Update on the Screaming in My Head.

 It's been a challenging few days. I started doing the work of therapy journaling this purality stuff. It's been hard and creepy. When I talked to my psychiatrist about this, he was completely unsurprised by what I had said and gave me some suggestions on what I can do to start finding equilibrium with all this. I haven't begun looking into books yet. I'm still working out this journal stuff. I picked up a set of twenty four colored pens to use. I've got more than six colors in play right now. It's making me a little nervous.

Not everyone is 'talking' to me right now. This is my second attempt at this type of journaling. During my first attempt, it was more like having a conversation with strangers on paper. There was introductions and such. This time, I'm just basically writing whatever comes up. There's at least two insiders (I guess that's what some folks call 'em, I don't know what the right language is for this.) who are angry with me and each other.

One is young. The age fluctuates but never hits over thirteen. I suspect that this one is actually a pair answering to the same name for safety purposes. Generally, pleasant child but very anxious. She's also quite angry that I haven't let her make artwork or do stuff like coloring books. I am doing my best to make time for that now but it's hard. Tuesday mornings are her time for art stuff now. That seemed to mollify her upset with me. But then there's the anger that is directed at the other insider. I don't know how to manage that.

The other insider is an adult. A very angry and bitter woman of forty. She's furious with me for apparently using her abilities and not giving her proper credit, among other things. She hasn't stepped out as a spokesperson for the rest. But boy is she angry on their behalf. I literally spent two hours going back and forth with this insider. She wants me to commit to the journal work and to acknowledge the others. She wants writing time under her own name. (No, her name is not Brythwen,) She wants me to give her a place to do public writing, like a blog. 

We're still in the negotiation phase on that one. Partly because I can't manage more blogs. Partly because this business has be sufficiently incapacitated at times that I can't write because my head is so full of noise. She wants to make herself known here but I'm not ready for that exposure. I don't know what she has going on and I want to make sure that it's something that's not going to be a problem. Like I said, negotiation is happening.

There are two others who have been making their presence known but weren't as emotionally charged today. They are adult women as well. I can't determine what their ages are but that's never come up in our conversations over the last few days. One is a warrior with a whole world of her own. The other is a priestess with another world of her own. It's weird to have this going on but it's been like this my whole life. I've just been keeping it under my hat and desperately trying to be 'normal'. And they have come out at different times in my life and masqueraded as me to handle whatever situation was going on.

That's why people remember actions or conversations had that I don't. Because I was not in charge when it happened. When these insiders of mine come up to the surface, things get remembered and I have an easier time with different things. It's been strange to me but as Beloved has said, there's never been any indication of these insiders having malicious intent nor have they demonstrated a major change in my behavior. It's all been real subtle.

I have a feeling as I work on this, that's going to change. A few nights ago, the child came forward looking for reassurance and I got bumped to the 'backseat' so that I was aware of this exchange with Beloved. I think that the child/children came out before in the past. I just hope that it's not going to be a thing where it interferes with my ability to take care of my responsibilities and be an adequate parent. 

Welp, screw my brain.

 I feel awful right now. And a large part of it is because of the transphobic and related bullshit on Tumblr in the Filianic community. I warned them literally years ago that these people are a menace. Their response was 'we don't want to strangle our fledgling religion in the cradle'. Now we've got a nice little collection of TERFs and SWERFs who are getting an echo chamber out of people who I had once thought might have been decent. Seeing that garbage is awful. 

It brings back memories of things like being assaulted at school because I wasn't femme enough, never mind I was wearing a dress and had breasts. In gym class, I had one time someone tried to rip my undergarments off to 'prove' I wasn't a 'real' girl. End result of that encounter, I punched her in the groin and backhanded her friend who was going to come in and settle the matter once and for all. When the two girls realized that I wasn't going to passively let them strip me in public, they backed off. I was declared a 'freak' and continually harassed about the fact that my vocal pitch dropped when I hit puberty. 

I was constantly the target of girls who decided I wasn't femme enough because I didn't wear make up, shave my body hair, or wear the latest fashions. I got called a tranny. I got called shemale. I got called it. All because I didn't fit the mold for their version of femme people. I got physically assaulted on a semi regular basis through junior high and the excuse was 'you look like a freak'. I fought the people who assaulted me, which didn't make me any more femme apparently. One kid who thought it'd be funny to try to pants me as I was going up the stairs, I kicked him in the chest and knocked him down half the flight of stairs before I turned around and said, "If you're going to come at me, be a man about it and do it to my face." That never got reported to the school officials. What's the kid going to do, admit he was attempting to assault someone and they kicked him for it.

The girls were merciless about the 'you're not a real girl' bullshit. The boys seized on the 'you have a period and it's gross' bullshit. I had them throw ketchup on me, or at least try to but I dodged out of the way so it just hit the floor. And then the person who threw the ketchup said loudly, "OH LOOK, SHE'S ON THE RAG!" because the ketchup was in the vicinity of my feet. Same moron who did this regularly tried to shove me into walls and lockers with his buddies laughing. I dodged as best I could, but when you've got three people at your back, somebody's going to land a blow. So, I turned around with my purse and brained one of the idiots with it. I got in trouble for my 'excessively violent' response. My parents, surprisingly, approved of what I did and told me next time to put a brick in my purse.

It was the moron with the switchblade who just pissed me off. He kept stealing the lock off my locker and once I had a keyed lock that he couldn't easily pick, he decided he was going to steal my purse and my locker key. He whipped out his switchblade and demanded I give it to him. I looked at the knife and scoffed. Then I walked away, because a kid with a switchblade isn't half as scary as your parent with a butcher's knife, and reported the little shit to the school superintendent. Fifteen minutes later, parents were there the kid was getting chewed out by his mom and my parents were starting the paperwork to pull my brothers and I out of that school in the middle of the school year.

Cue getting transferred back to the school we left because the bullying was so bad that some motherfucker decided they were going to try to strangle my little brother on the bus. Yeah, that hadn't improved. They hadn't forgotten us. We were harassed. My brothers got into fights and then people backed off of them. But I got the 'freak' treatment from a bunch of my peers. It only got worse when one of the ringleaders of my harassment from the other school transferred in to the school I was at. This time, my odds were heavily stacked against me. It was me versus my entire class, with the exception of about five people. Transphobic shit from the girls and sexual harassment from the guys. Explict sexual harassment.

It got to the point that we were getting ready to take legal action when mediation was attempted. One person out of the group of twenty showed up. He left the school district shortly after that incident. The rest, well, they were back at the sexual harassment shit and spreading rumors that I was a whore. I got to experience the ugly side of patriarchy in multiple ways. When I tried to get someone official to intervene I got 'boys will be boys, just ignore them.' When someone randomly groped me in the hall, I couldn't turn and deck them because I couldn't tell who it was. When another person tried to shove me into a locker, I did get a chance to do something about it. I stepped back and let his momentum carry him half into my locker and slammed my locker door on his head about a half dozen times. He never laid hands on me again after that.

So, TL:DR I got the transphobic bullshit and the misogynistic bullshit both in school. When I see these young women spouting TERF crap and SWERF crap, it's painful. It brings up memories of fighting to keep my dignity. It brings up memories of people trying to hurt me because they felt that I wasn't enough of a girl to deserve any sort of respect. It's obvious to me that these 20 somethings have never experienced that level of harassment. I block some of them. Others I tried to educate. And they said that it was impossible that the transphobic crap happened to me because I'm obviously female.

The women I feel safe with are transwomen. There's a real short list of other women that I feel safe with and they usually turn out to be some form of queer.

But, this is the shit going round and round in my brain making me think maybe it's best to just stop blogging so that I don't have to go through the gauntlet of having to prove I'm femme enough again.

CW: Eating disorder vs diabetes

 As some of you may know, I am a recovered anorexic. It took about five years of Beloved forcing me to finish meals when we went out before I could eat a meal and not be filled with guilt that I was taking food from someone else who needed it more. See, when I was a kid, when I got hungry and tried to get a snack that was the line thrown at me "You're taking food out of your brothers' mouths." My parents strictly limited how much food I was allowed to have. I learned to take the bare minimum that was enough to make the hunger pains stop. Gradually, that lessened until I just accepted that a certain level of discomfort when it came to food was 'normal' as my parents heartily encouraged my brothers to eat more and gave me scorn when I tried to do the same.

When I got to school, I got harassed for eating a full meal because I was so skinny. Rumors flew around that I was bulimic and I started restricting what I ate in public. That was about when I developed a revulsion for watching and listening to other people eat. The confluence of my upbringing and the stressors of high school ended up with my weight fluctuating between 110 and 95 lbs when I was a senior and stood 5ft 8 in. My doctor never fully caught on to what was going on with me. He was a nice guy but assumed that my build was a result of the fact that I was born a micro-preemie. The secret about how food was managed in the household wasn't breathed for fear of dire punishment.

Backstory presented, I am finding myself struggling to do the things I need to in order to manage my diabetes. Fasting blood sugar numbers higher than 130 has me eating less than 30 carbs prior to taking my blood sugar lowering medication for fear that my blood sugar is going to run up too high once those carbs hit my system. I have spent the last three years (give or take) strictly limiting my food intake to between 30 to 35 carbs per meal. I struggle with the urge to skip snacks. I've lost a fair amount of weight. People praise me for it and I get nervous. I get afraid that I'm losing weight too fast. 

At the same time, I can't help the feeling that the more I restrict, the greater control I have over the diabetes. I struggle with the temptation to cut my meal carb load down lower. Especially when my fasting blood sugars a running over 160. I find myself sorting foods into forbidden and not forbidden categories. I get scared that I'm going to cook the wrong thing for myself or that I'm going to accidentally eat a forbidden food. I used to love cooking. Now I dread it. Between all the math I have to juggle to figure out to make the meal (and I'm bad at math) and the psychological torture of eating tiny meals compared to the rest of the family it's awful. 

I just don't want to cook anymore. I can't do that, because the boys don't know (and are not willing yet to learn) how to cook. I get emotionally torqued up over food and try to stick to things that I know are low carb as best I can. I keep finding myself tempted to switch over to the keto diet (which is basically what I was doing in high school) to limit my carbs even more. My doctor has explicitly banned the keto diet because it can be lethal for diabetics. So, I'm stuck gradually reducing what I am eating as I watch my blood sugars bounce around. 

And, as I struggle with the urge to restrict my food, I am sneak eating snacks that fall under the keto category. I am hiding when I eat. I am falling into the habit of eating my dinner before the kids come to the table to eat so I don't have to deal with the revulsion of my personal eating on top of the revulsion of listening and watching them eat. It's not good and it is slowly getting worse. But because I am a bit overweight, people are like 'oh, good job losing weight' and 'you can't possibly be an anorexic.'

Long day is long.

 I am weary. It has been a long day. I got a bunch of writing done on my other blogs to the point that I'm almost caught up on my work. I posted links to stuff on social media and I'm waiting for people to notice it. My goal right now is to hit between fifteen and twenty reads on a given blog post for a given blog. It was mentally exhausting to do three days worth of blogging on three blogs. For some reason, it is easier for me to sit down and work on a novel for an equivalent length of time than it is to do the blogging stuff right now.

I had a dentist appointment yesterday that actually went pretty well. I was a little nervous going in because I've been having some sensitivity in a tooth that has a lot of work on it. The dentist explained that the filling material transmitted heat and cold a lot easier than enamel and that was a relief. As was the fact that I had no cavities. On the whole, my oral health is a world better than it was a bit over ten years ago when I got so depressed I stopped taking care of my teeth. This resulted in my having a bunch of cavities, one almost bad enough to require a root canal. Thanks to the Eastman Dental Clinic, those got taken care of and my dental care has been excellent. And they have been patiently teaching me how to properly take care of my teeth. I'm always asking questions about how I am doing and how I can improve. 

That experience with getting all those fillings scared the hell out of me and made me change my approach to self-care. I still struggle with it because of being taught that my needs come last out of everyone in the household and that it is selfish for me to spend more than the bare minimum of time on my self care. Between the diabetes, my skin issues, and my eyesight getting slowly worse, I've been forced to take time for these things that I was all but prohibited when I was growing up. I am tired and I could probably use a shower but I don't know if I'm going to get one tonight. It depends on if the kids use up all the hot water and if I have the energy for it (and the associated task of moisturizing everything now).

I didn't feel like washing dishes or cooking dinner but I pushed through that. We had meatloaf and cheesy mashed potatoes for dinner tonight. I didn't have the Italian sausage to add to the recipe, so I used more beef. The kids didn't notice the difference and still enjoyed their meal. I ran out of space to put dishes to dry earlier. So, I will have to wait until tomorrow to wash the broiler pan from Monday's burgers and the dishes from tonight. My life is painfully boring and domestic on this front. My biggest accomplishments today it seems, aside from writing, was getting all my laundry folded and put away; washing a fuck ton of dishes; and making dinner. 

I'm really frustrated with how my tarot reading business is going. I was logged in for my usual hours and only got one call. Which netted me three dollars, that's one dollar per hour before you factor in stuff like tax. This has been the case for a few weeks now. I don't know if it is a case of clients not having the money for readings in the face of prices for everything going up or if there's something else going on. I did an experiment a few days ago of logging in at nine in the morning and staying logged in until four thirty in the afternoon. I only made fifty dollars the entire day. This is a sharp decrease from what I had going on in September. In September, I averaged something between five to ten dollars per hour on my calls. I ended the week with something around forty to fifty dollars. 

A part of me says I should just give it up. Another part of me says that this is just a fallow period and I need to hang in there. I just get anxious that we're going to need that small extra bit of income over the coming months. I know that my anxiety is based in the fact that I grew up poor and we needed every dime we could get our hands on. But I am struggling with how to market my business and my books. I'm actually getting some small royalty checks for my books. It's averaging to be around twenty dollars a month. I am hoping that the holidays may mean more sales but I'm not hanging my hat on that.

Suffice it to say, there's a lot of balls up in the air right now. I've been slowly gathering things for Yule. Because of my issues over the Summer and early Autumn, I didn't get anything made for anybody. I don't have time to craft stuff between now and the 25th. I just don't know what to get some folks and I am struggling with anxiety over pricing since going shopping and observing how much the cost of stuff has gone up since the last time I did serious shopping. A small ham should not be over ten dollars at the discount grocery store, but that's where we're at.

And this isn't even looking at my mental health picture right now. Let's just say that I'm tired, dealing with seasonal depression, and the different parts of my brain are arguing with each other on a semi-regular basis. Also, last week, I had three panic attacks. It sucked. I don't even know why they happened. But, I am struggling to find time to do my therapy writing in the face of everything else going on. I barely find time to get my daily work done. I haven't been sleeping great and I'm sure it's tied to all of that. However, I am a fighter. I'll just keep my shield up and press forward until I have ground the problem beneath my heel or forced the situation to one that I can bear, like I always do.

Sleep helps my brain reset.

 I took a nap after that last post and that screaming in my head sensation went away. If it stays away, I don't know. Apparently just a bad night's sleep is going to screw up my head now. *sigh*

This getting older with multiple mental illnesses to deal with is bullshit. /rant

There's screaming in my head.

 Fuck all, I've gone and talked about this on FB of all places. This blog gets barely any pings, it's a theoretically safe place to talk about it.

Today, there's someone in my head screaming. It's not the introject of my mother. That particular someone is locked up and gagged as sufficiently as I can manage by force of will and magic. But there's a part of me wailing in terror and cowering. I can't make sense of it. I just take the magic pill and the wall between them and I gets a little thicker. 

I've had almost as many panic attacks this week as there've been days. I've dissociated a lot when I wasn't panicked and just sat staring at things not really connecting with reality. This concept of being 'plural' or whatever it's called terrifies me. That might be why one of the people in my head is screaming right now. I've been stuck on trying to write all morning.

All I know is that there's a part of myself in deep distress and I can't do anything about it. I don't know why there is this distress. When the panic attacks hit, I feel like I need to run and hide. Not take my children and hide. Not prepare for a fight. But flee for my life and hide in or under something where I can't be seen. It makes being on the computer hard because my living room is not a secure location with it's three big windows. Yeah, it's a laptop and I could theoretically carry it off into another room to write. But that's not going to resolve whatever the fuck is going on in my head.

All of this started months ago when I couldn't sleep. I thought we had the sleep problem resolved. I'm starting to wake up stupid early again. (Last night was because I was coming down from a panic attack and forgot all my evening meds because I couldn't grock what time it was on some level. That doesn't exactly count like most of last week where I did take 'em and I kept popping awake at 0400.) My head feels even more fucked up than it did when this shit began.

I'm not having flashbacks, most of the time. But that's because of the magic pill that quells the panic response and short circuits the flashback. I keep dissociating in a fashion where I just sit and stare not really connecting with reality, just in a fog. I know there's a lot of trauma anniversaries through this time of year. I'm not too surprised by the dissociation, but this rising, repetitive sense of panic and feeling like my brain/personality/self is fractured and held together with spit and bailing wire has been growing stronger over the months.

I'll be talking to my psy doc about this soon. I know that he'll say that I really need a therapist. The problem is none of the therapists in my area will take my damn insurance. And I'll just suffer with this shit if my choice is going back to the county clinic. Those people damn near destroyed my life with their bungling of my case. No fucking way am I going to darken their doorstep, be it literally or figuratively.

Fiber fluff update

 Well, it's December and I've only got one present made. That's right, I've only made one present. We'll be baking cookies later on in the month. But, that's not the same as making stuff like scarves and toys. I'm panicking a little bit about what I'm going to give people. I was going to make my increasingly famous Apple Pie Moonshine but the list of people who can have it keeps growing smaller. I may just give out the recipe.

On the preemie hat front, I'm grinding away at making hats. The people who write these patterns and say they work up in fifteen minutes lie. They're dirty, filthy lies. It's more like a half hour regardless of hook size and yarn weight. It is vexing but I'm going to keep at it. I've lost count as to where I'm at right now. But I know that I'm not going to hit my goal of 100 by January 1. Those few months back in the summer when I had a mental health crisis really screwed up my plans for the holidays. That's typically when I'm working on making things for people.

Spinning is on hold at the moment because I'm trying to finish off this damn ball of yarn for the preemie hats. I'm a bit frustrated. I love the way the Alpaca fiber is spinning up. I'm sure that it'll be a beautiful yarn. But I can't make anything for myself out of it because I will react to it. Nothing is as disappointing as getting all that work done and discovering that you can't do anything with it.

I'm debating rebooting my Etsy store and slapping up some of my yarn hoard for sale. I've been considering spinning for production for a little while. I enjoy spinning and I know that I can spin for production level work by the fact that I have spun a mile of yarn in the span of a month. And it was good, fine weight yarn. On a drop spindle. Since I have a kick wheel, I can probably do double that in shorter time. I am just in the situation that I don't have a comfortable chair to sit in and do this work. 

Looking at the yarn offered up for sale by others and the cost of their spinning services, I find myself thinking I could probably undercut some on the price and still make a decent bit out of my hobby. And not be left with the question of what the hell am I going to do with all of this damn yarn that I have spun. I'm still deciding on this one.

Monday Rant: Posted at the writing blog.

 So, I did my free writing exercise and it turned into a rant. Here's the link. 

https://evandarstories.blogspot.com/2021/11/aw-morning-pages-no-88.html

TL : DR - Fuck the holiday season.

Friday Life Hack: Gift Edition.

 So, we're coming up on the season of inundating people with things. We've got cookies to make, pies to bake, and C'thulu to wake (because somebody's gotta do something about the way things have gone down hill around my neck of the woods, people are just getting down right impolite and ugly about things).

Seriously, if you're someone who is hard to shop for (like myself) you probably get the deer in the headlights look when someone asks you what you want for [insert holiday/gift giving occasion]. What's even worse, however, is leaving people to just guess. Because then gods only know what is going to arrive and if there's a single thing you can do with it. 

Stop and take a moment before someone ambushes you with the big gift question. Come up with a handful of ideas based off of your hobbies and interests. Your list need not be exhaustive. It can also include the unconventional gifts of donations to charity in your name, random acts of kindness in your name, or some other form of giving to others on your behalf. People may think it a little odd that you're asking them to give to someone else on your behalf. Don't worry about it. A year or two of making that 'odd' request, they'll get used to it.

Monday Rant: What's wrong with being Chaotic Good?

 I make people uncomfortable by doing nice things for them. I don't understand it. Somewhere along the way, the practice of random acts of kindness started getting frowned on if they didn't meet a specific standard (usually some WASP suburbanite vision of it ala buying coffee for the next car in line). When I was in labor with my second son, I had brought with me a crafting project to keep me distracted. I overheard a mother in the next bed over (we were all waiting our turn for our c-section delivery) who was very distressed about being a single mother and her lack of goods for taking care of the baby. I asked the nurse if I could give that woman the baby blanket that I had finished, explaining that the entire thing was made from a hypoallergenic yarn and machine washable. The nurse was confused but said it was ok, as long as I stayed in my bed. My solution was to hand the blanket to the nurse to give the woman (which made the nurse visibly uncomfortable). The other mother started crying when she received the blanket.

I told this story to someone I knew and they got offended. I was chastised for making the woman cry when her situation was so bad. I pointed out that I had given her something that was going to help and they proceeded to defame this mother claiming that they were likely a 'welfare queen'. It took a great deal of restraint not to punch them in the face when they started talking smack about this poor woman who was in a hard spot that they knew nothing about.

This isn't the first time I've been told that my random acts of kindness and charity are 'wrong' because I'm giving to the 'wrong' people. Apparently, you're only allowed to give to the poor if you're part of an organization (preferably run by a church that you're a member in good standing), you're only allowed to give money to charitable organizations instead of directly to the people in need, and if you're making things to give away it has to be to charitable organizations instead of to people directly, because the people might sell it.

The general attitude that my acts of kindness and charity to others is going to enable some kind of nefarious behavior on the part of the people who are in need is bullshit. But I run into it a lot around these parts. There's always the assumption that the poor are going to use cash to get drugs or alcohol. There's the attitude that you've been conned out of your money if you pay for an impoverished person's lunch. And this vacillating sense of virtue signaling on if you're giving to a charity. If the charity is one that is considered virtuous based on their public image, you're a bad person for not giving to them when you choose someone else. (I'm looking at you, Salvation Army and your anti-LGBT+ bullshit.) I hate the default assumption that if a charitable organization is nominally associated with Christianity, that means they're better than the other organizations.

I tend to skip the organizations for the most part and just give to people in need as I meet them. Things tend to find me that people are in need of and I pass them along instead of insisting on charging a buck. The only organization that I work with is the spinning guild because they're well vetted and have a good set of contacts for distributing goods to the people who need it. I also picked to do so because they're secular. I know that nobody is going to be getting pressured to convert to anything in order to get what they need to be ok.

But this cultural attitude that all poor people of bad moral character and that by helping them I am enabling them to do nebulous, nefarious things makes me furious. If the homeless person I gave a scarf to decides to sell it, obviously they needed the cash more than the scarf, so it still helped them. When I give things away, they're no longer mine to dictate what happens to them. The same is true about any act of charity. You give it away, it's not yours anymore and you don't get to say boo about what people do with it. Don't like it, don't give it away.

Chaotic good for life. To Hel with the haters.

Fiber fluff update on hold this week.

 I'd love to describe my latest creations to you but I haven't been working on anything over the last little while. I'm struggling with some really rough feelings right now and my heart isn't in playing with yarn. This isn't grief from my maternal grandfather's death finally catching up with me (though some would have possibly theorized that since he died on the first). I'm actually perfectly fine with the fact that he's dead and I say good riddance to that man because he was a bully and an abuser. He and I weren't close and I know that he would have disapproved of my entire lifestyle. So, fuck that noise.

No, what's got me in a bit of a tizzy is the fact that C- is out of prison. He's on parole which means that he's being monitored. It still doesn't change the fact that I'm afraid that he's going to come looking for me, harass me, and/or do some kind of harm. I don't live down in Wellsville anymore. I don't think anyone lives in that building now, if the family even owns it still. That'd be the place he'd look for me because that was where I lived when he was in my life.

But, there's these websites that let you look up people and they give phone numbers, addresses, and a list of people connected to them. I found my information up on one of those sites and I nuked it. This was shortly after some idiot in Texas tried to steal my identity. (I then put my credit on freeze and started looking up my information so that I could make it go away.) I know there are other sites that have my information up there. I'm afraid of him using that to come find me. I tell myself it's an irrational fear.

Then again, C- has started roaming around in neighborhoods where one of his former girlfriends have lived, presumably looking for them. I got a panicked message from her and she explained that she didn't know what to do. I told her what my plan was if he showed up on my doorstep intending to harm me or my family - cast iron frying pan to the face at full force. 

The last time I had interaction with C-, he was attempting to wrestle me down into submission so that he could have his way with me. I managed to get my arms free and told him to stop or I'd break his neck. He laughed and said I didn't know how. It was one of the few things I remember Sensei teaching us in the self-defense class with crystal clarity. I positioned my hands and arms so that if I had to, I could. C-'s face went white and he scrambled off of me in a hurry. He made a point of leaving the premises damn quick after that.

My getting involved with C- was a mistake. C- played a game and figured out the buttons to push to make me dissociate. It made that relationship difficult and confusing because it really fucked with my memory and mental state. Beloved was concerned and encouraged me to start seeing a therapist. We figured that my c-ptsd from being in an abusive relationship in the past was acting up again. When C- was out of the picture, my memory and my mental state improved.

It's made me a bit gunshy about polyamory with incarnate people. I worry that it'll be a repeat of what happened with C-, but with even worse consequences because Beloved and I are married and have kids now. Life's changed a lot since 2003-2004. Unfortunately, I am still on some level afraid of C-. It's made the last few days difficult.

Monday Menu is in the Past, Monday Rants are the Future!

 I don't really have much to rant about at the moment except puberty. My kids went from cheerful morning people to surly, half feral young men. This morning was a challenge. One insisted he didn't need to get out of bed until the last minute and was about to wear dirty clothes to school because "they don't smell dirty." The other was making sniping comments at his brother about how he was going to make them late for the bus from the moment he got out of bed until (probably) the moment they got on the bus.

Breakfast was met with suspicion. I was serving them what's previously been a favorite breakfast item. Today, they looked at it as if I was trying to poison them. Then came the aggravation of trying to get them to take allergy medication. It wasn't as awful as it could have been, but that suspicious reaction as if I was trying to feed them arsenic was there. It was exasperating to say the least.

Oh, and the son who was ranting that his brother was going to make them late for the bus insisted he didn't have time to brush his hair for a full half hour because he had to rearrange his army figures for the battle he was planning for in the afternoon. And the kids wonder why I have white showing up in my hair.

It'd be a little easier if they didn't argue quite so much. I don't understand it. They start arguing as soon as they're both awake and continue until they're out the door. And half the time, one of them comes in to announce that the other has called them an insult as soon as they're outside. It makes me think I need something stronger than coffee to keep up with these two.

Oh, one other quick note: how the hell did my son grow about four inches in the course of three months? I swear those pants fit him at the beginning of the school year. Now he looks like he's wearing cut-offs or something. And his brother is hording all of his old clothes but can't tell which pants fits him properly so it's a completely random game of "Will it Fit?" every morning. I sense that they're going to be getting clothes in the near to immediate future.

If they keep annoying me, they're getting socks and underwear for Yule. *rolls eyes*

Fiber fluff update

 Well, I had a bag of mostly felted fiber that I just gave up on and threw out. I felt like I was wasting precious resources when I did so but there was no hope for it. The least felted bits of it, I managed to spin some really slubby yarn out of it. I don't like it and I don't know what I'm going to do with it. There's not enough to make something big. I am debating the possibility of something like fingerless gloves. I just don't know if there's enough there for even that. I really didn't get much yarn out of it, though I did accomplish the heavier weight I was trying to spin with it.

I finished spinning the cotton-candy purple merino that I dyed and carded myself. My mother in law has a drum carder. I used it for the first time to card that stuff. It was an interesting experience. It again came out as a slubby yarn. I don't particularly like slubby yarns because I find them difficult to work with. That said, It still looks like cotton candy. I have to wet it and hang it. I'll probably do that while we still have the decent weather. I know that I overspun it. It's an uneven, slubby yarn but it was not only my first attempt at using a drum carder but my first project using a ring-distaff. I think I like the ring distaff for the mini-batts of fiber that you get off of a drum carder. I tried using it with pencil roving and it was an unmitigated disaster.

The alpaca pencil roving that I was working on is sitting in the bag. I have about a quarter of the first ball spun. I am going to spin the rest of that ball on the super cheap drop spindle that I started on. It may have been super cheap and it's lacking ornamentation of any sort, but it works ok and I think I might be able to fit the entire ball of pencil roving on it. The second ball of pencil roving (which is about the same size) is going to be spun on my kick-wheel. That probably won't be happening until after the holidays.

The baby hat project is up to 35 hats. I don't think I'm going to make my goal of 50 hats by the end of the year despite the fact they're preemie hats. When people tell you these hats work up in 15 minutes a piece, they lie. I finished off the really obnoxious ball of yarn that was making each stitch a different color because of how they dyed it and I had to use stitch markers to tell where I was in the process of making the damn hat. The current ball of yarn isn't half as bad. The color runs are longer so it works up like stripes and it's a lot easier to see where the increases are.

I'm stalled on my neon pink wingspan shawl. I've just been too busy with other stuff, like being sick for two and a half weeks. I'm working on trying to get caught up on a bunch of things. I am probably going to be working on that shawl in December or January at this rate.

Yay a new couch is coming.

 It's a convoluted story but our beaten to hell and back couch is getting replaced soon. Beloved is pleased. He's got a plan for how to dispose of the old one. All I have to do is make space for it. This, on the surface, isn't a problem. Except for there's one hitch in the process. There's a plastic set of shelves that we've been using as an end table for a long time. It's got to be moved and I have no idea where to put it. I have forgotten everything that was inside of it. I think it's a bunch of computer related stuff for an old computer that we no longer have. And I simply can't figure out for the life of me where I'm going to put that blasted thing. I have a bad feeling that I need to massively rearrange the project room and sneak it in there. Some how.

Still not over the bronchitis.

 The z-pack did a lot of good. I'm no longer coughing up stuff that's ugly colored. But I still have a fair amount of chest congestion and my peak flow meter has me firmly in the yellow zone. I've developed a sinus infection on top of this. But, my fever is manageable. I spent most of last week with a moderate to high fever and I wasn't at the point of hearing colors but it was pretty close. That came down a lot over the weekend and last few days. Now I'm at a low to moderate fever. According to theory the antibiotics stay in my system for ten days. So, according to theory, it should resolve my sinus infection and the last lingering bit of this bronchitis by the end of the week.

Cuddle Bear caught this a few days after I did. I tested negative for Covid-19. Now the school wants him to have a test done before he can return to school. It took some digging, but Beloved found a mostly affordable rapid Covid-19 test yesterday after work at one of the local pharmacies. It was disappointing to realize that the closest pharmacy to us was engaging in price gouging on the tests because this thing was half the cost of what we paid for the last test. Same brand and everything. They're nice people but that was a dick move on their part. I have a feeling that a lot of places are selling these things at cost, because they have a sense of 'this is good for the community'.  The mark up at the other place just disappoints me because they "pride" themselves on being our community pharmacy and being there for everybody. 

It's just more evidence as to why we've taken our business elsewhere. We visit them when we have no other recourse. Their hours are such that Beloved can't stop there after work to pick up prescriptions. They apparently mark things up for profit. And their selection is limited for what kind of things you can get. Beloved found me diabetic cough syrup at the other pharmacy, which we didn't even know existed based on what this place had to offer. (Diabetic cough syrup is seriously disgusting. The only way I can manage to take it and not gag is to throw it back like a shot of high test whiskey.)

I'm going to be really annoyed if this stupid cold turns out to be some variant of the Covid-19 virus. There's been no loss of smell or taste. But, the doomsayer in me is going 'this is it, the plague has reached your house.'  The sooner we get Cuddle Bug's test done, the better. It'll shut up my anxiety. It'll make it possible for him to go back to school (which he's been asking about for the last week since he got sick). I just wish I didn't have an anxiety disorder that is constantly prophesying doom.

Damn bronchitis.

 I've had bronchitis since Sunday. It started out as a head cold and dropped into my chest Saturday. Then I was coughing up ugly stuff with my nose running like a faucet. It was awful. The doctor did a telemedicine visit Monday with me and prescribed a z-pack at the 'doc is not fucking around' dosage. I have a fever that's been bouncing up and down between 99 and 98 degrees (I typically am 96.8 deg when I'm healthy). So, I've been woozy and spaced out for the last several days. The world feels like it's spinning and my sense of balance hasn't been the best because of it. 

Now, Cuddle Bear's caught this stupid thing. I am really hoping it will just be a nasty cold and that he won't get bronchitis from it. I kept him home from school today because he's got that wicked sore throat that came at the beginning. This is the same stupid cold that he had a few weeks ago and his brother had last week. It's really exasperating to feel too fucked up because of this cold to stay on top of my chores and other shit. Just my daily tasks, not even talking about starting on yule presents or anything. (Which I need to do soon or people won't be getting anything.)

Beloved caught it and had the sniffles. I love that man and envy the hell out of his immune system. When ever I get sick, it seems, that I am flat on my back and in bed because of it, where as he basically sneezes a time or two and then is fine. I mentioned my envy last night and he said, "Hey, somebody has to stay upright and take care of you guys." I couldn't argue with that position. Not when the guy went out of his way to find me diabetic friendly cheesecake that doesn't taste too horrible in his opinion. 

This cold/bronchitis situation has been playing havoc with my blood sugar numbers. My fasting numbers have been low. I was mildly alarmed this morning when I saw that it was 77. I've never had a number that low before. I didn't feel hungry at all but I made myself eat a full breakfast before I went about my morning routine. When I checked my blood sugar an hour later it was 180. A bit high, but a lot better than 77.

I feel pretty rotten right now. I'd be writing other stuff, but I can't follow a thought to completion really. I'm really spaced out right now. Stupid bronchitis and fever screwing with my life. I've got shit to do and this is in the way on top of all the other stuff that was making it hard to get it done. As I've been spaced out and frustrated, I've got one of the people in my head very firmly telling me to rest because I'm useless if I push myself too hard. Well, more than one. But, when the voices in your head have come to a consensus that you must rest, and they don't typically agree on everything, you should probably listen to them.

Fractured.

 I'm typing this up as I wait for dinner to cool off. I am having a hard time staying in the present. Some of it is recurring flashbacks. The anti-anxiety medication is helping with that to some extent. Some of it is I keep losing time. I have suspected for a very long time that I have dissociative identity disorder. It's creepy and disturbing when people talk to me about conversations we've had that I have absolutely no recollection of. It's equally disturbing when I'm told how I acted in situations that I don't remember. These are not people recounting trauma situations but just common occurrences that I happened to have been entertaining or said something memorable. 

I don't know what to do about this. I have felt like there's more than one person in my head since I was a child. I've been journaling about it off and on for the last three years. It's really hard and rather distressing. There's at least six 'others' in my head, probably more lurking in the dark. Some come out when I am handling distressing situations. Some come out when I am overwhelmed and just barely holding it together. When I go from distressed to suddenly calm, I've switched. I don't know 'who' is in the driver's seat. Sometimes, I have the impression of watching what is going on. Other times, I just am not there. Ask me later about any element of the situation and I may have a vague recollection of the beginning and then nothing after that.

I had a therapist laugh off my concerns and telling me it was impossible because I didn't change my clothing or mannerisms around them. I stopped seeing that therapist not too long after that incident. Another therapist took what I said and encouraged me to write about it. I would have continued working with them but they moved to another practice. There's a reason why I am not obvious about my fractured psyche. 

As a kid, if I didn't act what my parents viewed as 'normal' I got punished, severely. I was verbally, psychologically, and physically abused by them for a very long time. It wasn't safe to let the 'others' be known. They stole out when things got to be too much and carried the weight of the situation. It didn't happen all the time, I've got plenty of trauma that I remember clearly, but it happened enough that I don't remember almost a solid decade of my life. Some people tell me "Oh, that happens to everyone." It doesn't happen to everyone. You don't have a blank slate where your memories are supposed to be and a gaping sense of dread and terror.

There are bits and pieces of my life before I turned 20 that stand out clearly. There's bits and pieces of my life after I turned 20 that don't stand out clearly with this foggy sense that it happened to somebody else. People have laughed at me and said 'You're so random.' with out knowing that different parts of me come out to handle situations that are high stress or hit certain emotional buttons. People have laughed and said that I was the 'craziest' person they knew in high school but they didn't know that I was struggling with undiagnosed bipolar II and this other horseshit of having a brain that doesn't function right because of repeated trauma. They just figured that I was 'random' and 'eccentric'. 

Here I am in my early 40s and I'm trying real hard to figure out why I can't remember things. I'm trying to process trauma. I'm trying to figure out why in hell I can't sleep at night with out some heavy hitting sedation. I don't have a therapist. No one in my area takes my insurance. I tried to switch to the one that everybody takes around here but I got denied because I have diabetes. It's bullshit, but it's the way it is. So, I take what the one therapist who said "Ok, let's explore this concept and see what we find." and I give it all an effort to make it work.

It's scary as fuck. It seems like the more I work on this, the more there is to do and the more I find myself in weird situations that my brain just doesn't work right in. I don't wander off. I never have. I wasn't allowed to leave. There was no where I could have gone anyways because we lived in the boonies. (Farther out in the boonies than where I live right now.) So, I built interior worlds and hid there while things went down.

But now those interior worlds are bleeding into the real world. My brain is desperately trying to process something and I don't know what it is. All I know is that the last three and a half months have been difficult. And that I'm hearing them in my head again. I'm not hallucinating. But, the 'others' are getting vocal again. I don't know if it's because I finally feel safe enough to let this happen. I don't know if it's a symptom of some kind of major traumatic memory about to surface. I have no idea. And that scares the fuck out of me.

Ramblings about life.

So, after spending the last three months having sleep problems and trying different solutions, the doctor has brought me to an ironic solution. This doctor is honest. He tells me that the medication is an antipsychotic that I have been on previously (Seroquel) and he's putting me on the lowest dosage for it's heavily sedating side-effects. It won't interact poorly with the Vraylar or my other medications. I'm temporarily off of the Temazepam because it would negatively interact with that and it's taking over the job that the Temazepam was failing to do (getting me to sleep).

The irony of this is the doctor who first put me on Seroquel lied to me about what it was. He said it was a sedative and that I needed it to resolve my sleep problems that I was having during my postpartum depression. That doctor went on vacation at a time that I needed a new script written. The nurse at the clinic "wasn't comfortable" writing the script, well aware that going off it was going to do bad things to me. I had to wait two weeks for the doctor to come back from vacation. The Friday before the doctor was back in office at the clinic, I had my major crisis with suicidal ideation and psychosis, which were all aggravated by the side effects of going cold turkey off of an antipsychotic medication. Because the side effects of going cold turkey off of an antipsychotic medication are suicidal ideation, depression, and psychosis. 

I was uneasy going back on the Seroquel. I found myself concerned that I was going to be a zombie again and unable to function. When I got to Dr. M.'s office, I was on 800 mg of Seroquel. I have memory problems because of it. The going theory is the fact that I was on that and Geodon (another antipsychotic medication) for about seven years by then that majorly contributed to my developing diabetes. Basically, my pancreas is shot on top of the insulin resistance that I have caused by my psych medications and my PCOS. I'm playing a hard game of manage my condition with meds, diet, and exercise to forestall being on insulin as long as I can manage it.

I was handled real badly by the county mental health clinic. Theoretically I could sue them. I don't have the energy, money, or the time to pursue that. The people who made life hell for a year, screwed over my career in education, and put me on medication that's resulted in my developing a life long medical condition are getting away with it. I'm angry. I'm angry at the people who tried to make political hay off of my suffering. I'm angry at the people who were too damn lazy to do their jobs and put me into that position to begin with. And I'm angry that there's no justice here. They get to keep their jobs. They get to live their lives with zero repercussions for their actions. I'm a bit bitter on that point and still traumatized.

But, back to the Seroquel. I've been on this super low dose now for about a week. I'm actually sleeping through the night. Dr. M. thinks that if we do this for a few weeks, it should be enough to reset my sleep cycle back to what it should be and then I can come off of the Seroquel again. Because he doesn't think it's good for me, which is why he took me off it in the first place. In the meantime, I'm doing journal work trying to process whatever hellish thing my subconscious mind is trying to disgorge. It's ugly and kinda scary writing this stuff. I don't know what I'm going to do with it.

The 'noise' in my head, which is entirely different from psychosis, is back again. I've been feeling fractured in my brain for a long time, like ever since I was a kid. Now the different parts of me are making noise again. I need to process something and at the same time, I need to figure out just how fractured I am. It is seriously making me think I have a mild case of dissociative identity disorder with how I lose time, have conversations that I don't remember, and do stuff that I don't remember. That's been the last three months.

I don't have it happen that I go somewhere and not remember how I got there. I'm afraid to leave the apartment on some level most of the time right now. Which is why I'm on a higher dose of antianxiety medication at the moment. Again, Dr. M. thinks this is something that will resolve as I continue doing my work and we'll be able to step me back down to a lower dosage. He figures that both problems will resolve (the high anxiety/increased PTSD flashbacks and the sleep problem) around the same time. The estimate he gave me, given how aggressive I am about trying to stay on top of my mental health issues and take care of the problems as they pop up, is a few months. So, theoretically, by the time the holidays hit, I should be doing better.

I am just getting to the point where I can start doing stuff a bit more normally again. I'm just getting back into my writing. Of course, this is where I have someone calling me out for being 'aloof' and 'ignoring their efforts to communicate.' So, I have to explain, yet again for my readership, I am disabled and a social-phobe. It's really frustrating because there's some serious discussions that need to happen in the religious community that I've found myself in and there's been push back against it. And there are people in my readership community who expect me to be neurotypical and that I'm just being a contentious and aloof by raising questions and then going radio silent for three months.

Covid-19 has really fucked up my life. I didn't get it. No one in my household has gotten it. But, it's brought up a laundry list of trauma memories because of the isolation. It's made it harder to go out because the air is now lava and people are running around maskless as if there's no pandemic now. There's the looming specter of remote learning with two kids who have very different academic needs and very different learning styles. We did this before, it sucked. It went beyond sucking and into a realm that I lack adequate words to describe. It psychologically fucked with me on multiple levels. I don't have the capacity I used to for rapid switching between student needs because of how fucked my brain is. And there's just a lot of fucked up shit flying around, barely missing us.

We don't get a weekend off. Beloved and I are constantly 'on duty' and it's burning us out. Then I see other people doing shit like going on vacations and acting like the pandemic is no big deal. I get angry. I see other people with diabetes loading up on sugary snacks and I get angry. Some of it is envy. I want that vacation. I want to eat 'normal' food. Some of it is just pure frustration because I can't see away that we're going to get a break or improve the situation. We're just treading water and trying to get by. Covid-19 really brought that out into high relief. I tell myself that I should be thankful because we're better off than some others. I tell myself that I should be thankful because we're healthy (for the most part). I am bitter and angry with the fact that we're just hanging in like kittens on a window screen.

My brain and heart hurts.

 Raising kids isn't easy to begin with. We've officially hit puberty and Cuddle Bear has gone from ... well, a cuddle bear to an angry young man half the time. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the fact that I haven't slept well in about three months. That makes me a bit hair-trigger with my c-ptsd. Throw in on top of that the fact that we've had a few screaming arguments that set it off, it's been rough.

Beloved spoke with him. I don't know what their conversation was like, I wasn't in the room. Cuddle Bear is not quite as angry, just moody. I know that puberty is rough. Hormones swinging like a pendulum is bullshit no matter why it's happening. He's chafing at the bit to get the privileges and freedom that he sees his older peers have. It leads to some friction, to put it lightly.

Snuggle Bug is looking at the way Cuddle Bear and I have clashed over the last few months and NOPED out of even trying to be involved by either defending his brother or trying to calm him down (which they've both done in the past). It's very confusing. Where Cuddle Bear has gotten angrier and more aggressive, Snuggle Bug has slowed down and become more deliberate in what he's doing. There's still maturing happening and there's still stuff that has to be sorted out, but it's like they switched brains right now. It's bewildering.

I've been struggling with my c-ptsd for about a month now. My doctor has increased my dosage on one of my meds to help me regain control over the flashbacks. I've been attempting to force myself to do my therapy writing but I just get real upset when I try. I've been catching myself struggling to stay present in the moment. It is hard because the age difference between my sons is exactly the same as the age difference between my brothers. And the boys, if you look at the right angle, look like their uncles did at those ages. 

So, I swing between being in the present and being Mom and being in the past and being the terrified older sister desperately attempting to keep her brothers 'in line' so that all three of us didn't get some sort of awful punishment. And I was punished for this behavior. I couldn't win for losing. On top of that, I had untreated bipolar which lead to being accused regularly of drug use when I was actually depressed. Hypomania just meant that I got loaded down with more chores and told to shut up more often. My parent's approach to kids was "children should be seen and not heard" and "spare the rod, spoil the child." They didn't believe in mental illness or chronic illness.

The whole business of my mangled upbringing makes living in the present hard. I have to take a lot of medicine between the diabetes, pcos, c-ptsd, and bipolar II. Having my parents criticize me for taking cough syrup when I had a cold and insisting that I was using drugs when I wasn't left a mental scar that leaves me feeling guilty and like the world's going to judge me as a bad person for all of the medication that I have to take to function and be alive. It's so upsetting that Beloved has taken over the management of filling up my pill sorter for the week. (I am eternally thankful to him for that. I could do it, but then I wind up just about crying afterwards every time.)

I'm rambling and I don't really know what to say. I am struggling to function. It seems like every time I turn around, there's a 'new' trigger that I wasn't aware of until now. And the old triggers that I had thought I had under control are bringing back up anxiety again. Seeing a pile of dishes in the sink shouldn't make you panic, but it does because when I was small I got beat for not doing the dishes properly and then made to wash them all over again in nearly scalding hot water. Seeing that something needs dusting shouldn't make you shake with fear, but it happens because my insane mother used the white glove treatment after we cleaned. If there was a speck of dust on her glove, you got hit and made to do it all over again. In some cases, it went on for a few iterations because we simply weren't tall enough to dust the entire area (like the top of the upright piano) and weren't allowed to stand on anything to get to it.

It's a whole bunch of stuff like that coming back up. It is painful. It is disorienting. I try to hide it from the kids because they get scared when I am not my usual self. Especially if I am crying for some reason. I think it's because they expect me to vanish for a few weeks off to the hospital. It's a heavy load to carry. It hurts.

Current embroidery project.

 The pattern that came with the hoop and 14 count Aidia cloth was one I couldn't read properly. As a result, I free-hand drew out this and ran back stitch over it all in shades of blue. I'm still in the decision making process on how I'm going to fill in details. The outer portion that is outlined in the darkest shade of blue is going to be done in that shade of blue in tent stitch out to as close to the edge of the hoop as I can manage.

I'm thinking about using French knots to fill the roundels under the wave crests. I have no good ideas for the hearts. The triskelion in the center will remain as is. I believe that the white space between the design elements will remain as is. That, however, is not a fixed decision.