me

I did a self-portrait because my art teacher had once said when he was stuck and not feeling like painting, he would do a self-portrait to get himself going again.

He, of course, was a portrait painter, so his efforts were probably better than mine.

But there is still something I like about this painting I did.  Mike said I look pissed in the painting.  My therapist said I had a look of "forbearance."  For some reason, I think the painting looks exactly like me.

What do you think?

 

Lives Matter

I can't take credit for the sentiment "Lives Matter."  Someone I spend a lot of time talking to, used the phrase yesterday.

But immediately, upon hearing it, I thought, now that's a movement I can get behind.

All lives matter, black, red, purple, green, male, female, infant, grandmother, everyone.

It matters how we treat each other, whatever the scenario, whatever location, whatever the power structure.  It matters.

And parlaying that into the next cause, why not wear a mask?  It's unbelievable to me when I hear someone decry mask wearing, as infringing on their civil rights.  Ludicrous.  Mask wearing is a patriotic, compassionate, live saving gesture that should make you safe and proud.  We can beat this thing.  Put your mask on.

Reiki

If anyone is interested in receiving a free long distance reiki session, contact me.

I am a master level practitioner, and would gladly help anyone feeling stressed out and tired.

Reiki works well, even long distance, to help calm the mind and heal the body.

Well, the day's kind of long, as I hunker down with my cats.  My boyfriend is working in another town right now, and I don't see him as much as I want to.  And now, unfortunately, it might be safer for both of us, and our extended circle, if we keep away from each other, until...until what?...until something positive occurs and we get the green light to move back into society.

So, I call Him on the phone, and keep my phone on speaker.  He is renovating a house, and he keeps his phone in his back pocket.  I feel so grateful that he'll do that for me.  So I move around my home, painting, eating, musing, etc and I listen to him work.  Crunch, crinkle, the sound of a saw blade, and I hear him mumbling to himself.

Every now and then I shout, "You still there?"  "Yes, baby," he says.  "Hang on babe," he says.

Yesterday, we were on the phone saying almost nothing for hours.  Today, is looking to go the same way.  Again, I feel so lucky.

I hope everybody has someone to hang on to.

And, if not, feel free to call/email/text me.  I'm here.

Here's a recent painting I did.  Check out my Etsy Page to see more.

Charleston Dawn (1) Gretchen Trees 2020

hindsight

Well, I had another psychotic break.  It's my third one, this past December.

I was taking the medicine my doctor had prescribed but it was clearly not enough.

I was upset about a lot of things.  A lot of things feel unfair, and I guess my mind just wound up and wouldn't stop.

That's the real kicker with being bi-polar, when it happens you are the last one to know.  I didn't think it could possibly happen to me again, after last time.  But, sadly, it did.

I wound up in the psych ward at the Institute of Psychiatry at MUSC in Charleston.  I was there for sixteen days and hallucinated my way through Christmas.  I had people loving me, I had people hating me, I was talking to the dead, my dead relatives, my dead friends, and I was making peace for a whole lot of people.  What really happened, I have no idea, I was probably just strapped to a bed in MUSC, babbling my brains out.

But the creativity of the broken brain boggles my mind.

I started to come out of it around Christmas, or the day after.

Fuck, is all I could think when I realized I would have to face the wreckage I had made of my life.

Luckily, I am not a violent person, so the wreckage didn't involve any broken laws, or any broken bones, but it did involve other people.  The poor souls who got wrapped into the narrative of my hallucination, for whatever reason.  What a shit show.

My landlord came to visit the day after I got out of the hospital, and told me the homeowner's association wanted me gone.  Really, I said, trying to remember who I had targeted and why.  "It was a significant event,"  he said.  Oh really, I answered  dryly.

All I know about being bipolar, besides my own experiences (which clearly I have little insight into) is from Carrie Mathison, the bipolar person's biggest hero.  It is Carrie, and her awesome sister, whose name I now forget, who told me that following a manic episode, always comes a depression.  Makes sense.  But nobody has ever mentioned that to me, when they shuffle me out of the hospital, after I wake from what seems like an eternal dream.

So, that's what I am dealing with now, the downside of that epic mania.  Miraculously I did find a new place to live that's nice, so my old neighbors and the homeowner's association don't have to deal with ...me, and all my rough edges.  (bahhh, must be nice to be so perfect)...

but, whatever, I come from a world where people break, where people love each other foolishly and badly sometimes, where people scream, laugh and cry all in the same breath...its music, it's life...

My therapist says, "you were overwhelmed."  I try to remember that.  What a nice, peaceful and unjudgemental thing to say.  "I was overwhelmed."  Yes, I most certainly was.