mother knows worst

every day
tears my heart
to shreds
every day
i some how manage
to survive
even though i long
to just lie down
& not get up again
could there possibly be
anything harder
than being a mother
& seeing the worst of yourself
broadcast by innocents
as you try so fucking hard
to be your best for them…
but it seems
no matter how hard you try
to be beautiful for them
it’s the ugly bits they pick up
it’s the ugly bits they collect
as if it is their purpose
to only mirror
the you
you wish you weren’t.

i had an identity crisis when i became a mom. i didn’t want to be my mom, i didn’t know how to be me, i was grasping for who i was supposed to be (i even got a mom bob and wore capris for a bit.)
looking back,
as a fictional mom, i was doing pretty good…as a mother.
but i was betraying who i was inside.
and eventually motherhood started to destroy me.
a battle ensued.
i think it might still be going on.
so i gave up on being the perfect mom. i tried to find balance.
being a mom and being myself.
it’s an ongoing thing. like everything else. a work in progress. maybe one day i will know what it feels like to feel content with myself as a mother and as a human being.
maybe.

crazy broken love

i did this picture by spilling ink
and looking for images
in the shadows & shades of the ink
i spilled this ink
to send another love note
to a person who doesn’t want me
but at least i’m making art
while i mope
and try to find my way.

meanwhile, i really need to do another page of moses jones. it’s time for that once-a-month page.
but my garden is weeded. my minions are fed. my ducks are laying. my bees are buzzing. life goes on.

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.

lost words (the OCD rehash)

i feel like i’ve lost the right words
or maybe
i’ve used my quota. used all
my best words for all my
worst days. & now i have all
the wrong words but my head
still isn’t
right.

i published this journal entry with this illustration:

lost words

only to realize I PUT MY HANDS ON BACKWARDS…which, normally, y’all–i like to live with my mistakes. but goddammit, my hands are on backwards and that was just way too much for me to sit back & hope no one noticed. because if someone noticed, then they would think i did not realize i had my hands on backwards.

god forbid.

so i hastily removed it from all social medias (tumblr, eatsleepdraw, facebook, & here.) all sweaty & aghast.

plus, when i put it up on facebook, i was all sad because no one was looking at it. then i realized i had made all of my posts “private.” so while i was hating the world for not seeing me–i actually wasn’t visible to them.

hahahahaha…no, i’m not a mess (yes, i’m a mess.)

but, you know, it’s not like facebook was lighting up even after i went back to “public” posts.
however, this post had gotten a lot of notice here & on tumblr & on eatsleepdraw. so maybe i should have just edited it instead of deleting it.
oops.
well, hope y’all also enjoy my ocd version!

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.

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.

alone

when i feel alone
i push
everyone
away
because somehow
that makes it less painful
feeling alone
while
being alone
just makes more sense

i love my kids…but i hate being a mom….

i hate being the one in charge
i hate being the bad guy
i hate having to be the one who makes sure we don’t run out of
toilet paper
clean clothes
toothpaste
shoes that fit
food
i hate being the one that has to make impossible ends
meet
i have to
no one else is going to do it
i have to find ways to fix
messes that seem impossible to fix
i have to referee fights
that seem to have no end
i hate being referee
i hate being mom
i want to not have to worry about everything
to not be the one who is supposed to have all of the answers
i want to find room in my heart
for me
to not feel overwhelmed by them
i want to be able to breathe

it’s not them though
is it?
it’s not being a mom so much
as my being damaged
damaged by life
damaged by parents, damaged by exes
never taught to love myself
in the way a person needs to be able to
so that person can be a good mom
neglected by my own mom
leaving me unable to cope
abandoned
abused
by the man who was supposed
to do this with me
be there for me
now
i just want to hide, heal, and lick my wounds
but as a mom
i just can’t seem to
there are just too many other things
that need to be
done….

page11

yesterday i collapsed in a heap and all i could think was, “i hate being a mom. i hate being a mom. i hate being a mom.” it was both a relief to think it…and horrifying.

i didn’t always hate being a mom…if you read my wordpress profile thing-y here, it sounds like i used to really think i was a good mom….
(i wish i could remember that feeling.)

though it was a cruel awakening when i became a mom and realized i was working harder than i ever had before–but i wasn’t getting any pay or benefits. after a lifetime of supporting myself, i was now dependent on a partner who was–well–crappy. he would tell me my position as a mom was pointless and why was he the only one earning money? he would tell me to get a job. i was exhausted to my bones–and he was telling me i wasn’t earning anything therefore i was lazy…useless? and he wasn’t the only one. our society echoed him. subtle or blatant, i got the message loud and clear.

i was a mom now–and now i did not matter.

page12

gone was my independence. my ability to just pack up everything i own and go somewhere new. just go. whenever i wanted. be free whenever i felt caged. now i was anchored. by one..then two..then three..and finally four little anchors.

gone was time to myself. my crappy partner put that last nail in my coffin. no art. no writing. (right now i have a five year old begging me to color & i really really don’t want to color–i want to exorcise this demon–i want to write.) no exercise even because no one would let me. seriously. i was not allowed to do the walks i used to do daily to clear my head & keep my weight down. if i wanted to go–everyone wanted to go with me–and it became an unbearable circus…

page13

i know there are people out there devastated because they can’t have children. i used to be one of those people. i wanted to cry every time a friend or a sister got pregnant. i tried for 10 years before i got pregnant. i dreamed of being a mom. i dreamed of having that love in my life. of course, i thought, being a mom will fix what is wrong with me.

but i wasn’t careful about with whom i had my kids. that was my mistake. my biggest mistake. i didn’t realize how much that would change things…taint things. that partner who doesn’t value you–or your role as the mother of his children.

it’s devastating…at least for me…it has damaged me so deeply sometimes i feel like i am unable to love at all.

but i love my minions. i do. as much as i hate being a mom sometimes–i never stop loving them.
so that’s something, right?

something salvageable?

page15

(these illustrations are moreĀ  from the project i am working on “the mistress of mud” with a friend of mine. yesterday i posted that i hadn’t gotten any work done, but i realized i actually had…and i did the one at the top of the post last night as i played around trying to emulate david mack’s style.)

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