i've been down, really kinda scary down. ashamed of my meager life and my little retail job. tired of explaining that Marines don't make 6 figure salaries. worried about my physical health. i have a doctor's appointment about my diabetes and my broken foot and broken knee on Tuesday.
it's been three years and i miss him as much now as i did the moment he "left" me. i remember sitting beside him in the hospital after they pronounced him gone. i couldn't believe his body was there but he was gone. he was gone; just gone.
i sat there holding his arm, trying to get his fingers to close around mine but it was all wrong. he wasn't warm anymore. and he was getting cooler.
sadly i still remember this with clarity and detail that astounds me. but then i've always been cursed/blessed with a great capacity for memory.
i've held many jobs over my life. when i was 16, i was a model. i never told anyone that after i left my hometown. but i was. i was a little local model for a boutique. it was my mother's idea and i always did what she told me to do. but the one thing i have always been is an artist. i was called a shy child, extremely withdrawn. i wasn't really though. i was just careful. i never wanted to get into trouble. when i was 7 my mother was told to get me involved in some activity after school. i asked for art lessons. she allowed it. and i've never stopped being creative, artistic.
Antonin Artaud wrote: "no one has ever written, painted, sculpted, modeled, built, or invented except to literally get out of hell."
i can tell you, from my experience, that statement is true.
i still paint.
footboard of my bed that i don't use but it's leaning against the wall in my hallway with books slowly building up underneath it. so i guess it's a glorified book end.
the headboard that i actually use as a headboard. i also play my ocean waves sounds to try and go to sleep with.
my shark board. it's leaning against the wall of my bedroom on my dresser. i love him. such a flawless machine.
my embroidery piece that i am working on for a Memory Quilt. it has taken me hours and hours,
and hours and hours to do this and i am still not done. there is still so much more shading and highlighting to do. i'll take a photo when i am done.
and of course, Bunny's clothes and her bags i wear, the way i use her as my alter ego, is all my art.
and my words. my writing. it builds up inside me and i have to let it out. i have to tell someone about what i feel. you guys are it. you are all i have.
i am grieving still. i get along okay. i am fighting this slump with all that i have inside me,
which is my love for him, and my children. i can't let them down.
and my silly little dogs. i love them so much.
now i need to try and love myself a little bit. more than self preservation. more than, "i'm doing it for him and my children." i need to try and like myself. i need to find something inside me that my mother never saw, that my father ignored, the my brother turned his back on, that my first husband turned cold towards......
i need to find something inside me that only my Dragon saw.
my children? aw, they love me because i am their mom. they imprinted on me and they know i would die for them.
but me? just me by myself? what am i worth?
i need to collect my thoughts and remember all the things my Dragon said to me when we were courting, and we were courting right up to the moment he died.
i love him.
but i need to like me, to find something in myself i am proud of.
maybe i can be proud of my art again.
maybe i can try to pull myself out of this hell of my own creation.
get it? i "created" my own hell? how's that for irony?