an iny_tRo_ duction

an iny_tRo_ duction.

thinking too much

thinking too much…

12/31/14

thinking too much…

about all this crap & such.

i’ve been walking the highwire

for quite a while

and i’ve been struggling to deal

with things

and wounds

and people

who never heal.

 

everytime i try

to reach out & ask for help

people look at me like

i am way beyond crazy.

 

as if i were not living in

an ultra stressful situation

with my own sanity

constantly in question?

 

i don’t even know

how many ways

i’ve attempted or even tried

to say:

 

this is far too much for me

to handle

this is far too much for US

to handle

this is far too much for your brother

to handle…

 

you take it for granted

that we will always take care

of her for You.

 

But what if I can’t?

What if I told you, it’s straining our marriage,

its too much to deal with

She is constantly on the offensive

I feel like I am always under attack.

 

Her constant complaining.

Her constant screaming, cursing and yelling.

Her never-ending depressions.

 

I have a Serious Mental Illness.

Christ-if you cannot deal with her,

with the hell makes You think?!

that I can??

 

I feel like trying to cut my wrists.

To bleed a bit.

Just to alleviate-all this pain.

 

i feel like i am losing my mind.

i feel like i am clearly insane.

i feel like you do not give a

damn.

 

How long do you expect us-

to deal with all this

Mother stuff?

 

When do I get what you have?

A peaceful house alone with my husband-

why is that impossible for you to

understand?

 

thinking too much…

about all this crap & such.

i’ve been walking the highwire

for quite a while

and i’ve been struggling to deal

with things

and wounds

and people

who never heal.

The Weeping Widow

The weeping widow-12/31/14

Emily Sturgill

The Weeping Widow

She always is in a state of

emotional disarray, turmoil, nothing

can change or stop this

it never goes away.

The Weeping Widow

She is often at her wits end,

constantly in mourning

grieving each and every lost

relative or friend.

The Weeping Widow

relives each death like a cassette

tape on the rewind.

It is the only thing she focuses

on, her mourning, their deaths, her pain.

I watch her go through these moments

almost daily.

It’s obvious to me, she clearly needs

therapy, yet she refuses to go.

I am so unsure why Death

has such a huge hold on her,

but it does and she will not let it go.

It seems like everyday on our calendar is

a reminder-to her-of the death of someone

She once loved and lost,

she turns to me

confides in me

constantly

but I am unable to bear this burden

her cross

her loss.

I cannot replace who is missing-

all  I can do is offer to listen.

And then there comes this sharp ended

point where I cannot hear it anymore.

 

The Weeping Widow

relives each death like a cassette

tape on the rewind.

It is the only thing she focuses

on, her mourning, their deaths, her pain.

I watch her go through these moments

almost daily.

 

 

Suicide Song

Suicide song-

i think i know why,

the caged bird sings,

because it is loved, fed, petted & talked to.

i think i know why

some people choose to die.

sometimes  imagine it

sometimes i feel like i even want it.

the release

the sense of freedom & peace.

the escape…from it all…

two slit wrists

won’t lead me to paradise.

suicide is a terrifying car ride

that crashes and burns

not just taking you down,

but everyone else who cares about you

too.

Still i imagine, a bloody passionate fatal

mistake, which at this point

i am certain i will not make.

but still comes crashing

these thoughts which do burn

my dreams of becoming

someone who learns

from their mistakes.

I do not want to be

stuck deep down in the earth

lying in a cemetery,

I would rather be

that happy, caged bird which sings

because it is loved, petted , fed & talked too.

I am dealing with darkness

not because i really want too,

but because the darkness is here

all around my guilty, neglected, hateful

traitors heart.

two slit wrists

won’t lead me to paradise.

suicide is a terrifying car ride

that crashes and burns

not just taking you down,

but everyone else who cares about you

too.

My inner wild child

My inner child

is wild, angry and more than a bit

crazy.

She sits well with rage.

The rage I cannot tell.

The kind which feels unlawful

so I hide it well.

 

I hide it beneath

piles of dirty blankets

inside my mind.

I try to smother this rage

deep inside, with the hopes

it will not eat at me

from the inside out.

I hide my anger well-

I cover it with doubt.

 

My inner child, she’s a wild thing.

She deals with all

of my secret pain,

so that I can begin again.

 

They say certain nasty

words about angry women.

It’s as if anger is never allowed.

 

I want to be the “nice girl”.

I want to be polite.

I want to fit in

and never start any fist fights.

 

But despite it all

deep within

my inner child she is ranting and raving

eager to escape at my seams,

she swallowed a sky of my

emotions and I watch

from a safe distance

 

as she erupts

like a volcano

into my dreams.

The price tag of Positivity

The price tag of Positivity
by Emily Sturgill August 5, 2014

Anger
is dreadful.
They say-only think
the shiny sparkle
of happy silver shiny
positive thoughts.

So I in turn
turn my Anger
inside out

focusing the pointy
raw sharp knife edges,
into my own Soul.

I bury this Anger
so deeply…
I have not got a clue
where does it go?

but it does not stay
gone long

the buddha once said,
Life is suffering
and to this I do
agree.

When things are happiest
and seem perfect,
you know that deep down
sooner or later

richer or poorer,
its going to end.

And if we don’t allow
our Big and Wide enough Hearts
to contain Sorrow-
how will Joy ever slip in?

Heart of Tears and Fire-oil pastel and colored pencils by emily sturgill 2014

Push/Pull

Push/Pull

by Emily Sturgill 6/24/14

Push/Pull
that is the sum
of Us.

You pull me closer
just to push me away.

Or this, you pull me closer
and I am the one
to push you away.

Or this?

Do I pull you closer,
as you push me away?

It’s all semantics
this push/ pull game
that we both play.

Nobody is perfect.
And Nobody’s marriage is perfect
either, that one for sure
is true.

Everyday, as I taste my lips
the words I say to you
are
I love you

and you mirror
back to me,
i love you too…

but this push/ pull thing?

Why do we choose
to do the things we do?

And no, I don’t wanna
I don’t wanna
I don’t wanna…

fight and argue
with you.

for one thing
you do not fight fair.
you always fight dirty.

you spin, twist & turn
my words around
like a game of monopoly

you argue only to win,
when I fight with you-
its my attempt
to communicate with you.

in my opinion there are never
winners nor losers.
i want to get down to the middle
to the riddle of our
troubles

and settle the matter.
But you are too keen
on who wins or who loses/
and you are the most sore loser
I’ve ever seen.

why can’t we just agree
to disagree???

this pull/push thing
i hate feeling this way
it sure is a shitty
way to start my day.

If your in front of a door
and you push but nothing happens,
then you must compromise
and pull the door closer

just like me.

Tired of the tug and fight

Today, I am tired of the tug and fight.

Between myself and I,

over how I am going to spend my time?

And if I am going to crash soon-

taking a nap? or if I am going to make some kind of art?

or will i read books?

I am so sick of this fight, this tug of war,

between my depressed side and

my manic-laughing hyena side?

I feel like I must be Dr,Jekyll and Mr.Hyde.

I cannot decide which impulses to follow;

do i do something crazy, yet grand, like drawing

a wonderful piece of art, in charcoal or pastels or even crayons?

Or do i tilt my hand-all aces-how grand!

Do I just take another anxiety med and sleep off

all the lame boring excitement,

of trying to create a manuscript or poems or paintings,

or bead another un-bought necklace-which only i will wear?

Tired of the tug and fight.

I want middle ground.

I just took another lithium about an hour ago.

I want all the stability that an entire

Starship fleet of doctors

once promised me.

I always take my meds,

but eventually they stop working-

or just real-life shit problems happen,

and stress me out,

so that my medicines stop working.

i try to be the ideal patient.

Still I remain a hybrid of Dr .Jekyll and Mr.Hyde.

So tired of the tug and fight….useless.

frustrations mount.

depression sizzles.

mania fizzles.

blame it on the weather-

or blame it on the stupid tug and fight,

stupid insanity-

it bites

me

right in the ass,

every-time.

Worlds Collide

Worlds collide

deep inside,

my smashing mind.

 

There is the world that

I have built of an insane asylum-inside my head.

Then there is the “other”- “Real World”.

 

these two places do not often,

co-exist very well.

Somedays, I get lost in the translation.

 

My crazy self, jumps into

the world of reality foolish and blindly.

She peers out for a second or moment-

here nor there….tearing a patch of the fabric

that holds me altogether.

 

And then worlds collide.

When I am sane-relatively speaking-all

of the sudden I do something

out of whack and crazy.

 

It’s not an episode-rather a symptom.

I suffer from some strange and

unexpected irrationality.

Or worse, I get fearful and defensive,

and I have no idea why.

 

I just knew that somewhere,

deep inside

two worlds have collided,

yet again.

 

 

 

On the rail-road tracks of a unhinged mind:

IMG_20130615_101512

Under the crushing weight of deep thought,
my mind collaspes, with all that i got.
al that i got,
to live up too, all that i want to do, accomplish,
live for and more.

So many thoughts randomly attack
with the buzz buzz buzz
of a bee, stinging me sweetly
in all the wrong spots.

thinking thoughts of everything i have,
and all that i have got.
things i have choosen but other things,
i have caught.

like the slight of a sneeze…
the beginnings of a bigger malady.
a song starts outs,
in the background of a room covered in red.

red paint, red walls, red bedsheets…
the color of anger, the color of passion, the color of sex.
red is the color of the universe as she bleeds out.

and i am strapped down, deeply divided,
by my own polarities .
Strapped down tight to a railroad crossing,
a railroad track of an unhinged mind.

nothing worse or less-
than the fact the mind is of my own.
And the metaphor belongs to me Alone.

A self-portrait designed by the Poetic.
A tortured soul, a depressed young woman,
middle aged and over-ripe, by time.

musings of a manic-depressive mind.
free-verse
of a dress-rehearse-sal…
i am a passerby, as i watch words,
tumble loosely from fingertips coated in fine
golden dust, as my shadow slowy changes
from wine to rust.