I’m an artist. A real one. I need to stop pussy-footing around the fact that through all of this, I have put a pretty heavy heel on the tail of my dream. So here’s to dreaming.
This is what I’m doing.
https://www.facebook.com/Annie.Bianca.Art
I don’t have a formal website or a real portfolio, but it’s a start. Now it’s time to hold myself to a promise that I made to a buck-toofed little copper haired kid with a mullet in the second grade.
It has been too incredibly long to simply leap into things without acknowledging that I stopped writing.
I stopped writing.
There.
While this blog has been candid to a fault, so much so that it’s put me in a position in which I have had to defend myself and go on the literary lamb, I do not regret anything I’ve ever said here. What I do regret is that at one point, under the instruction of my then-husband, going in and edit/removing quite a few posts to his satisfaction in order to portray him in a more flattering light, as the other option I was given was to delete my entire blog, a place I’ve come to scream and wallow safely for so many years. For this, I sincerely apologize. I was a coward for a very long time. I feel like saying that does not absolve me of it, but it certainly does score me a point or two for the whole “admitting I have a problem” segment of whatever bullshit therapy this serves as for me. So not that I have so many eyeballs with baited breath awaiting my every post, but if you read this, and for whatever reason care, I’m sorry. I will never, ever, EVER, for any reason, dilute or whittle down any part of myself for another person in my life. I fucking swear.
What triggered Susie-Psycho to whip out the ol’ laptop, you ask? Are we manic? Are we needing to vent? No.
In fact, we are, very simply, saying goodbye to something. Officially. We are bidding a codependent fool farewell.
I found a journal today. A journal I started before I met a man who would, because I would allow him to, destroy my life. I found solid evidence of something I already knew and that was that several years ago, at 27, I lost myself entirely. Even as I blogged away, trudging through the darkness, seeming to have at least some grip on who the fuck I was, I was completely absorbed in a very brutal, sick relationship. I read every page of it. It wasn’t much because upon it’s discovery, like all of my other outlets, it was no longer mine, but his, and everything in it from that point was written to cater to and outcry in regards to his ego.I struggled all afternoon about destroying it, even though it also harbored so much insight on just how warped my reality was at the time, made sense of the madness that would swallow my family, my life, my complete sense of self, and I decided that it would only prove that I didn’t have the courage to face what I had done. I allowed another person to absorb me, because I was so desperate and pathetic that I was willing to accept whatever bullshit version of love I was able to make it in my mind. In doing so, I hurt my children. I brought a serpent into our home that struck not once, but four times. I will never forgive myself.
So what this is, is not only an apology or an admission but perhaps a bit of a plea. Please, I beg you, no matter how lost you are in your storm, know that they all end, and do not settle for anything short of what you deserve. I follow that with an affirmation that we all need to say to ourselves, whether we believe it or not, until we do, and that is “I deserve to live.”
I think it’s time for my fingers to wake up. I can’t talk about so many things for legal reasons but what I can say is that I’m alive, inside and out. Let freedom ring.
I am patient. So very patient.
My core is white hot magma.
It was always for this moment.
It was always this mushroom cloud.
My seedlings will flourish in your ash.
We are His beautiful orchids.
What self-aggrandizing soul dares to counsel the truly mad?
Once upon a time…
There was this happily miserable girl. She was everything and it felt like nothing. She just wanted to be something. Something that wasn’t everything all the time. She couldn’t love herself.
She smiled a lot. No one was the wiser.
She had some babies. She loved them. They made her feel like someone else. It felt beautiful. It saved her, it made her understand, it gave her a reason to want to be something. She got stronger, but still felt like everything inside was broken. A lot of broken nothing.
She smiled a lot. Everyone smiled back.
She met a boy. She loved him. He made her feel wanted and under control. She got scared. How could he want someone who was nothing? He assured her constantly that she was broken, but that he loved her despite it. She was willing to accept whatever love she could get. He knew that she was something but he didn’t understand her, only how to keep her wings clipped enough to have her. She felt as though she was too broken not to be thrown away. They loved and hated one another passionately.
She smiled a lot. No one was the wiser.
Someone called her on the phone. Years of madness spilled over. Splinters pushed through.
She finally cried. They took her to the Doctor.
She took the blue pill. She took the red pill. They strangled her. Dust settled on blank canvasses. They made her nothing. They took away the joy of her children. They took away her love for the boy. They took away her love and her hate. She could not live without either. She threw the pills away and that made her anything but something. Something worse. Much worse.
She hid a lot. Everyone pretended to worry.
Her children loved her in her sadness. They loved her in her darkness. They did not give up on her. The nothingness drifted slowly to the bottom. Silt and ashes. Forgiveness.
She wrote a lot because she hurt. She wrote because she had to.
Once upon a time there was a girl who tried to fix herself because she felt like nothing.
Then she realized that she was exactly where she was meant to be. She realized that all she had to do was trust God’s plan for her. She realized that she had only needed to accept.
Even if though she was broken, she was loved.
She was happier than she’d ever been in her life, because herself had dissolved in the fray. She was happier than she’d ever been because she’d quieted the storm. She was content for there was nothing left of her to whittle.
Meanwhile little broken spirits were the penance being paid to the sweetest smile she was sure she had ever seen. As it turned out, it was her everything that was nothing. I’m sorry, babies.
Especially not me.
Not today.
But I was anyway.
It turned out alright.
🙂
I"m just a girl with eyes that see and ears that hear more than they should. A girl with itchy fingers who loves charcoal and innocent bystanders.
Charming Aberration 