Early Morning Blues And The Recovery Arc

 Well hello there, reader(s), I’m up again in the inky hours of early morning, having arisen at 4:30 a.m. Ah yes, the early morning wake-up, how I despise you, though gratefully you don’t happen all the time. Perhaps this was caused by my falling asleep in my recliner around 8:30 p.m. last night—all I remember is listening to some Big Book reading on YouTube then bam, I drifted off to sleep. I guess no surprise there. Fortunately I don’t recall having any bad dreams, so there’s relief on that front. 

Apologies for not writing as frequently as the days in months past. I’ve slipped into some low-level depression, which makes it very hard for me to tap into my creative energy. I’ve also had a lot of stress I’ve been dealing with over the past few weeks and that has further drained me. I’m just no good with stress, it sets off excruciating anxiety and obsessive worrying over things I cannot control. To alleviate my discomfort, I’ve turned to my AA Zooms and AA community, taking refuge in meditation and the fellowship. Sometimes it helps, sometimes not.

Seeing as I’m up now, here in early morning, I’ll be able to join the 7:00 a.m. AA First Things First meeting. Haven’t been there in awhile, wonder what the group is up to? I think on Tuesdays they discuss the Big Book, so that’s good. We talked about the importance of staying in the Big Book last night on Shawn’s sponsee Zoom, and friend Jesse was the one who let me know about the YouTube Big Book readings (which is really, really helpful to me because cognitively I have trouble with reading). I also asked the group to discuss what the Serenity Prayer means to them, how they use it, troubles they have with it, etc. A good discussion followed.

I want to make sure I have a record here on my blog of the arc I typically go through with my bipolar disorder. Let me write it out as a list, for easier reference:

1. An episode/incident builds up over a fairly short period of time. I lose touch with reality in a manic high, get extremely confused, ask to be taken to hospital. A 1-2 week stay typically occurs.

2. I am released from hospital, meds adjusted (most likely antipsychotic jacked up), calmer. It takes 2-3 weeks to get back to baseline level of functioning.

3. For the next 4-5 months, I have been known to occasionally slip in and out of low-level “blushes” with some psychotic thinking. There is a huge amount of creative energy inside of me, which may come out in art production, creative writing, and more complicated cooking projects.

4. Around the 6 month mark, post hospitalization, I experience a “click” and become firmly rooted in reality. No vestiges of psychosis remain. At this point, I may slip into some depression, though it is not deep clinical depression, thanks to the Depakote mood stabilizer I take. I am not sure how long the depressive cycle can last. 

5. Eventually things level out in some semblance of normalcy. How long this lasts is still really a work in progress. It used to be, when I was using alcohol and weed and tinkering with my meds, I would be back in the hospital every two years. But this last run, sans substances and in total med compliance, I made it 5 1/2 years between episodes. Perhaps now I’ll have an even longer run, now I am on 4 mg. Risperdone. It’s anyone’s guess, I hate to call it a crap shoot, but maybe that’s what it is. Acceptance is the key, that’s what AA teaches me. 

***

So the sun is rising now, a new day is on the horizon. I still have my stressors I could fret about, but I think I’m going to take a break from that for the time being. It’s now when I need to turn things over to a Higher Power, and realize nothing, absolutely nothing happens in God’s world by mistake. Everything will work out the way it’s meant to be as long as I keep my side of the street clean—work on honesty, and making amends where they are due. I know my way through all this. One foot in front of the other, slowly but surely.

Have a good day all. Remember to breathe. Deeply.

Writing Prompt #5: The Hairy Man

 Prompt: Describe a person, real or fake

The Hairy Man

When I was a wee 4 or 5 years old, I went to bed one night upstairs, only to wake up in the early morning hour on a floral couch in our downstairs living room. Now, the obvious explanation for this is I slept-walked, but at the time I was absolutely convinced I was carried from my bed by a tall, Bigfoot-esque “Hairy Man” creature. I can close my eyes now, here in middle-age, and I still see this Hairy Man, who, by the way, doesn’t scare me at all. I laugh at all the fantastical things a young child can invent, flying rainbow unicorns, talking cars and the like, and wonder what prompted me to dream up a creature covered in hair. My brother, to this day, often jokes about the Hairy Man, obviously my tale made an impression on him. I guess a good thing is I never saw the Hairy Man again—though I did find a VHS tape on Bigfoot for sale at a Blockbuster Video store in the 1980s, and bought it. I still own it to this day.

Today, at age 57, all I contend with at night are extremely vivid dreams that startle me awake. One of the worst ones was on early Thursday morning, I dreamt that I was being suffocated by a huge black boa constrictor, which had wrapped itself around my head and neck. I know it was an anxiety/stress dream, as I’ve been contending with major stressors all week. I don’t do well with stress these days, and I try to avoid it like the plague, carefully planning my days in predictable segments that keep me calm. But this week didn’t go like that, and I’ve been a wreck, both in waking and non-waking hours.

I’m trying to recite the Serenity Prayer, quietly in my head:

God, grant me the serenity…to accept…the things I cannot change.

The courage to change the things I can.

And the wisdom to know the difference.

Early Wake-Up

 Just awoke with a start at 2:00 a.m. from a very vivid dream. Could not fall back asleep, so I came downstairs and took 1/2 a Simply Sleep and I’m waiting for it to kick in. I absolutely loathe these early morning wake-ups; haven’t had one in a good long while, and I consider that to be fortunate. Fingers crossed I can fall back asleep, I really, really need my sleep. The art show is tomorrow and there is much to do today to get ready! Granted, Michael has the outside cleaned up, I’ve got all the pieces in the parlor ready to go. There are just some last things to do like make a sign, “Art For Sale” and sign a few things. Also need to pick up something to eat for brunch that day.

My anxiety was pretty high yesterday morning, filled with worry over the lingering altered thinking from December through March of this year, post-hospitalization. Dr. Levy said on Wednesday I was definitely having psychosis, and I guess it’s hitting me full force that I will most likely experience psychosis again—I may go another 5 1/2 year stretch between episodes, but it always seems to come back. This knowledge rattles me, I had thought if I remove the drugs and alcohol I had a good shot at never getting manic-psychotic again. But this is apparently wrong. So right now I am right squarely in the face of my bipolar with psychotic features diagnosis, and fearing it, hating it, anxious over it.

I probably should read over all the entries I posted here since December of last year, looking for clues of erratic behavior. But I really don’t want to, at least right now. I mean, I’ve got all this art here clearly illustrating a mind slightly, err, off the rails. I’m wondering, if I weren’t experiencing some grandiosity earlier this year, would I even be having this show tomorrow? Probably not. Ah yes, bipolar grandiosity, it has been with me again, and here I was thinking that I had some special “insight” into things that no one else had.

Jesus, I feel like a fraud.

Part of me is secretly hoping no one comes tomorrow; another part wants to get lucky and sell a few things. I think this time spent leading up to the sale is the worst—all this self-doubt creeps in, this questioning of my motives, this constant, ever so constant self-analysis, which really tires me out. It’s almost 3:30 a.m. and I can feel the Simply Sleep kicking in, thank God. So I’ll leave things here for now. Sweet dreams.

Ch-ch-changes…

OK so thoughts, dear readers, or rather continued reflection on my current state of affairs: I feel blocked, the words aren’t flowing easily anymore. I don’t know if I’m preoccupied with the art show in four days; the Risperdal has taken hold; the Morning Pages longhand exercise screwed things up; or if it’s my new focus on my creative writing circle. Whatever the reason, I am having incredible difficulties with keeping my morning journal here going and it has me upset.

Maybe I’m preoccupied with my session with Dr. Levy coming up in his office in a few hours. I haven’t seen him in person in six months—we’ve been doing FaceTime because he was down in Florida. I’m nervous, heck I always am, and I’m not sure why exactly, it’s just always been that way. I don’t know how I can accurately explain everything that’s been going on with me in just a 20 minute session; I think I’m going to just say I’ve had this “readjustment” and I now feel fully anchored in reality, I feel recovered, and ask why it took six months to finally get to this point.

I think I am going to need some extra Gabapentin to get through this session. There’s nothing wrong with that, I don’t feel ashamed that I need some help with my anxiety. I’m leaving plenty of time to drive up to his office, don’t want to be late. The trash man is here, emptying our can, that brings some relief, as I had two bags of old clothes in there I wanted to get rid of and now they are gone.

I’m meeting sponsor Shawn today after my Levy appointment, to continue work on my Step 4 moral inventory, which is going slowly and I want to speed it up. I think Shawn’s time is spread thinly, he has many sponsees and I’m not entirely sure he has time for all of us. But be that as it may, I do enjoy my time with him, and I’ve been making some progress on my serenity. I think what’s been slowing me down is my lingering cognitive impairment caused by the meds, but I’m trying my best to work around it.

OK, time to call mom, have her calm me down some, pop more Gabapentin and get dressed for the Levy appointment. It’s a beautiful morning, chilly but bright, perhaps signaling that good things are to come today? I hope so.

Long, Strange Trip It’s Been

Good morning, dear reader(s), I continue to reflect on where I’ve been in these past six months, indeed, in these past 22 years that I’ve been dealing with this bipolar disorder. What I know for sure is I go through these “creative artistic bursts” in writing and in art that push the limits. Then when the “click” happens and I kinda wake up and shake myself and think, What the hell was going on? I feel shame and disgust with what I created and want to throw it out. Right now I’m thinking my God, what a strange bird I am, keeping going on this blog that no one reads—what’s the point? I fear that there will be another long gap in the entries here, that a writer’s block is coming. Oh, I hope not!

I’m still on 4 mg Risperdal and it feels like a heavy, sluggish weight on me. I see Dr. Levy tomorrow and I’m tempted to start pushing him for a reduction; but once I tell him the click back to full recovery only recently happened, I know he will be hesitant to change anything in my med cocktail. We only have a 20-minute session, that’s all the time I have to relay what’s going on, I feel pressured plus nervous to finally be seeing him in person after six months. Oh, I feel strange today, not myself, yet maybe the self I’m supposed to be?

My writing seems pressured right now, forced, when it used to flow so easily in the morning. I’m wondering if it’s those handwritten Morning Pages I was doing that contributed to this change, or the Risperdal taking hold is to blame…I just feel out of sorts, lost, definitely not relaxed. Why don’t I laugh anymore? I am feeling the full weight of bipolar disorder today, how it twists reality for me, how it affects my moods, my feelings, my being. I do not like it at all.

I am though grateful that I have my cooking, that stays consistent, whether I am “tripping” (or whatever we call it) or not. The art show is coming up in five days—rain is projected, so there goes the crowds, I guess I was getting nervous for nothing. I’ll still put my stuff out on the porch at 8:00 a.m., maybe someone will come by with an umbrella? Oh well, at least I tried, who can control the elements. 

I’ve got a dental appointment today, teeth cleaning, and I need to talk to Dentist Dan about my cavity in my lower front tooth. I know he wants to give me a crown in my front right tooth, but I’m holding off on that for awhile. I need to do laundry, but I don’t want to do it. But maybe I’ll force myself. It’s so hard for me to do chores, I wish I understood why, it’s much more than “No one likes to do chores,” rather, it’s a motivational block I can’t explain. It makes me feel inferior and worthless, like indulging in self-pity, but that doesn’t do me any good. At least I can keep the kitchen clean, that’s something.

OK, I can’t write anymore today, this has been hard. I will hope for a better product tomorrow.

Finally Tethered?

 Good morning, dear reader(s), I come to you today feeling grounded—really grounded—in reality. I’ve been hinting in several posts that ever since I got Covid back in late March that there has been a readjustment in my mental state; I’m fumbling for words to adequately describe how I’m feeling, but basically I finally feel 100% normal since that hospitalization last November. So it took 6 months to fully recover, which I guess is standard for me.

Now, during this six month period, we saw a return to writing here on a consistent basis; we saw me create pieces of art. I was able to cook almost every night, I was able to meet with Shawn and have coherent conversations. I began reading again. Yet I always felt I was under observation; that messages were coming to me through the TV; like I was some actress in a play; being watched; recorded? There was some grandiosity, I took to ordering assorted hats from Amazon, didn’t go too crazy with the spending but did spend some money. I never let on to Michael that I thought people were watching us, never let him know what I was doing with YouTube (why?!) in the early morning, never told him I was talking out loud in the car.

Dr. Levy doesn’t know about any of this either, and I’m scared to tell him about it at our in person session next week. I absolutely do not want my Risperdal increased, but I know he’s my doctor and I have to be truthful in relaying what has been going on. I explained everything fully to Fetter in therapy yesterday, and he was firm that I be honest with Dr. Levy. He did though tell me I have a choice when it comes to a possible increase in the medication. 

I’m not saying what I went through in the past six months was psychosis, yet there were blushes of it (for lack of a better term). I guess I’m just tired from trying to figure all this out, but I wanted to have this recorded somewhere that I’ve gone through the “click” (as I call it) and I’ve come out the other end and now I feel normal. I know I need to spend some time reading back through everything I’ve written here since last December. Did it make sense? Was I going in and out of reality? 

OK, this is all for today. We shall see where my writing goes from here. 

Writing Prompt #4: Escape

 Prompt: Create and describe a scene, and situation of said scene.

ESCAPE (DRAFT)

My husband Michael asked me last Sunday if I wanted to go to BrewDog bar, in Franklinton, for artist neighbor Ryan’s fundraiser. A popular muralist, Ryan is painting his cartoony “Space Dog” on a brick wall outside of BrewDog, and is selling Space Dog t-shirts at the bar to support the Humane Society. Alcoholics in recovery, neither my husband or myself had been in a bar in over 6 years. But I wanted to support Ryan. I can handle this, I thought, and hastily put on some lipstick and grabbed a straw hat.

It was a warm, humid afternoon, in the high 70s, hinting that summer is on its way. My husband steered the car out of German Village, through downtown and over the Rich Street bridge into Franklinton, which looked like a sea of new apartment construction, interspersed with boarded up houses, and large dirt-filled lots. The streets were empty. Ghost town? I wondered, then I spied the busy BrewDog. Suddenly my stomach tightened and I became extremely uncomfortable.

Michael maneuvered the car into a spot down the street from the bar. On purpose, I walked slowly behind him towards the entrance and I was tense when we arrived. I first noticed women sitting in clusters at the bar, sipping mixed drinks. I eyed the rows of liquor bottles behind the bar, looking colorful, as always. I found myself wondering who amongst this crowd boozing on Sunday afternoon is a budding alcoholic, yet chastised myself for casting judgement when I, in my 20s, frequented many a place like this for afternoon cocktails with friends. Then I remembered my last drunk, when I was alone drinking at a bar just like this one, miserable, confused, spiritually bankrupt. Suddenly I felt afraid.

Michael spied Ryan out on the patio and we went over to exchange pleasantries. I bought a pair of hoop earrings he had made and a black t-shirt with the Space Dog logo. Ryan, somewhat boozy from the two beers he had, tried to make excuses for his sloppy behavior when he drinks. Yup, sounded familiar. I tried to explain that I don’t drink anymore, I went through that rodeo and retired, but I felt nervous saying it. Why?

Ryan walked away and Michael motioned to me to come join him at one of the tables outside. I noticed they were playing horrible music which sounded flat, repetitive, boring. I sat with my back to the bar, on purpose, looking straight out onto Town Street where all I saw were vacant lots and two more bars, one not-so-wisely called “Rehab” where I spied a guy with a neon green winter hat, drinking a beer. Lonely, this all felt lonely, I felt lonely.

Get me out of here, my mind screamed silently. Why did Michael want to linger here? It was time to go! Danger, Will Robinson, Danger. We don’t belong in this type of place. “Its not safe here for me,” I finally muttered to Michael under my breath. “Take me home.” We located Ryan, said our goodbyes, and I almost ran back to the car. As we weaved our way home, out of Franklinton, through downtown, and back to German Village, I found myself silently doing a Gratitude List in my head, with my sobriety being Number One.

When we parked in front of our house, I was firm. “No more bars,” I told Michael. “That ship has sailed.”

Countdown

 Good morning, dear reader(s), long time no see. I’ve been off on a personal odyssey, caught up in writing “Morning Pages,” longhand in a spiral-bound notebook, as instructed in the book, “The Artist’s Way.” I’m not sure I will continue faithfully with this daily exercise, as it takes me away from here, and to date has been little more than me wallowing in self-pity and doubt in my abilities. The Inner Critic is having a field day, though maybe that is the reason for this project, and to vanquish this foe once and for all.

We are officially on a countdown for my art show on May 20. I’m getting extremely nervous, and rushing to complete “Genesis” in time. I guess all that’s left is to affix some found objects to the board—shouldn’t take long, but I want each piece infused with meaning, challenging the viewer to really think and to join me in my mind’s eye. The good thing is if no one wants to buy Genesis, I can continue to work on it, though something tells me it is (almost) complete.

I fear my artistic window may have nearly shut again. What with my work now from the Writer’s Circle, and the meds firmly anchoring me now in reality, I’m not so sure I can tap that state which propels the prolific artistic periods I enjoy. In a way, it feels almost safer when I am not doing art—I’m not out there on a limb, listening to blaring music, talking to myself, sometimes feeling as if people are reading my mind. I will miss the frenzy of activity, though I sincerely enjoy this slower pace now of doing weekly writing assignments for my group. Yes, I need to always be creating, this is true. Such is the fate of many individuals with bipolar disorder.

I see Dr. Levy next week and I’m definitely going to tell him there was a significant shift in my sense of reality ever since I got Covid last month. Suddenly I felt anchored, like the Risperdal was really taking hold, like this hyper-awareness to my environment really, really calmed down and I finally feel normal again. I’m not blaring the radio, I’m not talking out loud to myself in the car, I’ve stopped picking up trash. Was it simply a case of needing 6 months to come fully back to earth, or did Covid do some adjustments on me? Not sure.

I wonder if I might try driving the highway soon. I think I may be ready, but I’m going to take it slow. There are some real lunatics out there who need to be avoided. I’ve come to like driving the streets, lots to see along the road, so I’m hesitant to give that up. Oh, we shall see what happens. OK I’m off to strip the beds and launder bedsheets; have a lunch then we are going plant shopping. Strap yourselves in, bring on the art show. Here we go!

Morning Pages

Hello there, dear reader(s), I’m embarking on an exciting exercise from the book “The Artist’s Way”—it’s called the Morning Pages. Basically, I have bought a spiral-bound notebook and every morning, I write three pages longhand of whatever comes to mind. What I’m seeing is I have a very strong Inner Critic, as all do, and writing these pages religiously, day after day, is supposed to chisel away at the Critic and help unlock the creative spirit inside each and every one of us.

“The Artist’s Way” can be used by anyone; writers, artists, housewives, stockbrokers, poets…I’m very excited to experience the transformative change that the author says happens after completing her 12-week program. I’m realizing that I don’t want to be embroiled in financial matters; I just have this mountain of creative energy inside of me and it wants to come out! What’s been holding me back is fear of grandiosity; fear I’m nuts, and no one will ever take me seriously. What I’m starting to think is that is ridiculous, and I should just go with my gut and keep producing what I produce, Inner Critic be damned.

I went down to the basement and located several interesting pieces of undamaged art from 2007: “Envy is a Sin” and “Young Prophets” to name a few. I must have been in high religious delusion, yet there is definitely something compelling about the pieces. I may take a few more to Fetter tomorrow, just so he too can give me feedback on this Outsider Art I have created. I am convinced now I will have more than enough art to show at the yard sale later this month!

Arranged with mom to go to her house Tuesday next week to complete “Genesis.” I had thought I could finish it here, but I don’t have an adequate table to work on. I’m scuttling plans to have “My Mother, Myself” done by May 20—I can’t rush that, it needs time, I need to continue collecting things in the alleys around here. I feel a great sense of relief that this project has been tabled for the time being; also delight with everything I have found in the basement that hasn’t been harmed by mold. The triptych is now also on hold, though I may try to sell the NYT panel on its own this year. Still thinking about it.

I know there may be doubters of my work, people who don’t understand it, but if I succumb to fear I would be paralyzed and never, ever open myself up to a show. I’m prepared that we sell nothing, and that’s fine, I’ll just take everything back to the basement for storage until the yard sale next year. I will probably get extremely nervous as May 20 gets closer, but right now I feel good and confident and ready to proceed.

I’m going to let go of all the shame I feel about our house; I know the chimney won’t be repaired and the paint trim won’t be painted by the show. Michael just isn’t moving on it, it’s not a priority, at least it doesn’t appear to be. He says he’s off limits today for a discussion because the Fed is expected to raise interest rates today. Funny, that makes me want to needle him more, but I’m going to hold my tongue and not say anything. At least today.

Making Chicken Paprikash for dinner, should be tasty, not low calorie but that’s fine. Tonight is my Sane and Sober Zoom, and I’ll be announcing my 6 year sober anniversary to the group. I’ve been going to this group for almost 3 years, my how time flies. It originated in New York City, but now attracts people from all over the country. I love the group’s focus on dual diagnosis, I really need an AA group like this, it’s wonderful to be in touch with people like me. I’m feeling less and less shame about myself, and I’m thrilled about that.

OK, that’s it for today, signing off from my chilly corner of the world (and it’s early May!). Have a good day all. Keep creating!

Old Annoyances

 Well yawn and an early good morning, dear reader(s), I had that annoying thing happen where my eyes just open at 4:00 a.m. in the morning and I’m unable to get back to sleep. So wearily I rose, and now I’m downstairs sipping on coffee, listening to Jazz on Pandora, waiting for the 7:00 a.m. First Things First AA Zoom meeting to start in a few hours. I do so hate when I have one of these early morning wake-ups, it’s dark and cold outside and I feel alone here. But I will be able to get my early AA soon, which is nice. 

I haven’t had an early morning wake up in weeks—I think the last one was back when I had Covid. My sleep had been great, even with the decrease of the Simply Sleep to 1/4 of a pill, and I guess I was hoping this would last forever. But oh no, life isn’t like that, old, annoying things can crop up (sometimes at inopportune times). I had nightmares last night too, dreamt I was back living at the E. Broad Street house, and there were chickens there laying eggs, and mom was removing hornets’ nests filled with buzzing insects who fortunately didn’t attack when disturbed. Departed friend Andi was in the dream too, back when she was young and so full of life.

Oh well, broken sleep happens, bizarre dreams happen, that’s all a part of life. No, I don’t have to like it, but I know how to manage it, get up and get on with my morning, knowing that tonight I will inevitably sleep much more soundly. I see sponsor Shawn today at 1:00 p.m. at Starbucks and he will have my 6 year sober anniversary coin. We are going to resume discussion of my Fourth Step; here’s hoping I can make some progress. Afterwards I am going to Kroger to get provisions for Thai-Inspired Turkey Meatball Soup. It’s going to be a perfect night for it, cold outside, time for soup!

I tried weighing myself this morning but the batteries in the scale are running out of juice. Perhaps that’s for the best, maybe I shouldn’t be weighing at all, instead just continuing to watch my portion size and not concern myself with any scale numbers. Curiosity will though probably get the best of me, and I’ll end up ordering new batteries on Amazon. Funny, after typing these last few sentences, Pandora ran an ad for digital Kroger coupons—if I were tripping the light fantastic, I’d think someone was monitoring what I’m typing here but what I actually think is afoot is some AI Black Magic. But who am I to think that, whatever, maybe the ads are random (but I did just mention Kroger and electronic scales…hmmmmm….).

Yes, I have to be careful of this wild, technological frontier, particularly given my past experiences with psychosis. Sometimes I long for completely going off the grid, indulging Michael and his dream of moving us to some rural locale far away from concentrated civilization. It’s kinda wanting to stick my head in the sand, get off this fast-paced merry-go-round, but maybe that’s impossible. Rural isolation would be the worst thing for me, I know this in my heart, I need to be around people—and if that means adopting technologies then so be it. I’m just a slow adopter, maybe it’s the meds, in combination with a suspicious nature (just playing it safe).

The coffee is starting to kick in, I think I’m closer to understanding what today’s Ad Men are all about, maybe it’s time for a run with the visuals of YouTube (though perhaps I wait til after this morning’s AA meeting). Hee, hee, hee Pandora just ran an ad for Men-ard’s Hardware, ok now I get what’s going on, and let me tell you that for anyone who has gone through delusional thinking in the past, this kind of stuff can easily lend itself to possible detachment, however mild, from reality—or at the very least, questioning as to who (or what) is observing you. My, what an informative morning I have had so far! Maybe it’s time to go back to handwritten journals…nah, why spoil the fun?

OK, the AA meeting starts soon, so I’ll sign off for today. Here comes the dawn, the darkness is fading away, time to move forward and next hear the sober message. Wishing for you all a firm toe-hold in reality, despite all the craziness surrounding us. Take it easy, first things first! Ciao.

Writing Prompt #3: The Artist’s Way

Prompt: What do you see when you think about your future?

The Artist’s Way (DRAFT)

What do I see when I think about my future as an artist? I guess you would first have to understand what kind of art I’ve been creating since I first started this endeavor over two decades ago. I’ve done some research and my work can be loosely described as “Outsider Art” —a quick look at Wikipedia defines this movement as “art made by self-taught or supposedly naive artists with typically little or no contact with the conventions of the art worlds. In many cases, their work is discovered only after their deaths. Often, outsider art illustrates extreme mental states, unconventional ideas, or elaborate fantasy worlds.”

As for the medium of my art, I have gone through three distinct artistic phases to date: in the 1990s, I created assorted glass mosaics in the garage of a duplex I was renting on City Park Avenue here in German Village; in the early 2000s, I did a series of ominous acrylic paintings while in florid manic psychosis, chain-smoking and working late into the night on the porch of my home in the Village on E. Columbus Street; then for the past six months I’ve been working exclusively with found objects and creating collages in a “studio” in my mother’s home, and this comes after a brief hospitalization last Fall for acute anxiety and confusion.

I differ from Outsiders in that I have studied major art movements and artists in college, and I have analyzed closely self-taught artists including Howard Finster and Columbus artists Elijah Pierce and William Hawkins (their work is on view at the Columbus Museum of Art). One of my favorite contemporary artists is Jasper Johns, and I completed recently a piece honoring his famous Ballentine ale cans, contrasting his study which is so precise and painstakingly constructed with mine, which is dirty and quickly assembled with cast off beer cans I found randomly along my walks here in the alleys of my neighborhood. As a recovering alcoholic, it’s no surprise I’m drawn to the subject matter.

In a way, my art has always been a deep prayer to a Higher Power. I’ve been on a personal, spiritual journey for quite some time, and it’s been shaped by my experiences in AA ever since I first entered rehab over 25 years ago. The idea of “letting go” and letting a Higher Power guide my artwork is particularly evident in the quasi-religious pieces I have done in the most acute periods of mania. What’s interesting is after completing the works, I felt a very strong compulsion to throw them in the trash—reasoning the Columbus Refuse Department would deliver them to where they needed to go to “reach the people.” I feel a deep sense of shame that I have lost my faculties like this, but have worked extremely hard in talk therapy to understand that I have had psychosis through no fault of my own, rather it was just part of my disorder that is firmly in my past.

In her seminal work, “The Artist’s Way,” author Julia Cameron offers a guidebook on how to overcome the beliefs and fears that can inhibit the creative process. I’ve just started reading the book, and I’m eager to explore the toolkit Cameron offers, including exercises and activities. What happens to me is while I’m creating my art, I feel a great rush of excitement—at times some grandiosity—but then afterwards feel a looming sense of doubt in what I have created. It is my hope that in the future, I will enjoy more confidence in my abilities, feel more pride in what I expressed on the canvas, be it something hatched out of my mind’s eye when I was off my rocker, or something created in calmer, saner times.

To challenge myself, I’ll be displaying some of my works of art at the annual German Village Community Yard Sale on May 20. I’m actually going to try and sell something, with my husband Michael acting as my art dealer whilst I hand out butter cookies and lemonade. I’m extremely curious how we price my art for sale. How do you value what it’s like to trip the light fantastic and come back to relay the journey to an audience? Oh, I guess it doesn’t matter if I get $25 or $250 for something, all I want is a steak dinner at Lindey’s that night. Reservations have been made, so I’m feeling optimistic.

Will anyone understand what I am trying to say, I guess it doesn’t matter, just no more throwing my insightful artwork in the trash. Here’s to a future of prolific creation, both in art and in writing. I’m grateful for my ability, and hopeful I continue to fine tune it.

A Sober Anniversary

 Good afternoon, dear reader(s), today is a very special day: my 6th year sober anniversary! Six years of continual abstinence from all substances, and I must say I am feeling very proud of myself. My dear friend Katie mailed me a beautiful turquoise commemorative AA coin that I will be carrying in my wallet. Tonight I have Shawn’s sponsees Zoom, and I will be announcing to everyone my milestone. What better people to share this with I do not know. Shawn has a coin for me as well that I will be getting from him tomorrow. 

How grateful I am for my AA! Took me awhile to get back, many bumps in the road, relapses and mental illness and hospital stays. But I’m home now, right where I need to be. I went to my first in-person AA meeting last night, at least in a long while, and it was wonderful to see all the people and get hugs from friends I have known for three years but only through Zoom. I was nervous when I first walked in the room, but all of that faded away when I saw the smiling faces and coffee being served, and the familiar folding chairs in a circle.

Michael has six years of sobriety too, his anniversary is sometime in March. He doesn’t attend AA, but that’s fine with me. Whatever works, go with it. I do chuckle though to see him get such delight with my AA coins—I think he sees them as for him too, and I’m happy to share them. Thank God for our mutual sobriety, it saved our marriage, and even though we have our problems, at least the booze is removed and that makes everything so much better. God, am I grateful for this!

No big plans for today, it’s rainy and cold out, I’m marinating a chicken in homemade Green Goddess dressing to roast in the oven tonight. I’m going to work on my third writing assignment for our group, which is to write about where you think you’ll be in the future. I’m going to discuss my drive to be an artist, my plans for the art show later this month, trepidations yet excitements I have. I’m really coming to love my writing group, it’s me and three guys from AA who are wonderful and extremely talented. What a blessing that it was established, thanks to Shawn who realized several of his sponsees were writers, and suggested we start a group.

OK, it’s just past 1:00 p.m. and I’m still in a bathrobe…maybe I better head upstairs and get dressed. I’m feeling spectacularly lazy today, like it’s my special day to take things slow, enjoy the moments, just be. I guess I just feel this overwhelming sense of gratitude, I feel peaceful, I feel like everything is turning out the way it’s meant to be. Here’s to May 1st. I made it. One Day At A Time!