Major Depression


I'm a little slow in thought and somewhat medicated.

A few years ago one of my alters suggested we take a photograph of ourselves each month. She said to do it on the 17th and that's exactly what we've done. It's to give us a clearer view of ourselves, to break from old negative messages.

Without a photo in front of me, what do I think I look like? I feel.......... and there's the challenge. The truth of what I look like is based on categories like, 5'4, African-American, plus size, brown eyes, brown hair, not feelings. That's what I look like but what I feel I look like is totally different. And that's what the photos are supposed to do, stop the shaming and see myself better. Stop 'seeing' me in phrases like I feel small, I feel like an elephant. I feel stupid.

I am still working on how I speak to myself and how I view myself. I'm still working on splitting up feelings based on truth and feelings based on shame and self loathing.

A photograph of on the 17th of each month doesn't have my face with red inked letters that spell out 'bad' so why should I include that word when describing my appearance?


My cab driver said the most shallow thing I've ever heard. She said, "If I could ask God for anything, I'd ask him for a big butt." ..... cue the crickets........ I gave no reply. I mean really, what do you say to that? Screw world peace, forget curing cancer, feeding the hungry, releasing the oppressed, give me a bubble butt! Child please, I'm not on enough medication for crap like this.

I will have my guest here Wednesday. It hit me that I'm a bit shy about my humble home. I told Dr. D today that I struggled with having someone come that might expect more. I'm not poor, I'm destitute. I've heard about this poverty line but I think, like Big Foot, it's an urban legend. Has anyone ever seen it? As a child, the mother's income saw us way above it. Despite bouts of homelessness she kept her position, strange, but she did. I almost detest money until I need it. I told Dr. D that my needs are primarily emotional and spiritual. I have very little use for ...things....

This individual will come here and meet me with no pretenses, no complications, just me and the walls that hold the things that make me tick. Eventually I returned to my center and stopped the whole garbage about my home being too humble. Jordan will handle the artist that's visiting us.

Dr. D asked if I still feel suicidal. I said yes. He asked if I am going to act on it. I said no but I'm surprised at the length of time these thoughts have lingered.

Car accident number two in one week. Lesson learned: never ride with someone while they're very, very manic. I actually screamed out, "Oh no, Jehovah, this is going to hurt!" She started laughing. It did hurt and still does. Can I get in a car and not slam into something? When she's not driving recklessly we have a total blast. I really enjoy her company.

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First I had to clean up then accept two guests. After they left I worked with the terrariums and the frogs. The cat waited patiently for her turn as Snow and I discussed the service animal issue before me. She wants to know if I can do the stairs. I said, I fear my depression has gotten to the point that a cat will allow me to lay in bed for a good long time but a dog demands I get up. Besides, I am a dog person. Mary Jane is the best girl ever, the best. I'm afraid of losing her and I'm afraid of what I'm feeling in my head and the desperation in my heart. I feel my situation is such that I can do the stairs to take him out daily, 4 x. I've gotten stronger. At the end of the winter I'll know for certain if I can do this. Dr. D and Dr. Yes are on board with this. I need something that forces my hand, that forces me outside myself. I'm afraid of me. I'm afraid of the depression, of the anger and anxiety. I feel like I'm betraying my girl by bringing another furry creature here.

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Ariel Knew it Would Rain - SOLD
Ariel Knew it Would Rain - SOLD

I did not expect this painting to ever be chosen, to be taken home. I couldn't believe when I got the email telling me of the sale for "Ariel Knew it Would Rain."

She's art that's difficult to look at because, though she is silent, her face tells you everything. What use does one have for a few words when they are the picture worth a thousand? I'm amazed and touched that she was purchased, and humbled too.

Sometimes I am so raw with my art. It is clear I'm not a happy camper. It's clear the painting came from pain. When I do that I worry about saying exactly what the painting was about but recently I've taken more risks and just saying, hey, this is what I was thinking, this is what I felt before, during and after. It's a risk I'll continue to take because with art my voice is most authentic.


Yesterday was the first time I'd heard the name 'high functioning depression.' I read a tiny bit about it and thought, this is exactly why my friends and even the nurses that used to be here didn't believe me when i said I'm depressed, I'm getting in deeper and feel like I can't take another step. What they saw didn't say clinical depression, it didn't say she's suicidal, she may need some help. I wonder if this is something like a functioning alcoholic where the personal life is falling apart but the professional side of things is sustained? I don't know but I do feel as though I'm falling apart.......and I do feel left and somewhat overlooked.

My behavior doesn't match my actions. I laugh. I joke, I roll with the daily punches like everyone else in the world. I don't measure my life by another's so that I think my life is worse than this person's life, or that person. I make people laugh and smile and they tell me that they appreciate strangers...."I'm happy you came by the store today. I needed a good laugh." Yeah, me, too.

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growing-in-fmaToday is a quiet kind of day. I'm a tad bit on the depressed side. I think the poem is heavier in truth than anticipated. I just starting typing and stopped when I was done.

Monday will be here quickly and it'll be time for therapy again.

I'm physically tired with very swollen feet. I've had them propped up for awhile. It hurts to walk.

I've got a few financial concerns but in the end things seems to work out. Every bill is paid in full. The cat has food, Pete has food and Pickle will have more on Tuesday.

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I am aware that my sister reads my blog, but at no time will I send messages to her through here. I'll continue to write as if no one is reading. This is my place. This is my personal Gehenna, a public dump where I leave garbage and old bones in the form of memories, dreams and interpersonal interactions. I will continue to express every aspect of myself including my raw, emotional and vulnerable sides. Raw and emotional was exactly how I would describe Wednesday's dental surgery that didn't happen.

I showed up unafraid. Heck they were going to put me out and do what they needed to do. What did I have to be afraid of? Uh....When I got there the nurse told me that I would be sedated but awake. I said, no, that's not what you told me. I said, you don't understand, I can't see him come at me with a needle. I may survive the procedure but I still have to go home and deal with flashbacks. I reminded the nurse of why I have a severe needle phobia. Then I started crying. She said, what do you need? What can I do to make you more comfortable? I said, um....I just need to pray.....let me get myself together.

Usually when someone says, I'm going to pray, the response is to give them a tiny bit of space, let them do their thing and viola, prayer offered. Nope, Indiana has again shown it's strange side to me. I looked up and noticed how close she was standing so I said, "Why are you in my face?" She said, "You said you were going to pray. I thought you were going to pray out loud?" Who am I, one of the ancient Scribes or Pharisees? She added, I'm a believer. I want to pray, too. So she turned the radio off, closed the door and held my hand.

Here's the thing. At the end of the day I am one of Jehovah's Witnesses. So I couldn't tell the woman, no, let me have a moment, I'm not going to pray with you, not even in perfect ambiance. So I sniveled a little bit, pulled up my JW boot straps, held her hand and laid it out truthfully.  I started off with, "Jehovah, I'm afraid......" And it's true, I was so scared, but I was also truthful with the nurse. Before and after the prayer I told her the risk of me hurting myself during a flashback of this nature is too high.

She left to talk to the doctor. They both came back in the room and told me that he'd do the surgery with me in the hospital. I'll stay the entire day, enter surgery prep, do the surgery, go into waiting and then be released. I said, ok. They said they'd call me next week with an appointment. The 'faith invasive' nurse will be on duty that day. Yippie..... No, she was nice, she just took me by surprise when she wanted to get in on the prayer.

The Hibiscus and Cinnamon tea was nasty! I wish I'd grabbed another one to add to the stash I have to send a friend. Why should I be the only one with nasty tea? My friends should suffer, too.


Definition of Gehenna
The word “Gehenna” literally means “Valley of Hinnom,” referring to a valley just outside Jerusalem. In Bible times, the city residents used this valley as a garbage dump. They kept a fire constantly burning there to destroy refuse; maggots consumed anything that the fire did not reach.
* Six Myths About Christianity—How One Myth Leads to Another
One Myth Leads to Another.

Sister Pickle
Sister Pickle *Oh the time has come * And you know that yours is the only pond * who won't play, croquet.*

It's been a rough few days with the weather, but I've been able to get a lot of work done today. I'm pleased to say that the doll will be 100% ready to be shipped as arranged. However, there's no way on earth I'll put up photos in the doll gallery before she's received in the mail.

The sky has been falling on Indiana for a few days now. Wide spread flooding, lights out, all the stuff we dread during this season. In addition to the dreary outside, I turned 45 today. No birthday wishes please. I'm proud to have outlived abusers because it says so much about endurance and tenacity. But I'm still trying to manage the reality that I'm no one's daughter. That's going to take a bit to relieve the sting. But there is something to look at and be happy - Pickle the frog is developing very well. I can't get her to eat small worms, so I'm having crickets delivered tomorrow afternoon.

Sister Pickle
* Where you hopping* What you croaking for? * You know Budweiser don't want to pay no more to you * It's true *

She's called Sister Pickle because she'll be put in the pond at the Kingdom Hall. We call everyone brother or sister. I'm Sister Austin. The frog is affectionately called Sister Pickle. 🙂Haven

Ya know, I look at this photo of my haven and think of what used to be, but there is no desire to start an aquarium again. My physical abilities are just not the same but my needs are. This means the haven has to be arranged so that it is still satisfying for the deepest parts of me who desperately need peace. I've had a special room like this for a very long time. Despite some pressure to get rid of the tank, I can't, not right now. ...continue reading

Ever walked around with a chip on your shoulder but didn't realize it was there until someone knocked it off. Well, that happened recently....yesterday.

I left an art group on FB because it didn't seem as though my art style fit the theme of the group. Well, after I left a comment came in during the discussion of an artist's controversial art work. During that conversation the artist took a shot at surrealism saying that unskilled artists hide behind surrealism. I was so not having it. He gave me a reason to vent. I spilled some anger, and then came a different line of reasoning.

Here's how Faith behaving badly played out.

I actually left the group and then applied again for the sole purpose of addressing the issue of surrealism as a legitimate art form. You Mr. XYZ can't honestly say that lack of skill is hidden behind surrealism. If you decide that is truth then I must point out that counterfeiting, even bad counterfeiting, is considered art. Con-artist. Dear Sir, I would have remained silent, would have stayed off the group had your ego not gone above the price of your artwork. If your ability to capture realism is so great, please paint the real disgust I have for anyone who dare knock the art of others because they don't meet his standards.

I'm sorry.

"A mild word turns away rage." says an old Proverb

That's how you make Faith Austin shut up, sit up, and take notice that she is spilling anger. Yes, what was said was offensive but I could have very easily let it go.... but see, I'm mad about several things. I'm pissed beyond words, and grieving. I have a chip on my shoulder I didn't realize was there, until it got knocked off.

I think I might need to check myself. Other people have problems too.

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