In this original art piece, the sky holds the largest number of flowers which float freely in a cloud of midnight blue, white and turquoise. The marriage of colors brings the story together of a little girl who was once told by her mother, “If you want roses out of life, plant a garden.” She did.
Art Title: The Little Rose Girl
Art by: Faith Magdalene Austin
Medium: Acrylic, gesso, crackle medium, heavy paper
Size: 6.5 x 4.5
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Please respect the copyright and the artists wishes. Thank you.
I like juicing. I’ve got fresh Kale waiting for an apple and fresh ginger. I naturally lean toward vegetarianism and I enjoy exercising – you know, the gym, yoga, hiking, stuff like that. Even though I’ve not been to the gym in years, I would if my PTSD allowed it. Would l? Hmm, I don’t know.
A few years ago I started to upgrade my food choices. I did another upgrade which has been very beneficial. I’ve stuck with these life upgrades until the last few days when every nutritional caution has been abandoned, denied and stomped flat.
my eyes are tired. my vision is poor. I’m intoxicated with anger.
In today’s session, Dr D and I talked about how easily people file away labeled boxes stuffed full of the past. We do it without even thinking. Its boxed up, but the one word label can’t accurately describe just how complex life is or was.
It was a heavy session where Morton was out most of the time. At the end he really struggled with a firestorm of flashbacks stemming from last night’s dream. I can’t believe how many memories are tied to one stupid car.
I really don’t want to blog right now so I’m just going to make quick notes for reference.
I tried to give myself an identity but I still sometimes feel like…
Right now it’s easier to be angry with other family members than my mother. My uncle didn’t suffer long enough. My aunt was as much as a demon as the man she married.
There’s part of me that feels ththat my mother’s COPD is justice served for doing her best to snuff the life out of her children. It is her Alzheimer’s that changes things.
In my mind, it was ok for her to lose her breath, to struggle for each breath and get very little. It seemed like justice for her to suffer in the way she made us suffer or made us available to others. Each day would be worse than the last and that seemed just fine by me. But Alzheimer’s leaves her with no understanding of her suffering. She is now a defenseless child and children, no matter how old, should not suffer. She has no way to understand what is happening and has no legal authority of her own. All her choices are made by others.
Although she has no memory of what she’s done or allowed, the point is that she is no longer the person she used to be. This new person suffers with paranoid thoughts. Every time I think of her afraid I cry. I want to hold her.
UPDATE : Too bitter cold, not going. Books and hot chocolate are part of today’s plans.
Tomorrow will start with therapy and end with an MRI. The rotatory cuff injury from six months ago still hasn’t healed.
Prep for tomorrow starts today.
Whatever I’m going to eat has to be made tonight.
Whatever clothing I’m going to wear has to be chosen and sitting out.
My go bag needs to be ready to pick up and walk out.
My phone needs to be fully charged.
I need tea and I need my no spill on the go tea mug.
The heating and small pillow should be fitted tonight to the brace.
Brace should be on the hanger.
My shower has to be tonight.
I’ll have to put on my compression socks before I go to bed so that I don’t need to try to wrestle with them.
All jewelry has to come off.
The MRI appointment has a plus side. It’s at MY hospital, the one where they always offer free muffins and Starbucks coffee to families. They have sitting areas for families instead of just one large, cold, hospital room. There are live plant arrangements and artwork on the walls. There’s carpet. Yup, the hospital hallways, family waiting areas and office waiting areas are carpeted. No huge, loud television to annoy me. Nope, just a nice area and visual experience.
Getting and MRI is the perfect excuse not to wear a bra all day long. Actually, the girls are used to freedom. I’m homebound for the most part. Only in public are they restrained from hurting others. I don’t want to be the cause of an accidental boob smack. If I turned too fast I could knock a grown man out! I suppose there’s always a plus side to being homebound. No bra at home but outside, I give my contribution to public safety by wearing a bra.
For awhile now I’ve considered wearing a sign on my upper body vest that requests that people please not touch me. I’ve worn the vest for maybe a year now and I’m comfortable doing so. Some people look at me like I’m a terrorist, others are bold enough to ask why I’m wearing the vest. Some mistake me for a policeman (stares blankly off in the distance). They think it’s a bullet proof vest. I’ve commented, well, ya know, for a little bit there we were getting shot left and right. OMG. But the least of my worries are questions or being locked in the entrance of the bank waiting for the manager to clear me. lol. Oh ma lawd! My concern is what happened yesterday when I went to the store. A man did a back hand smack on my arm, twice, then asked if I was in line. I used the word smack because that’s what it was, it wasn’t a one, two tap. …….That was the moment when I realized something has to change.
My desire is to switch all my containers to ones that lay on their side with the labels showing. I’m going to need a much larger rack, too.
I’ve been experimenting and mixing a little this with that. Most have been good but some I’d rather not mention. Nasty. A waste of quality tea.
I’ve found the best pain relief tea for me is a version of golden milk. I use fresh white turmeric, fresh ginger, Ceylon cinnamon, a few black peppercorns and an apple. If I add milk I use Almond milk. I prefer it without milk.
As with others who have tried this tea, it eases pain in a reasonable amount of time.
What are the risks or side effects of this tea? They can be significant depending on a person’s health issues, about and strength of medication as well as the frequency and amount of medicinal tea used. Those with diabetes, IBS, stomach ulcers or chronic GERD should speak with a medical doctor before using medicinal teas. Turmeric used medicinally changes how some medications are metabolized. Metabalization of medications for depression or even a light muscle relaxer can be altered. Mood stabilizers and this tea should be cleared by a medical professional. Blood thinners or asprin can be effected. The variables can be wide concerning person safety. Continue reading →
The main issue is me. I’m still alive when I wasn’t supposed be. I’m sorry but, I’m struggling with that, with how close I came to not being here. I’m struggling with surviving. Some might think a sigh of relief is in order. On one hand there is but the other side of the coin is that I’m still here. I still have Lupus and I still hurt. A big part of me knows there is a part of light I have yet to grab. There is something I’ve not done that I long to accomplish before I die. It is something not someone. I need to grab hold of this, just let me do this, then let me go.
It wasn’t until earlier this year that I understood I’d accepted the role of the “bad daughter.” I didn’t realize how many choices I made for the purpose of living up to that role.
My sister was skinny, pretty but dumb. I was fat, bad, smart. Now, I wonder if either of us ever truly challenged the labels and roles? Did we know to?
Earlier this year when this family crap fell in my lap I remember thinking to myself, this can’t be right, this can’t be true because I’m the one who messes up. I’m the daughter who disappoints. What is my sister doing? I was to fall on my face, disgrace the family and live up to the “bad daughter” role. Now it’s like, how on earth could it be possible that the good daughter would step outside her role? Will her future decisions be based on that role or will she continue her course.
I’ve been trying for awhile to connect with my sister again. After today, I have one sentence go through my head. It’s echoing. Who is my sister? Who is my sister? Who is my sister? WHERE IS MY MOTHER! My mother has dementia associated with diabetes. She can’t care for herself. I can’t take care of her but she has the resources to be well cared for. Let my sister do what she will.
I am baffled. I don’t even know what to say. Who are you? I remember the cold sister who has never been in the habit of calling me by any name, one who helped strip me of me. I remember so little good about the girl I thought hung the moon. She was smarter than she was ever given credit for being. She was not stupid, not even close. She could sew like nobody’s business. She looked like a kid straight out of 17 magazine.