Out of the Gutter Art

Tag: #Bipolarartist

  • Go West, Lost Woman

       Endless miles…

    °Z

       …rolled under the big wheels. All the hype about this bridge over Lake Ponchetrain was nothing compared to the reality. I hope I never have to cross that swaying monster again.

       Being raised in Pittsburgh, I had been on many bridges, so I reasoned this would be a piece of cake. The wind had kicked up quite a bit; Danny and I were unnerved feeling the expanse swaying as we inched along. Beads of sweat had formed on Joe’s forehead as his knuckles turned white and tightened on the steering wheel. Traffic had slowed to a crawl, and it was then I saw the sign declaring this bridge was 23 miles long. Now beads of sweat broke out on my forehead, too. Feeling the tension, Spice’s panting could be heard above the grinding engine. Danny slept on, oblivious.

       Forty-five minutes later, we were safely off the bridge and due for another rest stop. I had witnessed Joe becoming  more and more agitated as night fell. He brought up the danger of picking up passengers, wild-eyed he suggested we might be planning to assault him overnight. Danny and I tried to assure him, but it became obvious it was time for us to get out of his rig. Joe must have been crashing from his drugs, and the tension was about to boil over. After the truck came to a stop we hurriedly thanked him and unloaded. We took up a space of sidewalk behind the truckstop, contemplating our next move…

    Looking Ahead…

  • I Refuse to Give Up!

       Down, but not out. I am digging deep, putting more effort each day into getting well. Physically, pushing my body, my muscles to heal. The hip surgery set me back, I’m older and the fight to get back to my old energy level is very hard.

      But I’m not going to take this aging thing lying down! Which is, literally, what my mind is telling me to do. There is a heaviness to my limbs…the word for how I feel is CUMBERSOME.

       I joined a Weight loss app for a 3 week trial. I am fighting the negative voices from my childhood about my weight. NO! I refuse to go back to being slovenly, to not caring, to eating entire bags of cookies in half an hour, then wallowing in guilt and self-loathing for weeks. NO!!

       I CAN get well, I AM fine now. My energy is returning, I am improving, exercising, tracking my food, my mood, my steps. Being accountable feels good. So, now I rest. A good day, doing good things.

       I am GRATEFUL today. Thank you , my God. For your Son, Jesus. For forgiving me…for loving me. I CAN do this. I AM doing this!!

  • Gone. Baby Gone.

    Gone. Baby Gone.

    The Weight is mine, mine alone. I tried to offer some lame kind of comfort, but I could feel the other pet parents staring right through me...

    .

    A sad situation…

      Pippy herself did not show anger, or hatred; I wish she had. Her gentle, knowing glance as the vets assistant lugged her away unceremoniously drove a spike through my heart.

    “Please take care, ” I whispered, so obviously a vile animal destroyer to the ten plus persons waiting for their babies.

      “WHAT,” the huge matron stopped in her tracks and did a slow spin, somehow holding onto dear queasy Pips in the jostling cage.

      All attention swung in slow motion, onto my horrified visage, the paint splattered clothes just screaming “loser”, “sinner” and “jail her”.

      Now struck dumb in my dismay, I gathered the last tiny drop of spittle I could muster, and in a voice only heard by Pippy and God, I said loud and clearly,

    ” I love you Pippy, and I’m sorry..”

      She heard, she knows and I will carry her in my heart always..

    How fo I say Goodbye?

    CHAPTER 5

       You see, Pippy had some terrible kind of mental breakdown that coincided with the introduction of my neighbor’s cat, Lilly, being brought into the home.

       Almost instantly Lilly pounced on and actively hunted Pippy, terrorizing her. The change in Pippy was swift. No longer social, friendly and well adjusted; Pippy became nervous and unsettled. Hiding, flinching and neglecting to groom. Or, the flip side: overgrooming. To an unbelievable degree.

      Now Pippy would spend hours, every waking moment, actively pulling out her fur. Rapidly, her underbelly was devoid of fur except for a few lonely tufts clinging onto her for dear life.

       Then, when I thought this was the extent of her problems: a disturbing new issue. Out of the blue, on a given Saturday, Pippy had some sort of twitching fit that escalated to her biting at herself and racing full tilt around the trailer. I was also beside myself, deeply regretting my lack of funds to take her to a vet. I called the SPCA to see if they would treat her free, they said, “No, there is no program.” I was at, what I thought at the time, feeling ultimately that I had caused her distress. I alone bore the guilt.

    Pippy knows: it’s me who betrayed her…

      In the aftermath of this episode, Pippy began hiding in the top.of my closet, in my studio. This posed no issue- I was glad she found a cubby hole. Until she refused to come out at all. Not to eat, not to be petted and, most devastating, not using her litterbox.

            To be continued…

    Poor Dear Pippy-puppet…

        I am so guilty…

  • Orange Baby

    Orange Baby

    CHAPTER 4

    THE SAGA CONTINUES

    Morning Mindmeld c.SUSANTMARTIN2022 (sold)

         I got off track in the last chapter…  

       Too many offshoots and alleyways. Let’s move along a few years to 2020…Pandemic lock down, I’m working on Zoom with some friends. Suddenly, Donna breaks in with a plea,

    ” Would anyone like a Maine Coon kitten?”

    All the girls pipe up with ooohs! and aaahs! The idea of a warm, fuzzy kitten is SO appealing, so comforting in this lonely isolation. I was down to just one outside cat, Frenchy. She was pushing 16, Fogerty and Ollie had died the year before. In the interim, I had also lost 2 of my beloved dogs to cancer and old age. My remaining little Shih Tzu, Kleo, had become much less active as she aged. Perhaps a kitten would be a nice addition to my little homestead.

       My little “not a Maine Coon” kitten as delivered within 3 days. Super fuzzy, a golden cloud, he is a special boy. I name him Zignatious Horatio Needlefingers, and I fall in love. The new routine wasn’t too bad. One catbox, one kitten, one dog to feed and vet seemed manageable.

       Things rapidly changed. My kind heart was about to be sorely tested. Approximately one month later, I rescued a half-grown boy cat who I found crying his little heart out in my neighbors front hedges. It was after a “fireworks” holiday; he had obviously run away in the horrible onslaught of noise. My biker neighbor had been feeding him lunch meat, but he needed proper care. I bundled him into the house and he quickly became the Zag to my Zig. They were now happy playmates. But the vet bills and catboxes had now doubled.

       WHY DID I ALWAYS HAVE TO BE THE SAVIOR? WHAT CHARACTER DEFECT MADE ME A SUCKER FOR LOST ANIMALS?

      

       Looking back now, I understand the pattern. I had been a mother to my alcoholic, abusive husband. The caregiver for my beloved Mom during her illness- even before. She was so needy all my life, telling me she “lived through me”. Finally, being mother/ caregiver to my dear Dad. Caring for his every need as his madness progressed into a second childhood and excruciatingd death. All those years of caregiving through all those events made me feel needed, wanted, and useful. Loved.

       The convoluted and traumatic relationships and disfunction had left me with a void, a pit inside me. And I was filling it with warm, furry little bodies. Ever the caregiver, ever the mother. My self-worth depended on having people and/or pets to care for. 

       It would get worse.

  • 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.

     

  • Floating

    Floating

    The Dance

       Dance of life never ends

    Ebbs and flows, comes round again

                   Love, loss, joy, strife

    Husband dies bereaving wife

                  Child is born, flame ignites

    Plays, then works, attaining might

                Dawn rolls into darkest night

         She loves, in love, loves inspite

       Many times is love heartbreaking

            Relentless savage Time keeps taking

    Life rolls on, joys to be had

       Sping brings laughter

    Heart is glad.

    Creation astounds me,

    Love abounds in Thee,

                     Your mercy sets me free…

    Beauty surrounds me…

  • Dead Tired

    Oh Joyful heart, where are you today? From so much light I now feel only pain.

    Where did my optimism run away to hide,

    Why now this dread that cannot be denied?

    She thought she had come away unscathed, from the turmoil, the abuse

    …and rage.

    But disease was just below the surface all along, and now the Piper must be paid…

    Oh senseless one, unreasonable and blind, don’t mind your feeble, fluctuating mind, because as your marbles leave you, they are cast: to the wind and to infinity, at last.

    She had packed up all her winter clothes, put away her childhood toys, went to bed under many uncertain memories

    Must…hold…on. Must…hold…fast.

    Faith is a slippery pig. Love is a memory.

  • She’s Back Online

    SUSAN IS WRITING AGAIN!

    Yay!

    The Artist I. CHICAGO 2023 to attend the INSIGHTS VI Exhibition at the Zolla Lieberman Gallery. For the Benefit of THE RYAN LICHT SANG BIPOLAR FOUNDATION!!

       I’ve had an excellent end to 2023, being the Special Guest of The RLSF when INSIGHTS VI headed down to Palm Beach Gardens in December. It was the greatest honor of my life! And meant ever so much more due to my Brother Eric, his wife Gail and my dear Nephew Christian being in attendance! This was held at The John Surovek Gallery, in Palm Beach.

      I was interviewed by the Writer and Director of the upcoming film “Brainstorm,” a documentary about Bipolar Disorder, she is the Author of the book of the same name. Totally worth reading and definitely seeing when it airs!

       So,.you see the HIGH I was riding as the curtain opened onto 2024’s stage! The sky is the limit, into the great wide open!

    THE FLIP SIDE: STAGNATION BEGINS

    A vision of Lonely Cat Lady future? NOOOO!

       The mental brick wall crashed down rapidly as the year began… but I didn’t recognize it at first. ( A common modus operandi of sneaky, deadly Bipolar disorder). I was exhausted, sleeping all afternoon, no interest in work or play. My dear friend (who I was a caregiver for part-time) suddenly took ill and was gone in a week. Then, the back to back anniversaries of my parent’s deaths in March. My father’s on the 7th, Mom’s on the 21st. Major trauma in my psyche clinging to the violent end of Dad, these 8 years after it. Coupled with the void left of my Mom’s demise; she was the only one in my family who had ever loved me enough to learn about my Bipolar diagnosis: who understood my life’s disastrous course had been symptoms of it, not moral failing.

       As the year wore on therapy helped a bit, but injury and outpatient surgery on my spine and knee just kept me immobilized, as did a bout of Covid.

       A month of unexpected relocation across the state to care for an elderly aunt who was experiencing elder abuse by friends and neighbors caused EXTREME stress, as attorneys and the law were involved to try to keep her safe. Going along with this, I found that she had been victim of a Publisher’s Ckearinghouse scam; a loss of $118,000 dollars. She also purchased a house for a woman who was posing as an RN, who was in the process of attempting to change my poor Aunt’s will by going to her hospital room with a Notary in tow  (where said Auntie was recovering from a stroke). This treacherous poser had actually not informed me of Aunt Betty’s stroke until 15 days after; while  arranging for her to be put on hospice. The hospital had actually gone along with these plans, just on this criminal’s word that my Aunt had no next of kin and that she (criminal) was a real Nurse!!!

    Note:  I was able to make my Aunt’s last weeks of life more comfortable before she had 2 strokes and died. And yes, the awful, lying faker did inherit the house my Aunt purchased, while none of my family got anything. I was saddened, but am now happy to know that the rest of her estate went to The American Cancer Society and Shand’s Hospital.

       Two major hurricanes, Helen and Milton have caused havoc, ripped my carport off and caused me to have to evacuate my home twice in the past 2 months; I belive these are the last of the life-changing occurrences up to now. Whew!

       Writing all this down has allowed me to see how hard this year has been, and I don’t feel guilty for falling short of my goals.

    It had been one bumpy ride!

    Rising from the Ashes!

       I am determined to push on!!! Keep climbing this hill until I reach the summit, keep reaching out for opportunities to get my business off the ground, to get a solo show and even work on grant applications again. Most of all I am getting to work on new art!!

       The deadline for INSIGHTS VII will be here; much to be done!!  I’m ready to face the future with HOPE and JOY!

    The White Stag and the Thistle

      Thank you for visiting!