Current Freebie Gems on Kindle by Emily Sturgill, M.Ed BFA

Currently, as of today right now I have five different ebooks which are completely FREE to download off of kindle:

http://www.amazon.com/letters-Madness-pictures-Rantings-Ravings-ebook/dp/B00B13BO96/ref=sr_1_24?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1428080968&sr=1-24&keywords=free+poetry+books+on+kindle

http://www.amazon.com/letters-Madness-pictures-Rantings-Ravings-ebook/dp/B00B2XHKW0/ref=sr_1_23?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1428080968&sr=1-23&keywords=free+poetry+books+on+kindle

http://www.amazon.com/Words-Whirl-Emily-Sturgill-ebook/dp/B00EO7EB5K/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

http://www.amazon.com/Help-Wanted-please-Sturgill-Anthology-ebook/dp/B00L6O5P7C/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

http://www.amazon.com/Dredging-Demeter-Autumn-Anthology-Poetry-ebook/dp/B00RJFQNH8/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=&qid=

 

These Deals will not last forever, so get yours quickly before supplies run out!!

Most of these ebooks do talk about my own personal battles & struggles living with Bipolar Disorder 1 also called previously, Manic-Depression. I like the old name better because it sums it up exactly for what is really is the flux between or even in each mood state of Mania or Depression.

Unfortunately, for those afflicted this illness can wreck havoc on your life and upon the lives of those you care about. Also despite being more frequently diagnosed these days-I was diagnosed in 1992-There is still a HUGE STIGMA in our country regarding mental health issues. I personally, have been out of the closet for quite sometime on my illness and these issues of unfair treatment. But even so, if I were to try to get another job or do volunteer work as a highly trained Art Therapist it might be wise for me to not mention my “disability” due to the Stigma and Controversy that is caused. Also highly, unfortunate is our Media’s constant portrayal of those with mental health issues being violent, or homicidal or criminals.  The truth is many of us are not those things but you only hear about is when someone does something horrific and happens to have a mental illness diagnosis.

Anyways not all of my books are about being bipolar, just like not all of my poetry is about being bipolar, yet I do have this illness and will mention it from time to time. Just so you know….just so I do not need to explain….but yes I am a crazy person/woman/artist/poet/wife/animal-lover/art-therapist. And yes, I write a lot of books & poems. For me that is just who & how I AM for now…..

1501743_856937424358623_500392046049445903_n 10155618_985488278145366_3496623745575528817_n 10923508_10203621266718186_6189642022438443402_n 10929158_1407064219585894_395337941031897817_n

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?

 

Black coffee, The Blues and I:

Black coffee, The Blues & I:

An essay by Emily H. Sturgill

So my husband and I were driving in our car the other day. We were listening to a mix of music I had burned off my computer onto a CD-R. At some point one of my various “favorite” blues songs came on. I wish I could tell you which one but I cannot, there’s way too many. Anyways, my husband looked at me and asked me with a semi-serious voice,”Did I marry an old black man?” I had to laugh and admit “yes.” I tried to explain my love of the Blues.

It’s kinda like why some people love Country music, except for me its The Blues. They may tell sad songs or tales of hardship or woe, but the music itself-it just makes me feel happy. It makes me feel like jumping and dancing. I don’t really know why. Most people who love The Blues like the very famous or classic singer-songwriters. But I’m different for some reason, my favorite is John Lee Hooker.

I really cannot explain it. My favorite song by far is,”Boom Boom Boom.”

Here is a you tube link:

To find out more about him check out these two links HERE:

http://www.johnleehooker.com/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Lee_Hooker

He is definitely a acquired taste. And I might have written about him before on here. This morning as I was drinking my black coffee and checking my email-I got a link from http://www.amazon.com on $5 blues albulms. Sure enough, they had one from him.

http://www.amazon.com/Urban-Blues-John-Lee-Hooker/dp/B000W198M8/ref=sr_1_2?s=dmusic&ie=UTF8&qid=1412524026&sr=1-2

I had heard and actually had downloaded some of these songs before.But surprisingly, when I clicked to listen to the tracks, they sounded like different versions of the songs I already have. I might just buy this. I know my husband will let me because he knows I gotta a serious thing for Johnny lee hooker. It is interesting to me too, that he briefly lived in Detroit Mi and even sung some songs about it. Like “The motor city is burning.” is about the famous riots here back in the 1960s-well before I was born-but still, I feel some sort of strange kinship.

I don’t know. The Blues is not for everybody. But I thought I would share my love of the blues with you, as I finish my black coffee because my inner black guy, told me too!

Drought

The drought-by Emily Sturgill 9/12/14

The land drinks

no fresh tears.

my inkwell runs dry.

 

all the words

I long to share

got caught up

into the netting

of the sky.

 

all the words

like fruit ripened

I long to scatter

upon the lips of

the hungry,

 

like milk & honey.

but I can’t…

 

for there is a hunger

that swallows the land

and syllables evade even

me.

 

 

The land drinks

no fresh tears.

my inkwell runs dry.CAM01103

 

 

 

Room full of Blues-an Acrostic poem

Room full of Blues-by Emily Sturgill 6/20/13

Rough daily distractions
only someone like you would understand.
olive colored faces
my friendly distortion as I gaze out at the crowd.

full of smoky air and musician type lighting
useless to fight the push/pull
lighting another cigarette puffing
lightly till I’ve had my fill.

old fashioned ballroom once made
for dancing but not anymore as I walk onto the stage

blues come out crooning, rocking outta my mouth
little woman singing like a gut full of doubt.
useless patterns dancing upon the ceiling as I sing I stare,
even try to figure them out.
sounds so simple so sweet

A room full of Blues
covering me in pitch blacken
Stagefright.

Sometimes Depression eats me Alive…

Sometimes Depression
eats me alive,
as I slip into
melancholy
barely whole
barely intact
barely alive.

For hours I will just sit
and will regret
all of my past transgressions.

Always wanting, what I have not got.

forgetting, the good stuff
the places,
I Rock.

The things that only
I know how to do.

No, its nothing
practical but
I can fascinate You.

Like a wall of Mirrors
Circus tricks and games,
a fancy for the bizarre
and Strange.

I can write Poetry.
And I can sing,
And I can dream
very Big Things.

I can paint and
I can draw.

No, I do not have
to focus on Pain,
but sometimes

Depression, it eats me Alive.

Tip-toe through the daisies

It’s cold here.

So then, I close my eyes

and I imagine things.

I imagine that I

can tip-toe through the daisies

which lie buried under deep snow

I imagine them bloom, and-

then I imagine them grow

into a sea

of devastation

a sea of utter raw beauty-

you would agree,

if you could just, only close your eyes

and tip-toe through the daisies-

C’mon old man winter,

I am ready for you to stop following me.

I am ready for a sea full of daisies

and the beauty they may bring

a rarity called

Spring.

Sadly, seriously?

Sadly, seriously?

Somebody I love suffers from

a form of

clinical depression.

Whether its mild, or major, or seasonal, or dysthmic?

I really do not know nor do

i even care.

What i do care about,

is that he is mere inches away from getting help for it.

Sadly, Seriously?

The people in his family just do not

“get’ mental illness-they do not understand,

what is really is and what it is not.

Even though he has me, been very supportive of me-

all the manias, depressions and the in-betweens.

he still cannot, quite understand about depression.

That even if its not bipolar, being depressed is just

as real and just as serious.

He thinks/feels/acts like life must

always be THIS WAY-hard, sad, angry,lonely, slightly

just ever so slightly, a tad bit

suicidal.

But we had a break-through in therapy

today-meaning naturally i ratted him out.

I told the truth about what b.s. he says

and whats it really about.

Normal folks do not make jokes,

that when things are tight or rough,

maybe they should just go kill themselves?

Sadly, Seriously.

He’s napping now.

And I feel better that we dropped off a script

for him this time.

He accused me , that i only want the rest

of the world to be diagnosed something,

so i will feel less lonely.

And i said no thats not it i just know,

a whole lotta crazy.

Sadly, seriously

if only i can get him to give them-the anti-depressants-

a chance to work, maybe then

he will feel lighter, feel better , feel more even

and less likely to buckle

under all his mixed up emotions.

That its ok to feel this way, but you do not,

have to feel depressed and miserable everyday.

Sadly seriously

I hope that this will help him.

Maybe someday he will realize,

there are many choices in your life,

but being constantly miserable

is only one of them.

Slaying the Dragon

Slaying the Dragon,

beneath my silver-tipped sword

shining with encrusted jewels

bright and bold

filled with the enormous certainty

of Faith. Love, and Hope.

 

I stand back and watch

the beast beneath bleed

out all of the Ugly.

The Depression in mood, the negativity, the chip off

my left-hand shoulder

 

it is all released in one fell swoop.

the urgency of his attack at first depletes me.

But then I realize there is strength

beneath all sorrow.

 

My heart hinders me-

if it contains me, and all my soul,

if there is peace and love there

there is little room left for anger and regrets.

 

I take my blade and wipe it clean.

What has driven all my blues away?

Is it a slight victory over lingering insanity?

Or is it a beautiful tainted conquest

this fragment

of a dream?

 

Relaxing with music-all alone again….

Relaxing with music,

the Singer-songwriter M.Ward,

sings sweetly in my background.

My mother in law is at a doctors appointment.

My husband has left to go watch the latest

Superman movie-then he has a therapy appointment.

 

I’m all alone, at home again.

It’s peaceful. Despite a few stray teardrops,

which escape me.

 

Mood wise-slide sideways,

between sad and joy…

relief at being simply more of myself,

again.

 

More in control.

Heads still somewhat cloudy-

but feet are nailed safely/to the ground.

 

Every-time, I have another

manic-depressive episode,

it feels as though both my body and brain-

have betrayed me yet again.

 

 

They have turned me inside out/

into somebody insane…

just the name of this

illness game.

 

There is nothing I can really do

except my best,

to avoid these times/

of madness, at the slip of a dime.

 

I take my medicine as prescribed.

I never miss my doctor sessions.

I try to get enough sleep.

I try to not freak out.

 

Despite the hurdle of Everything/

I occasionally still/

completely lose my mind.

 

It always feels as though-

I have betrayed myself somehow…

My episodes the last two years, strictly on my meds,

have been smaller & shorter,

no real damage has been done.

 

I should feel happy,

as if I’ve won.

But instead I am sadden by the way,

I become undone.

Like a sweater with one button popping loose,

as if by random chance.

 

I know of others with my disease,

have fewer times of the in-between.

Fewer times of the semi-normalcy, stable state.

 

I know I am blessed and lucky.

At least my medicines control

my CRAZY, from time to time…

 

Nobody’s perfect all the time.

We all have our flaws.

It just sucks that history tends to;

repeat itself in my general direction.

I am caught in the constant cobweb

of being CRAZY.

 

I run away from home TIME AND TIME AGAIN…

Just like the first time, way back in the summer,

of 1992.

I’m a song stuck on repeat.

A dance number without  a beat.

Filled with sadness & joy, all at once,

a walking contradiction

allowing & swallowing the impossible

courage & fear of being

plain old ME.IMG_20130330_093314 IMG_20130330_093436 Self-portrait photo may 2013Falling to pieces by EHCato 1999Picture 113 copy