I'll tell you a secret from the bumblebees.
I feel like this week I'm misunderstanding a huge piece of who I am.
I haven't drawn, wrote or really done anything creative in about two weeks. I can't force myself to write or draw, and nothing ever feels complete. Lately, things with my family have thrown me off completely.
I joke about it, I laugh about, I rant about it, I share stories about it.
But in all honesty, I'm not okay with it.
Mother's been prescribed medication, finally. The last visit I had home was probably the hardest thing. She was already obliterated. It's uncomfortable to go in too much detail, but she insulted Taylor to her face, told me the story of how my brother and father had to get gunlocks for my brother's guns so she didn't shoot someone, she then created chaos about a possum, screamed out a window at me while I was on the drive way next to my father about how I cannot have both a girl and a guy, that I'm selfish and a fool.
I don't really know what else to do anymore about her.
I try so hard to maintain a stable relationship, to not get angry, to branch out to her, to love her.
But it's so hard
when I can't even find time to forgive myself.