if you’re gone

he was my muse
my favorite thing to draw
the only face
i wanted to see
he was my burden
my obstruction
the thing i ran away from
every other day
he was my savior
the only one who ever believed in me
he was my daily reminder
that one day i would lose
everything
everything that ever mattered
i only wanted him
after i had thrown him away
i only let myself love him
after i had lost him.

i don’t know what year this journal entry was from…maybe 1994? 1995? the poem(ish) is from today because every song is reminding me of him…again.

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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.

my life, my universe, my everything

this is an ink stain creation from…when? is there a date on it? there should be a date on it, but i think i cut it off in the scanning of it and the original was used as a piece of stationary to write a letter to seymour.
of course, seymour never responds to my love notes…
maybe if i put a “do you like me back” with a box to check yes and a box to check no.
seymour does not respond to my–i don’t even know what it qualifies as–dedication? obsession? true love? stalking?
who the fuck knows? not this socially backwards chickadee.
i’m sure one of the many mental health professionals that likes to follow my blog could weigh in…but would i listen…probably not.

in other mental health news…
i thought i had popped back out of my depression. i mean, while the minions were with dusty, i was functional and not too mopey. i got things done. i did not spend all day in bed…or drinking…or drinking in bed….
but then i had to see dusty in order to fetch the minions, and that seems to have triggered a fresh depression.
yay.
i just feel so much anger towards him. so much betrayal. so much frustration & helplessness. and i can’t talk to him about it, because he finds a way to turn everything i say to him into a weapon against me.
that is some fucking talent.
so he has been paying for my internet, and we have been using his netflix account. many months, this is the only child support i see from him.
but now his contract with the internet is up, & he is cancelling that as well as his netflex (or so i hear from the minions.)
for some reason, this leaves me feeling so fucking pissed off. so fucking pissed off.
i am already super isolated in the country with four kids. i mean, i assumed his canceling the internet was a financial decision, but a friend suggested it might be for the purposes of further isolating me…and i could not find an argument to the contrary.
abusive men do like to isolate.
however, dusty has not has a job since he lost his job last january by coming down here (and staying past his welcome) when i asked him down to help with my parents. he never even told me there were issues with his job. i only found out much later that he was fired for blowing his job off to come down here.
so, yeah, it’s my fault he was fired.
but then he found another job, recently, but quit it when he thought i might let him move in here. even though i told him it was a maybe and we could talk about it. then of course i was given that big neon sign from the universe that he is still a prick & will always be a prick & what the fuck am i thinking?
but, in the couple of days where i considered it–before sobering up–he went ahead & quit his job.
did he talk to me about it first seeing as his moving to illinois was dependent on my letting him move here?
or seeing as me & the minions are directly affected by his income or lack thereof?
no…mr. “let’s talk” did not talk to me before quitting his job.
and now he likes to mention it as if it is my fault.
it’s my fault he quit his job…of course it is.

okay. rant done.

so now i am depressed again. a garden sits waiting for rain and for me to get off my sad ass to turn the soil & plant more veg. one of my bee hives died and i need to address that. the new chicken coop waits for me to build it. and, of course, sheep…goats…ducks….geese…and minions.

in conclusion, if there is a wealthy benefactor and/or someone handy on a homestead out there waiting to pop into my life, now might be the time.

in my dreams

you were in my dreams last night
all of them
sweet dreams where i laid my head
on your chest
& hoped
that i would always feel that way
as i stared
into your warm brown eyes
hoping that you would always
love me.
how am i supposed to live like this
without you?
how am i supposed to embrace
the loneliness
of a life
without
you?
you are the ghost that haunts me
the haunting that leaves me
repenting my sins
you filled my dreams
last night
& now
i just want
to go back to sleep.

truly madly deeply

i will gladly
spend my days
chaste as a monk
letting my passion
spill
onto a page
if it means
you will come to me
at night
if you will fill my dreams
every
night.

remember that movie? truly madly deeply…with alan rickman? if you haven’t seen it, do. it’s a totally amazing, funny & sweet movie.
that’s me. living my love affair with a ghost and avoiding real life.
except my ghost isn’t dead…he lives in philadelphia and resists all my efforts to woo the fuck right out of him.
between him…i am going to go ahead & call him “seymour” because that is his name in my confusion perfume comic…go ahead & go read that if you haven’t already…between seymour & dusty…i feel like i am ruined for relationships. seymour because no one can live up to what he is to me, & dusty because i am afraid everyone will live up to what he is to me.
so!
being that i have always been better at fictional relationships anyway (i used to date the young paul newman as well as the living james dean when i was in my twenties,) i am just going to go ahead and have a fictional relationship with the man who left me 22 years ago.

before last weekend & dusty’s visit, i did my tarot cards. my card (the card representing me) was skill & it was crossed with/conflicted by physical pleasure. in short, i need to focus on creative efforts, my art & writings as well as my family & homestead…but i am distracted by my own loneliness.
so i made this deal with my subconscious, if it lets seymour visit me in my dreams at night, i will focus & hone my creativity by day.

so far so good.
i mean, in my dreams, i am trying to absorb every bit of what i feel being with him so i can keep it with me always…& when i wake, the dreams bring a certain amount of comfort…but they also fill me with a sad longing….

but that’s good for art, right?

self-portrait with bandaged heart

self-portrait with bandaged ear

it seems i am unable
to not
fuck things up
sabotage
is my secret weapon
against myself
do you laugh
or do you cringe?
silly stupid
crazy hostile
me
do you laugh or do you
cringe?
when you left
you left
a hole in me
for 22 years
i have worked to
deny it
fill it
fix it
mourn it
claim it was never there
& cry my heart out
over it
but i imagine
when you left
all that remained of me
was an
echo
maybe i am cursed
maybe i am
silly stupid
crazy hostile me
if anything
if everything
i am
ridiculous
i am ridiculous
who does this?
who holds on like this?
& why?
what will become of me?
another 22 years
limping along
living despite
this hole
this missing part?
i guess that is it
others have hurt me
but no one else
has left me
feeling
split in two.

if i were a van gogh…or a bronte sister…or adele, maybe this would be more romantic & less disturbed.
am i disturbed? or is it just that my heart knows what it wants
despite my best efforts to make it shut up and grow up and get over it already.

but i carry my cut out heart in a stained handkerchief to hand to the one i love.
figuratively speaking.

let’s take a little break with some moses jones

holy crap, y’all
i got a little addicted to the okcupid.
i jokingly told my kids that it was my favorite
online game.
i would go to the profile of someone
who supposedly
i had more in common with
& very little uncommon with
and i would read through their answers
to those random
fucked up questions
i think i lost two days?
three?
depression, loneliness, & online dating
my idea was
get this
i would find someone sane
to date, fall in love, & rule the world with
and i looked at all these guys
while giving some vanilla (vanilla for me)
answers
to hard questions
(some i did answer more hap-hazardly)
hoping to find mr. right-minded.
you know the guy who
lets me be as crazy as i need to be
but is there to catch me when i fall.
i messaged some of those guys.
nothing back.
so then one night i come across the most bitterly
funny
& dark
& admittedly not-right-in-the-head profile
and i’m all like
yes!
i love you!
&, of course, not being right in the head
myself
i message him this.
nope.
not even the crazies
are crazy enough
to date me.

but enough about me.
here is page two of my graphic novel moses jones: apocalyptic mama. i haven’t done any art in the past couple of days due to binging on okcupid & then crying myself to sleep, but i hope to do some tonight. maybe a new page of mojo? so those of you who have never read it, take a peek. there is a link up yonder.  and if you feel like collaborating &/or dating & running away with me. give me a holler.

(“rosanna” by toto just came on my mix, so i’m guess that that is a sign that the one crazy enough to sweep me off my feet is near 😉 )

ps. i put this photo of me awkwardly playing with my bokken on my okcupid profile…bad idea or good idea?

picture7