Shtriga
“The evil eye is when someone you love
looks at you but they aren’t there.
My mother is now a Disney villain;
the sun has become an insult. She should
be fitted with a blood-black velvet cape.
Pale blue eyes in a hard-set face stare out ...”
About the poem
Shtriga was published by Ink, Sweat and Tears in February 2020.
The poem is inspired by a legend about a witch-vampire that fed, not on human blood, but on their life force. At the time that I discovered this legend, I was coming to terms with the gravity of my Mum’s illness. She had depression and an eating disorder and as well as this making her physical health incredibly precarious, it completely altered her personality. Sometimes I would be afraid for her life because of her frailty, other times I would feel waves of hate or disgust as her behaviour deteriorated. I knew it was the illness and not my mother, and yet understanding something on an intellectual level is not the same as feeling it. I was dealing with a woman on a daily basis who made my life a misery and she looked like my Mum.
One thing that helped me in coming to terms with this was to personify the illness as the Shtriga. It fit uncomfortably well to the situation and it helps to me separate my Mum from what often feels like a monster inside her. One of the many challenges of caring for someone with a mental illness is that it leads to dramatic changes in personality and this way, I can hate the illness - the vampire sucking the life out of my Mum - and yet still love the person.
This poem was very therapeutic to write, and slightly scary to have published. It articulates some of my rage and hatred against this illness. In this era where thankfully there are campaigns to give people with mental illness greater understanding, I didn’t at all want to demonise sufferers but I felt very strongly that one area that is not considered is how it feels to care for someone in this situation. The generic advice is to listen, experts advocate kindness and that’s of course wonderful as far as it goes, but it doesn’t take into account the emotional burden when you’re facing days, weeks, months and years of loving someone who lies, manipulates and actively harms themselves. I can only hope I’ve got the balance right, that my love and empathy for my Mum shines through the monstrous aspects of the poem.