“I’ve driven women to lesbianism before, but never to a mental institution.”

kittens wrapped in a blanket

I’ve draped myself in the comforting blanket of music, of late.  It’s gently healing the many wounds I’ve acquired on my journey so far.  In this pleasant space, I’m building a better survival strategy for when The New and Improved Depression Monster (TNAIDM) ambushes me in the future.  I’ve acknowledged how it affects me; out damn pride.  First to go is my wit.  I cannot rely on my keen mind when stapled to the floor.

woman listening to music

I don’t know how TNAIDM steals my intellect and rationality, but the evidence is overwhelming.  I must plan accordingly.  My inner gamer sees this as a challenge.  There are no walk-through videos to study on YouTube.  No strategy guides on message boards.  Only me, my presently uncompromised wit, and my shelter of music.  Challenge accepted.  Victory awaits.

Today, this blanket consists solely of music by Sheryl Crow.  As I listen and sing along, the lyrics reach me.  My strength and resolve rebuild.  My focus broadens, and my sorrows fade.  I remember who I am and embrace the biggest picture I’m able to perceive.  I’m stardust floating through space.  Soon, my minute of life will end, and what remains will drift on with the expansion of the universe.

All my pain is insignificant from this perspective.  I can breathe.  I can even laugh over the concerns that leveled me yesterday.  They fail to weigh me down when I zoom out and allow myself to float.  Snapshot.  Save.  Remember.  💜

 

“Will you calm down? I took all my blood to Newman’s.”

Me so happy

I probably shouldn’t be blogging right now.  My mind is threatening a meltdown.  The upcoming concerts I’m anticipating are wreaking havoc on my ability to remain calm.  My thoughts are running at warp speed, so there’s little chance I’ll stay on topic today.  If glimpsing someone else’s mindmap in raw form disturbs you, this is your signal to bail.  You’re welcome.  🙃

I wish people would add links to their blog on their WordPress profiles.  I can’t believe I’m going to be in the same space as Beyoncè and Jay Z.  Damn.  My hands are shaking again.  What the hell?  I can sense my mom’s spirit scolding me for being a fangirl.  (It still stings.)  I used to get in trouble for loving people too eagerly.  Is it weird I so rarely relate to others on a physical level?  Survey says, duh.  (+10 for consistency.)

If there were an awards ceremony for being weird, I’d be getting lifetime achievement props (while grinning at the wrong camera via satellite.)  Dammit.  😁  Be good at whatever you do.  My dad told me that when I was bawling because the neighbor kids told me I don’t play right.  After that, I took pride in how well I organized all the Barbie accessories; (/acceptance speech).

OMG, it's almost time!

I heard a cutoff bit of commercial by Autism $peaks yesterday.  I equate the organization to a bumper sticker that reads; Your kids’ autism paid for my kids’ education, rehab, and bail! Sigh.  People are very human.  Regardless of how holier than thou, we believe ourselves to be, we still opt to be naughty whenever the opportunity presents.  Most of us merely restrict our behaviors to that which we’re confident we can commit without consequence or shame.  (It’s just that some don’t seem to feel shame at all.)

The naughty gene is universally present in warmbloods, it seems.  At least those I’ve managed to observe.  We despise this in others despite possessing it ourselves.  Human and hypocrite are synonyms.  Society determines the threshold of tolerance in all instances.  We reset every time we awaken.  No wonder it’s so arduous for me to see people. They continuously change before my eyes.  I haven’t trusted vision since I was 11.

A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin continues to dominate my reading time.  I purchased the first seven seasons of the HBO series recently, and I’m reading and watching daily.  When the series strayed from the novels, I got out of sync, and am now much further ahead with the books than the series.  Reading is much more intense for me.  Yay.  I learned how to marvel at the FX when things get all stabby, instead of getting triggered.  (I’m pretty sure I long-blinked through the beheading scenes, though.)

Those with no shields experience joy more easily.

There’s an underlying theme to the characters resembling a priest who broke faith before ever taking vows.  Reading of the human condition in such varied and well-developed imaginings tickle me all the way through.  George R. R. Martin sees people very well.  My mom’s spirit is already scolding me for fangirling over it.  I want to scream; it’s impossible not to love people when you honestly see them!  Hello!  And on top of everything, Fleetwood Mac is coming to Sioux Falls!  Those seven words are playing on a non-stop loop in my head in Stevie Nicks’ voice.  Yes. There’s a dance to go with it.  💜  I’m off to beat my drums with sticks.  ✌🏽

 

“Happy, Pappy?”

Happy

I’m floating on anticipatory joy.  Soon, I’ll be attending a Fleetwood Mac concert.  It will be at least a few months after going to see Beyoncé in August.  (!!!)  I don’t know when or where exactly as the show is a gift from M.  I can barely contain my excitement.  It’s intended for my birthday next month, but he knew it was too big to keep completely secret.

M understands my preference for mental preparation.  And my need to jump up and down whenever I remember what’s coming up.  (No wonder I love him.)  I feel like I just finished a 200-meter dash.  I had to let the cable person in my home office earlier to upgrade my internet.  They’re gone now, but my body hasn’t caught up.

This room is my happy place in the universe, so I hate feeling anxious in here.  At least I’m recovering more quickly than Amelia Bedelia.  She’s still hiding in her fort atop her climbing tree.  She probably won’t come out for another hour or so, then reluctantly forgive me for allowing a stranger in her space.

The Depression Monster is pouting in the corner.  Heh.  (Stay there, asshole.)  Wakanda Forever!  I watched Black Panther in Playstation VR yesterday.  The immersion was incredible.  I forgot I had a body until it was over.  I took a half-hour break in the middle, then resumed through the end.  That’s a new record for me with an action film.  (They usually require several short viewings.)

I’m going to do it again with The Color Purple next.  It’s a movie and novel that affected me so profoundly; it’s part of my journey.  I have fond memories of watching it often with several other women in the barracks while I was in the Army.  I discovered I’m not the only one who says the lines verbatim while it’s showing, (practically by compulsion.)  None of my Army buddies ever told me off for doing it, and many said them with me.

Whoopie Goldberg in The Color Purple

I remember when Whoopie Goldberg did standup comedy.  My sister Heather and I watched her specials on HBO religiously.  She was the first black woman we encountered that we could relate to as teens.  She showed us our isolation from other African Americans didn’t exclude us from the experience (or the jokes.)  We were right there with her all the way, laughing uproariously.

Robin Williams, George Carlin, and Eddie Murphy also left us quivering in puddles of giggles on the floor.  Good times.  Remembering has calmed my anxiety.  Yay.  I’m off to practice with my band.  Hopefully without grinning like I just won the lottery.  I need to find my war face or something.  Squee!  I mean, huah!  💜

“No, it always has to be explained to me, and then I have to have someone explain the explanation.”

Off Switch

I accomplished a great deal yesterday. Today, I’ve barely managed to pull off the mandatory tasks. I squeaked by with incredible effort. I can’t believe it’s early evening. I feel it should be around 2 PM at the latest. So much for my plan to turn in early tonight.

My off switch has never worked properly. Once I’m engaged in a task, it’s difficult to stop. I’d like to believe I have a bit of control over it, despite evidence to the contrary. I haven’t definitively determined what triggers it to become worse. Not even close. I have two hypotheses; both discouraging. Sigh.

I love being completely absorbed in what I’m doing. It’s like stepping out of time, letting go of everything, including my body, and focusing only on what I’m doing. Leaving that state makes me want to weep. But I’ve accepted I must, often. Not doing so often enough is the equivalent of living under a rock.

I’ve learned it’s not the way I want to exist, much as I love it. It murders my ability to socialize, for starters. (I’m always going to regret not finding out about Stevie Nicks sooner.) There are excellent reasons to check in with the rest of the world on a regular basis, and I’m absolutely interested.

The thing is, acknowledging the world outside my head is borderline sadistic. There’s a shitload of pain out here, and I’m unshielded. I don’t have the experience in coping necessary to navigate without rivers of tears; so I tend to retreat when I sense I’m failing and have no clue what I’m doing wrong. (I despise that feeling.)

My decision to attend a Fleetwood Mac or Stevie Nicks concert in the future is turning out to be an effective retreat deterrent. (At least when it’s voluntary.) I need to stay connected, so I’ll know when they go on tour. I already had the terrible, awful nightmare where I discover I missed out because I was too distracted to get tickets. I woke up and immediately began bawling like it really happened. I’m such a doof. Heh. But it was horrible!

I’m going to work out a new time management strategy. I keep adding new things, but there are still only 24 hours in a day. My bad. This is my reward for bragging about my math skills, eh? The universe is hilarious (sometimes.) I’m off to read.

“It was more like a full-bodied dry heave set to music.”

For the music

I’m sad about the passing of author, Ursula LeGuin, yesterday.  Today is Virginia Woolf’s 136th birthday.  I decided to spend the day listening to Lorde.  I’m not done yet, but it’s been a soothing day so far.  She’s one of my healing sisters, along with Stevie Nicks, Beyoncè, Amy Lee, Sheryl Crow, Agnetha Faltskog, and Aretha Franklin.

They’re who caught me up through their music when I was (barely) enduring a period of devastation.  Losing my parents and closest siblings, divorce, surviving rape, etc.  All leveled me.  I can’t really wrap my head around the concept of such powerful bonds with people I’ve never met.  It’s too abstract.  (Much easier to just cherish it and enjoy the music.)

I’ve come to an important decision.  The next time Stevie Nicks or Fleetwood Mac tour, I’m going to go.  I’ve imagined it and tallied up the known consequences as well as potential unfortunate situations.  If they all happen, it’ll still be worth it.  (If nobody shoots me,) it’ll be an incredible experience.  (That’s the only thing I can think of at the moment that would utterly ruin it.)

I’m not going to let autism or PTSD rob me of this experience.  (Because hell no.)  I already know it’s not possible to die from being too happy.  So it’s all good.  Whatever I have to pay afterward (stapled to the floor) will be worth it.  Depending on when, I’ll either be going with M. or his sister, S.  Hopefully both.

I have noise canceling headphones to wear when the band isn’t playing.  Also, dark tinted glasses if it’s an outdoor show, or they flash bright lights at the audience.  I have lots of pocket-sized fidgets and anxiety focus figures.  Mini Tina (From Bob’s Burgers) is my favorite.

Tina

She’s only 2″ tall.  I also have a 24-Karat-Gold:  Songs from the Vault keychain from the Stevie Nicks website.  I love how it feels to hold, and it’s always cool.  I used to have a tiny Garnet from Steven Universe, but I lost it.   (I love cartoons.)  Now I want to watch Hey Arnold!, or Rocket Power.  Heh.  I’m off to read.