Sometimes Our Demons Win

I have held them at bay for weeks and months, but this last week they loudly rattled their cages, where they were being held captive. I was barely holding myself together.  I even went to a couple of art shows, thinking it would lift my spirits and I would be able to keep them at bay.

However, I woke up Saturday from a dream that I can’t even remember and cried. The person I wanted to text/call is no longer an opinion for more reason than I can count. The others depend on me to be happy, bubbly, and positive. The demons had broken free and whispered, “See, you have no one, you are alone.”

All those words that had been shouted at me over the last few months true or not, didn’t matter to the demons. The words are fuel for them, whispers that come from nowhere.

You’re not a good mother

Even your own child hates you

You are a failure

No one will ever love you

You are not worth their time

You are not good enough

You were only a sexual objective

Your pussy is the only thing men want

No one really cares

You will always a secret

 

Most of the time I use satire to get through any of my fears, insecurities, or self-doubt. I’m the one with the quick wit. I’m outspoken, confident, and usually self-assured but sometimes life’s just too heavy even for me. Even though I am willing to carry the burdens of another; I don’t want to be a burden. Many times, I accept the blame that is not solely mine to carry.

For years, I wanted the approval from others so I would wear a different mask to accommodate to them.  One day, I looked in the mirror, I didn’t even recognize myself and it was that moment I knew my life had to change.

I faced some of my demons through that process of self-discovery.  However, there are still some that sit deep within my physic.

The logical part of my brain and screamed at me loudly, “get up and fold the laundry. It is just sitting.”

“Paint or clean, get out of bed!” Logic screams.

The tears would pour out and I couldn’t stop them.

The demon mutters “No one will ever understand your pain because it’s stupid. You deserve to suffer.”.

I would even yell at myself to stop crying and feeling ridiculous because I couldn’t make it stop.

It was around 1pm on Sunday, and I was on the countdown, the kids would be home and I would have to pull myself together. I folded laundry, did some laundry. By 3 I finally got dressed and left my bedroom to clean, but continued to cry. The rain had stopped and it was dry enough to dig in the dirt and choked down the tears. I couldn’t let them out anymore. I needed to put the demons back into their cages or release them into the atmosphere.

I had to be the mom, who has it all together. I didn’t want them to know I had fallen apart. I didn’t want anyone to know that I was sad, that I listened to my demons. I especially DIDN’T want anyone to think I was suicidal. I was hurting from not just one thing, but a culmination of several and I needed to live there for a little while.

This is the longest amount of time I have ever given into my demons and/or my emotions and I don’t fully understand these moments.  It was a series of several events that create this physical and emotional break. Perhaps through this flood I have given it to the universe and released all the bullshit we tell ourselves.

I’m still not a 100%, but I will get there one moment at a time.

There is no plan, there is just right now

I am a planner. I plan out my life. After, I graduated from college, I figured out that the plan changes and that’s ok.

I have changed it, altered and moved it.  It’s a work in progress.

I survived marriage, a divorce, unemployment, heartbreak, and parenting

I learned to listen to my voice, even when no one else understood. I discovered that there are more free thinkers out there in the world.  I wasn’t looking in the right spot or I had become to shut off.

I know lots of things and at the same time feel like I know nothing.

Today, I realize there is no fucking plan, there is just right now!

Creativity and Sex

I was staring at this canvas that needed to be toned yellow in preparation for this painting on self-touch. Its whiteness mocks me.  I have been sitting on this idea, minimally sketching about it. I have been so lost with school. That I forgot to paint. I forgot the thing that makes sense to me. The NEED to create. I have been reading about why artists have made art. How to stop and really see?  What is considered art?  I have been introduced to feminist artists, which I might be more like then I thought.

I have abstained from sex and men kind of in general.

I had a mean girl’s night.

I have masturbated.

I have read blogs and found people who I can discuss sexuality and creativity with. They seem to understand that these two parts are connected.   They get how these two are so intertwined.

There was a point where I couldn’t focus. I wanted to quit, to give up. I wanted to have sex to clear the chaos that was running through my brain. I want to get lost in something that made me feel amazing.  I even trolled my phone for about twenty minutes for someone to call or text. I couldn’t do it. I finally felt like my heart and vagina have found some common ground.

I was stressed and I want to touch a man. I wanted to feel his warmth, feel his body, his touch and his smell. I wanted to exchange energy and body fluids. I wanted to connect to someone new in real life and not online, not in a text, but letting someone new in scares the fucking shit out of me.

Instead of texting…

Instead of calling…

Instead of letting someone new in…

Right here in this studio, where I had wept over school and life. I laid out a blanket. I turned off the light. The room glowed from the candles that were lit in the window ledges and on the desk. I turned on the sounds of crystal bowls. I laid on the floor, stared at the sketches of my vagina on the wall. There are a few with my fingers, one with a dildo, one that’s a close-up of my clitoris.

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I took a deep breath, little coconut oil and began to message around my vagina, I rubbed my labia in between my thumb and index finger. First, the right and the left. I grabbed my thigh and moved my hand up to my breasts and pulled  my nipples. I grabbed my crystal wand, it was so cold on my skin. I lightly moved it crossed my clit and back again. It felt so smooth and gave me a tingling sensation.

I moaned aloud as I slid this cold hard wand inside of me. I widened my hips and my knees bent pointing outward while the bottoms of my feet came together to make a triangle. I paced my breaths with the in and out motions of my wand that I controlled with my left hand, while I continued to rub my clit with my right index and middle fingers. I arched my back and separated my feet. I pushed the wand out while I orgasmed loudly, staring at the shadows on the ceiling and with tears in my eyes. I lay for a while to catch my breath and to feel my pussy pulsate.

The was an act of self love not a sin to be ashamed of, this is the reason this painting should be painted.

I got dressed and turned on the light and put yellow paint on the pallet. I opened my google music app and selected my paint playlist.  MGK’s, “At my best” played as I made the first circular stroke.

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Paralyzed by Fear

Paralyzed by fear.

If reading and comprehension come easily to you, you may not full understand the paralyzing fear of reading or reading out loud. The fear of being told that you are dumb or stupid, to have teachers and peers make you feel like you less than because it takes you longer to read or process. This was my experience from elementary through middle school and even Jr. High.  It was better in High school and much easier during my undergrad.

Tonight, I am sitting at my desk with my printed out essay that I need to read. Its only 9 pages. I start out pretty confident, after all I am 36 and have learned ways to cope with my dyslexia. I have found programs that make my life easier, things that assist with my writing. I buy dual copies of books in paper and audio this helps retain me as I follow along.

In the event that I couldn’t get a text on audio. I would just read it out loud. This works for the most part until I get into textual work or theory, when I get to words I can’t pronounce and start to stubble. I start to get lost in the unfamiliar words. I completed last paragraph on page 3 and the tears start to fall.

I start the next page. Suddenly, I see myself as that 12 year old working on homework for hours, crying and telling my mom that I am stupid.  I would get frustrated and she would should different ways to work a math problem, and even though I would finally understand it. I would still cry because I knew that Mrs. Ragor would count it wrong because it had not been done her way.  I was teased and told I was stupid by not just my peers but by educators. If I had not had a mother that was determined to help me, I would not be where I am today. It was my hungry to learn and her determination that made us unstoppable.

I continued to struggle through this 1930’s essay that yes is still relevant. I hit record on my phone, thinking I might be tempted to share and exert of my reading, but that may be too scary. Online classes add to these fears and anxieties, it’s all textual and becomes a sea of letters and words that I am drowning in. I read through my fears. I can’t read this in my head because it bounces off like my brain is rubber.

Finally, I get through it, the notes were not taken and it took me about an hour and a half. I sat there the tears leaking out of my eyes as if I can finally release the sea I was just drowning in.

It was at this moment, I sent another message to my professors and asked about dropping a class. I felt like a total failure. I couldn’t do this. Two classes, children, and work. There is no way! It’s too much and the reading has me feeling like a failure. All I have ever wanted to do was write and make art, but maybe it wasn’t meant to be. These thoughts of the things my middle school teachers use to say to me were screaming, so loudly in my head. I felt so defeated in that moment. I hit send on my email and let the tears flow.

One of my professors had responded to a previous email. He reminded me of my accommodation and advised me to submit my documentation.  I haven’t had to do this in years, but I will dig out paper work. He told me about PDF reader opinion “read out loud,” which I had to google.  I pulled up the pdf of the textbook my other professor had sent me. The “read out loud”, was the lifeline I needed last night. It’s not ideal, but it worked!!

After I complete these sections. I was going to scan in the previous essay, then I realized that I had a theory book that was on audio, low and behold this fucking essay that took me nearly 90 mins to read, was on the audio text I have.  I listened to this essay and took notes for another 20mins, it all made sense to me.

It was 2 AM by the time I finished. I sat with my 12 year old self. She reminded me of all the things I was afraid of and I reminded her of how far we have come. Together we cried not because it was over, but she is the only one that truly understands.

 

Overwhelmed

Well, I feel overwhelmed and I want to have sex, but I am taking a break from that. I want to forget that I feel like my life is spinning out of control.  The reality is that it’s not out of control, it’s just finding a new balance. My fears kick in, “can I read the material fast enough and I will be able to maintain the schedule.”  yet I always find my way.

I am a 36 year old dyslexic who knows all the coping skills with a 4.0 GPA and yet there are moments that I feel like the 12 year old girl so afraid to read out loud.

Dear Fuckboy

I thought I would have more of a epic feeling when I let you go. I knew when I met you that there would be an ending to this chapter. Ha-Ha, I really didn’t think you would have a chapter but you most certainly do.  We manage to keep the lines clear for the most part. There were moments when the lines were blurry, usually in the euphoria of mind blowing sex.

However, everytime we came back to this reality, the truth was we are not on the same vibrational level. I also know we have attempted to end this several times, but we still keep falling back into this pattern. I have told you I am ready for more  and that you are not the one.  I want someone who will connect to my mind, my heart and my soul. You are not this man.

I used you to make the hurtful emotions I was dealing with to go away. I wanted you to bring me to that euphoric state. But I’m also aware that it was time to deal with the hurt and to not go numb or replace it.  I no longer need to be afraid to let down my guard, so instead of texting “let’s fuck”, I texted “let’s end this for real”

You didn’t put up a fight you responded “do what you want”

However, when you came to my house at 12:30 AM and woke me up, not by a phone call or a text, but my throwing shit at my bedroom window like a teenage trapped inside a 40 year old man’s body. This was a violation of a clear line drawn out previously that you are not allowed here when my kids are home!

You seemed shocked when I opened the door not with a smile, but a baseball bat. I remind you that I had told you I was done. I reminded you that my children were home.

We didn’t fight there was not yelling. You were drunk, trying to convince me that I am the one and we should run away together. I lightened the grip on my bat. When tried to kiss me and I turned my head, you looked so hurt and when you went in for a second kiss and I gave in.

I felt nothing! I was no longer connecte; I had released myself!

The bat still in my right hand, hanging by my side. I look at you and said I release you too!  I am done, don’t come back, go give yourself to some who needs you.

I left you standing there on my porch. I went inside, locked the door behind me, turn off the porch light and went to bed peacefully.

Good bye fuckboy you have served your purpose!

Ready for the Pieces

Dating at 35 with a pretty clear head of what I want in a partnership has been challenging. Partly because I started before I was ready. Before I did the real work. I got attached to men that were emotionally and sometimes physically unavailable. This is my pattern, my mirror because the truth is/was I am emotionally unavailable. My emotional, physical, and mental needs are out of wack.

It has been a series of mix signals, vagueness, and men afraid of hurting my feelings, ghosting, or just keeping me as a possibility. Seriously, a TIP for men and women, stop fucking playing games, it is unnecessary. If you are not interested, just say it. Yes, there will be hurt feelings, but it hurts a lot less the not knowing and for fuck sake if you don’t know say that too. The truth can be hard to hear, but is better for both to be on the same page.

Communication!!! I’m not sure why we are so fucking afraid of this action.

Life is messy and everyone is on their own path and at different stages of the game. For I while I thought that maybe this was payback, karma for something I had done to someone else. After several bad dates, I agreed to give Mr.X a shot. We had been connecting. The date was decent but we were not in the same place. I was still shut out and while he kissed me good night I shut down, completely. I look him in the eyes and said “I don’t feel this. I know you want to be loved and I can’t give you that.” I didn’t want to waste his time and he had done nothing wrong. He accepted that and we have remained friends and not Facebook friends, but actually friends. After that, I shut down for a while convinced myself I wasn’t ready. I did have some things I still had to work on.

One still is, ending it with fuck boy, it’s a temptation, but one I should give it up. It’s time, time for my mind, my vagina, and most importantly my heart to match.

I met Mr. X over the weekend, I was reluctant at first, but decide it’s time to focus on the moment. This was marvelous and short lived.

Here’s what I learned:

I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed intimacy. The touch of a man and looking into somebody’s eyes as you both try to figure it all out. It’s rare that a man can make me live in the moment and keep my mind from racing with a million scenarios of why it won’t work. Although, I tried. The intimate touches are different than fucking. Sexual attraction is easy. It’s going beyond that. It’s about open up my heart that is so difficult. When he asked me to dance and he touched me, I didn’t shut down. Through the course of the next few days I thought “I can open up, be vulnerable and accept the possibility of love”

I was reminded what it’s like to kiss somebody you like. To think I can get on this ride. I can test the waters. I can be open and comfortable to feel that a sensual touch. I let down my guard and listened to his heartbeat under your ear. I felt safe at that moment. I realized how much I actually missed by being so guarded. I also realize that there are men out there that can be in touch with their needs and can be honest about where they are at.

It was brief and I was upset over that brief encounter ending because I realized I what I been missing. I’m a little scared, but I am ready to be more open.

I want a partner! I don’t want a boyfriend or I don’t want a husband. I want somebody who will share in my excitement, my sorrows, my life experiences and I want to share theirs. I may not be ready to share my whole world with anyone just yet. However, I ready to share pieces at first. I know when the right person comes along I will be able to share my whole world.

For now I am ready start with pieces, and the process might be messy, but it might just turn out beautiful at the same time. It’s a whirlwind of emotions that are magnificent. I miss being vulnerable and letting people in. I’m not saying I don’t still have stuff that I’m working on and dealing with it, personal goals that I’ve set for myself, but I’m ready to be in the moment and not over think the next step.