I paid a heavy price in pain for a little bit of freedom from my wheelchair. I decided to walk about 100 feet up a ramp to my apartment. I needed to stand up at my normal 5 foot 3, and see the world from the angle I was accustom to.
The problem with walking outside is that I can’t feel the ground under me. With shoes on, I can’t feel the ground. It takes a lot of concentration. But today I needed freedom. I swear I feel like a caged animal willing to pay a high price to have someone open my cage and let me out.
The price I paid for about 100 feet is extreme pain in both hips. Both hips have avascular necrosis. I’m having terrible spasms. All of this just to stand up and walk for a little bit.
Was it worth the cost? Yes, for a few moments, walking in the sun, yeah it was worth this.
I’m in bed right now willing a slice of pizza hut over here. Lol It’s in the kitchen. Lol. But I’m writhing in pain. My legs hurt so badly, they’re squirming all over the bed down there. The pain is from the ankle up to the knee then both hips. I really want that pizza though lol.
My little walk reminds me very much of my little painting called Up Hill Battle. I guess sometimes the hill seems small to others but that doesn’t mean it’s not a battle for the person trying to climb it. We never know how much baggage a person is carrying, mental or physical pain. Even the slightest incline can be a struggle when the person walking is carrying a heavy load.
The miniature is complete. I gave it a nice seal yesterday. My intent is to have it in my shop this evening. If you don’t have an Etsy shop but there’s interest, you can send me an email. I accept PayPal. All contact info is on the sidebar.
I’ve been craving pizza for days. I really want that pizza in the kitchen but the price is a little high for me to get up and get it. I’ll use patience. I’ll rest then have pizza later.
It was still a nice day. I love outing day 🙂 Please let this CNA stay. I adore her.
Drawing and doodling continue to be my primary way of relieving anxiety; however, I may have a new way in a few months. Before the wrists, my doctor approved me to do one hour of vigorous exercise each day. I enjoy exercise. Always have.
I was going to go to the gym on “amputee night, ” as well as other planned physical activities. I can still do some stuff but the gym is going to have to wait. It’s going to be a bit b4 I can do that much.
It’s the small bones in the base of the thumb and wrist area that are broken. I chose not to have a fixed cast bc I’m a bit claustrophobic. So far I’m dealing better adjusting to the ones I have. Still kills me it had to come out of my pocket!
I’ve been painting more rocks while wearing the basic wrist braces I have. I also noticed that lately, hearts have shown up quite a bit in my art. I put in on the chest of figures or hide them in crosshatch or shade. Now I’ve moved to painting hearts on random rocks. I feel compelled to do it. I’ve not explored why, and I probably won’t. But I am allowing myself to paint hearts on rocks.
One rock has a heart on top but the rest of the rock is black. Mixed in the black are hints of blue and orange. I sealed them with Mod Podge. I’ve still got the painted rock from when I was in the hospital. 🙂 These guys make great encouragement when arranged together in a bowl.
The casts kinda hurt and they don’t let me do too much. Using the restroom is interesting. Lol.
For a bit the broken wrists took me back to one of the best years growing up. During my Sophomore year I rode my bike to theater club and loved it. I saw my mother very little. I remember fondly how life was very much a teen movie plot. I remember the summer and how much fun I was having. My sister had fun too but she shattered her wrist that year. She also stole my boyfriend. See what I mean, teen movie drama! The Breakfast Club. Pretty in Pink! There was deception, inner conflict, school life and music 🙂 I remember dedicating love songs on the radio to my boyfriend. I love memories like this bc they’re normal and innocent. Sisters make immature mistakes. We were just kids.
It’s helpful for me to look back and see normal parts of childhood. It feels important to have affirmation that I wasn’t a victim child being abused 24/7, like that was all I was alive for. I had good times, especially life as a student.
I’m getting ready to start physical therapy here at home to help some of the healing along due to recent falls. I’m pleased it’s at home. I told the doctor I’m not able to tolerate going to a center for physical therapy because of the setup. There’s too much public activity, noise, movement and touch, for me to be able to think straight and not panic.
The painting shown is still being worked on. It’s one of my collages, which I have found myself drawn to lately. I’ve got many pieces of this and that saved art piece that on their own doesn’t work but added to other cut outs, makes a great piece of art.
This is very indicative of how I’ve been feeling. In my head, I see myself as fractured and torn, both physically and mentally. It feels good to take the remnants of my art pieces (pieces of me) and make something good come out of the broken pieces. It’s similar to what the Japanese do when putting pieces of a broken bowl back together with gold. My goal is to improve self esteem. I also enjoy it.
General updates
Soon iI’ll know a decision from my insurance about a new Jazzy Pride electric wheelchair.
Joe just turned 14. It makes me a little nervous. His only issue is from the stroke. He doesn’t see as well.
Joe is still very much a service cat. He still alerts me to my blood pressure dropping too low.
I learned to make sour cream from my homemade yogurt. I’m growing my own ginger and turmeric inside. This growing season I’ll do spinach and salad greens with grow lights. The point of all this homemade stuff is to shave some off my grocery bill.
My OCD has been raging but I’ve been able to challenge it. Things go terribly if my thinking is too disordered and I’m overly stimulated. When that happens I have to go on an apology tour.
Dissociation and switching has occurred regularly, including switching while my nurse and CNA are here.
I’ve been able to paint as before with no real issues. There’s one painting in my Etsy shop.
Another physical change has taken place that affects my art. I can’t see! Dang it! I have to wear glasses to read or see anything in front of me, including my dinner plate. I can see far away, though. I need to see the eye doctor soon for prescription glasses. For now I’ve got bifocals from Amazon. I like them. Life is easier all around with bifocals.
Interesting is that it feels weird painting through glasses. It feels like I now have a physical barrier between me and what I’m creating. It feels like I’ve got my hands through the holes of a glass panel trying to paint or sew on the other side of the window.
Another new tool at home is this comfy Kaftan. I’m obsessed! I also like that I found an Etsy taylor with prettier dresses for the same price. I’m looking to get two more by this summer.
Kaftan’s are user friendly for disabled people with incontinence. I have spastic bladder as a result of the Thrombectomy surgery, which means I have to change depends several times a day. The last thing I want is to take my pants off several times a day because I need to change depends.
These dresses are fun and they are sooo me! I think I’m loving my Oprah glasses and Kaftans. I have one pink, white and green tie dye and one blue, gray, black and white tie dye. Totally me.
I recently purchased a new dress for the first time in over 30 years. I’d been wanting a kaftan so I purchased a pink tie dye kaftan. That got the ball rolling and lead to dress number 2.
When I was a child I didn’t wear much white because I tend to wipe my hands on my clothes, but unfortunately my family attached my worth to the color white. Here’s what I mean –
In 1992 I was getting ready for a function so I was ironing my white skirt and blouse. As I ironed, my sister kept walking past me saying, “Whore. Whores don’t wear white.” My mother and she were cruel. They wanted me to feel low and loathsome.
My sister was truly a piece of work. I got married in white and I could hear her evil words on that day, too. Fast forward to 2022. Not only am I older, I’m mad now.
I’m upset that my family attempted to harm me in whatever way seemed good. I was shamed so terribly over getting white dirty. It was always such a big ordeal. Living in the house with those two, I knew I was out numbered.
Recently I’ve been trying to reclaim a few colors associated with abuses. I’d been working on yellow for a while. I can say with pride that I have successfully reclaimed the color yellow and restored it to its proper place; next is white.
I’ve been tossing this idea around for a bit. It’s finally coming to fruition. I purchased a long, solid white Kaftan…..to paint in… to purposely wipe my hands on and get it all covered lol. Then of course I thought, what about shoes? So in February I’ll get a pair of knock-off, high top Converse, white for about $20. Converse right now are $115. I’m not trying to make that expensive of a point. Lol
Where the label on the shoe should be, I’ll put a sunflower. To tie the whole statement together, I’ll toss in a white dreadlock wrap and some hoop earrings.
I’m going target a few areas where I have unresolved issues such as over the heart, the lungs and the tassels at the bottom.
Colors of significance will include deep shades of purple bc the purple survivors ribbon is for Lupus, Domestic Violence and Dementia. All of these have touched my life significantly.
I don’t know when I’ll say the dress is “finished”. I do know I’ll wear it around the house to paint in. My paints are permanent and vivid.
A bit of irony – the dress arrived very wrinkled. I absolutely have to iron it before I put it on.
The rest of life is as troubled and discombobulated as everyone else. I’m taking it day by day. I find the world increasingly difficult to manage. I’m worried about the havoc politicians will reek on their world playground during elections. I’m not looking forward to racism being encouraged. Thank goodness I don’t understand the joy people feel when “sticking it” to someone else. But they love it.
While living in excessively violent times, politicians gleefully spit rhetoric to inflame groups and turn people against each other. It’s like it’s a billionaire’s game where the one with the most casualties wins.
Other than that, the frogs are great and so is Joe. The jumping spider is doing well. My CNA situation is “interesting”.
I’m a bit lonely right now though I see people regularly.
Rumination is pretty bad still. My emotions get intense but not like months ago. Sleep is too much or too little. Appetite is zero still, and last but not least menopause is kicking my butt.
At least I’m not as reactive and emotional as I was. I can catch myself sometimes, before I start, but it can be difficult to stop once started. I feel shame because I don’t feel I have the control needed to maintain interpersonal relationships. I’m worried about it. We’re still tweaking medication though.
What an exciting few weeks. I went from mourning my old CNA to getting a new one with whom I am very well matched. Having her means I can let her do some things and leave other things to me. I can keep up with my letter writing and other forms of reaching out to people. And I can keep up with my artwork.
My goal was to re-open my Etsy shop but I’m not ready for that. I can paint and sew but right now I need to wait a little while longer. I’m ready to do the art, I’m not ready for the stress of opening up the shop and getting stuff out on time. The goal is to do so but at this time there is no tentative date.
I’m pleased that rumination has decreased, which makes thinking much easier. The depression is better under control, and my physical health is holding steady. Concentration is crap. It’s awful but at least I’m completing things even as I bounce from project to project. I have zero concentration any more.
Anxiety is wicked. I’ve changed up how I do my Delta-8 so that it will help with anxiety more and kick in sooner. Sadly there isn’t any guidance on this. It’s trial and error, but at least it’s still federally legal and the cost is still within my means.
THC brownie bites
I baked refrigerator dough cookies and brownies. I cut them into dose sizes then dripped liquid THC over the top of the goodies. Works like a charm. It can be done with THC butter, too.
THC cookie bites
My metabolism is deathly slow which is why it takes 2 hrs for a bite size edible to kick in. It lasts up to 5 hours though.
Pain is not my friend. Anxiety isn’t either, but the depression and physical pain is significantly less, which has raised my quality of life. I’m still a bit reactive but not even close to how I was. Eating is a chore but that is getting better, too.
Wow. Food prices! No matter how much food costs increase, my budget for food has not. It’s been stuck at $200 a month for a while now with no sign of change any time soon. I’m blown away by food prices. I’ve been trying to see where I can clip pennies but I’m not sure where anymore. Perhaps it’s not totally a bad thing that I have zero appetite. Amazon Fresh is so high right now that it’s straight up robbery!
Menopause – well, I haven’t gone to jail yet. A terrible hot flash at least once an hour. Decreased ability to handle stress. I click on people! An Amazon employee had me so frustrated that I asked to speak with someone else. She said, who? “I said, I don’t care, anyone but you.” I really wish I didn’t say that to her.
So, things are progressing in a manner I couldn’t see 6 months ago. I want to remember that even in the worst circumstances, everything changes. And since I am involved and invested in life, chances for positive change is strong.
I’m happy I lived long enough to truly believe and trust that things change. Youth doesn’t provide enough life experience to fully grasp that things change for the better and you can move past what feels impossible. I wish my brother could have understood that.
I bought a second sketchbook that’s small and easy to take with me if / when I leave the house. It’s also easier to hold in bed. And for the first time in a good long time, I had to buy art supplies. I was able to get ahold of the paint needed so I’m happy with that.
Right now I’m making the art supplies area more disability friendly.
Symptoms of the clinical depression (my nervous breakdown) significantly decreased but have crept up again. After my aide left, a person with whom I felt safe) abandonment issues began to derail me. At least this time I know better than to wait to see if the depression, anxiety, etc will get better. I immediately began using the skills I’ve learned in the last year so as to never revisit that horrible-for-everyone, deep, hollow place.
I remember thinking that everyone has an invisible line that represents a division between coping and totally losing it. It feel like as long as I don’t cross that line I’ve still got hope of getting better. Well I blew past that line and had no way on my own to get back. I couldn’t reach inside and pull up strength because I was hollow. There was nothing to pull from. I couldn’t even stop or control the emotions anymore. I felt stranded in the middle of the open sea.
I’m not where I was last time but some of the symptoms are troubling. The decline began shortly after being triggered by the loss of a CNA I felt safe with. Right now I am regrouping and using new skills so I don’t again completely fall to pieces.
I’m grateful for art. I can’t believe I did that mental health crisis with very little art. I had no way to redirect anxiety so it felt like it just sat inside eating away at me.
My included art piece shows individuals with solid black skin. I noticed the color of the shirts as being significant. The person who reflects my current state is wearing an orange shirt. I don’t think I’ve drawn my sister, me and my mother together in at least 5 years. This time it’s definitely all three of us, with me in the orange shirt with one foot and extra long arms.
When I looked at the chart created to record color significance, I could see a bit more into what I’m actually feeling. Come to find out, it’s very much representative of what’s going on in my life right now and what I’ve been thinking about.
The Art Therapy gallery explains color and symbol significance.
Orange: Fleeting courage or self doubt, ambiguity,
Purple: Self worth, pride
Black: Emptiness, vacant, does not exist, emotional death
Red: Strength, courage, empowered
My mother has been on my mind quite a bit because of my menopause symptoms. I remember seeing some of this as a kind.
I remember one winter my mother only wore a long, thin, black trench coat (it was the 80s ok) despite the fact that it was freezing cold. Several years later she had it so cold in the house that I wore a jogging suit to bed. Fast forward to 2022. The heat is still off. I had no idea menopause would be so life disruptive. My friend said her severe covid was easier than menopause. Wow.
Lastly, I did finish stealing the art piece but I’ve not put new art up for sale. I’m not certain I’m ready for that step just yet. I’m just going to keep at the art while working on emotional issues.
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.
It’s been a year since I finished a painting or started on a new doll but I feel like I’m at a place in my physical and emotional health to get to sewing again.
I look tired and I’ve got dark circles under my eyes but today was still a good day. This is the feeling that I lost with CNAs. Peace. I feel a measure of peace in my home again. I’m not emotionally healthy but I’ve still regained the peaceful, welcoming feeling in my home.
It’s been a good day
I believe one of the major blocks I had that kept me from creating much was the way I began to view the apartment. It started to feel more felt like a hospital than my home. Instead of feeling able and capable, I ended up in patient mode like in the hospital when I had no control over anything.
Another issue that I’m correcting is my lack of privacy. This efficiency apartment displays everything I own. I don’t like that so I made some changes to my furniture to gain more privacy. I honestly think when I’m better able to feel less on display and gain more peace at home that I’ll have taken a big step towards trusting my environment. When I feel I can trust again that is when some sort of painting will take place. Who knows what style of painting I’ll have. One should not have any expectations as to style.
Several times this week I came close to grabbing my sketch book but I couldn’t do it. The wall separating me from painting is weaker but still stands. Well, between surviving 2018 followed by Trumpism, Coronavirus, the recession, war and monkeypox, my ability to trust the moment got shattered. I’m happy to say it feels like I’m close to rebuilding an atmosphere conducive to creativity which includes sewing and painting. I’ve been working hard on building blocks so art can feel safe enough to happen.
I plan to be full swing into sewing even before the next ten days of bedrest ends. This will total 30 days on bed rest which has been torture.
In-home care is going very well. I feel secure with it. I know I’ll be able to have reliable help when I make messes. I also have two people to assist with getting items mailed out on time. I feel like I’ve done a lot of preparation….. and procrastination. lol
I’ve even narrowed down which days of the week I’m going to concentrate on sewing and days I’ll use for writing letters to elderly people. Basically I’m making sure I have what I need to succeed.
I refuse to make dolls in bed. I won’t lie, I’m up all the time. I’m going to steal an hour or so a few days a week and just return to bed after I’m done.
I’ve got back issues and a muscle spasm that stretches from the middle of my back all the way around to my navel. It feels like a belt. It’s stressing the bowel and bladder.
I’m on some strong meds and muscle relaxers 3x a day which means I’ll be sewing by hand at first. I don’t want a OUI – operating machinery under the influence of meds. lol Really though, I could get hurt so I’ll sew by hand until it’s safe enough to get on the machine.
You know what? My memory foam mattress remembers too much 🙂 Bed rest and memory foam are not friends. I’ve put an outline of my body in my memory foam mattress because of staying in it so long. lol…. I had to have my friend I call Mary Poppins aka Mary to turn my mattress around so I can put a body outline in the other side. lol Thank goodness it’s just a twin bed. It’s not terribly heavy to turn to the other side.
Anyway… as far as the type of dolls I’ll create, I’ve already got an idea in mind that I’d like to develop. The dolls will be sad dolls and some others will have body irregularities. One should not expect happy, wide eyed little girls, cause I don’t do those. I could only paint what was in my heart, it’s the same with sewing. I can’t relate to a grinning, happy, bubbly doll, but I can relate to and create dolls like Shiloh. She is a little soulful girl, full of emotion in her big brown eyes.
Shiloh by Sundrip
I’m nervous about sewing “sad dolls” because I’m not certain how they’ll go over in my Etsy shop. I made 3 a year ago or so. I sold one and kept two for myself.
While going through and sorting doll clothes I found a doll I thought I’d sold. This is Sweet Pea hanging out in a tree.
Sweet Pea by Sundrip
I don’t know what I originally named her but she has a new name since she’s staying with me.
Sweet Pea by Sundrip
She makes me smile with her rosy cheeks and her little shoes. I just adore her. She and Shiloh are part of my private collection.
I will have another doll update soon. Hopefully I can report that I’ve got everything cut out and that I’m started on sewing.
My Etsy shop is still closed for the time being, but you can visit the galleries here on Sundrip and you can purchase prints from my Redbubble shop.
I’ve been sketching and painting away anxiety. Anxiety has been so high lately but at least I have something to show for it.
Honestly, I’ve messed up more new art than I’ve completed but man it feels good to paint. What a release. I even did a finger painting. Hopefully I can get some images up here soon.
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!
