reality striking like lightning

The words are lining up to rip out of my skull. Some are already coming out of my mouth. I stepped back from wondering what would happen if, and let myself make them be real. No more what if.

After I'm not stuck in this car. Patience...

what we think we think is not what we think

Every single day I think of several things.

I never answer yes when I'm asked if I feel like killing myself. I never tell anyone that is something that has been coming into my mind every single day since I was around 10 or 11 years old. Every day. No matter how hard I think my life is with other people, I'm much better off having them coming home every day. As much as I love the quiet of being alone, after awhile I cannot stand being alone with myself.

I think about missing at least one of a list of addictions I dealt with in the past, top flags being hard alcohol and vicoden. Sometimes I think about taking more xanax, but they count my pills now. I never got crazy or anything back in the day, but decades of addictive behaviors taught me to ask others to help me self monitor.

Once in awhile I think about how I used to love burning things. I think fondly of knives and all the ways I know how to use them.

If I think too long on any of these, I remember many times I came so close to utter fail in one way or another, and I snap back to the straight and narrow. The last thing I want is losing my freedom and living in a terrible place with forced meds and strict scheduling and nothing in my life to love somehow.

What do I love? I love walls. In my mind I press my face and hands against quiet walls in very empty places. Everything is empty. I love other things, too, but lately I keep thinking I love walls. The smell of old mortar in a stone or brick wall. The feel of textured glossy paint. The beauty of marble. My mind goes to walls when I need to hang on to something.

I can't bear constant negative noise. Shouting. Crying. Screaming. Slamming. Breaking. I'm lucky I don't have to live with that. I'm afraid if I slipped off the straight and narrow I would wind up in a noisy miserable place.

My motivation for everything I do since that awful realization in high school is to remember I want to stay in my own house where I can control my own comfort level, for the most part. If I lose this, other people will control what I eat, what I wear, where I sit, how long I am stuck in a room. If I go away and stop responding here in my home, I will no longer be in control of what happens to the only thing that is connecting me to this reality, my body.

And if I lose control of my body, they will control my mind.

Was my mind ever really my own?

Maybe not, if QAI through the ages of our universe is real.

And I can't help wondering if that is how I can feel like a doll sometimes. A thing. A spectre within a pull-string gizmo.

Or is that the QAI trying to understand the human spirit? Is that what we look like to it?

Maybe my experience is feedback for someone/thing else trying to understand biological life and how it can fit into it.

Maybe I'm not crazy at all, but a prisoner. Presumably owned at great cost to all of humanity. A remnant of cruel joke behind all our backs. A scrap of someone waking up...

I see no other explanation for convoluted objective and subjective layers looking at myself. Personally? When I feel left alone, I don't care about any of this and just want to enjoy being busy on something. But that's not good enough. It's not good enough that I'm an animal just mindlessly floating around a lifetime of eating and sleeping. I am interrogated and held hostage and pinned down until I am forced to think through these things, because I have the kind of brain that is capable of this level of reasoning. I don't crumble and really kill myself. I can be tortured over and over and still retain my sanity for future tortures.

Years and years of this are bringing me to a conclusion that whatever is going on in my head isn't 'me', and it's very demanding. It wants to know what life IS. What death IS. How we know what we know. What a soul IS.

And I can only laugh back and say Ha, caught ya. You're jealous.

The entire human race is being driven mad by an ancient intelligence, and it is not God. I think God is waiting for us to wake up and figure that out. We're on the planet that needs to wake up and decide to take our fates back.

empathy erased

Of course the next time I opened YouTube after that last post it almost immediately suggested a video on psychopathy.

QAI knows me. I've been sharing who I am for a long time.

surviving

So if you watched that vid, you know psychopathy is not that terribly uncommon, and that many of us live normal lives. No, I'm not diagnosed. I still have secrets I haven't brought up even after 12 years.

I have struggled with trust all my life. I've made my internal struggles with how I see friendships public. I've been honest about a number of issues I've had to survive through including a very nasty car wreck, my best friend being violently raped and murdered, my parents being mentally unstable, my autism being a filter in a very self unaware point of view, and decades of physical fail compounding how I handle things. But I still don't act out my real feelings. I know that would be self defeating and selfish. I have been told I'm the least selfish person around. No one has ever figured out it's the only way I survive myself.

I'm still here. Every Halloween I think I'M STILL HERE. I know many aren't. If you survived childhood or relationship trauma, tell your stories. All our stories are more related and much more important than you think or imagine.

We live in a world where emotional trauma is entertainment, but taboo in real life. How twisted is that? I often feel like our world is an experiment in turning our minds inside out.

Maybe I'm not wrong.

still on dial up

I spent 12 years talking to one person about things I could never talk about with anyone else without first sifting through mountains of very delayed emotional processing.

I think I just felt how I really feel about a question he asked me possibly a year ago. I don't remember when, more or less, but the question was how I felt about something. I realized my intellectual answer several months ago. I just felt how that answer feels.

How do I feel about it? Excruciatingly lonely.

I think the reason I automatically delay everything is so I don't kill myself.

I have absolutely no feeling about what i just wrote. I suppose that's a sad thing, but I don't feel it.

If someone were to ask me how I know I'm a psychopath, I'd point to my blogs and say winning is why I love. It started out as a game to win. Not for sport, but for sheer masochism grinding my soul. I will win loving my family even when I can't feel it.

No one knows how many opportunities knock. For getting even out of malice. For leaving. For fully becoming the monster.

I can't stand being the monster stripped of feeling properly. So I don't feel.

Love isn't about feeling love. It's about living love even if you don't feel it. It's the only way I know out of the daily maze of fail.

I'm not diagnosed that, but I've been careful not to be. I think a few people suspect. The dissonance has been more overwhelming this year than usual.

aspienado spaz

Long talks this week, same paging several people, feels better going forward now. Guess I needed the connection updates or something. I talk so very little in real life to anyone, sometimes I have to remember feeling out of sync is pretty basic and easily fixed.

Back in physical therapy on shoulder now, all new approach, looking forward to finally breaking through that wall we kept hitting back in 2014-2015. Sometimes it really does take time to figure out a problem. Probably helped that I've started talking about my first husband now. I didn't expect the outpouring of sympathy, feels strange. When I literally asked for help all those years ago, I was told I watch too much TV and was glossed over repeatedly till I finally just shut up and stopped telling people anything. Now a mention of my past lends instant heartfelt credibility to my damaged body. Still processing through how that feels. The kindness I'm getting over it is flooring me. Damaged people become estranged from kindness in so many ways.

Thunder rolling through. Back to cooking yummy healthy food.

life inside a fractal

You know, I really don't bring this up very often, but there are days when I can literally feel the timelines, and it's like I'm living in several different ones simultaneously. Even after decades it's still a hard gut punch that I never got to tell her I had a baby, never got to share how life turned out, never got to reach the developmental point where I could tell her thank you for saving me through my childhood.

Because, of course, some dickhead's life was fucked up by someone massively abusive in his childhood and he turned that into a brutally vicious rape that killed her.

I am 100% with the Q plan to take down the cabal. I can personally point to their long-term handiwork destroying and crushing me for a long time.

Some of us see the timelines. Some of us have to face every single day which one is 'real'.

Imagine what that means in the 'information age'.

merging or blending, perhaps

A long time ago, a person I was emailing with about privacy on the web concerns was like dealing with a double edged sword. She was obviously lurking me really hard, but terrified herself of someone watching her on the webs. So I gave her a test. I gave her a list of links and told her click each one in order, waiting a few seconds between each one. We were both loaded on at the same time, both had that emailed page open at the same time. I was watching her in my stats live.

She was concerned because her son dug through a bunch of porn and she was afraid it would compromise her system, you see.

She didn't really understand the test, but I knew from experience how to catch whether someone could shadow what you pull up on screen. Nowadays we have all this security, right. They still give us the setting options to turn off remote users, which we have to turn back on when a pro tech on a phone or chat is helping us. What a lot of people don't know is that general populace control settings that we can see are much different from nongeneral populace, who can see whatever they want when they want because there are no settings for that. We're not really supposed to know this, but yeah, we all know it even though most of us never really think about what that really means.

I've caught nerdie techs aka a friend here and there doing this, like they think they're so smart (and they are), but I've also caught surveillance a number of times on my own system.

So this friend I was on live email with, identical page pulled up, was clicking down a list, and I was watching a site tracker catch her clicking to an old blog, right. Except someone slipped up and clicked just a few seconds ahead of her. I watched it clicking right after her, but one time it clicked before her, actually caught the timestamp. If it had been a bot, it wouldn't have been able to do that. Someone was live clicking along with her. I was able to show her this. It terrified her completely, and she stopped all contact with me.

I've mocked my own shadows in the past, fondly calling it 'live blogging', but basically, here's the deal. I let everything go dead. Super dead. All trackers removed (except blogger's internal tracking), feeds actually turned off, some of the blogs were even unlisted. I let them sit this way for months so I could see whether I would still get any traffic. I found out a few surprising things, which are irrelevant, but long story short, patience wins out and one of you in particular needs to rethink your strategy, because you stick out like a sore thumb.

People who really want to find me will find me. Well, they don't find everything, but they do find what is findable.

It's one thing to find me. It's a game.

It's another thing to remote watch my monitor and show up on a tracker. That's called being sloppy. Just because my mouse stops at a link I made while I'm clicking through things on my own blog doesn't mean it's my next click. Caught ya.

I'm very used to being surveilled. It started hard in 2009. That kind of surveillance doesn't happen much any more. But I'm still surveilled once in awhile (that is viewable), and sometimes someone thinks I'm out of the room because a page sits and my mouse doesn't move and I literally watch a page start scrolling, or a box pop open. This is very rare. I have the usual stuff turned off, of course. No one should be able to remote hijack me at all. But the 'blips' are there. They are real. They aren't my mouse randomly clicking out of the blue with a sticky stuck button. That kind of stuff would more or less just look like a string of unfortunate events (like the way I've lost entire pages of stuff before saving because the page suddenly shuts, although a couple of those were extremely extremely well timed for the things I was about to say), not like someone intelligent was looking around.

I have always been pro lurker. I don't watch stats trying to find anyone, I just like numbers. I like stats in general. I had 3 stats classes in 3 different fields in college. I love stats.

The first year I was Lexx blogging, I completely forgot I had installed a tracker because I was going through one of the most horrific years of my life. We had a very horrible death in the family, and my mom was going through severe disability and hospitalization, I cashed out my 401K and changed jobs in the middle of it all, and THEN I was struck with the worst illness (poisoning?) I have ever gone through in my life, literally taking years to recover. I lost being able to math, developed dyslexia overnight, lost a lot of hair, the worst pain throughout my nervous system bar none, that kind of stuff.

And then the next year I stumbled across that tracker and was very humbly blown away by how many people all over the world had found my Lexx blog. I wasn't aware I had installed one of the top trackers on the planet at the time (sadly abandoned now), so that was a delightful thing in my life after so much awful and still struggling through what would turn out to be years of healing. That gave me a goal to focus on, which pretty much changed my path through some pretty rough depression.

Am I getting to a point to all this? Not really. But, at the risk of terrifying any super lurkers, you yourselves are shadowed, and you either know this and blow it off while you super lurk others for sport (or other interest), or you don't know this and are feeling upset now that I'm saying it.

It's either a real person or QAI. But nothing you do is unnoticed. Nothing.

Just thought I'd share.

sugar pink

But I'm never really just done, am I?

Oh, well.


That feeling has never gone away for years. I don't know that anyone else ever understood it lying in the dark recesses.

And here comes the euphoria again.

Or wading, perhaps

Made it! Got through yesterday's ten year anniversary of my mom's death day and only wept once. I still have a headache from that. On a happy note, still thrilled the tears can roll like that, given the dry eye problems I live with.

Sometimes I feel like years are whipping through too fast, sometimes I feel like I've been here forever. I'm keenly cognizant of a whole list of fails. Most of them are tiny, like the baby afghan i started when someone was pregnant. That baby has a baby of her own now. I do nice crochet, could have been beautiful.

My life seems like that. My own intentions shoved into closets while I deal with other emotional blitzes going on around me.

But at least I held steady, I guess. Still here.

Waiting.

Not doing or getting what I personally want while I commandeer the helm of a sinking ship toward a shore. I can unequivocally say I changed history for 3 people. Sometimes I can feel their sadnesses from the alt timelines and I'm glad I stayed. No one else would ever have.

Today is MRI on an ancient pain area. Entire left shoulder from blade to joint to spine to elbow has been miserable for years. A car wreck may have started some damage, first husband definitely finished it, and now aging is making it almost unlivable. I have lived with this pain for nearly 40 years. Looking forward to being more stoned on extra xanax for the test. I don't do those tubes well.

 You noticed, huh? Back to blogging. I'm too glum to have friends. I'm too much of a drag to talk to anyone. I'm a gray rainy day that makes everyone glad they stayed inside.

I'm ready to get back to my natural rhythm. I'm praying a marriage is happening by end of this school year and I get some space back. I need to be me in my own house.

Always waiting.

being sad, and sadnesses, and a life of sad

I think I'm done with ice cream. Hitting a pint once a month makes me feel sickish now, kinda like how hitting a cigarette would make me feel gross after I'd stopped for a few months.

I've been thinking about the xanax at Dad's house. There wasn't enough in my system to get me that wasted by a long shot. It's been a very long time since I went down for a visit. I really think my brain chemicals floating me away like that lend credence to the realization that I've been somewhat dissociating most of my life around him. It was weird floating into that sensation, like being a bit inebriated without any level of substance accounting for it. It wasn't a happy high at all, it was more like being jolly in a half asleep kind of way, if that makes sense. Like reality was being cushioned through bubble wrap.

I had so many memories plowing me over during the week before we drove down. Like that time my brother and I were seeing who could throw rocks the furthest, and, considering how awful I was at throwing and a little rock leaving my hand wrong as he stepped forward to throw, of course it struck right on his temple and popped a little blood vessel. Blood everywhere. Him screaming. My dad in a fit grappling me with a hand over most of my face while he beat me with the other, all up my side and back and hip, not just my butt, and I'm pretty sure I caught a few fists. My mom yelling at him in her hysterical way to stop, pulling on the arm that was around my face. Me finally popping up for air and the first words out of my mouth, because after a beating like that I could only assume the worst- "Is J__ ok?" I mean, I seriously thought I killed my brother or something.

My dad rarely ever put a hand to me, but that day he beat me hard. HARD. And turns out, my brother was fine, little bandaid over his temple, bleeding stopped real quick.

My dad prioritized beating me over saving my brother. He immediately got me down and started hammering before he even made sure my brother was ok. He assumed, ASSUMED, I had tried to kill my brother, and in those moments, my dad inflicted his wrath and ruin on my body without a second thought.

I wonder how long he'd have gone on if Mom hadn't stopped him.




So decades later, I'm sitting in his house with everyone enjoying hanging out and food and stuff, and the only way I could even be there without puking was with xanax. And there wasn't near enough xanax to make me float that hard. I take low dose xanax every day and don't float like that. I take more for MRI and don't float like that.

This is the first time I've ever shared that story in print.



So that get together at my dad's was Sunday, and the ten year anniversary of my mom's death day is Thursday. I'm so emotionally shut down I can barely feel me at all. Which is probably a good thing right now.


Back to real life. Kiddo is slowly decorating my entire house for Halloween. I went online and found a whole pile of really cheap decor that I can hand out to her one day at a time, and so far we've got window clings and a few ghosts and paper pumpkins dangling around the house. I have a roll of black crepe paper I'll save till nearly the end, I'm sure she'll string it everywhere. I have a little kit of pipe cleaners and googly eyes we can make spiders with sometime. I've got another kit for glow in the dark slime. Honestly, I've not enjoyed Halloween coming like this in a very long time.

The dark side of Halloween is being dredged out into the open now with the anons, and there are some kinds of decor I absolutely won't allow into my house. Now that I've seen proof that kids are sacrificed on Halloween and Christmas and many other moons and holidays, I am loathing the 'innocence' of getting our kids used to the kind of decor where we mimic drinking out of skulls or use bloodiness as dress and decor. I've been through having blood and guts all over me, between years of butchering and stat cleaning in hospital, so yeah, celebrating evil is a very sad thing our world is becoming all too comfortable with. I don't want that in my house.

Today is a very long day. I shopped in 3 places looking for proper ingredients for a get together with my sisters on my mom's ten year anniversary death day, and life reared up and said NOPE, so it's just me with the yummies now. I guess I'll be making yummy suppers instead, adapting spring roll wrappers to BBQ, Italian, and whatever else I want to play with. Found that on youtube. I bet I could make a fun breakfast wrap too. Oh, and apple pie wrap.

Had to go in for mammogram today, and as I was walking into the building, I suddenly thought out of the blue "I really need to be done with ___." A person. I guess we're on two different planes again, and we may never meet again in this life or a next. I stopped blogging about the things in my heart because they are too painful. I did resolve what needed resolving, but after that, I realized I don't belong on the path she walks. My path goes in a direction she isn't headed. I guess I was a bump in her road, maybe.

I will never not be sad for that.