Day 5. Still hiding out from the Jehovah Witness. Curtains drawn, lights off, stealth chores going on. Outside is snow and nasty cold. Weather hasn't deterred them in the past. I made the mistake of inviting them back when they showed up in my driveway right behind me last week. I was actually glad to see real people that day because my depression was so bad, but politely declined assistance getting my shopping in. We talked for awhile, and I was fine with it and even said we could talk again sometime. When they jumped on what day next week would be good, I auto deflected with we don't have a set schedule around here. I don't invite people into my house. This is my sanctuary, my escape, my cave. This isn't a hang out for people outside my family. I grew up with my dad pulling people into the house to 'talk bible' and it would last for hours, and he even had me cooking meals so he could keep them there. He loves talking bible, and can out talk anyone, yes, including Jehovah Witness. I know for a fact that they eventually realize they are trapped and work on ways to escape. I am like my dad. I am saving them from exhaustive entrapment. I am saving us all from a not so cute cat and mouse head game. I am like my dad. I like to win...
pic clicks to wiki page
make of it what you will the USS Illuminati (NCC-60309) in ST Expanded Universe is a little over the top, I think all the good stuff is in the interactive gaming the rest flies under audience radar
So the stuff I brought up in the last post, right. It hit me later, I remembered having seen someone on facebook freaking out about finding out their kid's photo was being sold on the internet for a weirdly high price and they couldn't figure out why in the world, right. Well... maybe the cloning is a real thing. Maybe human trafficking isn't against the law when you use tissue samples from birthing and whatever (*cough*abortions*cough*) to clone cute little kiddies and people can pick them out of catalogs. Just saying. None of that is new. This is old stuff. You guys only know about it accidentally because of social media shares and internet surfs.
Those of us on the topside still have some semblance of human rights. I'm about to tell you exactly what I think since I've been so cryptic all through Pinky blog. Well, it still looks cryptic, but this is how it boils down.
Whatever comes, two things.
Your mind in the moment is yours. Even if you are brainwashed, there are times you are a lucid self, and that person is who owns those moments. No one else owns your love and kindness. You create that, in any situation. No one is ever brain broken and retrained to be sweet and kind. If you want to own yourself, be sweet and kind in your lucid 'now' moments.
We are all slaves. We always have been. We are continually used like noobs and taken advantage of with the whole freedom idea, and human dignity is a gift we give each other daily, not something someone owes us. We are the ones who give each other dignity.
Nothing else in this world holds any promises. Pinky blog assumes we are all already screwed. I am teaching you how to go forward and survive.
You don't have to believe in whatever god people hold over you or that extraterrestrials exist or that governments actually don't care about people as much as they do infrastructure, and you certainly don't have to believe me hinting at anything, but somewhere in your mind, heart, and soul there is a real person, and you easily forget to notice that we are all real people caught in a big mess. Where did the mess start? That's debatable. Did someone engineer this mess? That's food for thought. Is this mess necessary? From certain points of view, it might be. But underneath all that mess is you are real. Whether a genuine God is real is between you and God and no one else's place to manipulate you with. Some people do care, but don't realize they themselves come from a very brain trained institutionalized process that uses God to create and enhance emotional dysfunction and pressured compliance. That is not a loving God. Learn to tell the difference.
Never forget that you are real. Even if everything falls apart, or if your world is already broken, you are real. YOU are what is important. Your moments. The gifts you quietly give others. You own that.
Out of currently 1087 published posts, I have 150 with the word 'alone' in them. I tried to search for 'alone in the house', 'alone all day', and other alone phrases, but that's a lot of grind work for a blog this big. In case you want to search for anything in this blog, there is a "Search This Blog" bar in the right side column just beneath the featured post.
I used to love being alone. Many days I have craved alone time when I'm with other people. I didn't tell anyone for a long time, though, that sometimes I have days where I'm afraid to be alone. With myself. With Myself.
When I was still a young kid, I felt Me. It felt weird to feel Me. Sometimes on those days I would be very aware that I was a walking skeleton, or would sometimes feel like a doll I was moving around. I know nowadays that is called dissociation. To some degree it's very normal to click into an objective perspective and 'see' things from a different point of view. To do it constantly and feel stuck that way, like you can't get back 'in', isn't normal. I did that a lot as a kid.
When I dissociate on a bad day because extreme fatigue or pain spike or sometimes other things causing brain chemical changes (I'm hyper reactive to meds, for example), I lose being able to control how I present. I do and say things that seem confusing. For about an hour yesterday I felt like a box full of fireworks that started going off all at once, and I was experiencing all the emotions almost simultaneously or back to back without any coherent thread of why. There was no logical cause. I couldn't tell what was happening until I started writing, and pretty quickly, I think in about 10-15 minutes, I realized I had spiked into the nether regions of depression. My psychiatrist would like a harder diagnosis that I suspect would result in manic depression and possibly more, but since my psychologist monitors me and I don't seem to consistently go into the more hardcore 'manic' list of symptoms, the debate is left hanging without further testing. Yesterday, though, I definitely dissociated and once I realized it was happening, I was able to pull myself into focusing moment to moment. I did ok, made it through the rest of the day without incident, handled everything ok, made it to bedtime without any problems, at least on the outside.
I've mentioned my mom forcing me to learn to self monitor as a child through sometimes severe corporal punishment, which is now proven to be psychologically scarring and emotionally stunting. Because of that experience, though, I am much more objectively aware of myself than some people. (Not to be confused with the self UNaware state of autism spectrum, which is a social deficit/interaction problem.) I've met people who don't have a clue how to even see another point of view objectively at all, but mostly the people who can seem to be afraid of it. I ventured into objectivity at a young age and played with taboo in my head for many years, mostly as thought experiments that included every conceivable debate about God(s), right vs wrong, reality and realism, and much more. I can emotionally derail and catch myself fairly quickly with diversion, basically cutting the emotion part off. The part in between the derailing and the catching is spooky. People say I'm scary, and it's not because I'm violent so much as unpredictable, I think. I'd say the same thing about my dad because I got to see more of him growing up than my sibs, and I know his cognitive rigidity is his way of not derailing.
Personally, I know I can rely on myself to never cross certain lines, but dissociating is one of those things where you can't always see where the lines are. It's important to reach out and start dealing with real as soon as it starts happening. It's important to be honest and let people know I'm dealing. Trying to hide it never turns out well in the long run. For some people, it's a very short run because they commit suicide or start killing people, and I can tell you from the inside of that state of mind that there is no logic, no red flags, nothing stopping a dissociated person from living out a nightmare and never realizing what they're doing.
People don't like talking about this stuff. It's pretty common, because it's a reflexive survival tool the brain uses to get through something difficult, and some of us do it all the time without even realizing it. Some people cover it up with med, drug, or alcohol use, some people simply have a line of 'reasons' ready, some people just pretend it never happens, like don't talk about it and don't rock boats kind of thing, and then bringing it up is super awkward and makes things worse.
I am #aspienado and I don't want things to get worse. I am using #transparency and #honesty to talk about my stuff, and I keep using public social medias and a game server to keep my balance because it's hard for me to talk on phones and I don't have real life friends or family close by while @bonenado is at work.
I talk about being broken, and I say that we're all broken to some extent in some way or another, and I think 'kindness is logical' is a good belief to hang onto when all else fails me. I can stop immediately and ask myself- What am I doing right now? What do I want? How do I get what I want? Is what I'm doing to get what I want breaking anybody?
Breaking each other is a way of life in many religious and political systems. It's very effective. The better option, though, in my opinion, is kindess. It lasts longer. No matter how I am feeling in any moment, even when everything is black and stupid, I believe Kindness Is Logical.
Aaaaand someone beat me to that hashtag by just under 2 months, lol. That person is promoting 'love is hate' and sexism. Let's see if I can change that. I'm really tired of doublespeak.
Remember when I moved 197 files to a stick, deleted them off my laptop, dumped the trash, and then immediately accidentally wiped the stick? And then as I went back and started redownloading and collecting the files, the one I wanted most had been removed and was irreplaceable? plowing face on the dance floor the Question >=l
Of course I just let it go and didn't allow myself to keep obsessing about it, so I failed to notice it being snuck back onto youtube 6 months later. I can't believe a year and a half has gone by since that happened. Anyway, I nabbed it again and I feel better now.
I talk about my stuff here on Pinky blog, but I don't name names and I don't get too gross with details. Actually, as much as I yap on, I imagine some of you are getting tired of my dodging around not sharing more, because I leave out quite a lot. Why that vid struck an important note with me has to do with how very emotionally shut down I was as a child. I would have been capable of being the child in that vid if I'd had a proper handler/trainer. I was so caught off guard at how that twisted into an entirely different story, and it gut punched me like nothing had in a very long time.
I know a few people like me. We grew up the same way, we all hit the same weird existential walls, and most of us figured out why it's important to choose positive emotional connections over remaining in a shut down state. Those of us who learned to choose and act on our own wills are virtual power players among the people around us, subtly changing histories all around us 'simply' by being kind and gentle. It does seem simple, but it's an everyday grueling sort of thing that goes against our natures, and sometimes puts us at odds with people we love. But we choose to open our eyes, take the extra step onto a precarious balance, and reach out to others like us, others who are waking up and changing the world in ways never before imagined in human history.
That sounds lofty. I say it that way because we are living in an age that has never before happened in human history. We can all see each other now, all over the world, any time day or night. We can all whisper our secrets now, share our sadness, and talk about our dreams in a way the world never could even a hundred years ago. But so many are still caught in sticky webs, trapped in lies, hostage in their own families, doing what they have to do to survive.
We live on a planet where wars are fought with children, where children are rented and sold as sex toys, where children are beaten from very young ages for the most minor infractions by dysfunctional adults who were broken as children themselves. What we see on the top- schools, malls, churches- is just a cover over what we don't see underneath. Right now there are children in cages in every country on this planet, and we talk about someone rescuing a kitten in traffic. Right now there are children acting more grown up than everyone reading this because they've learned they have to hold it all in to survive being a rape toy. Right now there are children in training to be super soldiers, and yes, we are seeing this more and more in TV shows, and my opinion is that the more we see stuff fictionalized, the more calloused we get to reality. We fuss over filming details. We follow actors around.
There are very important things going on all around you every day in real life that you don't see, because you've been trained to stay asleep, keep your eyes shut. Open your eyes. Notice the person who is different and apart. Smile at them when they glance up to let them know you really saw them standing there. You don't have to do anything else. Just let them know you saw them. Let your presence on this earth touch people who are closed off because they have secrets you know nothing about. It doesn't matter what those secrets are. What matters most is that they feel like someone saw them, because they are part of us, and not something to ignore and hope goes away and never touches your life. If you knew the half of what already touches your life you'd throw up.
You can't fix anyone, and you most likely can't save them, and if you try to reach out without knowing what you're doing you might wind up in all kinds of mess. But you can plant seeds. A genuine hello via eyes and smile is a very human thing to do for someone who is hiding that they are having a very bad day and possibly a life you wouldn't survive yourself. They don't have to smile back. They might even look at you funny, or get upset. Just look away again and mind your own business, it's ok. The important thing was that you made an invisible connection, a tiny change that down the road might make a difference. We don't see how that happens, so we aren't rewarded for doing that, are we? We just have to trust that it works.
It worked for me. I remember every person who made a genuine invisible connection with me when I was my most closed off. Those teeny tiny connections added up to a great big thought forming in my mind, and that thought started changing the way I see and live. Sometimes the most fleeting glimpses into a kind stranger's soul can make a lot of difference.
In the meantime, that vid (movie short) I'm talking about is 20 minutes of deeply haunting story with all kinds of dangling questions, and you can read more about it here.
Don't worry, not going there. I don't put that stuff into my mouth any more. I'm just stuck on a word smash week where words ping around in my head and won't leave me alone. Like sternocleidomastoid. Why in the world that word popped into my head is beyond me. Those muscles aren't bothering me at all lately, which is a nice change. I really was bouncing philosophical stuffs around for awhile yesterday, though. I think my stomach butted in because I was too busy to notice I missed lunch.
I've had a few very interesting private convos this month, each were completely different subjects with completely different people, but they all had a common theme- I clearly didn't know what love even was growing up. I didn't question it, didn't expect it, didn't care about other people bringing it up, didn't feel sad about not feeling it, and almost never applied it to myself or anything going on around me. I did know, though, that I didn't feel it, even though I could feel protective or enjoy hanging out with my sister.
After I had a child, I spent a few years filtering through all the social pressures and expectations that becoming a parent opened my eyes to. By the time she was five I was eyeball deep in a relationship that would strip every last shred of innocence that my first marriage had somehow left tatters of still clinging around like old wallpaper. By the time my little girl was seven, I knew exactly what love was NOT, and wrote out 3 pages of gripping philosophical sadness that concluded humans discarding each other like used dryer sheets could only be cured by at least one person rising above the expectations for love and hope to become love and hope. While we wait for love to rescue our pitiful lives, love can never really happen and no one has hope, because waiting around for love to 'happen' cancels out what we think is supposed to be coming from someone else. If we are expecting it like that, we can't be it ourselves for someone else. But when we rise up and love anyway, hope becomes real for someone else. The one who does the rising up must do it not only without hope, but against all hope. As long as people discard each other like used dryer sheets, 'love' spreads like a virus, and we teach all the bad habits to new loves, and they in turn teach it to new loves, because love is a throwaway item. The baggage we carry infects more and more people around us until we grow bitter and lonely in our old age. I found that unacceptable. The only way to stop it is to stop treating each other like dryer sheets, objects that are supposed to fluff up our emotional lives, hold down the static, and make everything smell fresh.
My second marriage is well into its 23rd year, and not because it's easy and we're romantics. I am one of the most fortunate people I know, meeting someone who thinks the same way (not in so many words, but more intuitively after a painful childhood himself), and what makes it work for us is we're so terribly stubborn and not easily swayed with every little breeze of emotion. Oh, there's been emotion, long years of gritting our teeth through mess after mess, challenges upon challenges, and it all boils down repeatedly to neither one of us would ever abandon the other even on our very worst days, weeks, months, and years. We've both been abandoned, neglected, ignored, used and abused, and we both know what love is NOT. We know that looking around for something we don't create ourselves is a ridiculous lie to tell ourselves. We. Are. Love. Why look around for it and hope to find it when the next person is doing that too, looking around and hoping. How can we be what the other person needs from that point of view?
I don't feel emotions right like other people do. I don't feel loving. I don't feel kind. Love and kindness are philosophies of emotional logic I developed to survive, because without them I am terribly alone and deeply sad. I don't think I am capable of being in love correctly, yet I'm in love all the time. The euphorias I've developed in later age (hormones out of the way?) can now easily be triggered, and they are the only thing that's ever connected me to feeling happy, especially the first time when my brain was so chemical soaked that I was high on chemically induced love and felt happy for the first time in my whole life. I enjoy people and things, I laugh quite a lot, I am pleased with this and that, but outside of euphoric episodes, I don't feel happy. And I don't even think about that, whether I 'feel happy'. This has been discussed at length with a psychologist over several years, looked at from several angles that include autism spectrum with complications like synesthesia and narcissism and possibly even dissociation, the way my parents raised me and my years of wrangling with a conflicting belief system, my best friend being maliciously murdered, injuries from a nasty accident, a first marriage to a pedophile, an affair that wound up in what boiled down to a 'forced' abortion (reverse rape, complete with restraints)...
Did I just keep switching it all off? How do I switch it back on? Did I survive because I couldn't turn it on in the first place? Yet I puzzled it all out into a philosophy of being that my psychologist thinks on par with extremely advanced awareness levels and thought processing skills for young child, preteen, adolescent, and young adult. I absorbed philosophies like people around me absorbed holiday candy and TV shows and the other lies of social structure, stuck on roller coasters of feeling happy and unhappy because that's what modern society insists that we constantly assess in ourselves. Are we happy? Personally, I think that feeling is so easily mimicked putting sugar in our mouths that we've become accustomed to habitual feeding frenzies and then agonizing over all the ways food makes us unacceptable. Food porn. There are stories throughout history of socialites alternately gorging and starving themselves, but what darker secrets lurked beneath?
The reason the questions are coming back up is because I noticed I didn't feel anything doing something that another person would likely have found exciting, possibly even exhilarating. Sometimes I do something that other people would feel prone to brag about or use as personal resume padding, and I feel nothing, even though I know now that I should. I'm aware nowadays that I'm numb most of the time. I used to harbor anger like Dr. Evil petting Mr. Bigglesworth, but I've mostly let go of that, so I'm on a sort of testing ground, poking myself here and there to see if I'm feeling anything.
Happiness is conditional on people and events and material things and feelings affecting me, and there is nothing in this world that makes me happy, although eating certain foods used to come close. Nothing *makes* me happy. I never understood what happiness was even supposed to be, like what does it mean when people say they don't feel happy. I grew up completely missing the ability to grasp that concept. I've tried to word out my thoughts on it through the years in some of my silly surveys at Surveypalooza, but after I went through the initial euphoria (almost completely stopped eating and sleeping for 12 days and was continuously gurgling in a love state, which alarmed my psychiatrist), anyway, after I *felt* that, I finally had some kind of context, because I was able to say "I feel so happy." I had never felt happy before. No meds or drugs or events or people in my life had ever induced any kind of happy feeling even remotely like that, but as soon as I was in it, I recognized it. And then when the euphoric episode crashed back down, the happiness was over and I haven't really felt that kind of happiness since, even though I go through euphoric episodes fairly regularly now. I felt happy for 12 days out of my entire life, and the whole thing was a brain chemical imbalance.
Love and happiness are important, I know that. I know it's important that I help the people around me feel loved and happy, even if I can't or don't feel these things myself. I care deeply for the people around me, and I know I'm very lucky I actually have people in my life who love me back, even if I don't have any desire or need for them to go out of their way to do and say things to show me this. Well, poor @bonenado caught it a few times, but we're both hung up on our conundrums, and pretty much apparently nailed the love thing out of sheer stubborn devotion.
Not everyone is so lucky. Not everyone finds the glove that fits their weird hand. Not everyone feels understood and accepted, quirks and all. Not everyone feels comfortable just being themselves around people who are supposed to be the most important loves of their lives- parents, sibs, offspring. It's not something that came easily for me and Scott, and yet here we are, out of nothing more than sheer stubbornness and an unwillingness to drift alone again among the dryer sheets. Neither one of us can ever go back to that kind of thinking. We make the love we want and we live the love that we need. We've become for others what we desperately needed and didn't have for ourselves. It's been hard and it took time, but we are who we are and there was no other way to survive. We draw firm boundaries around misconceptions and dysfunctions, and we don't tolerate that crap in our own home. Our love depends on utter honesty, utter trust that the other won't leave over something stupid. My home is my sanctuary, and my people are exactly that- mine.
A great big part of this was letting go of and walking away from the kinds of things that perpetuate emotional codependency (dysfunctional relationships doomed to fail because they are not love even if they are disguised as love), chemical dependency (alcohol, drugs, meds), experience dependency (things inducing rushes of adrenaline and euphorias, shopping, thrill seeking, for some people gambling would go here), pretty much anything that masks pain, to put it very simply. To feel pain is one of the privileges of being on this earth (it seems designed especially for pain), and if souls and eternity exist in any form at all, then my being here is by choice because I wanted to learn something important. Blocking that process only slows down my spiritual progress and hurts other people. Even if I can't feel remorse or guilt, I know that is a bad thing and that I will be held responsible for being stupid. Years of deep reflection point no other direction than this- that we are here to learn to love through the toughest kinds of pain imaginable. It's ok to be weak and fall on our faces, but it's not ok to *not* learn from that, and once learned, it's definitely not ok to turn our backs on it and be selfish. I think this holds water in any religion or belief system you'd care to bring up.
My name is Broken Dragon, and that is my phyllosopapilla on life, the universe, and everything. I was 42 when I woke up. The next year I made a blog...
That snip is from Google browser.
The month of April is brought to us by the word "disingenuous" and the number 3.
@bonenado and I have had ample opportunity to compare notes and revisit our own old memories while we watch the world fall down. We remember our own struggles with trying to understand how we fit with others who turned out to have used us as covers, as refuge, as shields, as defense mechanisms, as displacing bins, as emotional slaves.
Emotional vampires abound. They are selfish and treat others according to whim of the hour and whatever trubbas they've gotten themselves into, don't know how to extricate from, and won't be honest about dragging other people into. Once dragged in, the innocents become unwitting dysfunctional feedback loops in a neverending drama that either must eventually explode or turn them into zombies who keep secrets and even help defend gunk they're all trapped in.
There is no defending someone using another person to step on, especially under a guise of sympathy and helpfulness. When it all flips over into creating 3rd class citizens expected to take whatever crap and still keep acting normal, someone needs to figure out their shit and get out of my family's way.
Scott and I are extremely patient people. We allow our kids to make all the mistakes and figure things out themselves. We do this in an edge of the precipice horror kind of stance, of course, trying not to pull all our hair out. Pretty sure most of my mom's aging was my fault. But I just wanna say watching a guy almost as old as my youngest sibling pull this crap on our daughter for years, getting her so wrapped around him that she left all her friends and life behind, and the way he left her homeless through her pregnancy, used her place as a hideout after she had a kid, let her believe the whole family thing when an ex finally moved out, and then started the name calling and accusing and blaming and... It was all I could do not to go ask him How old are you? Because he sure wasn't acting like a 40 year old with a brain. Lotta psychological damage from our point of view, and I won't hesitate to splash more out if this gets outa hand again. Really tired of people f*ing each other up.
I'm just putting this out there, not going to link it or anything. Well, it'll go to G+ because it's automatic.
Got our new routine down already. Bunny and mama get up after Papa leaves for work, and I do my running after they go to daycare and work. It's a temp gig and I'm enjoying it. It's challenging me to step up a little more, so once again I have motivation to conquer and thrive.
Been digging out another mountain in Mo Creatures, converting to multilevel pumpkin production (cash crop), kinda looks like a stacked parking garage. Going all the way to bedrock, nearly 2500 pumpkins planted so far, going to double that soon, pretty much turning over every single stone as I go. Smelting rakes in experience points, experience levels translate to triple enchanted armors, weapons, and tools, plus ores galore, so the patience pays off and other players think I'm rich.
As I mine and plant, I'm thinking lately about 'damage'. There are stats for 'damage dealt' and 'damage taken', but that's mostly for the players and the equipment. It doesn't show up for blocks. No matter how many times I break a dirt block, I can reuse it like brand new. It doesn't take damage. While I'm mining I inflict a sort of damage on all kinds of blocks, but once they pop out of place, they're fine. If I let my focus slip and slide off that block while I mine, pulling back in place starts over again. The block doesn't retain a damage level and then break more easily later.
People aren't like that, are they? People get broken, and the damage can be retained for a very long time. They don't just pop back into place. I'm finding it interesting that the kinds of people who deal out damage seem to expect that. It's like they can't understand or grasp that they're the problem inflicting the damage in the first place that they want to go away and not bother them.
I'm having lots of other thoughts, too, but even though I'm focusing on more #transparency in 2017, I need to be considerate because this isn't actually Pinky's stuff. It's other people's stuff, and it's their place to share or not share. But I will venture into enough #transparency to share that I'm not aware of any physical harm. The psychological scarring runs pretty deep, though, and it's been all I can do holding back. Janika has loads of experience levels in the darker realms, and you guys have been watching Pinky lightly splash out public pix for reasons. If this kiddo ever disappears, I've got a whole world looking out for her sweet little face. No one thinks that will really happen, but no one ever does, do they? Head games suck in a variety of ways. Fortunately (and very sadly), the couch seemed to be the bigger issue.
I know my blogs look a bit desolate because I don't encourage comments at all (and please just don't now too, thanx), but what you guys don't see is the private contact I get. I'm not fond of people building armies and pointing them in directions for group hate, and I've got a prime opportunity in my hands to do just that. It's a nice weapon to have if I need one. #transparency- Several people have actually offered to do my first husband in for me for free. I thank people for their concern, but some are serious and I really don't want to author that kind of history, knowhutImean? I have a feeling a whole lot more response would happen if anything ever happened to Bunny. Not a threat, just being #transparent about my social network being solid and if I ever unleash something very upsetting to public, it won't be to whine and hint.
Smite IV silver sword always at my side. I never leave home without it.
If levity is even possible this week after watching our daughter cry that hard...
So auties freaking out about MIT, didn't hear you outcrying when China purposely created autistic monkeys to inflict experimentation on. I've been saying for years that we're on the brink of the nastiest form of human genocide we've ever seen. I've stopped freaking out. Also, all you Trump haters so obsessed with the guy that you're saturating everyone around you with pix of his face- ever thought that you're part of the indoctrination process? Really tired of miles of his face in my feeds.
Here's the thing. When you obsess about something, anything, your brain works overtime on something you fear or loathe, and that prevents you from truly enjoying something else. It's one thing to be "concerned", it's another to be so obsessed that your feeds are crammed with whatever, or that you even create artwork around it. *wow*
I used to worry that I was the messed up one. I'm fine. Some of the rest of you probably need to look into psychoneuroimmunology and mindfulness.
Moving on. Reaching a level of relief as I'm nearing the original dose goal. The nasty withdrawal headaches seem to be lessening, I'm kind of starting to sleep again, and I actually held it together going into town yesterday for an equipment update and a lengthy grocery list.
"To me, neurodiversity is the idea that neurological differences like autism and ADHD are the result of normal, natural variation in the human genome. This represents new and fundamentally different way of looking at conditions that were traditionally pathologized; it’s a viewpoint that is not universally accepted though it is increasingly supported by science. That science suggests conditions like autism have a stable prevalence in human society as far back as we can measure. We are realizing that autism, ADHD, and other conditions emerge through a combination of genetic predisposition and environmental interaction; they are not the result of disease or injury."
This proponency started long before the autism witch hunt. I was shocked at the ADHD witch hunt decades ago. I couldn't believe how many parents could get so selfishly vicious over something so innocuous as children not being posable dolls, boiled down. I learned a long time ago in anthropology that 10% of ANY population is considered a normal part of distribution, and even necessary to the health of the whole.
There are people out there who want you to hate. They want you to fear and loathe. Why? Because they get money for it. The more freaking out and opinionating you do, the more monetizing someone else gets.
Zoom out and look at bigger pictures. Look at what is really going on. Fear and loathing is the most lucrative machinistic process on this planet, and every time you pass on your auto-fear and auto-loathe, you are doing their dirty work for them.
George Orwell didn't foresee how the proletarians would be used by social media.
I swear I had to have lived on a different kind of planet in a past life because the dreams are back. I just woke up from one where I could thrust off a little and go right up to the ceiling and lightly come back down, and I was having loads of fun with it. When I was really young, I flew in nearly every dream I had, and I could go super fast or float slowly along, and even hover if I stayed focused. I crashed a lot. As I grew up the dreams were more about not being able to stay up and the crashing grew rather horrifying, so I stopped having those dreams for a long time.
When I was young, I thought the flying dreams were just something I did, but I mentioned them to my dad one day after I got grown up and he got so excited, oh yes, he flies in his dreams, too, and over time he never stopped like I did. He loves his flying dreams. And once internet arrived, I found out that dreaming about flying is a very common thing, too common, in my opinion, to be explained away with meanings. This feels too much like memories to me, something I used to take for granted. Think about it- flying doesn't come naturally to these bodies at all, but it's something we dream of doing and even create characters in stories who can fly. Flying is something we feel like we want to get back to, something we feel in our gut should be a thing.
I've considered that this could be genetic memory from long ago, because fish sort of deal with this sensation all their lives, and the most world adaptive family in the animal kingdom is birds. Many bugs fly, bats fly, even some reptiles and other mammals glide, and flying (or the sensation of flying) just seems like a key part of life. When humans finally really got off the ground, most of us were thrilled. Many of us adapted quickly and love looking out of glass elevators or riding crazy roller coasters or watching documentaries with lots of land flyovers. Some people make careers out of flying, from monster jets right down to hot air balloons.
We could say flying allows the feeling of more freedom, especially for those who need to 'get away' or feel confined to disability, but I was dreaming of flying as soon as I was walking, and I'm not sure how all that got into my head, because I've been able to properly visualize perspective in my flying dreams long before I ever saw it on television or any other way. How did I know what the ground would look like from above? How could I conceive moving through air so naturally if I was barely grasping how to use my body in real life? I loved running and jumping, but I was the klutz kid and shredded my knees a bit.
That dream last night felt really good after the one that had woken me up before...
I dreamed I was watching a little girl, possibly in another country, at least a very different family than mine, partly because the language was different and partly because everyone had black hair. I come from redheads and tow heads with black hair rarely sprinkled in here and there. The little girl was about 3 or 4, and the family was very strict.
One day the little girl was taken into a separate room with a few other children and some drunken men, and they learned to sing a funny song and do weird things, but since the men were laughing it was no big deal. The little boy sang the song while he was playing the next day, and while it was a little shocking, no one bothered him about it. Boys get to talk about that kind of stuff. The next day a mom or gramma (couldn't tell, extended family and everyone had children young) asked the little girl a question and she sang the funny song. This female adult was so outraged and mortified that she screamed at the little girl never say that again, and beat her very hard all over, even her head and face, until she was swelled up and ugly, and never stopped now matter how hard the girl screamed. I had to walk away and not watch because there was nothing I could do to make it stop.
I woke up pretty upset, as you can imagine, but I've had dreams like this before, where I'm a fly on the wall watching other people (aboriginals call this soul traveling), and after a little reflection, decided the adult beating the child must have grown up sexually abused and had held all that in, and once she'd become a mom and then a gramma, no one bothered her any more and she had forgotten it. When the little girl sang the song, it triggered all the horrible memories, and she did to that little girl what she wished she could have done to the people abusing her- make it stop.
I think the underground abuse cycle that a lot of people have been starting to open up and deal with in the latest few generations has a lot to do with the sexualization of children as objects, and sometimes the broken adults around them not knowing how to deal with it when they see it so they hush it up. They have no other way to deal except to shut it down so they don't have to see or hear it.
I know people from both sides of the track, as they used to call it. Some families have no clue what it's like beating children, in other families it's a way of life. It's not always about sex abuse, but it's definitely an abuse cycle. Being able to hit other people is becoming more of a mental illness nowadays. We are starting to say it's bad to hit people at all, whether it's a wife or a stranger, whether we are in school or out in the street. Some people seem to enjoy hitting, and oddly, there are a few people that enjoy being hit.
Then there's another type- those that actually enjoy hurting their own offspring. They don't just get angry and lose it, they actually bait their children, lay out psychological traps that lead to physical and emotional suffering. I've seen this with my own eyes in a waking state, and even lived through it to a point. There is something about hurting one's own child that comes with a complete set of matching baggage full of justification and righteous indignation. This happens all over the world, in every religion and even outside of it.
Our dreams of flying come from a simpler life. I don't think we are trying to escape in our flying dreams (unless we are being chased), and I don't think analyzing our frustrations about flying fails has that much to do with the lives we live now. I think we want to go back to the simpler lives we had. This life is much harder, like a higher class level, and we're having to synchronize sensation to all kinds of internal motivation and feedback. We're having to embrace the realization that we cause pain. I think we were innocent of that realization in a life before on a different kind of world.
I sound like a kook to a lot of people I know, but some of you secretly nod. Even if I'm not right, we wish this were the case. We like ideas that make more sense outside of constantly seeing in terms of this one world. There has to be more going on 'out there' than just this world that feels so hard sometimes.
On really hard days when I don't enjoy this world at all (it really doesn't make sense to me that my body is so easily messed up by plants and sunshine and food- if I live here, you'd think my body would be adapted to all this, I'm like a fish allergic to water or something), I ask- What am I learning here? Several things have been very hard for me to learn in this life. Compassion is one of the biggies. Patience. Kindness is my favorite. I'm not a naturally kind person, but I have learned it, and I really like the idea of it. I like that compassion and patience and kindness give me a kind of power that you don't get with anything else. It's a sweet kind of power, the kind that heals souls and makes wizards of us. I'm not just flying around enjoying sensations. I'm using everything I've ever learned, even if I don't consciously remember it, to incorporate new ways of thinking into myself that progress me forward as a more holistic soul. I experience to learn, I learn to grow, I grow to become.
I didn't read books to get that. I've lived it. I've thought it. I've looked hard at who and where I am and recognized it. I believe this is inside all of us, and that we are all here to learn the same thing. I wonder sometimes if the belief that karma sends us back is one interpretation of feeling stuck on this earth because we haven't learned this lesson yet and get held back for another go at it. Escape into nirvana or heaven is the interpretation that we graduate this world and move on to another class.
I see no other reason for being aware of one's own existence. Everything we do is either right or wrong, loving or hateful, healing or hurting. I think there's only one true way 'out' and that's to embrace these lessons and apply them to ourselves. It doesn't matter what ideology you grew up with or believe, all that matters is that you don't get out of this until you learn something. I think this fits with Christianity just fine, as well, and perhaps the reason we're eating up so much heaven and hell 'smashing' in our entertainment is because we feel like we are literally turning our lives into our own hells and we're all trying to figure out how and what to do with that.
All of us. Rich, poor, super wealthy behind the curtains... Yes, I'm speaking to you, too. Even they have bosses, I'll bet. And turning it all into a mythos to tame the proles and using marionettes to pull the social strings is only a distraction for you too, because we. all. die. You're not winning the game.
I'm loving that my flying dreams are coming back. I really enjoyed that dream.
I'm wondering if I broke a beta reader and whether I should put a warning on my book cover not to read it because it can cause serious psychological harm.
I suppose a wild skew into incongruity is my only hope right now. I once named an ecritter Miss Chatelaine, and the closest thing I've ever found to explain how that fits the image in my mind is Lady Gaga's cheerio ballerina in Marry The Night. The only difference between me and her is that I didn't invent my truth to fill in any holes. That doesn't mean I can't still express myself artistically.
Back to right now- the scraping out of my soul like I'm scraping seeds out of a melon or a squash. Maybe a butternut squash because it's been kind of hard and the seeds are all sticky, and the knife is already gummed up with the waxy stuff they put on the squashes. I imagine when I'm done with this I'll look like something out of a horror film and will need to take a vacation. Or at least a shower. I'm actually trying to get showers, so maybe when I'm done I can put on a big hat and giant sunglasses and sit out on my deck imagining I've flown off to a villa in France. Maybe I'll pretend my chocolate chips are a Madeline truffle while I sip Chateau Margaux out of my Aquafina bottle.
Those of us who know what this means- imagine aspienado coming out of years of full trauma shutdown figuring out how to 'recondition' one's self for not just survival, but winning the game. Like, maybe I reprogrammed the phone.
