Category: The People Behind My Eyes

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

Dignity in sickness and in health

Posted on by F.Magdalene

Content – Death of baby while in the ER. Talk about crying but that’s all.

I was piddling around when suddenly I had to use the restroom. I knew when the feeling came on that I had seconds to get to the there so I raced, but didn’t make it.

This is the life of an amputee. I fall out of the chair or I can’t get there fast enough and wet myself as I fall while trying to transfer to the toilet. It’s crazy!

After not making it and getting cleaned up, I was very tired. I realized I only had one sock on but I was too tired to put on the other or take the one I had off, so I left one off and one on.

As I sat in the chair I began to sweat profusely and to feel nauseated to the point of throwing up. Then I started having a hard time breathing. Inhalers weren’t working. I couldn’t breathe. I hit the Life Alert button on the floor.

What felt like 15 minutes later, the ambulance showed up. Four extra people pushed their way into my space and for some reason it scared me. I didn’t understand why I was afraid AND starting to become combative, but I was.

One of the EMT’s asked why it’s so hot in the apartment. He also said it was extremely humid, too humid for my plants, terrariums, cat and me, he said. He said I was even hot to the touch.

After I got to the hospital they discovered I have an issue with my heart because of chronic dehydration. They didn’t make any conclusions about my breathing problems. No more blood clots though.

They wanted to take a CT scan of my head and chest, which I have done a million times. I got in there, laid down and proceeded to freak out! I said, let me up! The lady rushed to me and said, “What is it? Can you tell me what you’re feeling?” I said, “Rage and fear! Let me up NOW! So I was given Vistaril (glorified benadryl) to relax. About 30 minutes later I took the test and it came back clear. I couldn’t believe how I responded the first time.

The nurses had a hard time getting the IV in bc of dehydrated veins. They stuck me 5 times. My blood kept coagulating too fast while trying to take it. Seems my blood disorder is alive and well.

As I was having my blood drawn a woman in the ER started to cry. It was a gut wrenching cry, the cry that says a child has died. The patients were all crying with her. It was horrible. She cried and cried then screamed, “My baby! My baby!”…… Oh man! I well-up now just think about it.

When she first started crying I asked the nurse if he understood what he was hearing. He said yes, I just heard my own soul break…..

I cried so hard. I mean I wept right there, openly. There is no greater loss or grief than the loss of a child, none.

At that time several ambulances pulled in bc the closest hospital was closed to new people because of ransom ware. People were being placed in the hallway and in any cubby hole they could fit in.

Twelve hours after arriving I was going to be discharged to my Hematologist’s office for further care, but I had to use the restroom before leaving. I told them about my bladder damage but it still took 10 minutes to get to me. I wheeled to the restroom and about 15 seconds before I got to the door, I wet on myself, soaking my clothing. I changed into 2 gowns but was too tired from everything to get those horrid yellow hospital socks back on my feet. I sat double gowned with a bright yellow sock dangling from my amputated foot. I thought to myself, I might have to go back to wearing depends. Sigh.

I just want dignity. Going to the hospital this time was rather humiliating. Leaving in 2 gowns because I wet myself was humiliating. This prompted the painting of a child holding on to a white balloon in the midst of darkness. There are several faces in the dark and a shadow figure to the right and the bottom.

“White Balloon” is in acrylic on paper and is about 5 inches tall. It’s a baby painting with a big message: I’m trying to hold on to and protect my inner peace but everything around me wants a bite.

Faith

Half a Century More

Posted on by F.Magdalene

I started this little painting back in October of last year but I just now finished it. It looks so much better in person than the terrible photograph. This 7×10 watercolor piece has a lot of numbers on it. The numbers are ages that were very significant to me with age 47 being the last significant age on the painting.

The painting shows a young girl who divides the paper. She’s a young me with a split face depicting multiple personalities. Though I don’t know the exact age I split, I’m sure I was fully a multiple by the age of nine. I have a few symbols in the painting like a peanut and a purple butterfly as well as a wheelchair with a sunflower instead of a wheel.

One of the most significant things about this painting is the tree. It is bare on one side and full of colorful leaves on the other. Though they’re fall leaves that are technically dying, the point was to have colorful and lively leaves like seen in the Fall, which happens to be my favorite season.

I call the painting Half a Century More because of what a friend said to me jokingly the other day. I told her I’m about to turn 50 and she said, “Oh, you’re going to be half a century old.” Well I tell you I was floored!!! Wow. Do you have to put it that way? It took a few days to kind of get settled with it but now I think to myself, I’ve lived a half century but I’d like to live a half century more. I’d like to have a lot more art to paint, dolls to sew and days to figure out how to be happiest.

I won’t be 50 until August but I’m so, so exited I can’t stand it. I honestly never expected to see that number. For many reasons I didn’t expect to be here but half a century on and I’m still kicking!

Faith

Paranoia Art

Posted on by F.Magdalene

When I was young my mother used to tell me quite often that a person was trying to punish her for a perceived slight. She constantly accused my sister and myself of stealing money from her purse even though neither of us had done so. I didn’t realize then it was paranoia but now I see her behavior so clearly that it frightens me.

As she got older her paranoia got even worse. She feared I was trying to kill her, feared my sister had conspired with me to kill her, so on and so forth. She trusted no one but her baby sister, no one.

I fear being like her in this way. I have recently had bouts with paranoia, nothing like she had, but paranoia nonetheless. I don’t fear people are watching me or trying to kill me. I just watch everything because I don’t trust much. I then become obsesses with matters until I exhaust my mind.

My paranoia worries me. My obsessions worry me. I hope that I’d accept medication and treatment if things got to the point of how they were with my mother.

This 7×10 piece was drawn then painted in watercolor in my art journal pad. It shows a young girl (me) with her eyes closed and an unreal world swirling around her. Her body twists into a background of watching eyes that trust nothing.

Faith

It’s Friday!

Posted on by F.Magdalene

Ah yes. It’s Friday. There will be popcorn and beer, art and music. Let’s get this party started!

Me, looking unmotivated

The studio shelves are stocked with supplies. I’m ready to go. I’ve been working on a small piece for a few weeks now and I’m past ready to finish it.

It’s been a week of high anxiety and OCD symptoms but I’d like to put all that behind me and just have a little fun. So that is what I’m going to do.

Faith

Lola – Queen of Sorrows

Posted on by F.Magdalene
Lola

She accurately represents how I feel often. I wish I could say that I’m okay and that life is good. I mean really, complaints should be few but in general I’m not a happy person.

I named her Lola because in some languages it means Our Lady of Sorrows. It seemed so appropriate.

Lola is my third handmade sad doll. I made her with real hair this time instead of yarn. I really like the look. Lola is in my personal collection and sits where I can see her each day.

Some have described her eyes as knowing and with a story to tell. I just think they look wide and sad, much like my eyes as a child.

I made Lola a little sister named Victoria aka Victory. She’s not a sad doll. As a matter of fact, she’s a doll that is at peace. She’s not grinning but she is full of life and innocent. Victory is also in my private collection.

Victory

Now comes Grace. Grace was to be the 4th sad doll but she ended up not looking so sad. I like little Grace.

Grace

I like her wine colored dress and the bow in her hair (not shown in the photo). She’s wearing a second-hand Gloria Vanderbilt dress. I couldn’t believe I found that little tiny dress. It’s just adorable. I added a small heart button and put the tiniest, little gold details on it, not much though. The dress is simple which is what I like about it. I added a small piece of gold hair jewelry to her long, braided, yarn hair. Little Grace will be going home with my new nurse’s aide next week.

So while I deal with some sadness and depression right now, I’m out here making dolls and doing my best to manage life.

Faith

Anxiety. What if Painting

Posted on by F.Magdalene
All “What if” roads lead nowhere

Of course my head has been everywhere. I don’t feel good at all and the pain of this is constant. At first I thought, it’s just more pain, something I can ignore. I still think that but this is a new pain so I worry about not knowing what the pain means. Is my stomach hurting because the fibroid is larger than before or because it’s pressing against my bladder more? Is it pressing against a nerve in my leg making it hurt, too? So many questions and so few answers.

The GYN associated with the hospital that I’m firing isn’t helpful in one single bit. I called them and left a message. They called me back but I was on the other line with my Hematologist and couldn’t pick up. I figured I’d call them back. When I listened to their message they told me that when they call I need to answer the phone. I was like, what did she just say? “When you call you need to answer the phone.” Really? So I called them back and explained on their voicemail why I was unable to pick up and to please call me again. That was three days ago. I won’t even speculate why they haven’t called back other than to say that they are just a bad hospital and I don’t want to deal with them. I guess their unwillingness to be helpful is yet another clue that I don’t need anything to do with them.

I called because I have questions. I figured I could get my answers and then follow through with my plan to wait for the new provider for treatment. But getting answers from them is a joke. I can’t get through and no one is calling back.

Anxiety is high. I’m spending the extra energy on art and books. I did a tiny little drawing called “What if – Map to Nowhere”. It’s based on the understanding that all ‘what if’ roads lead nowhere. Here in bright colors are all the roads going this way and that way, leading nowhere. It’s a reminder of the map that takes you in circles with no resolution. It is pointless to go round and round with ‘what if this happens’ or ‘what if that happens’? So instead of keeping it all in my head I put in on a 2.5 x 3.5 inch wooden panel and put a magnet on the back. It’s refrigerator art 🙂

Do you need a reminder concerning maps that lead to nowhere? I put this tiny little painting in my shop in the Pay it Forward section. I’ll keep adding tiny art in that section so I can pass along the reminder to keep hoping and keep looking forward. Check it out at www.Sundrip.etsy.com . (SOLD)

Okay, on to the second little tiny art piece I did to relieve anxiety. This one is called Eye to Eye and is also 2.5 x 3.5. The finish on it really brings out the colors. It’s not a magnet though. I’d like to see this one with a tiny little easel displayed nicely.

A few entries ago I talked about Tiny Art. Safe Art where I discussed how this tiny canvas feels safer for me right now. It’s not so huge, like life, and is easier to manage and complete. I’m having a lot of fun creating them, too. It’s something to accomplish that I enjoy and that helps with the anxiety. There will surely be more to come.

I’ve also started on another doll which will be unlike any other doll I’ve shown on Sundrip. She’s not for sale though. I created one a month back and she sold very quickly. I never put her in the shop or showed her on the net because I wasn’t sure how well she’d go over. I did, however, show her to two people in person and one person through email. They all liked her. I’m making another for me because I’m moved to do it. So far I’ve got the body sewn and painted. I’m afraid of showing her because she’s nothing like the other dolls. She’s emotional. I’m worried about the reception so yeah, showing her on the blog doesn’t feel safe just yet. I would be crushed if a cruel comment came in, absolutely crushed.

So, I sit. I wait. I read. I’m currently enjoying The Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. I paint tiny pictures and sew emotional dolls while hoping beyond everything August comes very quickly.

Faith

Tiny Art. Safe Art.

Posted on by F.Magdalene

Sometimes I paint on a tiny little canvas because it feels less overwhelming and very doable. Larger canvas is hard to manage so I don’t mess with that at all but even at times an 8 x 10 piece of paper is daunting, so I pull out a small little canvas and let my mind play.

Lately I’ve painted sunflower after sunflower. It’s my go to art symbol that represents an array of mixed and confusing emotion with dissociation and multiplicity. One thing I recently learned about the sunflower is that when the sun isn’t out sunflowers face each other and sort of share energy.

The sunflower is the absolute perfect symbol of multiplicity. It’s got all those little lives (seeds) in its head. It can be a larger than life support system for itself and others which I find very, very cool.

One tiny painting included in this entry shows a little black girl hanging on to a huge sunflower. The other is a sunflower abstract. Each painting is on a 2.5 x 3.5 inch birch wood canvas. I used acrylic paint and ink then gave them a gloss finish. These little tiny art pieces would have originally shown up in my Etsy shop, however, they’ve been sold.

In between creating tiny art there is more doll making and art journaling, which I shall share at a later date.

Thanks for visiting Sundrip. If this is your first time then, welcome. If you are a regular reader, thanks so much for coming back.

Faith