“Don’t despair, my friend.”

Content Warning:  Depression is talking, probably.  (I’m only typing this on my blog instead of a text document because I’m hoping someone has a logical rebuttal that refutes the shit out of my perspective.)  Otherwise, skip it.

 

Today has sucked since 2:38 AM.  That’s when the Depression Monster mentioned a distraction from reality is my only survival strategy.  I tried to disprove it and failed.  It’s ironic.  Maintain sanity by forcing myself not to focus on the world outside my head (much.)  It’s not optional (for me), which pisses me off.  I don’t have free will in this life.  I have to protect myself or peace out.

Psychopaths are the only ones with free will on this planet.  Reality keeps proving those who feel no empathy or remorse survive.  I had no idea I was an NPC (non-player character.)  I’ve joked about being an extra in someone else’s life lots of times, but I didn’t believe it.   We’re all extra’s in the lives of psychopaths.  Earth is their domain.

It turns out, empathy and remorse are terrible for my health.  It leads to agonizing over things with which I have no control.  Things that have already happened.   Things others choose to do.  It forces me to shield myself from reality out of self-preservation.   But of course, it’s not always possible.  I’m sofa king tired of being triggered on a daily basis.

I know too much and have seen too much.  When I initially found out about AIDS, it took a long time to convince myself existing still had merit.  It was the first time in my life I realized I have to pretend to survive.  It sometimes makes me feel unreal.  2017 is an unrelenting trigger for the worst day of my life.

I visited the Dachau memorial in southern Bavaria while stationed in Germany.  I saw Schindler’s List.  It leveled me.  But it still didn’t compare to spending hours walking around, seeing, touching, and processing the reality.    It rained the day before we visited, and while it’s probably a hysterical reaction, I could smell death.   I went with a couple from my church.  They were wonderful people.

I had to get away from everyone as soon as we left the entry building, where they showed horrific footage of mounds of gold teeth, a pit full of naked, emaciated human bodies, etc.   You couldn’t tell male from female, they were just skin over bones.  I walked the perimeter along the barbed wire fence first.

I was in a daze.  I felt like I swallowed a watermelon, and it lodged in my throat, like on a cartoon.  I looked at (memorized) every art installation.  I stood in the crematorium and the gas chamber.  I was surprised by how low the ceiling was in the gas chamber.  It looked like a community shower for Hobbits.  (6 ft. -ish)

I ended my tour by laying in a bunk inside the only remaining barracks.  (The others were just outlined on the ground.)  They were narrower than a twin bed, made of wood, and three levels high.  Most people would have had to climb over other bunks to get to their own, as there was no space in-between.  I lay on the top level near the wall and wept.

I don’t remember how long we were there, or the ride back.  I just remember calling my mom and begging her to come to Germany (because I didn’t want to be a human anymore.)  I hate that I’m bawling as I type this.  Time doesn’t heal shit.  (At the time, I was about a year into recovering from being raped and left for dead on my first night in the country.)  My mom told me to go out and see as much of Germany as possible, so I could bury the bad memories in good ones.

Her advice was spot on, but visiting Dachau was so much worse.  Every negative thing that’s ever happened in my entire life combined pales in comparison.  I’m just one person.  I thought I knew what evil was before I visited.  I had no idea.  It did put my aftermath into perspective, but holy shit.  It made me afraid of myself at first because I know the people who participated in this evil are fundamentally no different from me.  It forced me to recognize my capacity for evil.

It was when I began obsessively training my mind to choose righteousness over all else, including my life.  I only went back to church once after that, and it was just to tell God off.  (Despite the fact I’m rambling and seem to have no point, this is helping me settle, for some reason.)  My mom stayed in Germany for two months.  When she left, I had a survivable perspective.

It was the beginning of the end of my military career, however.  I managed to have an incredible last year, though.  (Then I paid for it.)  I’m still glad I did it, though.  It’s the only time I’ve ever been in awe of myself, and that’s a wicked awesome feeling.  I don’t like being a civilian, but whatever.

Sigh.  I inhale and exhale because I know I’m strong-willed and will absolutely resist participating or contributing to the evil going on all around me at all times.  I breathe because nobody will ever manage to force me to harm another.

I guess I accept I need to live my life as joyfully as possible for whatever time I have left.  Even if it ends tomorrow, it will still have been an incredible ride, and for that, I’m grateful.  I’m off to pretend my heart isn’t shaking.

“He’s obsessed with breasts.”

Audio file of this post (improved, but still needs work.  Sorry, I’m learning): 

OP-1 by Teenage Engineering

 

I didn’t run on Tuesday or Wednesday. Long story short, I triggered myself and was unable to eat for a few days. (No big deal for healthy, first world Alison.)  I didn’t run because I have an irrational fear of falling and freezing to death on a winter run. It’s barely irrational (in South Dakota), which is why I’m not even working on overcoming it.

It wore off, and I was able to eat a light breakfast this morning before heading out for my run. It was 9° F, according to my phone. I was warmed up and excited. My playlist includes Perfect Duet by Ed Sheeran and Beyoncè. It’s every third song between Stevie Nicks 24 Karat Gold: Songs From the Vault. (It’s as if Stevie Nicks created the song.)

I was utterly lost in the music, my body a vague avatar on auto-pilot when I fell. I was almost home. I could see my building across the river. I got up and reoriented myself with my body. Then I slowly counted to ten before assessing the damage. Nothing hurt, and the music was still playing.

OP-Z by Teenage Engineering

Aside from an anxiety rush, all systems go. Yay. (Flashback to when I fell and dropped my portable CD player, and it shattered on impact without harming the CD. Panasonic.) I finished my route feeling like my world is right again. Then I got to the stairs, and my hip started whining. Anytime I feel any degree of pain in my hip; my imagination announces I’ve broken it, and it’s all downhill from here.

After I stretched and showered, it was no longer an issue. I just hope I don’t find a bunch of bruises tomorrow. I have my annual doctor’s appointment next week. That tiny bit of potential awkwardness is enough to psych me out of going. I’d better disarm it before it gets me. I’m incredibly distracted of late due to my introduction to synthesizers. Typically, I avoid Virtual Black Holes. Maps, cryptography, metaphysics, quantum mechanics, biochemistry, etc.

FMPlayer by AudioKit

These are points of interest so intense it’s not likely I’ll ever return to whatever I used to give my attention. Usually, I recognize them quickly and run. It’s like saying no to drugs. It’s not that I don’t want to indulge, it’s because I don’t want to trade my legal adult status for an incredibly lonely, narrowly focused, otherwise joyful existence.  It bothers me because I couldn’t tell you why.  I’m off to practice my drums (and think about synthesizers.)

“How would you know? You don’t speak Korean.”

It’s my first time using the new improved editor on WordPress.  I figured I’d better learn it before they decide it’s the only editor.   Meltdown Prevention 101, eh?  M. let me care for Tallulah today (for practice.)  I love having a dog so much.

dog

I’m looking forward to living with her full-time in the future.  I live across the street from a park connected to another with the bike trails.  (It’s the warm-up portion of my running route.)  It’s also just over 2 miles to the end of the second park and back, which is now my dog walking course.

It took longer than I anticipated, but mostly because there were a lot of feces.  It’s a primarily residential neighborhood, and most people probably walked their dog while half asleep in the dark this morning.  I need these parks to remain dog-friendly, so I picked up all the poop on my route.  (I’m so thankful for Jack Frost.)

I decided it was over-looked accidentally, and my neighbors would do the same for me.  It’s dark most of the time, now.  Fortunately, lots of people put holiday lights on their balcony already, and my display isn’t the most enthusiastic this time; mostly because 3 out of 5 sets of solar string lights didn’t work. 🤪

I got an email from a friend today!  I was afraid it was a friend I lost during The Worst Meltdown of 2017.  Two people emailed me since that horrible time, (when the universe found out I was using social media as if I knew what I was doing, and kicked my ass to the curb with a purpose.)  Both are still my friend.  (!!!)

dog1

I’m going to go ahead and dub it The Miracle of 2017.  I guess silver linings are more impressive than the Doublemint wrappers I claimed.  I’m trying to work out how to tell one of them I’m never going on Twitter again.  (Or anything similar.)  I’m probably going to do a Keynote presentation and send them the link.  (Unless I think of something more efficient first.)

They are the first autistic friend I made on Twitter.  Dammit.  I guess I’m more of a romantic than I’m comfortable admitting.  (I hope that word works platonically, too.)   Okay, I’m going to go because I can tell I’m going to start crying again.  At least they’re happy tears.  My cat, Amelia Bedelia, understands me, so I’m off to rock with her.  Peace.

p.s.  The new WordPress editor is fabulous!

“That’s funny, George. You’re very quick. I feel like I don’t have to explain every little thing to you.”

The Depression Monster ambushed me in my sleep.  I got about an hour of rest first, so there’s that.  I just hate when he gets me at my most vulnerable.  My bullshit detector doesn’t work when I’m asleep.  (It barely works when I’m awake.)  I haven’t managed to find a way to avoid this sadistic slumber party, yet.  Aside from not sleeping, that is.

I wake myself up from weeping in my sleep when this happens.  Then my bullshit detector has to warm up.  It usually takes about an hour before I manage to talk me back from the ledge.  Humor is my most effective (and probably only) weapon against the Depression Monster when I’m half asleep.  It’s the one instance where being a smart ass with a twisted sense of humor has paid off.

He usually plays the race card first:

Depression Monster: You should just kill yourself. You know damn well it’s just a matter of time before a cop shoots you for existing while being black.  And autistic.  And mentally ill.  Um…  How are you still alive?

Half-asleep me: I knew it! This sucks!

DM: Even I have to admit it’s pretty messed up.

HM: But I don’t want to die.

DM: Everybody dies. It’s the only thing you can assume without putting your foot in your mouth, which is something you often do, I’ve noticed.

HM: Hey! I’m eleven days into creating a new habit to correct that. You’re mean.

DM: At least I’m honest.

HM: No, I don’t think that’s right…

DM: You think? Since when? I thought you medalled at First to Reply, not First to Edit. More like, reluctant to edit, right?

Me: I hate you.

DM: So?

M: When will you be dying?

DM: What do you suppose Stevie Nicks would think if she heard that evil question?

M: I don’t know… Shut-up.

DM: Make me.

M: I don’t make trash, I burn it. (Not really, I use city sanitation.)

DM: Rote!

M: You’re a figment. Fig Newton. Farfegnugen.

DM: Rude much?

M: Nope. I save it for you.

DM: I’m touched.

M: I know.

DM: You know… It’s too bad you’re not at least a man. At least then you’d have fewer people who hate you for existing. Also, you wouldn’t have needed a Ph.D. if you were born with a penis. It’s your paper penis.

M: (singing) Have I told you lately that I hate you?

DM: This is why all the hashtag gamers hated your guts. So much. You don’t even understand what funny means.

M: Remember figgy pudding? It was the rudest part of that song. So demanding. Fig.

DM: If someone says the n-word around you in any context, you cry. Every. Single. Time. I don’t think normal black people do.

M: Now I’m going to live just to spite you.

It drags on for a while, but I ended up laughing at myself, (after bawling a little.)  Once I’m fully awake, it doesn’t take long to shut him down.  It’s no wonder I get lost in the shower if I don’t follow my checklist diligently.  The only strategic hint I got out of today’s adventure:  Work on having fewer insecurities.  Sigh.

I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a US postal worker, and my mail truck was just ambushed by a band of backwoods mail-hating survivalists.

Today is a good day.  I got invited to jam with a local band this afternoon.  I didn’t want to go, but my reason sucked, so I went anyway.  I was pretty anxious on the way and for the first few minutes.  Then I asked if I can play too.  They asked me what I play, and I said I’d love anything with sticks or strings.

When anxiety turns into excitement like that, it’s a weird feeling.  It almost feels impossible to contain.  Everything in me demanded I jump up and down or I would burst into a gazillion broken pieces.  I hopped a few times to prevent it, then stopped and hoped nobody noticed.  The man who plays lead guitar (saw and) said he hoped my enthusiasm was contagious.  (I decided I love him.)

I went for the bass because nobody else did.  I told them I’ve only been playing it for a short time, so don’t expect any solos.  They all laughed, and I had another one of those moments where I wonder if they know I mean literally, then agonize over whether to ask.  I didn’t ask.  (Thank you, Stevie Nicks, for being the one person on this planet who finally managed to convince me to always think before speaking, and take my time.)

Tangent:  It took a long time for me to fully concede it’s sometimes better to say nothing, (even if it’s incredibly hilarious.)   It’s a semi-painful concession.  Part of me would rather live in a world where anything is okay to say, so long as it’s wicked funny.  Then I remember there’s absolutely no way that wouldn’t end in (rivers of) tears (for me.)  Damn.  I guess Stevie Nicks got me to (finally) grow up.  Um…  Ow.  😂😂😂😂😂

I had so much fun playing my face still hurts from smiling.  M. complimented me and seemed surprised how well I hung in there.  Then I ruined it by telling him it’s because I practice with the same songs, and therefore suggested them (Jackson 5.)   Jermaine Jackson is the bar I set for my bass playing endeavor.  (If you knew how many notes I currently have to drop to stay in time with the song, you’d be laughing with me.)  It still sounds pretty good, though.  I’m a rhythm bass player.  Heh.

I brought my violin, but as expected, they just looked at it, then looked at me, then looked away.  Did everyone in South Dakota get together and decide on this reaction?  I bet there was cake.  😒  I’m probably still a little bit over excited.  It’s hard to calm down after having a great time.  M. wants to go sit in the hot tub.  It would probably help, but it just seems so unsanitary.  Maybe I’ll just put my legs in.  Apparently, my germaphobia ends with my knees.  💜

“Because if he doesn’t ask you out, he doesn’t get rejected.”

Thanksgiving, huh?  I reject this holiday.  Thanksgiving is where I take out my inner angst at being lied to while calling it education.  Not too thankful for that, yo.  (I just finished practicing my drums to current hip-hop songs.)  I was also raised under the influence of Native American culture.  (That’s the academic spin for my ego.)  😃

My inner teenager is running the show, today.  She’s bent on making up for the fact I skipped being a moody little shit at the proper time.  Fauxlidays belong to her.  When I was a teenager, I had a car.  I bought it with money I earned babysitting, raking leaves, and modeling for a department store.  (The latter wasn’t terribly lucrative because they usually gave me the option of being paid in a gift certificate, and I often used it to buy video games.)

I drove a mustard yellow Datsun B-210 (or something.)  It had a manual transmission, and I was taught by a fellow student on the only hill in town (at night while it was snowing.)  For those of you who didn’t grow up in South Dakota or a similar rural city;  we could legally drive at age 12 so long as we were on our parents’ property.  (This was widely known among local 12-year-olds.)

Those of us who lived in the city proper had to wait until age 14.  I bought my first car at age 12.  (More like my then 13-year-old brother used my money to buy his first car when I was 12, then allowed me to name it Mine.)  We used it exclusively for joyriding in the K-mart parking lot.  My nephew usually joined us (because letting a 10-year-old drive is hilarious.)

Fantasy Canyon in the Utah desert, USA.

So anyway, when I got to high school I attended public school the first year, which back then was 10th grade.  I use the word attended amusingly.  I’m the reason the school district adopted a stricter attendance policy.  I missed 180 days in one school year, (or at least that’s the number I remember.)  I loathed going to school.  So I didn’t.  Much.

Instead, I drove to the nearest reservation to get the truth about American history.  It had a powerful influence on how I think.  I thought talking to the chief of a tribe was fabulous.  It never crossed my mind the poor guy was mostly exasperated by my constant questions.  (That was before I understood the continuous inquiries into why I wasn’t in school were a polite hint.)

I spent more afternoons there than in class.  He sent me on (what I told myself were) quests to find answers to some of my questions.  (I was hint proof back then.)  I visited the capitol building, a courtroom, and some university libraries.  I was polite and neatly groomed, which has always worked well for me.  I also spoke like someone who spent far more time reading than talking to others.  (It rarely works out well.  Sigh.)

In hindsight, I realize I probably didn’t have valid access to any of these places, let alone while I was supposed to be in school.  White privilege is so bizarre sometimes.  I know they didn’t question me because they very likely never spoke to a black person before, and were too distracted by the experience.  It resulted in my having a lot of freedom to basically go wherever I wanted as a teen.  (I paid heavily for this unfortunate habit in my initial years of service.  It almost cost me my life somewhere (too) close to Area 51.)

I was used to being the unicorn by default, but in the Army, everyone is a green unicorn.  (It’s so much better the Army way.)  Oofda.  A colossal guilt trip just landed on me.  I’ve used autism as an excuse to ask questions in classrooms when I knew it might not be appropriate, (but I wanted the answers more than I wanted to be honorable at the moment and ran with it.)  Ooh; that’s going to leave a scar.  😞😣

(I mentally bookmarked it to agonize over later, when my inner adult is back in charge.)  I’ve never been able to buy into the concept of land ownership.  It’s just too ridiculous, and I have trust issues.  Heh.  I’ve purchased property twice.  Both times, it messed with me until I got rid of it.  It felt like I was willingly stepping into a trap.  Like believing dollars are backed up by gold ridic.

I also grew up believing life is the most valuable thing there is.  (The Army failed to have any sort of adverse effect on this belief.) It’s like accepting reality is real, (to me.)  It’s not going to be shaken easily.  Also, that the only sin is to steal;  such as someone’s free will or life.  I believe whenever a death occurs, we become less as a whole.  Less incredible as a concept and force in nature.  I don’t think anyone has a right to take someone’s life or free will.

I don’t care much about theft of property.  I don’t think it matters in the big picture.  It’s why I don’t get upset if someone takes something that legally belongs to me.  I don’t encourage or invite it because it doesn’t mesh with the rules of my community.  But it’s not part of me, so I see no reason to feel bad.  My cat doesn’t count because Amelia Bedelia is alive.  You can’t own another’s life.

Welp.  My inner teenager is done sitting here sharing deep thoughts.  It’s her day, so I’m off to angst through music.  Below is the t-shirt I’m sporting today.  Kind of says it all, eh?  Hope your Thanksgiving was great (if that’s your thing.)  🙃

Thanksgiving bird by @Acraigl

“Jerry, Newman and I are engaged in a epic struggle for world domination.”

It’s been a fantastic week. I’m still listening to Synthesis by Evanescence several times a day. It will be a while before I’m ready to listen to anything else. (This always happens with unicorns.) M. is overtly studying my behavior.

I don’t mind, of course. I just thought of four ways to elaborate on that, and they all made me laugh out loud. M. asked me if I’m “over Stevie Nicks” now that Evanescence just rocked my world. (I walked away without saying a word. See Alison adult, then feel smug about it.)

I think he was just teasing me. Especially since I insisted he watch some Stevie Nicks interviews with me on YouTube yesterday, (to get a different perspective.) I’ll ask later because now it’s going to bother me. I’m still pretty timid about assuming what I interpret is in the same universe as that of others. (For good reason.)

I’m astonished how little anxiety I’ve experienced this week. My ears are a bit raw from wearing uncomfortable headphones for hours. I’ll be ecstatic when wireless headphones improve. At least enough to completely replace wired cans for music. They’re podcast ready at this point IMHO.

I’m researching a new pair of critical listening over-ear headphones. It’s probably a good thing Evanescence doesn’t release albums too often, as this happened last time. The mastering is superb in Synthesis. I haven’t watched the making of videos yet, but when I do, I’ll be hoping to see which headphones they used, (then praying I can afford them.)

I’ll never own a pair of Beats. That’s my precise level of an audiophile. Heh.

Dear Pharell Williams, please (all over) design some Audio Technica Limited Edition ATH-MX50’s with built-in Bluetooth 4.2, Amp/DAC, memory foam/breathable pads, and a dope hard case. Love, me. I’d pay $499 (with minimal whining.) Please. 🙃

I’m reading Oathbringer, presently. It’s an uber-epic novel in a series within the Cosmere (universe.) It’s going to take me a while to finish my first read, and I’ll re-read it several times. It’s part of my journey. Brandon Sanderson earned a lot of influence in my life. (Right up there with Stevie Nicks, and just as gently.)

I had a shower cry over Al Franken’s outing as a predator. He came from Hollywood, which made it less shocking. But it still hurts a lot.

Dear predators, predatory behavior makes loving you painful at best. Please grow forward. Love, Evolved humanity.

My inner 5-year-old just called me a hippie and suggested I move to California, so I’m off to beat my drums.

“She’s like an expensive car with one of those motion-sensor force field alarms.”

I’m still struggling to entirely free myself from the grip of the Depression Monster.  I’m doing better, thanks to our Stevie Nicks party.  When I think about what she’s taught me, it helps free me from my inner asshole.  I quit beating myself up for having depression and focus on forcing it back into remission.

I watched an interview on YouTube in which Stevie Nicks was royally pissed off.  I had to view it a few times to recognize she was angry, (this is one of my known bugs.)  When it clicked, I realized she gets pissed precisely the way I do.  We both talk a whole lot of shit to cover up how powerless and hurt we’re feeling.

I’m kinda glad there’s someone else on this planet who reacts this way besides me.  When I reach that point, I’m incredibly compelled to throw out unbelievable threats against whoever has me riled.  I know as it’s coming out of my mouth how ridiculous it sounds.  I just need to say it anyway.

As I age, I’ve improved slightly.  It’s been decades since I’ve threatened to hit someone with the Empire State Building.  It’s symbolic of my rage, not literal, (although, if I could, I might need a timeout to prevent it.)  To me, I’m merely stating exactly how pissed off I am.  Others usually choose to find it amusing, (which only makes me want to replace the Empire State Building with the moon.)

Before I acquired this um… Skill…  My only way of expressing rage was crying.  This is better.  Just so you know, the best way to react to someone losing it like this is to remain silent and avoid eye contact.  Perhaps no sudden movements, too.  Please, don’t laugh, it just makes it worse.

 

NVIDIA Titan Xp Star Wars Collector’s Edition

Tomorrow morning at 7AM PST, the pre-ordering begins.  Of course, there’s a dark side version as well.  It’s red instead of green.  I was in the process of researching my new gaming build, when this popped up and said, “Strong with the force, I am.”  Gamer’s who also prefer their machine to look like a brilliant, (damn near garish) alien artifact:  May the force be with you.  Always. 💜

I’m getting ready to watch comedians on Netflix.  Laughing until my face hurts is my way of going nuclear against the Depression Monster.  I keep it in reserve for this use.  I’m not pulling out my secret weapon just yet:  Wanda Sykes.  I do need to start watching Conan again, though.  He’s like America’s Prozac.  I love him.  Okay, I’m off to laugh like there’s a prize.

“I’ll tell you what your problem is: You brought your queen out too fast.”

I had fun hanging out with M. and throwing a Stevie Nicks party this afternoon.  We’re going to watch Stevie Nicks Live in Red Rocks, next.  M. has decided he’s also a fan.  I almost said, “Performing music is totally how she got all her fans,” but I caught myself.  Whew!

I even wrote a poem.  M. wrote one too.  He won’t let me share it, though.  (It’s excellent!)  Mine is far less impressive and perhaps a bit heavy on the Negative Nancy.  Saw that coming, did you?  Heh.  Ah, well.  Here it is: