Out of the Gutter Art

Tag: Bipolar Art

  • 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?

       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.

       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 fiancé 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…

  • Faces I see, Dreams of Me

    Faces I see, Dreams of Me

  • 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”©STMartin2022

    ***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”© SusanToddMartin WIP

  • Fear of Falling (failing?)

    Fear of Falling (failing?)

    • 76ffa3807cc44b63a98d60a087d9fe8b
    Ah, yes…The Lion’s Den

    Have you ever felt totally overwhelmed? That has landed on me today, a crushing weight, and I feel powerless. I like to forget my illness sometimes, and it is SO deceitful to me; top of the world for weeks, but It is always waiting. Just around the corner.

    My cat Zagnut loves to play hide and seek, and he’ll leap out from around a corner, swat me on the leg and dash away, one hundred miles an hour. If I am cogent, I’ll dash after him, then retreat-to leap out at him in turn. The only problem is that “It” doesn’t let me play back. It just leaps out, when I seem to be doing well, latching onto me like a 150 pound panther, dragging me into It’s lair.

    The Rummage Sale, w/p ©STMartin2021

    It’s dark in here, and smells of sweat and fear. I just know It is coming back, but I’m wounded. All kinds of nasty doubts swirl in my head…was I a fool to think I could be a sculptor? Why do I want to, anyway. Nobody buys my art, I’m a failure and the house seems to be echoing my mood by failing too. Leaks, creaks, holes, breakers tripping, no AC…I can feel that panther’s breath now…

    In the Lair, w/p ©STMartin2021

    This is not new, this trip down into It’s den. No, I recognize it oh, so well. I believe the worst is the immobility, standing frozen in It’s gaze and being unable to dash away. I know what I need to do, but the strength escapes me. The therapist I liked so well has left the building (literally), I know I can call for an appointment with the new one…but. I know that I get paid in a few days and the house won’t collapse any time soon…but. I know that I can call any one of many friends and talk, if I just pick up the phone…but. But but but butt head.

    Inside Voice #2 ‘Not Quiet Down’ ©STMartin2021

    So I have done the one thing I can do without moving. I went inside my head, got on my mind’s knees, and cried out to God. You see, I know he is the ONLY ONE who can close It’s gaping jaws. He did it for Daniel and he will do it for me. I just have to exercise patience and make a tiny effort to climb out of this death trap of discouragement. It is It’s favorite tactic, because It knows that despair and feelings of worthlessness lead me to the edge of the abyss. And when I stand at the edge of a great hight it feels like I’m being pulled right over the edge. But my God hears me, he helps the broken hearted, and those crushed in spirit he saves.

    Peach Trumpets ©God

    I am able to write this, and that is my answer for today. I will not lose this fight, for my God is stronger that anything my illness can do, or anyone else, for that matter. Sure, my brain is wired different, science has proved that bipolar brains behave differently. What science forgets is the One who created that same brain.

    “Growth” ©SusanTMartin2021

    I must have forgotten that for a minute, also. I will ride this one out today. And if the phone isn’t too heavy, I’ll call for that appointment. Thanks for listening.

    Inside Voice #1, “Can You Hear Me Now?” w/p©SusanTMartin2021
  • A Lifetime, How Long is It?

    A Lifetime, How Long is It?

    What does forever mean? How long is Always?Will I have time? I BETTER GET BUSY!!!

    A Short but Powerful Bio!

    I go thru cycles. They drive me crazy.

    One day, full of confidence, I march around around the Art’s district like a strutting peacock. Well, a lady peacock. That would be a peahen. (But peahens are drab little wenches…) You get the idea, puffed up, prancing around with my nose in the air. Never mind that I’m rapidly approaching the middle of my lifespan, to put it gently! At the time this is happening, man, I am a real smart cookie, top of the heap. An elevated sense of self, one might describe it…

    “Party Girl”©STMartin2021

    This feeling may stay a few days, a few weeks, a few hours. Or ****pfffft****an instant. In the midst of it I have no sense of “OMG -don’t say that you sound like a fool!” or the milder , “What?!!Have you lost your mind, Susan?”and if I did, I don’t think I could stop me. And if I can’t stop me, nobody can. At least I’m clean today, if that’s any kind of consolation… Come to think of it, that probably makes it worse, not better.

    In Plain Sight/ Insane, Right? ©Susan T. Martin”The Party’s Over”

    If I had been wasted, that might make my odd behavior more acceptable! What an enigma! Wrapped in a dream. It really is going to be OK, though. I’ve felt the embarrassment of rapid cycling moods before, and will again. It’s part of the strange landscape of my bipolar inner world. Like walking on the Moon on acid. (Not that I would know…)

    Nope, Don’t know nothin’ about trippin’…