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.

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.

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.

GO LOOK UP DINAR RECAPS BLOG LIKE I TOLD YOU TO ON FACEBOOK.

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.

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.