Out of the Gutter Art

Tag: Addiction

  • The Dark Unicorn

    (A Memoir)

    ย ย  I want the words to pour forth from my broken teeth,

    ย ย  I beg my mind to recall the past blur of a life, my life

    ย ย Nearer to end than start, or even middle

    ย ย  I ask for a kind ear to bend,

    ย ย  Listen awhile to this heart…

    ย ย ย ย  The pavement had caused her paddy paws to dry and thicken. I cried when I handed her leash to a stranger. We were leaving the Salvation Army on a freezing morning in October, a month after walking away from the impound lot in Fort Deposit. Spice was such a good natured, loyal girl; she deserved a warm bed and regular feeding, a pat on the butt everyday. Maybe even a fenced yard to play in. Her looking back as she was led away ripped my battered heart some more…

    ย  It wouldn’t be my last heartbreak. Since leaving my family and active addiction, I had lost easy access to cocaine, lost my 1970 Mach One to a State Trooper in Alabama, lost most of my clothes in a duffle bag in an orange grove somewhere in Louisiana. Who knew they had orange groves in New Orleans? Maybe they were peach trees, I had been delirious with hunger. But I hadn’t lost Danny, he was still trudging along the highway beside me, and Binky Boots Bouncer Callahan, my kitten, was still tucked inside my leather duster.

    ย ย  Days past. Miles put blisters on our feet. Danny would insist on rubbing my feet before we slept, huddled together in our sleeping bag under some scrub brush each night. My head cleared more as the raging need for a hit was replaced with real hunger each morning. I longed for a grilled cheese every morning. Danny was an excellent thief, with me as a distraction. As long as there were grocery stores we usually didn’t go hungry for long; a heisted pack of lunch meat, can of tuna or Spam our usual fare.

    ย  Our destination was still the West Coast. A new life, new jobs, clean and sober. How we would transition from homeless to housed and employed was yet to be seen. I had learned to bathe using only a liter of water from a plastic soda bottle, another for my long auburn hair. Danny had always been lean and I now was, also. Especially after walking around a barren mountain on a seemingly endless and empty stretch of road in New Mexico, only to realize we had gone in a complete circle a day later.

    ย  It was a beautiful journey, even with the discomfort and hardships. I was now hitting on all cylinders mentally, Gratitude filled my heart every morning as my frosty breath drifted skyward, into an impossibly blue, blue sky. We had crossed paths with so many kind people, my faith in humanity had been restored, to a degree.

       Jumping down from another big rig, we waved goodbye to the driver on the outskirts of Tucson. A exciting once-in-a-lifetime experience would soon follow.

     

      

      

     

      

  • Back to the Story:

    IT’S HOT, I’M TIRED..

       Night fell, and we were ready by Burt’s golden chariot. What an amazing vehicle it was. Huge, glistening, bearing his name proudly on the door in script as the owner/operator. This was no drugged-out short-timer. No, Mr. Burt was the real deal, hauling real steel. A true gentleman, he helped me up into the cab. Awkwardly, we loaded Spicedog, and then Danny swung aboard. I sat in between the men, and a bit behind. This truck was a castle compared to the first, and Burt took pride in his home on the road. His wife’s picture held pride of place on the dash, a buxom woman with honey blonde hair who smiled warmly at the camera.

    ย ย  Danny and Burt hit it off, so I curled up in the back with Binky Boots Bouncer Callahan, my calico kitten. This was really an amazingly laid-back kitty, maybe because life had become crazy at such a young age for her, she just adapted. Danny had fashioned a tiny harness and leash for her, made of shoestring, it seemed to work well. I slept, hard, the exhaustion of the past 5 days felt like a month. When I woke we were rolling into Las Cruces.

    ย ย  As we rolled into a lot for the night, the truck stop offered showers, and food. We had been dependent on the kindness of strangers, and although I tried to hide from God, I think he had mercy on a pair of delusional addicts. In retrospect,ย  the fact that we were never accosted or assaulted thus far was miraculous in itself!

    ย ย  Our time with our generous friend was soon to end, another day saw us entering Arizona. New Mexico had been dry, but mild during the day. In this climate the temperatures plummeted after the sun went down- well began layering our sparse choices of clothing.

    ย  Our bond as a couple has faced challenges, yet our love and dedication to each other and our little family remained intact. This was in spite of withdrawals from shooting up cocaine, and staying drunk 24/7. My mind had cleared, my health and stamina had improved on our journey.

       All these changes for the good would later be sorely tested. For now though, our future seemed hopeful, and our days were full of excitement and freedom. I was finally actually seeing the beautiful landscape, and a few collect phone calls to my Mom meant that soon we would have a few dollars for necessities. My relationship with my parents was far from good, the heartache travelled even through the telephone lines. This made me cling tighter to Danny, to my growing kitten and our faithful pup.  We would make it, I felt more sure than ever…

  • It’s Cold, I’m Hungry

    chapter 2

    Sleep never came that night,

    and morning had our breath turning to steam in the frosty air. Dear Danny had laid across my freezing feet for the hours before dawn…I hadn’t left Palm City prepared for this experience. I was still resolute to keep heading west, car or no car. I had burned my last proverbial bridge, in my mind there was no turning back, no forgiveness left to beg. I had disappointed my parents for the last time.

    There had been so many second, third and fourth chances at a stable, successful life. This was my geographical cure, no real plan except to keep moving-as far away from consequences and reality as I could get. How does a person in the depths of delusional thinking reason on dire reality? How does one say to their own manic, unmedicated self that their decisions will lead to near death experiences. Danger and adrenaline were my beloved companions, more intensely now befriended than ever before. The discomfort of freezing and detoxing, in a tee shirt and shorts in the bushes by a highway was less important that being the coolest person I knew. “Go West young woman!”

    Westward Ho! Westward Hoe?

    ย ย  As dawn broke we tried to consolidate our belongings, and, while unbagging this and bagging that, I donned more layers of clothes. I put on a pair of Danny’s jeans and an old concert tee-shirt.

    ย ย  I was at my 23 year old finest in those days. A year in the county lock-up had left me many hours as a trustee to watch “The Body Electric” Aerobics program, and follow along with my cell-mate Sally. On our breaks in the exercise yard I had run in circles around the yard for the hour, minus some time to slip notes to Danny thru the chain link fence. He was a carpenter on the new jail annex, and my former fiancรฉ had quit taking my calls months before. Upon my release on Christmas eve of ’87, it was only hours before Danny and I shared a joint and a passionate kiss. He was a sandy-blonde, tanned, 3rd degree black belt in Jui Jitsu, and a yellow belt in Taekwondo. Looking at old photos now he looked like a pot-smoking, rough cut Patrick Swayze. He was very kind, and gentle, with the oddest habit of falling asleep at random moments when doing so was wholly inappropriate! But, alas, I have veered into the weeds in my story…

  • We Lost Her

    We Lost Her

    “Where I was Found is Where I Remain, a Scar on the Ground in The Land of Lost Names”ยฉSTMartin2022

    ***Trigger Warning* This post contains adult subject matter such as mental illness and loss of life by one’s own hand***

    ANOTHER FRIEND GONE:

    She is young, strong and beautiful. A gymnast, so good that she teaches the sport to younger girls. Not long out of high school, not quite an adult; just shy of 21. Working an interim job while she figures out which direction her professional life should go- perfectly normal for a young woman…right?

    To all outward appearances Katy seems perky, energetic and happy. Her easy laugh and warm greetings endear her to all she meets; she makes friends so easy. She couldn’t have a bad day; she’s at the top of her game as a young adult…right? I mean, isn’t she?

    I think to myself, what a lovely young woman, she’s got everything going for her. I envy her youth and vitality for a minute, then I’m swept up by her joyful personality. I am now counted as a friend, too. She loves my cats, all animals in fact. She loves all animals. She also enjoys talking about food; preparing it, learning new recipes. She always asks us what we had for lunch or dinner the day before, to the point that I commented once that it was an obsession of hers. I was half joking, and a little annoyed. I realized right away that I hurt her feelings, so the subject was changed and we are fine again, all is well…or is it?

    Then I learn the truth. Katy is not fine, all is not well. She is battling a huge monster, one that I am all too familiar with. I can’t believe it, but now I recognize the signs.

    You see, I was in a locked psych ward once. I was young, skinny, pretty. Going to Community College in Pittsburgh. Happy, lots of friends, getting through my last year of high school. A steady boyfriend. Sure, I liked to party, and it all seemed fine to my folks. But it was not fine inside me.

    I was severely depressed, and an alcoholic: a full blown addict. I hated my appearance, and would make myself vomit to keep from gaining weight. I would think dark and deadly thoughts and had attempted suicide more than once. No one understood , I never let them in. I put up a fantastic facade while I was dying inside. I had been molested as a child, raped at 13, was pregnant at 15 and my Mom had insisted I get an abortion, which she set up the day after I told her. I was so sick and sad, my boyfriend was abusive and I jumped out of his moving car one night when he wouldn’t drop me off at my house.

    At the emergency room the Doctor noticed how dilated my pupils were; the dam broke as he gently questioned me- I told him everything. He helped me talk to my Mom about my drug use, my depression, being suicidal, the whole sad situation. I remember her and I at a Friendly’s, eating ice cream afterwards, how shocked she was. She had no clue. She was busy all the time, so was Dad ..how could they know???

    I really worked at getting well in that stint at the Psych ward. Thirty days of intense therapy and I stayed clean for a few months after. But the mental illness and addiction raised their heads and followed me for another 17 years.

    I’m alive now at 59. Clean, sober and correctly diagnosed as Bipolar. I take my meds and treasure my life.

    But dear Katy is not alive. She took her own bright and beautiful life yesterday. The pain was too much. I’m so sorry, Little Sister.

    I wish I could have helped. I wish you were still alive, just one more day. One more chance to choose living. Because it DOES get better, my dear friend. It would have, and you would have looked back one day, maybe with your new baby in your arms. Looked back over the dark days and thought, ” I’m so glad I didn’t take my life that day. I would have missed all these beautiful days since…”

    You would be so grateful that you waited a moment, said a prayer, told someone you were hurting, made that phone call, put that syringe down, listened to that tiny voice inside saying, ” Save me, please!…”

    Please, if anyone out there reads this , if you are contemplating suicide, please take that moment to stop and think past the immediate pain. Give the future you a chance at finding joy in living. Just stick around one more day, for Katy. For your Mom, or best friend. For your cat, or for your kid brother. For some other lost soul to hear your story some day…

    “When Darkness Falls”ยฉ SusanToddMartin WIP

  • Peeping Out

    Peeping Out

    Squinting. Blink, blink…blink, blink…

    The coast seems clear, dare I step out-into the light? I think I must, after my last cryptic and elusive post. Nothing bad happened, artistically. I was uplifted, encouraged, validated. People needed to hear from me, needed to hear how a girl with so many odds stacked against her from the “git go”, plus the things I had piled on myself-how I had teetered at the edge of the abyss…and made it back to tell the tale.

    Why? Why? Why? ยฉSTMartin “Growth” detail

    Many are grieving themselves, their pain written in their beautiful eyes, on expertly made up, flawless faces. They searched mine, looking for an answer- “Why.” Why? Why? Had they missed the signs? Were there signs? Hadn’t they done everything, sought the right help, paid the right physician, listened closely in the therapy sessions?

    Why hadn’t their love been enough?

    Of Love Lost…ยฉSTMartin2021

    I could only tell them that there was no rhyme or reason as to why I am here and their daughter is not. They did nothing to cause Bipolar Disorder. It doesn’t come from privilege, nor does it spring from want. It isn’t kept at bay with hugs or attention, nor is it fueled by neglect. At least none of this was true in my case.

    My family was dysfunctional, true. So were many of my peers families. So are nearly all families. But my friends had not led lives fueled by a burning need to shoot across the sky in a blaze of purple confetti. Or to try to beat the Guiness world record for consecutive shots of 100 proof vodka. Nor had they experienced the kind of despair that left them lost and disheveled in their bathrobe when they were supposed to be graduating college or accepting an award.

    A very trippy feeling…ยฉSTMartin

    I wanted to tell them they did more than my family ever did. That my Mom was the only one who believed that I did not want to be a train wreck. She asked the questions, walked thru broken glass for me and held my hand when the meds weren’t working. But ultimately she couldn’t divert the catastrophe either.

    I’m trying to tell you it’s not your fault. Grieve the loss, but don’t blame yourself. I know when the darkness comes over me, it’s no one’s fault. And if I hold on really tight, it will pass. I white-knuckle it many nights, but a new day always dawns.

    One day in the future there will not be any mental illness, or suicide. Until then just love your Bipolar person, hold on tight when you can and bask in their amazing glow. Be there when their sparklers fizzle and love them back to their feet. When they jump in their little rocket ships to the moon, put on a brave smile and wish them all the love in the world…till you meet again.

    And if you are Bipolar and you are feeling alone, please reach out if you can. Know that you are worthy of love and that this darkness will eventually pass. You will be back on top again. The rain will stop. The sun will shine, the pain will ease. Hold on for dear life my friend.

  • *UPDATE*Hello Fellow Fellows of Art

    *UPDATE*Hello Fellow Fellows of Art

    The Water Plant (sold) ยฉSusanTMartin2019

    ******To all my dear friends who were worrying about me, I am doing fine and I did have a Covid test 4 days after I first felt sick, and it came out negative! So, yay, for that, and yay for feeling so much better! I hope this finds you all doing well, coping with the turmoil around us by creating beautiful, strange and titillating works of art, in whatever manner your little hearts desire! (As long as no injury on any other living thing is involved!) I find that my art allows me to travel far beyond the confines of my tiny abode, far beyond the paltry and ordinary lives of the teeming hordes of addicts and vagabonds outside my door, far beyond the lunatic fringe…to a place so grand and majestic that even now-this very instant-I am transported to a wonderland, a vista of imagine-able delight. My imagination, my wonderland…show me, tell me, dance me…your vision!*****

    Undercurrents by Susan Todd Martin

    I have left you all hanging for a long time, and we were getting along famously… I hope we can again. I have been coping with some major health issues. An awful fall this past Monday night, a night in the hospital. Diagnosed with a ‘Wrenched Neck” which the Dr commented, ” You are the only person I’ve ever met whose neck is in worse shape than mine”. He had 3 levels fused at John’s Hopkins, I’m 3-7 at St. Lucie Med. Center.

    Passed OnยฉSTMartin2010

    He said I absolutely did the right thing calling the ambulance, the blow to the head and terrible twist of my neck could have been life threatening.

    So there’s that.

    Then, to add insult to near death experience, I contracted what I think may be Covid. It started Wednesday and has been beating me senseless ever since. Not like any flu, much more pain and headache, dizziness, stomach pain and toilet issues, terrible tiredness, bone aches, muscle spasms…I could go on but why? I’m not going to die, I had both shots thank God.

    The Insomniac’s Dream by STodd Martin2021

    I can definitely see how this could kill someone if the got the full on version. It has me whimpering. Its Sunday and my fever is down, and no funny smell in my nose or taste in my mouth. That was the first symptom, but it didn’t occur to me right away. I thought the neighbor was burning something, or I had a short somewhere. Then I had an awful taste in my mouth, nothing tasted right. Not even things I like.

    That’s what cinched it for me, right before a truck hit me…of course it was Friday night when I was at the peak of whatever this is. And CDC advice said don’t go to hospital if you can get better at home. I took my phones to bed with me so I could call 911.

    Even wrote a goodbye letter… Crazy, huh?

    Chalk Painting, just for fun, on my driveway.8/3/2021

    Gotta rest now. I’ll call my Doc and get tested tomorrow. Later…

  • A Neighbor’s Dying

    A Neighbor’s Dying

    I have a special place inside my heart for fellow addicts. Those without the ability to get clean, without a relationship with God, without a friend in the world. Carrying the weight of the huge monkey on his back.

    I talked to him from time to time, tried to impart some nugget of wisdom, a ray of hope. He would say, “I wish a train would hit me”.

    I remember that level of despair. That loathing for anything good in my life, because I did not deserve it. Hating my very being, a degraded piece of trash, discarded by society. Abandoning all hope, embracing the darkness.

    The pain is excruciating. It is no wonder he wished for death.

    I live across the street from his Grandma’s, where he would stay, in her laundry shed-shooting heroin. I saw him go from a funny, kind of hillbilly guy to a wretch with bloody scabs oozing down his arms. The last time I saw him he said he was really sick this time, he thought he had Covid. Well, it wasn’t Covid. First time the ambulance came, he had OD’d. They brought him back.

    This time, though, it isn’t the dope… They took him to hospital with pneumonia and a Blood infection, his very sad Grandma told me. He won’t be coming home, barring a miracle.

    I just hope they have made him comfortable…and that he doesn’t suffer for long. Poor, poor, Chris… I guess maybe your train finally came. I have said prayers for him and his family, and for everyone sick and dying…

    I will dream tonight of my Monarchs. I saw a caterpillar tonight who had just connected himself to the bottom of my wheelbarrow. He has probably changed into a chrysalis now. Soon he will totally disappear into a liquid, before miraculously turning into a beautiful Monarch, breaking out of the chrysalis and flying free!

    I hope you fly free too , my friend. I will see you again, one day soon.

    UNCHAINED, UNCUFFED, Mixed Media on Board, $400.00 (Available)