Sometimes I say things to my “grandmother” (no bloodline), that people would find surprising, shocking, and probably pretty mean. I tell her that I hope she dies. I tell her that I hate her fucking guts. Sometimes it’s more standard stuff like “Drop dead”, “fuck you”, “fuck off”, stuff like that. I say it as a reaction when she’s pushing my buttons, which she does every chance she gets. But make no mistake, I mean every word of it. I mean it as deeply as when I say “I love you” to Darwin. I really do think the world would be a better place without her in it. I don’t just mean my world, I mean the world as a whole. She’s an uneducated, closed minded, 85 year old motherfucker with a drivers license and a valid voter registration who thinks Hilary Clinton should be President simply “because she’s a woman”. Take my word for it, she’s not doing society any favors by hanging around this long. But just on a personal level, she’s made it impossible for us to get along. She makes zero effort to keep things cool, so fuck her. She can’t get in the ground soon enough.
As I was minding my own business yesterday, sitting at my desk working on some artwork to exercise my own demons, as well as eventually enrich someones life, I received a few text messages from someone who I’ve spent a whole lot of time with over the last decade. I don’t have the exact messages now, but they said things like “You’re so angry”, and “you’re not the same person anymore” among many other friendly reminders. And yeah, I really am angry. I know I am. Honestly, I spend at least half of my day feeling like I am right on the very edge of causing something really bad to happen to something, or someone. I feel like I’ve been saving so much up for so long that when it finally pops you’ll be able to see it from miles away. It’s a scary thought, to me especially.
Adding to my frustration is the fact that I can’t even use any of this for artistic inspiration. I have these intense, often violent images in my head, that I try and try to recreate in some tangible form, but I just can’t make it happen. My hands aren’t able to build what my mind sees. It feels like a straitjacket.
And really, this stuff is only a fraction of what’s going on. Add in the job loss, the crumbled relationship, lack of transportation, some issues with Darwin, and just 90,000 other things… I’ve just really reached a point where I don’t think I can take any more. There’s no way I can sustain this for much longer.
Loneliness is not a phase
Field of pain is where I graze
Serenity is far away
Saw my reflection and cried
So little hope that I died
Feed me your lies, open wide
Weight of my heart, not the size