so sad

i’m so sad
you guys, listen
i’m so sad
i feel like part of me
is missing
i know it’s a fucking
cliche
i know i am supposed
to be
stronger than this
but
i’m not
i’m just
so
sad.

tomorrow i turn 48. i am not sure how to feel. like i wrote some posts back, i cry…but i don’t know why. birthdays make me sad…but i’m not sure why.

i used to love my birthdays. i would count down from six months away. everyone would get annoyed with my constant talk of my birthday.

then i lost the love of my life due to my own damage. then i dated a psychotic narcissist for a couple years. then i got married because i thought someone loved me for real only to have him tell me, one month into the marriage, “i don’t think i love you.” then i was divorced. then i married a different psychotic narcissist and became the invisible mom. then my brother died. then i was subjected to a seven year long vicious cycle of abuse while trying to leave the psychotic narcissist.

now i am a single…profoundly alone…mom.
living in rural illinois.
having an everyday struggle with motherhood
while obsessing over that long lost love from the early ’90s.
and i don’t even feel like weeding my garden anymore.

tomorrow i turn 48.
and now i’m crying again.

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never surrender

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
rejected
criticized
ignored
pushed away
i can live a quiet life
just make art
for me
never
expose
my heart
my self
to another person ready
to break me
never stand up
to be pushed down again
i can keep myself
safe
this thought
felt like relief
for just a moment
& then
i found myself
crying
why does keeping
my heart safe
feel like giving up?

damaged

i’m so tired
of feeling damaged
i’m so tired
of feeling like i’m not worth
your time
like no one will like me
anyway
so why even try
i’m so tired
of doubting myself
of hating myself
of feeling like
i
don’t
matter
& i’m doing it all wrong
everything
wrong
&
no one
likes
me
anyway
i’m so tired
of being
my own
worst
enemy.

rough thoughts; rough sketch

he sleeps in my arms now. as beautiful, as peaceful as an angel.
but the last thing he said before he fell asleep?
he looked into my eyes.
he snarled, “i hate you.”
my four year old hates me.
he wishes i was dead.
maybe he doesn’t mean it…probably he doesn’t mean it.
but how could i blame him if he did? after all,
i spent 42 weeks hating him.
i spent 42 weeks wishing he was dead.
what kind of mother am i? not the mother he deserves.
“i hate me too,” i assure him. “i hate me too.”

my fourth child. my quixotic child. he was the only one i didn’t plan. the only one i didn’t hope & wish for. and every day since he was conceived has been a struggle for me. i love him. i truly do, & i wouldn’t trade him for the world. he is an amazing little person…but every day is a struggle. and i wonder what my struggle has done to him.

if you are interested, here is a creative non-fiction piece  i wrote about my pregnancy with him.

when in depression-ville…

sometimes depression can help my art.
wait.
no.
reverse that.
art helps with my depression.
and who better to embrace while severely depressed than my tragic alter-ego, moses jones: superstar.
doing this little bit of this page really helped. before i started working on it i was just listening to goyte tell me “your heart’s a mess” on loop (& i’m all like, “no shit, goyte…way to state the obvious….”)
and crying
so much crying.
i’m sure i will art journal about it…this feeling so fucking alone and of waiting for someone to throw me a line….

oh, wait, i guess i ended up throwing myself a line.
(threw myself a line/drew myself a line…you get it)

so this is where i will be if you need me.
drawing the line.
rescuing myself…again.

incomplete

i started doodling and, for a change, it wasn’t me i was doodling
(that’s what she said)
but then it was me…i mean
i snuck into my art journal doodle after all.
then i wrote about it.
usually i start with the words…and then i draw a picture…

that’s all i got today.
but i kinda like my drawing

dodo dreaming

when i was a kid
i coped by mentally packing
planning
what will i take?
where will i go?
what will i do?
when i was in an abusive
relationship
i coped
by mentally packing
what will i take?
where will i go?
what will i do?
somehow
circumstances
have led me back
to my childhood
home
& the precarious situation
of having my parents
as my
landlords.
if things
should
turn
ugly
my brain is already
always
packing….

look at dodo bird me.
i wish i could say things with my folks were magically healing and wonderful. that my mom gave me a hug and said, “sorry i was such a crap-ass mom.” and then dad would apologize for being an asshole. and then unicorns would dance across rainbows.

my mom is not talking to me. my dad is avoiding me.
mom only talks to complain about me and to sing dusty’s praises–loudly in front of me. apparently he is a better daughter than i have ever been. for the life of me, i cannot think of anything i have done to her.
whatever it was it must have been super awful.
i had dusty come down. he has the super powers of a sociopath where he can be in the trenches and not be effected.
not mentally & emotionally
shut down.
dusty is literally a life-saver in this situation.
literally.