Out of the Gutter Art

Tag: Bipolar Disorder

  • The Dark Unicorn

    (A Memoir)

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

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

      Nearer to end than start, or even middle

       I ask for a kind ear to bend,

       Listen awhile to this heart…

         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…

      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.

       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.

      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.

      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.

       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.

       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,  the fact that we were never accosted or assaulted thus far was miraculous in itself!

       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.

      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

    Crossing the Mighty Mississipp…

    …wasn’t easy on foot, with a brindle boxer, calico kitten and Danny.

    Fortunately, before we got a few miles out of Fort Deposit, an 18-wheeler rolled onto the shoulder. Although my recollection was challenged by a bad case of the heebee-geebees at the time, and many years of hard knocks since, I recall a strange exchange of words. The skinny driver had one good eye and a drawl, and asked how we thought we’d get a ride with a stupid dog. Maybe he let us get in as a source of entertainment, but he let us all pile in. In retrospect, I’m sure he was jacked as high as 4 blue Aces; at the time we had no trepidation at all. Spice was all wiggly, wagging her stump of a tail and slobbering; she was quickly settled on the floorboard, while Binky burrowed further into my sweatshirt.

    °Z

    Danny wasn’t keen on leading conversations. He was a quiet, contemplative man. It had been less than a year since I’d gotten out of jail; he seemed content to exist in my orbit. I was quite a handful in those years before a proper diagnosis and medication regimen. Bipolar Disorder was previously known as Manic Depression, and my brain loved to latch onto the mania. (One of my nicknames was “Runs With Scissors”.) In this instance I was chatting my head off to our new trucker friend. We got underway, his truck shuddering as he skipped a gear or two pulling onto the interstate.

    The ride was rough, this was no tricked-out big truck. I forget what he was hauling, but I remember bouncing around the cab over the poorer sections of pavement. As the engine roared and belched, conversation became impossible. I dozed on Danny’s shoulder as the miles slowly crept past.

    Half a day later we rolled into a truck stop, gassing up before the Mississippi River Bridge. Our driver showed some extraordinary kindness. Buying a bunch of hot dogs, peanut butter and bread, we had a veritable feast. The temperature really dropped that night, and he made us get out while he slept a few hours. He may have been generous- he was also careful. Near daybreak he suggested we all stretch and use the restroom, as he wouldn’t be stopping for a while. He said something about “the bridge”; it really didn’t seem important at the time…we loaded up and held on.

  • Carl, the Wolf Spider

    Carl, the Wolf Spider

    And other Random Thought Balloons

    My Recent Mayan Doodling

       Do you ever wonder if you are sane? I do. Quite often. It’s really relative, if you think about it.(and I do). Because I do have relatives with dementia. But that’s not the “relative” I am referring to. (See what I did there? Pretty clever play on words, eh?)   Reality, Sanity, Imagination, Unreality, Insanity. Don’t they all really depend on what we define them as? Sure, a learned man, a psychologist, these folks really know.

       But for me, inside my mind, I only worry when I have trouble thinking about things. Things in my daily life that other people in my world seem to be able to do, things I struggle with. Bills are a bigee.  Huge issue. I can see the amount I have in the bank, but I just keep sending payments without looking to see if I used all the money up. Like, if I don’t look, then maybe the money will magically cover the payments!

       I don’t think that is sane. Nor is buying ice cream knowing I will eat the entire container, no matter how sick it will make me, which will , in turn,  cause me to be angry at myself. Round and round the Insanity rolls.

    “A THOUGHT MONSTER ESCAPES”

       Do other people dwell on every interaction with other humans they have ever had on a given day? Repeating the scenario and mentally kicking oneself over a mispoken.phrase, a potentially misunderstood glance? Do others wish so hard for a “normal” sleep schedule but deliberately sabotage their efforts by drinking Mountain Dew and eating 6 cups of popcorn at 3 AM? ( Oooh,.that sounds really good, but it’s only 1 am!)

    “Speaking of Yucky Things” c.STMartin2018

       I rattle off a litany of nonsense during my therapy sessions, right after I go over all my real issues,  mentally making note of what pressing issues to discuss…When I hang up all the important points rush back into my brain.

    “the Many Manic Moods of Susan Todd!”
    My Art Lamp!

    LOSING IT !!

      I am ANGRY that I can’t think properly! I want to blame someone for my craziness. Hereditary,  from Dad’s early onset Alzheimer’s. Or the unknown blood donor whose blood I was given at my birth in 1964. That surely did it! What about Mom’s agoraphobia,  depression, hatred of my Dad? Mom’s mom had Alzheimer’s also, and wasn’t there a crazy Uncle? Wait, I’ve GOT IT: my ANCESTRY goes back to the Plantagenets!! Those INBRED ROYALS!!

       I’ll be ok…I won’t give up on trying to be a wee bit better each day at navigating life. I have to go easy on the me that has had 3 major head injuries, resulting in ongoing vertigo and headaches. Post concussion syndrome is a beast. So are the residual effects of years of emotional, sexual and violent abuse that was perpetrated on the child I was, and still am, mentally. Nor to be taken lightly is my Bipolar Disorder and the side effects of the medicines that decrease the symptoms. Or so many other pain issues I deal with daily.

       When I go easy on myself, and take time to reflect on the beautiful gift of life that God has given me. And the undeserved forgiveness and mercy he bestows daily, then my heart is eased and it doesn’t matter quite as much if I have some confusion each day. I am grateful.

     

  • I Better Put Shades On

    The Master Worker
    ,©Susantmartin’24

    The Future Looks BRIGHT!

       Oh boy, I’m very excited. You know I go thru the highest of highs, then crash to the ground? Well, this time I’m doing something good for my future as a fine artist…I’ve been accepted to study classical art under a great Artist: Eduardo Salazar!! I am over the moon! I know it will take years of dedicated study, but I will soar to new heights.,.All the beautiful images in my head will have new ways to be rendered in my hands, with my new skills, new ways of seeing.

    I dreamed, ALL MY LIFE, to study under a great Artist…now , finally, this dream is reality. I hope you will come along on this incredible journey,!

    The Sentinel’s Prayer ©Susantmartin’24

    Tony”s Shuffle, Fin Average

    © susantmartin’24

  • 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

  • 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? ©STMartin “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…©STMartin2021

    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…©STMartin

    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.