Category: I’m only human

Bad Things Happen to Good People

Posted on by F.Magdalene

It’s sobering to think that no matter what we do or don’t do, bad things happen, sometimes in rapid succession.

There’s an historic example of a man who lost loved ones, employees, finances and his health in no time flat. When I think about his life before disasters struck, I can see he did everything right, then blam! When reading that account there’s something I noticed, something I missed about it 5 years ago. He asked a lot of questions to help him understand his situation.

This poor guy got a lot of flack from people who should have supported him but didn’t. True help came from an unexpected sourse. But what gives me pause is how the gentleman handled himself during the entire nightmare. He listened more than he spoke. That’s significant for me right now.

I have so much going on with my health that I wonder how much one body and one mind is supposed to take? I’m not alone in piling up devastations.

I’m shocked and horrified by what my friend from the hospital in 2018 has gone through. It’s not bad enough she has Lupus, was on life support, had a stroke, had to relearn everything from being paralyzed to the point she was only able to move her pinky finger. Do you know the fight it takes to come back from that?

She spent significant time in a nursing home which is where we met. After she left and hoped to move forward, she had cancer and needed a double mastectomy! All without the support of her parents, for whom she openly grieves. Really?! Can our girl please have a break, too?

I think I understand even better why it’s best to take life one day at a time. I make arrangements then do day to day battle towards the fulfillment of the arrangements / goals. A day at a time is hard enough. I’m not about to double up on troubles.

As it stands, I’m going to need 2 hip replacements due to avascular-necrosis (AVN), the left is first. I can hardly sleep bc the pain has been high. Sitting can be difficult.

I’m discouraged if not fearful. I don’t want to have a knee jerk reaction to anything but I do want to prepare. I’m so grateful for having a good CNA. Please let her stay!

I’m working to downsize my responsibilities. In addition to selling 5 of my largest plants, I’m going to need to downsize pets before a yet to be scheduled total hip replacement on the left followed by an eventual total hip replacement on the right.

I’m going to rehome my two Madagascar Tomato Frogs as one complete unit. They come with their bioactive terrarium. I placed them on Marketplace and listed the various plant types, hard wood, hides, lights, screen and locks. These were purchased from Josh’s Frogs as early juveniles. They remain healthy at age two.

I hate to see the Tomato Frogs go. There’s no way on earth the 100g White’s Tree Frog terrarium is going anywhere. Don’t even ask lol The only pets being offered are the Tomato Frogs. Everyone else is staying. We already know Joe Schmoe’s place is secure.

Emotionally I feel hopeful about this. I fear having hope that maybe…. maybe with new hips I might walk again. I’m afraid to put my energy into what seems impossible.

As I was writing this, it occurred to me, I shouldn’t feel stupid just because something I hoped for didn’t turn out. For some reason I thought, if I openly hope to walk again but it doesn’t happen, I may feel foolish. And I will have made others hope without pay off for their support. This is wrong. Who wouldn’t hope to walk again? Who? And what friend witholds support because their personal pay off isn’t high enough?

I fear disappointing people. If I don’t walk will I have wasted their time? l honestly feel ashamed that I’m getting ready to put my friends through yet another ordeal. The hip replacement isn’t the ordeal, it’s my blood disorder related to Lupus that has me so worried.

My hope is to listen to the support of my friends without countering it with fear of disappointing them.

I intend to speak less and hear more. I don’t mean silence. I mean that my personal expressions and opinions don’t have to be shared in full, at all times. In my private life, I need to allow others to express themselves more.

There’s a time to speak and a time to listen. If I’m talking to a friend, I’ll hear more and speak less. In a group of people I don’t know well, listen more, speak less. Perhaps by not dominating the conversation I’ll hear the tid bit I need that changes the day from burdensome to manageable.

Faith

Suicide. Secrets. Imaginary boxes.

Posted on by F.Magdalene

Subject matter – No details of anything but I do talk about where I am with grief. Very emotional….

I’m all over the place today. Today my CNA asked about K. I basically just said that sometimes young people don’t have enough life experience to fully understand “this too shall pass.” We talked about her children and grandchildren, about life goals and achievements. It was nice. What I didn’t expect to was to have yet another conversation about suicide a little later in the day, online. That conversation felt like it wiped me out. I had a headache by the end of it. I still hope that person is ok.

I’m struggling with concerns about being weird. I don’t know how to change that so that people who are a little more typical won’t run away. I feel like I live a life of secrets sometimes. People in my everyday life can’t know about the Dissociative Identity Disorder. No, most people aren’t able to handle that. Society barely can manage PTSD, they sure don’t need to try to manage the DID. I’d never tell my CNA she has more than one client.

I wonder if there will ever be a space I can share with another human being without fear of being ostracized, without misunderstanding basic human intentions?

I just read that sentence and it occurred to me that I feel alone and lonely.

There are many things that now feel like they fall into the “I can’t” category. I long for adult conversation outside of my apartment, which happens to be an extension of inside my head.

I feel like a trapped animal while sitting in a wheelchair.

Last Monday I talked to Dr D about trying to put away issues I can’t do anything about or that I’ll deal with later. I don’t like the standard way he showed me so I changed it a little bit. He said to visualize putting problems in a box then put the box up. That has worked once for me, but not again, so I changed it a little bit. I have two small treasure chests. One small box holds letters and notes about things I can’t do anything to change. The other treasure box is a little larger and holds issues that I’ll manage at a different time. The two boxes don’t sit out in the open. I put them up.

I have no intention of adding anything at all about K’s death bc it feels like his death is all I have now. I’m afraid to let go of the grief. There are no new memories to be made with him. There’s just grief. If there’s no grief then even the memory of him feels like it will fade. I feel like I’ll fade.

Its odd to hate the grief but still that’s all that’s left. I still see one photo of him in my head. He’s 3. He smiled at me over his shoulder. I think of that photo now and I want to ask him, why did you make me love you if you were just going to leave like that! Why did we survive, what was all that for? I try not to let my head go there too much.

I have a question for him – knowing everything we know / understand now, would you do it all over again? Would you take your life all over again?

Its late. I should eat something. I could use a good meal but that won’t happen until tomorrow.

Faith

Finger painting

Posted on by F.Magdalene

I broke both wrists and strained my right shoulder. Yeah. Not good. It’ll be interesting to see how the next 8 weeks play out. That’s how long before the shoulder and wrists start to feel better.

I still need to be able to paint so I’ll be doing pinkie paintings. 🙂 I’ll have to try to cover all cast and wraps. Thank goodness for press and seal.

I’m definitely not ok with this situation but I’m relieved I can accommodate my need to create.

Also, I’m still working on getting an electric wheelchair bc rolling myself around isn’t working right now.

Faith

Wheelchair Life: Grow Where You Want to Grow

Posted on by F.Magdalene

I’m in my feelings today. I feel very limited, if not left behind. I’m mad at wheelchair life right now.

I truly enjoyed being at the park with friends for a bonfire back in October. That was so healing. Right now though, I long to wander, to hike trails and sit under a tree with my dog. I miss that today.

P17fieldfma - on the easel

I hope to get an electric wheelchair soon which would let me get to the front of the building, down a very long ramp then finally on the sidewalk. The sidewalk stops at the property line. No sidewalks. That’s a problem. We’ve lost 2 residents in 5 years bc they rolled in the street. I’m not doing that. There’s simply no where to go off property that’s wheelchair accessible.

I can’t tell you the longing I have to go outside my window and get to those beautiful rocks. I was told that our screens raise up. I don’t have to take it out then struggle to get it back in. I’ll have care again soon so I might test that.

The best way to manage my aching heart here is to do something for others. I feel like a trapped animal right now. Well, let me get outside this trap by reaching out.

Sitting in the grass keeping my problems in perspective

I’m so happy to say that my pen pal list has maxed out. It’s full. I actually have 20 letters that go exclusively to the elderly in nursing homes. They write back 🙂 Also, all the spots for plant homecare / babysitting are full.

I just added a monstera deliciosa from a wonderful person who needs nursing home care due to dementia. These’s a spider plant, monstera, rex begonia and an African violet that I’m looking after. Most are of memory care patients but one is from a person who takes care of her grandfather who has dementia.

It feels good to help with their favorite plants that they’ve taken care of for a long time. It’s something I can give to my friends who have been so giving to me.

There’s a plant that belonged to three generations of very lovely people. I’m so honored! Being able to take the plant torch is an amazing feeling.

Faith

Words to yourself matter, choose them wisely

Posted on by F.Magdalene

Over a week ago I saw my nurse practitioner. We talked about the PTSD from the hospitalization in 2018. I told her that I just can’t paint anymore. I added, “When the legs failed and my foot was amputated, so too was the art in me.” Well, I’ve said that before. I’ve been saying it for nearly two years, but that time I truly heard myself say it and I knew I believe it. That’s a problem for me. Don’t tell me I can’t do this anymore. I was mad at myself. How dare I speak to myself that way?! I can’t be the person I was born as? I won’t accept that.

Point blank, I was born an artist. That art comes in many forms; culinary arts, painting, making dolls and creating terrariums. I’m driven to make things in an artistic way. The only way I stop being an artist is when I stop breathing. It was close back in 2018. Even still I want to be in an artsty urn. It’s already been chosen cause y’all can’t put me in any ol’ thing. I’m just happy I’m not in said artsy urn right now.

When I realized I actually believed that I can no longer paint, like I said, I was mad. Later that evening I got out my paints and started painting. While painting I remembered saying something very important to myself – It doesn’t matter if it’s good, just enjoy the process. That’s the moment things changed.

It doesn’t matter if it’s good! I was willing to have the art piece fail and that is significant. Before getting new depression meds and having a little more clarity, I was too afraid to fail. It felt like I was a failure instead of the art piece not working out. But this time I didn’t internalize its possible outcome. That’s how I know I’m in a different space. I was able to separate the two. I’ve been painting for over a week now. I’m risking a bit more and it feels good.

I didn’t die in 2018. I’m still an artist through and through. Regardless of any amputation, there’s no way to amputate my art. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I worked hard to get to this day. Oh my goodness I worked hard from the day they told me I wasn’t going to make it until this day. I’ve worked hard. It hasn’t been pretty, at all. Some things I messed up beyond fixing. I know I’ve hurt people by spilling anger or responding while unhealthy instead of just walking away. Why did this happen? Because I’m a speck of dust like everyone else and I do and say reckless things. But I am not a vicious person, just a profoundly imperfect one battling mental health and physical health.

I understand something now. You’d think I grasped this four years ago but I didn’t. I understand that I didn’t die in 2018.

My entire life changed. I can’t walk anymore but I’m alive. I’m extremely limited, but I’m alive! The person I knew myself to be left the hospital and the nursing home, then moved here. I don’t need to be afraid to live.

I was living this life of “why bother, I’m just going to fall over dead anyway. ” I was afraid to live, make attachments and risk a little because I just didn’t want to lose anything else. I feel like I lost so much in 2018 that the thought of losing anything else was unbearable. I was afraid to live. I’m in a better spot but I’m not OK. There’s so much more physical healing and emotional healing to do. I no longer worry I’ll have to endure it without my art.

What I’ve learned is that I believe the words I say to myself. I know you reap what you sew. If I plant tomatoes I get tomatoes. It works that way with words too. I was planting fear in my garden and that’s exactly what I got. Words matter. What I say to myself matters.

Art work – The painting changed quite a bit from when I started. It’s a collage now. And true to form, I’m working on multiple art pieces at once. My studio mascot Joe Schmoe is helping with quality control. He’s such a good studio cat and mascot.

I’ve been putting art in people’s homes since 2007. My 2023 art goal is to fill my own walls with my artwork. It’s time I did that. I’ll give an Etsy update soon.

Speak kindly to yourselves,

Until soon,

Faith

Therapy Review: Sundrip. Death and Dying

Posted on by F.Magdalene

Content: Self love. Sundrip and social media. Death and dying. Sexual Assault.

We talked about shame and guilt. Guilt is for actions but shame describes who I am.

Self Love. We talked about fear as it relates to self love. I fear saying I’m worth loving because doing so means I have to fully accept that my mother was wrong. To a certain degree I still deny the full impact of her actions and what she allowed.

I know I have self love to a certain degree. I said I love you to myself for the first time ever.

An opportunity for further targeted psychological treatment has opened up to me. I’m not in the mental health space to accept it but the offer stands. The practitioner, aka Hippie Therapist, will allow me to video conference. This doesn’t replace Dr D.

Sundrip. I’ve said several times over the years that I’d like to walk away from Sundrip.com as it is now. I know in my heart I can’t simply shut things down. Sundrip is my baby, but I think it’s time to bring this to a change from what it is now. It has been definitively decided that I’m closing the blog part of Sundrip in five months time. Why 5 months? Three months are too few but 6 is too long. I need to take gradual steps. I’ve set a date.

This is going to be difficult but needed. The world has changed since I started this blog. The internet has changed. Honestly, I fear I have too much to lose by continuing as is.

Death and Dying. We spoke about how I gasp and sit up in bed because of feeling like I’m on the gurney, at the hospital being wheeled to a surgery I wasn’t expected to survive. That was 2018 but it still haunts me. For days I said goodbye to my friends. We wept and supported each other. I apologized for the hurt I was causing by being in that condition. I said goodbye to my long term therapist. I so did not want to hang up.

It felt like I had been given the death penalty and that at 11am (?) I was going to die.

That hallway was long. The room was cold. They asked me to take a deep breath. It felt like I was participating in my own death. I wasn’t supposed to survive that, so I felt like I was asked to take my last breath. Breathe deeply and go to sleep w a 15% chance of surviving. I took a deep breath in and exhaled the name of my God. The anesthesiologist was brilliant and supportive.

When I woke from a surgery done only a few times in the United States, the nightmare wasn’t over. Did I survive a 10 hour surgery only to bleed to death? The nurse held my juggler closed with her hands because I would not clot. Another nurse held the artery in my groan. Other means to stop the bleeding were used too but the main way they got it to stop was to clamp them manually w me awake.

Despite the violence in my childhood, I never begged my mother for my life or for her to stop. In the hospital that day, w the sheets turning red, I begged the nurse to please not let go. She said she wouldn’t. She said to be quiet, turn my head to the left and look up. Eventually I woke up in the arms of my friend. The first thing she said was, I never knew you were this sick. This is Lupus? She held me.

Amazingly, I only have one physical scar from the surgery to get all the blood clots. Despite the foot being dead, I had to wait 2 more months before they could amputate it. The skin began to slough off. That sight is burned in my head.

The recovery room after the blood clots surgery was interesting. My bed was in the middle of the room. It tipped in different degrees, went all the way to the floor and quite high up. I had my own nurse. I was her only patient. I still remember her name.

There was a large area w homey furniture to the right and down a step, other friends were allowed to stay. I was in complete shock and so was everyone else.

Daily, for five months they took my blood directly from the vein, not the IV. I understood why but it still felt like torture. Changing the bandages on my new stump sometimes took 2 hours. It was torture. I felt like I was going to crack.

Dr D and I are discussing possible emotional and cognitive issues as a result of the stroke. We don’t feel that Pseudobulbar affect (PBA) applies to the fullest extent, but we are exploring emotional differences since the stroke.

What I’m aware of at this point is that I’m unable to emotionally or physically cope. I feel like my insides are missing and have been replaced with a dark hole and overwhelming despair. I don’t feel like I can reach inside for strength because I feel hollow.

In 2020 I was assaulted. Where am I safe? How do I protect myself? I’m afraid.

I need mercy.

Faith

The Brave Face

Posted on by F.Magdalene

I’m not brave. I’m not. I’m not rolling with the punches, I’m just getting punched. As I said, I’ve walked through the fire and I’m all burned up. I’m skinny, starving for a moment of real rest, of relief.

“The surgeon” will see me one more time in 3 months then that’s it. Really?! That’s all? You take my toes, wham bam thank you ma’am, I wash my hands of you? That’s how this works? And I’m just supposed to go on too, business as usual?

This is the second time he’s asked me to paint him something. So I will get a canvas and paint every tear I’ve sobbed! I’ll paint the times I covered my face and rocked back and forth in shock, “Oh my God!” so I can’t see what other trauma is next. I just cover my face and rock.

He gave me a script for an insert that will allow me to wear whatever shoes I want. He said to get a good brand of cocoa butter for my foot and the scars so the black scars will fade. I’ll buy new Chuck Taylor shoes after the insert gets here. I’ll walk around with no outward knowledge that anything is missing. I’ll limp but people won’t know why.

I will paint “the surgeon” a piece of this entire experience from fear to anguish to anger, loneliness and even gratitude. He’s going to get a painting of trauma because that’s what’s left in the wake.

Jordan

The Surgeon Who Stole My Toes

Posted on by F.Magdalene
Stone and Shadows
Stone and Shadows

I see “the surgeon” tomorrow, the one who amputated my toes. I wonder what kind of person it takes to look at a foot rotted black, take a saw and hack off a body part to be thrown away? What allows his mind to go there and his hands to follow? Though beyond repair, black as night, shriveled to nothing and dry, they were still mine.

My heart knows 100% that this surgeon was one who helped save my life, mine and many others. He is loved and honored, rightfully put on a pedestal. He has taken people with slim odds and brought them back from the brink. In my heart I see him that way, but behind my eyes I see the man who methodically removed part of me and threw me away.

Faith Austin

By Virtue of Him

Posted on by F.Magdalene

Let her keep looking toward the light that shines before her. She will be imparted power by virtue of Him.

By Virtue of Him

Art Title: “By Virtue of Him”
Art by: Faith Magdalene Austin
Size: 6.5 x 4.5
Media: Acrylic on cardstock

The small painting shows a young woman with her back to the dark and her body affected by it. She is still dressed in white, still looking upward for direction and hope. A light of white shines on her. Her hands come right through the color and darkness, leaving them open to hope.

In the partial finger painting you’ll see layers of color and rich texture. Cranberry, midnight blue, vivid green, royal purple, gold and black make up the painting called “By Virtue of Him.” The art is based on the Scripture at Philippians 4:13. It is my first overtly religious titled and purposed art on Sundrip.

Thanks for visiting me today,

Faith

Dec 6 , 2017

Therapy Review: Permission to Speak

Posted on by F.Magdalene

Holding out for MoreI saw my psychiatrist today. We talked about the suicidal feelings. She asked if I feel suicidal at the Kingdom Hall. I said no, I feel like I can make it one more day. She and my psychologist suggested I stick close to the brothers and sisters. but especially try my best to be there in person.

I know my attitude stinks. I’ve got to pray much more about that……

Dr. D and I are taking on an art project where I let my body speak. Often I form experiences and emotions on canvas but they’re from my head. They’re all but photographs of my mind at that time. The rather large therapy painting will be a painting where body expresses itself as it goes through medical changes.

Imagine not speaking the language of anyone around you. Pictures are all you’ve got to tell how you experience the world, the world where there is only one person, one physical being. Now that body has to try and free itself of silence so that bitterness is released. It needs to speak and I can tell and I have a feeling this assignment will be very emotional, humbling and beneficial. I think I’ll have a sense of freedom. I think it’ll give me relief.

A moment of self talk

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