that would be my message in a bottle
assuming a rejection
because it feels like rejection
all of it
my entire life
feels like rejection….
you bury me
in the cold…cold
a quote from a saturday morning memory
back when life seemed like
something i was waiting for
surely something good
for all the bad
i had endured
but it doesn’t work
people from bad childhoods
grow into adults
who only know what hurting feels like
who only recognize pain
as a feeling
who run away
of anything that doesn’t fit
the fucked up pattern
the drawing is inspired by egon schiele
the quote is from looney tunes
i started doodling and, for a change, it wasn’t me i was doodling
(that’s what she said)
but then it was me…i mean
i snuck into my art journal doodle after all.
then i wrote about it.
usually i start with the words…and then i draw a picture…
that’s all i got today.
but i kinda like my drawing
so i was thinking as i so gracefully exited facebook…all i want is a conversation.
that’s what drew me to facebook–and blogging for that matter–in the first place. i was unhappily married to dusty with two small children. i just wanted a fucking conversation.
but not with just anyone.
there is one person i really want to talk to.
so i pour my heart out.
i turn my soul inside out.
i beg & plead for someone to look at me…because he won’t. neither of them–dusty nor the other one.
just lonely. i’m just lonely. so lonely.
so i go on social media thinking that that will somehow stop the pain. but, of course, social media is like a big bag of emptiness.
and i am left feeling even lonelier than i did before i went on there.
i just want a fucking conversation.
and the one i want it with won’t talk to me.
and the one who was supposed to be my next one & only, dusty, won’t listen to me and would rather break my heart over and over again than mend my already broken heart.
and i am alone.
so i made a comic.
do i want to be doing comics?
how can i incorporate everything i have learned from my ink stain experiment to my self-portrait adventure?
how do i make it all into one thing? maybe it can’t be one thing. maybe i have to keep making lots of things.
i love some of the self-portraits i did…but am not sure how to translate them to comic…but what else can i do with them?
i need a jiminy cricket…but one that gives advice on directions in art & life….
i kind of want to work again on “lizard brain” & definitely want to get back to “moses jones”….hmmm.
and now i’m going off in random directions with new comic ideas.
fuck it. i’m going to go do some yoga.
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
when i think of dating
i feel repulsed
when i imagine
dancing in my kitchen
waking every morning
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.
in the creases
of a world that i just don’t
lost & confused
by spaces where i should
so last week, i was a miserable mess.
i think i am starting to recover. i usually feel better on a new moon. you know, new beginnings & all that. forever the hopeful nihilist.
but there are a few more journal pages from this time of feeling…so fucking lost. lost & forgotten. never to be found. a horrible horrible feeling. i hate feeling lost.
so you know.
that’s coming up.
but i feel much better today.