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somber

How my thoughts have turned green

In the way that old Pennies do

And not

In the way that summer grass grows

On that penny is my sallowed face

Sickly tarnished

wondering if my one cent is worth anything

Even though I know the world is contactless

[stuckinapril]

[hitmyvape]

[remanence-of-love]

[lanndscape]

[aqua-regia009]

Return from the Ball, 1879 - oil on canvas — Henri Gervex (French, 1852-1929)

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Augustus Leopold Egg (1816-1863) "Self Portrait as a Distressed Poet" (1856) Oil on canvas

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Day 7 of doing art; Dwight

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Day 6 of doing art (poems count as art)

Here’s two haiku’s

Enjoy

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Day 5 of doing art, I hate this one

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Day 4 of doing art

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11/8/18

Yesterday morning I had a psych eval to see if I can get medicine for my anxiety. I wasn’t really hoping on taking Prozac again but that’s what he prescribed me with. He also prescribed Lorazepam. I like to think about it as an Advil but instead of a headache its a panic attack. I took one last night and I’m still feeling the effects. I’m tired, I couldn’t eat all day… that kind of stuff. What really surprised me though was the diagnosis he gave me. He seemed reluctant to really put any label on anything. He said to a degree everyone who has anxiety has a touch of depression, and that mine is pretty mild. He said that some psychiatrists would try and diagnose me with borderline personality disorder, since I show all the symptoms for it. But he said it all boils down to PTSD. All of the symptoms I have are from childhood trauma, and if it goes untreated, it’ll become me and I’ll have borderline personality disorder. So honestly I’m really scared that I won’t ever heal. I felt worse about it earlier, but I feel better about it now. I’m more hopeful. I want to hold on to this hope. 

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2/26/23

Spoiler alert; she does heal.

It started slowly. And to be honest, I didn’t even know it was happening. All I knew was that I went to therapy every week, felt awful and cried, and still somehow went back. This was for years. I didn’t know that was healing. I didn’t know moving out was healing. I didn’t know taking baths was healing. I didn’t know I would never forget to unplug the curling iron. I didn’t know that the opposite side of the shower curtain was safe. I didn’t know that there werent any monsters in the closet.

They never were.

I had already known them. The real monsters slept in their beds at night, got up in the morning, did their job, watered their plants, paid their bills, and ate leftover pad Thai. The monsters just got good at playing human. I should know. I was one of them.

Consumed with my own self loathing, I made everything about myself. If I was miserable then everyone else had to be. If I was suicidal, everyone had to drop everything to care. If I hurt myself, why didn’t someone stop me. All delusions from a clear mind. Its funny how someone so self obsessed can be the most self critical. Or maybe it makes perfect sense. I don’t know. I’d like to say Im not that girl anymore but she still lives inside of me, whining every time I get rejected or stomping her feet when I make her drink a glass of water.

Almost 5 years later and I’m still on the same medications. But so much has changed. I live with my sister. I’m fully immersed in the hobbies I never got to do. I have a beautiful, wonderful cat. I took some time off from school. However, some things remained; my job, my hopeless romantic tendencies, my writing, all the necessary things of course.

Right now Im still figuring some things out. How to pay taxes, how to be a healthy partner, how to treat others the way I want to be treated, how to spell restaurant without using autocorrect, etc.

Now I know that healing is possible. But I don’t think “fully” healing is ever possible. There will always be that voice in the back of your mind. You just have to learn the right tricks to override it. What I want to know about future me is; will love ever stay? Does it fade? And why am I so obsessed with it?

Here’s to hoping there’s a happy ending-

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Day 3 of doing art

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Day 2 of drawing or painting or writing

Today is a quick sketch of my boyfriends cat looking at his pet fish (who she’s in love with).

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Day #1 of painting or sketching or writing (or any other art otherwise)

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the forest meets dirt at the edge of a river bank

an organic coexistence  

the corrosive River, with its brisk current 

and the stationary Forest, with its planted roots 

the immovable object meets the unstoppable force

and find 

that they are both accustomed to watching things come and go

but also wonder 

who is imposing on who?

[cultofink]

Pretty girls don't have delusions 

They have epiphanies 

So 

After powdering my face

I had an epiphany 

I found my autobiography in a lemonade recipe

it all made sense

The way he was so bright, blinding yellow

The way I was in pieces, sweet crystals

It seemed alluring to melt into him

Romantic, even 

I danced myself into dissolving 

But lemon seeds don’t disintegrate quite like I do

In the end it was all too sour

Turns out

There was never enough of me

Or maybe he was too much 

Either way,

next recipe I'll try to become cake icing

[tsunamiwavesurfing]