Welcome to my blog, "Focus on the Positive: Recovery from Major Depressive Disorder and PTSD."  Every entry within this blog will be a positive, uplifting reflection upon my life and events happening in the world.  In the interest of long-term health, happiness, and recovery, I refuse to focus on negativity.  Nope, not gonna do it!

My name is Britt and I am many things: I am a mother, a daughter, and a friend; I am an artist, an actress, a vocalist and a writer; I am a teacher, a student, and a tutor; I am a philosopher, a philanthropist, and an optimist; I am a dreamer, a believer, and, most importantly, I am a Bahá'í.  These roles define me and make me who I am.

My name is Britt and I am many things: I am a childhood sexual and physical abuse survivor; I am a person living with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Major Depressive Disorder and hypo-mania; I am a survivor of rape, domestic violence and street warfare.  These roles DO NOT define me as a person but describe my experience.

After 27 years of chronic depression, suicide attempts, drug therapy, hospitalizations and failed marriages, I am officially in the beginning stages of recovery from Major Depressive Disorder and PTSD.  The road has been long and arduous.  With the assistance of God's Infinite mercy and a Monoamine Oxidase Inhibitor, Nardil, recovery has begun.

 My joy is boundless!

I send all praise and thanksgiving to God the Most-Loving, Most-Forgiving and Merciful Creator; to Bahá'u'lláh, His Messenger for this Day; and to my extraordinary daughter and son.  Without the assistance of God, Bahá'u'lláh, and the bounty of motherhood, I would not be alive today.  In His Infinite mercy, God has saved me from suicide.

As someone living with a mood disorder and a history of extreme trauma, I am fortunate to be an effective parent.  In my darkest moments, I found the strength to seek help and care for my children.  This fact is the most astonishing miracle in my life.  It overwhelms me to witness what beautiful, empathetic and loving people my children have become.

Enough!  No more sadness, no more pain, no more recounting the past!  It is time to move on and live in the Now.  Through this blog, I commit to the positive.  "I will no longer be sorrowful and grieved; I will be a happy and joyful being. O God! I will no longer be full of anxiety, nor will I let trouble harass me. (Bahá'í Sacred Writings)"

"I will not dwell on the unpleasant things of life."

Last edited on 03:05 pm by Britt

Last edited on 10:57 pm by Britt

"I'm convinced that constant exposure to visual depictions of suffering, conflict, and violence creates dysfunctional circuits within areas of the brain that mediate emotions." -Richard Restak, M.D., The New Brain: How The Modern Age Is Rewiring Your Mind, p. 79

THE NEW BRAIN by Richard Restak, M.D.


From a Scientific American book review:

"Pity the poor neurologists of yesteryear, saddled as they were with their conviction that our brains are hardwired after childhood. Then celebrate today’s scientists, who are exploiting brain-imaging technologies to show that our brains are capable of profound and permanent alterations throughout our lives. Neurologist Richard Restak does just that in The New Brain, even as he argues that we are being negatively altered by the sound-bite, techno environment in which we live."

We have established 1) The human brain retains plasticity throughout adulthood; 2) the mass and function of the hippocampus can be restored through the process of neurogenesis in the hippocampal dentate gyrus; and 3) neurogenesis is promoted through neurotransmitters like dopamine and serotonin; and 4) antidepressants and activities like exercise promote neurotransmitter production.

Restak adds another fact: 5) Neural pathways are strengthened through repetition of behavior.  Using functional magnetic resonance imaging, researchers see evidence of neural pathways beings strengthened when, for example, a musician practices the piano; a Buddhist monk practices meditation; an athlete practices running; or a disgruntled employee practices hatred for his job.

The implication?  Neural pathways affect our behavior.  How is this so?  Well, think of neural pathways as being like deep tire ruts in the earth.  When first you drive a path through a pristine lawn, it is easy to deviate from the path and change course.  If you go over the same path thousands of times, however, the tire ruts become deeply entrenched and make leaving the path nearly impossible.



That is what Major Depressive Disorder is like: Due to trauma and negative life circumstance, an MDD sufferer will form negative, depressive neural pathways that become so deeply entrenched that it is actually EASIER to be depressed than it is to be happy.  Read that again: "EASIER to be depressed than...happy."  This is why recovery from MDD requires a superhuman effort.

Makes the phrase, "I'm in a rut" take on new meaning, eh?


SO: HOW DOES ONE "PRACTICE FOR HAPPINESS"?

Now, THERE is the question of the year.  Or, in my case, The Question of a Lifetime.  Prayer and meditation are a terrific help, as are religious and spiritual practices.  Service to others definitely brings joy, and association with family and friends leads to happiness.  What other social practices exist to promote "practicing for happiness" much like a musician practices with an orchestra?

There are numerous activities out there.  It seems to me that repetition and consistency are key to forming positive neural pathways.  Thus, it doesn't matter what you do, it only matters more how you do it with regularity and intent.  Ah, the anticipation of having a Neural Pathway of Joy so deeply rutted into the cells of my brain that it is actually EASIER to be happy than to be sad!  That will be marvelous.

Here is a great way to practice joy: Laughter Clubs!  I have never been to one but I know laughter is highly therapeutic for me.  It is for the rush of the neurotransmitter dopamine that I crave deep, stomach-jumping guffaws and participate in zany sessions of improvisational acting.  After an evening of acting like a complete fool in front of an audience, I feel a tremendous rush of happiness.



Laughter boosts the immune system and endorphins, and causes the reduction neuroendocrine hormones which comprise the body's stress response.  Sebastien Gendry, who leads the American School of Laughter Yoga, claims, "You don't have to be happy to laugh. You don't have to have any reason to laugh. ...Motions lead to emotions. When you act happy, you create the chemistry of happiness." 

Maybe there is something to this?


MARTA VISSER LOVES MIKEY YERETZ

(NOTE: This is an excerpt from a chapter book I am writing for kids.  I'll post installments as a way to motivate me!  Chapter One is from my own life.  Yeah, I am "Marta Visser."  Even in third grade, I was a hopeless romantic!)

CHAPTER ONE: The Minty Deluxe Cookie Disaster

“Heh, Mrs. Kalina?” Michael Yeretz asked waving his arms above his large handlebar ears.  “Whose cookies are these? I found ‘em in my locker!” 

In his hands were a large box of Minty Deluxe Cookies wrapped in white tissue paper, a homemade St. Patrick’s Day card, and a green satin bow. 

“Well, let’s look at the card, Mikey,” Mrs. Kalina smiled helpfully.  Carefully, she put on her reading glasses, opened the envelope, and read aloud the contents: “To Mikey Yeretz from Marta Visser.”  She stopped to peer down over her glasses and smile at me.  “How nice Marta!  A gift to Mikey.  How very nice.”  She raised her head and continued reading.  “Michael Bedros Yeretz, this gift is a token of my Eternal Devotion and Endless Love….” 

Mrs. Kalina stopped suddenly. 

Her face turned the color of pink roses as she realized the card was not just a gift but a love letter from me, Marta Visser, and that the large box of Minty Deluxe Cookies, the homemade St. Patrick’s Day card, and the green bow made of satin ribbon were more than gifts to Mikey Yeretz, Love of My Third Grade Life, they were tokens of my Eternal Devotion and Endless Love for him.

I smiled at her meaningfully. 

You understand, don’t you Mrs. Kalina?  Woman to woman, you understand why I love funny-looking Mikey Yeretz?  Even though he is a such a pain and teases me for my porcupine hair and big teeth? 

She stared at me blankly.

It was clear she did not understand.

“The cookies are for you, Mikey.  From Marta,” Mrs. Kalina stumbled.  She stared at me again.  “They are a gift, Mikey.”  Her voice became firm.  “They are yours to keep, Mikey.  Say ‘thank you’ to Marta and get in line.” 

Mrs. Kalina’s  eyes never left me. 

She looked a bit worried but I couldn’t imagine why. 

Did she ever really look at Mikey Yeretz?  I mean, yes, he was a scrawny little toad.  And, yes, his ears stuck out like open car doors.  But had she noticed his eyes?  His big extra-large chocolate chip eyes?  Oh, if only she would notice, then she would understand, then she would see why I had given him the cookies.

But, no, she didn’t understand.

Mikey tore the cookies out of Mrs. Kalina’s hands and whooped “Thanks!”  He ripped open the box and pulled out two cookies.  Dumb ol’ Mikey Yeretz, I thought, you’re supposed to open gifts with love! 

“Heh, Marta,” he smiled, his black eyebrows raised high, “you want some?  Since they’re from you, I’ll give you first choice.” 

I looked into his beautiful brown eyes and thought, Mikey, why would I want some of the precious cookies I saved three weeks to buy you as a declaration of my eternal love and unending devotion?  They are for you, you sweet idiot!  These were my thoughts but they were not the words to come out of my mouth.

“No, thanks, Mikey,” I said quietly.  No thanks, they are for you.

I couldn’t believe how horribly wrong my plan had gone.  He was supposed to find the cookies and card in his locker, cradle them to his skinny little chest and look longingly at me with his glorious brown eyes, knowing we were destined to be together forever and ever.  Our eyes would meet and love would fill the air.  Portions of the Nutcracker Suite would perfume the hallway and we would dance.

Yeah, but instead of all that mushy stuff, he told the world.

The whole world!

(TO BE CONTINUED)

Thanks to Almighty God ... the power of prayer ... competent nurses and physicians ...  amazing antibiotics ... my daughter and her husband ... and the contribution of two loving grandmothers, my grandson survived yet another near-death illness last weekend.  His body is extremely fragile.  An errant staph infection pushed him to the brink of sepsis.  It was incredibly frightening.  Due to the severity of his heart defect and the likelihood of yet another health scare, his open-heart surgery will be in July.  He and my two children are the light of my life.  There are no people more important to me in this world than my children and my grandson.  They make life a complete joy!

My Grandson, Perrin Dmitri Aguilar, 2 Months


Photoshop + Insomnia = Ten Year-old Boy Humor

I love making my son laugh.  Today, as we perused the toilet paper aisle at the grocery store, he jokingly said, "Jungle Soft, Way Better than Banana Leaves!"  I started to giggle.  "Did you just make that up?"  He began laughing uncontrollably.  "Yep!  Mom, imagine if they put the imprint of a monkey on every sheet!"  We both began to giggle helplessly.  "Yes," I added, "and what if each sheet said, 'Wipe your butt with my face, please?'"  It was at that point my son fell upon the floor laughing so hard that he made no sound.  Fifth-grade boy humor at it's best!

OK, you had to be there.

O God of Neurogenesis!

Yeah, my little prayer / T-shirt design:

MARTA VISSER LOVES MIKEY YERETZ

(NOTE: This is the second installment.)

CHAPTER ONE: The Minty Deluxe Cookie Disaster (CONTINUED)

Soon, all eighteen of the students in my third grade class knew about the gift and began begging for a Minty Deluxe Cookie.  Except me and Mikey, of course: Mikey had already stuffed eight cookies down his throat and I didn’t want any ‘cause they were for him.  As my best friend Michelle often said, “Mikey woofs food down like a big hungry dog.”  And yep, there he was, as unromantic as a scrawny eight year-old boy can be, eating my gifts of Love and Devotion like most people drink water.

I was devastated.

“Heh, Mikey,” Big Mean Tara Williams barked, the red barrettes in her plaited hair shaking.  “Gimme one!” 

Tara was the class bully and she was meaner than anyone in third grade.  Her shoulders were as wide as a grown man’s and her hands were the size of catcher mitts.  If Tara asked you for something, you gave it to her, no questions asked.  So when she asked shrimpy Mikey Yeretz for a cookie, he listened but he was so full of fright that he didn’t move.  She gave Mikey a threatening look.  Thrusting her hand out to Mikey expectantly, she punched out her words, “Give…me…one!”   

“Sure, Tara,” Mikey shrieked, “anything for you!”

But just as Mikey was about to hand Tara a cookie, Robert Peoples pushed ahead of her.  Robert and Tara were cousins so Robert wasn’t afraid of her. 

“Hold on, Tara!” he insisted.  “Mikey owes me big time for the chocolate milk he stole from me last week, right Mikey?” 

Mikey shook his head in agreement.  “Yep, Robert, I do owe you for that.”  His words began to race.  “I hate plain milk, Robert.  Hate it!  Chocolate is much better!  Much, much better!  My favorite!” 

Robert nodded his agreement.  “Yeah, so I should get one first,” Robert proclaimed to his cousin Tara.  Robert and Mikey spent recess time after lunch drawing super heroes behind the school incinerator so they were good friends.

After Mikey gave cookies to Robert and Tara, Mikey’s best friend Demetri Kishenevsky began yelling above the crowd, “Heh, Mikey, if anyone deserves a cookie it’s me, your best bud!  Hand over a cookie Mikey!”  Paul was even shrimpier than Mikey and mean as a snake.  He looked at me and said, “Yeah, I’d like one of the cookies from your girlfriend.” 

Mikey’s cheeks turned a bright tomato red.

“She isn’t my girlfriend!” he whispered loudly.

Mikey handed a cookie to Paul with a look of “I’ll get you later.”

Having finished her first cookie, Tara cleared her throat with a menacing “Ah-hem!” and asked for a second.  Mikey handed her one more.

Soon, all eighteen outstretched hands were given a cookie from my romantic gift of Minty Deluxe Cookies, a homemade St. Patrick’s Day card and a green satin bow.

It was embarrassing.

I could hear my classmates snickering behind my back.

“Marta loves Mikey,” they laughed.  “Yeah, with his funny ears and her crazy hair, they’ll probably have a family of monkey children.”

Mrs. Kalina slapped her yard stick against the wall of the hallway.  “That is quite enough, class!  It is time to line up for Morning Assembly.  Tara, you are head of the line today.”  Tara stuck out her tongue at us all mockingly.  “Now, if you don’t quiet down right this minute, I will take all those cookies for myself!” 

Mrs. Kalina’s black curly hair shook angrily and her glasses fell off one ear.  “If you really want another cookie,” she fumed, “you need to take your place in line and be quiet.  Now!” 

Suddenly, the class hushed, each student standing rod-straight at attention.

Mikey quietly closed the cookie box. 

Mrs. Kalina’s face softened.  “Thank you for lining up for morning assembly, Class.  Oh, and Mikey?  You can share more of your cookies at lunch.”

Everyone cheered.  “Yeah!” they cried out.

Everyone but me, Marta Visser, the girl in love with Mikey Yeretz.

Great, I thought, he doesn’t even care that I love him.  Mrs. Kalina doesn’t understand, and everybody else is eating his gift! 

To make matters worse, Mikey threw the homemade St. Patrick’s Day card in the garbage on the way to the lunchroom!

My heart lurched.

He threw it in the garbage!

I couldn’t believe he would throw my card away.  My brother and I had made it together.  In fact, I had commissioned my Amazing Artist Brother to draw the leprechaun with a green hat in exchange for two weeks of dish duty.  Two weeks!  That’s a lot of dishes!  The card had a green leprechaun dancing with a pot of gold and a long rainbow.  You can’t imagine how embarrassing it is to ask your Amazing Artist Brother to draw a leprechaun for you knowing it is for a boy you love and then watch the Love of Your Third Grade Life throw it in the garbage. 

I felt like hitting Mikey Yeretz right in his lovely nose.

As usual, Morning Assembly was followed by Music with Mrs. Scales; Music with Mrs. Scales was followed by English with Mrs. Collogne; and English with Mrs. Collogne was followed by Math with Mr. Root.  And then, after Math with Mr. Root, there was lunch.  As promised, Mikey was there with the rest of the cookies.

It pained me to see Mikey handing out the Minty Deluxe Cookies I gave him, one by one, he and the other kids chomping on them too quickly, not at all cherishing the love contained in each and every bite.  They were for you, Mikey.

When Mrs. Kalina entered the lunchroom for lunch duty, Mikey held up his last cookie and sang, “You want the last one, Mrs. Kalina?”  Mrs. Kalina noticed me sulking in the corner of the lunchroom. 

“No, but thank you, Mikey.”

I tried not to cry.

Tears burned my cheeks, anyway, so I turned to face the wall.

“What’s wrong?” my friend Michelle asked me.  I hadn’t even noticed her there.  Michelle and I were best friends but she was in Mr. Andrew’s class across the hall.  She didn’t know I had given a large box of Minty Deluxe Cookies wrapped in white tissue paper, a homemade St. Patrick’s Day card and a green satin bow to Mikey Yeretz, Love of My Third Grade Life.  And she didn’t know that Mrs. Kalina had read the words, “Eternal Love” aloud to everyone in my class, and that my classmates said he and I would have monkey children.  Nope, she didn’t know any of it.

“Well,” I choked tearfully, “I…I put a box of Minty Deluxe Cookies and a card in Mikey Yeretz’ locker and he thought it was someone else’s, and then when he found out it was from me, he gave it to everybody and he didn’t even care that it was from me, only that it was a stupid box of Minty Deluxe Cookies, and then everyone started making fun of me and now the cookies are gone and Mikey doesn’t care.”

Michelle frowned.  “He is so mean.”

“That’s not the half of it,” I moaned, “He threw away the card I made for him.”

“Dumb old Mikey,” Michelle growled.  “He doesn’t understand anything.” 

(TO BE CONTINUED)

"Wherever you may wander, Sister/Brother, whatever be your goal, keep your eye on the donut and not upon the hole.”


CONSOLATION



It gives me hope knowing I will not take the infirmities of this life with me to the next world.  The health and nobility of my soul is completely independent of my physical and mental difficulties.  In this life, I have Major Depressive Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and the beginnings of Multiple Sclerosis, but these hardships cannot deter my spiritual progress.  The Bahá'í Writings state, "Know thou that the soul of man is exalted above, and is independent of all infirmities of body or mind."  Bahá'u'lláh stresses this point and then adds, "the soul itself remaineth unaffected by any bodily (and mental) ailments."  This knowledge gives me hope. 

Every day, I work hard to be of use to other human beings and transcend the difficulties within my body and mind.  It requires a great deal of effort but I know true nobility is in the struggle.  'Abdu'l-Bahá states, "Anybody can be happy in the state of comfort, ease, health, success, pleasure and joy; but if one will be happy and contented in the time of trouble, hardship and prevailing disease, it is the proof of nobility."  Seeking contentment in times of trouble and hardship requires effort but it is the source of true happiness.  This is why my life's desire is contentment with the Will of God.  Accepting what is mine is the only path to freedom.

We all know someone living with a difficult illness, or perhaps we are living with a difficult illness ourselves.  In gentle terms, let us help the afflicted recognize the gifts of hardship.  One of my heroes, Dr. Albert Schweitzer, recognized the worth of hardship when he served the poor and suffering of Africa as a physician and missionary.  In one of his many volumes, he wrote, "The greatest thing is to give thanks for everything. He who has learned this knows what it means to live. He has penetrated the whole mystery of life: giving thanks for everything."  Thankfulness is the mark of true faith, particularly when it is offered in a sea of tribulation.


POETRY AND PAINTING

I've been writing a lot of poetry this week, and I finished a painting of a Fantasy Hero character I had many years ago.  Her name is Aiden Falconred.  Yep, it was many moons ago when I played a roll playing game and served as a Game Master.  The poem is titled, "Not Right Ninety" and discusses how I often feel estranged.







MARTA VISSER LOVES MIKEY YERETZ

(NOTE: This is the third installment.)

CHAPTER TWO: The Saxophone Embarrassment

Mikey and I were Safety Officers for our school.  Every morning, the Safety Officers arrived thirty minutes earlier than the rest of the students to stand at the crosswalks and help little kids cross the street.  It was a fun job.  Mr. Carr, the gym teacher, always made hot chocolate for us in the cold months and lemonade in the warm months, and he always told us we were heroes.  

“You are the heroes of the school!” he’d declare in a voice swollen with pride.  “Because of you, every walking child arrives and departs school safely.  Be proud of your Safety belts, kids!  They are your protection and your honor.  Wear them well.”  Yes, Sir!  I’d answer in my mind.  Yes, I will wear this bright orange, double-buckled, over the shoulder and around the waist made of scratchy plastic for the honor of the school!  I hated those orange belts.  Still, it was nice to be a hero.

I liked helping the little kids cross the street.  But more than that, I liked seeing Mikey every day.  Mikey was the Safety Captain.  Yes, that’s right: Mikey Yeretz, Love of My Third Grade Life, was also my boss. 

The day after the Minty Deluxe Cookie Disaster, I arrived for Safety Duty ten minutes late.  Dumb ol’ Mikey Yeretz, I thought as I trudged the eight blocks to school, he won’t even care if I’m late, just like he didn’t care about my gift. 

Mikey stood at the gym door with his hands on his hips.

“Marta, is was nice of you to give me cookies and all but you still have to get here on time.  I’ll have to give you a demerit.  Or else Mr. Carr will have my hide.”  He looked nervously behind him. 

“OK, Mikey,” I said in my grumpiest voice, “whatever you say.”  A demerit meant completing twenty push-ups in front of the group.  Without comment, I took of my coat and got on my knees to do twenty girl-push-ups.  “One,” I breathed, pulling up from the floor slowly.  “Two, three, four….” 

On my twelfth push-up, Demetri Kishenevsky strolled over to stand over me.  “So, if it isn’t Mikey’s girlfriend putting her nose to the dirt.”  Shut up, Demetri, I thought.  I’d like to see you do twenty push-ups this early in the morning.  “You know,” he continued, “I think it would be more challenging if I put my foot on your back.”  Demetri was second-in-command.  The rule was “No talking until all your push-ups are done or else you have to do them again.”  So when Dmitri shoved his foot into my back, I had to remain quiet.

Mikey came to my rescue.

(TO BE CONTINUED) 

Is it possible to flourish in the midst of suffering?  Many survivors of trauma will tell you emphatically, “Yes.”  Over the years, I have known countless people who found meaning in the darkest of circumstances and survived against seemingly insurmountable odds.  I have known survivors of brutal criminal assaults; survivors of horrific concentration camps; survivors of unspeakable childhood trauma; even survivors of devastating natural disasters.  Somehow, every one of these people not only survived, they found meaning in their suffering.

The father of my childhood friend Michael is a survivor of Auschwitz-Birkenau, a concentration camp established by the Nazi’s in southern Poland during WWII.  As Michael’s father was an able-bodied fourteen year old, he was assigned to slave labor while his mother, father and handicapped sister were exterminated.  American soldiers liberated Michael’s father in 1944.  He was 6’1” and barely seventy pounds.  A soldier had to carry him out of the camp in his arms.

More than one million people were exterminated in Auschwitz-Birkenau, 90% of which were Jews.  Also among the dead were some 19,000 Roma (Gypsy) and 83,000 Poles of various Christian denominations.  Today, much of the camp is a museum and memorial. It was designated a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1979.  Since 1997, Michael’s father has given loving, informative tours of the camp to Polish schoolchildren and relatives of Holocaust survivors. 

I have always been amazed at his strength.  How was it possible to find meaning in the midst of so much death and suffering?  Michael’s father always furrows his brow and becomes deeply philosophical when such questions are asked.  “How could we not (find meaning)?  Without meaning, we had no hope.  And without hope, we died.  The men without hope died the fastest.  Their hearts died first, then their bodies wasted away, and then their souls flew to G-d.” 

Yet another Holocaust survivor to endure Auschwitz-Birkenau was Doctor Viktor Emil Frankl, the famous neurologist and psychiatrist and celebrated author of “Man’s Search for Meaning.”  His theory called “Logotherapy” states three core ideas: Life has meaning even under the worst circumstances; our core drive as human beings is to search for meaning; and we all have the freedom to discover meaning, even when those around us have abandoned all hope.

There once was a man who owned a small plot of land and grew bananas.  He was never hungry for he always had a banana to eat.  He would eat bananas for breakfast, bananas for lunch, bananas for dinner, and bananas at snack times.  He was very healthy eating bananas and counted himself very lucky.

Over time, the man began to tire of bananas.  Then, he began to hate them.  “Bananas every breakfast!  Bananas every lunch!  Bananas every dinner!  And bananas at every snack!  I am sick of bananas!  If I have to eat another banana, I will kill myself!”  And so, he set off with a bunch of bananas to kill himself.

He walked many days to find a suitable place to die.  Finally, he found a beautiful grassy spot with a lovely tall tree.  “This is where I will die,” he decided.  “But before I die, I will eat one last banana and ask God to forgive my wretched soul.”  The man ate the banana in two large bites and threw the peel behind him.

He pulled out a large machete he used to harvest his bananas and placed the blade against his chest.  “Lord, I am ready to die,” he said.  “Give me one reason why I should live when all I have to eat is bananas.”  Just then, the man heard a slurping sound behind him.  He turned and saw a man eating his discarded peel.

The man was so shamefaced to see a man poorer than himself eating the peel he had just thrown away that he fell upon the ground and asked for God’s forgiveness.  “Please forgive me, Lord!  There I was, complaining about eating bananas every day, when this poor man only has banana peels to eat!”

God brought peace to his heart and the man returned to his home filled with great happiness for having an endless supply of bananas to eat.

THE END


Mouse Droppings

Unfortunately, I do not have a graphic tablet to draw pictures in Photoshop, but like the story of the bananas, I am grateful for my trusty mouse.  Sometimes, when I need to amuse myself, I like to make silly illustrations in Photoshop.  Here are a few I made today.  My favorite is the one about pizza.  I am addicted to pizza.  Seriously, does Pizza Hut sprinkle their pizzas with Pizza Crack?

 

Last edited on 06:44 am by Britt

Last edited on 12:24 pm by Britt