Grandma

Grandma was IT for me. She was the only one who loved me. She was the only one who gave a damn and tried her best to comfort me. I remember when I was about 4-6, she bought me a bunch of presents consisting of, a baby doll, a doll basinet, and acessories. This made the most profound impact on me. Someone cared to try to make me feel better. She got me things that no one else ever had, because she loved me. To me that doll and basinet became an achetypal image in my mind of comfort, love, and safety. Of HOME. Im thinking of it now and really missing my Grandma. Yes Ive been drinking, but I really do miss her. She has been my only idea of what safety is. I MISS HER SO MUCH!!!

Allow Me

Allow me now my time to rant, worry. and cry. Its my blog and I can cry if I want to. If you dont like it, shut up and dont read it. Do you sense something is a little askew? You must be psychic, because I dont know what Ive done to give it away. Sarcastic I am and a whole lot of mad. Ready to throw in the towel actually. Im trying to figure out how Im gonna live. Survive! Im out of money, my credit cards are maxed out, I bought a new truck for someone who I thought was going to get a job. Just the truck and insurance alone takes all my disability money. So it looks like I will have to live/hide in it. I can get a lunch weekdays. I can also take a sponge bath there. Weekends I fend for myself. Im going to have to think of safe places to park overnight. If you park in the nice neighborhoods, they call the cops on you. In a not nice neighborhood, they dont care and actually welcome you and your booty that they will help themselves to. How do I know this? Ive been here once before when I was forced out of my home by a man who was abusing me. I lived 3 weeks in my truck while working so I could save enough money for an apartment. Things were much better for me then. I was younger, not disabled, had my health, and a job. The only hope I have now is to sell my paintings consistantly enough to support myself. Oh and I forgot to mention, I cant take my art, use my computer, buy canvases and supplies, or have a place to paint, then store my work. I cant take anything with me except my dog whom Id rather die than to give her up.
Im losing my mind. Alot of people would just off themselves, prostitute and/or do drugs. Im going to survive and take what comes, and keep trying till its over. I have to because to do anything else is not me. Signing off for now. I have to go sulk awhile.

Unsafe

I was watching a commercial this morning that got me thinking as to why it makes me so uncomfortable. Its about young couples in the act of romantic marriage proposals. Trying to put myself in the womans place, I found it hard to really believe and trust those feelings of being taken care of, of feeling safe. Ive never had anything that resembled that in my life, either through my parents or in my own life. There was nothing I wanted more growing up then the that fairytale life with a man who cherished me, was responsible, who held a job, who wanted a family with the house and everything else that went along with that scenario. A man who had a reason to get up and go to work, me. I wanted to be that reason to my dad, and later to my husband. I wanted to be someones reason for doing their best in life, because they cared about my welfare, my safety, my sense of innate security, that every child, every adult has a right to feel. I thought the sky was always falling because it always did.
This ties into art because I wouldve probably started an art career early in life. I probably wouldve gone to college for art. Do you know why I didnt? Because I was too busy surviving and that life would have made me feel unsafe. I didnt have it in me to work full time at a job and get an education. I would have had to do it all on my own. It just didnt seem as important to me then, as I was busy surviving. I tried to be practical in my choices of earning a living, and art didnt fit, depression the bill. I would learn to make nice pictures and then what? Its the same problem I have now. I make nice pictures, now what? Sure, my artist has finally been fed, but I still feel hungry, insecure, and unsafe. The depression some days is more than I can bare. But I have art, right? Yes, and thats all I have. Right now, my life depends upon it literally. Its all on me. There is no strong shoulder to lean on, or a warm home to come home to. All I have is art. And you know what? That would be enough for me, if it werent for the stiffling, paralysing feeling of insecurity. My mind continues to tell me Im unsafe. Its all my mind has ever known.