my stigmata is showing

boxcutter to the jugular
i joke
it’s a good name
for a punk rock band
but
inside
i find comfort
in the thought
boxcutter
to the jugular
what the fuck
is wrong
with me
that i can erupt
into this
pus-filled mountain
of pain?

i tried to draw a peaceful illustration to balance this one out, but she ended up developing stigmata.
so, you all have figured out by now, i spend a fuck load lot of time thinking about things. especially things about myself.
here is my thought in response to this post…people think anger is a bad thing…they think suicidal thoughts are dangerous…they frown at emotions, etc.
but what if these things are actually normal & to some extent healthy? violent action & follow through on suicidal or homicidal thoughts are bad–yes. however, what if you use your anger to resolve internal & external issues? what if you acknowledge those violent thoughts & then just let them go?
i know that as soon as i wrote this post, i started to feel better.
tomorrow’s post will address some thoughts on emotion. as i was trying to think of a title for it, i realized i could not think of a reference to emotions that was positive.
why are we so negative about emotions?
why do we try so hard to control them–in ourselves & in others?

white picket fences

do oddballs
get happily ever
afters
hallmark family photos
where
the dad
is smiling
being a dad
do weirdos
get second
chances
after they choose the wrong
guy
hallmark family photos
where the stepdad
is smiling
loving the kids
as if they were
his own
do freaks
get white picket fences
&
sunday dinners
&
a shoulder to cry on
instead
of one
that
turns
away?

feeling a bit like the orphan looking through the window of a happy family.
i know there is no such thing as normal & hallmark moments…or is that just something we misfits tell ourselves to make it through the night?
i know social media is designed to make everyone & every life look perfect & enviable…
but i still sometimes cry, knowing that there really is–on that profile page–a man who knows how to be there for his wife & kids, and that there is oh so definitely not a man like that in my life.
never has been
in my life
not my dad
not either of my husbands
not one of the dozens of men i’ve dated….

and i cannot bring myself to believe that the odds are that tilted against me. then i know it must be me. then i feel stupid, awkward, ugly, & unwanted. not even an orphan…i am a stray dog with three legs and matted fur bound to be euthanized when no one adopts me.

crap.

i would apologize for the melodramatic pity party…but i feel too sad & gross.

just for the record– i am almost never naked in real life (and my wings are not so visible)…the nudity is symbolic of my bearing myself via my art journal self-portrait series. also, it is an effort to normalize natural bodies. or that’s what i tell myself. maybe i just don’t want to bother drawing clothes….

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