My style is to just write and only correct spelling once I've completed it. Even the names of characters are made up as I go. I write until I feel I've released enough.

Content: After reading through it, I realized I'm all the characters, all of them, without exception. The story includes domestic violence, child abuse, the death of a child, blood from an accidental cut on the hand, physical violence towards a male teenage child. No sexual abuse is discussed in this quick write. Spaces are added to distinguish one speaker from another. I used a phrase taken from congressional hearings but left out all other sarcasm or humor.

"Christopher, your father will be here any minute, please set the table. Get his tea cups, please." Christopher rolls his eyes and says, "He''ll be here just a minute?"
"Not now, just finish setting the table, please."

He sighed heavily but very carefully pulled down four small, black Japanese cups with a red flower he couldn't identify. He sat them beside four square black plates and utensils he just figured out how to use. He's frustrated.... no, offended. His father will be home soon so his parents can begin their ritual of pretending to be happy. In the blink of an eye the tide will change from a perfect brew to boiling lava spilling from his mouth burning his mother to the core. She lets him and she won't stick up for her son. Her whole world is a man who comes home angrier each night and stays only to start another war. He leaves the carnage on the floor and goes out for the night.

Christopher's mother begins to bring the meal out to the table but upon seeing the settings she gasps and drops the platter. "Why would you do that? Why are you so cruel to me?"
Christopher feels the weight of what he's done and turns his head away from her. "Do it right and quickly!" she demands, but he's firm in his resolve.
"No. The table is set. You wanted a family dinner and I've set the table for us all."

By the end of her teenage son's sentence she has become a quivering ball of tears. "Why? Why would you do this? I just wanted a nice night for once. Help me clean this mess. Help me get this off the floor before he gets here." Christopher's eyes begin to well with tears, his breath is heavier and his heart has moved to his throat, but he leans next to his mother whose tears now mix with the ruined dish. He cleans the broken glass from the floor. Mother is still crying, heartbroken that she won't get it right, again. She can't seem to do anything right. She's a failure, a disappointment, again. As she hears the same old argument of worthlessness, she notices that Christopher's hand is bleeding. He continued to pick up the pieces one by one, leaving drops behind as a witness to his loyalty, to his love and exasperation for the woman he calls mother.

His mother grabbed his hand and looked at him, "You're bleeding. Honey, you're bleeding. Don't you see?" He dropped his head and shook it in disbelief that she for once saw that he too bleeds. "Christopher, what are you doing, go wash your hands, you're hurt." Christopher pulls back and continues to pick up tiny shards of glass. He pauses and says, "You never make special tea for me."
"What? What are you talking about?" She's confused. I mean my goodness, her husband is going to walk in the house and they'll both be on the floor cleaning up her hundredth failure of the day. Her mind is cluttered, she tries to prioritize. Clean this up, get something else, get a reason for the delay and stay calm.

Christopher places the last of the glass on top of the pile of broken pieces. His hand drips a steady stream and shocks his mother back to the person standing right in front of her. She says nothing this time. Still crying she looks at him bewildered then holds his hand, wiping the blood away with her dress, the one she put on for her husband who will come through that door any minute. She wipes away the blood, but can't stop his steady stream of tears. "What's going on with you? What's all this about? Tell me." ...continue reading

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The appointment itself went well but I asked that we do more than the scant few amount so as not to stretch out these procedures. I do not need to go through this again and again. They agreed.

After the appointment I requested 5, count them, 5 pain pills to assist with extreme discomfort. I asked that those 5, low dose, pain pills be all I'm given to and would last for the this appointment and the final two. The dentist said she would ask my medical doctor if such a script was okay to give!!! Keep in mind, I'm doped from the gas so I'm not thinking clearly BUT I do know I didn't sign a release of information for her to make contact and ask him jack crap!!! So why was she able to call and talk to that office and why on earth did my doctor say NO!!!!!!!! I don't think I could add enough exclamation marks to that. My medical doctor also decided not to refill my Gabapentin script....For the second time that script has been denied. I've had to call and straighten out with the nurse that the script has been given me for a very, very long time and that I should continue to get this script!!!!!!! The first time this happened she gave me this long comment about how it was a mistake. She then provided the script. This is the second time the script has been denied. What's the mistake this time?

I'm not happy at all. I've been denied 5, count 'em 5 pain pills that were to stretch for 3 dental appointments. This is crap!!!! This is complete crap. The last pain med script I had from my GP was January 30th for 30 Vicodin 5-325's. That's what he gave me to last for three months. That's nearly 4.5 months on 30 5/325's. Man, stop playing with me. You know I can't stand you anyway!!!!!!!

I didn't get a lick of sleep last night, not a wink.

I am mad at the world right now and hungry as all get out.

What I don't like about this situation is that my dentist is part of the hospital system I go. Instead of just dealing with my dental care she is able to look into my hospital records. I don't appreciate that. This is also why I don't want a psychiatrist who is affiliated with the hospital. It gives my medical doctor access to my psychiatrist's notes.

OMG I am so mad right now I can't even see straight!!! I woke up too late to do anything about this and for some reason, the dental office is closed every Wednesday. I am so mad I can't see straight!!!!

Faith

Content: The comment option has been turned off. 11:06 pm EST a man on meth and drunk upset a child and mother. Threat of violence to the mother and child. I yelled at them as the child screamed, "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy."

If I don't get this out of my head right now I won't be in any shape to finish the remainder of my evening in peace...and I do plan on spending it peacefully.

I'm shaking inside. I was in the restroom and the window was open. I heard a child screaming and crying "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy." The child was in a lot of distress. It was an emotional call not a tantrum. He was emotional and screaming over and over, "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy." I heard the mother tell the little one to be quiet because its late and people are sleeping. (not). He quieted down a little but then a man came up and started cursing and screaming at the woman. He called her all kinds of things while the child still cried. Things got even more heated and louder and louder to where it was going to explode into violence. I know that sound just before tipping point. I know that sound!

Both parents were yelling and screaming. I couldn't see them. It was too dark. As things got heated to the point where I feared someone would get hurt I just started yelling out my window, "Stop! Stop!" I just kept repeating it. When there was a moment of silence, and I mean a moment, I yelled to them, "For the baby, please stop!" There was only a fraction of a breath before they started again. It was like they realized someone else was in their world but then they started right back up so I started yelling again. Then it was just silent so I said (I didn't yell it) I said,  "For the baby, please, please stop." The man had to get in a few more words then they went their separate ways with him still running his mouth. The last insults included the stuff about him being drunk and on meth. ...continue reading

Young Joker - SOLDArt without a wall of its own is sad.  "Young Joker" waited a little bit for the right wall to come along and it did. Packaged ever so carefully, this special art piece will travel to its destiny via US Postal System. It's a happy day when art gets adopted.

"Young Joker" is a rainbow dance around a patch of white flowers. Wrapped in the landscape are several who are finding their way through the meadow. A black bird takes the same path.

Art Title: Young Joker
Art by: Faith Magdalene Austin
Size: 8.5 × 5.5
Media: Marker, acrylic
Finish: signed on front and back, unmounted, not framed

Paintings that compliment "Young Joker" can be seen in the below gallery and are available via Etsy or PayPal invoice. See the sidebar for details.

Give art a home.

Feed a starving artist. Seriously, I could use a sandwich 🙂

Faith

Content: Emotionally worn out. Feeling subhuman. The need to be held. PTSD and homelessness,

I feel the need for a lot of validation and reassurance. Am I okay? Am I going to be okay? Is it stupid to feel xyz?

I was sketching last night and had a thought that I wished my mother could see some of my art. The thing is, she'd hate it and I know that. One part of me says its to tell her, "Look, I can do this." Another part is that I need her to dislike it. She would tell me the quality is good but the subject matter is depressing as always. In my head I'd remind her that she fuels most of the depressing subjects, thank you very much. That leads me to letters I wrote to her as a kid. I wonder if she still has them. I wrote only in German when writing to her, never, ever English or Spanish. She would tell me how negative the letters were. I'd tell her they aren't negative, they're pleadings from your daughter who wants you to understand that she's struggling. She never heard it that way. She just said I focus only on the negative.

I am who I am.

Dr. D and I discussed my need to feel human. There are times when pain makes me feel like an alien, a freak. When I can't be touched I begin to lose the sense of being real, of being human. I'm just existing in mind bending pain and not even the cat can touch me. It's been a very, very long time and I need someone to lay on me and let me hang on. I need to feel the pressure of another human being on me. I need to feel that connection, feel them breathe.....just hang on like it means my life.

In session Dr. D and I discussed the lack of security I feel in my apartment. I'm going to be here at least another year but I wonder if I'll feel comfortable again, settled and able to continue a pattern of growth? We talked about how triggering it has been to think I may have to store my stuff in one of those cold, cement, prison dungeons cells they call paid storage. There have been quite a few triggers associated with the manager's antics. ...continue reading

Tom the tap dancer It's a bad selfie, I know, but my phone doesn't have a forward facing camera. That'll be a must have feature on my next one... anyway....

People talk to me all the time wherever I go. Today I initiated the conversation because as a man walked by, his foot made a sound I recognized so I said to him, "Are you wearing taps?" He then explained he's been tap dancing in ballrooms rooms for years and has a performance tonight at some sort of event. His shoes are new and he needed more time to break them in. Tom did a little dance for me right there in Kroger. I sooooo loved it.

My grandfather was a great dancer.

My grandparents had a ball room on the ground floor in their home. That's the room with the impressive professional bar and a functioning waterfall. If you go through another door across the room, you enter the area where harder partying and poker were played. That room was decorated with dancers on the walls which my late aunt painted. There were arcade size games like pinball and Ms. Pacman. It was very laid back, but the ballroom areas was always formal.

I loved to see my grandfather dance and loved hearing his daughters brag about his performances when they were younger. Though the reason for going to his childhood orphanage wasn't positive, I loved seeing where my grandfather grew up. I loved the idea that I could see the same night stars he laid by the pond to see. I loved the idea that the ground I walked on was the same ground he lead a horse on or messed about with friends.

I was rather nostalgic at the store when Tom danced for me. What a treat. As you can see in the photo, he got an ear to ear smile with that small performance. Tom was the sweetest thing on taps. He made my heart smile as I remember my grandfather playing to the audience.

Faith
4:30pm EST

date 5/28/17 - out with friends, age 45I never felt a connection to my grandparents house. There was never a corner that held secrets I wanted to know. Yes, the house was impressive, but it was of no interest to me. Nana (now age 90) was adopted early on but reunited with her biological mother in her adult years. Her biological mother's home was very intriguing. That's where I first came in contact with a massive doll collection in cases that lined the wall. That's the home where I was served meals and dessert on my great-great-grandmother's china. Unforgettable.

I wanted to know everything about Nana's mother's house and the things in it. I wanted to know the story behind the jewelry box, behind my great-grandmother's physical scars on her back. I wanted to walk through her pantry and see all the stuff she had. I watched her make bread and pies. I was intrigued by the radio that was built in the wall in the restroom. The restroom was amazing as it glowed a soft amber.

My great-grandmother gave us permission to explore without restriction. I was able to walk the land and see fruit trees, flowers, the lemon trees and more. She had apple trees, a pear tree and cherry trees, too. There wasn't a dull moment in that house full of history.

I won't lie, my great-grandmother was a wicked woman in her youth. My Nana got her meanness 'naturally' because she wasn't raised by her biological mother. To hear my Nana tell it, she had a picture perfect childhood. ...continue reading

Content - Anxiety, Suicidal Ideation, obsessing, food, hatred for mother

I know I'm not just my normal anxious self, I'm dissociative and hormonal.
Not so long ago I thought to myself, I don't want to be here anymore. I want to die.

I'm obsessing over stuff.

There's a place in my house where I can mess around with soil and mud and make the worst mess ever. It looks like the carnage I feel inside, like parts of me smeared here and there in a murderous craze. (saying stuff like this may be why she won't come and get her painting or respond to communications.) After I looked at the muddy mess I didn't feel satisfied, I felt suicidal.

Take me away.

In a few hours Snow will be here. We have to go to the grocery store. I don't want to but I need to. yesterday I had the best roast beef sandwich known to man. It was roast beef, sliced tomato, cucumber, green peppers and a bit of feta dill dressing on the side. That sandwich was awesome. I purchased stuff to make the tuna sandwich I used to get from Subway. I'll have that here tomorrow at a fraction of the cost. I'm using pita bread which can be difficult to use if the ingredients are wet or you over stuff it. I put the dipping sauce on the side. I've got White American Cheese, shredded lettuce, banana peppers, bell peppers, cucumber and black olives for the mock Subway sandwich. I'm looking forward to it. I can't eat a tuna sandwich if I'm dead, right?

I've drawn sunflowers again and again and again. I draw one then turn the page and draw another. Eventually I added a girl in a field of large sunflowers. I turned the page and drew another girl in a field with large sunflowers. It felt.... necessary......authentic. I didn't feel like I was hiding anything in the art. I drew what was in my head. I know large looming flowers is a negative image for me when dealing with art therapy, but sometimes a large sunflower is just that, nothing added to it. So I drew until I felt I'd put every sunflower in my inner field on paper. Beside two single bloom sunflowers is the word 'hope'. Even though I feel suicidal or I feel like I want to run away from everything (not medically possible) I know in my heart there is hope....I do know that....

...continue reading

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A bit nervous.
I slept most of today, exhausted from yesterday's outing, not looking forward to Friday's outing.

I woke screaming No bc my mother chased my sister and me with a knife. In a different dream my sister held me hostage, in the second dream my mother held me and my sister hostage. Just as I thought we were getting her calmed down, a roommate came home and demanded to know what was going on. Ugliness. I tried to use the phone to call for help but I wasn't able. I woke screaming no as she tried to stab me.

I cleaned up my FB page and pretty much set as much to private as possible. I've never been comfortable using that particular account to do anything other than have a place where my sister can write to me if she wants to. She's been blocked from that account since I had to close down the Sundrip Little Duck account bc I refuse to upload ID to FB. They have to be crazy to think I'd upload a photo ID to them. I have no update concerning my sister. I've not seen our mutual acquaintance again. I don't even know if she's alive bc I can't bring myself to type her name in the obituaries.

I have more dental work to do. ...continue reading

I said I go to bed when the sun comes up and I don't want to feel bad about it. I don't sleep on a schedule and I don't want to feel bad about it. Dinner sometimes isn't done cooking until as late as 9 pm but I'm eating better. I'm cooking and enjoying it. I went from lamb to pizza to white chili to Philly steak and cheese here at home at a fraction of what it would cost out. I'm needing some a strong curry in my life right now so that's on tonight's schedule. Tomorrow is Tabbouleh. I have to tell myself that what's normal for others isn't a standard I have to live up to. I may be up all night but I'm not idle.  ...continue reading