. my latest posts are a bit cartoon-y…which i have to keep reminding myself that that is okay. it is okay to draw the way i draw. it is okay to not be michelangelo.
but maybe my subconscious is trying to steer me back to comics. i like to draw. i like to write stories…comics make sense. i just have to accept that, also, i am never going to be stan lee.
i am me. i have my own style. i have my own story to tell.