“He’s even curtailed his auto-erotic activities.”

Woman reading the news and shouting, "That baby was mowing the damn lawn!"

I need to stop reading the news.  It’s killing me.  I don’t know how I slid back into my old habit of perusing and cross-checking multiple sources online a few times a day.  It doesn’t matter.  I need to refrain entirely for a while.  I looked at my face in the mirror today.  I’m not very visually oriented, probably because my vision sucks.  I usually glance without seeing, but today, I saw.

I look like I haven’t slept in a few days.  I’m dehydrated, nauseated, and depressed.  I’m also excited about upcoming concerts, hella resilient, and an expert at functioning despite discomfort and despair.  I sometimes wish I could find solace in sleep at these times, but it’s no friend of mine.  Instead, I must push myself to engage in specific activities until the issue resolves.  Fortunately, I’ve had lots of practice.

It used to frighten me whenever I felt this way.  I resent how long it took me to overcome the fear.  Now, it annoys me at most.  I’m usually reasonably good at training my brain to do what I want, but sometimes, I need lots of repetition before it clicks.  Fighting off depression is one of those times.  It took a long time to train myself never to presume humanity in others.  It was painful to learn, but not nearly as much as not knowing better.

I forced myself to practice my drums earlier.  I love to play, but when I’m depressed, it’s incredibly difficult to make myself do it.  I had fun, just as I knew I would.  There’s a new mix of Solo by Clean Bandit, ft. Demi Lovato.  I hated it the first time I heard it, but when I accidentally played it again, I discovered I love it.  I also enjoyed drumming to Ghost by Jaden Smith.  depression

I’m rehydrating so that I can hit the treadmill later.  Running in place is remarkably helpful when I’m so low.  I used to be able to throw a pity party and wallow a bit before I fought my way out from under a mountain of despair.  Eventually, I reached a point where I recognized feeling sorry for myself is also hysterically funny, which ruined it.  Heh.  (Pretending Wanda Sykes and Jerry Seinfeld were riffing off my negative thoughts did the trick.)

Now I work it out as quickly as possible and get back to my life.  I slept beneath my weighted blanket last night.  It felt like cold water and central air after crossing a desert.  M is out of town with his cousins, geeking out over the world cup.  They were astonished I can’t name a single team and wasn’t confident which sport.  I told them I enjoy watching sports exactly as much as they enjoy listening to me talk about AI.  I’m a wee bit embarrassed to report they grokked that immediately.  😂  (Noted.)

It was hot yesterday; my pink Puma’s melted.  I thought I stepped in some gum or something.  Then I realized the soles of my shoes were sticking to the concrete and melting off.  They were old enough the white treads were turning a bit yellow, but damn.  So I threw them away and ordered a new pair.  (I have a one out, one in policy with most things now.)  New shoes are almost as mighty against depression as viewing I’ma Be Me by Wanda Sykes.  🙃 💜

 

Puma sneakers

“Death is number two!”

garbage or junk food

A letter to future me:  Please read this whenever you think perhaps you can get away with it just this one time.  You cannot. You cannot get away with it.  You’ve forgotten the consequences because it’s been so long since you last attempted this foolishness.  Stop it right now.  Read the whine-fest below, and remember where it leads.  Dammit.

I’m a strong woman.  Sometimes I make poor decisions and regret them later.  Apparently, I’m also a bit of a sadist, because I’ve made this particular error repeatedly.  I know better.  I guess I forgot I’m autistic and have PTSD or something.  Oops.  Tut tut.  There are rules.  I can’t eat garbage without paying a hefty price. It’s due to consequences that usually take at least a week to resolve entirely, and sometimes far longer.

The universe is laughing at me.  (Not the fun kind you can join.)  I put the wrong fuel in my body, and now it’s acting up.  I need a priorities intervention, stat.  I get tempted by junk food every so often, and instead of analyzing why, I give in and indulge.  I need that data because the results are once again kicking my ass.  (Perhaps some mild public shaming will finally put an end to this folly.)

It hit me just before 7 AM.  I awoke later than usual with no desire to get out of bed.  Just the idea of rising made me whimper inside; a red flag because I’m not big on sleep.  Unless I’m unwell, I’m ready to get up when I wake up.  Then, The Depression Monster showed up.  That bastard went straight to a commentary about politics designed to raise my blood pressure.

My mood did a backflip over the cliff, while simultaneously flipping both birds at half mast.  It happened so quickly I was stunned.  It probably worked in my favor by causing me to question what the hell just happened.  I realized The Depression Monster was involved and slammed on the brakes.  Then I figured out why and launched directly into beating myself about the head and neck for doing this to myself again.  Sigh.

garbage

I didn’t manage to shower and dress until 4 PM.  I didn’t spend that time in bed, though.  I spent it pacing around my apartment while debating with myself silently.  Some of that time was spent experiencing awe over how long I’d been doing it.  I tried so hard to stop.  I even wrote out the one step I was trying to take on my whiteboard, (then passed it over and over without it registering for a long, long time.)  It said, Get in the shower.

These are hours of my life I can never get back, (and this is day one.)  All because I had to eat some freaking garbage.  It’s not worth it.  Memorize this, Alison.  You’re in training for menopause, and it could start anytime in the next decade.  Get your shit together, or it’ll end you.  Dammit.

“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.