be the monster

three quarters of my face is my favorite face.

i just read that people who are raised with trauma as the norm get freaked out when things are not stressful.
i think i am in that place.
right not.


true love

when i was in my early twenties
a therapist tried to get me to
& to figure myself
i skipped town
& went on a cross-country
20 year long
after a year (or more–depending)
of no men
i have found that i am doing that work
i mean
i have always had the hobby
of self-analyzation
but with only four kids to distract me
i can really get work done
on me
& you know what i figured out?
i am still
still that twenty-something
year old girl
i am still her
but now–now i have learned
(am learning)
how to be her
how to be true to her
how to be the best me

i am who i am

i know who i am now
i am silly & sad
i am fierce & fantastic
i am passionate & magical
i am a fucking unicorn

i have been reading my journals from when i was in my twenties. it is different this time than from any time before when i have looked back, even a few months or a few moods, to see what i wrote.
even in the journal i am reading the younger me complains about previous entries–dismissing herself as melodramatic & dumb.
but not this time.
this time i find myself enjoying my journals, seeing my humor & my warmth, my passion and my ridiculous amount of hope.
thinking i was a pretty cool person.
i guess my self-portrait art journal project worked.
also, my exploration of my feelings for the long-ago boyfriend who captured my heart & never let it go again.
accepting all that. accepting myself warts & all. accepting my socially bizarre attachment to someone who is no longer in my life.
all of it.
it brought something to light for me.
it brought me to light.

i totally accept me
i completely love me
& i ridiculously celebrate me.

always you

it was always you
every whisper
every sigh
it was always you
the magic in my heart
my feelings of sunshine
on an overcast day
it was always you
laughing until my face hurt
feeling like
like i mattered
you showed me a world
i had never seen
& have never glimpsed since
but i know it is there
i know you are there
& that is enough
it was always you
it always will be.

this is something i need to work through, y’all. being lovesick isn’t the most attractive of topics…but, he was more than just a boyfriend. more than just another warm body. more than just a chapter in the book of a serial monogamist.
he was so much more.
please bear with me (or check back later to see if i have gotten any comics done)
my art journaling is an important part of my journey as a person & as an artist. my art journal is my way of healing…
i want to understand my heart & why it holds him so close,
when it is quick to let everyone else go.

too soon

we met too soon
we were children
both of us
full of mistakes to make
& we made them with
each other
…but not together
we met too soon
it’s a simple
but profound fact
i wasn’t ready
for that kind of
i’ve made my apologies
i’ve done my penance
for wrongs i commited
but it’s not my fault
we met too soon.

youth is wasted on the young. if only i knew then what i know now. we all know how it goes. they say those things because it is true. you learn life’s lessons.
and then you live with it.
some people are lucky and get a chance to put into action what they learn.

i don’t know if i will be that lucky.

but i did learn. and i should be thankful for that.
i feel a certain amount of peace in knowing that he was it. it was always him. i don’t know how to explain it. such a long story. but it was always him. always.
i feel peaceful with that realization. and knowing that i am a better person today for having known him & for having learned from our time together.
knowing that if i met him again, i wouldn’t fuck it up.

silly love song

silly love song

i’ve realized
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
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?
in the interest of balance
here it is
a little of my yang for all of the yin
a silly love song.