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 occurred to me today
that if i never
put myself out there
if i never take a chance
i won’t have to be
i can live a quiet life
just make art
to another person ready
to break me
never stand up
to be pushed down again
i can keep myself
felt like relief
for just a moment
i found myself
why does keeping
my heart safe
feel like giving up?
i am enjoying using egon schiele’s work as inspiration for my own…or, you know, flat out ripping him off….
i borrowed very heavily from egon schiele for this journal page
i don’t have any love left in me
like watching a cyclone
of bath water
circling the drain
is how it feels inside
when i look to see
if i have any love
fuck. i just got another short story rejection. fuck. why does everything have to feel raw & calloused all at the same time?
i need to figure out, as always, how to make money. i am thinking…erotic comics? too bad i am so easily embarrassed by anything sexual. i’m going to go practice drawing penises now…circumcised or no?
it would definitely help if a certain someone actually paid child support so i could buy my minions socks & underwear…. but, you know, some people are too special to work & have responsibilities. why grow up when you have me to take up your slack?
my flavor of the day: extra bitter.
i know there is absolutely no point to posting this, but i am quitting social media. since no one actually responds to my art…
and since it breaks my heart so terribly & painfully to be ignored…
i have no choice but to quit social media.
i will keep making art.
but all by my lonesome.
so two days ago i posted about feeling invisible and thinking about quitting social media because i get no feedback on my art and it all feels utterly pointless.
so that post got 9 “likes” which might not seem like a lot to those of you that get 9 likes a minute, but for me, that is a lot of likes.
but here’s the thing. i still didn’t get any feedback. so i keep wondering if y’all like the idea of my quitting social media & taking my wonky art to the private sector? if that’s what you like. not my art but my quitting art….
and then i start to cry.
seriously, i am starting to be convinced that i am a social experiment in what happens to a neurotic artist who gets minimal feedback.
do i eat a gun muzzle
or start producing amazing art for my pain?
anyhoo. here are a couple more journal-style self-portrait-y things.
i haven’t quit yet….