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.

2020

My ear buds crapped out. Found more, ordered 6 this time....

Ready for change.

present and accounted for

I think my new year resolution for 2020 will be to continue closing down social media accounts. Maybe make a few more things private. Obviously, the last 8 years went off path and failed to meet goals, and it's costly to maintain, especially after one major host slid over to annual fees and another is so messed up that I'm locked out of a top paid account.

My morning with Scott underfoot-

Mild rebuke and mocking over the 2 swipes it takes to comb his tiny hair so it doesn't look like he crawled out of a trash can, his continuing laments over hair stylists vs the lack of barber shops that take walkins, my comment about Mayberry RFD, his correction that Ken Berry was in that one, my one sentence micro rant that shows with names like Gomer and Goober were the whites' whiteface and I'm offended.

I refrained from singing the You're So Vain song. How much sense does it make that refusing to comb hair gets blamed on the styling industry changing over the decades? Kinda dreading arguing to the grave with him. I walk off and don't talk much, or sometimes I've had enough and eat his head, but I see no sweet endings. I see stubbornly grueling it out. I shut my mind off a lot from that and don't think about it.

Meanwhile, kiddo is off school this week, Scott is home from work this week, I intend to bury myself in youtube and minecraft..

Well, that didn't work. Kiddo had a meltdown and I wound up taking Skittles and Connect 4 upstairs to help distract.

Winter migraines sucketh. Kind of a plopped sidenote.

Someday I will share how I won the war by taking myself hostage, holding myself captive, torturing myself for years, and no one ever knew how badly I mutilated my brain just to win the war.

I'm still here. We're all still here.

only us in our world

Guess I'll tackle end of year assessment. Used to do those.

So at this point, from the big 2012 coming back out public and the 2013 burst into a social media platform, the controlled kamikaze spiral over 2018 and the final leap off in 2019 has just about wiped me out from having any platform at all. Severe photobucket fail has started hitting the older blogs, with no way in months (yet) to rectify any of it. Xanga is left hanging as I've reallocated financial resources to more permanent littlelexx.net salvage and real life needs. Like my new glasses this year. Very 'spensive. Apparently started sleepwalking a few weeks ago without tearing my cpap off first like I usually do in my sleep and flipped that entire thing over upside down on top of my glasses, so I get to spend the next 3-4 years in rescued eyewear. Bent it back into wearable shape.

We're  2 3/4 years into two families in one house, still amicable, but I think we're all exhausted from it and ready for new arrangements. And the last five months with my dad dying triggered that special mental illness highlight into stranger territory, so 2020 will see me learning more about dissociation and all its fun little implications in the maze-puzzle of my life.

Right now I'm barely even regretting never conquering my Lexx project list. That could have been glorious. Still probably can, but the really sad part of everything is that anything I love doing has been so constantly interrupted for so many years that, if you consider all the weird challenges I've waded through, it's amazing I have anything out there at all.

Yes, I am still writing. Still checking in. Not keeping up with much more than my immediate vicinity.

My entire life feels like this video. It's been running over and over. Thanks to stress, every day I crave alcohol (nearly 30 years sober), vicoden (5 years clean), and even anesthesia. I have been getting mildly high resetting my gabapentin after another nasty flare in the middle of slow taper. The flare is over, starting over with the taper.

Over the many years I learned to ask- What do I want? And what am I willing to do to get it?

Over the last few years I've learned to let that go for higher purposes, to help others survive well, making sure group support keeps us all intact. We're all tired, yes. I don't regret it. I can't regret it.

But when I'm alone I see the alt timelines, and they are glorious.





By the way, I know the question "Where did Pinky go?" has been left hanging. Pinky quite literally has stepped back. Pinky is a control personality, an interface. That has been explained in previous blogs. But yeah, literally, Pinky is on braincation.

So who is typing?

Yeah. Good question. A good chunk is stuck in private because I'm not caught up on fees there, but the surveys migrated to Surveypalooza. Everything before here, here, and here is pre-Pinky.

Pinky was popular because Pinky did everything wrong. They say blogging about yourself is a no-no. Well, Pinky got crazy popular, way more than all my Lexx material online combined, and went viral in several countries. Pinky tweets were published in several pop culture websites in several countries, Pinky reviews went a little crazy on twitter here and there (a few directors interacted), and Pinky had a jolly good time learning how narcissistic depression blogging can make math stats and maps **fun**.

But Pinky isn't typing now.

And the platform burned.

And the surprises just keep on coming.

Yablo says we should end on a happy note. Yablo likes happy stuff. Janik likes this one. We'll play this one.




I've got a legal name change coming up in 2020. Might get interesting.

Love you guys.

Mel tweeted at me yesterday. Holly texted me pix over Christmas. Lurkers still show up here and there. Found out a couple months ago I'm actually more famous than I even imagined with the stat trackers I used to employ. I got off the tracker train. Done with those. Done with tags. Done with analytics.

I'm here for me, and for anyone who wonders what I'm up to.

click pic for source

riptide

Part of my timeline reconstruction is about identifying both my conscious and unconscious 'shut down' trigger moments. The most conscious one I can recall was the day I wilfully chose to internalize a song. I still can't recall the age closer than 10-14, likely more like 12 or 13.

I mean, I was already doing that for years, obviously, but that day I consciously chose that as my personal flag in the wastelands between creed and faith.

The truth of me is that I was willing to do anything it took to 'win' (emotionally survive) even if it meant chopping myself into pieces and cutting out my own heart. I have quite recently come to understand the command I received in the vision I titled a long dusty road, where I was tasked to go back over where I'd already been and find every piece I'd thrown away.

Imagine what that means to your sense of self. Imagine a part of you walling off, jailing, even murdering another part of you. Imagine hating what is soft and kind and good within yourself so badly that you literally tear it out of your way and close it up in a very dark place for a very long time, never allowing it to have an opinion or see a tiny ray of hope or forgiveness. Imagine suddenly finding yourself in a position years later where you need all that back asap just to save yourself from your own horrors.

The shock of being so brutal on my own self, of watching the rags crawl back out into sunlight, of feeling both sides and all the bits in between full of jagged pokey edges that no longer fit together, has been so overwhelming at times that I've felt lost, a wreckage smashing around aimlessly in the frothy jetsam.

Imagine learning to talk to all of myself again.

picking back up

And almost effortlessly, the notebook has come back out to be my friend again.

Minor outline revision. Another kink in the timeline straightened out.

Freedom to say and be and do now.

Wonder what will happen now. The anxiety is a fading memory. My brain is whispering secrets I couldn't hear before through all the noise.

I set myself up. I blogged out loud so I could turn inside out and start seeing myself. I didn't even know it was a long game strategy. All those clues I couldn't figure out, all the scattered pieces I couldn't fit together.

Not just autism spectrum. Not just depression and PTSD. Not just.

All my mes. I knew I was playing a game, and I knew there were other names. But I didn't know that I didn't know them all.

I have waited out the respectful silence. I have owned my weirdness without blame. In the meantime I have learned how to approach my own topic in a much healthier way and earned a better life for that.

The goal is still the same.

Revenge is best served cold.

nailed it

Omg, bless this person's crazy light flashes and sparkle blitzes overlaying the sheer incongruity, because that was Christmas for me in my head today.