I struggle to get words to come forward that make sense to someone other than me. I struggle to verify memories. This is now a life of he said – she said. My brain almost doesn’t care as it has come so far down the stretch, towards the end.
When I was younger I wanted to drag people by the heels in public and force open confessions. I wanted everyone to know I. was. hurt. I wanted even more for someone to care about the hurt. Does my life matter?
What I remember the most is fear, abject fear. What I felt the most was cold but here we are half a century later in, “he said she said” and I ask myself why I ever said anything at all?
Content – Dissociative Identity Disorder, Uncontrolled weight gain, CNA in public.
Dr. D hasn’t changed my diagnosis. He still recognizes the disorder. He wanted to know if I believe that ‘they’ are all me and not actually separate. I said, I know it’s impossible to have more than one person in my head, but I want you to understand that I’ve been doing the impossible for a very long time.
I told him that I used to think I wanted to be one person but now I’m not sure I could stand the silence. I get this image in my head of a single person standing in the middle of a black tunnel, alone. That’s how I view being one person. In the middle of a dark tunnel with very little air and a whole lot of silence.
While I’d love to have less noise in my head, I decidedly do not want to be just one person. I don’t want any new people either.
I shared with him that I felt very threatened by his questions and pressured by my insiders to speak up for them. They would have felt betrayed had I not stated that we’ve been doing the impossible for a long time, and they’re here.
I talked to him about how panicked I’ve been lately.
I’m having a hard time settling down enough to post art for sale in my shop. I’ve got six items but I can’t seem to get over there and post more. I don’t know why. So, I’m just letting myself paint as much as I need then when I’m able I’ll post more art for sale in my Etsy shop.
Me = I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror today. I swear, pounds just pack on me no matter what I do. I feel so ugly.
I was supposed to go to the mall to roll around in my manual wheelchair but I’m afraid to go to the mall. I don’t want to get shot.
Could I somehow, some way get doctor’s clearance to go to Planet Fitness? Could I have CNA coverage and transportation? Am I a fool for even thinking it?
CNA = My psychopath CNA is going to get us killed with her rage, laying on the horn yelling at people. I don’t want to continue to intervene as if somehow I’m here social worker or therapist. I have to let her know that if her actions cause the police to be called, she can’t work for me any longer. I’m going to have to tell her that it’s not a joke, if someone calls the police bc you threw something or threatened someone, you don’t work here anymore.
I had a really nice Saturday person that cared for me. I hope she can return.
Why do I hate myself for having care? I don’t think everyone inside agrees with that statement.
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.
Title: Wild Things Art by: Faith Magdalene Austin Medium: Acrylic collage on heavy cardstock Size: 9×12 inches, Finish: Sealed, signed, dated, unmounted Style: Collage, Surreal, Abstract Figurative, raw
Art details: Cut outs of my own art have been arranged to create “Wild Things.” Sunflowers, koi fish, African faces, Asian faces and more have been mixed together in a wild collage. This is a visual feast, a mindscape, surreal art piece.ÂÂ
“Wild Things” and other original art can be found in my Etsy shop at www.sundrip.etsy.com. You may also contact me for a PayPal invoice.
This painting started as pull art. I created a painting using the drip art technique then looked at it if for a few days. As I was walking by I saw an eye. I quickly drew it in, then the lips and the nose. Days later the painting developed into an ancient woman growing her roots, spreading out the lines of history in her hair.
Once I knew what I wanted to paint I began to think about how people talk about wanting a new start or reinventing themselves. It occurred to me that more than not, the choice to reinvent ourselves is thrust upon us. Time changes, other people change the course of our lives for good or bad. In these ways, we are given the opportunity to change ourselves for the better.
Art Title: The Growing Process
Art by: Faith M. Austin
Medium: Acrylic, ink on artist paper, size 8.5 x 5.5 , signed, sealed, unmounted.
The Growing Process is ready to ship today.
Monday afternoon I showed a friend this painting. He said,
“She looks sad”. I replied, “You would be too if you had the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
Yes, she does look sad, and yes great responsibilities are hers. There’s a lot riding on her actions or inaction. However, she has not given up, nor has she slowed the growing process. Continue reading “The Growing Process”
Art Title: Nala
Art by: Faith Magdalene Austin
Medium: Acrylic, ink, acrylic seal
11 x 14 Artist Board
I knew when I began this painting that I wanted a young girl to sit on the water’s edge with koi coming to meet her. I wanted a lot of texture with small details. To increase texture I added sand to her mahogany – rust colored pants. Her blouse is layer after layer of white paint and butter cream acrylic paint. This affect came together nicely to form a tunic top. Continue reading “Nala Original Art”
What will you see in this ethnic, surreal painting? Ah, gold poppies, red poppies, a fisherman in traditional clothing reaching to the sun, an Asian woman in a white dress with a small orange patch whose arms reach down yet they branch out as bare trees. Beside her is a face within a face. Flowers grow, swirls spring out, color abounds then rests. Continue reading “Traveler”
A friend of mine, now gone, once said: “The most beautiful things come from the most foul manure.” I hope he’s right. I hope to one day grow past what is ugly into not just beauty but peace.
As stated in my bio, I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder as well as Multiple Personality Disorder. There are times when my mind races and is filled with flashbacks from times unsafe. I want to run from my own head. I panic. I call a friend and then I take to a few more coping skills such as painting. Continue reading “Cut in Stone”
