same old song

yesterday i started crying
not because my four year old
was screaming at me
the entire drive home
to unbuckle his seat belt
so he could get out
not because of that
but because I had no one
no one
to tell it to
no one
to commiserate with
to vent to
to laugh about it with
this morning
i started crying
because the only one to fix me coffee
in the morning
is me.

the person i am in love with
does not love me back
& the father of my children
i cannot trust enough
to even have a conversation
& that leaves me
raising four kids
alone
desperately
devastatingly
alone.

i don’t think i can pretend anymore that there is a snowball’s chance in hell that seymour feels the same way about me that i do about him.
and then i wonder, if he did magically write me back or call me or show up on my doorstep, would that change the hole in me?
i am asking seriously.
i mean–i know that only i can fix me. i know that. and i have spent like forty years working on that and am optimistic that i might have made some real headway. i estimate that there is only about forty more years of work left to do.
but
my question is
will another person…a person i love truly and who truly loves me back
should that person happen into my life
would that fix my lonely?
the lonely that seems to spin in my chest
a black hole
of longing?
if the answer is no.
if that is the world we live in…
i’m not sure i want to live in that world. that “we are born alone; we die alone” world. that cynical and rational-minded world.

it doesn’t seem like the right world for me.

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lurking demons

the harder i try
to be
seen
the more invisible
i become
the louder i cry
out
the less
anyone can hear
me
the more i look
for love
the bigger pariah
i become.

put the last three journal pages together & it is my trifecta of torment.

poppy was screaming at me almost the entire time i was drawing & painting this. he wanted cream cheese & toast, but he has been holding his poop lately and i am afraid of creating a dairy stoppage…so i told him no.
over & over
as he screamed at me for cream cheese & toast.
i offered him other foods…but he only wanted cream cheese & toast.

eventually i relented.

which makes me the worse mom? having him scream at me for something that might make him sick? or giving in & giving it to him?
both?
being a mom is a catch 22.

i woke up in a good mood this morning. however, fidgit & iggy were relentlessly cruel to me–in the way only children can be to their barely-holding-it-together, ultra-tormented mother–until i snapped.
which is why there are so many demons in my drawing.
i feel like i am filled with demons.

y’all are probably tired of reading my journal & looking at my self-portraits. y’all are probably tired of hearing about how i never wanted to do this alone. never wanted to wrestle with four headstrong children by myself. never wanted to be single & lonely & overwhelmed by my roles in life.
sorry.
i’m still talking about it. still. it still weighs down my heart.
i’m still writing about it.
i’m still drawing it.

maybe tomorrow will bring something new.
maybe.

stranded

you never wanted to do this
alone
you never wanted
to do this
alone
you feel so lost
so angry
& you suffer that pain
acutely
as you tell yourself to hold it together
(you don’t)
as you tell yourself to keep a happy face
(you don’t)
all you want to do
is break things
& scream
& scream
& scream
until your voice is raw
until your eyes are dry
because you have nothing
nothing
left to give
all you want to do is sink
sink
into depair
wallow
in despair
but somehow
somehow you have to
stay
afloat

more motherhood angst leaking from my head & onto my page.
yay! but, you know what? it keeps my head out of the oven.

misha pointed out that iggy doesn’t have a face in this on or in the previous one. i’m not sure why. subconscious–would you like to weigh in?
what? nothing?
iggy is a very challenging child. it doesn’t help that he is the one most like his father.
his father.
the reason for a lot of my angst.
he checked out the first time i got pregnant. he was no longer the center of my universe, and he turned from mr. perfect into mr. perfect asshole.
yet somehow i still had three more children with him.
and now i am raising them alone.
because he has just become more & more perfect
at being an asshole.

being a single mom sucks ass. it truly does. but living with dusty sucks bigger ass. so while i am living the lesser of two evils–i’m still pissed off about it.

my empathic heart

when my empathic heart
opens wide
it is a kaleidoscope
of emotion
washing over me
burrowing inside me
traveling through me
borrowing my tears
& my smiles
my sorrow
my anger
my elation
& no drug–or other person–could ever
make me feel
like i do
when my heart is wide open
& i am safe
to feel
just feel
the world around me
all of its beauty…its light & its darkness
this is me
this is mine
this is who i am & who i want to be
an open heart

when the minions are away, i have the opportunity to do things i cannot do when they are here. this is one. spreading my art all over the kitchen table. i love doing that. then i work on it, walk past it, add to it, debate over it, smudge & splatter and just be my art. ink ink everywhere.
makes me happy.
other things i do when i am alone:  talk to myself, revel in the bathroom being clean, binge watch shows on netflix, focus on myself & my healing….

sometimes being alone is a good thing.