My brain isn’t working well today. I’m having significantly more anxiety than usual and a I’m having peripheral neuropathy pain. I’ve combined an anti-anxiety med, the medical marijuana and three hours’ sleep. I don’t recommend it.
I have nearly all of the 167 new fabrics in my Spoonflower shop. Because of the insomnia, anxiety and meds, I’m having serious problems coming up with key words for each fabric. At the moment, 142 new designs are in my Spoonflower shop and you can find them here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
There are two single yard pieces that I plan on quilting. One is a photo that I manipulated using the geometrics part of PhotoScape X. I like that it looks like a modern version of a traditional quilt. Yes, there will be photos.
There’s a reason it’s called art therapy and I’ve been playing with photography.
I photographed the desert coming alive in the spring and summer. Now, I’m photographing the desert going dormant. What strikes me is how determined plants are to keep blooming. Here are the remnants of a recent bloom surrounded by dead blooms and dead leaves.
Yucca pods that have opened to release seeds.
Every photographer, including me, has an assortment of full moon photos. I’ve been deliberately looking for opportunities to photograph a less than full moon.
It was a nice night, so I decided to play around a bit. I experimented using a flashlight to light up different parts of the yard. I was hoping for something a bit different, but what I got is intriguingly eerie.
One of my recent manipulated photos. Here’s the original photo.
Today, I started with a photo of bare branches and played a bit. Here’s the final manipulation.
For some reason, the original shot won’t load.
I can get nearly instant gratification with photography and I find I am suddenly calm when I start to make art.
I’ve got nearly all of the isolation quilt basted and can start quilting it tomorrow. I’ve a pretty good idea of how I want to quilt it. I need to work on the human physiology quilt.
Don’t want to risk shopping at the few stores still open? One safe option is to support an artist. Many artists have on-line stores offering one of a kind treasures. Mine, Deb Thuman Art, is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com
I’ve finally put the binding on a quilt made in memory of 11 people who were killed inside a temple in Pittsburgh a couple years ago. The blue in the center is the Hebrew word for life. The 11 Stars of David are for the 11 people killed. The red is blood spatter. I remember reading that when members of the temple went inside the temple, they found blood spatter and brain tissue on the walls.
I quilted and put binding on the suicide quilt. I’ve only quilted the bottom half of the quilt. We don’t know what happens after we die. People have an assortment of beliefs about what happens, but no one knows for sure. The lack of quilting reflects that unknowing. The line between the hands is how connections between people are forever severed when someone dies.
New Mexico is shut down for two weeks. The number of new infections each day is out of control. I doubt shutting down for two weeks will make a difference. I think the timing of the shutdown is an attempt to keep people home on Thanksgiving. I suspect the state will remain shut down until the end of the year.
I’m getting tired of this virus. Tired of not being able to go anywhere. Tired of having my photography restricted to what’s in my yard. While dead yucca seed pods are interesting, there are only so many I can look at before I get bored.
I’ve been playing with photographs of the only part of my yard that looks like a forest. The rest of the yard looks like a desert.
Last spring, I found a cholla I hadn’t seen before. It had small, white flowers rather than the large, garish purple flowers on all the other chollas in my yard. Now, it’s got tiny tunas about the size of a marble. The other chollas don’t have tunas.
I’ve been doing most of my shopping online and it’s taking a long time for things I order to arrive. I think this is a combination of horrible orders given to the postal service in an attempt to stop mail-in ballots and the larger than usual number of packages traveling through the mail. I have an online store, Deb Thuman Art http://www.DebThumanArt.com. I mail out orders Monday through Saturday the day after the orders are placed. If an order is placed on Saturday, it won’t go out until Monday. Please shop early to allow for gifts to arrive in time for Christmas.
I’ve had this quilt design floating around in my head for a while. After reading an email this past week, I felt alone and isolated. The quilt couldn’t live in my head anymore; I had to make this quilt. It’s a self portrait. I tried pinning the white square on the fabric, but the square bunched up. I ripped out the stitches and made quilt basting spray. That was frustrating. The spray bottles I bought are only good for spraying something the consistency of water. Quilt basting spray wouldn’t go through the nozzle. Because my anxiety is high enough that it’s in the stratosphere, Jim had to figure out how to make a spray bottle work. Eventually, Jim found a bottle and sprayer that would accommodate quilt basting spray. I’m surprised at how well this spray holds fabric together.
I outlined me with purple Razzle Dazzle because purple is a healing color.
Using Razzle Dazzle for hand sewing can be frustrating. The threads separate and get tangled. I used a fast-drying adhesive on the end of the thread and that kept the threads from unraveling. There was a knot in the other end. This quilt is still in progress but this is all I’m going to do in the way of design. I need to figure out how I want to quilt it. I’ve got an idea about quilting that may make a couple quilts play off each other and tell a story.
Armed with a 25% off coupon, a couple dollars in commissions and the promise of free shipping, I placed a sizeable order with Spoonflower. When my order arrives, I’ll be able to put 168 new fabric designs in my store. I also ordered two of my designs to be printed on two one-yard pieces of fabric. I think they will make interesting art quilts. The fabric with all the proofs will be used for quilt backing. My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
It snowed this week. Snow in southern New Mexico is rare, so I had to go out and photograph the snow covered desert.
Next, I started playing around in editing and came up with some intriguing fabric designs.
I received a newsletter this morning and I haven’t figured out how to respond. Part of the newsletter was about coping during a pandemic. When the organization first sent out email wanting to know about how people are coping with covid, I responded by email saying it’s important to understand that as difficult as a pandemic is for most people, it’s far worse for those of us who have a mental illness.
I was ignored.
Here’s what I feel like saying: Listen dumb ass, if you think you’re coping with isolation, grief and feeling alone, how do you think I feel sitting here knowing you think less of me and that I’m only worthy of being ignored because I’m bipolar? I’m alone, isolated, depressed, and stuck with your prejudices. I didn’t choose to be bipolar. You chose to be cruel. How dare you pretend to care about people when the only people you care about are people who don’t cause you to confront your own bigotry.
Here’s what I said: ????? I haven’t yet figured out how to respond.
I don’t live in the closet because I refuse to be ashamed of an illness I didn’t choose and can’t escape. I can, and do, medicate my illness. I can, and do, tell others that medication doesn’t cure bipolar disorder, it only dulls bipolar disorder. I can learn to more or less cope with being mentally ill. I cannot, and will not, accept the bigotry, stupidity and ignorance of others. Law school taught me to say in four paragraphs what anyone else would say in two words. As much as I would love to tell the person who wrote the article in the newsletter to fuck off, I will refrain. It wouldn’t do any good.
Bipolar disorder makes everything larger than life. My emotional responses are larger than life. I’ve been told I give people the feeling they need to back up about three feet just so they can breathe. I’ve been told I scare the hell out of people. Do you think I like being told those things? Do you think I don’t notice or feel pain because you view me as different? Ostracizing me hurts. Both of us. It wounds me, but it hurts you because you’re missing out on knowing some amazing people just because you’re a bigot. That’s right. You’re a bigot. Or did you think bigotry only involved racism?
I am hurt. I am pissed. I am alone. I am unable to think of a solution.
After a week of touring Dallas and Ft. Worth, my roasting pan finally arrived. A week after Bed, Bath & Beyond said it would be delivered. I’m not interested in making a roast; I’m interested in making creme caramel and I needed a pan deep enough that I could have hot water 3/4 of the way up the side of the custard cups. And so I set out to make creme caramel. I gave myself a second-degree burn working with the caramel – which I burnt. My copay for a visit to the emergency room is $275. I can think of a whole lot of other things I’d rather spend $275 on than sitting around an emergency room waiting for someone to tell me what I already know. Instead, I put lidocaine on the burn and put a bandage over it. It’s an interesting experience trying to temper eggs when working with only one and a half hands. The custard part of the creme caramel came out really nice. The caramel part taught me I need to use a candy thermometer rather than try to guess when the caramel is just right.
This damn pandemic better end soon. The insomnia is killing me. I will fall asleep at a more or less reasonable hour two nights in a row, then the insomnia is back and I’m up until 4:00 AM. Bleah. This has been going on long enough for the extreme anxiety to feel normal.
I need a haircut, but that’s not going to happen for a few months. New Mexico is now a hotspot and the county I live is is one of the hottest spots in the state. We’re setting records for new covid-19 infections at least once a week. It’s terrifying. So I will live with shaggy hair for several weeks. Or longer.
The air quality here has been terrible for weeks. All the particulates from the wildfires are blowing through and causing me to have an allergic reaction. Finally, in desperation, I went outside yesterday to do some photography. Fortunately, the air quality was better than it had been. I started the pandemic photographing spring in the desert. That morphed into photographing the desert in the summer. Now, I’m working on photographing the desert as it dies back to be dormant for the next six months.
The few flowers on the desert sage bushes are tiny. The leaves are turning yellow.
Some of the desert plants don’t seem to understand what time of year it is. This is a blossom on a red yucca that should have stopped blooming four months ago.
Last night, for the first time in weeks, we had a colorful sunset and I went out to photograph it. I got distracted by the cottontail that was willing to hold still long enough for me to get a few decent bunny shots.
After the bunny left, I documented the sunset.
One of the editing programs I use is Photoscape X. Much of the program is free, and $40 unlocks all the bells and whistles. The other day, Photoscape issued an update. Wow! Do I have bells and whistles!
Here’s the original shot of a seed pod on a red yucca.
Cohen holding still long enough for me to get a more or less decent shot of her. Usually The Deranged Ones hide when I grab the camera.
I’ve been working with some of the beads I bought last month when we took a tiny trip to Albuquerque and I’ve been putting necklaces into my store, Deb Thuman Art, here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com
I’m taking a human physiology class from one of my favorite teachers. This is the third class I’ve taken from her. For some reason, her classes trigger quilt ideas. No quilt ideas have come from any other class I’ve ever taken. When I took neurobiology from her, I made two quilts about nerves.
Someday, I’ll bind this one.
When I took animal physiology from her, I made a mitochondria quilt.
Now, I’ve got a human physiology quilt floating in my brain.
When I was in college for real, I majored in biology. I would lay awake at night trying to figure out how water crossed the cell membrane. I loved botany. Had I gone to grad school instead of law school, I would have been a botanist. Now, I’m in college for fun. I take classes that interest me and I’m not working towards another degree. I can’t get another degree; I’m out of wall space.
As I was reading the textbook for my human physiology class, I saw something astounding. There are junctions between human cells that closely resemble junctions between plant cells. I’ve never seen structural overlap like that before. That’s what triggered the quilt idea. The soft idea floating in my head features representations of the parts of biology and the parts of my class that mean the most to me. I need to do some sketching.
In the UFO category, I still haven’t made quilt basting spray which means I still haven’t quilted the suicide quilt although I’ve got a firm idea of how I want to quilt it.
I’ve been working on photographing necklaces I’ve made and putting those necklaces for sale in my store, Deb Thuman Art which you can find here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com
I woke up in pain yesterday. Only one thing to do when that happens – grab the camera, go outside, and start shooting.
I woke up about an hour after sunrise, so I got some interesting light.
The agave that bloomed two years ago still hasn’t died. We didn’t cut the stalk down, and the stalk is now woody and it has become a perch on which birds watch for predators. These are dove.
We took a tiny trip to Albuquerque on Friday. We stayed overnight and came back Saturday morning. Travel is interesting. No more breakfast buffet at the hotel. They offer a breakfast grab and go bag containing yogurt, a granola bar, and some juice. No bedspread on the bed. If you want a blanket, you have to ask for one to be brought to your room. All the dishes, including the coffee pot, are in the dishwasher rather than in the cupboards and drawers. No more hot coffee and hot tea all day and night. We bought teabags at Sprouts. No honey. No sugar. No creamer. The pool is closed but the exercise room is open. Only two people or one family in the elevator at a time. One of our favorite restaurants appears to be permanently closed. Limited hours at other restaurants. I had to contact the Department of Transportation to ask if restrooms along I-25 are open. They are. I asked because restrooms at parks have been closed since mid-March.
The point of this trip was to buy beads at my favorite gem store. I checked before we left home to be sure the gem store was open. This trip, I decided to splurge and buy some of the more expensive beads. Expensive is a relative term. Although I loved the 10mm round larimar beads, I couldn’t afford to pay $750 for them. The most expensive beads I bought were $45 a strand. It’s a balancing act. I wanted to have higher end beads, but I need to have high end beads that turn into earrings and necklaces my customers can afford. Few people are willing to pay $1,000+ for a necklace from an on-line store. At that price, people need to see the jewelry and feel the stones before buying.
Bumble bee jasper. These are beads the clerk recommended, and I’m fascinated by the colors.
Larimar which is found only in the Dominican Republic. I love the stone, but at the moment, the beads are pricy. Gem prices are driven by scarcity, politics, and how much is being mined at the moment.
Phosphosiderite. The name is from the components of the stone, phosphorous and iron. I was surprised to discover it’s rare because the price for these was reasonable.
Peruvian opal. Although these opals don’t have the light play of the more famous opals, a couple of the stones are clearly trying to sparkle.
Rhodochrosite, one of my favorite stones. It’s the national stone of Argentina. While the price here is reasonable, the price is outrageously expensive in Argentina.
Turquoise. The reasonable price was a surprise because turquoise jewelry is expensive in New Mexico.
Vericite. I love the delicate green color of the stones. The color isn’t absolutely accurate in these photos.
Here in New Mexico, we’re getting smoke from California and Arizona. I don’t remember the last time smoke didn’t hide the mountains in haze. I took these photos from the hotel window and had a time and a half editing the shots.
My broken tooth was extracted this past Tuesday. I opted for anesthetic because I detest getting a shot of anything in my mouth. The oral surgeon explained that the tooth had three roots and the roots would have to be drilled out. After the tooth was removed, a titanium post was implanted in my jaw. I watched a Youtube video to see how the post was implanted, and I was glad I wasn’t awake. While the process is fascinating, some things I’d rather not know about while they are happening. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8k6pFGwUHVs if you’d like to see the process. I stopped taking the painkillers on Wednesday. I hated being stoned and when I wasn’t having pain. I’m still taking the antibiotics four times a day. I still have to eat on only one side, but I’m starting to eat semi-solid food. Pasta. Enchiladas. Refried beans. Rice.
I was reading in my human physiology text book, and my brain took a little trip. I thought about chocolate chip cookies and how everything in a body is interconnected. That transition made sense at the time. Then, an idea for a physiology quilt started to form. The design needs more work, but I may end up with something fun. Fun would be nice. For the past couple years, my quilts have been about mass shootings, suicide and isolation.
It’s amazing how childhood hurts last a lifetime. When I got accepted into law school, I decided getting into law school wasn’t such a big deal. They let me in, so it can’t be a big deal.
“When I appeared before the Supreme Court of the United States….” When I say that, people’s jaws drop. People are amazed. Stunned. They let me in so it can’t be a big deal. Why is everyone so impressed? When I took an adult religious education class and mentioned I was going to appear before the Supreme Court of the United States, the rabbi was astounded. I remember thinking that a rabbi who didn’t know me was impressed and my siblings and my mother wouldn’t have thought it was a big deal. If I did it, it couldn’t be a big deal. If I did it, it wasn’t worth noticing.
It was a big deal. I got accepted in to a law school that rejects 90% of the people who apply. Appearing before the Supreme Court of the United States is a big deal. I appeared to be admitted to practice before the Supreme Court. For the rest of my legal life, I can go into the Supreme Court any time I want and listen to arguments. I never have arrive before dawn to stand in a line and be allowed to spend three minutes in the courtroom. For the rest of my legal life, I can use the law library at the Supreme Court. The library is an ode to wood. Raised panels everywhere. Rows and rows and rows of raised panels and books. Any time I want, I can go in the library, sit down and do research. I can eat in the cafeteria whenever I’m at the Supreme Court.
It’s a big deal.
When I appeared before the Supreme Court of the United States, I learned that Ruth Bader Ginsburg was the heart of the court. As long as she was on the bench, I knew my voice would be heard. Who will hear us now? The loss of Ruth Bader Ginsburg hurts more than the loss of Thurgood Marshall and that hurt more than the loss of JFK.
It took 244 years before a woman lay in state in this country. Let’s make a big deal out of Ruth Bader Ginsburg being a Jewish American because being a Presbyterian American is no big deal. Let’s replace the heart of the court with a Religious Bigot American.
I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t bipolar. I could have been diagnosed 35 years earlier. I should have been diagnosed 24 years earlier. There’s no excuse for not being diagnosed 10 years earlier. That’s what happens when you get packed off to a psychiatrist and the psychiatrist wants to prescribe meds but doesn’t want to listen. During the time I was undiagnosed, I put myself through college earning degrees in journalism and biology even though I had no high school math or science, put myself through law school, took and passed two bar exams, ran my own law practice, appeared before the US Supreme Court, moved 2000 miles across the country, argued before the New Mexico Supreme Court three times, did about a hundred trials and a couple dozen appeals. Bipolar disorder never kept me from doing what I wanted to be doing.
I have a mental illness. I’m not disabled. Except, I am. Thursday, my brain didn’t work. I’m taking a biology class and although I find the class fascinating, I can’t remember things, can’t figure out answers to problems, can’t concentrate. For the first time in my life, bipolar disorder is a disability. Knowing that many other people who are bipolar have similar experiences doesn’t help. My brain is broken and cannot be fixed. I’m not able to accept that.
My severe lack of ambition seems to be a function of a pandemic. So many people let me know after my last blog post that they share my malaise. Because my extreme lack of endurance, I need to set exercise goals. Right now I can only handle small goals. My current small goal is 10 minutes on the elliptical machine every day. I’ve done that five days in a row. I think the exercise, pitifully small though it is, helps.
I’ve been doing some macro work lately. Some of my work involves taking photos of interesting patterns and manipulating the photos.
I’ve also been doing some product photography. I’ll be listing these in my store, Deb Thuman Art, in the next couple days.
I am suffering from a severe lack of ambition. I need to clean the bathroom, vacuum the rugs, read my physiology textbook, and get around to cooking something. I need to do meal planning and eat a balanced diet. I need to work on the novel. I need to make quilt basting spray. I need to quilt the suicide quilt now that I’ve figured out how I want to quilt it. I need to make the isolation quilt now that I’ve got a firm design worked out. I need to get back to exercising. I need to unload the dishwasher. I need to put ingredients in the bread machine and make bread before Jim does something horrible like buying bread at the grocery store. I need to select fabric designs and have Spoonflower proof them so I can sell my designs. I need to take my vitamins.
I’m not doing a damn thing.
Almost not a damn thing. I did a load of laundry this morning and sprayed mold killer in the shower. Now, I need to put clean sheets on the bed. I’m not doing that, either.
I don’t know how to get myself out of this funk. I’d love to go back to the gym, but it’s too dangerous because the county I live in is a hotspot. My severely decreased endurance is scaring me. Many days, I go outside and take photos. It doesn’t help. I’m making some progress on the insomnia. Even getting 6 hours sleep a night doesn’t help. I was getting 4 hours sleep.
The broken tooth has limited my food choices. I still have lots of food options and I don’t feel like making any one of those options. Yesterday, I soaked some dried cherries in water and intend, someday, to use the cherries in cookies. I should probably take my anti-anxiety med, but that requires I walk into the kitchen where the meds are kept. I don’t feel like doing that.
I have always had problems concentrating, but it’s worse now. I know a good part of that is lack of sleep. That doesn’t comfort me. I’ve had extreme anxiety for so long that extreme anxiety feels normal.
Bleah.
Manipulated grass photo. Eventually, I’ll find the ambition to pick out designs to have proofed. Once proofed, I can sell the designs on Spoonflower. My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
Fuzzy Wuzzy was a creosote bush seedpod.
Tunas. Those red things are prickly pear seed pods. They’re edible. People eat them, turn them into jam, or turn them into wine.
Just to prove I really can take the stick out of my butt…..
Normally, I try hard to get accurate colors. This time, something interesting happened while editing this shot. The flower really is this shade of yellow. The background, in real life, is desert brown. I like what happened here.
I frequently take shots of patterns. Can you figure out what this is a shot of? Hint: it’s not wood.
I’ve been working out a design for a quilt about how I feel isolated. Frequently, I don’t understand what’s going on inside of me until the feelings come out my hands. Sometimes, art is the only way I can communicate.
I bought a copy of Step-by-Step Texture Quilting by Christina Cameli and it arrived on Saturday. I’ve been doing some skimming and I now have some ideas about how to quilt the suicide quilt and how to quilt the isolation quilt after I finish working out the design and turn it into fabric.
This is the original photo. I was working with my macro lens and saw a feather on the ground. I thought it would be an interesting subject for manipulation.
Here’s one of the manipulations:
And here’s the one I used for a fabric design:
I haven’t proofed the design so it’s not for sale in my Spoonflower store yet. I’ve got a coupon for 25% off, and I’m working on getting together a huge order.
Fall in the desert is…..interesting. Several years ago, I decided I wanted to make a quilt using fall colors. I’m from western New York where fall is wildly colorful. When I finished the quilt, it didn’t look right. I had yellow and purple, but I thought I had too much green. How we design quilts and the colors we choose is strongly influenced by what we see around us.
In the desert, we get most of the annual rainfall in July and August. In the fall, the brown desert turns …
These are Dona Ana Mountains behind my home. One of these days, I want to hike these mountains. Alas, the pandemic has caused restrooms in the parks an on trails to be closed. I’m not adverse to relieving myself al fresco, but I don’t want half the town watching me while I do so.
Art is a fleeting look at a moment of the artist’s life.
I make emotional art. The kind of art no one wants to look at. The kind of art that shows the ugliness in my life. Maybe, if I’m very lucky, it’s the kind of art that will unlock past trauma and let me feel the feelings I’ve refused to feel for so long.
I’m not responsible for the trauma. I am responsible for allowing or not allowing myself to feel things I couldn’t feel during the trauma because releasing those feelings at the time of trauma wasn’t safe.
I’m in the process of recovering from my last blog post. I put in that post things I’ve never told anyone. Things I was ashamed of. Things that, at the time of the trauma, seemed not exactly normal but also not unusual or special. Didn’t everyone hate their siblings as we were taught to hate each other? Didn’t everyone have parents who hated and beat them? Didn’t everyone stagger through hell while denying they were in hell?
I couldn’t feel anything growing up because it wasn’t safe to feel anything. At one point, I convinced myself that I didn’t have emotions. Prozac without the prescription. Now, it’s safe to feel what I couldn’t feel before. Except now I can’t feel those feelings. I can’t access them. I don’t know where to find them. I don’t know how to let the feelings out. Maybe that’s why I can’t find the feelings. Those feelings are buried under raw terror.
What would happen if I allowed the pain from neglect, emotional abuse and physical abuse to release? Would I explode? Would the feelings be horrifying? Would the feelings hurt? That’s the one that terrifies me. The feelings would hurt. I’d have to relive a hell I’ve buried.
More than anything, I want to heal. I want to be normal. I want to be able to make friends. I want to attend services at my temple without wanting to be by myself curled up in a corner.
I don’t’ know how. I don’t’ know how to be normal. I don’t know what to do with people. I don’t know how to be part of a group. I go through life believing I’m all I’ve got, all I’ve ever had, and all I ever will have. What does it feel like to be normal? What does it feel like to be happy? What does it feel like to feel? To be fully alive?
Lose a tooth and find myself.
I don’t recommend it.
I’ve sketched a couple designs that may become quilts. I’m not sure. I’ve tried drawing my trauma, but it has never seemed to be accurate. I think I’m coming closer to drawing what’s hidden inside of me. It’s emotional art. I’m not sure I want to look at it.
My mother, a violent drunken narcissist, hated dentists and thought teeth were temporary and everyone should have dentures. Consequently, my siblings and I never went to a dentist, my mother didn’t buy us toothbrushes nor insist we brush our teeth. One day, feeling brave, I told my mother I needed to see a dentist because I had a cavity. I was 16. The dentist wanted to explain to my mother what work needed to be done on my teeth. She stood outside the room, did her melodramatic attempt to look frightened, and told me – over and over – that I should have all my teeth taken out and get dentures. I refused. That was an act of bravery. This demand that I have all my teeth removed was made periodically and I always refused. Losing a tooth means my mother wins. I cannot let my mother win.
The dentist used nitrous oxide and one day, I had a bad reaction and threw up. Vomit landed on my blouse and in my hair. My mother made me go to school wearing that vomit. I was 16. A junior in high school. Dressed in vomit.
My mother was a horrible person. When I reached puberty, I got my first pimple. It was on the end of my nose. My mother announced the fact to my siblings, and then told them I looked just like a witch. I didn’t say anything. Just got my coat and went out to wait for the school bus. I was 12. She bought me clothes that were a few sizes too big and bras that were a few sizes too small. She called me fat ass. I weighed 103 pounds. She called me selfish and lazy. I had no social life because I always had to babysit my siblings while she and her husband went out and drank themselves into a stupor. When my siblings got an allowance, I didn’t. After a few weeks, in another moment of bravery, I asked to have an allowance. When her husband beat me with a belt, she made no effort to stop him. A couple days later, she asked how I got belt-shaped bruises. I was too embarrassed to tell her so I just said that she knew how I got the bruises.
Now, I have a broken tooth. My dentist told me she might not be able to restore the tooth and it may have to be extracted. I told her I wanted the tooth restored. As she looked at my tooth, another piece broke off. The break went clear down to the bone. She told me the prognosis for a crown was horrible. It would be expensive, time consuming, and I’d end up losing the tooth in a couple years.
I cried. I told her I have a repeating nightmare about having a tooth break and having to have the tooth removed. I told her about my mother and how she demanded I have all my teeth pulled and get dentures.
My options are a bridge or an implant. The dentist told me that many insurance plans won’t pay for an implant, and implants are expensive. A friend had a horrible experience with an implant and I’m reluctant to have an implant. Plus, I’d have the tooth extracted, wait for that to heal, have a post installed, wait for that to be healed, then have a crown put on the post. A process requiring a minimum of three months. With a bridge, I’d have the tooth extracted, wait for my gum to heal, then a bridge would be made. She told me the bridge would last the rest of my life. I have to choose one bad option or the other bad option. As I type this, I think that a bridge would be the best bad option.
I hate my mother. She’s been dead five years, and she is still hurting me. At least I won’t have to listen to her gloat about my broken tooth and once again demand I have all my teeth taken out and get dentures.
For me, art is therapeutic. I think I need to make a quilt about my tooth. I’ve been working in my sketchbook, but I haven’t discovered a design that works. Either I need to keep sketching and letting my hand put on paper what’s in my heart, or I need to take a couple days off and then look at today’s designs again.
Maybe I’ve got this figured out. It’s too soon to know for sure. I’ve battled insomnia for five months. Sleeping pills don’t work. Melatonin doesn’t work. Relaxation music doesn’t work. Music that’s supposed to trigger brain waves to promote deep sleep doesn’t work.
I’ve always had an inordinate amount of anxiety. Lots of reasons for that, and none I want to discuss. It’s okay; I discuss those reasons with my psychologist. For the past five months, I’ve battled extreme anxiety. Relaxation music doesn’t work. Klonopin helps, but I’d need to have an increased dose to defeat the anxiety. I’m not going to ask my doctor to increase the dose. I’ve been on the lowest dose since August 2007. I take it when I need it and don’t bother when I don’t need it. Having been through the hell of psych med withdrawal a number of times, I’m not about to risk addiction to deal with a temporary problem.
I’m out of ideas.
I’m done fighting insomnia.
I’m done fighting extreme anxiety.
We live is terrifying times. There’s a virus that has caused a pandemic. There’s no vaccine. There’s no cure. Scientists are discovering the virus attacks far more than the lungs. It attacks other organs and causes irreversible damage.
That’s terrifying.
In the United States, we have a narcissistic sociopath running the country. He’s lied, dismantled environmental protections, pissed off leaders of other countries, treated the Queen of England horribly, mocks disabilities, mocks veterans, mocks the parents who have buried sons or daughters killed in Iraq and Afghanistan, decimated the economy, and encouraged people to drink bleach.
That’s terrifying.
In the United States, we have a presidential election in November. The narcissistic sociopath has threatened to send the military to “protect” polling places, dismantled the postal service in an effort to thwart absentee balloting, and claims if he loses the election (please God let him lose), it will be the fault of the post office.
That’s terrifying.
Being terrified when in the midst of terrifying events is healthy. Being anxious and sleepless in the midst of terrifying events is evidence of mental health. Only a psychotic person wouldn’t be terrified by what’s happening in the world and in the United States.
I’m terrified. I’m worried. I’m afraid the narcissistic sociopath will get re-elected and my country will be destroyed. That’s evidence of mental health. I don’t care if the military, the police and Putin stand between me and the voting booth. I’m voting in this election.
I once offered a friend the following advice: Your feelings are your feelings. They aren’t good or bad. They are just there. The appropriate response to anyone who says you should or should not feel a certain way is to tell the person to fuck off.
I’m done fighting. I accept that I have extreme anxiety and that anxiety is reasonable. I accept that I have insomnia and that insomnia is reasonable. I finally figured out that I cannot battle my feelings. They’re my feelings. I’m entitled to have them. I get to decide how to respond to things that are out of my control.
I have this to say to extreme anxiety and insomnia: fuck off.
I’ve had extreme anxiety for so long that extreme anxiety feels normal. I don’t notice it until I have a small frustration, then the bipolar nuclear warhead explodes. I’ve no idea how to lower the anxiety. I have a prescription for Klonopin, but Klonopin isn’t helping as much as I need it to help. I’ve been on the lowest dose since 2007. I take it when I need it, and don’t bother when I don’t need it. That has kept me from becoming addicted. Having gone through psych med withdrawal five times, I can say with great authority that coming off heroin is easier than coming off a psych med. With heroin, you puke and poop for three days and you’re done. With psych meds, withdrawal lasts at least three months. I’m careful with Klonopin. I’ve had extreme anxiety for five months, and that’s more than long enough to become addicted to Klonopin. I haven’t yet, and have no plans to ask my doctor for a prescription for a larger dose. As bad as the extreme, unending anxiety is, withdrawal is worse.
I listen to relaxation music. I meditate. It doesn’t help. It may keep me from screaming for a few minutes, but that’s the best I can expect. I think of the high stress events in my life – law school, taking a bar exam, a trial where I was in the courtroom when I grabbed my stomach and doubled over in pain, having a supervisor scream at me, having a stalker terrorize me, suing the New Mexico Public Defender Department….none of that compares to the anxiety I’ve felt for the past five months. None of that prepared me for the anxiety I’ve felt for the past five months.
I’ve been in an extended manic episode for the last five months. Something about a killer virus and a pandemic. Once the frustration arrives, the vitriol ensues. It’s not nice. For me or anyone around me. During this manic episode, I’ve had severe depressive episodes. The last one was scary because I felt dangerously close to suicidal. The suicide rate for people who are bipolar is 20 times that of the rest of the population.
My physiology class started on Thursday. The class is via zoom complete with technical glitches, internet disturbances, and a significantly lower risk of becoming infected with covid-19. I did not handle the glitches well. It took me a half hour to get into my class, and I don’t remember how I accomplished that. I had tried so many things, I have no idea what actually worked. I’m supposed to fill out a covid form and take the covid quiz that’s online, except it isn’t on line. Or if it is online, it’s in a super-secret location. I don’t see the point of this quiz. Dona Ana County and specifically Las Cruces where I live is a major hotspot in New Mexico. New Mexico State University has classes via zoom and on campus. I had predicted that the university would have to shut down by Halloween due to rampant infection. I’ve revised that. I predict the university will shut down by Labor Day. The university has had five months to figure out how to sanitize classrooms and restrooms with a janitorial staff that has been decimated due to budget cuts. Plans have yet to be finalized. The campus police apparently have no intention of enforcing state, county and local laws mandating wearing face masks in public. Jim is on campus daily and he has yet to see a student wearing a mask in public.
I spent this morning terrorizing the university administration. In my defense, the administration deserved it. There is a survey students are asked to take regarding a monument in the middle of a traffic circle. Some engineer who may have been on acid at the time, decided it would be a good idea to remove traffic lights, and have a traffic circle with exits and entrances to I-25 as well as exits and entrances to major roads and the university. I suggested rather than the three boring ideas proposed that a caduceus be erected as a monument to all the injuries caused by collisions that will happen in the traffic circle. Next, I took a survey for theater arts majors. Although I’m not working towards another degree, I declared a theater arts major as a matter of convenience. Jim works in the theater arts department and I needed a clearance in lieu of mandatory academic advisement each semester. It was easier for Jim to handle the paperwork if I were a theater arts major. The survey contained questions about upcoming plays – none of which are going to be produced because by state law there won’t be an audience because only 48 people can be seated in the theater. Every year, the theater arts department, in clear violation of the First Amendment, puts on a Christmas production. I suggested they have plays for Hanukkah, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Pesach. Not that anyone in administration will know that Pesach is the Hebrew word for Passover. I then asked if the department was going to continue to cram Christianity down everyone’s throat. I used to be on the board for American Southwest Theater Company – the organization that financially supports the theater productions put on by the theater arts department. I resigned in the middle of a meeting when it became clear that not only was ASTC and the theater arts department going to continue to crap on the First Amendment, but ASTC didn’t carry insurance to protect me in the event someone woke up and sued the university. New Mexico is a community property state. Being on the board meant risking I would be sued, I’d be forced to sell the house, and we’d only be able to keep half the proceeds from the sale.
Then, I finished breakfast.
My broken tooth won’t be fixed until August 28 and my birthday is August 22. There will be a subdued celebration. I can only eat on one side of my mouth so my food choices are limited. Restaurants in New Mexico are limited to patio seating and take out only. I’d like to spend part of the weekend in Albuquerque but hotels are restricted to 25% occupancy and Albuquerque is a hot spot. The fanciest I can do for a celebration is to make Welsh Rarebit.
I’ve been doing photography, but that’s not helping as much as I would like. I calm down a bit, but the calm doesn’t last.
I’ve been working on manipulating photos to use for fabric designs which will be sold at Spoonflower. You can find my Spoonflower shop here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
Deb's Art 