Happy Halloween, ya filthy animals!

So Bush Sr., right? I know! omg O_O I got this off the new Q discord, btw. Click this screensnip to see the ENTIRE document.

THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is what 'draining the swamp' means. This has nothing to do with right vs left. This has everything to do with bad guys running governments. Haven't I been saying crime lords run governments? And this is only the beginning.

The major prize is the top Rothschild. I'm hoping that's a Christmas present.

If you'd like to keep up with more *actual* breaking news that goes way deeper than mainstream media blurbs and viral buzz, get a discord account and hang out with the people on the front lines of the info wars. Like Q told us today, "Information is free."

And at the heart of this war, for real, is saving the children. There is a real actual video of a particular very high up person in U.S. politics slicing the face off a little girl and putting it on her own face to scare her. That video was put on the dark web by an insider as collateral (birds sing in the cage, as Q says), and the cops that have seen it have been shown sobbing and even throwing up while they watched it. I've seen part of the vid. That kind of stuff puts you off make believe horror movies.

The question comes up- why? Why in the world do this? Because spiking blood and adrenaline with fear and pain is a very real drug. Think vampires were made up? They're real. They grow up this way. They raise their kids this way. They have kids to sell and use. Kids being sold as commodities around the world is hugely real. It's not just pedo rape, guys. It's actual cannibalism. This is on record, and all you have to do is start looking. There are so many people coming out this year with their survival stories, their escape stories, their nightmare lives with PTSD from living like this. (This hugely begs the question of why so many horror films are made- as if they are callousing us to a reality so we'll think it's fun and nonsense. It's so easy to dismiss survivors telling their stories.) 

By the way, I know my biggest traffic drive is facebook, worldwide. I see the stats. Just because no one is responding to the stuff I share there doesn't mean people aren't hanging on it. You're not alone, guys, and lurking is good. I'll never call anyone out for lurking.

Those of you still coming back to #Pinkyblog know I've been saying these things for years, mostly in hints, but this year there is a surge of people of people around the world coming out with the truth about things they've seen, lived through, heard from people they know. They are all over youtube and twitter trying to tell their stories, and the medias keep kicking their accounts. Why?

***Because rich people don't want to go to jail.***

And some of these rich people are in so deep over collusion for drug and human trafficking, illegal deals with other countries, buying off and silencing authorities at every turn, even having planes crashed to stop the truth from coming out.

This is a terrible, horrible game they play. We are at the very bottom of the literal food chain. We are kept inebriated, frustrated, distracted, and too indebted to escape our grinds, and we feel so helpless sometimes that it's all we can do to lash out at medias keeping us upset all. the. time.

For the first time in my entire life, I actually have hope. I have seen the New World Order coming for nearly 20 years. Before Q came along I had just about given up and decided there is nothing any more now that can stop it. Globalism would eventually wind up with a world police state governing all of us, and the United Nations would be our court system. How many scifi shows have already demo'd this for us? It's like they're getting us used to the idea. If you've never seen the TV show Lexx, that first episode is what I imagined our world becoming once all that was finally established.

We are in World War 3 right now. It is already being fought, feverishly. This war is our last possible chance to escape the coming World Bank of us all, the final marriage of church and state over all our money in the whole world. Once this is locked down, our freedoms will keep being repealed until we are so disillusioned with media driven frothing and depression that we will beg social services to give us anything to numb us. We'll line up for brain chips. We'll gladly become drones. Why do you think they talk about depression and A.I. nonstop?

I have hope now. I am having the best year I've had in a very long time. I feel happy and lighthearted and grateful, and every day is so much easier than past years. I had no idea how suppressed I felt just feeling like there was no escape from the daily grind of just living my life. I saw no good future for my kids and grandkids, and that was hard. All the news is bad, all the time. Well, now there is good news.

The good news at the top of this article is that U.S. Presidents are not above the law, and that no matter how old they become, they are not free of answering to the crimes they commit. The good news is that our military decided to stop being mercenary pawns and made a plan to take themselves back from their owners, the world bankers. Because that's who were telling our Presidents what to do. Our Presidents, both right and left for many years, have been puppets helping the Rothschilds and other uber wealthy families bully other countries into joining the world banking system. Behind this are many murders, many illegal drug protection rackets, many stupid and ridiculous 'wars' killing our loved ones.

They think they own us.

Well, Q says they don't. The anons can take over the web ANY. TIME. Some of them are working with the Q team to make sure all the information that keeps being scrubbed and redacted is available for judicial systems to peruse. The Q team is helping POTUS pave the way for good guys to do their jobs without their hands being tied. So many of our cop shows are about good police vs bad police. Real life stuff is going down this year, much more exciting that fictionalized cop shows. Pay attention.

Everything we need to know is available, it's out there. We have to do our own digging and researching and brain storming with other people like us, because the stuff we are being spoonfed on medias and news shows is keeping us distracted. Free energy? That's real. Anti-gravity? That's real, too. We already have so much technology that keeps being squashed out of existence. The smart people either get murdered or get paid off and sent to live somewhere nice so they won't talk. The rich people don't want their cash flow to stop.

And behind all of it, half a million kids disappeared in the United States last year. Well, 490K, but let's get real, that's an average of 9800 kids per state. How in the world is that not a national security issue in our mainstream news???

Well, it's definitely a national security issue now.

Q loves children enough to go save them.

we love you anyway

meme clicks to source where I made it
original source is from Sports Injury Clinic (full of good advice)
discovered thru 837 pins about carpal tunnel on pinterest

Yeah, that flex up there is exactly what I was NOT supposed to do so soon after surgery, and why it's been swelled back up real hard ever since. I assess into occupational therapy on Wednesday specifically for that. My surgeon was very glad I called up to discuss it.

So this was me on the game server today, dealing behind the scenes while I dealt with a problematic duo.

click pic for a good write up about writer problems

I took half an opioid left over from my knee surgery just to be able to log back into internet. I cannot do anything but type with this hand. I'm back to square one.

Cool videos I've been watching to help pass the time while I ice my hand.

This next took me nearly an hour to watch because pausing to read all the things, but perfectly answers all the same things I was feeling about season 4. Essentially, I don't think Sherlock ever got off the plane.

I'm still working on this one because it's so long, but I keep coming back to it to continue because it's so cool.

I really do like this anon vid. Spot on.

I'm not on any particular side (the anons don't take sides, we are all humanity and should all be given the same considerations, dignities, and opportunities), but I do quite enjoy watching and listening to Julian Assange. This popped up in my suggestions so I watched it. He's a very pretty man.

Because I watch such a wide variety of things on youtube, I get all kinds of suggestions, and I filter through thousands just to watch a handful. I very quickly stop and move on if the first minute doesn't hold me. There are some really good things to see, and I'm so thankful I live in a time where I can see so much with so little effort and cost while I am stuck not being able to use my hand very well.

#transparency I was once stood up by a guy who couldn't tell me he was an alcoholic. He had already come out as gay years before to me in a very bad area to be gay, but he chose to get shitface wasted and get picked up by another guy and then couldn't face calling me up to cancel, which I'd have been ok with. What he didn't know was that I am an alcoholic, too, and I'm pretty sure I've been much worse places than he's ever dreamed. You know what? Let it go. Just be you, guys. Own your guilt, your pain, your fails, and be human with the rest of us. We love you anyway.

psyops

click for some beautiful pictures
scroll down the page for a list of links to more Ozarks pictures

Despite last night's live tweet falling pretty flat, I had decent enough returns on it to be worth my time, plus I actually enjoyed the movie.

O_O Um...

So y'all know I crawl all over twitter and am very familiar with its structure, because I use its library system constantly to find stuff. Since twitter is real time and most people on there are either half bombed on something or just too busy to notice (or don't care), I find all kinds of patterns in the seeming chaos. I see people knee jerking their lives away. I see puppet masters making y'all dance. I see all your mood swings pretty much go up and down and in and out on cue, over and over and over. I've blogged before how every year, sometimes almost to the day, friends of mine around the world will say almost identical sentences about their depression, which raises tons of questions in someone who has a bachelor of science degree in sociology. So let's think a little bit.

What are psyops?

• Psychological operations (PSYOP) are planned operations to convey selected information and indicators to audiences to influence their emotions, motives, and objective reasoning, and ultimately the behavior of governments, organizations, groups, and individuals.
• PSYOP can encourage popular discontent with the opposition's leadership and by combining persuasion with a credible threat, degrade an adversary's ability to conduct or sustain military operations. They can also disrupt, confuse, and protract the adversary's decision-making process, undermining command and control.
• PSYOP involves the careful creation and dissemination of a product message. There are three types of products that are used to create these messages. They include White products which are used in overt operations and Gray and Black products which are used in covert PSYOP. White, Gray, and Black don't refer to the product's content but rather the methods used to carry out the operation.
• In order for PSYOP to be successful they must be based in reality. All messages must be consistent and must not contradict each other. Any gap between the product and reality will be quickly noticed. A credible "truth" must be presented which is consistent to all audiences. Primarily it is a component of offensive counterinformation but can be used defensively as well. 
• White PSYOP is attributable to PSYOP as a source. White is acknowledged as an official statement or act of the U.S. government, or emanates from a source associated closely enough with the U.S. government to reflect an official viewpoint. 
• The source of the gray PSYOP product is deliberately ambiguous.
• The activity engaged in appears to emanate from a source (government, party, group, organization, person) usually hostile in nature. The interest of the U.S. government is concealed and the U.S. government would deny responsibility. It is best used in support of strategic plans. Covert PSYOP is not a function of the U.S. military but instead is used in special operations due to their political sensitivity and need for higher level compartmentalization. Further, black PSYOP, to be credible, may need to disclose sensitive material, with the damage caused by information disclosure considered to be outweighed by the impact of successful deception.
• PSYOP conveys messages via visual, audio, and audiovisual media. Military psychological operations, at the tactical level, are usually delivered by loudspeaker, and face to face communication. For more deliberate campaigns, they may use leaflets, radio or television. Strategic operations may use radio or television broadcasts, various publications, airdropped leaflets, or, as part of a covert operation, with material placed in foreign news media.

Everything that goes viral is a psyop.

• #plaidshirtguy was an unpaid impromptu individual act but was still designed to get attention.
• #qanon is a White House supported military operation halting illegal acts against the U.S. Constitution, if what they purport to be doing is true.
• A whole bunch of stuff in between is about yanking your chain to either awww or froth with hate- Body shaming, racism, puppies and kittens, pictures of elite vacation spots and high class cars, sports, popular movie enculturation, celebrity deaths- it's all there molding your brain every time you scroll a feed.

When you do your research, you find out how connected many of these people are in real life. They are related by family and/or college/business friends/associates (CEOs of social media platforms), they all seem to be working under an unseen umbrella (finding out facebook was established the same day a military operation was closed was enlightening, especially when pointed out they have identical goals), high paid celebrities working with companies and making political and corporate contacts all over the world behind the scenes, 'big' money/pharma/sports/manufacturing/food being run by political interests from outside our own country, and since this is all out there and easy to research, I'll just stop there.

'We' are little people. Most of us barely have enough money to live check to check. Some of us have nest eggs that probably wouldn't last five years if there were some calamity or illness in our lives. Many of us feel helpless, frustrated, and live our entire lives depressed, watching rich people do things on our televisions.

Some of you are not ready to wake up yet. This is where you click back off the page and go back to what you were doing. I don't want to trigger you if you aren't ready yet.

I like watching rich people on social media. I'm lately in and out of the upper crust gangs who say hello and stuff to each other every day, but if you'll notice, they never really talk. Just start moving around in these groups and pretty quickly the question pops up- What is their motivation? All they ever do is say hello and good night and post beautiful pictures of wonderful places (hints that they might even really be there), that they know each other (happy birthday shows up, but very differently from the regular talking groups), and platitudes that hint of covering darkness with brave but very fragile beauty. I really do enjoy their feeds, but sometimes something gets a little too obvious, especially when someone else retweets them in a row into your incoming feed. Is this a covert message?

There are several common triggers in the above pic tweets that people inside a certain circle know. Those three pictures are all about a belief system that isn't *cough* supported in mainstream, so it must be encoded. The first pic is a child/adult relationship demo'd with goats, which is an obvious Baphomet reference. I say obvious because many Baphomet depictions show adoring children gazing up at his face. The second pic is about Moloch, a god who required child sacrifice. When you see owls showing up in some feeds, they are rather obviously not about nature so much as a trigger for something else. The third pic is as NAMBLA as it gets. A 'bear' is euphemism for a man who likes boys or children. In and of themselves, all these pictures are innocent and natural in real life. I love pictures of animals, who doesn't? But as stupid as this sounds, they've come to symbolically represent human ideologies.

Not picking on anyone in particular, but this just happens to be such an easy account to demo. Mio is a real word (and the name of many businesses and companies) but it is followed by 666 (unclear whether that is deliberate), and something I've noticed about many of these accounts- nearly all of them say 'no DMs', many of them add 'no porn' (wonder why they'd need to add that if all they do is tweet beautiful pix), and nearly all of them never respond to anyone else in any way aside from their own following. They are clearly there to touch base with each other and nothing else, no convos at all, no indication of preferences or thoughts of any kind. Once you get used to the interaction, you see they are globally networked and apparently living in the upper crust, since they occasionally hint at where they are actually sitting when they take a beautiful picture at a table with a high dollar beautiful background. It's like a game they play.

I like to look up names and definitions and see what all is out there. This one got interesting.

So MIO, 666, and suggestive natural pictures about adult/child 'relationships' might really be a thing. No wonder accounts like that have to say no DM and no porn.

I'm the kind of person who walks right by this stuff because I'm super ace and it just never occurs to me. Thanks to experiences throughout my adulthood, my eyes have been opened and I'm able to see it all around me now. These things are not coincidences. They are very carefully crafted to look like innocent coincidences, but they get into all our brains. We become so used to seeing this 'innocence' repeated over and over that we essentially become brain trained to automatically associate some things with innocence until we are staunchly defending things we'd normally find extremely offensive. I see this all the time. It's very hard for us to believe, much less imagine, that a person we've come to put on a pedestal could be involved in something heinous and reprehensible, something that would make us feel very sick. It's easier to shunt it to the automated 'innocent' pile and walk past it.

Our lives are not a series of random blunders through depression. These are carefully crafted structured mental walks through very horrible things all around us by very rich people. We are virtually blindfolded in cattle pens with no way out. Our lives suck. Their lives don't.

Until you can open your eyes, you will never understand this depression you live in. You will defend your lifestyle to its depressing end because every day we are rewarded with legal intoxication and lots of entertainment. They keep us sedated while they constantly pull strings to make us angry, awww, sad, laugh at a joke, froth at a sentence, aww again...

BACK TO PSYOPS.

You can turn that off. You can make it stop. Turn off your tech for a day, or a week. Walk away. I once walked away for a whole year. I left behind the brain yanking and found MYSELF. And then when I came back I saw all of it through different eyes. They could no longer brain yank me. They could no longer make me depressed and angry. I saw them yanking people all around me like puppets, all of them responding on cue, none of them realizing this was happening. I started walking among them and around them, free of my own chains. I found other free people trying to make the brain yanking stop, trying to wake the puppets up. I found the counter psyop. I found the revolution.

This revolution is very real. It's worldwide. It's strong. It's taking down the rich people who keep puppets in pens with blindfolds making money for them while the puppets live sad lives and die depressed.

The revolution is going to hurt some of the puppets who can't wake up. They won't understand what is happening. They'll be angry and keep defending the puppet masters. They won't know what they are defending if they won't open their eyes.

Please don't defend human trafficking and child sex rituals. Please don't defend the rich abusing the world while they play mind games on us. Please don't defend religions that aren't 'real'. Please pray for the ones who will be killed if they don't do what they are told. Please understand what celebrity suicides really are. Please open your eyes.

We are here with you, all around you. Don't be afraid. Be ready. Get ready. The revolution is upon us.

If (WHEN) the revolution is successful, #relasethepatents will happen and technology will be unhindered, and we will feed the world. There are cancer cures being suppressed, there is free energy that inventors have been murdered over to suppress, people are giving their lives trying to get truth out to the public.

Get ready. #wakeup (You will never see the #wakeup hashtag in the beautiful feeds.)

respawn

Big storms blowing thru and can't stay on server without being continually kicked, so I went back to single player where I've been working on my 'casual crisis' approach to conquering stress in my life. Totally forgot you can't sleep in a bed in the nether...

Survival in singleplayer is pretty intense. Probably the hardest part is not having someone to strategize with or whine to. It's all on ME.

I've enjoyed watching others play on server because we're all so different, and nearly everyone has a unique style or quirk that puts more spunk into playing together. If everyone played the same it would get boring really fast, probably not very different from an ant farm. Every single day on the multiplayer server is very different from the day before, like variables constantly being shaken up and piles of dice rolling our fates out.

In the meantime, this bone chip in my knee is hurting like crap and I can't wait to get it out of there.

I don't get to live tweet much any more nowadays, but I do a lot of thinking about Gotham. Gotham isn't a place, it's a truth. It's a compact fictionized visual of real things. We know these things are real, but we think they are far away, somewhere else, in a different sort of life. We're all in Gotham. Some of us just don't know that's what this is.

Yet.

It would probably be weird to talk about how happy I've felt lately. I know it's weird and a lot of you probably won't understand, but making the decision to stand alone in a spotlight and go rogue against the grain for so many years (bluejacky, Janika Banks, Pinky, Lexxperience, #aspienado) and say all the things I really think that tend to make people take an awkward step back from me for whatever reason has been a very lonely journey. I can't be myself and be friends with people very well, and I say and believe weird things because they aren't mainstream, and even people closest to me take me with enough salt to fill an ocean. Well, some of you have been paying attention for the last 6 years (actually 14 years as a Lexx fan, but srsly really 25 years of internet history), and lately you've seen me jump on a certain political thing, which is very unlike me to do. It turns out I'm not alone at all. There are hundreds, thousands, even millions of people all over the world coming out now with the anon #wakeup movement who think like I do, believe what I do, and want what I do. We see all the ways the masses are kept blind, kept asleep, kept enslaved, and we see the opportunity to change that. I know the world looks especially dark right now, but I am happy. My people have come out to fight the madness that is the New World Order, and I'm not alone at all any more talking about this. It's hard being the only one talking about the Illuminati logo (2016) before anyone else called it that. It's hard being the only one putting Kubrik, Plato, Orwell, and the book of Amos into one post (2015) before anyone else connects all those dots. It's hard discussing human trafficking and women not having any rights being so beautifully filmed in a scifi series (2015) and watching that go viral in Sharia law countries while Americans yawn. I've done none of this for money or attention, and for many years I've been writing about oppression, depression, and surviving being oneself with mental health diagnoses, and to what end? Well, after all these years I can only say I am so very thrilled to be watching all these things come to world attention, to be seeing so many people start standing up for what they really believe in as opposed to viral hype in popularity contests. I am not anon, because I own who I am in a very public spotlight, but I have always stood with anons and you guys know it. I support lurking, I keep saying learn to use your proxies, I make my stuff easy to find and see so no one has to out themselves showing up with an account just to see what I'm doing. #transparency And if the whole would would do that now, just stand up and be yourselves, embrace who we are and what we love in this world, and be kind allowing each other to do that, we might just see World Order and all its slavery toppled. The anons are among us, they have our backs, and they see ways to help free us of tyranny. Trust the plan. We may see the world slave owners tumble down within our lifetimes.

wascally wabbit

One of my life challenges is being a germ phobe. So when a rabbit plunged underneath my kitchen table and knocked over an electric popcorn popper I was storing underneath against the wall and then sat on the nonwashable nonstick cooking surface, I automatically nixed that popcorn popper from future use. That's how I am.

I didn't use to be that stringent. Many years of chronic illness later, I am keenly aware that germs can wreak havoc in our bodies. I grew up on a farm, and although I was strong and very capable of long work days (the horror, lol), I am not a strong adult. Pathogens and injuries are cumulative, and every day I face hard work just getting out of bed and keeping a routine going.

My depression went into the extremes this last year, but I kept doggedly at least keeping up with a schedule, forcing myself to keep cleaning up after others over and over, day in and day out. We have a verbal agreement that as long as they are out making money and living emotionally healthy lives, I will do the laundry and the dishes, and I throw in cleaning the bathrooms once in awhile. I've already made it through one surgery during this extra challenge, basically still doing all these chores myself when I should have probably been in bed, and in about a month I face a double surgery that will knock me off a chore schedule for at least a week or two. Right hand, right knee. You can imagine the fail I feel looking around my house. I could post pictures, but since a 'friend' showed up out of the blue and put my house all over the internet some years ago, and then a visiting group from China walked through my house another year unannounced, taking pictures over every room including the pile of dirty dishes on my counter during one of my chronic months when everything fell apart, I don't feel inclined to add to that kind of stuff.

In short, no one cleans up after me. They gag just cleaning up after themselves, so they don't. I find dishes all over the house, dirty socks have sat on my kitchen counter next to open food, stuff in the fridge I never bought will sit and rot until I throw it out, and on really bad days my house smells like something died.

I spent the first two days of this 'vacation' airing out my house, scrubbing the trash can, deep cleaning bathrooms and floors, literally disinfecting a rabbit cage that stunk to high heaven, on top of executing a new plan.

This is obviously no longer 'my house'. I am allowed to live here, yes, but all three stories are saturated with other people's things. A lot of my stress is about shared space. I'm a phobe, it's hard for me to share space. I need a place to withdraw, which is difficult. A person might not believe she did this, but three different times in the week before departure, I was walked in on in my own bedroom without so much as a knock, and the talking started the second the door was open. No knock, no hello mind if I come in and tell you something, no good morning or how's it going. Just full on walking in without warning. She's 30. It's my house, my bedroom. My mind is blown every time that happens. I don't own one square foot of sanctity or solitude in my own home. And I'm very forgiving of it because I know, given the personalities of the people I married into, this is much better than fussing.

But I need a boundary. I spent this week 'pulling back'. I cleaned out the last of my stuff in the livingroom and pulled in into my bedroom. Everything that is not mine or Scott's is going to be pushed out of my bedroom before my double surgery date. By the time I'm home recovering from surgery, I will have a clean peaceful bedroom to rest in.

I'm done with the rabbit. I like rabbits, I grew up with rabbits, but nothing is being done to satiate this rabbit's craving to chew, and it's only a matter of time before our expensive electronics become useless. No attention has been given to putting a little time and effort into protecting electrical cords to appliances that will cost thousands to replace. No pet toys for chewing show up. This rabbit has spent weeks throwing itself against the cage door upstairs. It absolutely hates living here. I had the rabbit brought down to the kitchen to care for while everyone was gone, and aside from being shut into a bathroom for a few hours to hop around every day, which it hates, throwing itself against and chewing the door, it has been in its cage, and I daresay, this is the longest its cage has been this clean since it moved into this house. This is not a happy rabbit. It feels the same way I feel, trapped and helpless to do anything about it.

I got a lot done though. Stripping out drawers and being able to lay everything out on my livingroom floor for a week without anyone walking on or moving any of it has been delightful. The longer my stuff sat all around me being organized, the lower my stress went until I was so relaxed that I actually felt good. I was doing all kinds of work with very little pain stopping me.

They come home today, any time now. I woke up 2 hours ago with a headache, and every joing in my body hurts. Interesting.

I love my people. I think they are fine the way they are, and this is just how it is. I don't think I fit in with them. I have made myself fit with with lots of concessions over many years. That has taken a big toll on me. I am different and they don't understand, just like they don't really see how the rabbit feels. They don't know what to do for me, so they walk off, just like they walk off from the rabbit. I don't feel an affinity for the rabbit because it's just more work, in my opinion. Whatever 'love' that is supposed to be going on with a pet is being entirely lost on this rabbit. It's just a piece of furniture, a fluffy doll to babysit the kid, something to learn about life on.

Unlike the rabbit, I don't feel like I'm something to learn about life on. I am a useful servant. In my own home.

I needed to get this out before my people walk in the door. It helps just to get the words out of the way. I hate judgmentalism because I grew up with it, and I'm finding out it takes a lot to keep positivity in focus. I hate being a cranky gripey person, and not feeling well makes it harder to be sweet. I want them to be happy to come home. I want to be happy to see them. I did miss them, but I sure didn't miss the extra work.

Time to let this go. Maybe I can sneak that popcorn popper out to the trash before they pull in.

p.s. I've been bringing in handfuls of fresh clover from the yard for the rabbit, also has things to chew on this week, plus a little fresh lettuce. It's been a bit calmer, but until it's free of this cage, I'm afraid it will always be sulky, and I don't blame it one bit.

undrowning in my own house, or, just eat the cheese already

snips are from cards over the years

Exactly 5 months until Christmas Eve, the biggest holiday of the year that periodically mocks my life. I'm currently 2 days into my 5-day crisis management plan, the crisis being that every day of my life is governed by the continual crises of other people, the management being taking back my house, dagnabit.

For the most part, I am not a materialistic person. I watched confliction pull my mom apart from her own more materialistically oriented family (the kind of quiet wealth where she knew of at least one person a generation back who had a luxuriously golden bathroom, yes, real gold), and although it's nice to have nice things and look nice and be nice people, it's also very disturbing to see how ugly some people can be behind those very nice things.

Sorry if this is hard to read.

When I was a little girl I was told "Pretty is as pretty does", and I grew up noticing how hard people try to hide how ugly they really act when they are trying their best to be pretty people with pretty houses. It made no sense to me that my mom was her ugliest on Sundays, when she was under pressure to get four children to church. Incongruity is one of my favorite words, because I thought about it so much.

Christians being racist make me physically nauseous, thanks to my beautifully ugly grandmother cutting her own son off from her life. I cannot even imagine rejecting my own grandchildren, and would never dream of turning a child of mine away from my house, and that very much includes a step child. She is mine. I raised her, I love her, I will never not care deeply for her and her child. I try to imagine sometimes going back in time and having a discussion with my grandmother, with her at this age I am.

My own life in this house feels like insane hilarity and jocularity in a sort of cosmic joke kind of way, where whenever I even attempt to pretend I come from nice and pretty people, everything around me explodes apart into crisis after crisis until I am so beaten down that simply falling on my face as gracefully as possible for the millionth time is wearing me out badly enough that I can barely function emotionally. I have to switch everything inside of me off to make everything else around me ok, and usually everything around me is so chaotic that all I see is other people flailing through their lives. They may think they're holding it together, but what they're really doing is flailing from one crisis to the next in pretty clothes.

I have very real PTSD over the compulsion to look our best. Both my sisters had eating disorders in high school, I was a chain smoking alcoholic when I looked my prettiest (skinniest), and I know other psychological disorders very well, thanks to extended friends and family with a variety of challenges, so I recognize that my own life is about surviving other people's crises all around me in my own home. I am surviving poor coping skills, a host of displacement behaviors, all kinds of fallout originally intended to fix the happiness factor that can't possibly be maintained, and I'm the one drowning.

I'm drowning in materialism. I'm drowning in things. I'm drowning in products that promise beauty and happiness and better living. My house is so full of junk continually coming into it that I can't walk through a single part of it and not see it. I can't escape it, I can't make it stop, I can't put it anywhere that it will stay. The funniest part is that I'm the one home all day long with all this stuff.

I could be an ugly person and draw big ugly boundaries so that I have a beautiful house, or I can choose to be a pretty person and allow spillways of people I love splashing through my life and have a beautiful home. Because of the emotional traumas I saw and went through growing up, I will never make a material object worth more to me than another person's feelings. I want to be happy to see the faces of the people I love, not angry because they messed up something material.

But I really need my bedroom back. I need to stop feeling like I'm swimming through my own house. I need a safe place to hide. Maybe it's time to make a boundary.

I could go on, but I don't want to be an ugly person. Being walked in on without knocking (not talking about the child) is better than not being spoken to. Sharing space with people is better than being alone.

These are the other people I wish I could see.
It's been years again.

Like I finally said out loud for the first time in my life the other day, though- I've been cleaning up after people since I was seven years old. That's how old I was when I started folding laundry, doing dishes, cooking, cleaning the house, and helping my dad with the chores outside. Come October I will have spent 50 years of my life cleaning up after other people and their animals with no pay or reward back except that I get to live in a house I didn't pay for. My biggest challenge lately is not feeling peevish. I think about all the women all over the world over thousands of years who could probably say the same thing. There is no escape or relief, there is nothing that can ever repay us, and our only reward is seeing our people thrive because we worked so hard behind them.

It's lately come to my attention that I've been keeping up all this time with a bone chip from my thigh bone migrating around the band of tissue holding my knee together. "There is a focal full-thickness chondral defect present involving the central weightbearing portion of the lateral femoral condyle measuring 0.6 x 0.7 cm in the transverse and AP dimensions with a mild degree of underlying reactive edema-like marrow signal abnormality. A similar sized chondral body is present within the lateral compartment adjacent to the posterior aspect of the lateral femoral condyle. Intermediate grade chondromalacia is present involving the patellofemoral compartment with surface irregularity and partial-thickness fissuring."

I went out to pic clover and zucchini for BunBun and felt sorry for the maters.

Basically, I have this one week to rearrange my life so that I will be able to heal comfortably after surgery next month. I have a handful of days to do all the things for myself ahead of time that I know other people won't have the time to do for me later. After that everything will go wildly out of control again while I'm stuck healing, and as soon as I can get around, I will be swimming through more new (and used, thanks Goodwill!) things coming into my home.

I know a few people who will find it alarming that I've started matching up all my novelty sox in desperate effort to feel more organized. Yes, it's that bad.

*sigh*

Hang on, where's my just wonderful song?

life imitating art imitiating life

click for fun romp thru 'chronic illness demotivational posters'

Those crack me up, lol.

So I finally made it through the rest of the Patrick Melrose miniseries, by the last ep they stopped being so subtle about the idea that the elite of the world are dying out and their children are done with their head games as they have their own children and realize how awful the generation above them are. I've been going through the same revelations myself through my own years. I think they did a really good job with the show.

@bonenado is home with me this week because scary big stuffs, so we're off and on hitting the DVR in between other things. Slammed through the last of the 12 Monkeys, and I've decided I'm going to buy that series and slam marathon the entire series over again sometime. I don't waste my money on entertainment, so that's a big deal. I really don't have the time to sit and watch TV, so I'm barely keeping up, but HUMANS and The 100 are caught up.

The more actual medical documentation I find on Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, the more thankful I  am for the weird synchronicities in my life that led to me even bringing it up with a doctor, because one sentence not being said at the right moment could have changed this path entirely. One particular info document to doctors mentions that expected mortality for untreated RMSF can be as early as 8 days, and people can take months and years to recover from the rapid damage even on antibiotic. That 5 day window is critical to staying ahead of the level of damage that causes 'neurologic changes' among a long list of other very nasty things. I have purposely pulled back just in case something spirals out of control and I don't have any more time to deal with explanations, contacted key people about current activity changes, and now this is here for everyone else. I've been in low grade fever all week, started having the headaches yesterday (brain inflammation is a huge risk with my autoimmune history), and still having difficulty walking on the affected leg with the swollen knee. The fatigue is unreal.

As far as we can tell, onset was around June 11th, BUT IF the sudden blood pressure surge 2 weeks before was part of it, I could be about a month in, and that would mean the critical antibiotic window was missed. The doxycycline *will kill* the RMSF germ, yes, but I could already have damage that could still become life threatening, or at the very least, make the summer feel much longer and more arduous than my normal spoonie summer with allergies and temp changes from AC and heat. I was already living with nerve dysfunctions and arthritis, and both the RMSF and doxy can kick off an autoimmune flare at any time, if I'm not already in one. Treating could get tricky. Best I can do is rest rest rest.

Still on the game server every day. Sorry if I'm slow to see private messages coming in. I know I had a lot more to do online, and I still have plans galore I want to get to, but it's important right now to keep my positivity focused for better healing. In the old days I crawled through coding and tweaks on bad days. I may be getting back into that, and THAT, basically, is what built my web presence in the first place.

Myke, Barry, Sam, Riv, Sploit, Vicki, Lisa Marie, Holly, #Snarkalecs, Matt, Aaron and Mel, Dylan and Dawn, all the Scotts, Mike B and his bois including the boss, movie gang (my rock), moc, fandom friends, everyone who lurks me and I know you're there watching my blunders and boofs and picking back up again- I love you. If I go through another brain crash and it's a slow climb again, I'm putting this here so I'll remember Pinky Robot euphorias started with you guys showing #aspienado how to hang out without blowing up the webs.

I might be in for some deja vu here in a bit, lol

I've lately had the luxury of doing some comparison thinking, experimenting with projecting possibilities on my own brain and trying reactions on for size.

For example, after the things I've already lived through, the traumas and illnesses that have taken me down into shards that I've spent years cobbling back together, what would be more shocking to find out I must live through next, and whether there is a comparison at all between something like rocky mountain spotted fever vs something like cancer in any of its various stages.

I'm lucky. I accidentally discovered a tick, accidentally wound up at a doctor follow up for something else within a decent range of finding that tick, and quite accidentally wound up on immediate treatment for something I wouldn't have suspected in the slightest even though I was obviously being affected.

And then to find out up to 70% death rate before this particular antibiotic was invented, and in the short time up to morbidity, a very miserable slide into the depths of hell that include inflammation in the brain, along with capillary fail all over the body and particularly lungs and other organs being damaged along the way.

People finding out they are in the first stages of cancer would live longer than I would without treatment.

Given my health and genetic history and my age, I'm lucky I'm alive right now as it is. So far I'm not terribly sick, no. So far I'm not suffering horribly like I could be without treatment. I'm very blessed and very lucky. But this is nothing to blow off like it's a piece of cake. Yes, I'll be fine, but, as with any length of cold or flu, yes, I will be a bit worn out and apprehensive, and I think I deserve that appreciation of circumstance. I've been very thankful for the handful of people who have actually understood the weight of this new challenge. There is no cheating on this life test.

Several long time agos, a friend here or there fussed about not being told something after finding out, like their feelings were hurt not to be on some kind of contact list about something important. If I contact someone personally about something scary and feel blown off, I don't waste my time on my feelings over that. I simply pare down the list. Apart from that, all my stuff is public, and anyone can check on me at any time. I understand that all our plates are full and sometimes we can't deal. It's ok.

If you're checking in to see how I'm doing, though, thank you, I've been having chills for about 24 hours along with the usual pain of aching all over that comes with any germ warfare. My knee is bendier and easier to walk on now, but still a bit gooshy with fluid near the tick bite. MRI today will let my doctor know whether any real damage has been done. My understanding is that doxy, while an excellent treatment, can't work miracles against some of the damage that can happen very quickly. That I have to do on my own over time as I heal.

I keep asking why we chose this planet, it's so toxic out there... lol. Guess it's really pretty, though. Hope you guys are having a great week. 💖

bouncy bouncy

click pic for memes

Fastest backfire ever. I didn't even try to imitate that last vid, I just watched it. I can barely use my right leg today between quads and knee locking up. And it's not even really painful, just muscle lock and off track kind of thing.

Honestly though, I think I worked through a hell of a lot of stress in the psychologist's office yesterday. It started right after I left. Psychoneuroimmunology is a real thing and I have the monocytes showing up on earlier blood tests to prove it. Or, as one person in the medical field has mentioned, I internalize my outer environment, and another noted that I am hyper reactive to both my inner and outer environments.

I feel life full blast and I try to stay chill. It's like the meme 'dying inside', but it actually manifests. It's like my life is an artistic expression of the human condition. If the aliens don't take me, I'll dramatically stumble and cry, "But I'm an artist!"

If I had a twin somewhere I could claim to feel the repurcussion of her leg being slammed in a soccer game. Yeah, that's it. That.

#we

April was a daily rollout of the storyboard in videos on the recently retired pinkyguerrero.blogspot.com, May was a daily rollout of the words added. It has taken me years to figure out my 'problem' (as people say, what is your problem?), and now I feel done with that.

Since opening my blog brings up the entire rollout backward, I will transfer all of it here in one place forward for easier reading, since so many readers attempted to read post to post backward this last week, even though I never link shared any of those anywhere.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Every April is horrid for me, every year. For over 30 years I didn't understand why. Pinky blog started unraveling the mystery, filling in the holes, sorting out the misplaced feelings and nightmares, the secrets I kept from myself. Each day last month auto posted a pre-scheduled video, a sort of montage of placeholders for feelings I couldn't quite pin down for years, like memory cards. It helped to let my intuition choose the vids and order them without thinking or writing. After I completed that task, I realized I can see my own storyboard now.

April first always started with a buried memory that I couldn't see. She was blond. I subconsciously became bluejacky and pinky in public blogs starting in 2007, pinkybluejacky in some places, like pinterest. You can read in this article about the terrible day that I buried for 30 years. My head puts things like this together behind my back, connecting dots before I realize what's even happening, and then I go Ohhhh....

Something else happened around that time that made my memories very difficult to deal with. I'd been ejected from a violently flipping vehicle a few months before (I think? Was it the same year?) or the winter after (I srsly cannot keep that timeline straight in my head at all), and I may have suffered a concussion that was never properly addressed (ya think???), along with other very serious injuries (nearly bleeding to death internally, shredding soft tissue down to the bones all over my body). Between a difficult childhood (none of us yet knowing I am autism spectrum) with difficult parents (bless their hearts, I can't even, and one day I've gotta), and my friend being brutally murdered, my memories are still like hash through a wood chipper. Far too much trauma, so I simply shut down once I got the call. But I still vividly remember the accident, and I've never forgotten what happened during the NDE. I may be sharing that soon.

In retrospect, nearly my entire emotional support for about 10 years of my life had come from my friend ever since the 5th grade until April 1981. I never realized or understood anything about our relationship (aspienado) until this particular video woke me up many years later in 2010 (by then I had already separately been Bluejacky on a blog and Pinky in a chatroom), and I started trying to cobble that shattered part of myself back together. She was everything to me, but even then I didn't know this was about her, deeply confusing it with a more recent friendship that had dropped off. My public Bluejacky blog skipped the year 2010 after writhing with dealing with my mom's death right on top of my own legal disability hearing the year before. I went underground, and nearly disappeared from the internet.

I'll never forget running into this song. I watched it over and over, tears streaming. The part with the black apple tore through me like a little cannonball. It's like seeing the big picture, the before and after, the going on into the future. By the time I saw this I had already started dealing with remembering the murder, but I intuitively placed it in the queue last month onto the day before that horrible anniversary, like I was making a bridge for myself to be able to cross.

April 1, 2015 I started cracking open. The ugly memories started leaking out, or as I put it, all that colorful candy flying in slow motion out of a smashed pinata. Three months later all the subconscious stuff started spilling out and I was finally on my way to truly emotionally healing. But April 5th is still very, very hard. I had repressed that memory for 34 years.

And after April 5th passed, I always felt lost and floaty inside without knowing why, and I latched hard onto repetition and super focus so I wouldn't feel crazy, never understanding why I felt like that. This playlist is an example of a coping mechanism.



Looking back now, I can see that the night of the horrible phone call was the last time I closed the door on my mom, never really to open it again. After a difficult childhood through which I was very rarely asked personally if I was ok, I saw that question in her eyes and simply just shut all my emotion down, turning my back on her, and going back to bed, quietly tucking what I'd just heard into a very dark place and making it not exist. The next day I burned all the letters my friend had written me after we moved, and walked on as if she hadn't existed. From then on, any time my mom made a big deal about anything else that ever happened, I simply went deeper into the dark until my entire heart was swallowed up and I lost myself. My life turned into anger and hatred, and I really took it out on my poor mom. After a failed first marriage to a guy who turned out to be a mentally ill pedophile, I became a hardcore drinker and went places in my life most nice people don't even think exists except on TV. I know I would never have gone down that path if that murder hadn't happened.

And from there I just didn't care. I nearly drank myself to death. I hung out with a major underground drug distrubutor and his girlfriend, living a double life with a normal job and getting to know a few people in the seedy underbelly of a big city. I didn't feel anything, wasn't afraid of anything, and all I cared about was my job and alcohol, which was probably my salvation since I turned down a sweet offer managing my own interstate drug trafficking team from California to the midwest. I had left my child with my mom during this time, thank goodness, and in three short months passed up two amazing opportunities for really good jobs (local police and hospital administration, go figure) before I finally got so sick from the alcohol I had to quit and come home.

I recognized myself as Hatter in this movie. During my dark night of the soul, I was very capable of hurting and not caring. Even with a solid moral upbringing ground into me from birth, I was cold and ruthless inside. I didn't even pretend not to be, but since I didn't use foul language, dressed simply, and remained about as immaterial as it gets, most people didn't equate me with savagery, much less a shadowy manipulator of events. Fortunately, someone came along and woke me up to other possibilities.

Ideally, inside my mind, I wanted people dead. I wanted them in pain, and I wanted them out of my way. I walked a very fine line with my intellect, and it wouldn't have taken much to snap me into a veritable supervillain. In retrospect, I feel I can empathize with people who go to the dark side. I've felt the process, and I know how easy it is to cross that line and not be able to come back. I walked right on that line for years, but I never quite stepped off into that dark side.

Well, you know what happens to people who shut down and don't empathize. I grew so pathetic that even when I started straightening up and getting back on track, I couldn't keep friends. I stumbled around so awkwardly with social interaction once I let go of the hate as a way of life thing, I went through friend after friend, unable to understand what I was doing wrong, unable to slow the inevitable disaster. I still hadn't been diagnosed autism yet, and the world of caring felt treacherously slippery. I think I know how John feels in this series. Very few people really look at John.

And then there it was, that friendship that clicked. I didn't know it was even happening. I knew something felt different, but there was so much other stuff going on both in real life and online that I couldn't untangle any of it. I knew I needed a 'home', I knew I needed people, but I still didn't know yet how not to crash the world around me. And of course, the explosion was everything that beautiful tragedy should be, and naturally I was the catalyst for a powder keg of fun and chaos. The difference this time was my heart unexpectedly shattering.

As I felt the last of the party and another friendship slipping away, I jolted awake with a lightning bolt spearing a bigger picture vision into my brain that lasted only a heartbeat, the insight I was never born or gifted with, just out of my grasp. It was too late. My head and heart screamed as the last of all of it slipped through my fingers. I've been through several deaths and a divorce before and since this particular event, but never in my life did I feel such intensity in a heady grip of euphoria and then drowning in sorrow and sadness. I realized this is what I'd been looking for my whole life, and without a doubt, it was my fault I lost it.

For the first time since my best friend was murdered, I felt like I had found a friend I could click with. For the first time in my entire life, I was beginning to form my deepest autistic feelings into words, learning how my words were both my weapons and my tools, realizing how words flick other hearts and burn other souls, realizing I can't do this by myself, and I do need another person who will help me see myself, help me grow, help me find my potential. In all my other relationships I was still apart, merely partnering or caregiving, but not soul sharing. I couldn't imagine going through the rest of my life so empty, now that I had awakened to it.

Part of waking up to the pain of loss was also waking up to my autism getting in the way of playing the social game right, and that being the reason for my friendship history being so abysmal. I can't fake and pretend, I can't live lies, I can't ignore discrepancies and inconsistencies. I question everything, and I make social interaction so awkward for other people. I didn't realize for years how I affected people around me everywhere I went. I seem to have a charismatic personality, and people seem drawn to me, yet I can't keep deeper relationships, I can't seem to keep trust, and sooner or later, friends either slipped away and shut down contact or outright let me know we couldn't be friends any more without telling me why.

Years of never having proper closure doesn't mean much to someone who is emotionally shut down, but waking up to an abyss of not getting desperately needed answers during no closure nearly did me in. I begged my doctor to send me to a psychologist down the hall, and my very first statement walking in was I need help talking to people. Obviously I could talk heads off, and obviously I metaphorically eventually killed every contact, so obviously I wasn't doing something right. Honestly, I would never have sought out that help if I hadn't felt like I was desperate to know why I was hurting so badly from another loss. That had never happened before. I had been given leads in this friendship to follow and adapt, and even when I tried I just couldn't. The very thing I'd rebelled against my entire life had beaten me down, and from this loss event I surged into deeper writings about self, masks, social solutions- years of public blogging that have given me a deep lurker cult following. As I have agonized and learned, others have watched and kept pushing me out into my little spotlight.

The very first part of healing is honestly assessing and accepting one's self. I committed to years of work with my psychologist, learning all the hard stuff about myself that ripped my soul up. I peeled back the layers very slowly, almost methodically, learning how to see my naked soul. I am mean, cruel, colder than dry ice at my core. But was I really born like that? Is that autism, or is that the result of living with autism in the family I had? I have a sociology degree, and nature versus nurture was heavily debated for several years as we peeled back everything I'd ever learned about Maslow's heirarchy of needs, about Durkheim's social psychology theories, plunging into philosophies that included Nietzche, Sartre, Kierkegaard, shredding the tunnel visioned religion and politics I grew up with, really looking at my parents as children with their own parents.

And I cried.

For the first time in my life, I cried for other people. I felt so bad for my parents as children that I wanted to scoop them up and save them, so bad for my mom as a young mother that I wanted to go back in time and hug her and tell her everything would be ok. I had spent my life being enthralled with the sciences and science fiction, but never knew the passion behind it until I stripped myself down to my naked soul and found who I really am. I'm not cold at all. I learned to be cold to stop the pain. I'm not mean and cruel, in fact, I'm so soft inside that I cry very easily every single day now, but as a child I learned to be mean and cruel so I wouldn't cry, because some of the stories I share now are so sad, that even though I couldn't feel what I was saying when I first started writing them, I have been assured they bring tears to people's eyes. In the meantime, I learned that above all, I am a survivor where others crumble, and that I can not only still learn and adapt, but I can make decisions to become who others need me to be. With that in mind, my goal with my psychologist has been to never again feel that level of loss and pain out of my own ignorance.

Part of healing and accepting myself is embracing what I really love. I know I need other people, I know I love all that crazy scifi out there, surely I could find my way back out into a place I could fit in without blowing it all up... I started practicing. Everywhere I went, every day, I became mindful of interaction, how I present, how others might see and react to me. I practiced smiling and making eye contact even just buying toothpaste, I practiced seeming like a pleasant person in lines at the post office, I practiced summarizing my thoughts on the phone and in doctors' offices instead of rambling, stuff like that. It was very awkward, lol, but I kept at it till it got easier.

And I especially practiced online. I practiced making my paragraphs shorter. I practiced interacting on social medias. I practiced talking to my kids. You heard me. I actually practiced how to interact better with my own kids. I practiced all this with the intention of still retaining my own integrity, my own personality, my own ME without any masks. I learned to be an actor. It's not the same as lying, but it *is* learning how to pretend well. The goal is to increase satisfaction levels in all parties involved, kind of like a game. The better I play the interaction game, the better all of us feel about each other. Lol, yes, I turned social interaction into a game. 😁 Over time, I'm getting pretty good at it.

Over time, with help from my psychologist, I am learning that my childhood was much more difficult and painful than I initially thought I was realizing. The trauma was bad enough without my friend's murder complicating it, plus my alcoholism and new experiences on the edges of the underground. I had a lot to sift through, filter down, come back from. It became about much more than learning how to keep a friend. This has become about a childhood fantasy about revenge, or an adult fantasy about getting even somehow. This is about why the world is the way it is, and what can I do to change that.

And then I found them. My People. To say I was elated was an understatement. I hope I never ever lose them. They are my rock, and I need them every day. It's a lot of work balancing all the things I need and all the things other people need back, but I am delighted trying to keep up.

Once I was settled into the swing of being part of a group again, that old void started gnawing at me, and over time it chewed me up so much that one of my friends commanded me to go make contact again. It had been years. I practiced all this time, but my nerves were a mess. Should I? I put it off over and over. I sort of attempted. I pulled back and let it dangle. I had never felt afraid like this, never felt this kind of anxiety over another person like this. But I couldn't finish moving forward without that friendship, that one person who had somehow snuck past my unconscious defenses and clicked into a spot reserved for only one who could never come back, unintentionally ripping the old wound open and leaving me helpless like no one had ever done. I knew I couldn't finish healing until I had at least tried to heal that. It was very scary. I used to scoff at other people feeling embarrassed or nervous. My turn.

It wasn't as simple as getting a friend back, I found out. We did patch up, yes, but we grew in very different directions over the years, and we are both learning and adjusting and it's taking time. I have learned every bit as much from this entire friendship debacle and getting back together as I have learned from being married for more than two decades. I have certainly learned more than from any other friendship I've ever had, mostly about myself- my skewed or simplistic expectations, my misunderstandings, my lack of foresight even though I'm very good with foresight with my spouse and children. I'm not very good at intuiting what a friend really needs or wants from me. I'm not able to be the person I was hoping I'd be. Still, I don't want to let go, or simply settle. What do I want? Where is forward from here? And I think she may be feeling the same way. I have definitely grown much better as a person for the efforts, again, so much more than without her, in so many ways she'll probably never understand or comprehend. I am learning. That is phenomenal after a lifetime of social stagnation. In the meantime, I have surged into all new territory with my psychologist. Some of my buried childhood memories are surfacing, and I am more determined than ever to get my 'revenge' on a brutal world that teaches people all the wrong ways to 'love' their children. This world is so broken.



Planning revenge takes a bit of obsession, I'll admit. To properly pull off the kind of revenge I can find satisfaction in, especially the broad scope part, I had to do some pretty deep thinking. What will be required of me executing my strategies? For one thing, I'll have to climb out of my comfort zone into a very uncomfortable spotlight. If I'm going to discuss my personal history and feelings with the world at large, what will this do to the people I care about? Will they stop talking to me? Is stepping out worth the risk of losing family while I'm still learning to keep and grow friendships?

Believe it or not, the hardest part was believing I could do this, not because it felt so unreal, but because I had become so disabled I could barely even piece together a single sentence. This idea of a book felt like something I'm making up, creating a patchwork of truth from slippery memories I had locked away and had really never talked about before. I quietly watched other authors launch from near oblivion into fair bits of success, and realized the goal absolutely must be success or I might never have another chance to get past the sticky pull of my depression, much less the plethora of daily challenges. Every day through bitter tears of crippling pain, crushing depression, and most of all alone, I whispered "I can do this." And every day I have made some kind of progress, sometimes a millimeter at a time, sometimes feeling so fail I could barely imagine going on, but believed I must even if there was no hope and people might think I'm only making up a lie. Because it is my truth.

Through the never ending haze of overwhelming interruption, I learned to develop some very stimulating patterns of thinking, and repetition slowly honed my sword. This had the odd effect of surging me forward with a passion that felt like my soul exploding, and from there it got much easier.



Since then it's been about learning to own my truth. I don't have to apologize for being born on this earth, or for standing up for what I need. I am who I am who I am.



Along the way, I learned that one of my deepest needs to feel recognized and validated in any part of my life is something I'm supposed to get in healthy relationships. Learning to embrace that it's actually ok to own a skill set was one of the hardest healthy things I've ever done. This runs completely counterintuitive to the guilt I was raised to harbor over every little thought, word, or movement in my existence. The freedom to be is kind of like realizing you can stand there with the fridge open if you want to.

After the guilt part goes away, life gets more fun. I started asking myself- What do I really want? And then I'd ask- What am I willing to do to get that?

Basically more than anything, I want to write. I. Love. Words. Words are an endless game and thoughts never stop, and I happily thread and sculpt ideas into stories amusing myself, so why not do that out loud? Why not put those words into something I can hold in my hands? Why not make words that can be held in hands all over the world?

As for what I'd be willing to do... Going public as a real person was one of the biggest decisions I ever made in my life. I think I thought harder and deeper about that than I did about getting remarried, lol. Making myself available for people to contact, standing alone in scary spotlights at the height of depression spells, literally listing my flaws. I am willing to do these and more, despite a developing paranoia (that my psychologist kept insisting wasn't really social anxiety) and a solid history of public humiliation.

Fun? I said fun, didn't I? Well, I think deep down I long to go skydiving, so why not take the same level of risk writing? Why can't writing feel edgy? The best writing is the scary stuff, like confessing your soul and then wobbling away feeling sick after hitting 'publish'.

When I originally thought of writing as a full time hobby/art/possible living, I didn't envision the live blogging I do now. Well, these 'we' tagged posts are scheduled, but you know what I mean.

I never feel alone on the internet, and trackers show me I very rarely am. This blog gets hit so continually that it feels like a hangout, maybe on the exclusive side because lurkers come and go freely without other people knowing they're here. As reclusive as I've been in the past even with my internet history, I like feeling that I'm not alone. I guess like with any sport or challenge, you really don't want people seeing the fails, but knowing someone still shows up regularly even after the facepalms has been so inspiring that I have been able to surge far past my originally intended platform goals. Until I experienced this, I never even envisioned it. This was pure accident.

I'd love to propose the idea of 'lurker engagement' as a great assessment tool. I don't think this is utilized well in general analytics. I've had statistics classes in 3 different fields of study (math, geography, and sociology), and if there's anything I'm good at, it's trends over time. When you use engagement to assess blogging needs, include the silent returns. They may not 'engage', but they are definitely engaged. I have 600+ documented returning readers that clocked over 10 returns each, and a fifth of my readers spending 20 minutes to over an hour at a time reading and clicking through more posts while they are here.

You heard me. Yes, documented. Those of you throwing in the towel need to stop that. On the outside it looks like I average 30-40 hits a day and very rarely get comments. I'm not 'engaging' my audience. On the inside, people are keeping this window open and clicking 'next', and apparently quite a few have me bookmarked. It's about learning how to read your analytics. You are not alone. Don't stop just because you can't see people reading what you write.

But more than reaching out, I want to be part of. Every mind I touch becomes part of my existence, just as every mind that has touched me has incorporated me into theirs. Standing up and reaching out is a very big deal now in a world so saturated with repetition and lemming behavior modification. More than ever it's important not to be like everyone else, molded into easily herded sheeple. The dreams we see on screens don't have to belong to bank accounts. We don't have to break corporate ice to spread our dreams.

Someone told me once they could make my dreams come true. I was so floored that anyone could even say that, presuming to know what my dreams are without even asking me.

The only person who can make my dreams come true is me, and I know now that I will stand alone to get them. It's ok for real life to bump us around and we curl up and hide a little, but I cannot go back to sleep with the blue pill, and I will not be quiet. I refuse to be forgotten and not missed, just another autie who fell through all the cracks of society...

9 years ago this weekend, or, the aspienado spawn event

#aspienado

And now it's up to me.

"This is ten percent luck
Twenty percent skill
Fifteen percent concentrated power of will
Five percent pleasure
Fifty percent pain
And a hundred percent reason to remember the name"
by Fort Minor

I nearly didn't put this song in the storyboard. This one holds the angst I need to finally just get over so I can finish what I need to get done. I embrace that hanging on to a wisp of a could have been is what motivated me and got me this far, but I must allow that it's time to grow up and move on. I can't help, in fact probably will always need, remembering that my spark was fanned into a driven flame by those who are very real and outside the complex world going on inside my mind, and I will always be thankful that I was able to wake up more to what I could be even under mountainous duress and through devastating fail. I will be ok, and I am ok, and all is right in my world.

I ended my storyboard with a new direction I'm going, away from introspection toward creation. I've cleaned my closets, purged my doubts, faced my sads, and now I just want what I want. I want to do what I came here to do. I, we, all my selves from all my survivals have come back together and we all see now why we are here and where we are going. I am looking forward to a more emotionally healthy future and a joie de vivre I haven't felt in a very long time. I don't have to feel strong to be strong or feel brave to be brave. All I have to do is be me, live my life, say my words, and love my people. I'm done with being angry and hating, and I never want to be like that again. Being born autism spectrum into a judgmental family history rife with rigidity and guilt is my superpower now, and I will never fall through all the cracks and be lost again. I'm here for everyone to find, and God or the heavens or the universe or whatever is bigger and better than us bless all the eyes that read my words. Thank you for finding me, and I hope it helped. I know the nights get pretty long.



~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

This is the first time I've been able to cobble together a coherent timeline of events in my story. I live with a shattered sense of time orientation, and writing in a decent enough format has never come easily for me. This is practice.

I'm very thankful to a world of fandoms teaching me how to put words to feelings that I wasn't in touch with via fanvid smashing, fanart smashing, and an occasional fanfic. Emotional healing can take years, even without added traumas causing multiple PTSDs and cognitive and social challenges like autism spectrum.

As I've mentioned time and again on the now retired Pinky blog, I blog for myself, but very grateful for lurkers showing up and sometimes latching on, and especially the ones who quietly keep pushing me back out here saying I'm on the right track.