creases & folds

i’m lost
in the creases
& folds
of a world that i just don’t
fit
into
lost & confused
by spaces where i should
fit
but
just don’t.

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.

this hole in me

part of me is missing
maybe you know
where it is?
every morning
i wake up
knowing
it’s another day
feeling
lost
that it is
another day
another day
another night
i go to bed
knowing that my morning
my next day
will bring more of the same
& i want to scream
sometimes
i do scream
mostly
i cry
part of me is missing
maybe
you know where
it is?
maybe
it is you?
i read something
that said grief
is just
unused
love
trapped in the corners
of your eyes….
i don’t know what to do
with all this grief
part of me
is missing
& i’m oh so tired
of looking…
but if i stop…
if i stop
will i drown in
all this
grief?

i like this illustration. i’m not sure i captured in my words what i feel…but i think i captured it in my drawing.

i think i am still recovering from the visits of my mom & my ex-husband. two people who put the knife in and twist it. both are relationships that i desperately want to be different. i know i could be a more complete person…
if my mother had mothered me
if my ex-husband had been able to love me
if neither of them had emotionally abandoned me
& betrayed me….

i desperately long to heal that wound. that emptiness.

but maybe i have turned to stone.
to clay.
to something that barely resembles the person
i could have been.

lost words (the OCD rehash)

i feel like i’ve lost the right words
or maybe
i’ve used my quota. used all
my best words for all my
worst days. & now i have all
the wrong words but my head
still isn’t
right.

i published this journal entry with this illustration:

lost words

only to realize I PUT MY HANDS ON BACKWARDS…which, normally, y’all–i like to live with my mistakes. but goddammit, my hands are on backwards and that was just way too much for me to sit back & hope no one noticed. because if someone noticed, then they would think i did not realize i had my hands on backwards.

god forbid.

so i hastily removed it from all social medias (tumblr, eatsleepdraw, facebook, & here.) all sweaty & aghast.

plus, when i put it up on facebook, i was all sad because no one was looking at it. then i realized i had made all of my posts “private.” so while i was hating the world for not seeing me–i actually wasn’t visible to them.

hahahahaha…no, i’m not a mess (yes, i’m a mess.)

but, you know, it’s not like facebook was lighting up even after i went back to “public” posts.
however, this post had gotten a lot of notice here & on tumblr & on eatsleepdraw. so maybe i should have just edited it instead of deleting it.
oops.
well, hope y’all also enjoy my ocd version!

only human

you will never know how much
i mourn that we are not
a happily ever after. i mean
how sweet would that be?
forever love with the man
who’s four children i have birthed?
a team? the same team?
all of us–together? instead of this
terminal, yawning loneliness.
instead of struggling alone
alone alone alone
to raise four kids?
you will never know how my heart
breaks & how i believe i will
spend the rest of my life
alone & lonely.
that that part of me that craves
a connection will just dry up
& blow away in the wind.
i wish things were different.
with all my heart i wish everything
were different. i do.
but no matter how hard i wish…
nothing changes.

i have had this illustration idea in my head for the past few journal pages i have done. but when i went to draw it, other images appeared instead. so it finally found its home with this journal entry. while typing out the journal entry, i was happily surprised to see i drew dandelions in a post about wishes & blowing away in the wind. see…part of me is paying attention.

(note to self:  ask fidgit to teach me to draw a snail.)

dusty asked me if i ever cried watching other people play with their kids. he wanted to let me know how much he missed the kids when they are with me.
i could only respond by telling him how i cry every time i see a happy couple. every time someone clearly loves their wife. every time i see a normal functioning pair of humans.

humans.
that’s what poppy calls people. he asked me if i was reaching for a tree in this picture. i asked him where the tree is. he responded by asking if i was reaching for a human (he pronounces it “who-man.”) i told him, yes, i am reaching for a human.

wolfmom & the bear trap

i don’t know how
to be human
right now…
i just want to
chew my arm off
& escape
this trap.

i’m crawling out of my skin tonight…crawling into my wolfskin, i guess.
i am terrible at human interaction…and sometimes i am even trying not to be.
terrible.
which makes it all that much worse when i fuck it up.

sad aloneness

sadness
aloneness
& i wonder how many times
in how many ways
i can say
the same thing
& not be heard?
the comfort
of my invisibility
suffocates me
i want out
i. want. out.
can you hear
me?
please
get me out
of
my own head
before
i decide
i never
want to leave.

i think maybe this project has reached a conclusion…or maybe it will go on forever.
maybe i will go on forever
comforting myself with my own suffocating sadness

or maybe i will start an illustrated memoir.
i should really start an illustrated memoir.

okay.
so…i need an agent & a cheerleader.
someone who can tolerate large doses of bitter animosity & self-pity.
also, must enjoy loud children.

not a love story

when i was eighteen
i lost my virginity
to a punk rock junkie
on purpose
i didn’t want “it” to be
special
i didn’t want “it” to be all
you are my special someone
so here is my special something…
instead
i was all like
i got this…do you want it?
& then
shortly after
i did find that special someone
who proceeded
to break my heart into a million pieces
so
i’ve never regretted getting with the bass player
from bong frog
instead of waiting
for “the one.”

on an old couch
in an abandoned house
with a guy who looked
enough like a corpse
that his friends called him
dead guy

not a love story.

it took me a couple days to figure out how to illustrate this one. then the minions went to their dad’s house & i took a nap & figured it out.
i do my best thinking in bed.
or on the couch.
whatever.

succubus

i’m so tired
of these feelings of desperation
these terrible
needs
for connection
what is real?
what is longing?
& what is just a big chasm
something intrinsically wrong
with me?
a hole in me
a black succubus of love
any warm body
will do.

strangers love me best

strangers love me better
than my friends do
strangers offer me smiles
unsolicited help
friends
look away
don’t make eye contact
walk away slowly
“it was good to see you”
“maybe next year”
as my tears are not worth
the salt
& my cries
are never heard
because
no one
was listening

 

knowthing

i know longer feel
anything
i am numb
no
nothing
knowthing

(i accidentally misspelled “no” as “know” and just decided to go with it)

ps. i really look a lot like my mom in this self-portrait.

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