20240408

Be good

 i cry every day. i cannot help it. 
i think of dying every day. i cannot help it.
I haven’t drawn, made art. Anything in YEARS.

 my mom, before she had me, ended a pregnancy. she had been held against her will, in a basement, fed drugs and assaulted, tied down to a mattress. she escaped, crawled from the basement window to her freedom. 

 she never really escaped. no one does. Some moments are like black holes.

 Recently, i asked why she didn't let me stay with CPS and foster care. i pulled away, i cried,  i didn't want to go back to hunger and cigerettes and violence. "i know, I’m sorry… but you were mine.." her voice cracked with the saying, so soft; a broken heaviness to the truth. i understood her more than ever in that moment.
I am a father now.

 i have a hard time letting go. i love you all so much. i always have. even them that still wish me ill, i just would hug you to pieces if i could. i can't though, can i? i've cut off my arms a handful of ways. puns. 

 i had been left with a preacher man and his wife for a time. the people who baptized me. i was very little. my mother was told not to report the bruises to the police for the good of the church. For her own good. 

 i didn't even remember my baptismal until this recent conversation with my mom. i had been trying to talk to my mother about the past, to get some clarity on when/where/what. i do not remember things like other folks its been my experience. I have an illness.

 A black white and red snapshot of my mothers arm in my stepfathers hand, nude bodies silhouetted in the moonlight, a red thread from it to her body on the floor. Attached/unattached.

An uncles dark basement. 

A cousin twice my age and size in the warm summer woods.
 
 I want to be good, to love and to give joy unending to everyone I can. But I cannot. I am in the dark. I am in the woods. I’m a scared little 6yr old boy and have been for 46 years. I HAVE HURT PEOPLE and allowed myself to wallow in the self-hatred a dark forest can create inside us.
I cannot escape. No one does.

 It’s called dissociative disorder.
I was diagnosed in the 90’s. I used to collect social security for it. I probably still should, because I’m fucking unemployable, but I keep trying to be normal. Hold a job. Go to school. To carry on like it was nothing. After all, invisible wounds. Nothing to see here folks!

 I HURT people. People who loved me and cared for and accepted me. I threw away every relationship and friendship aside from a handful of the most forgiving philosophical types. I don’t want forgiveness I deserve this shit but please know;
I AM SO SORRY PEOPLE.  I CANNOT FIND WORDS TO MAKE IT ANY MORE TRUE. I’m so sorry. i wish it was enough.
                   

20220409

nothing good


i look back at this blog and it's unbelievably cringy and gross. diaries are like that i guess. when i read my sketchbooks... it'd be laughable if it wasn't so shitty. my life is a joke. i'm a failure. i was then and i am now. all i've done is disappoint people. use people. i'm a bad person. i don't think i can change.
 
i'm a husk. empty. already dead.
just so tired of being me.

20171109

20170826

birdysfunction

I am a fool.

20170819

nodogsgotoheaven

I feel like im holding my breath, looking down from a great height.. Waiting for the count of three..

1..

2..