marshmallowallows
The Clearing
Just an online journal/vent place. For some reason, it's easier to write a tumblr post than a page in a notebook.
44 posts
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45.
Today I was thinking a little bit about kids again. I was listening to Childish Gambino's "Lithonia" and the lyrics "He had a break" got me thinking, I'm not sure why. The song is so good, and I just has the stray thought "What makes you take a break?", shortly followed by, "especially from something creatively you're so good at." And there are many a reasons to this, but the first I thought of was kids. It was such a strange, hardly conscious string of thoughts. But it made me add more depth to my fear of kids - having kids - I guess. I don't want to have to give up what I love. What if I don't have time for what I love anymore. What if I lose apart of myself. I can't bear my child seeing an old painting of mine and going, "You drew?!" It was all I did at a time.
I feel selfish for that, but I wouldn't want to resent over it either.
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44.
I've spent so much of my life in pain. It only makes sense that a lot of my anxiety surrounds that - avoiding pain.
And what can you do when you can't avoid it?
When your heart aches both ways. When you don't trust yourself enough to feel what's right.
And there's only more after this. I don't know if I can take it. I have to, I guess. But I don't know how. I don't know if I want to. I can't but I have to. Or I have to but I can't. Funny how word order can make much a difference. It's those little things that build up
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43.
The youngest leaves home last
That's if she ever does
The pieces of her are scattered all over
Some under her bed with worn dolls
Some in her sister's room within the childhood chalkboard drawings
Some buried deep between the carpet in front of her brother's tv
Some seasoned into her grandfather's cooking
Some left scattered on her father's abandoned work table
Some kept in her mother's heart
How is she meant to package all of them
Without ripping them out
Leaving the wound bleeding
Who is meant to tend to them
When the first aid kit is packed in a box
Labeled health and beauty
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42.
Woooooooooooow sometimes you have a girlfriend :)))))))))
Sometimes life will literally beat you down for months and months and months. And then, out of nowhere, life will sorta be like, "oh sorry about that one man, let me make it up to you," and pride month will come up and you find out one of your best friends likes you too, and now, she's the best girlfriend ever and brings a new element to life, adds some more color and excitement to it. And I just hope I do the same for her :)
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41.
One of my best friends is friends with my ex, right? It's a complicated situation (my best friend and I were friends, then they were friends, I met my ex through her, we started dating, she broke up with me, best friend stayed friends with both of us).
And my ex keeps bad mouthing me to her! Like saying I shouldn't date someone or someone shouldn't date me or whatever - along with shittier things. Our breakup happened in June 23rd (I think) of 2021 (TWENTY TWENTY-ONE). It is almost THREE YEARS PAST THAT. And it was when we were in highschool. I understand I had my mental health issues - and still have them and am working on them, - but I don't deserve that. I've worked on myself and have improved and grown; I deserve love. And she was the dick to me during the breakup - that's why I wanted no contact. So, to keep saying hurtful stuff about me to someone who cares about me is so upsetting. I don't understand what I did so bad. Or what I'm currently doing bad.
She's also said some other shitty stuff to my friend. It's just upsetting. I don't understand why I deserve this.
Whatever. I'm better off without her - I for sure know that now.
I live rent-free in her head, and she doesn't even cross mine unless someone brings up her name.
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40. Well. I got covid (and then also a sinus infection along with that). And now I'm recovered. I also got booted from the art exhibition I was accepted into because of issues on their end. And now my mom (who I and my grandpa live with) just got suspended from her job. I haven't been able to get a job yet because the place I applied to hasn't responded (and apparently got the position filled).
It's just so exhausting. I don't understand what I'm supposed to do.
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39.
What a hard couple of days. My father put his hands on my mom - and then on me when I stepped in between them.
I've had so many nightmares about that day. What it would look like. What he would do. What *I* would do. Now I know.
And he didn't hurt us. I mean, he did. But it was hardly lasting, physically at least. No bruising. Just the vague feeling of having been touched on a place on my body until it fades soon after. Sometimes I get worried I'm overreacting, that it wasn't that bad. It didn't hit us or spill blood. But that can't be true - it was bad, right? It wasn't right, right?
I always wondered what I would do. I'm an indecisive person, and when it came to their arguments, I always just sat on the sidelines, listening. I didn't know if I would just stand there or do something. In my nightmares, I often fought back. In real life, that's true too, I suppose.
I stood in between them. I pushed back on him. I remember in the moment worrying if I was doing it too hard - at least I think I do - maybe it was after that I had wondered. Wondering what was happening. But at the same time I wasn't thinking. Just doing. It's so hard to remember exactly what happened yet I remember it viciously. I didn't even realize he had pushed me back until my mom told me, until I felt it still on my arm.
He wasn't drunk. He was probably high. He's always high, always has been. I had never thought my father had substance abuse issues. It had never crossed my mind for so many years. Casually it did - "wow he smokes a lot of weed." But I never factored that into his abuse or his actions or his behavior or his mindset. Not until just a few months ago. Isn't that funny? Funny how the mind doesn't connect things like that. You'd think weed would make him calmer - oh no. He still acts the way he does. He's still him. He's still his nature.
And I pray to whoever is listening that the apple does fall far from the tree.
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37.
I've built up so much of myself - my identity - on doing art, being an artist even. So when I can't do it, I feel this absence. I feel hollow. I can't do it. I can't draw, I can't create. I can't believe I ever thought I could.
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36. Why is no one else talking about their stuff. Why is it only ever me. I can't keep doing it. It's embarrassing. Why doesn't anybody feel they can rely on me to talk to
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34.
You ever worry about being left behind? Everyone else is moving on, able to create their life....and you're still just. Here.
I feel so stunted.
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33.
I just don't feel like I belong in this world, that there's no place for me. I feel like I bring nothing to it.
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31.
I spent so much of my childhood growing up, acting as the adult, acting mature. I saw things, head things, experienced things a child shouldn't.
And now that I'm an adult, now that I need - should - be growing up, I can't. I don't know how. I feel stuck as a child.
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30.
What's the use of all this painting if I can't even turn it into something.
I don't have the words I never did. I don't have the hands I never did. I don't have it. I don't I don't I don't I don't
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29.
I can't put my emotions down on the page like I want to. Nothing that comes out that explains what I feel. How I feel it.
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