2 parts bitter-sweet vinegar
2 parts harmony
one dash of Hope
one sprinkling of Faith,
one Tablespoon full of miracles.
1/2 stick of helplessness melted but not burnt brown.
1/4 cup memories
16 oz of pure, unstrained Love
1 graham pie crust of sorrows
1 can of heavy-whipping cream
2 tbs allspice, 2 tbs cloves, 4 tbs fresh honesty
one classic ceasar salad of velvet covered sadness
one case of dark irish beer…
blend with one bag of Catholic Guilt,
add two whole egg-yolks
add 7 hail-marys and one quart of confessions.
Blend with a twist of hard scotch whiskey, empathy as a orange peel, a cherry
with-out its stem, some liquid courage, one King James version of
The Holy Bible.
Some false idols/some fake friends/those who will swear by you/
yet they disappear in the end?
I trust nobody who says to me, that they will “pray for me,”
I wish i were not a bitch like that, but i totally am-such a bitch.
I am not going to offend them by declining their pray offers-
but i am not going to depend on them for this junk.
I usually merely responded with Thank you-or thank you very much-whatever.
Prayers are both sweet and nice-
if they are done right.
But true friends do more than have private jesus jams/
talks on your behalf.
True friends know when you are sad, And sense when you need to have a small
phone-call chat. true friends listen and practice the,
Fine Art of Allowance-
meaning they allow you to be sad.
They do not try to cram you into a shoebox
with too much duct tape,
and scrawl the word “Happy”
onto your head-in order to make themselves feel better.
Real friends want you to feel better,
but when you get around to it.
Real friends allow you,
to simply FEEL.
They allow you to be-
They allow you to grieve and to suffer.
They realize there is no universal time clock on
one feeling verses another.
I wrote this out for a friend of mine.
Her mane is Erin-we kinda grew up together.
Anyways, her mother just recently passed away due to Cancer,
this past march on st.patricks day.
Erin and her twin Bridget are both my friends.
I did not realize how huge their family is until very recently,
Anyways yesterday, Erin was having a bad day,
and she shared with her fb friends she really missed her mother.
I was completely floored with all the useless facebook comment messages
she was getting. There were just so fake to me.
So i commented myself-and i was not trying to impress facebook-or Erin or anybody else.
I just wished to say something that could comfort Erin and be
totally completely “real” and “honest” with her.
I was just being me, I was just being emily.
She wrote me later, in a private facebook message, Thank you so much , you knew just how I was feeling and how much my messages helped her.
That really made my evening last night.
It is a good feeling to be a good friend to somebody you forever care for,
cherish and sisterly love.
True friendships among women are not always,
easy to find or to maintain.
But once I’ve formed a friendship bond-
with another female- I keep those friends
out and treasure them immensely.
It really takes a whole pile of damages for me,
to no longer consider a woman my friend.
Once a friend, always a friend, at least that is where
my loyalties take me. So many beautiful feminine friends:
Each is like a precious gem or a secret treasure to me.
I LOVE my friends-all of them.
even the cob-webbed covered ancient ones,
those are kind of crunchy
but i just love them all the more-for it!!!!
The roar of the Lion Fan
pressed by our bed
we sit here divided by
a mutual wall of technology.
Each attending to his/her gadgets
in comfortable silence,
as the fan continues to roar like a Lion
trapped in its den.
Sometimes even when we are together
we need the spaces apart to each do
our own thing.
Your watching a movie most likely in Japanese,
as I write senseless verse onto my blog.
Hoping that my slightly worn, tattered feelings
appeal to the masses,
appeal to the other poets out there
trapped by a mouse and keyboard
with only their wits and words
left to linger
onto a type-written page, paragraph or sentence.
A modern hieroglyphic,
for a Modern Age.
I’m stuck on the serene.
I am a fly caught by the sky of stars,
onto your cars dashboard’s glass-
beneath windshield wipers cast of silver.
the past is a postcard memory.
a momentary glismpe over my shoulder,
and a 35 cent postage stamp.
there is so much love here.
it covers me, endlessly.
until i breakout like an allergy.
feeling the rash of never belonging/nor…
being worthy of all the love
he sends to me.
I’m a broken down rabbit earred TV screen.
stuck on static and white noise.
i am broken into too many
to be fixed by your hi-fi definations.
I am the broken down pay-phone,
in the mental ward which only takes
quaters, and everybody is fresh out,
sadly giving me longing looks of too much pain.
I am the peeling paint job
on the oldest wooden house
abandoned ob our block
windows nailed shut
front door busted into
filled with the evils of crime, rodents of luck and opportunistic stray cats.
were on the telephone,
when i mentioned my husband and self-
maybe seeking an annulment
in order to get a portion of my social security
She was furious with me.
She gave me a huge angry lecture,
citing the importance of Love,
and the sanctity of marriage.
It come out of nowhere,
this fright train of outrage.
She stream-rolled me, with
I would not end my marriage-
over such a small amount of money Emily.
this she said with words made of bees
not of honey….her quick judgement of me.
This extra amount of money would be
in fact quite insignificant to my sister.
Yet compared to us and all of our struggles;
Her and her husband live on the high horse-
She herself has never even acquired a
4 year bachelors degree-yet she has made it-
achieving much, in the world of hospital administration.
She was lucky to achieve so much with so little education-
just the sweat of her brow and making it up the
food chain by sheer hard work and lots of luck.
Myself, I hold a high school diploma, a bachelors degree in Fine Arts,
and a Masters Degree in Education: Art Ed and Art Therpy-
I also hold an unraveling mind
trapped beneath the glass,
of mental illness.
I too, have worked very hard for everything that life has given me.
The difference of course, is i roughly earn
only 6,000$ per year from ssdi.
She I am sure earns well over 50,000$
plus her spouse also works-he is a republican,
a private businessman.
My spouse works too, yet barely above
the minimum wage. He cuts meat for a living,
a honest job-yet does not count as high paying.
I do not consider us to be “greedy”people.
I also do not consider us to be”godless”.
he is an atheist and I am Wiccan.
She was attacking me,
verbally on the grounds of the sanctity of marriage & her ugly limited,
view of her God-not mine-not understanding-
I no longer follow her bible-
the law she swallows,
things we were taught as small children.
These beliefs instilled in her outrage,
that i could consider ending a loving marriage
just to earn a increase in monthly benefits…
She has not walked a mile in my shoes.
She does not understand how difficult it can be-
to subside on only $6,000 for an entire year.
Yes, I am married.
Yes, I do love my husband.
But is it wrong for me to want better for us?
When i have been looking for even a part-time job,
for over 18 months….
had countless interviews,
but no callbacks…
is it wrong for me to end a formality,
a paper contract between he and i,
that would increase my SSDI benefits,
by over double the amount they are now?
Is it fair to my husband,
that he pay for everything
and I do not pay my share?
She advised me to simply quit smoking.
This is a brilliant idea-
I often encounter by non-smokers.
As if it were simply that easy to stop?
Besides even if I did quit that would only free up 350-400$ per month.
Nothing like, the over $800 in benefits, i lost
by marrying my heart, true love, the man of my dreams.
At the time, I did not think losing,
all that money would be so hard.
At the time, just over 2 years ago,
I thought i would earn a nice income-
from a masters degree in art therapy.
but i did not.
and now, my older sister berates me,
on the importance of the sanctity of marriage,
and the strength of marriage vows.
Please do not beat me up with guilt,
over your limited and narrow definition of God.
That is not my God nor my Goddess.
We believe in separate things entirely.
Your ugly, limited view of God and all that
that must contain.
Beating me up with the Religion of my childhood,
Trying to prevent me from committing an unknown sin.
Your God is not my God.
My God does not sit upon a shelf,
trapped between ivory pages
of a little yet well known book-
that is used in many purposes to do more harm than good.
“Memoirs Recalled madness: a personal account of living with bipolar disorder.” is a personal memoir I wrote dealing with living with over two decades of mental illness. I wanted to bring some awareness to this issue. It was very private and personal to me.
Here is a book description I wrote: “This is a personal account of the Author’s own struggles during her lifetime of battling manic-depressive disorder over the course of over two decades. While she writes under her own name, the names of all other persons and parties have been altered. The details of her story are true to her own perspective. However, she realizes she sees the world through the colored lens which frame her mental illness. In other words, other persons may not recount the situation quite the same way. In order to protect these individuals privacy all such names have been altered. Places, are mostly omitted because she feels her story could occur in any-town/city/state/place in America.”
I published it back in the end of March, 2013. It normally retails for $9.99 but right now through May 21, 2013 at 11:59pm you can download a free copy by going to this direct link here: http://www.amazon.com/Memoirs-Recalled-Madness-ebook/dp/B00C145EOU/ref=la_B00B1GC5LY_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1368903599&sr=1-3
My personal account is roughly 83 pages long, and does contain some old family photographs and such. The names in the entire book have all been changed save my own. It is a story true to me, yet I realize I look at the world through a lens view of my mental illness. Others may have held different memories of events. I am not attempting to slander, or upset any family or friends. Instead I just wanted to give a glimpse into what my life has been like living with a serious mental illness (or SMI.)