inktober 12

i posted this on the inktober group i am in on facebook, i referenced how conflicted i felt about so much color–as if i were channeling the teletubbies…and…nothing.
not one like.
not one comment.

sigh.

is it me? i put on deodorant…
(actually, not technically deodorant, i use baking soda, coconut oil, and essential oils….)
but you know what i mean.

i would like, at some point before i am dead, to not feel like a complete pariah.

and dusty is coming here to stay for a week. part of me is relieved that there will be another grown up here.
part of me just wants to die because the only relief i get is when the man who helped put me in this fucking situation comes to visit.

mostly, i just feel like crying.

i’m going to go take a shower and cry.

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attack of the buttheads

i started writing this post a couple of weeks ago.  unbeknownst to me, dusty started reading it over my shoulder & got all pissed off.  you know, instead of initiating a conversation about it, just got pissed off & hateful towards me.  so i stopped writing it & haven’t felt like trying to write ever since.  last friday, i made dusty leave again.  go back to wisconsin.  again.  & i realized i would rather be alone than to be put in a box.  i would rather be alone than to be told who i am.  i would rather be alone than to not be heard.  to not be understood.

i don’t know if he reads my blog or not….i guess i will find out.

what do you do
when the one person
you always want to tell your thoughts to
funny stories
what happened today
just now
what happens when you no longer
feel safe
talking to that person?
when you feel it might be a bad idea
to open up
to that person?
what happens when the person
you used to wait for to walk through the door
what happens when you start dreading
his walking into the room
when you feel like you have to guard yourself
your heart
your thoughts
for surely he will find something
to criticize
something
to attack
some flaw in you to burst wide open
and leave to spill onto the floor
as he walks away

the other day i was in tears. in the barn. yelling at the sheep. the other day i let my sheep get the best of me. i wondered–loudly and with a great many curse words–what i was even doing here, on this half-assed homestead, trying to get milk from meat sheep who clearly hate me, running from me, and in the case of tyler durden the ram, stalking me and ramming me in the thighs until i cry.

what am i doing?

the other day, i tried to talk to dusty.

stop. right there. that was my mistake. i tried to talk to dusty. i tried to talk to dusty. dusty. who on the day of my brother’s funeral (8 years ago) asked me what was wrong, and when i told him i was upset that he didn’t bother dressing up for my brother’s funeral, he responded, “well look at what you’re wearing.”

dusty.

he likes to ask me what is wrong, and then punish me for having feelings. lately he asks me why i don’t respond when he asks, “what’s wrong?” but the weird thing is, i don’t remember him asking me. i think i have learned to tune him out so that i do not even hear him ask because then, if i hear him, i want to answer…and then i get punched right in my emotions.

so i don’t even hear him anymore.
i don’t look forward to seeing him.
i don’t tell him anything.

or i try not to. i can be a bit of a blabbermouth, forgetting who i can & cannot trust with my feelings. i am like that. soft in the head.

so i tried to talk to dusty, about “us.” it was, of course, somehow interpreted as an assault on him…maybe it was an attack. i don’t know the fuck anymore. but i tried to talk to him. i used the wrong words. then it got ugly.
he accused me of being a facebook junkie (i’m not)
and i responded by slamming shut his video game
and possibly breaking his laptop?
and then
he murdered three of my potato plants.
and tried to knock the internet dish off of the roof
with a steel t-post.

this is where i stopped writing.
his laptop is fine. my potatoes are trying to recover, but look like my heart feels.  wilty & broken.  undernourished.  struggling to survive.

 

turkey trot

i’m feeling pretty defeated today.
i started out, this full moon, all hopeful & happy.
then i crashed.
i am angry. annoyed. short-tempered. self-sabotaging.
i am defeated.
i just want to give up. get rid of my dogs, sheep, & chickens. get rid of all the things that hold me in place. and float away. take my minions & hit the road. float through the universe.
i feel like my failure was complete before i even left my childhood.
i feel like i am an asshole.
always an asshole.
forever & ever after.
i feel like it is all pointless.

i suspect this is temporary. that i will feel better…maybe when the moon starts to wane?

god, i want a beer.
but i am so broke, i cannot afford beer.
so of course it is the one thing that i latch onto as a cure-all.
though it really wouldn’t be.
but, boy, could i go for a beer.

so i drew this.
i like it.
i liked my koala bears a lot. my yesterday drawing. but no one here did. and barely anyone on facebook. and twitter is just a vacuum i scream into.
i’m feeling pretty defeated.
no one loves me.
no one loves my art.
i am alone.
so i checked out of facebook. cancelled my twitter account. i am still here…but rapidly losing hope.
no one loves me.
and when i feel isolated, i hide.
and when i’m feeling invisible, i make sure i am.
it’s one of those days.
hopeless
loveless
defeated.

usually after i post here. i also post on my fb page for my blog. then on my own fb page. then on twitter.
tonight, this is my only posting of this picture.
god, i feel ridiculous.
why would anyone even want to do this?

if you do like my drawing, throw me a goddamned bone.
i’m drowning in self-pity here.
& misery.

i just ordered all the minions to bed because i am irritable and do not understand why i can’t have the space to work on art without being bumped and annoyed by the minions. so i snapped & sent them to bed. iggy screamed, “i hate you.” and i wanted to scream back, “that’s okay. i hate me too.”

oh…here’s the ink stain–though it’s a cut off shot of it. sorry. i suck today.
tomorrow….
let’s just see about tomorrow.

inkstains-4