surviving myself may be the best trick i have ever done now you see me now you still see me i’m still here manacles straight jacket cement shoes submerged in a tank full of every tear i have ever cried & i climbed back out i survived.
we got the eleventh series of doctor who from the library jodie whittaker’s first season as the doctor we are beyond excited i am making fish fingers & custard as we have been watching the matt smith episodes lately i could not find custard in the aisles of a midwestern grocery & all the pudding had food dye & corn syrup so i am making custard from scratch it is ridiculously easy to make… i may suck in other areas of motherhood but i know how to celebrate a new doctor
in other news…i need to find a place to live. as soon as possible. i can feel the need to be out of here. it sticks to my skin & makes me irritable like time is running out and i do not know what my mom is capable of so i just want to be gone…to be a ghost…. somewhere where she can not hurt me.
a quick & messy inking of me as the fourth doctor, a man who opened windows in my young mind….
it was the early nineties when i had the dream. i had been in therapy for awhile terrified of the dark & miserably unhappy but one day it lifted and like a light switch i was happy & no longer afraid–of anything it was around this time i had the dream was it before? was it after? are the two things related at all?
the dream was disturbing a crazy-ass dream where i was a mighty warrior a tiger and other clans would send warriors to fight me i would mercilessly slaughter them sometimes though the other clans would send me young girls to be with as a way of collecting my seed….
fucked up, right? that’s a fucked up dream for a 21 year old girl in iowa. i have been thinking about it a lot lately. wondering if the dream & my becoming happy & brave, have anything to do with each other. a past life remembering healing a present life hurting.
in the dream, i was represented as a tiger–but i was human. recently, googling like crazy, all i have been able to figure out is that tiger is representative of warriors and the such in china. so i started reading up on china’s history to see if i can figure out anything about this dream…but i find myself more drawn to the mongols, of course.
i keep looking to so-called professionals & friends, but as usual, no one ever answers my emails. so i guess i’m on my own. my own master the answer to my own question.
as well as the very first postcard being sent out to a patron!!
oh! & all of these illustrations remind me that today is the spring equinox balance between day & night…balance between light & dark…balance between rest & change. wake up, it’s time to grow happy ostara!
would i have discovered my strength if i had had parents who supported me? would i have learned to love myself if i had not have had to swim in seas of rejection for so much of my life? did i choose this life after all? in some cosmic challenge an obstacle course a scavenger hunt to find the best version of me throw away the “could have beens” here is who you are here is who you have become.
the theme of “if only” is one that i have let hold me back for most of my life. now i find myself wondering if it was all for the best after all. i mean, it has been a long & tough fucking road…but now i am a tough fucking woman. isn’t that who i want to be? so maybe, as awful as my life has been, it has all been for a reason.
also, speaking of unintended paths & happenstance, this portrait may have been completely different if there had not appeared a small grease mark on my otherwise pristine page. there are few things that irk me more than grease stains. so after fretting about it a bit, i drew a flower on it. then i drew another flower. and another…. happenstance. that’s a good word.
he came to me in a dream
ready to end
a creature from–
a feathered man
tall dark & handsome
but to my credit
even resorting to
a little something different.
maybe too much halloween candy, but i had a vivid dream last night about a big blackbird-man who came to finish me off. except he was also sexy. i think i have a pretty conflicted view of men.
so who remembers clan of the cave bear? my brain often references the idea in it that ayla is guarded by her spirit animal, the cave bear who scarred her. she is thereby deemed to have too strong of an energy for most men to mate with her and make a child with her.
i think of the grizzly bear as one of my main spirit guides. i feel her energy in me & feel i am protected by her.
i have found that my strength makes dating tricky. which i think is weird…but it seems to be true.
until (at least) this point in my life i have chosen physically small men. feminine men. men who do not seem threatening to me…. yes, i chose them. if i wait to be chosen, it is a long wait. however, most of the men i choose then turn me upside down–& not in a good way. most of them seem threatened by me. most of them try to dominate & degrade me.
so i’m thinking maybe i should be looking for a romantic interest that has–at least–the grizzly bear spirit i have?
just brainstorming here. it’s not like i have suitors lining up at my door to choose from.
i really don’t understand
like a sick
like a suffering animal
could you just tell me to
put me out of my misery?
if you want me to
you should know
with the life i’ve had
i only thrive
on being ignored
i only try
to be seen
when you look
just say “stop”
if you want me to
i will never
i often examine my behavior towards seymour and wonder if i am harassing him. if i were a man, and he were a woman, i think it would definitely be considered harassment. i don’t believe in double standards…yet…one of my therapists assured me that it is different for men than it is for women. i mean, a woman might play along and not say stop because she is afraid. she stokes an ego for her own safety.
but why doesn’t seymour just tell me to stop?
i would. i know i would.
it would hurt and i would want to keep reaching out to him–but if i knew for sure he wanted me all the way out of his life, i would respect that.
but he never says it.
granted, he never says anything.
and like i said in my journal page, being ignored is not a deterrent for me. it’s just a signal for me to try harder.
thanks to my fucked-up childhood with parents who ignored me pretty consistently. thanks to always being attracted to people who ignored me in relationships.
thanks to growing up as a sensitive wallflower.
being ignored is just part of life.
i don’t want to be ignored…but being ignored is its own attention. seriously. when you make an effort to ignore someone, you are–in a weird & fucked up way–paying attention to them.
let me stress, fucked up way.
i want to ask him.
i want to know.
but part of me is scared of the answer.
ps. i drew a naked version of this painting “christina’s world” because when i drew a version with clothes on, it looked like i had crawled right out of a japanese horror movie. so i did me naked (again) so that i could maybe try to get the position to look natural. however, i neglected to get my back fat in there right. i tried to be true to my back fat, but i don’t think i quite captured it.
it was always you
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
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,
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.
part of me is missing
maybe you know
where it is?
i wake up
it’s another day
that it is
i go to bed
knowing that my morning
my next day
will bring more of the same
& i want to scream
i do scream
part of me is missing
you know where
it is you?
i read something
that said grief
trapped in the corners
of your eyes….
i don’t know what to do
with all this grief
part of me
& i’m oh so tired
but if i stop…
if i stop
will i drown in
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 something that barely resembles the person
i could have been.
i don’t want to hurt you
i just want to survive you
are words that i would say to him if i could. sometimes i feel it is impossible to talk to him. impossible for him to hear me?
so he & my mom were here at the same time. with my mom here, he was the lesser of two evils.
when she left, i realized just how much like her he really is.
neither one of them can hear me. even before my mom was deaf, she had very selective hearing–only hearing what she wanted to hear…only hearing what was valuable to her–what she could use to her advantage.
she never heard me.
i was never valuable to her.
was i ever valuable to him?
did he ever listen to me? or is he only paying attention when i’m giving him ammunition to use against me at a later time?