i am feeling
instead of killing
i have been thinking a lot. go figure. it’s my favorite past-time.
this week, i took two of my lambs, my first two lambs, and i learned how to butcher them.
i had so much anxiety leading up to it. dread. serious contemplations on vegetarianism.
then the time came, and i was fine. i was more than fine. i was doing things i never knew i could do.
and it made me think about how emotional detachment has always been part of my damage…but sometimes…sometimes…it really comes in handy.
i started thinking about “dysfunctional life skills.”
the things we learn in order to survive a fucked-up childhood or an abusive relationship. those weird super powers. sometimes they cause us pain…other times they save us.
i want to explore this more.
but right now i am binging on jessica jones
and wondering why i am so attracted to the character kilgrave. is it just because he is played by david tennant? or is it another part of my damage to seek out other darkness? or is it just that i am empathetic to a fault and want to save those other damaged souls?
an empty house leaves too much time to think.
so in the late 90s
i was contemplating suicide
then some guy i met in a bar
after knowing me
just a few weeks
& i thought marriage
might be a little less
having the theory that
if i could
who did not irritate me
maybe i could make it work
…& that is how
i met my first
marriage. less permanent than death. there’s my tag line for the event.
we eloped to the smoky mountains in tennessee where a civil servant read us the words outside of his mountaintop home.
it didn’t last long.
the ceremony or the marriage.
he didn’t irritate me…but he was also pretty emotionally unavailable. and one thing i need to be available to me is emotion. a kind heart. a shoulder to cry on.
my parents here.
lots of epiphanies to why i’m a disaster in relationships. lots & lots & lots of little clues to that destructive part of my personality.
so much fun.
when i was young
and writing comics about
my disastrous relationships
i wrote one about my olphelia fantasies.
safe from love & madness…
you know, dead.
as i got older
more & more minions
my olphelia fantasies
were replaced by those of
i did this ink over the past few days. i saw olphelia floating there. and it seemed to me that all of these fantastic creatures had gathered to save her.
to save her from herself.
to save her from love & madness.
i thought that was a better ending.
notice the fantastic.
look for the magic.
let nightmare creatures
sink deep into the water.
it’s one of those days
that i have too often
where i don’t see the point of my own species
misanthropy moves deep beneath my skin
a part of me
i think about suicide
and my thought is,
“fuck the survivors. they had a chance to change how they treated her.
they had a chance to understand.
to offer help.
they had their chance
but now they curse the dead for dying
and bemoan their own pain.
‘if only i had known
i would have helped’
but you did know…
how could you have not known?
you might not have been able
it’s hard to fight the demons
that chew at a brain
a soul…leaving you empty inside.”
i think as i do the dishes
make the breakfast
knead the dough
wipe up the messes
realizing once again
that my children are innocent
and cannot be left unattended
in this fucked up world
“well, there goes that escape,”
i say to myself.
no sylvia plath for me.
it’s funny, exhusband#2 accused me of–well, i’m not sure what–he insinuated i was up to no good because i checked out some sylvia plath writings & biographies. i’m not sure what he was accusing me of.
“i’m doing research,” i told him. “i reference her all the time. i think i should make sure i’m not being reckless with my references.”
what was he accusing me of?
researching my suicide via literature?
trying to be dark & depressed & desperate enough to stick my head in an oven?
is that something you would be nasty to someone about? their suicidal tendencies? but, i guess that is par for the course for exhusband#2.
i am so angry at him. mostly for not being the person i had convinced myself he was. the person i needed him to be. for being an asshole when i needed a hero. the anger helps. it helps to keep me from reaching out to him when i am lonely.
which is often.
it keeps me from reaching out to him when i am desperate.
which is all the time.
it keeps me from convincing myself that things aren’t as bad…that he isn’t as bad as i know he is.
sometimes anger is good.
sometimes anger has a place.