“THE” PAINTING

Just thought I would share the finished product of the painting I referred to in my last post, at least for those of you that haven’t seen it. Van Gogh I am not!

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LIFE IS WHAT YOU DO WHILE WAITING FOR DEATH

Waiting for the burn. Not any kind of “fun” burn but the burn as in “crash and burn”. You sit and wait. You feel it, really it has been here all along but you have managed to push it away over and over like pushing away someone trying to overpower you. This is different because there are no balls to kick, no throat to punch and no eyes to jab. It is what it is at that moment when you finally realize that you are an irritable bitch not because you are tired but because tired and bitch go together when the world crashes.  Your mind spins and races while nothing gets done. I believe they call this a “mixed state”. If you have never been here, on a regular basis, then you can’t understand, ever. I can’t even try to explain it to you as it is unfathomable in the “real” world. It is the middle meeting ground of mental illness. The place that makes you realize that death is real and near. Events as of late have helped to exacerbate the swing more than I know, at least that is what I think the head shrinker was trying to say in her lovable accent. I thought, really believed, that 2013 was it. It would be my year. A published story, a man that I was in love with that supposedly loved in return, the prospect of a life that has eluded me in recent years. Instead, I struggle to stay on task. Even the dishes have become my worst enemy in the last couple of days. I have been working on a painting. All work has ceased as of late, I realized today that I had been waiting for this moment of darkness to finish it. I sometimes wonder who, if anyone, in my family shares these genetics. I have a feeling some do but are afraid of what admission means to the genius that is them. I am a surprise, even to myself. A surprise wrapped up in a pretty bow.

(BI)POLAR BARE?

 

 

I wrote a short story and it was published, AMAZING! What if nobody likes it? What if people think I am a freak because of what I wrote? Who cares what people think of me? I don’t. I do. What day is today? Maybe then I can figure out who I am. I know who I am. I am kind, generous, FABULOUS, friendly, outgoing, karma driven to love and do good, creative and damn good looking. From what I hear, my tits are great for being almost 41 too. I am depressed, desperate, the biggest bitch you ever met. I sulk and hide, I look in the mirror and see complete ugliness, I do what I want and answer to nobody, not even your god. My tits could be way better for $4000.

I love my children more than life itself and would gladly lay myself down on the railroad tracks to save them. I get frustrated. I am proud. My friends are generally of the highest quality. I find myself slumming it. I love you and I can’t stand you in the same visit. I am not better than any other human being however, you are beneath me. Should I do it again? Any of it. Should I do any of it again? I would you know. I would tweak things a little. Maybe I would go out and fuck someone else so that when you treat me like shit, you will have a reason. When you let Ankles treat me like shit, she’s just protecting your heart and interests. Instead of being sad and passive, I would show Ankles what is supposed to happen after a wife finds pics like that on her husbands phone. I am weak but strong. I am happy now with my life. Happier than I have been in years and you can’t continue to take from me. Why? He isn’t going to let you. I’d like to introduce you to…

I love Eyeore but he’s driving me nuts. Always under foot, tripping me. He’s so sweet the way he always wants to be near me.

Mostly, I am closed of to the world. Nobody knows who exactly I am inside, what I am thinking or feeling from day to day. I am a puzzle. Sometimes though, I just bare it all. Watch me cry then scream. I DO know who I am, the question is, do YOU know who YOU are?