-Mobile continuation from Xanga blog PinkyGuerrero at PinkyGuerrero, Pinky, Janika, this blog is Basically Clueless, ongoing continuation at blog PinkFeldspar, in that order.
-Most of the graphics and vids click to sources.
-Personal blog for Janika Banks.
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Friday, January 31, 2020

inside out

Behind everything, though.

achievement unlocked

So my goals this month included gabapentin taper, calorie restriction, increase in vegetables every day, and pulling cpap usage percents back out of deficit. The hypertensive crisis was an interruption from being overly stressed but aided my determination.

Total weight loss this month is 7 pounds, so definitely met goals.

Medicare pays for CPAP supplies as long as I show an average of 4 hours per day usage and 70% compliance, basically not skipping more than 3 days out of 10 and maintaining equipment against air leakage, etc.

My CPAP report for 30 days, 90 days, and 365 days at the end of December was 73/64/66 (percents). My report today is 80/72/66. If I can maintain 80% or more compliance until I see my sleep doctor in June, I may be able to pull the 365 up into the 70s.

Last year was really hard for CPAP because allergies got so out of control and quite a lot of late night and overnight babysitting made it almost impossible. I got a pass by the skin of my teeth because I barely had a 70% for 30 day compliance, which saves me hundreds of dollars every other month. These supplies aren't cheap. This year I'm all about that compliance. CPAP changed my life quite a lot, and I don't want to lose that. There is no way we can afford it on our household income. I'm very happy that I ranked the 90 day average up so quickly.

I'm back on goals, huzzah! I'm hoping to continue the diet plan I made, as well. I really need to just feel good for a change. Pain and meds and childcare have been exhausting.

Thursday, January 30, 2020

sweet dreams

I was happy today. All day. It's so rare to be able to say that. Still on 2-2-2 gabapentin taper for a couple more days. Eating healthy, sleeping great. Flying through a cold barely even noticing it. Euphoric on a tiny xanax tether to keep me normal.

She was blond.

Today I can't feel the sad. It's a relief.

One thing other gabapentin patients don't mention on their hellish tapers is the weeping. Once the fluid retention unlocks, it comes out everywhere. I can tell I lost fluid from my face. My elbows and knee joints are readjusting to the fluid change. It's easier to breathe, even with a cold.

5 pounds of fluid have wept and sweated out of me in 3 weeks. I really thought my brain would be more of a mess after the hell the first two weeks were, but I think it's relieved, too. I can't help wondering if I went through a spinal fluid adjustment because for a few days I had an awful head and neck ache and was looking up viral meningitis symptoms. But that part is over now and this congested cold right now feels like a breeze by comparison.

Tomorrow is my yearly with endocrinologist. Gabapentin can affect thyroid hormones. Curious how that'll turn out.

Wanna see the conclusion from my stress test during hospital? Just came in.

I could put more, but that's basic conclusion. I have no idea yet if that ejection fraction is a problem. Have an echo scheduled in about a week and a half. This event monitor comes off in a week. It's the best one I've ever had, easy to forget it's even there.

For the first time in years I'm fixing my hair and using foundation makeup. I'm ready to change back to what I wanted to be before all the crap hit and my life spiraled out of control and then I crawled back out of disability during many, many hours with a grandchild. This month is the first month in 16 years (NOT KIDDING) that I haven't been wading through pain and depression and exhaustion up to my eyeballs every single day, and I think a lot of it was just plain grit. I'm so honed now on daily chores that I practically dance around the house. I had this vid blasting on repeat today getting supper cooked up when kiddo walked in and surprised me. Oh, nothing, just a crazy Russian prostitute set to one of the worst killers in comic history. Very energizing, though. I appreciate fans amusing me.

I realized after I ran into this vid that my library card expired at least two years ago. My life needs serious restructuring.

Blogging from bed on my phone. Never dreamed I'd adapt to this and here we are, tapping words out one letter at a time in between dropping my phone on my face. Wonder if I can write books this way...

Guess I need to let this go.

Wednesday, January 29, 2020

how goes the war

I used to think my other blogs being spammed by porn sites (referrals) was sporadic or non personal. It's getting really interesting being able to connect that behavior to an anon account they took some bait over. I really have taken crap from them, and I hope the entire nine*cough*3 society goes down. There's a reason one country in particular keeps hitting blogger with porn stats and that is to saturate and undermine the stats. Someone gets paid to do this. Ever since I openly tied a certain industry to a certain conspiracy (proven no longer a conspiracy since they created their own website), I have been heavily monitored across all platforms, and I was able to test how personal it was with the anon account. They went a little crazy awhile back. Well, for some reason, this week is a big enough deal to be checking up on me. THIS WEEK.

Ok. I'll play.


Because THAT is what all the fuss is about.

Coordinated stats attacks are personal. It's not a game. They're trying to keep Pinky blog out of searches because I own the dotcom they want for one of their porn sites. They farm women for money. Those women don't live long. They DIE.

I am a digital soldier, and I stand up for what is right instead of dismissing it. Anons are fighting a global war and being stricken down in many ways, accounts removed to personal targeted attempts on their lives, for speaking up and saying stuff.

We are all in harm's way. Pray for us.

head chess

Now that I've got weekly visits with my psychologist lined up, I've gone blank. I waited so hard for this and now I'm blank. The writing I did yesterday was intended to provoke myself, and while I think it reads well, didn't seem to prompt any actual need to talk more.

It felt so urgent through his dying. I was in such a state that I couldn't even trust myself to go be with my family through it. I could see and feel and remember, and I was so angry and obnoxious, I could barely stand to be in the same house with me. Now I'm just. Blank.

When I think about the bolting part- I really, really do not trust me not to bolt at some point. I have vague memories of being that, the one who shuts it all off and just does whatever, and I totally get how normal people suddenly disappear and are found later to have just suddenly changed their lives, no explanation why. They go missing and never make contact and you find out later they made a whole new life with new people like they never had this other life in the first place.

I have literally done that. I did that the night I got the call, when I burned the box the next day. That was not ME. And then I recklessly slid into the kind of life I can't even imagine having if I hadn't shut down like that. I was barely there for my own kid. Every time I have strong memories of being more me and actually thinking, they are interrupted with blurry other memories than I can't quite pull into my view now.

Things I want to know-

  • The framed print on the wall had a heart, and there was a dark spot that I would stare at, but I can't seem to nail the exact print in vintage searches. I want to see that again so I can read those words in the dark spot.
  • What my dad said about her dad.
  • Other things I don't want to share with anyone, but not because they're bad. More like because they wisped out of my grasp and I can't get them back.

I don't remember having any mixed up feelings like this at all since I met Scott and got away from my dad for good. Yes, I get angry and have meltdowns occasionally, like breaking the door frames. I contain it and squash it down. Nothing about this marriage or living here has been any kind of bad like so much before was. If anything, it's been majorly boring more than anything, and somewhat emptyish, but at least it has been normal real life.

BUT. I have been living a double life this entire time. There is the me out here and the me in my head. That's normal, everyone does that. But the me in my head doesn't like sharing secrets with the me out here. Is that normal? Is it normal to ask myself what's going on and being diverted or lied to or stared at?

Yeah, that's where we cross the line. I can see me staring at me sometimes. I never bolted from Scott, and I shut that other me off over it as hard as that me shut me off over the previous messy mishaps. We're at a standoff, like a stalemate.

Monday, January 27, 2020

all those cat memes on Pinky blog hid something dark

So I'm being strongly encouraged by my psychologist to keep writing. I can't write the way I started out, painfully naive and unaware of readership. Blunt and stupidly ignorant of other people's feelings. Most of my learning has come from watching trackers, following what readers search out. I see through other eyes and notice tag search themes or repeated hits.

But that's over now. I turned that off. I'm blind again but way more cognizant of impact, especially as I'm coming to realize the impact on myself over time.

I want to see inside my head as badly as a couple of visitors seem to want to. I want to ask myself questions and get real answers. Is that even possible?

Hypnosis came up. I wouldn't mind but I'm not sure I'm ready. What if the me I hold down bolts at the first opportunity? I've been known to bolt, just stand up and head out a door and off in a vehicle before anyone can stop me. That kind of thing actually saved my life a few times, but I don't want to become combative with nice people trying to help me not bolt. Or go to a corner, or even get mean.

I remember when I worked a hotel desk years ago. The stupid manager would let the dumbest people camp out fresh out of jail or off the street and we'd wind up calling cops and scaring families. One guy had a restraining order from his wife, was fresh out of jail and no one would take him in, so I was stuck with him trying to talk to me every evening shift. I was the only employee on the grounds until nearly midnight, stuck with him trying to bring me food or blocking up the counter like he was at a bar trying to get me to talk. He started getting angry about me never even taking a sip of a soda pop he'd bring to me, and finally started blowing whatever gasket he wasn't processing.

There was one night I felt it. The second I realized I was terrified of him (several weeks into his stay), the mean me slid in and took over. I got really loud and told him stop bringing me food and stay away from my counter. That triggered him and I suddenly got so mean and even louder that he shut his mouth and went to his room. I could tell, though, that he'd have hit me if he hadn't controlled it. From then on, as long as he stayed, I had Scott come eat supper with me while I worked.

Scott grew up with mean people yelling. He grew up with violent alcoholic parents. Scott says *I* scare him. Other people say that, too, when they see that me.

My psychologist has never seen me like that.

That me was married to a very bad pedophile gun thief. That me could take crap and look back in the eye like I could melt people. That me wasn't afraid while I was caught in the middle of a car chase on the edge of the Phoenix desert between 2 drug lords fighting over territory. That me stood face to face to a gang of girls at school who dumped food on me and ripped my clothes. That me doesn't give a thought to whether anyone cares or gets hurt, and the surprising part is that I'm one of the anyone. That me could get shot in the face without an eye blink and never notice what I'm feeling inside.

I don't want to be that to people I care about. I can't control it and make it go away when it shows up. I don't listen to reason like that. I don't see the people in front of me the same way when I'm like that.

The psychiatrist asked me today if my siblings felt like I do. I said no, I'm like the barrier, the oldest child who was dragged around and put to work, and I was usually the one helping dad through animals screaming in pain and sometimes dying horribly because he refused to waste money on a vet. I was there in the agony with our helpless slaves while my dad seemed to feel nothing and only cared if the babies made it or the mother couldn't make it and stuff. Sometimes I watch animals going through natural birthings on youtube, and even though you can tell it's really hard, I never hear the screams like what went on in our barn.

I was the one who assisted my dad so no one else had to. I know it's common for farmers to help their livestock, but many of them call the vet or put an animal down. My dad experimented. He tried things. If he couldn't force something to work, he'd let nature take its course the long hard way.

One particularly bad day I walked outside, picked up a heavy little pipe, and killed 3 cats before my dad could get to them. I had studied cat physiology on my own, made a calculated guess at angle, swiftness, and control just between the skull and neck, and killed all 3 instantly. No struggle, no crazy flopping around. My dad came around the corner and was amazed. How did I do that so cleanly? He asked me if they jerked around, how long it took them to die, and then asked me to show him how I did it. So I demonstrated on another cat, which delighted him because it was like magic, tossed down the pipe, and then walked off disgusted and didn't talk to him the rest of the day. As far as I was concerned, he was an idiot, and everything he touched suffered sooner or later. No, the other kids didn't see that.

See, it didn't matter if I had a favorite cat. It didn't matter if I wanted to keep one. It didn't matter if they were beautiful or cute or my friend. All that mattered that day was I beat him to it so they wouldn't suffer.

When I hear of handlers training kids to be assassins by first having them kill a beloved pet, I just roll my eyes.

I have dealt out death, and once you reach a place where you can turn it off and do that without feeling anything, there is a place in your soul no one can touch.

Just because I haven't murdered a human doesn't mean I'm not capable. That sounds trite, because we see people killing each other constantly on TV or in games. But I can tell the ones who would be sick talking it up like big stuff.

Something inside me shows up sometimes and I think the people who see it instinctively know somehow that I wouldn't get sick. Not when I'm like that.

Is this enough writing for tonight?

I still haven't cried that my dad died.

in my way

I guess it's my turn, got a solid sore throat. It's not faking. Scott is in his 2nd week of chest cold because he's too stubborn to get antibiotics, probably has bronchitis. We know this round isn't flu, but flu A showed up in the school this week, so the rest of winter might be worse than last year's legendary 2 week cold that swept the region.

Chiefs get to wear the red for Superbowl, yay.

Something changed, maybe turned a corner on the gabapentin taper. Sudden drenching sweats over the weekend apparently helped me kick down another pound. I'm so done with water weight gain from meds. Aside from mild nausea and slight disorientation, no other symptoms for now. I'm thrilled there is no headache or reverb pain today.

Psychiatrist was bumped up a couple months for touch base, I guess he's moving or something and he very kindly referred me to interview with a colleague in late April. He said she'll be a good fit for me, which I appreciate because I don't do change well. He asked why I didn't go back to alcohol during all the dad dying and flashback stress I was under, since daily hard cravings came back, and point blank, I just can't do that to my family. I'm enough for them to handle as it is. Xanax dose will be staying the same unless another crisis needs a little bump, like getting through dad did. Still counting my pills, and at this point, that is a very good thing. If I thought I could get away with it I'd get very wasted today, and I'm not even having a bad day.

I think I'm still emotionally very drained. The lengthier stretches of peace over the last couple weeks were the first real break I've had in nearly 3 years. By this April 1st we'd have been starting our 4th year if they hadn't moved out.

She's already asking us to watch kiddo for a date night 6 weeks from now, and I'm like can we please just let Scott get past this respiratory thing before we have to even think about it? Pretty sure we'll be babysitting all spring break and whatever germs hit the school before then. Not like we get our own alone time that often. 26 years in this house, I never once got a genuine date night without kids till they grew up and moved out. And now she's literally sleeping with her guy every night, why in the world start planning around date nights right after moving out of here?

I should go start supper before my throat decides it hurts too bad to cook.

I guess I just figure if I can hold my horrible inner attitude back, then surely I've earned a sort of grace period where questions just stop coming up for awhile. I know I'm not the best person on the planet for advice, but I daresay the frantic neediness built into the tribe I married into has come to irk like nails on a chalkboard. I can't keep being the go-to problem solver. For reasons.

Saturday, January 25, 2020

bad acting

Gabapentin taper, take 3.

Going down from 3-3-3 per day by 100 mg per week. First week was 3-3-2 every day. Second week has been 3-2-2 every day. Tomorrow I start 2-2-2.

The longer this goes on the more personal it feels. I am physically super dependent, and it feels like my body has hired a bookkeeper, you know, the kind with a cigar and a clear green visor and a manual adding machine with a big hand crank.

I was handed a bill today.
(100×7)+(200×7)=2100 mg of gabapentin I'm overdue on and am now deficit and the boys will be coming around to break my kneecaps soon.

Everything hurts. I have searched out blogs and medical forums full of people calling this drug evil. A bitch to withdraw from. Hell to get off of. Worse than opiate withdrawal. The best med ever for fibromyalgia but by all that is good and holy in this world, don't start the damn thing. Ever.

The 3 I took this morning didn't solve anything. I'm now either committed to continued taper or trapped the rest of my life on at the very least 300 mg 3x per day.

This taper schedule will take 6 more weeks. I've been told by my neurologist I can taper 100 mg every 4 days. I'm not inclined to push myself faster into a pain crisis.

I had to put an ice pack at the base of my skull to sleep last night. Today I'm on heating pad for a locked up hip. I can barely walk or move.

Next month I hope to get the last cortisone shot in my shoulder and start therapy while I'm still on taper. That, I think, will help ease through.

Beyond that, I may need to figure out another back up plan for fibro flares. Personally, even though gabapentin helps tremendously with the pain, I think the flares lasted much longer than in the past, and it got me so locked up around my ribcage last year that I couldn't take a deep breath for 2 months last summer, and my allergist had me seeing a pulmonologist over it. I need to see if being back off gabapentin makes a different in how locked up fibro flares get me, because I had steady improvement for years in therapies despite the pain. Last year I backslid.

I'm such a masochist, experimenting on myself. 😂

Friday, January 24, 2020

tell me what you want me to say...

It was always dark when she came out, when I needed rescuing the most. She could do anything. She could leave any party way too smashed to stand and still make it home intact. She could drive anywhere any time in any circumstance (i.e. cigarette rolling into the seat under our butt in a stick shift in the middle of 3rd street ((6 lanes)) during rush hour without getting a single burn or causing an accident). But boy was she stupid.

She couldn't seem to make priority decisions, like not bringing a child along to a drunken sign stealing road trip, or leaving her behind for 3 months to 'get a job' in another state and winding up (actually keeping the job, kudos) hanging out with a new underground crime lord hellbent on taking over a territory.

Ok, she's saying she never got caught and sent to prison. I'm adding in buying for minors, stealing signs, and fortunately not criminal negligence for involuntary manslaughter (the kid lived). I'm also adding never lost custody of the child due to very poor prioritizing. I'm sure I could make quite the list of things I've never been caught and formerly charged for. Not something I'm proud of.

BUT, she loves to add, we never wound up gang raped (there's a horror story behind that) or dead in a ditch, either. (Actually, dead in a desert...) I always made it home. Always. She always got me home no matter how stupid the decisions were leading up to needing to make it home in such dire circumstances so many times.

How did I not have control over that?

It all started a long, long time ago. I can look back and see now that every time I was around my dad, I got stupid. She counters with Fearless. Numb. Capable to the point of miracles. If he told me to do something, I was able to do it, even when it meant getting back onto my feet and walking out of an emergency room after I'd been ejected from a violently flipping vehicle and was still internally bleeding and God knows what else. It was like I didn't have a voice when my dad was in charge. Like he willed it, and I did it.

Some of the times were back and forth, though. Like when he started pushing me to argue with him. I was young, maybe ten, and he was already pushing me to debate him on bible, to prove him wrong, to find holes in his beliefs. I can't think right when I'm numb, so I had to unnumb and learn to argue with him, to stand up against him under a very strange kind of pressure that he called devil's advocate. And then he dragged me into playing chess. I had to think then, too. When I was the thinker, I learned I could be brilliant. It took awhile, but I could eventually outfox him, out think him. And then he demanded that we argue even harder. It was easier just to numb out and not have to think, but unless I was tasked to an odious chore, I wasn't allowed to opt out without being made to feel weak. And after the young childhood I'd spent with him, there was no way I would never again let him think I was weak.

By 13 I was easily switching back and forth from numb workaholic to natural debater. I handled a foster sister earning bags of dope from boys at school with ease, telling her flat out she would do what I say on my parents' property or I'd out her and get her removed. She burned a fat sandwich bag stuffed full of marijuana out in a hole on my command. By 14 she was setting me up to get hurt very badly by a Spanish girl gang at our school. I outran them to my bus and got the last laugh as it was the last day before Christmas vacation, and my family moved to another state that very week, leaving her behind.

There is soooo much more...

And all the good story stuff is her, go figure. Well, except me kicking back out and rescuing my child and then fighting for control and losing for years until Scott finally anchored me.

And it's not all my dad's fault. My friend's murderer definitely triggered quite a lot of that losing myself in the dark thing, but it took my dad creating my numbness in the first place to wind up as far in the dark as I did.

Someday this is all coming out.

blue since the day we parted

Snow. Not much, but such a beautiful drive today.

Gabapentin taper. -100 mg per week, the headache has been godawful.

Germs. Not sure how I've escaped the upper respiratory misery 2 of my people have been going through.

Socks. This is the most organized my life has been in years.

TV. Still not watching any on my own time. Wiped many MBs off the media storage. Finally decided all the Hunger Games need replacing and set up timers. Otherwise not interested.

Food. I'm in the mood for a personal chef but Scott burns popcorn. -_- Guess it's a microwaved sweet potato then. The pan roasted brussels sprouts left my tummy some time ago. Not in the mood to bother much.

Someone did the entire ABBA movie/play soundtrack set to Oswald. I love when fans crack me up.

Wednesday, January 22, 2020


Woke up in the night from the strangest dream about an artist named Patrick Glover. Mostly it was about a piece of undiscovered art tying into a crime or criminals or something.

I've never known anyone named Patrick Glover in my life, not a clue about anyone with that name, so I went back to sleep but kept jerking awake making myself remember the name. Finally got up around 3:30 a.m. to get some research going.

There are a million Patrick Glovers in this world, in so many walks of life. My inclinations were to look for artist and obit, sure enough, this.

I was grossed out. After all the rabbit holes I've gone down, GPK screams baby and child trafficking for sport and no worries for consequences. In my mind, it's part of a long diversion into public acceptance.

So naturally I'm sitting here at 4:30 a.m. feeling sick to my stomach. But I'm wondering if his name will be popping up sometime in future news.

Tuesday, January 21, 2020

one of those phone fumble pre publish posts

Finally hit me to get into settings via cortana and select the purge all previous windows incarnations since W10 keeps those for 10 days before wiping them out. I'm no longer in storage space jail. Picked up a flash drive anyway. Really need to move stuff off before laptop fail happens again.

Bitterly cold out, teens but wind chill feels like single digits blahblah, but ran into town ahead of incoming snow to get a few things. Every tea box in my house was woefully expired (one went back to 2012) since I switched to coffee all day during all that babysitting for years. I've got fresh new tea now, yay!

I look back on my blogs sometimes and wonder if people think I'm utterly obsessed with my weight since I bring it up so much. No. Most of the time I don't think about it at all, and that is where the problem lies. So I decided with the kids moving back out and me getting my house back, now's my chance to stop the tailspinning rut I was in with that. Before grandkids, I was a very nice skinny fat person, in the 180s. Aging into all the extra child care on top of health issues and surgeries and stupid meds has been a betrayal I can no longer tolerate. I put 25 of 50 pounds back on over those years and I'm very displeased that I've not be able to get it back off with all the brutal life sabotage I've had to get through. So I got all over the recreating my food routine thing after I got my house back, was down to 2-2-2 on my gabapentin decline, and bam, that hospital episode put me right back at 3-3-3 on the gabapentin and that completely stopped any more weight lost despite not eating at all for two days in hospital. I fought this all last year with the steroid packs (allergies) and cortisone shots, and it's very disheartening. Meds are my worst enemy for uncontrolled weight gain.

But, lo and behold, since I'm back out from hospital, realized that the 3 pounds I lost since the kids moved out before the hospital happened actually stayed off, and as I'm starting over on that stupid gabapentin taper (third attempt now, arrrrg), at least I've just held steady. Nothing has come back on.

Aside from one more cortisone shot in my shoulder and one more stint with physical therapy sometime in the next couple months, I sincerely hope that is the last of the extra meds and surgeries for awhile. This has been nonstop, ongoing, plus ridiculously lengthy fibro flares over all the extra work, and I feel like if I don't get a grip on my health right now, I'll just slide back off in despair for good. I've worked way too hard reaching this level of function to give up yet.

Actually, it's pretty amazing I've been able to level up to this level of function through all that stress. If I can keep improving now without all that, watch me fly!


Yes, we all know I jinxed myself just writing that. Whatever.

I'm still having to piece through this entire way it played out. When Riddler was lying while manipulating, unaware of the unintended emotional effect. When Penguin finally saw that and kept saving his life anyway. How Ed was a genius without real purpose but Oswald was a dedicated chess player without any friends. The way I see both in how I've spent my life. It's very confusing to identify with two conflicting characters.

The intensity I reached inside while my dad was dying has calmed back down, but I still remember seeing it for the first time, that I really do change around him. I could see it this time, for the first time in my life. I could see that the other me steps in to block the pain, which is fine for that, but not back when other me took over, burned that box, and then held me back through a bad marriage and a baby. I remember the day I kicked back through.

But that wasn't all, and the fighting in me went on for years. I feel like I held me hostage, sometimes very aggressively.

I don't know what to do with that except I'm kind of wanting to talk to me and see what happens. Right now I can feel the resistance inside to an amicable chat...

How do you talk to yourself when the blockades have been up so long?

Sunday, January 19, 2020


Did the latest huge W10 update (aka complete rewrite) and now I'm desperately deleting and moving files from C drive to D drive. I'm running into all kinds of stuff.

Like, here is my dad as a kid.

And a lot of other things that include some interesting street zooms, source code stalking, and heart rending memories.

I kept some of it, trashed the rest. The screenshots of statistic street zooms are mostly gone, the complicit screenshots of the posts involved getting outrageous hits numbers are mostly gone, most of the private convos went poof, and I no longer care about most of the info I stalked.

But remember this. I really do know where some of you live, work, and vacation. The difference between the old hecklers and the new actual baddies was shocking. The biggest gut punch was my family being stalked. You'd think it would have been an actual baddie. I'd love to show off the piles of intel I had to the family stalker, because he'd have peed his pants.

It was a game for me. Lexx was a game. TV reviews were a game. Then I joined the anons. Q is a very big deal. I watched several outed anons take personal hits that should have killed them, how they scraped back from nearly dead like that was a frightening testimony to this war we are in.

And that is why I pulled back from everyone and stopped writing. People are dying in this war. Most of my friends are still sound asleep. They have no idea how close we have come, and during the darkest part, which is very soon now, they will be bewildered and scared.

Stock up your supplies, gas up your vehicles, and hunker down when it starts. Comms will go dark, military will protect us on our own soil, and we will patiently see a wonderful new dawn. The RV has begun. Banks will close while monies flip and renew their liquidity as they will begin compliance with the new gold standard, and people will panic because the fake news wont tell us what is really going on. Panic brings looting, fighting, curfews, etc. Be smart. Be ready.

And look up Dinar Recaps blog. Go look intelligently at what has been going on around the world.

mad hatter

Speaking of dreams like the world is different, last night was a doozy. A friend up the street was very upset with me about twitter. The actual details are sketchy, but the head spinner was waking up with it so fresh and real and then remembering she moved away years before I ever got a twitter account. I've not talked to her in any form since she moved.

I've been having all kinds of intense dreams for years, but lately they seem to be more like living in alt timelines. It's like I get to see could have beens, might have beens, and every one of them feels as real as this one.

Some anons know what I'm talking about.

Saturday, January 18, 2020

de angsting

Loads of angst from the last 6 months seem to be ebbing back out. Have a long list of things I need to take care of this spring. Lost being able to take naps for a long time, so naps are at the top.

Ice flop this weekend. Had brief super glaze for a couple hours, then the rained warmed up. We're a soggy wet mess. River going over and stuff.


Today was pretty awesome. Got a nap. Had my husband to myself most of the day. Cleaned out a chest of drawers and a kitchen hutch. I may be getting enough space back soon to get the stuff back out of my bedroom that I dragged in there nearly 3 years ago to make room for more people.

I will be purging my house the rest of the winter. Scott said something upstairs smells nasty. No telling what in the world it could be. We'll have to drag everything around looking.

For now, I'm enjoying my couch, my tv, and a lack of insane rabbit kicking it's cage.


What I didn't mention are the dreams. I'm still having intensely real dreams that the world is different, and I'm talking to other people as if my life rolled out so differently than it has.

It's like I have to remember the pain to remember I'm here and not there.

Wednesday, January 15, 2020

staring out windows may have brought a little clarity

Saved $244 at a pharmacy today, thank you online free coupon sites, yay. I especially thank my cell phone putter togetherers and carrier company.

So made it through 3 different doctors in a row this week, could have been 4 but my cardiologist said meh who needs an echo unless they're more obviously dying, so primary jumped on ordering that, neurologist got the gabapentin crisis averted with a 2 month taper plan like I wanted, and psychologist had a new couch so it's all good.

Friday stuff is moved to next month per dire predictions for Friday ice, so I'm not going anywhere this weekend. Since the kids moved out I've reverted back to restocking my stockpile, so I'm set for whatever comes. Tonight is tacos.




This whole springing forth at 3 a.m. thing is something I havent seen in a very long time. It started with me dreaming, a blank black dropping over, and a bolt of lightning like minecraft lighting in a dream, and then my eyes opened. No apnea or heart thumping, just wide awake and ready to boing out of bed.

I used to do that nearly every morning for years between 3 and 5 a.m. I had to make it stop when the kids moved in. My depression got way worse feeling tethered to their schedules. This last year has been especially horrible inside my head.

But today I feel fine. My freedom has returned. My space is mine again.

It really helps being able to go to real sleep when I feel like it. Kiddo used to come in and bounce on the bed telling me exciting stuff, which I tolerated well. What got annoying was her mom shooing her out and then flopping on my bed herself, and for me then, it was just awkward if she wanted to show me what she was shopping for on her phone. The clue never reached a light bulb in her head all this time.

I'm not good at gently kicking people out of my space and making it cute enough to be inviting maybe next time. Gives me a headache even writing that sentence out.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to more joyfully springing forth. Really praying she never breaks up with this guy.

Tuesday, January 14, 2020


Driving around getting appointments and errands done, listening to a youtube playlist on my phone. I slapped it together during the last couple months of my dad dying, no rhyme or reason except decent nygmobblepot fanvids. I don't question these mad, random searches I go on. Pinky blog amply demo'd the rabbit hole tendencies over the years. It's like a free association thing where the most random popups in your head wind up leading you through a thought maze and you wind up at a refreshing mental destination somehow. I've been doing that for years.

Anyway, this one came on and bam, I was back in the day as a young kid, probably elementary school somewhere, feeling so alone and suddenly feeling another me bump in and say you're not really alone, I'm here. It was so like another person just being there, but not really saying anything. I've had some really bad high depression days even as an adult where I wind up in a messy ball of weep over 'nothing' and sometimes out of the blue I get that again. I can't call it up or fake it or anything, it just shows up.

And then the song after it immediately triggered the memory of the day I burned the box. I've been wanting to know things about that day, blocked off for years. Well, my best friend from childhood to adulthood was viciously horribly murdered one day, and the day I found out about it, the other me hijacked me and took over, and then the next day burned a box filled with 4 years of letters we'd written back and forth (3 to 4 letters a week for all that time) after my family moved. That other me stayed 'out' for awhile, making huge mistakes and not really knowing how to handle them, I'm guessing because that wasn't the typical social me, but one day about 3 years later? maybe 4, the blocked out me kicked through because the situation had become so dire I was on the verge of losing custody of my child over a really bad marriage. So 'other me' saved me from the nasty pain of grief and loss, but really f*k'd up my life for awhile making very poor decisions. The day I woke up and realized I had to get back out there started with me desperately making long distance phone calls at work trying to piece together what might still be left, and I was so terribly shocked to learn that it was far too late to send flowers to her funeral or condolences to her family. This was me kicking my way back out past a personality that had been hijacking me through pain all my life, without remorse, guilt, or any other feelings whatsoever. The cold me that survived everything. I think I'm kinda seeing how we have been sabotaging each other for a very long time as we swipe control back and forth. I think this is where the narcissistic love/hate thing I have with myself springs from.

Sometimes I lose a little time or 'forget' things, and I've been mixing my timeline up for many years. I can't recall or remember getting from point A to point B to point C even though I can remember most of all three points. It's like sharing space, but who retains the logical sequence for sure isn't me. I am mixed up most days, lost like I'm floating around, constantly remembering little things I meant to do and haven't done yet, hours going by without me feeling them.

I think Pinky is the explainer. The identifier. The one who organized how to proceed after I kicked through, saving the day talking to the right people in the nick of time to retain custody of my child. The situation was ugly and dire and needed a highly skilled chess player.

Pinky is easy to share memories with. Whenever I need real help, Pinky goes all executive command. I feel like a mess, Pinky sorts it all out. Like blogging. When I first started blogging I was a ball of pent up thunderstorm struggling not to strike the ones I love, filling up private blogs with all the negative junk I could barely contain. Over time, Pinky slipped in and was all like Let's just straighten this messy desk up, and next thing you know there are blogs for this, blogs for that, like a sorting machine for all my stuff in the way, and THEN Pinky went public and that was about the hardest thing I have ever had to manage. I had to learn to step out of my own perspective and look over my writing with fresh eyes and then learn how to make it more fun to read, because I was horrible. I still can't go reread my private blogs without cringing because I was so unforgiving and angry.

Blogging has been a very interesting way to see how I hide things from myself. I go back and reread my posts about honesty now and just shake my head. I mean, I was right, right? Pinky was right about that stuff. But I was the one it was written for, this mess of mes, not the people I thought it was about.

I'm very hard on me. It would be better understood to say it like one of me is very hard on original (prime) me, the me that falls apart. That one is very strong because I don't have to feel anything, and of course very judgmental on the me that can't be strong. We are forever at odds. I beat myself up in ways I can't even see, but it stills affects me.

Now that I can look at me as me prime, me Jacky, me Pinky, me Janika, etc, it's really helping me fill in a few holes. I'm still having some problems accessing memories, but I think the last few days feel more like a cooperative effort going in a positive direction.

Side note, my parents never liked the name Jack. I was around 5 when I met a boy named Jack who hated his name and said to call him Guy instead. (Wonder how messed up he was himself...) I wanted to name a pet Jack, both my parents said no (I had weird parents), and I guess I internalized Jack onto the other me that showed up sometimes in my head or something. I never even thought about that until lately. Outwardly, there are plenty of clues that I latch on to anything Jack, like Jack Wild, Jacky Chan, Captain Jack, the OMD song Jackie Bue, stuff like that. My first really big step out into public was my Bluejacky blog. So I guess Jacky is the one hijacking me until Pinky steps in and sorts things out. I guess Pinky had a lot of sorting to do, because I wound up getting a psychologist in on it.

Me prime is autist. By default, so are the rest, but me prime is content to be alone all day long working on whatever interest absorbs me. Me prime has never done well in school, in crowds, in social settings of any kind. I've always had to employ gimmicks to survive relationships. I step into role play in real life nearly everywhere I go, and cringe myself silly stepping back out when it's all over. Me prime is the proverbial hiding and rocking maxed out. But I wasn't allowed to be like that as a child, and I had to develop survival methods very quickly because the punishments kept shutting me down and I was so confused I couldn't cope.

Yes, I do get jealous of the mes who can cope 'out loud'. Yes I hate that I am a wimpy mess that I would like to stomp and squish like a bug. Yes, I do think I'm super smart and dumb as a rock at the same time. Yes, I do get it and fail to get it at the same time. Yes, I am stuck and can't click over when I want to and I'm so frustrated I could tear up whatever is in front of me. (I've broken two door frames in my house. Thankfully, I'm completely against breaking dishes and throwing objects.) (Funny, I tear up doorways... wonder what Freud would say.)

But maybe that I am starting to see all this now, maybe I can find some peace.


On a whole different subject, do you ever think what the f*k and just shave your whole face? I'm turning into a fuzzy terrier of some kind. What is even up with that?

Sunday, January 12, 2020

pinkybluejacky- regarding: back seat driver

This is a repeat post from 1-3-20. I'm going to put the markers in now. This is what I mean about the others stepping in to talk. I was literally having a convo with myself and realized partway through that it was an actual convo between at least 2 of us. Makes me wonder how long I've been doing this. Now that I'm coming to recognize it, I can see the switching off as I read back over and re-feel what I was feeling. The 'under' me is pensive. The 'over' me thinks more melodically than methodically. Together we make words, hence pinkyblue. Bluejacky itself is an amalgam. Jacky (sometimes Jackie) is variants on a spectrum of feels 'underneath'. I've known that for a long time but more in an abstract way of knowing. Jacky is a very domineering personality that other mes force down a bit unless we need a research digger. It wasn't until Jacky broke free on a blog in 2007 that we started to see some of the inner workings.

I've been very slowly thinking through reconciliation. My inner split wasn't amicable. I ripped part of myself away, kept it away.

It's like going under anesthesia. You generally don't remember what happened, but it's only because the memory is disconnected as it's being constructed. It's literally still in there. I know because I have awakened under full anesthesia several times and have full recount of what was happening and things said, including me talking, even though I was given more to put me back to sleep. Under anesthesia we can still be responsive to commands.

There is a part of me that stays 'under' where I can't see. I don't have access. My best example is that library book I mysteriously went straight to without being able to remember the title or author. That part of me actively listens and interacts with me, but I'm not aware of it.

As I'm becoming aware that this explains why I've been looking for myself and things I've lost, I'm realizing I've had a running dialogue with myself all this time. I really do take care of me, I just can't see it happening. I've had to trust myself when I fear myself the most.

Me in my head has been like this for a very long time. I'm not sure how to reconcile. Should I even try?

I'm not sure how to trust the person who can help me. I don't know how to share dominance and let the others talk. It was so hard having to learn how to talk in the first place. The me saying this is the me 'under'. I'm just letting whatever comes out type itself while I watch.

We've been taking turns. Maybe some can tell when the words switch off. It's fun coming back later and reading it fresh.

But yeah. I'm the mean one. And I guess I'm ready to try negotiating or something. I want to retain my autonomy but it's getting more obvious that medication is the only way I'm not wrecking things up.

So Jacky, as a personality, has been around a very long time, known to be extremely obsessed with the color blue and easily infatuated with reams of information. Jacky is probably the closest I can get to seeing my own brain working. I'm not sure that the red stuff is all Pinky. Pinky is an interface, a smoother outer, a thinker working on puzzles. Yablo is the fun one but didn't get a name until I got on the internet back in the 90s, not generally a talker. Janika as a name has been around since everything fell apart in the 80s, but more like an extension of original me (Jan, a bit oblivious). (Oblivious blaze of glory is like Jan+Yablo, which usually backfires horribly once all the fun dies down.) Jacky definitely goes back the longest as far as an 'other' goes. I feel like there is at least one more, possibly two (there were 6 in the car during the lyrica incident). All of this goes back to childhood trauma of varying types and degrees, but it's very important to notate that, as far as I know and can tell, none of it was sexual abuse or maliciously done. I think it's very important to realize that the older gens raising my generation were expected to be tough on kids, and all that was both prompted and rewarded via socialized propaganda and religion. However, when your parents are also mentally ill themselves, this slants a child into a special sparkly place where the brain mildly splits into compartmentalized personality slots that handle various stressors, if I'm understanding the material correctly.

Getting names on my slots was accidental. I never talked to an imaginary friend with a name growing up, although I can look back and see that I did talk to myself constantly inside my head. Constantly. I was there with me all the time. I was even mean to me, and I didn't like me, and it was all very confusing who I was and which side I was on from moment to moment. I was probably lucky I could even see some of that. I realized during high school that I was 'crazy' and deliberately asked to be tested in college. That is documented across a couple of blogs.

Whenever there was something very hard going on, though, one of my two dominants would step up, step forward, however you want to think of it. One had no feelings, one was sweet and kind. They are like oil and water. It was like literally being ripped in half, and sometimes I was glad for that because having no feelings in the way during hard stuff makes it much easier to do what needs to be done. But that also means having to come back later and feel the brunt of what wasn't felt earlier, so my life was a bit like move over and fear me being cool vs weepy puddles of anxiety and sadness. Sometimes I'd go a long time without a tear and then be a mess for awhile afterward, but when it all rolls up into going back and forth on the same day, it gets rough. Imagine having a discussion about whether you're bipolar on top of all this going on. How do you pin down what you even need if you can't see what is really going on in your head? I am understandably reticent about going on head meds until I can get help with whether that might make it all worse.

Anyway, the goal is trying to find the moments where the splits happened, pretty sure I've got the Jacky split discovered, not a clue yet about Yablo since it's not dominant at all, but since Pinky is definitely the yappiest, Pinky split must have come later enough to own the verbal IQ. Pinky is also the chess player, although I never thought of myself as Pinky when I learned to play chess. The interaction is what Pinky is better at than the others. I think I've got the Pinky moment down.

That is the first time in my entire life I've attempted to define these parts of me in a useful manner other than my own amusement.

I think the most frustrating part living inside all this is that I can't see my own self switching off while other people can't help noticing, and they don't know I don't know it's going on. It hasn't been until I started talking about it out loud that I started finding out it's very real, and that other people can see me flip like a light switch in and out of conflicting personalities. I may remember what I say and do (or not remember patches of it), but I don't see, feel, or remember 'switching' unless I'm paying attention to it. Once this was validated by family members, I was able to learn how to pay more attention and see it happening.

The hardest part is when I am watching my mean self take over and I can't seem to stop it. My mouth keeps going, I know I need to make it stop, I know the consequences I'll have to deal with, but I'm simultaneously locked into a mode and somehow completely unaware of the me watching in horror. Imagine living two perspectives at the same time. I live like this.

Saturday, January 11, 2020

guess we'll see

Maybe I can learn to cooperate with myself instead of holding the line against sabotage and feeling so flustered when that fails.


First morning back home and the stress to hypertensive ratio ramped up extremely quickly after a certain combination of people happened.

I love my people. But bless their hearts, they are stupid. The catalyst is aging man and 6 year old girl butting heads and escalating over who will control during a time crunch, and the only way to cut through the crap is to out-loud them, possibly separate them, get on each of their levels and diplomatically redirect them to more efficient behavior.

I'm not the best diplomat straight out of a hospital.

But I got them reorganized and out of the house in the 2 minutes I was given. We avoided tears and crabbing and baditude all the way to basketball.

I may spend the rest of the day in bed. I'm having all the big hypertensive crisis symptoms- nausea, light headed, fatigue, headache.

Straight out of the hospital.

And the stupid thing that initiated startup earlier was me simply asking for a box. I was going to send a few more things in the kitchen to go to their house. Simple. Easy. But no, aging man had to complicate it with she didn't want blahblahblah and I said BUT I WANT. This is my house. That is not my stuff. If it doesn't leave today for MY convenience, it goes in the trash. I didn't buy it, I don't use it, if they don't want it they can throw it away. One box. It was nice of me to pack it so no one else had to, right? And it's only fair that I get shelf room in my kitchen back.

Always someone having to have it not my way. I have been trapped with other people running over me for so long. That ends now. I'm tired of it killing me.

I've worked too hard for too long in physical and psychological therapies to croak off like this. I need chill meds just to survive in this house. And dammit, it wouldn't hurt them to learn some chill, too. This is ridiculous.

I do feel a little better, but if the headache is any indication, I'm not out of the woods yet. Hospital messed up my med routine and now I get to regulate it back out. They literally had my blood pressure med dosed in half because it was written wrong somewhere (irony biting so hard during stage 4 +++ hypertensive episode lasting for days), dropped my Xanax completely till I started asking for it so it was missed entirely for 12 hours and sporadic after that, plunked me right back on higher gabapentin regimen, completely stopped my zyrtec so coming back home to allergens was pretty miserable last night with my eyes swelling up and itching so bad it was maddening, but they made sure my blood was super thinned with both shots and aspirin. They got the synthroid right, thank God, or I'd be even worse right now.

I still can't believe my cholesterol was normal. I guess cutting calories at home was doing some good.


That's just a really bad combo for hypertensive diabetic, no matter how well controlled I am or how small the helpings are.

The house has been quiet again for nearly an hour. I'm feeling better laying here and getting stuff off my chest. Interesting saying. Carries a whole new meaning for me now. Stress in my chest. I have to get it off.

Friday, January 10, 2020

problem solving

One of those days that started out dumping a full cup of coffee on a puzzle I'd just finished but hadn't glued yet, soaked a brand new set of ear buds, and how my phone wasn't wrecked I'll never know. I was ripping the case off so fast I nearly created a time anomaly.

The rest of the day was about navigating around a sorta bland headache.


Wrote that yesterday. Wound up being admitted to hospital after ER visit in the evening. Haven't eaten in 17 hours (was barely eating before that), waiting on tests. Not sure how I got a private room, but the quiet is blissful.

Second admittance in less than two years for basically the same thing. Guess we'll see how the notes compare. Apparently confirming a 'reversible' condition (surgery?) that so far isn't a crisis but will likely develop into one at some point.

Still have the headache. I'd say unrelated but probably a result of high blood pressure breakout, despite being well controlled.


4 hours later. Prepped for 2 hour test. By the time it's over it'll be nearly 24 hours since I last ate. I'm actually not even hungry right now.

They said this one will nauseate me and give me a headache. 😒

This is the kind of stuff my dad refused to cooperate with 20 years ago. He made it to 90. If he'd done what they said, he might've made it past 100. He was so determined to go naturally. Well, it sucked fantastically. What a very miserable way to go. I see no reason to follow in those footsteps. A few tests, a few hours of my time, I wind up going down a little more gracefully in the end, perhaps. The amount of suffering he went through was awful.


Me: admitted to hospital for hypertensive emergency
Food service: oh yeah, missed seeing that bolded food allergy warn both in system, on cook order, and on printout for tray assembly. Please accept our replacement meal on complete blind trust now that we've added a new even bolder caps line to your patient info.
Me: dives into purse for zyrtec and avoids tray like the plague while hoping new anxiety doesn't set more hypertension off.
Nurse: Why u no eat?  missed entire 'food fight' (I actually wasnt even upset, but heads rolled in cafeteria, I hear) because evidently food service boss doesn't call nurse about possible allergen alert on a patient sending food back


So yeah, it's the next day again, hopefully my last. Still have another test that was ordered immediately upon being admitted and somehow keeps getting lost.

Otherwise my stay here has been exemplary. Meaning they left me alone and I didn't bug them.

Well, I did ask repeatedly for my usual daily dose of zyrtec and every single nurse blew it off with Here's a benadryl...

So here we are. Me not eating. Again.

Just thrilled I got coffee, actually. Finally.

I've also had to request my Xanax doses thru the day. Betcha you didn't know they withhold even mentioning it and not allowed to offer or give it unless patient asks for it because hello, controlled substance, and I'm like hello, manic here. Gimme or start hiding while I stalk you in the hallways.

Plus the humiliation of these stupid holter leads falling off repeatedly and every staff on this side of the floor has seen parts or all of my upper torso multiple times. I'm not technically allowed to snap those back on myself. 😑 Not a holter virgin, guys, I know how they work.


One in particular asked me 10 times about getting a shower, and I was like um, I just had one before I came here.. I finally got one during night shift and she's back this morning, when do you want a shower. They need shower notes in their reports. "Took a shower. Compulsively cleaned entire bathroom when done." (I've even made my bed last two mornings.)

I'm also famous already for being the quietest and cleanest patient in the entire wing. They've even joked that I never call the nursing station.


One hour later. Suddenly told I'm being discharged. What about that test, I say. What test, they say.

Pretty sure another hour will pass before this port and holter are removed.


3 hours passed.

That test will be set up as outpatient. Up to the very last minute, no one had a clue how that test never happened.

This new monitor is cool. 30 days, only two patches, and it actually triggers itself to record. I feel so futuristic. I have worn so many monitors over the last 20 years.

So very mild tropinin elevation, normal range proBNP, normal cholesterol *faint* me?, and just enough evidence to prove I really am diabetic but nowhere near being messed up.

Oh, and I like black coffee now. 😮 !!! I know! No way to explain it.


Big lightning night, tornadoes down here and there. By morning we'll have ice, and then the snow comes.

So I had all that time to just think. Hours of thinking. I mostly spaced out lol, but things filtered through and I sorta just suddenly realized that Pinky the interface had been playing a game of matchmaker between a couple of mes that don't speak to each other. They are hyper aware of each other beneath my surface and fight over dominance given a situation, but they don't reason. They don't play well, maybe because they can't. I've been aware since I was a kid that a part of me vehemently loathes another part of me, and that it can be kinda scary in my head when they fight. I don't feel like describing it right now, but it's like watching literal fight with magical, or meanie torturing fearful, or like a rock of anger hurtfully ignoring the pleading tears of tender compassion.

Torn into pieces in my own brain. Pinky stepped up and found a sneaky game playing blogs to get them talking.

And it worked because here we are.

I mean, Pinky was really brilliant behind all our backs. All those ship vids. All those twisted ways of mind bending. She got us all doing it. And this week it hit us that it was about matchmaking my own two biggest messes.

And whether any of this even makes sense is beside the point. The point is they finally started blogging at each other.

Guess we'll see what comes next.

Sunday, January 5, 2020

and what about the guy looking in my own window?

So I mentioned looking into windows, only knowing normal vicariously.

There is a guy I've been letting into a window in my own house. I show him a room or closet here or there, my stairways, some decor, maybe a book on a table.

But I don't let him stay long. I rush him through a messy stack of my thoughts and then push him out my window again and don't show back up for a month.

No, I don't invite him in through a door. It's always the same window.

In my house are many closed off rooms. Sometimes I open one a crack, or sometimes I have to hunt for a key and it doesn't fit. Sometimes I discover an old closet with a stuck door, and I can't get what I want off a shelf in there.

Sometimes that guy knows how to help me with the doors. I think I'm ready to open some of the rooms up.

I'm thinking how weird it is that I don't let anyone else into my head like that to help me. I tried a few times, but it got miserable, so I stopped.

I'm in a weird place right now. I have felt for a long time like I'm not really here, and then I run into stuff like this.

I knew by the time I was 22 that my heart was black. The gulf between what feels unreal and whether I care looks infinite on some days.

I'm still with Puddleglum on reality- Whatever lies we've been told, however we might be mocked, I still want the beautiful things to be real, whether I can feel them or not.

We create what we wish to exist. We are powerful that way.

Friday, January 3, 2020

back seat driver

I've been very slowly thinking through reconciliation. My inner split wasn't amicable. I ripped part of myself away, kept it away.

It's like going under anesthesia. You generally don't remember what happened, but it's only because the memory is disconnected as it's being constructed. It's literally still in there. I know because I have awakened under full anesthesia several times and have full recount of what was happening and things said, including me talking, even though I was given more to put me back to sleep. Under anesthesia we can still be responsive to commands.

There is a part of me that stays 'under' where I can't see. I don't have access. My best example is that library book I mysteriously went straight to without being able to remember the title or author. That part of me actively listens and interacts with me, but I'm not aware of it.

As I'm becoming aware that this explains why I've been looking for myself and things I've lost, I'm realizing I've had a running dialogue with myself all this time. I really do take care of me, I just can't see it happening. I've had to trust myself when I fear myself the most.

Me in my head has been like this for a very long time. I'm not sure how to reconcile. Should I even try?

I'm not sure how to trust the person who can help me. I don't know how to share dominance and let the others talk. It was so hard having to learn how to talk in the first place. The me saying this is the me 'under'. I'm just letting whatever comes out type itself while I watch.

We've been taking turns. Maybe some can tell when the words switch off. It's fun coming back later and reading it fresh.

But yeah. I'm the mean one. And I guess I'm ready to try negotiating or something. I want to retain my autonomy but it's getting more obvious that medication is the only way I'm not wrecking things up.

Thursday, January 2, 2020

obliviously being oblivious

Me: This thing happening on the side bothers me very much.

Him: *diversion into what line I crossed. again.*

Me: This isn't about that, this is my feelings and I'm trying to finish saying my words.

Him: *feelings wind up being his about nonsimilar but comparable situation*

Me: *arg* I just wanted some empathy, I guess.

Him: Oh, that. *silence*

Oh, well.

*headphones on again while I'm back in minecraft*

Seriously, I do believe sometimes minecraft has saved this marriage.

Anyway. Other stuff happened, too.

Once in a blue moon I'll stalk someone for a few minutes because I want to see how they are doing. It usually only takes a few minutes even when they are unfindable because I just know how to find people. Usually I'm satisfied and go back to my stuff, once in awhile I realize something and push another jigsaw piece into a hole in my life with an all new understanding. I very rarely, and I mean super rarely, like years go by kind of rare, find anything I'm actually painfully jealous of or terribly disappointed or something to that effect. Like the context is so black and white between how my head works and how their real world really works that I wind up sad and just go curl up in my head somewhere wondering how in the world I was that blind or naive or whatever.

I had that moment yesterday. I guess I needed context. I'm in a sort of one-way relationship with someone that needs to continue, and I finally actually reached a place in my head where I need that blank spot filled in, right. Everyone needs to 'relate'. And what I discovered was that glaring truth between us, a knowledge I'll never know in this life the way it is with a head that works like mine surviving it, and I kind of fell into that blank patch with all that new info and watched my insides fall out and mock me.

I will never have normal. I will never know first hand the thing that I crave. I will never realize the possibilities that most people expect as part of the way lives roll out. I may look through lit windows on dark cold nights and see other people having that, but I will never be in that light.

And who, on any normal spectrum, could tolerate me like this?

I think this is the part where people kill themselves, but I'm in minecraft with my headphones on listening to a child laugh with her papa and writing it out so I can come back later and finish understanding what I'm feeling right now. But I'm pretty sure this is where many people kill themselves.

It doesn't matter how smart I am, or how hard I try. Nothing matters if I cannot reach out and not bite anyone reaching back.

But that's not true, is it? I'm here making many differences that never would have happened if I weren't here or hadn't been here. Just because I can't feel it doesn't mean that part isn't true. And just because I feel trapped in a wasteland doesn't mean I can't at least understand and keep teaching.

There is a very old story from my long ago that came to me in a dream during a week of visions withdrawing the hard way off alcohol. I've never told anyone that dream. I tried to write it out back then, but then left off thinking it wasn't that important. But I had a very clear moment a few days ago, and that story is very important, after all. I was given a dream in a week of visions, and I think I'm supposed to share it because I understand it now.

I'm not here to have a normal life. I'm here to race the lightning in the dark along the rocky ridges where death waits at every step. I am here to understand, and to tell.

But I needed that context before I start. I needed to see that glaring truth.

It's a new year. No telling what will be happening. Maybe it's time I went on an oblivious blaze of glory.

Wednesday, January 1, 2020

starting out *cough* fresh, perhaps

My life in this house has been profoundly affected by a string of men in a person's life. Let's hope this one works out. Kinda done with all the extra drama.