The Firecracker

The Firecracker-10/02/14

Thursday 1:51pm EST

The clock stands still

at 2 O’Clock.

I feel the crispness of the Fan.

As I silently wait for her.

The one who buys groceries,

in her sixty-ish skin,

fraile yet forever,

frisky.

 

She’ll carry all of them,

in by herself-

if I don’t wait to greet her.

 

Her-She-She is,

the One

with Ab-fib,

history of heart attacks, high blood pressure,

diabetes type 2 and even more…

 

But despite all of that,

She’s a Spitfire.

Do not Ever,

underestimate her.

 

She’s stubborn,

like a shotgun.

She is solid like granite,

although she bears a few

cracks.

 

The clock stands still

at 2 O’Clock.

I feel the cool crispness

of the Fan.

 

And I plan

to remain here,

sitting silently

waiting,

 

for my husband’s Mother,

to come bursting through

the front door

like a firecracker.

 

(sidenote: just 2 hrs after I wrote this poem, I caught her outside attempting to mow our lawn. I yelled to her She shouldn’t do that that She knows she is not supposed too. Ignoring me, She did the 1/3 of the backyard she could manage and came inside for a nap. When I complained to my husband he just laughed at me….)

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Follow me on facebook please!Picture 149 Warming up with color abstract 2 Fall 2013 Spirals of Song and other poems book cover1 Picture 161 Warming up with color abstract 1 Fall 2013 Abstract oil pastel drawing 99 cover design for words whirl 2013 copy Falling to pieces by EHCato 1999 IMAG0893 IMAG0898 IMAG0897 Art before words new front cover copy back cover art before words3 copy self portrait 05012013 Picture 94 Acrylic mixed media pumice gel painting 1996 canvasboard Spirituality, acrylic and sand on canvasboard 1996 possible coverart1 copy Athena wiccan11 IMG_20130330_093258

marriage counseling and fixing whats not right:

My husband and self, both have many-yet different-emotional scars from our own childhoods.

Sometimes these differences really tear us apart.

I have my reasons-which i will not disclose here-(read my memoirs recalled madness: a personal account of manic-depressive illness by Emily Sturgill 2013-available off Amazon.com for more specific details-)

Anyways, i have my reasons, that

if somebody physical grabs me in anger or is violent at all,

during an argument, i will pretty much cut that person out of my life completely.

If that sounds insane or extreme, I apologize.

However, it is based on how i was raised-that a man should never hit a woman,

nor lay his hands upon her, while in a state of anger/violence.

This is a well-known trigger of mine, that my husband,

has mistakenly set off on separate occasions.

 

For his part- part of his past were living with parents,

who argued/screamed and yelled everyday.

Thus, his trigger is arguing. When and if we argue,

and he feels bad enough to yell or scream – he tries to grab me,

and force me to listen.

 

The intimidation of being grabbed

in anger really sets me off,

i never call the police or press charges.

i simply go into flight or flee mode.

 

i pack my shit and leave.

persons without a history,

of childhood abuse, physical violence,

in my case both parents equally were messed up

until 7th grade when my Dad sought therapy.

 

My mom did not go into therapy until i was 18.

So i don’t even wanna go there-she was also bipolar.

She is the one, i take the most after.

Dad had OCD among other issues.

 

But after he got got help, things were better

for a time-at least better he and I.

Mom was another story entirely.

 

Anyways, about 2 weeks ago,

i was feeling threatened physically by my husband,

so after discussion with 4 different older strong women

in my life i decided to go stay at

a battered woman’s shelter.

 

Because today is the 2 year anniversary

of our wedding and because he apologized

between 5-7 times, i agreed to comeback home.

 

its a work in progress.

but im hopeful , since he’s agreed

to attend therapy his own self-

and face some of his own inner demons.

 

 

 

 

 

the hidden truth

the hidden truth,

is that which haunts me…

everybody thought we were the perfect happy couple…

and I? how could I explain to our friends-our loved ones-

about The Dark Times….

about the hidden Truth?

That i married a classic-type of abuser.

That my beloved husband,

who i “loved” dearly was not only less than ideal,

but i was paranoid fearful of his anger. Of his angry outbursts.

That frequently, i felt unsafe, even during lovemaking.

I was scared he may attempt to kill me.

And i do not know why.

the fear seemed irrational, like another delusion of my bipolar mind.

Until a day two weeks ago where he admitted to “fantasies”?? I’m not sure what you would call then,”ideas” or “plans”?

That if his life ever got bad enough, he would fall back on the notion

of a murder-suicide.

by the way by murder-he meant me specifically and suicide

i guess was for him-not only was this a horrifying thing to say to the one woman who loves you-

it also helped me reach the realization, i was in constant danger.

 

I’ve been hiding out at a battered woman’s shelter.

i finally feel safe again.

it took some skill even in getting here because i had no money and no car.

but i finally made it Saturday afternoon.

 

I blame myself for not leaving sooner.

but in oh-too-many ways it was easier to stay.

 

i am grateful now, for my infertility issues.

that saves me from a lifetime of interaction

with a husband who is crazy.

 

I am so very devastated-that it had to-end this way,

but it was only getting worse.  Now i am facing loved ones with the Hidden Truth.

they do not understand how hard it is to admit….you are a victim.

that somebody scares you half to death.

that this man you “loved” is merely a shadow of his true self,

the side made up of complete anger and irrational darkness.

 

 

Life is messy too, not only artwork.

Life is messy too.

Not just Artwork, self-expression, painting, drawing,sculpture, photography…

writing for example is another messy art;

thinking of things like:

libel,copyrights,slander,plagiarists, tabloid-journalists,badly written poetry,poorly written novels…..writers block.

But Life, on the other hand is frequently a different landscape,

altogether, a big terrain of heavily soiled tears.

disappointments, family feuds, emotional problems,

irrational and faulty logic,

thrown upon you,

like a fistful of sand.

then there are those persons,

who bully,cheat and lie.

Yes, as the saying goes, no one said life was easy.

or if they did, clearly they were mistaken or

simply full of shit.

no, life is a messy place.

A child’s hand-prints on the door-frames,

dog-prints on the muddy kitchen floor,

lipstick on a collar,

a cat who shits outside its litter-box.

 

Changing an baby’s dirty diaper.

house-training a puppy-dog.

Telling somebody you love them but…

you do not like living with them anymore?

How do you even do that?

I don’t even know.

 

I passed the ball to my husband.

He is dreading the conversation he

must have with a family member later.

 

I would not want to bring the subject up my own self-

I’m chicken-little, I don’t want to see the sky fall

down.

But Life is very messy.

if it wasn’t

i doubt i would love, living half as much.

Off-center

feeling a bit,

off-center, a bit out-of-whack,

feeling on the verge

of another;

Panic Attack.

Feeling off-center,

dealing with issues of infertility,

feeling hopeless-like a sailsboat-without sails-

so instead of sailing-

i simply float-there-off-center.

Many other Women,

do this dance of infertility & madness,

it seems to always feel like its the woman’s fault.

although it may even be the mans…

that concept seems far-fetched and hard to grasp.

Each month,

I hope, although I never bother to pray,

but i hope things will be different,

that somehow our childless lives will change.

Some women, chart their cycles religiously, take their basal temps each and every-day, using ovulation predictor kits, or invest in high cost treatments like IVF. I cannot afford things like ovulation kits or IVF treatments, or alternative therapies.

I can barely afford the one thing I’ve got:

a thing called Hope.

That’s all i got, and sometimes it does not feel enough,

as if, i am just mere inches away, from touching the sky.

Last month, pain was horrible. I wound up in the ER and diagnosed with 2 cm Ovarian cyst.

This month not only my mind, but my body has been playing tricks on me.

I swear, I’m having pregnancy symptoms despite my monthly bleed.

My period just was not heavy enough to be normal-even for me-and the PMS still has not gone away,

yet the bleeding did. It came 2 days early, I usually count day 1 as any spotting-but technically they say to start count from the first day of true blood. Which would mean i really only had a sort of period bleeding for only 2 days the other 3 were brown spots and inconsistent. I’m still having bad cramps, and i keep getting sick to my stomach, and my boobs hurt so badly when my hubby bite my nipple 2 days ago it still hurt 3 hours later. Food bores me-i have loss all interest. Even stuff i like fails to excite. Hate to say it-been pregnant before-feel that way again.

I’m sure tomorrow they will give me a hpt urine test before my MRI-

just off-center, feeling confused on what they will find.

Metamorphosis (For My Daughter)

Metamorphosis (For My Daughter).

This is a beautiful poem, written by one of the bloggers i follow here- black and write. I encourage you to read this. It sounds a very important message on the nature of how we treat women in this country in general. The sexual revolution may have started back in the 60s or 70s but we are still fighting it-most women do not realize it-but we still are-in very many ways. feminism is not dead-its sleeping.

the trickling of thought-drops

the trickling of thought-drops,
dribbling, dripping, downwards
like a leaky faucet.

the emptiness inside
my head
wears me out.

i struggle, as i try,
to reach out and catch a puddle-
of thought-drops.

they are dispensed through
a downwards momentary trend
towards feeling depression.

mild in comparsion,
to most of my wildest-crazy times.
this is more like
a retardation-a slowness-to
the thought-drops.

normally they occur fast as raindrops
during a thunderstorm
of cats and dogs.

but today, i reach behind
the emptiness of my slowest
thinking thought-drops
leaky faucet-
it leaks quietly-
without making a sound.

i look blankly outwards,
my face turns toward
a pale blue clear sky.

so much,
i want to say,
but when i reach out to
touch the words,
then they are gone, glimpsed
but unspoken.

i have run out of
my everything to say
there is nothing here
in the space
behind my brownest eyes.

updates on “Memoirs recalled Madness” by Emily Sturgill, 2013

After, I thought I was really finished-I changed my mind. I decided that there was a bit more story to tell. So it went from being 73 pages to now becoming 88 pages. Still not very long as far as this type of genre goes…but it is very hard to writing a personal story when some of your memories have been blacked out from tramatic issues or simply manic episode issues.

“Madness recalled memoirs: a personal acconut of living with manic-depressive illness.” is now available again on kindle, with my revisions. The paperback we are still working on-it think it maybe available this weekend Friday or Saturday. This is because normally, I just take advantage of free self-publishing options. The pperbacks through createspace.com are made on demand, which i really nice because it does not cost a fortune to do this.

Yet, they offer a tempting on notch up-option- of expanded distrubution, for a one time fee-(i hope)of $25 per book. Normally, I do not even have $25 which says alot of not so awesome things about me-but basically-I am a struggling author/artist/poet.

My husband is willing to front me the money after he gets paid and thats not untill tomorrow-so we shall see. Like I said with my other books, I never chose this option before.

My other books by the way are mostly a blend of fiction, free-verse, poetry and some of my artworks. There are 7 total so far, just this year. 2013.

This 8th book, is more like a narrative. I tried to do the best writing I could do. It was very difficult to stay track on one topic without getting lost off to the left of right of my original topic and lost in the bushes. I did try. I am pretty much stable these days. but i was not always, and I thought it was important to tell that side of it too. It is all about my battle with bipolar. It goes through childhood to diagnosis, all the way up to my life now.

I was hoping to write a book that could try to explain living with a mental illness to those who do not have one but comfort those who do. Prices previously quoted will remain the same-I believe-$9.99 on kindle and $15.99 as a paperback.

I went back into my book and added a few personal photos-mostly of dead persons-because they do not get mad much. I was raised in a semi-abusive environment-with both parents having mental illnesses. As well, as having alcoholism in my family tree all over the place. I learned early on-that everything going on at home, was “private” or “secret.” which is pehaps the reason i feel guilty even telling the story at all. Also perhaps way, I changed everybodys name to something fake except my own-even my hubsands name-even though he may have not minded-all names were invented into some sort of fakery. I do use my own name. That one is real.

I even decided to omit names of places, cities, or towns….my thoughts were a story like mine could happen anywhere in the usa and i wanted readers to be able to relate to that concept.