Where are You, my Muse?
Oh, I’m here…Don’t fret. It’s not time to see me again, not yet. Gotta get your head straight, let the psych meds work, get your butt off the couch- don’t give up like a jerk…
. Well, I guess I deserved that, although it’s not my fault that the pharmacy messed up my mind by messing around with my meds… One must never go off one’s Lamictal…no no no. Makes one feel quite spacey.
I battled a major depressive episode after my highdee-high whirlwind of art shows and kudos, grant proposal mania and a brief internship with a famous metal artist who probably thinks I’m a real whack-job…he wouldn’t be too far from wrong woodee?
Yeah, I was on a 🌊 wave…and, boy, did the walls come crashing down. Even paranoia this time, thinking the local art community was against me…that’s a new wrinkle in the bipolar lasanga of symptoms.
. Could the fact that COVID conspired with 2 Therapists quitting (to the end that I haven’t had a talk session in person in over 2 years) have a hand in screwing with my mental state? Or the lockdown isolation? Or the disappointment of my seeming failure to land any grant or mural call I applied for? Ummm…yeah. I fell way down the rabbit hole…
. I think I’m on an upswing, tho’. I’m hoping so. My creativity escaped me for some weeks. Plus I battled a horrendous bout of acute Bronchitis that layed me out big time…
I’m climbing out… reaching out…Getting back on my wild eyed pony…
SUSAN TODD MARTIN 