some may think I'm just a fool tilting at windmills, but maybe I'm not
focus
just
focus
sounds easy right?
except
i have designed
a life
full of
distractions…
focus
just
focus
it’s my mount everest
my moby dick
if i could only
focus
nothing could stop
me.
going off of yesterday’s post, i came to realize that i need to find this mythical focus. it’s something i have always thought was impossible…but since starting down the path, i am really surprising myself.
i’m quite a way
away
from my comfort zone
(i cannot
see
my house from here)
major tom to ground control
who
do i think
i am?
my demons have launched
a counter
attack
(they are calling it
a rescue
mission)
to tow me back
to my comfortable
confined
cubby
where nothing happens
so i have nothing
to worry
about.
more anxiety art journaling due to venturing out of my comfort zone. i think these demons might live in many households, whispering, keeping people from doing things they want to do….
i think of that scene from labyrinth where sarah is manipulated by goblins into thinking she is safely back in her room with all her favorite things instead of rescuing her baby brother.
that’s totally what it feels like.
my demons whisper
“what if you never
left
the comfort of yourself
ever
again?
wouldn’t that be cozy
not one bit
scary
just build a fort
out of your
journals & art
your books
& stories
rather than letting
the world
see your soft
& vulnerable
underbelly…
trust me
we are the only ones
who really
truly
care
now put down your pen
& come back
to bed.”
my demons are having a heyday. my art show being hung. a book being released. & last night i met with people interested in creating some magic here in the driftless. i left my house & risked my safety to interact with who knows who…but it was cool. i met an authentic person wanting to move forward with this vision. someone who shared a similar worldview…& who also had to wrestle a few demons to leave the house.
i
am
pointless
a redundancy
a misplaced narrative
that does not need
to be found
not really
just
let me gather dust
in a corner
forgotten
impotent
obsolete.
i have been super depressed the past few days. the world, of course, is a mess. i, of course, am a mess. my parenting skills are questionable. my relationship attempt with the ex crashed & left me heartbroken…again.
but i was so tired of myself
that i couldn’t even journal
so i just kept spiraling downward.
but!
i picked up my pen yesterday & managed to write these few words.
& that totally helped to exorcise demons & sweep away dark thoughts.
in related news, i am trying to start a creative group of people who can come together for support & encouragement. i got one text this morning after posting a classified on our little town’s local listings. yay! & i got support coming in from the community center i keep my freestore at (yes, my freestore is still a thing.)
moving forward, y’all. moving forward.
sometimes pretty fucking slowly, but moving forward nonetheless.
like a sponge
i have absorbed
every awful
thing
you have said
&
even some
you left
unsaid
like a sponge
dipped
in a dirty toilet
left
in a puddle
of
excrement
i am
clogged
saturated
suffocating
longing
longing
longing
to be wrung out
rinsed
& put in the sun
to dry.
trying to flesh out those severe feelings i was having as dusty dumped all his grief & abandonment issues on my lap.
we are no longer
moving forward
this would not
worry me
as i know healing is a
two step forward
one step back
kind of dance
however
the dance we are doing
feels a bit too
familiar
this
neck-breaking
soul crushing
plunge
of a downward spiral
called you
& me.
moving forward? stuck in fucking reverse is more like it. dusty actually told me he felt we should re-visit the past. funny. i am willing to forgive him all of his betrayals with other women & move forward in healing. i felt we should address what was going wrong in the hear & now with our attempt at a relationship…he, however, feels the need to re-hash something i may or may not have said 10 years ago.
letting go? that man is clutching every wrong i’ve possibly committed & counting them as he sits on my grave.
journal entry about dusty.
we have been getting along so well, that i now feel sad when he leaves…& not sad like, “i wish things could have been different” but sad like i’m missing him & wishing he could stay.
so weird.
we have had our ups & downs & on & offs…but they always followed the same destructive pattern.
this time really truly is different. i’m not just saying that to try to convince myself it is true.
coincidentally, today would be our 17th wedding anniversary if i weren’t so good at divorcing people.
so i was visiting some new friends & they were all into enneagrams…this made me suggest to dusty he find out what his was. much to my surprise, we were the same number.
then it all made sense.
of course we are just alike.
this has always been our problem. we are too much alike.
but what if it could be an advantage instead of a disadvantage? hmmm…..
here is more thought put in to the idea that it worked better for me to make dusty a villain rather than a hero.
here’s a continuing art journal journey about my trying to find my own value.
so far so good.
