Poetry, Musings and Memoirs – True Tales of My Life
Brittle
Image taken from my Pinterest posts
I wish I could tell you I was different then That I was happy, content, just a child But even in those early growing years I knew something was brittle ~~~
I wish I could tell you it’s because of a divorce Or a car crash, a scene, a fight in between But even when the day dawns, and light filters through There was too much on my mind ~~~
I wish I could tell you it was society Put it down to one event, let it be But there is reason behind me I am just this way; I was made brittle ~~~
I was brittle before I reached the age of one Before my first dark, grim nightmares Before the death of my fragile spirit I was already brittle in my mother’s belly ~~~
I try to soothe my mind with my music box fairy Broken promises, dusty, stained wishes But I am brittle So take my hand, gently, as I am liable to fracture.
Writing my memoirs, musings, a little fiction and a lot of poetry as a way of exploring and making the most of my life ...
... Having had a break from writing my blog for more than three years, I decided to return to write my memoirs, some day-to-day observations, views and feelings. My passion is non-fiction poetry. I have a disability and use an electric powerchair called Alfie and let nothing get in the way of living life to the full.
I believe that you can never do a kindness too soon and should give credit where credit is due. A smile or a kind word could make the difference between a good or bad day for a person - we never know what's going on for another soul. Those little things, perhaps, practised daily like a mantra, could mean so much to someone else.
Thank you for visiting my blog and reading a little more about me. Please, make yourself at home here. You are very welcome. Ellie x 😊
View all posts by Ellie Thompson
38 thoughts on “Brittle”
Beautiful ❤️ like you! Fragile yet strong, sad yet always making people smile! Hugs !!
This reminds me so much of my sweet daughter. She’s always been brittle, fragile, melancholic, a big feeler who feels injustice like bruises on her skin. She also loves fiercely and without hesitation. The world needs beautiful souls like both of you. Sending you a warm and gentle hug.
Thank you for reading and leaving me such a lovely comment. Your daughter sounds like a beautiful child. I’m sure she takes after her mum. Thank you, too, for your warm and gentle hug. That means a lot to me. Xx 🦢💖
Thank you, Ann. I appreciate your comment, and although I don’t feel very strong at the moment, I hope to reach that point very soon. I won’t give up. X
Yes, perhaps, Mick. I wasn’t sure if you meant tough in the sense of being tough or whether you meant tough as in difficult? Thanks for reading though.
I know your “brittle in the belly” was a whole lot different from mine, but I can empathize in a particular way. I was born with erupting eczema from toe to top of skull, and I am told I screamed constantly because cloth against my skin irritated my skin every second of every day. How can you not put warm blankets around a baby? I can remember being put in warm baths with oatneal in them just to moisturize my skin for hours at a time. (I guess I was born a nudist, lol!) As I said, not the same, but fragile nonetheless.
The eczema slowly retreated over the years, although as a child I often ended up in the hospital because the “erupting” part of my eczema would have parts of my body covered in thick excretions that would crack and bleed. It finally disappeared (I thought) when I was in my 20s. I just discovered a few months back it is still hiding in my ear canals. Invisible to the naked eye, but still there after 72 years.
I cannot imagine in any way what you have been through in your life, Ellie, but I understand suffering. It leaves scars that no one else can see. For that my heart reaches out to you. I am glad you are in the process of healing. (((((((❤🧡💛💙💙💜🤎🤍)))))))
Oh, how awful for you, J. It must have been so distressing for you as a baby and small child. I hadn’t heard of erupting eczema before, so I googled it, and it sounds excruciatingly painful. I’m not at all surprised that you screamed all the time. You must have been in absolute agony. It must have also been the worst thing not to be cuddled as a baby – it’s such a vital stage of a baby’s development. Having this condition until your 20s must have been dreadful. I hope the eczema in your ear canals doesn’t cause you any discomfort these days. Were you able to have contact with your parents when you were in hospital back then? I ask because I was born prematurely and put away from my Mum in an incubator. In those days, parents weren’t encouraged to be with their poorly offspring; the caring was left only to the nurses. Not quite the same. I was also hospitalised at six years old with measles. I was there for weeks, but my parents weren’t encouraged to visit me again. That sort of isolation has got to affect a child as they grow up, especially when forming relationships with others and, naturally, with their parents. I know it did for me.
As for the rest of my childhood, you are right; I went through years of the most unimaginable trauma, which I’ll never escape from entirely. It helps me to write in the honest way that I do. I’m having counselling, as you will no doubt know from my recent poems, but this is incredibly painful. As for scars, yes, always, you are right. Unfortunately, one of my coping strategies was self-harm. I have many physical scars, which are, sadly, permanent reminders. I’ve never, ever written about this, and it was only yesterday that I was thinking of writing a piece about that. I don’t know whether I will yet, though. I should add that I haven’t engaged in self-harm for about eleven years now, but the scars will never fade and I hate them. People sometimes make insensitive remarks, which are really hurtful. I should be used to them by now, but it never stops hurting. Thanks for your kind words and for listening to my ‘story’. Sending hugs to you, Ellie xx 💜🤗💖😘💚🤗💙
I truthfully do not remember much of the day-to-day part of my life as a child. With my male parent being a beliver that sparing the rod would spoil the child, and my mother being under his thumb most of the time, i really have little memory of her. And I hated her when she died when I was eight, because that is when I found out how much she had been protecting her children from him. He became 10 times worse without her there. But that is all water under the carpet.
Most of my hospitalizations from eczema were as a young child, so if my parents visited me or not I do not remember. With 9 other kids to take care of I doubt they had time for me, especially as we lived miles away from the hospital at that time. But, I do know it was safer for me to be in the hospital than at home.
As for self-harm, I cannot really say. I know my father accused me of doing things that I knew would make him beat me. If so, that would be a form of self-harm, I guess. But I think he just said that when he had no other excuse to beat me.
The thing is, somehow I survived. I discovered a strength in me that should not have been there. I know I have mental scars rather than physical ones, but my belief in and relationship with my life spirit make me fairly invulnerable to bullies and such-like people.
However, having said that, I have a talent no one should have.When I find myself in an untenable situation that I cannot escape, I can think myself sick, and the sickness becomes real. I end up in a hospital every time. I have come within minutes of death more than once in my life. Now that is self-harm on a grand scale without leaving a trace of a scar. And psychiatrists tell me its all 8n my head, But they don’t believe me when I say I agree with them. They say I can make myself appear sick, hut they don’t get it. I consciously choose what I want to have happen to me, but I never think it through to the seriousness of a sickness.
Maybe I am insane, but I don’t think so. I call it unsanity,
Guess I’m rambling by now. Best I leave this here…
Your male parent sounds incredibly cruel. I’ll never understand how a parent can abuse a child that way. I know physical child abuse is still happening now, but hopefully, it’s picked up more often (but not often enough to help those affected children). Mental scars are just as bad, if not worse, than physical ones. I have a lot of mental scars as well. It’s awful that the psychiatrists don’t take you seriously. Mine is no help whatsoever. Your level of distress (even if you’re not aware of that) must be high to be able to make yourself sick. I don’t think you are insane at all – I feel making yourself sick is a coping mechanism. I never made myself sick that way, but I was constantly trying to kill myself and, like you, ended up in intensive care more than once. I remember always being cross that I’d been ‘saved’ as I wanted to escape the emotional torture I was in. That, combined with drinking and drug taking all at the same time, plus being severely anorexic (leading to a hospital stay of one year), it’s a wonder I’m here at all. I should add that I’ve been clean and sober for 11 years and have no intentions of going down that road again. Now, I’m glad I wasn’t successful in killing myself. I put my family and friends through hell at the time. They just despaired of me, and I broke their hearts many a time. I’m trying to make amends now, but it’s too late for my Mum since I lost her nearly six years ago. I don’t think you’re rambling at all, J; just honestly sharing your experiences and thoughts, which is appreciated. Love to you, J. 💙🌹💜
Thank you, Tangie. I’m okay, although I’m struggling with my mental health at the moment. I’m hoping to see my doctor today if I can get an appointment. Xx 💛💕🌻
Dear Ellie. I have danced on a edge of sanity/insanity for many years. Hidden anger, I must locked away. Life seemed to keep testing us. I try to help my daughters, I enjoy my time with my five grandchildren and writing had been my savior. I have retired and I must edit 15 long stories and a book. I believe, being busy keeps my sanity. I love your poetry and I hope you are enjoying the days of Fall.
Dear John, thank you for your comment. I understand about hidden anger; hence my last post called simply, Rage, although this helped me to get some of my anger out. It never seems enough, though. I’m very impressed that you’ve written so much. I’m so glad you have family to enjoy. I do, too, but I don’t see them as often as I’d like. That will change soon, although I don’t have a date yet, as my son and two young grandchildren will regularly come to stay with me a few times a month. I try to keep busy, although I am physically limited in what I can do because of my disability. I stay mentally active, though, and that’s where my writing helps. I would be lost without it. I love Autumn (your Fall). It has got cold quite quickly this year, which is quite a contrast to the heatwave we had in the Summer. Take care, John x
I stay strong for the grandchildren dear Ellie. I use Autumn too. The grandchildren love Halloween. I hope you are feeling well and trying to have some fun.
Thank you, Goldie. There are some days when I feel stronger, but others when I seem to back at the beginning. I will get there eventually, I know. Xx 💕
Essentially Ellie 
Beautiful ❤️ like you! Fragile yet strong, sad yet always making people smile! Hugs !!
Aww, thank you, J, for such beautiful words. They are so much appreciated, especially at the moment. Big hugs coming your way, too Xx 🤗💕
This reminds me so much of my sweet daughter. She’s always been brittle, fragile, melancholic, a big feeler who feels injustice like bruises on her skin. She also loves fiercely and without hesitation. The world needs beautiful souls like both of you. Sending you a warm and gentle hug.
Thank you for reading and leaving me such a lovely comment. Your daughter sounds like a beautiful child. I’m sure she takes after her mum. Thank you, too, for your warm and gentle hug. That means a lot to me. Xx 🦢💖
What a beautiful offering this comment is 💖
There is beauty in the brittle and how it survives 🙂
Thank you for your kind comment, Simon. It’s much appreciated 😊.
You’re always welcome 🙂
Your work is going from strength to strength.
As are you.
xxxxxx
Thank you so much, Granny. It’s lovely of you to say that. Xxx 🦢💖💚
So powerful….you are brittle, but you are also strong!
Thank you, Ann. I appreciate your comment, and although I don’t feel very strong at the moment, I hope to reach that point very soon. I won’t give up. X
Beautifully written Ellie – sending you love ❤️
Thank you, Kate. Sending love your way, too. Xx 💕
Brittle but tough I suspect, Ellie.
Yes, perhaps, Mick. I wasn’t sure if you meant tough in the sense of being tough or whether you meant tough as in difficult? Thanks for reading though.
Definitely tough in the sense of being tough, Ellie!
Thanks for clarifying this, Mick. Yes, definitely that sort of tough.
You are loved
You are safe here
You are inspiring
Never change
Thank you so much, Selma. That’s kind of you to say. Xx 💖
I know your “brittle in the belly” was a whole lot different from mine, but I can empathize in a particular way. I was born with erupting eczema from toe to top of skull, and I am told I screamed constantly because cloth against my skin irritated my skin every second of every day. How can you not put warm blankets around a baby? I can remember being put in warm baths with oatneal in them just to moisturize my skin for hours at a time. (I guess I was born a nudist, lol!) As I said, not the same, but fragile nonetheless.
The eczema slowly retreated over the years, although as a child I often ended up in the hospital because the “erupting” part of my eczema would have parts of my body covered in thick excretions that would crack and bleed. It finally disappeared (I thought) when I was in my 20s. I just discovered a few months back it is still hiding in my ear canals. Invisible to the naked eye, but still there after 72 years.
I cannot imagine in any way what you have been through in your life, Ellie, but I understand suffering. It leaves scars that no one else can see. For that my heart reaches out to you. I am glad you are in the process of healing. (((((((❤🧡💛💙💙💜🤎🤍)))))))
Oh, how awful for you, J. It must have been so distressing for you as a baby and small child. I hadn’t heard of erupting eczema before, so I googled it, and it sounds excruciatingly painful. I’m not at all surprised that you screamed all the time. You must have been in absolute agony. It must have also been the worst thing not to be cuddled as a baby – it’s such a vital stage of a baby’s development. Having this condition until your 20s must have been dreadful. I hope the eczema in your ear canals doesn’t cause you any discomfort these days. Were you able to have contact with your parents when you were in hospital back then? I ask because I was born prematurely and put away from my Mum in an incubator. In those days, parents weren’t encouraged to be with their poorly offspring; the caring was left only to the nurses. Not quite the same. I was also hospitalised at six years old with measles. I was there for weeks, but my parents weren’t encouraged to visit me again. That sort of isolation has got to affect a child as they grow up, especially when forming relationships with others and, naturally, with their parents. I know it did for me.
As for the rest of my childhood, you are right; I went through years of the most unimaginable trauma, which I’ll never escape from entirely. It helps me to write in the honest way that I do. I’m having counselling, as you will no doubt know from my recent poems, but this is incredibly painful. As for scars, yes, always, you are right. Unfortunately, one of my coping strategies was self-harm. I have many physical scars, which are, sadly, permanent reminders. I’ve never, ever written about this, and it was only yesterday that I was thinking of writing a piece about that. I don’t know whether I will yet, though. I should add that I haven’t engaged in self-harm for about eleven years now, but the scars will never fade and I hate them. People sometimes make insensitive remarks, which are really hurtful. I should be used to them by now, but it never stops hurting. Thanks for your kind words and for listening to my ‘story’. Sending hugs to you, Ellie xx 💜🤗💖😘💚🤗💙
I truthfully do not remember much of the day-to-day part of my life as a child. With my male parent being a beliver that sparing the rod would spoil the child, and my mother being under his thumb most of the time, i really have little memory of her. And I hated her when she died when I was eight, because that is when I found out how much she had been protecting her children from him. He became 10 times worse without her there. But that is all water under the carpet.
Most of my hospitalizations from eczema were as a young child, so if my parents visited me or not I do not remember. With 9 other kids to take care of I doubt they had time for me, especially as we lived miles away from the hospital at that time. But, I do know it was safer for me to be in the hospital than at home.
As for self-harm, I cannot really say. I know my father accused me of doing things that I knew would make him beat me. If so, that would be a form of self-harm, I guess. But I think he just said that when he had no other excuse to beat me.
The thing is, somehow I survived. I discovered a strength in me that should not have been there. I know I have mental scars rather than physical ones, but my belief in and relationship with my life spirit make me fairly invulnerable to bullies and such-like people.
However, having said that, I have a talent no one should have.When I find myself in an untenable situation that I cannot escape, I can think myself sick, and the sickness becomes real. I end up in a hospital every time. I have come within minutes of death more than once in my life. Now that is self-harm on a grand scale without leaving a trace of a scar. And psychiatrists tell me its all 8n my head, But they don’t believe me when I say I agree with them. They say I can make myself appear sick, hut they don’t get it. I consciously choose what I want to have happen to me, but I never think it through to the seriousness of a sickness.
Maybe I am insane, but I don’t think so. I call it unsanity,
Guess I’m rambling by now. Best I leave this here…
Your male parent sounds incredibly cruel. I’ll never understand how a parent can abuse a child that way. I know physical child abuse is still happening now, but hopefully, it’s picked up more often (but not often enough to help those affected children). Mental scars are just as bad, if not worse, than physical ones. I have a lot of mental scars as well. It’s awful that the psychiatrists don’t take you seriously. Mine is no help whatsoever. Your level of distress (even if you’re not aware of that) must be high to be able to make yourself sick. I don’t think you are insane at all – I feel making yourself sick is a coping mechanism. I never made myself sick that way, but I was constantly trying to kill myself and, like you, ended up in intensive care more than once. I remember always being cross that I’d been ‘saved’ as I wanted to escape the emotional torture I was in. That, combined with drinking and drug taking all at the same time, plus being severely anorexic (leading to a hospital stay of one year), it’s a wonder I’m here at all. I should add that I’ve been clean and sober for 11 years and have no intentions of going down that road again. Now, I’m glad I wasn’t successful in killing myself. I put my family and friends through hell at the time. They just despaired of me, and I broke their hearts many a time. I’m trying to make amends now, but it’s too late for my Mum since I lost her nearly six years ago. I don’t think you’re rambling at all, J; just honestly sharing your experiences and thoughts, which is appreciated. Love to you, J. 💙🌹💜
💥💖💥 back at you, Ellie. Two people discussing past lives without having (officially) died yet. I hate to say it but: Hope springs eternal.
Keep pushing forward!!
You are strong and amazing and inspiring and brave. Keep shining
Thank you for such kind and encouraging words, Devang. I appreciate them very much.
So sad that you feel so brittle and broken even from being a baby. Such meaningful words.
Thank you for these words, Phil. It’s kind of you to say that.
Beautiful Ellie, thank you for sharing. I hope you are fairing well. 🤗
Thank you, Tangie. I’m okay, although I’m struggling with my mental health at the moment. I’m hoping to see my doctor today if I can get an appointment. Xx 💛💕🌻
Dear Ellie. I have danced on a edge of sanity/insanity for many years. Hidden anger, I must locked away. Life seemed to keep testing us. I try to help my daughters, I enjoy my time with my five grandchildren and writing had been my savior. I have retired and I must edit 15 long stories and a book. I believe, being busy keeps my sanity. I love your poetry and I hope you are enjoying the days of Fall.
Dear John, thank you for your comment. I understand about hidden anger; hence my last post called simply, Rage, although this helped me to get some of my anger out. It never seems enough, though. I’m very impressed that you’ve written so much. I’m so glad you have family to enjoy. I do, too, but I don’t see them as often as I’d like. That will change soon, although I don’t have a date yet, as my son and two young grandchildren will regularly come to stay with me a few times a month. I try to keep busy, although I am physically limited in what I can do because of my disability. I stay mentally active, though, and that’s where my writing helps. I would be lost without it. I love Autumn (your Fall). It has got cold quite quickly this year, which is quite a contrast to the heatwave we had in the Summer. Take care, John x
I stay strong for the grandchildren dear Ellie. I use Autumn too. The grandchildren love Halloween. I hope you are feeling well and trying to have some fun.
💛🙏💕
Thank you, Cherryl. Xx 💝
Heartbreaking. But seeing how far you’ve come should be proof of your strength.
Thank you, Goldie. There are some days when I feel stronger, but others when I seem to back at the beginning. I will get there eventually, I know. Xx 💕