Caught Up In The Whirlwind

She has been rushing madly from task to task for over 5 years now, maniacally filling the time to keep from feeling the anguish. I have watched her do this her whole life, so sensitive and trembling, her eyes like a baby deer just waiting for the injury. The tears always seeming to well up before the word is even said.

It has been excruciating watching her struggle to get her physical bearings back after the accident, the therapy, the casts, the surgeries and then the vertigo and another accident. Pattern repeated over and over, her birdlike frailness struggling and fighting to crawl over the next hurdle, the next vulgar insult to what once was a strong and healthy, vital physical being. I can’t help but think of the irony of her titling this blog, “The Wind”. Because these past years she has been caught in a cyclone of despair, tornado of uncertainty, tsunami of self doubt .

My suffering is to watch from afar, unable to comfort, unable to embrace or offer words of love that threaten to run screaming from my lips. I think of Kathy, out on the moors, in her own private struggle to make headway towards her own oblivion. The loss of Heathcliff too much to bear, the struggle too painful to go any further.

I don’t think that she knows that I love her anymore. Her vision is so focused on the physical pain and limitations, so focused  on caring for her father, that she no longer feels the love that flows out of me. I want that love to hold her in a cocoon, to gentle push a strand of hair out of her green , green eyes. I long to hold her close to me and hug her tight while she cries out all these years of pain, and then lets the healing sunshine into her cold places.

If it could be done, I would lay her down in a bed of softest down and cover her gently with a soft, plush blanket, as I rubbed out every ache and pain. I would play soft, soothing music, and let the child sleep as long as she wanted to, with no interruption.

I would let her know that I love her, no matter whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat. Sorry, I must rest now.

Author: ST Martin

I am an Artist, Poet and Author. A Survivor of Violent Sexual Abuse and Rape, I have lived thru Severe Domestic Violence, Twenty Three years of Addiction and Alcoholism, Family Dysfunction, Chronic Pain, Dependence on Opioids, and 2 Venomous Snake Bites...I have Been Stabbed, Shot at, Tied to a Tree and Choked Unconscious. A Quarter Horse Rolled on Me, as did a Lawn Tractor. I also Wrecked a Harley into a Tree! I also have PTSD and Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder, and spent my 18th birthday in a Locked Psychiatric Ward. I am so much more than this: I feel like a tiny seed that sprouted in a desert, and now has grown into a Passion Vine. My Art is my Voice, Screaming, Crying, Praying, Loving, Laughing, Healing- all in Riotous Color...