valentine’s heart

my heart
turned black
again
it waxes & wanes
the moon inside me
today it is a dark dark place
where neither
man nor beast
is welcome
it is heavy & cold
but also burning like
a demon’s fire
a storm no one will
survive.

yay! valentine’s day. shiny happy people and all that.
in my high school you used to be able to buy tissue paper flowers to be given to people you cared about. the color reflected the sentiment.
every year i thought, sure, i might get a flower this year.
nevery year did i get a flower. nevery.

but i still had hope.
i still waited for a valentine.
fucking charlie brown i was.

in my twenties i would make valentines and take them to the bar and hand them out to people i loved.
in my twenties my heart was broken into a million pieces…shortly after valentine’s day. broken in a way that a person like me doesn’t recover from.
it took me years
years
to realize how damaged i was
how damaged i had been
how much damage there was in my heart…
i am still learning about the damage that is me. twenty-two years later. twenty-two valentine’s days later.
figuring it out.

fuck.

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survival

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?

ex-husbands & mothers.

sigh.

bandorai

i’m the bad guy
you’re the victim
it’s the script
we follow
i’m the bad guy
you’re the victim
did we do this
together?
is it easier for me
to believe
i am the bad guy?
do you feel better
being the victim?
i don’t want to play
anymore
i scream
i cry
i insist
but you hand my mask
back to me
every time
i throw it down
“if i am the bad guy,”
i whisper
from behind that mask,
“why do i feel like
crap
whenever
you’re
around?”
because you’re
the bad guy
comes the answer.

always the bad guy no matter which way i play it. i am always the bad guy. i think the other day, when we were fighting about god knows what, i am pretty sure he said i had borderline personality disorder–as he had already diagnosed my mom as having. then, of course, i spin out wondering if i do have borderline personality disorder.
(he would not clarify to me what he actually said–another fun game he likes to play with me.)

why is it so easy for him to convince me i am the bad guy? oh…right… because i already believe i am.
but! i am in the process of changing that.
but the process is slowed down by long visits from the man who strives to be my victim. that weird narcissistic sadistic trick of posing as the masochist.
my ex.
another thing i need to work on.
finding other people i can ask for help in dire times…people that are not my ex-husband.

that one is not so easy for me to remedy. in fact, i am more & more convinced that i am spending the rest of my life alone…and lonely.

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.

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….

my journey

my life is very much a journey
sometimes
it is a river current
dragging me along
sometimes
it is a careful path
i have forged
sometimes…
not too often…
it is someone else’s path
i follow
sometimes
i love my journey
& am so so excited about it
sometimes
i want to turn around
& it takes all my strength to continue
…i doubt i will reach the end
in this
lifetime
but i pick up my walking stick
& journey on.