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.

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that’s not me

love
loss
lost
delusion
infusion
confusion
the most i have is
what i already
gave.
i’m empty now.
please
go
away.

it’s not me…but it is me. it’s not a self-portrait…but it’s still me. i was drawing this & writing this while having a fight with dusty. one of those spiral fights that i try to leave & then get sucked back in & we just go around & around.

i really enjoyed drawing her and kept catching myself smiling (i do the expression as i draw it–i’m one of those people.) then i worried dusty would freak out because i was smiling to myself while fighting with him.

i never got a chance to recover from my parents’ visit because as soon as they were gone, dusty went from being mr. charming & helpful to being mr. self-fulfilling prophecy. he likes to anticipate that i am going to reject him and then do everything in his power to get me to reject him. and then he gets pissed off & self-righteous about it.

yay.

so i packed him in a truck & shipped him back to wisconsin.

maybe now i can recover?

nope…now the minions are on full blast needy.

yay.

repulsed by romance

she is the reason
i divorce so easily
she is the reason
i fear relationships
no
them
they are the reason
it is the two together
i don’t want to end up trapped
you see
trapped in a marriage
to a man
like my father
slowly
bitterly
losing my mind
so i run
away
live in fear
craving a connection
but
repulsed
replulsed by romance.

this self-portrait pretty much captures how i feel right now.
like there is not much of me left.
a demon me with a halo of stars.
little bits of me.
flying away in the wind.

so dusty is down here to help me. and he has been so much help because as it turns out, i can barely deal with being in the same room with my parents. i am constantly nauseated and crawling out of my skin and looking for a place to hide.

so dusty was a life-saver…. except. i dunno. i was being nice to him–affectionate–trying to make sure he was surviving okay. doing for him what i would want done for me.
but i guess that was the wrong thing to do?
because then he got pissed off at me for sending mixed messages?
yelled at me and accused me of hurting him.
what the what?
so now even more of me has shut down.
i feel like i am barely functional.

my parents are here–they started my destruction.
dusty is here–he finished me off.

all my best destroyers in one house for the holidays.

who am i ?

the only thing
i’m good at sharing
is my pain

…but when i went to write “pain”
i almost wrote “heart”
i started to write “heart”

i am the first to underestimate me

who am i?
who do i want to be?
what if i’m not so godawful as i think
i am?
what if i am already
the person i want to be?
what would my reality be if
i am not
an asshole?

seriously. i started out this journal page with the idea of all that i am good at sharing is my pain.
but instead of writing pain…i started writing heart.
and this totally fucked with my head.

like something i posted on facebook earlier this week.
the more i find out about other people
the more i realize…i’m not really that bad.
i’m not the crap-ass i think i am.

so…well…i guess this means i’m having an identity crisis for christmas.

maybe this will be a good holiday after all….

unreasonable

the pain
that special pain
of losing someone
suddenly
& for no good reason
no
everything does not happen
for a fucking reason
it does not
there are so many
senseless happenings
in this goddamned
existence
unless…pain
unless pain is it’s own
reason
but
that
would be just
completely
unreasonable

this time of year is just one big clusterfuck of bad memories
& bad feelings.
shitballs.
i have this fucking dark cloud hanging over me. every move is like i am underwater. just trying to tie my fucking shoes or something.
& it feels impossible
& i hate myself
for not being able to pull it together.

how it begins

i am the sad one
the broken-hearted
i am the one
who feels
my pain is invisible
i am the one
who feels
too much
…but when the little voices
whisper
“don’t give up”
i listen
i may be sad
& broken-hearted
…but i don’t
give up.

so if i were to start an art journal memoir…this would be the first page.