sometimes i just feel extra invisible…

ack.
social media sucks ass.
i mean
at least
for us super sensitive
extra damaged
introverts
sometimes i hate
facebook
so so so much
stupid tool
i feel like a stupid tool
extra invisible
everyone hates me
why do i do this
stupid
tool.

inktober3(3)

this is the third inking i have done today.
i am about to post it on facebook. in that stupid group i am in. and it will get zero “likes” as have the other two today.
inktober3(2)

c’mon.
my art doesn’t suck that bad.
why can’t i get a “like”….

and why do i care?

fuck a duck

i am ready to just quit facebook. a fucking social media site should not be able to cause me this kind of torment.
it’s stupid.
i know it’s stupid.
yet i am tormented.

IMG_0023

i am going to keep doing inktober.
i am going to keep doing art.
i am going to keep practicing my ink brush painting (right now i am opening the book the photo ark to a random page and painting it.)

and! and–i am going to get back to my comics. my moses jones and all the others.

it’s been too long.

so fuck you, facebook. even if you hate my art. i love my art.

i love being an artist.

a nice fucking neurotic artist.

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from the journal of…

i just realized why i am feeling
so profoundly sad
& heartbroken
lately
i met two of my husbands
& one of my fiances
in septembers past…
september is either a very good
or very bad
month for me
romantically speaking….

and since my romantic value is so intertwined with my heart value…with my self value….

thanks a fucking lot culture that makes women worthless unless they are valued by a man.

fuck me.
or…
don’t fuck me.
i am unfuckable.
just a baby vessel who is spent already and who draws stupid pictures anyway.

there is this song that comes on the radio that makes me want to run over the artist with my truck. james arthur’s “say you won’t let go.”
man, that song pisses me off. it’s like a man proving he’s mr. perfect, caring man…like there is such a thing.
puke.
i am just feeling very oh-so crappy about love & romance & relationships & i just kind of hate everybody right now (not you though.)
if good love exists, i have never actually seen it.
which just pisses me off.

like, what did i do?
did i crush puppies in a past life?
what lesson am i supposed to learn here?

i’m pretty useless these days.
i have produced some art, but i not-so-secretly fear it sucks.
i am a terrible mom.
i just want to crawl in a hole with a bottle of whiskey.
i’m pretty sure i have no friends
or else i’d be saying this to them
not torturing you with it.
and when strangers smile at me in public, i think they must be confused.

sorry if i have sung this song before.
sorry if you are tired of it.
i just feel like crap.

and i hate my art.

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 more  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.)

the saga of stella & squiggles

i avoided having pets for years & years
i was very nomadic
and had a history of having severe personality disorders in reaction to owning pets.
(my dad murdered & abused many of my pets, & i kind of shut down emotionally as a result)

then in 1996 a redneck boyfriend found a puppy in the woods
and forced the thing upon me.
i hated & hated that puppy, otis.
and then i fell in love with him.
and then he got hit by a car & killed before he was even a year old
when he ran away
after i sent him to live with a friend
because i felt i could not be who he needed me to be.
my heart broke into a million pieces.
and a little bit more of me died.

i got a rebound puppy.
and then another dog.
and then another.
and then i got rid of a dog
and then another.
i managed to keep one until he was 14 and falling apart and i buried him in the garden.
but i never fell in love with him.
we tolerated each other…for fourteen years
(same number of years i was with my ex)

then fidgit & iggy both insisted they had to have a dog
for years this went on
until i was finally at a place where i could have a dog.
but i had to get two because i had four kids each saying
they wanted a dog.
so i adopted two six month old cattle dog/border collie mixes
(herd dogs are my favorite)
and then things fell apart.

fidgit decided he was a cat person.
the ex complained constantly about the dogs.
i started to love them…but then my heart froze.
they terrorize the cat…the chickens…the lambs.
and with two of them and four minions,
i can’t get them trained the way they need to be trained.

and i find myself hating them
for the one more thing in my life
that i cannot manage
and that makes me feel like a failure as a human being.

i decided to find stella a new home
and to keep squiggles (who became iggy’s dog)
squiggles fits in
stella tolerates us but would be happier somewhere else…
i have been trying to find her a home with no luck.

img_2933

meanwhile,
i keep losing more & more of my mind
and feeling like less & less of a person.

then yesterday
they ate some bread dough i left to rise in a stupid place.
and i hated them so much for it.
and i had a screaming meltdown.
i put them in their crate and hid from the world.

i thought they would be okay
but this morning they were so so sick
vomiting & wobbling.
turns out
dogs get alcohol poisoning from bread dough.

i didn’t know.
i feel like such a dumb fuck.
i feel like it is my fault for hating them
that i brought this on with my own
bad behavior.

now they are at the vet
$400 or more per dog
for them to detox.

so…long story short
there is no hope for my frozen heart
and the demons that tell me i am an awful
dogmother
& that i will probably never be a proper dog person
because there is that gaping hole where my heart should be….

but if you want to buy some art
i can sell you prints or originals
to pay the vet bill for which i have exactly
$0.00

if you do want to buy art
leave me a message
and we can work it out.
i still need to figure out how to build a store here…

 

that’s not funny

so i keep looking for my true love by searching wordpress blogs using not-so-random key words because surely my true love blogs…

unless he is too busy lumber-jacking a sustainable forest….

and then i had a beer and started annoying jenny lawson…again (assuming she reads my sad attempts at getting her attention.) now i hate myself for it and just want to shut everything down. close down every social media outlet i have an account on. who do i think i am? why would anyone want to read my drivel? i’m no different. i’m not special. just another sad cog in a lopsided wheel.

some people, apparently, have long bouts of depression. my moods, however, spin–bob & weave–kick up dust before falling in the mud.
i’m a cancer with a moon in scorpio and scorpio rising. for those of you who aren’t astrology savvy, cancers & scorpios are both water signs, water equals emotion. so i’m like 99% emotion.

1% lumberjack.

i’m not trying to be funny. i am actually tired of me and the stupid things i say and my expecting people to actually listen to me. i tried to tweet today and now i hate myself. read the post from last week about my not being able to play the game. it’s like that. whenever i try to partake of social media, i just feel like a phony.

like the lumberjack comment? is that to get attention? or do i really like lumberjacks? i don’t know. where does the person end and the social media personality begin?

i try to be honest and to be real. but then i also want attention and an audience.

if i tell you that today i had to take a shower because i had gone so long without one that my hair hurt…is that my being honest or showcasing my neurosis? both? like it’s funny because it’s true? or if you can relate, that makes it funny?

i am tired of the narrator inside my head he/she is making my life into a bad tv show.

when i was a kid i thought my big sister was so funny. so i emulated her. i tried so hard to be funny. she wrote funny letters to her friends. so i wrote funny letters to my friends. i would try to be ridiculous on purpose.

what if it is all an act? what if i’m not funny.

but then there are those days, most days, where i crack myself up at least once. so at least one person thinks i’m funny. unless she is laughing at me, not with me…?

i had a snooty teacher in a writer’s workshop once assure me–when i said i did not think i would ever have a very big audience–that i was wrong. she told me i was funny and that funny sells.
in retrospect, i think she may have been insulting me in a very dodgy way.

but i will have the last laugh, rowan buchanan (if that was your real name) because even if i am funny…no one takes me seriously.

(i don’t feel like drawing–so today you get a random collage i did for a digital media class back when i was an art student. i miss being an art student. and i really like buttons.)

i’m writing this because no one ever responds when i ask for feedback

when i was nineteen, i started going to therapy because i was dating a guy who i knew was bad for me, but i could not break up with him.
i knew he was bad for me before i even started dating him. me & another friend would make fun of him all the time calling him “geek lord” and telling each other horrible true stories about him. lets call him “lester.”
lester was all industrial & goth (it was the early 90’s.) he owned a “mystic bookstore” and was a total pervert. he would brag about how many times a day he masturbated–while attending to his store. he was so lazy he would pee in a pitcher instead of walking to the bathroom.
so i knew he was gross.
but i also knew he had the hots for me.
and somehow i started dating him. i’m not sure how it happened. i only know that i have extraordinarily low self-esteem and just want people to love me but cannot believe that anyone can actually love me.
so i started dating the “geek lord,” and he would do things like lock me in his basement to keep me from storming off. he once called my answering machine (the 90’s remember) and  left between 20 & 50 messages starting with “fuck you, bitch,” and ending with him softly moaning along to a ministry song.
everyone i knew told me to break up with him.
“i know i should,” i would answer, but i would stay.

so i started going to therapy.

among many other things, my therapist told me i had the social skills of a five year old. i was nineteen at the time.

the social skills of a five year old.

crap.

i eventually broke up with him for good. i was trying to shop & he wouldn’t let me shop. that is a weird line in the sand especially considering i really don’t like shopping. however, i had decided i needed to change my wardrobe. if i just changed my wardrobe, everything would magically be better, right?
so i needed to change my wardrobe.
years later i realize that this is part of having anxiety & ocd…but back then i just recognized it as a need that i need need needed.
lester went shopping with me. but every store it was all about him & what would he look good in? then he got tired of shopping and insisted i was done.
i refused to stop, and he tried to force me into his car.

so i ran. literally.
and then i changed my phone number.
i changed my locks.
i stopped going anywhere in that small college town that i might see lester.

it was the first time i had to go to extremes like that…but not the last.

so i am sitting here. feeling defeated about no one responding to my blog. no one responding to my facebook. and jenny lawson not validating my existence. so i am alone; alone and arguing with children and dogs. all while i have just gone to extreme measures to break up with yet another abusive narcissist whom i desperately looked for love from…

and i wonder…where are my social skills now? have i made it any further?

and wondering if maybe my therapist was being generous in her assessment.

why am i so needy? why am i always searching for that love i believe i will never find? why does it feel like a knife in my heart when i look at someone else’s blog and their “about” page has more likes than my blog has in its entirety? what does it matter…or why does it matter?

but it does, somehow.

fuck. i just feel so alone.

and i read jenny lawson’s book, and i sob because she might be fucked up…but she has people who love her. i don’t have that.

and worse…i can’t even imagine having it.