I’m trying to dig myself out of a heartbreak-fuelled haze. FYI, the dating scene in 2025 is as much of a DUMPSTER FIRE as being ALIVE in 2025, so at least there is consistency in the insanity.
What better to do with manic, angry, angsty energy than create a little art?
I have been neglecting my stories, my writing, my website, my life, for a guy. But that’s the nature of the disease. BPD turns me into an obsessive little gremlin when I feel euphoric over a person. When they don’t match the energy, it devastates me.
Over the next few posts, I’m going to post some of the art I’ve been creating during my descent into a personal nightmare.
Let’s start with the paintings! These aren’t in any order. I painted them in hazes, so I don’t know which order they happened in.
Title: Sadness
I painted this one on Father’s Day. This year was the second Father’s Day without my dad to ignore. The pain from that omission with burn me until I die.
Title: Oblivion
Bumblebee colors. The beauty, for me, is the imperfections. The little things that annoy me that I didn’t fix remind me that it is okay to not be perfect.
Title: Little Broken Heart
Trying to fix the shadows is harder than it sounds.
Title: My Spiral
Been spinning in circles my whole life. It’s no wonder my favorite ride is the carousel.
Title: My Trash
You broke me when I only wanted to love you. Facts are facts. That is trash behavior.
Title: The End
As a historian who studied World War II extensively, and specifically the Manhattan Project/Atomic Bombs as my thesis subject, if you aren’t scared right now, you are blind. The person tasked with running our country is ACTIVELY trying to kill us. If you can’t see that, you’ve been brainwashed.
Title: They aren’t monsters if they look friendly
My parents taught me that nice people can’t be monsters. Of course, they lied. They were monsters, too. And now I’m a monster worse than both of them. Fortunately, my crazy little offspring are a new kind of monster. The world isn’t ready for the kind of “Feral, summoning demons in public, I will punch you in front of your kids, might burn down everything around me” energy they bring to the party.
Funny story… Six months ago, we moved to a small town. 2,000ish people. My daughter and I go to the grocery store, and little old ladies either giggle or clutch their necklaces. Men stare while their wives are slapping their arms. We don’t care. She will wear a “FUCK TRUMP” shirt to the store while mine says “I AM INSANE”.
Tentative Title: Blue
This one is my current project. It’s not finished. But something about the color blue has my attention these days. Maybe it’s the sadness or the depth.
I don’t know where this canvas will go from here. It feels like I’m standing on the edge of something, ready to jump, to hell with the consequences.
I’m not very good at painting yet. But I won’t give up. It doesn’t matter how good they are. It only matters that I do the thing. Art is therapeutic for me.
Painting is a labor of love. Deep in my closet, I keep boxes of model cars, paints, and tools that my father left behind. Someday, I hope to be skilled enough to pick up where he left off.
Until that day, I’ll keep practicing. I’ll keep putting in the work. Until it’s beautiful.
Because that is how I do things. I keep showing up, even if I’m alone. Even if it hurts. Even if it might kill me.
Until Next Time,
Cathy Marie Bown
By the way, I’ll be changing my name soon, but I haven’t had the energy to rework my website yet. Those changes probably aren’t coming until later this year.
Cathy Marie Bown 