“Oh yeah, the nipple. But besides that, how did you feel about Kramer’s work?”

Laughing

I finished building my workstation computer last night.  I had to remove the enormous Cooler Master MA610P RGB CPU Air Cooler, and it’s going back to Amazon, along with the non-working cable extenders, and the extra Cryorig H7 ordered accidentally, (a $10 return shipping fee.)  I think it’s the last PC tower I’ll be building, even though I probably said this last time.  Heh.

It’s incredibly fast, so I’m pleased with the outcome.  I’m most impressed with the G.SKILL TridentZ RGB Series RAM.  It looks fabulous with its cycling rainbow LED lights.  I wish motherboard producers would stop putting their drivers on a DVD, though.  It’s time to use stick drives as Microsoft does with Windows, (at least the LAN driver.)  I haven’t built a tower with a DVD drive in ages.  Software distribution by downloading is nearly universal.  I can’t think of an exception.

inside new build

I’m heading out of town soon.  The Depression Monster still has me in a headlock.  I don’t want to do anything.  Everything takes so much effort and makes me want to cry.  I guess it’s a good thing I forget about this shit once I’m feeling better.  The downside is how surprised I am each time I experience an episode.  I hate having to give myself a pep talk just to get up and go to the bathroom.  Fortunately, Amelia Bedelia is a sweetheart, and she follows me everywhere as if she’s lending me some strength.

My appetite has fled.  I forced myself to practice my drums yesterday.  I’m also almost finished rereading Oathbringer by Brandon Sanderson.  I’m awed by its depth of understanding regarding PTSD.  It’s helping me in a manner I thought could be achieved through therapy, but unfortunately, I’ve never had a therapist who could see beyond my skin.  I regret how long it’s taken me to recognize it’s a dead end.  (I’ve met a few who saw me as human, but they weren’t available to treat me.)  Thank goodness for the incredible novels I’ve found, (Harry Potter series and the Cosmere stories.)

I listened to the latest episode of Gettin’ Grown with Jade and Keia on Tuesday.  They talked about how women of color are at a higher risk of certain diseases and conditions, and the necessity of maintaining checkups and preventative care.  They both admitted to neglecting to keep up their appointments and committed to scheduling them before the next episode.  I thought about doing the same, but then I recalled my predicament.  Subjecting myself to the treatment I’ve received at the Sioux Falls VA is sadistic.

I still liked listening to the podcast, though.  It’s something I look forward to each week.  I’m more interested in enjoying however much time I have left than potentially prolonging my life by enduring hateful people.  As much as I’d like to forget my experiences there, I’m grateful I remember because it prevents me from going back.  I could do without the nightmares, though.  The CBD oil has allowed me to sleep for at least four hours a night since I started taking it.  I only take a few drops before laying down (because it tastes horrible.)

I’m going back to Azeroth (World of Warcraft) to force The Depression Monster back into hiding.  Flying around and looking at the scenery while listening to my healing sisters (Stevie Nicks, Agnetha Fältskog, Lorde, Amy Lee, Beyoncé, and Sheryl Crow on my ultimate playlist) will help me shake free of this lingering melancholy.  Then I’ll follow it up with some comedians on Netflix and a lavender bath bomb before finishing my novel.  I’m feeling better just from typing this out.  Yay.

“Please take it home. We don’t want it near the other books.”

 

defeated

The Depression Monster ambushed me in my sleep.  I tried so hard to ignore him, but I couldn’t stop weeping against my will over shit that already happened.  It’s a lousy way to wake up.  I don’t recommend it.  In the hour it took me to awaken fully, he beat me up with logic.  I hate that.  I can’t argue with logic.  He has new weapons that initially shocked me, then left me reeling with their truth.

Now I’m just pissed off the American government doesn’t promote euthanasia.  I don’t understand why I haven’t seen a single commercial offering a safe and simple way to put ourselves down like pets.  It should cost $19.95, and available at convenience stores open 24/7.  I’ve been producing this commercial in my head, (mostly because it’s far less dark than other thoughts running through my mind, and it amuses me.)

I’m going to cut this short because I know it’s too honest.  I know in a few days my brain chemistry will likely return to homeostasis, and this will all seem ridic.  Even though right now I’m confident this is entirely reasonable, and therefore my usual mindset is mere self-deception.  I also know I’ll still be upset I can’t buy a PermaNap kit for $19.95.  I’m off to design the packaging with Photoshop and my ninja coping skills.

 

“What’s that red dot on your sweater?”

Wild tulips, red and yellow.

The Depression Monster broke through my barricades again.  I know I’ve mentioned a few times my imagination is an asshole.  I’m mostly amused by it because I’m in control of whether my imagination leaks out of my head or not.  The Depression Monster is a sinister asshole.  He doesn’t bother with leaking.  He’s an ace strategist.  It’s like having Hannibal in my head, (half Barca, half Lecter.)  He poisons the well with mind-altering drugs, then attacks.

We’re all walking chemical reactions.  When the balance is disturbed, it changes how our minds perceive the world.  What looks red when in balance suddenly becomes yellow.  Your eyes see yellow.  You can’t remember what red looks like because it’s so damn yellow.  You’d bet your life it’s yellow.  But everyone else knows it’s red.  And they get angry at you for believing it’s yellow because it makes them uncomfortable.  So they treat you like you’re lying about seeing yellow.

So you swear you won’t tell anyone about the yellow.  You take your tainted yellow and get the hell away from all the red seeing mean people.  They think it’s helpful to demean and berate you for seeing yellow.  They see you like a naughty pet who peed on the rug.  They’re annoyed because they’re sure you’re just a lying piece of shit who’s deliberately seeing yellow just to piss them off.   So they punish you for it.  They accuse you, yell at you, lie to you, and tease you.

They tell you they understand how much it sucks to see yellow when everyone else sees red.  The red seer’s claim to care about you and want to help you see red again.  Then these understanding red seer’s turn around and tell everyone else about your yellow problem.  Red seer’s you’ve never seen before start attacking you.  They love to taunt the yellow seer.  Kick the yellow seeing dog.  Whisper hateful comments when you get her alone, where nobody else will hear.

Some red seer’s get so excited about having a free dog to kick, they forget to sequester their kick fest and get caught by someone who thinks kicking dogs is cruel.   Unfortunately, it just makes them kick harder and sneakier ever after.  It just makes other red seer’s who were indifferent before become yellow seer haters.  So you swear so much harder never to tell anyone about the yellow.

Then the yellow disappears suddenly, and it’s red again.  Your eyes see red, and it’s a bit of a relief.  But you remember when it looked yellow, and how much it hurt to get kicked by so many for so long.  Then you start wondering if it’ll stay red, or will the yellow come back at the worst possible time.  You lose faith in your eyes.  They lied to you, and you suffered horribly for it.  You still have nightmares about the yellow seeing times.  But you know if you think about it too much it may happen again.

Yellow and red raspberries

So you think about anything else as hard as you can.  You realize you’re terrified of the yellow returning.  Before you know it, your entire life is for making sure the yellow never comes back.   You’ll do anything to prevent it.  Anything, (you think.)  Eventually, you realize what you fear is the red seer’s.  You can’t even drive near the red seer building anymore.  The sight of it signals Anxiety to come out and play.  Anxiety is The Depression Monster’s best friend.  They wear matching t-shirts that say Stronger Together.  Assholes.

So you stay away;  unless Pain tries to kill you.  Then you wait until it hurts so much, you start begging Pain to kill you.  You go to the back door in the middle of the night and ask politely for relief, like a junky looking for any fix to get that Pain off your back.  Sometimes you get some, but usually, you waited too long, so you go home and hate yourself for risking another round in hell over something as silly as Pain.  You call yourself all sorts of names for not sucking it up and driving on.  It’s just Pain.  It’s only a signal!  So you unleash all the hurt and rage on yourself.

Eventually, you decide it doesn’t matter if you see yellow when everyone else sees red, so long as you stay away from the red seers.  They’re freaking everywhere.  It’s not safe to be around anyone when yellow shows up.  It’s a personal problem.  Nobody believes you see yellow.  They’ll try to trick you into telling them, but don’t fall for it.  The punishments get worse over time.  The worse part is, some red seer’s don’t kick.  You know better than to trust it, so it messes with you.  You suspect it just hasn’t happened yet.

But I won’t subject myself to being kicked when I’m down.  It just makes suicide far more appealing and logical.  Which I’m pretty sure is the desired result.  I can’t think of a more efficient manner in helping it along.  But then I see the ones who don’t get kicked.  I recognize why they’re different and it sickens me.  S’up, Nausea?  Glad you joined us!  We were just getting ready to stare at the wall for six hours.  Again.  Yay.

“I almost had my own show in Japan.”

Content warning:  suicidal ideation.

Message in a bottle.

I have a confession.  Every time I read or hear about humans behaving abominably toward other humans, I think about suicide.  Last year, I thought about it almost nonstop.  It was distracting, annoying, and a little scary.

I think I’m supposed to feel ashamed of this, but I don’t.  It just is.  I’m capable of being as cold as space and utterly indifferent.  I trained myself to reject those feelings.  Now it’s habitual.

I could change this internal thought process by forming a new habit, but I choose not to do so.  I don’t want to live as an unfeeling, unattached, and unaffected entity.  We have computers for that.

This is one of the few instances where I regret being too intense.  That’s not quite what I mean…  (I was going to say unbalanced, but it failed the rudeness test ((and made me giggle.)))

Sometimes I wish I could attach an attenuator to my brain.  I’ve thought too many steps ahead, and now I’m more interested in pursuing the new thread.  This is precisely why I’m such an airhead.  I do this constantly.

I can’t complain about being an airhead because it’s the most potent tool in my survival kit.  If I couldn’t distract myself, I wouldn’t still be kicking it.  I’m just far too good at it.  It makes it difficult to communicate with others.

I’ve always journaled since a child.  It’s how I talked to my mom about things more complicated than nodding and head shaking could dispatch.  I began using a typewriter when I was six because writing longhand is (still) difficult for me.

When I don’t blog I go silent.  It’s usually not immediate, but when I don’t have my computer to help me express my thoughts, I gradually stop sharing them because it takes too much effort to mostly fail at saying what I mean.

The longer it goes on, the harder it is to start talking again.  Deep down I’m always terrified I’ll lose the ability to speak permanently.  It’s kinda twisted how the more I fear, the longer it takes to reclaim the skill.   I have to convince myself to stop being afraid of that scenario before my voice returns.  (It’s rocket science when you’re exasperated.)

When I let go of the world outside my head, it’s dangerous for my lifespan.  I overanalyze to death, literally.  It’s not logical for me to exist, and I’m a surprisingly good extemporaneous speaker.  (Even when it’s just in my head.)  It wouldn’t take long to recognize I’m insignificant in any mid to large sized picture.  Then weigh it against the price I pay to participate, and conclude it’s not worth it.

(Fortunately?)  I discovered I have a new tool in my arsenal.  It’s a song by Evanescence called, Imperfection.  When Amy Lee sings, don’t you dare surrender, she sings it like she means it.  She put feeling in it like Beyoncè.

Now, when I remember 45 is still faking it, that sound byte plays in my mind.  It’s an incredibly powerful rebuke.  Startling, even.  I’m a little bit freaked out by how well it works.  But more pleased to have a new empowering tool.  Music is powerful.  (Use it responsibly.)

secret door

Oh shit, you were probably expecting a point.  It’s this:  Feeling all the feels takes incredible strength and courage because it’s not always fun or even tolerable.  Lying and pretending you don’t feel things intensely is weak sauce.

We all have survival strategies we use to function in society.  I’m just confessing my own in case someone thinks they’re the only one who has similar experiences internally.  I have a tough time trusting people (over age 21) who have never contemplated suicide.  (They smell too much like a liar.)  I’m off to beat my drums with sticks.

“Elaine, do you think I would go willy-nilly into a situation so obviously fraught with potential complications?”

The Depression Monster is sitting on my head.  I’m ignoring him out of spite.  It makes me feel powerful (because I’m winning.)  Unfortunately, I’m still moving slowly and taking (really) long pauses to overthink.  It’s messing up my schedule.  I also got an invoice from the legal office negotiating the partnership at work.  I cried a little (because it’s fair despite feeling like robbery.)

I was raised by Great Depression-era parents in the 80’s.  (Everything about money makes me anxious.)  It’s irrational because they also taught me to be generous which means I’ll likely never suffer from lack of resources to survive.  I’m still fascinated by how well it works.  All the religions I know of teach it.  Giving things to other people is painless for me, but it’s been tainted by suggestions I’ve been taken advantage of a few times by relatives.

I’ve learned being used is bearable.  It can change the dynamics of a relationship, though.  So there is sometimes loss involved, but it’s subtle.   Some political news penetrated my defenses and set off this round, I’m guessing.  I really hate having to shield myself from reality in any way.  It makes me feel like a child.  I do it anyway because it’s necessary for me to survive.

I’m stronger now that I know about Stevie Nicks.  She’s a wise guide who is open, honest, and hella famous.  It’s as if she knew all along part of her journey was to help others.  When you study her interviews, it’s clear even from when she first became famous, she’s cognizant of her influence.  She probably knew she would be famous long before it happened.  I’m guessing her mom talked to her at some point about this aspect of fame.  It’s entirely something my mom would have done.

My anti-depression toolkit is super useful, now.  I’ve been teaching M. how to have fun.  He thought playing is just for children.  Now he knows play evolves as we age, but should never be forsaken.  He’s making his first game for IOS.  He’s also coloring on a daily basis.  It’s breaking his addiction to TV, (which is good because I canceled all channels except Netflix and Amazon Prime Video.)

I watched the first episode of Atypical.  I recognize I’m not its target audience.  It’s a show for neurotypical people to better understand autistics.  Therefore, it’s speaking in their language.  I still enjoyed it.  I’m pleased the show exists.  When they use FX to demonstrate how it feels to be the autistic main character, it’s jarring and nearly unbearable to me.  I walked away and came back when that part was over.  I recognize the actors playing the parents, but everyone else is new to me.

My immediate thought was to wonder why the hell the lead actor wasn’t masking.  It’s uncomfortable to watch.  It feels like watching someone walk on a highwire with no net to me.  I cringe when I see him actually say or do the things I spend a lot of energy suppressing.  But again, it’s because the show is not only for entertainment, but it’s teaching.   Also, masking is a skill, and trial and error are how it’s acquired.  (It’s a cruel, mean school.)  He’s young and just discovering how masking can make life less painful.

We age and develop at different rates, and grow based on different experiences.  There will always be a broad spectrum of traits and behaviors associated with autism.  When I was in high school, I didn’t mask well and my energy and time management skills were non-existent.  The difference between then and now is shocking to non-autists.  This is why no one should put limits on our potential.  Especially not where we can come across or overhear them.  (That’s abuse.)  I’m off to beat my drums.