Tag: lies

  • FLASHBACK RODEO

    FLASHBACK RODEO

    Another Day at the Races

    ¡TRIGGER WARNING! This post deals with domestic violence, physical assault and ptsd flashbacks. Please use discretion!

    Ah, dear husband of mine. How you never leave me. I can remember your last punch like it was yesterday. Dear previous boyfriend; thanks so much for hitting me in the face so hard that you broke the hard contact lenses in both of my eyes. Oh, and for the chipped front tooth.

    Dear Ex-Fiance, the lovely memories of you stalking me never leave. I can still hear your trucks engine idling outside my bedroom window at 4 in the morning. A few weeks later you murdered your Dad, and yourself…

    And dear Husband of mine, how often I still hear your calling me “Stupid Bitch”, and can still feel your knee across my neck as my vision faded to black. I was sure I was dead, and I was glad. I would never again have to see the evil hatred in your eyes… But no, I wasn’t dead, I had six more years to live with you, memories of being stabbed, shot at and beaten unconscious. Oh, the memories…

       But I’m still here, after all this time. I’m alive, and my abusers are not. Maybe some still live, but I am free, and I am strong and I am beautiful.

       My God saved me from all of them.

       So, when the flashbacks come, and come they do…I know to hold on. Hold on tight to my faith. Hold on tight to what I know is real, and turn off the sights and sounds that rise up to try to torment me.

    My God loves me, and has put my feet on level ground. He has given me the priceless gift of a clean conscience, washed clean with the forgiveness purchased thru the life blood of his perfect Son. I am free of the chains of addiction, of abuse, and of my own self-loathing. I am grateful.  And free. Today was a hard day, in that the flashbacks came out to play. For whatever reason I was triggered , for a while.  But this day is over, successfully lived. I can rest me weary eyes and start fresh tomorrow…

    Head in the Clouds c. SusanTMartin2023

       I thank God for relieving me of the abusers, the abuse,  the sickness of thinking I deserved the terrible mistreatment I endured.

       It is a good feeling to care about myself…

    It has been a long road, including years of therapy and hard work.

       I hope I can help others find the courage to heal.

      

      

  • The Healing

    The Healing

    and The “Salvator” Mommy

    . (And THE LAVENDER CAT!)

    Being still is very difficult for me mentally. Having a racing mind is the natural state of being for me, anything else is alien and uncomfortable. If I’m flitting about inside I can leap away from my disturbing thoughts as soon as they appear- it’s a constant dance to keep the wolves at bay. My faith has helped tame the beasts lurking my memory’s deeply scarred terrain, knowing that there is a force for good stronger than the pull of caustic quicksand that daily tries to suck me in.

    Here is the divine painting now!

    I will dance this mental quick-step until death swallows me, the wounds of prolonged sexual abuse and violence are the deepest kind, years of therapy have given me some tools to offset the devastating effects of PTSD a bit. My Bipolar Disorder causes my synapses to fire differently than “normal” folk, this is proven by science, I believe this is a reason I am plagued so frequently by the flashbacks and memories.

    me standing tall at the recent ART HEALS show at The Arts Exchange, St Pete, FL.
    USA

    My art is my outlet to “talk” about my inner world, it facilitates compassion and understanding in some viewers. Others will still judge my moral failings, and when these judgements slap me in the face I am better able to stand rather than crumble.

    I recently was assaulted by an attempted character attack, called a liar and thief to my happy face-dashed by a loved one’s belief that I was still the person of 22 years ago when my addiction raged. It stunned me, unhinged me for a time- but I am bouncing back; hurt but not letting these untruths detail my sanity completely.

    . This is all I can write, the healing is still in progress. Thank God for my loving friends in high places who know my inner heart and the fact that 22 years of sobriety, therapy and spirituality allowed me to leave that dishonest personality long ago.

    A Quote in the INSIGHTS IV catalogue
    Me and Joyce Sang, co-founder of The Ryan Licht Sang Bipolar Foundation, and my featured piece, Deep Running(framed in an acrylic box to highlight BOTH painted sides of the canvas!)

    I will paint and create art that reflects my journey, this soothes my troubled mind and gives me the most relief. Thank you so much for your continued support on my artistic journey

    “Salvator Mommy” Savior of Cat’s and Bipolar Daughters, Acrylic on gallery wrapped canvas
  • The Journey, a Debut Art Video

    The Journey, a Debut Art Video

     

    .  This project was a couple years in the making for me, and was born from the bottomless grief I was dealing with then. As caregiver to both of my parents after a 23 year-long active addiction, and after a devestating breakup of my marriage when my ex went to Federal Prison, I was an emotional train wreck. I had not been creating visual art except for private sketches and some mural work, but I made a smart move during those early years back home with my parents by purchasing a Surface Pro in 2006 with all the bells and whistles. As a result, I did have a creative outlet in the new digital editing and photographic capabilities of this amazing device.

    .  During the  long illness of my Mom, who was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer in 2007 (after years of passing blood but afraid to get a colonoscopy!!!!), I had much pent up emotion to release. Any moment of freedom I had was spent exploring the new medium I now possessed. I think I was at an advantage due to the fact that I knew no rules about photography, so I was very free to experiment and play. As a computer illiterate during my long years away from civilization, this was both hell and Utopia as I navigated thru the most basic techie stuff. But I was enthralled. I could take a photo and make it a work of art!

    .  Alas, my next 9 years were so pain-filled, as Mom’s cancer progressed she and I had to navigate colostomy’s and ileostomy’s and her suffering was so acutely mine that I wanted to die with her. And a huge part of me did, on the first day of spring in 2010, her birthday and day of death. I wrote endless prose and poetry, keeping her alive in words and rivers of tears.

    .   That seemed like a joy ride compared to nursing my father until his death. Dad developed dementia even before Mom died, and it became full blown Alzheimer’s afterwards. He also had prostate cancer which had been diagnosed 20years before but had never been treated. Years of violent outbursts and vile language and hate filled conversation poured out of my Father for the better part of Six years, and out of my warped sense of love for my mean Dad I determined in my heart to never let him go to a nursing home.

    During those years I had a catastrophic fall which injured my brain, neck, back, shoulder, hip and knee, causing me to undergo a 12 hour double neck and back operation so that I would only have one recovery and could be up and about within weeks to caregive again. Wow. Five levels in my neck were fused and a previous 3 level lumbar fusion was repaired and taken up another level. I had torn major cartilage in my hip, needed arthroscopic surgery there and in my shoulder, and also was left with a type if vertigo that still effects me on a regular basis 7years later! Oh, my. Need I mention my mental illness battles with rapid cycling Bipolar Disorder and  PTSD from a history full of childhood sexual abuse, violent sexual assault and rape as an adolescent and severe emotional and physical abuse due to 7plus years of Domestic Violence? No, I really had given myself a heavy, heavy load to carry with Daddy. But somehow I did it.

    62CE659F-0442-4C6E-94DD-F677F1D335D3
    For Our Lost Ones, “Cry Me a River” detail of larger work©susant

    .   I cannot describe the last weeks of his life, as there was a lawsuit and a non disclosure agreement with the establishment that hastened his death. But his last night was spent in a hospital bed at home, alone with me, while he screamed and pleaded with God and me to help him. For hours. And hours. The morphine did absolutely nothing so I covered my ears with my fists and screamed with him.

     

    WIN_20170724_08_18_38_Pro (2)

    .  During this unimaginably daunting, heart-wrenching and overwhelming time in my life there was a story on the news that just planted itself in my brain, because it was so horrific. A group of 27 immigrants were being smuggled into this country from South America. My video is my interpretation of what they went thru, and also a cry for compassion towards all who suffer such indignities and trauma.

    .                                                                                 Susan T. Martin