a foundation for failure

he’s built the groundwork
for my psychotic break
just one word
a whisper
& the grasp
i so desperately hold
on my reality
my sanity
crumbles
so many careful years
he spent
just building on
to damage done
by my parents
by other men
i even handed him
the ammunition
trusting
that he would not hurt me
with it.

though my ever-faithful tarot cards (as well as every other experience i have ever had with dusty) warned me there would be conflict and that it was best if i did not engage…just let it blow over…holy fuck, he knows how to get me to engage. i try so hard to walk away. i say over & over, “i don’t want to talk about it.” but dusty is relentless until there is nothing left of me. just a glimpse of who i used to be as i morph into something i never want to be.
one of my parents.

this was our last dance.
i asked for a sign, and i got it.
there is nothing left here.
i need to move forward.
like, nine years ago…but better late than never.

this journal page is dedicated to my friend nexus who has been very supportive & encouraging of my art…and who knows how it feels to burn at the stake ❤

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feeding the scavengers.

the predators
come at night
whether you believe in them
or not
the predators
come
at night is when
you should leave
little sacrifices
gifts
so that those
scavengers
know
they are welcome
if not wanted
that yours is a protected space
give them a little
but not too much
& send them
on their
way.

something is living in my compost. or, at least, visiting every night.
i bury things, he digs them up.
every night.
and i wonder if i should dig a deeper hole, or just leave the scraps on top and hope for the best.
he dug up the remains of the lambs (the remains of the lambs soon to be a blockbuster movie)…and digs them up again every time i try to put them to rest anew.
so the other night, i butchered a duck. i went ahead and did it on top of my compost and just left any unused parts laying out for my compost dweller.
my thinking is that if i keep the critter fed, it won’t set its sights on any living creatures in my yard.
is this faulty thinking?
i don’t think so.
there is enough for all of us…i can live & let live as long as my compost companion does the same.

in other scavenger news…
dusty will not stop texting me. fuck a fuck a fuck. seriously? he is trying to evoke a response from me, and i am seeing what he says for what it is–bait. manipulation. espousing his own reality as if it were fact.
it is nice to be able to spot the bullshit…but i wish i did not have to.
he is due to visit saturday morning through sunday for iggy’s birthday.
i am trying to mentally prepare myself…but mostly i just feel pissed off & stressed out & filled with dread.
then i remembered another fucking thing. april 22nd, the day after iggy’s birthday, is the 8 year antiversary of our divorce. i divorced him 8 years ago.
eight years.
why haven’t i managed to move further away from him in those 8 years????
but at least i’m moving now.
i’m moving now.
watch me go.

the empath vs. the narcissist

yes, i might still have some angst towards my ex-husband; why do you ask?

i like this one. i used a photo of a statue of conan the barbarian to model it after–which explains why my boobs are bigger than usual.

dusty is a sagittarius born in year of the dragon
i am a cancer born in year of the dog
whether you are into astrology or not, you can probably imagine that and know it is just a bad fucking mix.

dusty is way into being a dragon. i once drew a dragon for him…it was beautiful…but i forgot the wings & he was all pissy about it. i just realized i forgot the wings on this one as well. i don’t think it is an accident. i don’t think dusty has wings. he is decidedly stuck on the rocks.

wondering

wonder
wondering
feel…feeling
so overwhelmed
by what goes on inside me
trying to decipher
this
chaos
what is good
what to hold
onto
what is bad
what to let
go?

i have let go of dusty. again.
i have no desire to have the same argument with him…explaining my feelings until i am blue in the face & he responds by saying, “yes, but…” and asking me to explain them again in a different way.
i’m done.
i am so done.
i have no desire to talk to him, to see him.

of course…this weekend iggy turns ten…and i have already invited him down/agreed to his coming down. with his sister & his sister’s girlfriend and their child.

how am i going to do this?
how am i going to not ruin iggy’s birthday?

sigh.

when he turned aggressive in a text exchange today, i simply turned off my phone. i do not want to engage with him anymore. he is too good at drawing me into a fight. he exhausted all efforts to appeal to my empathy…so then he just turned accusatory. it’s my fault…it’s all my fault.
oh, i remember this game.

so, again, how do i not ruin iggy’s birthday?

queen of swords II

before my whole fucktardery with dusty…
while my witchy friend was visiting, she & i read each other’s tarot cards. my near future card was the queen of swords. a card that often shows up in my spread–especially regarding dusty. the queen of swords has a high moral position and expects others to live up to it as well.
so is this a good thing?
a bad thing?
just a thing?
it’s true of me. i do expect a lot of myself & the same from others. dusty has never hesitated to fall under my sword.
then i’m all like–am i being too cruel? expecting too much? not accepting him for who he is?

fuck that.

i am the queen of swords.

off with his head.

as i protect myself & re-enforce walls that i had to build after letting him break my heart too many times, dusty does a dance & tries to appeal to my nurturing side. he is trying to get me to rescue him. he wants me to save him. he is trying to be sad & helpless while never admitting that he has done anything wrong.

so i’m going to go ahead & hold onto that queen of swords
because even though i am hurting right now
i know i am going to recover again
faster this time
& i need to make sure i finally remember this lesson
remember this heartbreak
& not let it happen again
seriously
for real this time.

an open apology

to all the men i’ve loved before
& to the ones
i didn’t care all that much about
but played with anyway
to all the hearts
i crushed & twisted
pushed & pulled
like play-doh
to shape into something
that pleased me
but they never did
& i was quick to
toss
them
away
far
away
hurl, more like it
shot put champion
with the hearts of men
this is my open apology
to my many men
some hurt me back
some never got the chance
but
i wish
i had been better
more noble
more careful with those
possibly tender?
probably tender?
then bruised
hearts.

i feel like i’m doing a 12 step program. i thought of actually contacting my list–but holy crap there are way too many…and i only know where a handful of them are…and some of them i cannot have contact with for my own safety.
so!
here i am. realizing through old journals, conversations, and introspection, that i was a shitty girlfriend to a lot of lot of lot of guys.
crap.
when i did bother to remember this side of me, i always remembered her as kind of a warrior, kick-ass take no names, awesome bitch.
but
but but but…she wasn’t nice.
i wasn’t nice.
and i think a lot of it had to do with thinking that no one really cared about me so i couldn’t really hurt them.
but that’s no excuse. i shouldn’t have been such a shit–and often to guys who didn’t even deserve it.
i was a shitty girlfriend. i was a shitty wife. i’ve touched on this before, that i saw my mom as a weak victim…and i internalized that i needed to be the opposite. so i was. i broke hearts & abandoned relationships.
frequently.
so this is my open apology.
i have no idea if any of my exes even read this blog–and it might be more rude than nice to tag them all–plus, that would be a lot of tags…but if you do read this blog & did once get walked over or callously treated by me, i’m sorry i was a bitch.

mostly sorry.

(i recently commented to someone that i am better at understanding than forgiving…it occurs to me with this that i am better at knowing i should be sorry than actually being sorry….but i am mostly sorry)

oh, i have super powers

my super power
is my honesty
my super power is my
crazy thick & out of bounds hair
my super power is my sense of humor
my super power is my
sense of
survival
my super power is my giant
enormous
hands & feet
my super power is my hope
my imagination
my incredible strength
my super power is my sense of wonder
my stubborness
my massive
tremendous
eyebrows
my super power is how i want to live
forever
how i can find a four leaf clover
the way the trees & clouds
talk to me
my super power
is
me…
(my secret weapon is my smile)