Me Reading Poetry 8 Years Ago - and a long story about the past

Slash Pine Press Poetry Festival April 2010, Juliet Cook reading, photo by Joseph P. Wood

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This just looks like a normal photo of me reading poetry, but here's what pops out of my head as soon as I look at it:

-This was the first poetry reading I participated in after my stroke (caused by an aneurysm, caused by a carotid artery dissection), which happened in January 2010. When I first got out of the hospital, I couldn't read at all. I had to re-learn the alphabet and take it from there.

- I couldn't read my own poetry and at first it didn't even make sense to me. My mom helped me re-learn to read, starting with children's books. My (ex)husband read stuff to me online that had been accepted for publication before my stroke, but was published afterwords. I remember him reading a long book review I had written and I remember appreciating that. But I also remember asking him to read me part of an online literary magazine and he got less than halfway through some bizarre piece of fiction before he couldn't take it anymore. Then again, most people who aren't really into creative writing might not be able to take too much bizarro lit fiction.

- I had been invited to participate in this poetry reading event before my stroke (because my poetry chapbook, "Fondant Pig Angst", had won the Slash Pine Press open reading period and had been published by Slash Pine Press the previous year - and Slash Pine Press was hosting this reading weekend). I had asked my (ex)husband if he would be willing to go with me and he said yes.

- I was still having a lot of troubles with words and reading, so I "practice read" the 5 or 6 poems I had chosen to read about 100 times. (In comparison, these days I practice read my poems 2 or 3 times before a reading, mainly for length reasons).

- When I was practice reading poetry back then, my mom sometimes listened to it and helped me. That meant a lot to me, especially since my mom had issues with my poetry for years and never really related to it or particularly liked it. She set those issues aside and just listened to me read my weird poetry.

- Closer to the time of the Slash Pine Press poetry reading weekend, my (ex)husband suddenly seemed less interested in the event and I got worried that he might back out at the last minute. I rarely did readings when I was involved with him (because he wasn't really interested and I didn't drive, so most of my poetry focus was just inside my own home and online, which I was fine with at the time), but he had seemed genuinely interested in this one and now he didn't. I mentioned something about it to my aunt and she said she would come to the reading weekend - and that way, if he didn't feel like attending all the readings that weekend, then she and I could. That seemed like a good plan to me.

- I wanted the weekend to be a poetry focused, unique, enjoyable experience - and it was definitely poetry focused to a large extent - but anytime we weren't at a reading, it ended up feeling like a mental fiasco inside my brain, because nothing I said or did made my (ex)husband and my aunt get along with each other - and they both seemed more focused on picking on each other or judging each other rather than on enjoying the event. I felt like I was expected to take a side. I wasn't taking a side! I was at a poetry event, trying to focus on and enjoy the poetry; not taking sides for nitpicky reasons!

- The reading I participated in was in the afternoon, at a bar. There was a big crowd and a variety of different readers. Me, my (ex)husband and my aunt were sitting at a table near the stage. I was one of the first readers. I was pretty excited about it afterwards, because this was the first poetry reading I'd done in a long time, and the first poetry reading I'd done after my stroke related brain damage. I'd practice read my poems over 100 times and I ended up sounding like a normal reader. Then we sat there and listened to all the other readers and I thought we were all finally having a good time.

- There were two more reading venue events that night - an evening one and a late night one. After the afternoon one, I was feeling happy and looking forward to the rest. I walked up to my (ex)husband, who was standing near the bar. I was hoping he had enjoyed the reading too. But as soon as I was next to him, he told me I needed to choose between him or my family or he would be filing for divorce.

- That was most certainly not the sort of response I had hoped for or expected after a poetry reading; in fact, it was a mentally devastating response. But his voice was slurry and he seemed wasted and I wasn't about to get into an out-of-nowhere argument that had nothing to do with poetry and nor was I about to get into his car, get yelled at for no reason, and get driven away from the poetry. So I told him that I was going to choose to DRIVE with my aunt, since there were still two more poetry readings to attend and that he could meet us at the other poetry readings if he wanted to. Then I walked over to my aunt, then we walked over to her car, then I had a breakdown and cried inside her car. We made it to the other two readings though.

So that's what I think about when I look at this photo. And sometimes I feel sort of embarrassed about sharing my own thoughts related to my own memories, but it's not like I'm making this up and it's not like I'm forcing anyone to read my thoughts anyway.

It wasn't the first time the (ex)husband had blurted out the word divorce. He seemed to think that my stroke had changed my personality - and maybe it did to an extent, I don't know, but my personality still felt pretty close to the same to me and I definitely still had my passion for poetry and I think my poetry focus substantially helped my recovery.

But within about a month, he was tired of hearing about my stroke and my poetry.

Exactly one year after my stroke, we got divorced. I'm the one who filed for it, because in my mind, if a guy keeps blurting out the word divorce, using it as a threat, and giving me ultimatums, then he clearly doesn't want to be with me anymore.

I guess it's a good thing we'd already ended our involvement before I started having the additional side effect of seizures, because he probably would have been tired of hearing about those within about a month too, but sometimes brain-related things just don't disappear within a month.

Some parts of me that HAVE changed since then are that I have a harder time believing in/trusting love (even though I want to be loved), I have a hard time acting romantic (even though I like some romantic stuff), and no guy better tell me what to do. Because if anyone tells me what I should or shouldn't do or gives me an ultimatum, they'll be shoved out my door in a heartbeat, or at least before my heart explodes.