out the window

some days
my son is so much
like his father
i want to jump
out the window
i can leave the man
but i cannot
abandon
the boy
some days
being a mom
is so painful
so challenging
that i catch myself
wishing
i’d made different
choices
fantasizing
about a life
i did not have
a life
i will never
know
some days
as hard as i hope
for peace
all i know
is
chaos
inside
& out.

i sit & suffer in silence as a mom. which is weird, since i am so quick to share all my other angst.
is it the taboo?
is it our instagram existence?
only show the smiling children. only show the confident moments. only show the clean faces. carefully crop out the crap.
i read kelly’s post yesterday about how we may be causing damage by only showing the positive stuff regarding people’s challenges and how we view neurodiversity.
it made me think, today, as i was struggling with my challenges as a highly sensitive person & mother of four highly sensitive children. we do this with all of life, don’t we? only show the good stuff to each other? hide away those moments where we feel weak or out of control or not good enough?
maybe we should just air out our dirty laundry. form an alliance of imperfection.
i know, i do it all the time with my anxiety & relationship issues, my imposter’s syndrome, my abusive childhood, and all my other “failings.”

and yet i still hesitate when it comes to showing my–almost constant–struggles as a mom. like, i can show you all my cracks & crevices…but what will you think of me if you know i sometimes wish i wasn’t a mom? if you know the chaos of my every single day?

posting this has given me so much anxiety. i feel like i need to put on my helmet & buckle down because surely i will be judged–a bad mom. but, i have not deleted the post yet…. hoping that my pain & suffering will let someone else know that they are not alone.

(my favorite quote from one of my favorite novels, the hotel new hampshire–by john steinbeck, is to “keep passing the open windows.”)

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rain down my soul

i’m on hold
for the moment
neither
moving
forward nor backward
just
quiet
static
my heart beats
still
i breathe
i am
but i am also
not
the rain falls
&
i feel it
in my soul
maybe the rain
is my soul
falling from
great heights
to seep
&
soak
& to remind me
to feel
not just other people’s pain
but also
hope.

inside me

inside me
electric
i feel
so much
i feel
everything
deep
deeper
it’s all inside
me
the whole world
inside me
& i can feel
all of it.

i don’t know about you other ladies out there, but my ovulation rocks. will i miss it when it goes away? or is there something else out there in my crone years–a different electricity?

the more i open myself up to feel, the more i feel. it can be pretty awesome. i have noticed this pattern of feeling extra open & extra electric a couple of weeks after my period.
wow.
so now i have to figure out how to understand & accept this open & alive feeling without compromising myself. how to celebrate my fertility & not just give it away to someone else.
you know, unless i make a conscious decision to–instead of letting my ovaries do my thinking for me.
because as soon as i feel that electric feeling, i start looking for someplace to put it. and maybe i just need to hold onto it. harness it into my life, my art, my creations…so, like, instead of manifesting something in my uterus…i want to use that energy to manifest something in my art, in my day, in my world.

sometimes i just feel extra invisible…

ack.
social media sucks ass.
i mean
at least
for us super sensitive
extra damaged
introverts
sometimes i hate
facebook
so so so much
stupid tool
i feel like a stupid tool
extra invisible
everyone hates me
why do i do this
stupid
tool.

inktober3(3)

this is the third inking i have done today.
i am about to post it on facebook. in that stupid group i am in. and it will get zero “likes” as have the other two today.
inktober3(2)

c’mon.
my art doesn’t suck that bad.
why can’t i get a “like”….

and why do i care?

fuck a duck

i am ready to just quit facebook. a fucking social media site should not be able to cause me this kind of torment.
it’s stupid.
i know it’s stupid.
yet i am tormented.

IMG_0023

i am going to keep doing inktober.
i am going to keep doing art.
i am going to keep practicing my ink brush painting (right now i am opening the book the photo ark to a random page and painting it.)

and! and–i am going to get back to my comics. my moses jones and all the others.

it’s been too long.

so fuck you, facebook. even if you hate my art. i love my art.

i love being an artist.

a nice fucking neurotic artist.

dark flame

when i was nineteen i went into therapy for the first time. i was dating a man who would lock me in his basement/bedroom to keep me from leaving. escaping is one of my go-to defenses, so this was pretty devastating to me. he was one of the most awful people i knew and i knew this before dating him–and still felt attracted to him. so i started therapy.

i was unhappy without knowing i was unhappy. i mean, i considered myself an optimist even though my mom said i was a pessimist and another boyfriend labelled me a nihilist…or was it a fatalist?

anyhoo. i was unhappy without realizing it. or maybe it was that i had hidden my happiness so far away that i had forgotten where it was. i was also afraid. ever since i was a little kid. terrified of the dark. so afraid!

but in therapy, one day, it felt like a miracle, i found my happy. and i was no longer afraid. i didn’t realize i was no longer afraid until later that day…or that week…when a lightbulb needed to be changed in a storage room in the attic of the rooming house i lived in. to whomever was with me, i said, “i can’t go in there. i’m afraid of the dark.” and then, without thinking, i walked right in, fearlessly.

the miracle felt like a glowing in my chest. i could feel it like i can feel myself blinking, breathing, my heart beating. i could feel it in my chest.

i confessed to my miracle-worker of a therapist that i was afraid i would lose it again. that it would go away. i compared my fear to the story flowers for algernon. where someone is given the gift of intelligence, and then has to watch as it slips away again.

she assured me that it was mine to keep.

and it has stayed there. i check on it. sometimes it is small & hard to find. sometimes it is bursting out of me.

lately i have begun to wonder if i can share it? can i spread it around? infect others with my own happiness?

i remember that i have at times infected others with my seething anger. pushing & pushing it out of me until it clings onto someone else and i am free of it….

two days ago, i accidentally pushed too much of my happy out and left myself empty.

yesterday i left my happy unprotected and allowed someone to crush it.

today i am recovering. wondering how to do it right. do i keep trying? do i hide it away again? i don’t want to  hide it away anymore.

when i open myself up, i can feel it in my whole chest, glowing. a brilliant flame. it feels amazing.
so how do i share it without depleting it? without losing it to careless strangers?

darkflame1