Where Am I?

The life is Busy, life of a caregiver. It revolves around his existence, the ebb and flow of his life force. He gets out of bed later each day, goes to bed earlier, communicates less, gazes dimly ahead more often.

He wants to eat less, if ever. Sleep overcomes him in an instant, no matter what we are doing. His face fades into blues and purples when he sleeps. His mouth droops, and I desperately look for his breathing, letting out my held breath when I finally discern the rise and fall of his shirt.

Sleep escapes me. I writhe. Only to be spat out of me bed at 5 am like a broken pretzel. A broken glass pretzel.

I will stop for now. The pain wins again.more self portraits 028

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...