Climbing 6/8/19

Haven’t showered in days.

Summer sticks to skin, Skin sticks to Skin.

hair is oily

lying in clumps.

motivation is secret and locked under key.

 

Something so simple

a clean hot shower

getting dressed-

Mt. Everest.

 

lack of self-care

just a symptom

of my bipolar disorder.

 

But I can fight.

I can climb those mountains,

and reach for the rain-

to wash away

all the dirt

of these feelings

to be clean again.

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Summertime 6/8/19

Sitting with Stability

among the everyday,

in the corner

just out of eyeshot-

my depression begins

to creep in.

Growing slowly

like the ivy-

spreading small sprouts

of doubt.

little thoughts here and there

of sad seedlings, sad memories, sad thoughts-

a darkness not discouraged

by stability or sunlight.

But I won’t willingly

water this garden.

Instead

I’ll let it dry out in the Sun.

I’ll just watch it burn.

lost

lost-10/24/15

feeling lost

little small achey

hurt in a healing heart

feeling small

with hidden jewels of happiness

but i cannot find them all

i am lost

at a loss for words

a word like hope

feels too big for me.

there is a ache in my heart

an emptiness in my chest

a sadness in my soul.

sometimes losing hurts so much

you can forget what winning feels like.

the world gives us both

so much to lose

but so much to win.

i feel lost.

its temporary and i know

that I will find what I am looking for.

an iny_tRo_ duction

an iny_tRo_ duction.

Song of Silence

Song of Silence

by Emily Sturgill

4/16/15

A song that is sung silently

hung like a halo

privately

among curses

among the plenty.

A song that hangs mighty

around ones neck

completely

gathered into a noose

of blood red roses

thorns

a song sung silently

drowning out

the obvious

and the sheer

terrors of insanity.

A secret song

sung silently

hung tightly

upon reams

of unwritten

poetry.

Moody Music and black coffee…

Moody music & black coffee

as I rush up

the morning greets me.

Mother in laws

unhappy & her screaming

gets to me.

So I put on a CD of Goth type

moody music & drink black coffee

if I hide upstairs she won’t see me

if i hide upstairs I can pretend

she’s not so unhappy, bristling & angry

at the whole entire everything of her own

personal story & her history.

She is sick right now which

darkens her sky even more

and with all that yelling

she is difficult to ignore.

But I realize you cannot make others happy.

and no matter how hard I try to please

it’s just going to blow up in my face

it’s never going to work out

with her argumentative personality

nothing I say can count.

Also, matter of fact I am sick right now too,

but she lacks the empathy or understanding

that others can also feel sick, no she has to be,

the one worse off & the complete

center of attention.

It bothers me of course-

that I can never catch a break with her.

She lacks the empathy, I once assumed was

a natural part of every single lady.

But she was cast from a different mold.

I try to make her happy but only to

a certain degree because I realize

happiness is virtually impossible

for her, unless she changes her mind

and decides too-to be happy?

Misery is more what’s on her list

& misery loves company-

so she tries to drag me in-into her dramas,

that is why I hide myself

behind a staircase

behind some moody music

and I drink my black coffee

thankful that I am mostly happy

most of the time, anyways.

She is old beyond her years.

She is loud beyond belief,

and I think she needs some happy pills

because she never has relief.

Moody music & black coffee

as I rush up

the morning greets me.

Everyone’s a critic

Everyone’s a critic

they show their shadow side

unleashed behind the teeth

of a fake smile

they look at what you say, make or do

then they say it could’a been

oh so much better!

I understand and fully believe

in constructive criticisms~but please don’t

tell me these things I make or create

simply don’t work out

or that they plainly suck

when you remind me of the

back seat driver.

When was the last time you actually

made something yourself?

Or created something out of thin air?

Or molded some words into a poem, or a story?

Or made some snazzy drawing-still counts even if

it was made out of lunacy.

Don’t slam me for my efforts.

It’s unfair.

It’s not constructive criticisms.

It’s more like your just unimpressed

with any of my mundane efforts.

Why are people so quick to focus

on failures, or negatives or the bad & the ugly?

 

Sadness grabbed there first.

Sadness grabbed there first

before I know what she was.

Sadness grabbed my heart She left

a white marked

trail

along the paths of veins and arteries.

ghostly fingers imprinted her mark

of fine woven sandy fingerprints

of the shadow of

an invisible sadness.

Sadness was a secret sister to me

she held me silently

even on all the days

I wept both crazy and madly.

Sadness she was with me

through everything

almost at all.

She cast a sudden sharp shadow

upon my happiest moments and

memories-She colored the most beautiful of days

into grayness colored ashes

the cremation of happiness

into an ugly urn

only I could see, while because Sadness

She touched me first there.

She grabbed my small heart

and left a lingering loneliness,

She left a longing for

teardrops unspent

a lingering romance

with her own tormentor and invention

a man in a blacken smog suit

some call

by the name

Depression.

 

 

Some bipolar artwork

 

10418311_10202380313264213_1680142073452811708_n Camera Somebody asked on a bipolar support group page for images that describe bipolar disorder or feeling-all I can show is Artwork I created during different phases of my illness mostly when I was manic but some are from depression too-as a viewer I leave it up yo you to fecide which is which??? All art are created by Emily H. Sturgill, All rights reserved. Feel free to share my images but please add my name at least to them if you use them-thanks, Emily SturgillCAM00335 back cover art before words3 copy advicecollage1 IMG_0445 you are the light at the end of my tunnel 12.4.12 digital art 6 cassette tape july 11 068

The thick & the thin

The thick & the thin

by Emily Sturgill

01/01/15

The thick & the thin

defines the mess we are in.

You always stand by me,

no matter how hard I

fall

from your graces.

Through the thin & the thick,

you always do catch me,

when I tumble then fall,

steadily crashing

busting into flames

before my mess hits the pavement

you have gotten me once again-

off the brick, the edges of lunacy

and the insane.

Through the good times and bad,

whether we are happy or sad,

through thick and through thin,

you are always one,

to cheer me on farther

to pass the finish line

to win

any race, when I bow down

breaking into pieces

shattering smile

broken in half

like an upside down clown.

You try to not judge me.

You simply stand there with nerve

and continue to love me.

Through the thin & the thin

look at the mess we are in!!

(dedicated to my hubby Dean)