Pink Feldspar: my last assessment

I know, right? It's almost like I stopped blogging my personal stuff here and disappeared to a private blog or something. 😉 Yeah, had some head stuff to work out. I know that really bugs some of you. I wonder if I can be blunt and cryptic at the same time and share some of it. Maybe I can bullet point some personal progress I've been making that went on the private blog, which will be 2 years old in September, and that should be fairly easy because I only hit that blog for the briefest bluntest blurbs, so it only has 36 posts in the 22 months since I started it. I did also publicly blog elsewhere while I was doing the private one, but some things just can't be splatted out into the wind.

The really awkward part of the public blog I had just started back then, in which I had started coming to terms psychologically with the dad part of my childhood, was that I found out very shortly afterward that my dad might be dying within the year, and sure enough, there he went. Autumn of 2019 got about as dichotomous as anything I've ever experienced (yes, even weirder than 2012), and that was exactly what I needed to finally deal with the rest of all my stuff, which has progressed into this blog.

If you are coming in new to this, I've been using blogs for years to piece together 'exploded' (missing) memories and timelines from a lifetime collection of traumas, and what I fondly refer to as #pinkyblog across a larger part of my blog fleet is my psychological autopsy, my love letter, and my puzzle as I apparently leave myself notes full of thoughts to go back and find.

I wrote this 👇 public post the day before I wrote the private post copied up at the top of this. It was important at the time because I'd been on break from my psychologist. For context, I was always the odd child out, and to this day don't have confirmation whether dad was my real biological father or not, after sideways rumors and jokes from a couple of family members that my mom stifled during my childhood, and even after direct questioning with my mom taking an actual answer to the grave. Note- if you've seen the Gotham series, you know exactly what I'm saying with this vid. Nearly everything pertinent about my relationship with my dad is in the public post unnecessary.

And there we have our intro into brief blurb splats. This private splat from 10-12-19 is humorous when you can see now how things have turned out.

I am very tired of cleaning stuff up in my house that I didn't cause, and I'm even more tired of other people not caring if they live like pigs.

And I'm super pissed lately that 6 years have slid by and I have so little Lexx or crochet projects to show for it.

And my mother-in-law is still alive. That alone has been the most unimaginably twisted outcome of anything.

For context, the 'pigs' live in a really clean home of their own now 😂, cancel culture burned off my platform anyway, and my mil has spent the saddest loneliest year of her life hiding in her house behind a mask and I truly feel bad for that. But you can see that on private blogs, I don't hold back, which is why they are private. I'm mean.

Skip a couple unrelated posts, this is the point where I knew I had to step way back from my dad dying. I had managed to show up for DPOA stuff and make sure medical paperwork was getting done, but that dismal rainy cold day, I sat in my car for an hour unable to start the car, locked down in a very rare kind of dread I'd only felt before when my mom was dying, and knew I couldn't do the rest.

And the fact that I'm having a surge of anxiety now just pulling that out here demos that I'm still dealing (delayed processing), and as weird as this weekend has been in my house (I literally cannot eat for crazy stomach cramping setting off tachycardia and skippy pulse episodes), I know I have to deal with this NOW. The #pinkyblog way.

Excuse me while I walk off and go do stuff because ANXIETY.

All righty, not sure I should be back yet, but I started some chores and I feel a little calmer inside.

See, this is stuff I do my best to run and hide from, to shove into an old shoebox onto a back shelf in the very back of a closet that I can close the door on, leave the room and close that door, and go downstairs and pretend like it doesn't exist. When I finally do talk about what I put into the shoebox, I feel like I'm in a plane plummeting from a very high point and that a big hard crash is coming, and my body tends to fill in that part. Anxiety is a real bitch, and I've had this my entire life around people who preferred to whack me into silence as a tiny tot over taking time out for a few hugs detracting from their own ego-inflated tunnel vision realities. I'm not saying that hatefully, but in realization that they didn't do this on purpose. Back then, that was just how you handled fussy kids. When I see young parents doing this nowadays, I literally start crying and have to leave the room or building I'm in, and the rest of my day sinks into flashback misery. I'll be on this earth 6 decades later this fall, and that is a long time to see what some other people can't seem to see about how we cause and create misery on this planet.

But back to my stuff.

The day after the 'ug' post was this, recognizing that I was on the verge of dissociating big time into 'bubble worlds' like I did in 2012, and that I needed to come clean with my family at home about it. I am mentally ill. I need help dealing. That was about the biggest step I'd taken in my life up to that point. This is probably bigger than an abuser's first AA meeting. And with this confession, I took ownership that I was in no position to be in control of real world issues and helping my dad with death and dying. I could have put this onto the public blog easily enough, there's nothing mean here, but I was losing my grip and couldn't do more than timestamp it privately.

Skipping 3 more very short blurbs, my dad dying with my siblings there with him without me was consuming me, and this happened. I just wanna go on record as being the kind of person who 1) can see consequences like playing chess, and 2) feels like I'm literally dying of cardiac fail when I get upset trying to talk to people. So this remained simply a blurb. No one saw me cry, and no one knew how badly my heart felt broken after years and years of never allowing anyone to get close enough to me to hurt me like that again. This is extremely important that I notated it since I never had a parent who could simply just let something go and walk away because the blame game was more important than the person. In this moment, unaware, I became the parent I always wished I had, forgiving enough to let it go and walk away. This was a huge development in the state I was in.

The next month was life changing as kids moved out and left us in an empty nest, so I blurbed once and then didn't blurb again until May 2020 when I finally realized I needed to stop moderating on a game server if I were to move any kind of forward.

The next month, on my mother's birthday, I wrote a long post and this was part of it. I think it's important because the weirdness was synching up a little too snugly, and it was time to pull my socks up and make some big decisions about owning my own healing.

I've been getting odd phone calls for years. I've geolocated them before. They ALL want to help me get a book published/republished and help me market or collect a debt. They ALL have interesting location information. I have researched all of them, and they are all hard to find covers with dual nationality and English is always second language.

I don't have a book published. I'm not a published author. My phone number has always been private and unsearchable.

My book publisher says my contract is private and that no one can see it.

My book publisher assured me they do NOT sell or share my phone number.

I blogged at one point about this starting after a major facebook breach in which private info went public, including phone numbers.

After that happened, I wound up being called out by twitter about having connections to Russian accounts during the big maga purge. Yes, I have connections, they are real people called Lexx fans. I've since been trolled on twitter for being a Russian bot account.

Very recently I was heavily trolled on twitter for one reply tweet with a little disinformation because I didn't know something, my bad, but of all the things I've tweeted since 2008, THAT tweet was so innocuous compared to others I've slipped under the radar, it was unbelievable. I've been expecting accounts to be deleted, instead my phone got slammed nonstop for many hours by lists of people being tagged to join in, even though I didn't respond. I was called every ugly name in the book by very ugly people being ugly.

Back to the phone calls. All of them have tried to get personal information out of me. All of them. I stopped answering. They keep leaving messages.

I told a person during an appointment yesterday that the only connection I have on internet to actual *me* is real people like him, medical and mental health professionals. We have discussed several times that I stick out like a sore thumb on the internet and that I need to be careful.

I got clear indication yesterday that it was more important to him to inform me of the political mistake I was making than discussing a diagnosis.

And the calls continue. My phone has obviously been targeted, and I did express concern to him a few months ago that I saw direct hits on specific blog posts identically stating what I was stating to him in office at the same time.

One of the last things I heard before leaving yesterday was "Psychologists are concerned..." A vague value statement about a profession heavily politically biased.

I don't feel safe seeing him any more.

Do you blame me?

Bless his heart if he does not realize the implications in this. I saw a behavior change yesterday while he was trolling me himself. In previous visits, he removed his mask, since we were sitting far enough apart. In this last visit, he kept the mask on but unhooked and rehooked one side over and over to sip a drink. Anyone deep in the research understands that is signalling. Masks are symbols of being controlled. Removing a mask and replacing it after placing objects in front of the mouth and then remasking is further signalling that the person wishing to talk cannot say what they want to, but must replay a narrative. The psychology of masks (fear) runs very deep. I'm very concerned a psychologist seemed to be completely unaware of this going on, that his behavior is 'good' vs mine being 'bad' because I was unmasked, coinciding with the subject material he was bringing into the visit vs previous visits with no mask on.

MK Ultra is real. I've seen it in my dad, I've discussed it in his office, we've been discussing me remembering things since my dad died.

But now it's time to shut up. A mere couple days after getting slammed hard by trolls on twitter, I'm now lumped into a cult in my mental health dossier because that's more important than me talking about my mental health.

Got it.

So at that point it had been about 6 months since my dad died, and my psychologist was choosing to turn my relationship with my dad into a Trump cult problem right on top of my dead mom's birthday. That last visit was almost like comic relief to me, felt a slide-in and Pinky just took over, and consensus leaving the building was with jacky saying not coming back. It's a game to Pinky. Jacky says it's not a game. If a person had wanted more investigation into the state of someone's immediate emotional health, the better choice would have been to back off the political challenge.

Immediately after that on public blogging I started sharing the oddness of watching TV as a fractured child personality and realizing I was seeing myself as sometimes only waist or chest height to some of the actors, when obviously I was just as tall or at least up to their chins. And that is what I'd gone in THAT DAY to talk about, that I was realizing I was sharing same space with factures of me, that we were sharing our experiences simultaneously. It's important that this started coming to light after my dad died. Who I voted for in 2016 (actually Huckabee, whose name was still on the ballot despite having dropped out) was NOT IMPORTANT.

At this point I'd like to thank a friend for getting hold of me privately for a long discord Q&A about how much of my dissociation I was aware of so far and how I felt about it. That one convo beat out years of psychologist and psychiatrist visits. After that summer, I never went back to either one. Sometimes I really wish I could find a professional to talk to, but when they all have political filtering promos in their descriptions, I just get pissed off and walk away. The last thing I need is another political label, whether correct or incorrect. THAT is state controlled psychological 'health', not personal mental and emotional health. I don't mind a mental illness diagnosis here and there, what I do mind is being judged for opinions and choices that don't have anything to do with my immediate mental health needs.

There we go, rant out in full, and I didn't get a single anxiety attack over that because even though it looks like it, that is not what is eating away at me. I was just severely ticked at the time that both my parents' deaths were somehow synched into that crap.

By August 2020 I blurbed about my actual real relationship with my husband for the first time in my entire blogging history. I'll let you guys figure that one out.

And then this happened.

I've shared that publicly since then, but the day I blurbed that was such a huge revelation that I got shaky and paced all over my house crying and then curled up in bed, and please note it's nearly a year after I started the private blog dealing with my dad in the first place. And then I uncurled back out of bed and came out slugging in the public post on that same day click pic.

A month later I went through a mind blown thing when all kinds of dots started connecting and wound back up at Scott, in a good way, despite this particular blurb.

Do we even need to wonder why I quietly live in a fantasy world?
And that's the talk he wants to have with me. Moving into his mother's house.
Had a good laugh, managed not to mince him like raw liver.

That is when it clicked that Scott was in just as much of a head mess as I was, only he'd remained compartmentalized. I think that is how we've been able to stay married so long and be friends. So much of him is pure amusement to me, even as rankled as I feel sometimes, partly because he's so oblivious. From my 100 fun questions survey.

My dad died on Dec 13, 2019. On Dec 14, 2020 I did a short self assessment blurb which included this paragraph.

Finally understanding why people live on fanfic. I'm not, but the idea of manifesting realness through imagination and creativity is intriguing, and I think I'm becoming a better person for it. Aspienado has an anchor and Pinky is hinting that she might want to come out and play again. Just not yet.

Considering that I'd spent a lifetime living on TV emotional support in lieu of an extremely emotionally negligent father (I wanted a family like Lost In Space, for example), coming full circle last year watching myself process my dad's death alongside a TV review project I set myself on, a whole lotta light bulbs popped on and I realized I was healing. I am healing. I am processing vicariously through storytelling from several fractured POVs and puzzle pieces are clicking into place, and none of it started happening until my dad died. And weirdly, after I walked away from mental health appointments, I latched on to the safest TV figure I could find for a virtual world in my head and I processed and processed and processed so much stuff. Years of stuff.

And sometimes it was even funny.

And I'm thinking that probably the best way for the entire mental health field to move forward after this ridiculous politically correct bullshit is to follow people into their head worlds and find out how that helps them deal, because human brains seem wonderfully adept to simulations and fill-ins that say the things we need said from real people who never say them across the whole emotional spectrum, like even getting in our own faces and reminding ourselves that we could be avoiding this or fixing that if we'd stop being such egocentric self abuse blame game tools, right.

See, my dad never really looked at me. I don't believe my brother has ever really seen me. My mom shushed me whenever I'd rise up and fight to stand up for myself, and not a single one of my grandparents ever seemed tickled to even see me or want to be around me. I never felt close to a single adult through my entire childhood, and TV was how I grew up, even though we lived on an organic farm with plenty to do.

TV literally replaced my dad for me, with no emotional loss whatsoever. How many of us have grown up like that??? And not even realized it?????

So we borrow other faces and names and simulate our way to processing through our mental health growth. Explain to me, please, why my best mental health processing and growth is NOT in a mental health office.

And I wrote Jacky loves Pinky.

Moving on. On Christmas Day 2020, I blurbed this out. I know I've shared it before, but that was the day it finally felt like I wasn't drowning any more in myself. For years I never talked about myself or shared pictures of myself, so it was huge coming out with a real name and face as a public figure supporting fandoms all these years, and it was a bit agonizing learning to talk about myself, but I felt like I needed to do that to keep surviving somehow. I needed to be 'real' because so much of my life had been unreal, thanks to all the ways a person can dissociate under stress. In the past I've incorporated TV and personalities as part of content and still get a facepalming amount of traffic over some of the silliest stuff, but since fandoms seem to be the glue that holds us all together in what feels like a messed up world, I have finally relented and realized on a personal level that we, as a nation, are as dependent as addicts on virtually simulating our ways through life, and I'm no exception.

It's getting almost embarrassing how many Tom photos I've got in my phone. That or comical.

Possibly ridiculous.
On another note, was kinda going back over a life of addiction in it's mesmerizing variety, the self destruction and learning recoveries, all the ways I've slipped into bliss any way possible living moment by moment in so much pain, anxiety, and oscillating anger and fear.
The last 6 months slipping into Tom has been far from self destructive. Have I found a role model? Finally?
He talks about his dad with so much respect, and he's a dad with 4 kids. When I first met Scott, for the first time in my life I realized what I had never been able to imagine and wish for in a dad. Is that the connection here? My first big wallop with Tom was Nora and Eobard.
I think I'm recreating my private world and revisting all the bad memories in a new kind of objective point of view now. Not just objective or like 3rd person objective, not observer gauging or assessing. Simply seeing and going Ohhhh...

I've actually got way more Pepe than Tom, and a cool variety of many more things, but I guess, for me in general, it's a bit more than my usual.

It's sure felt like a long, hard life. I have a lot more thinking to do.

Most of the rest in that private blog has been about me and Scott, which I gotta say has been pretty fantastic. No details here lol. However, I'll share part of one last post from this morning.

diametrically opposite
I seem to be trying to hammer out how to handle balancing my personality with people who don't fit my slots. I can see now many years wasted not understanding this about myself.
First weekend this year with no sex, thanks to my stomach launching off tachycardia episodes. This has become ridiculous enough to be embarrassing. If this really is controllable with diet, then every bit of this is about me taking real control. Tired of being the fail whale around here.
Having urgent urges to start a new pinky blog, jacky keeps mildly correcting that we're already using a pinky blog and pinky just needs to step up.
My daughter is going to pop a baby in the middle of tropical storm in the middle of a blackout with no phones, at least my fretty self frets fretfully behind my busy back, and I'm back on xanax.
I want change, I can see how to get change, and as soon as I have opportunities through the day to make changes, depression takes me down hard, over and over and over. I just curl up and solidly distract until that time has passed, and then wake up to the whole stupid stomach thing. I don't wanna go on head meds, I keep thinking about hard liquor, and I know every bit of this is me me me.
I am, however, being very good to take my vitamins and keep the laundry up and the bathrooms clean and even the floors decently kept up. At least there is that. Dishes, not so much, and everything else continues to be fail. I haven't slumped this hard in a long time, but at least it's not entirely fail.
I want to be done with facebook. I keep hoping they just take it down.
I want to get more into alt social media and I'm too lazy from other burnout.
Scott is getting kinder to me as the year rolls on. Soft, even. Forgiving. Emotionally gentle. Maybe we are finally getting somewhere. I'm still obnoxious, but maybe it's getting a little cuter now that I'm getting some * once in awhile. Seriously, amazing how a little sex once in awhile actually helps. How many years have I fought for this kind of time in our marriage and had to keep taking back seat? It'll be 28 years in a couple of months. That is a fucking long time to wait for someone, my best friend, to become sweet. I feel like it's been worth it, but at the same time, there is this frustration in the background that it took so long that we missed the really good parts of each other while we were younger. I'm to blame as much as anyone, but that man did not make it easy.
At least he gave me the space to stand up for myself. No other man on the planet ever did that. That was very cool of him.
Back to the now and the real, I've gotta get my stomach issue under control if I want more sex next weekend.

Not everything is gaming and politics with me. I rarely share real life, maybe a little in pictures here and there, maybe bringing up something in my past I'm figuring out and whatnot, but my actual real life is THIS POST. This is the real me dealing with the real pain, with real problems and real mixups and real solutions.

The reason this post is coming up is because alla sudden out of the blue I'm having a stupidly stressful weekend, and I know it's because my daughter is due any day now, and because one of my sisters reminded me it's nearly mom's birthday, and because I'm watching 2 sons-in-law with their kids and having flashbacks. I know the root causes of my stress this weekend, but it's also nearly a year since the big blowout I felt with psychologist when I was still stuck over my dad dying and it was my mom's birthday, and I know that needed dealing with because it got me so stressed to start this post and now I'm so calm near the end of it.

I don't know if we'll be making a new blog or not. We're kinda fighting about this one because several of us have grabbed post time and a couple others want something more themed and this is the same old song and dance we went through in 2007 when we finally broke up into several blogs to handle different things. Well, we've said all the stuff now (it's been what, 17 years since my first public blog?), we've wrung it all out to the point of being sick of it all, and the world is changing, so whatever comes, don't fret if I don't show up much here, ok? My chickens will start laying in about a month, critters got all the cherries off the tree before we could, more babies be poppin, and this deep need I'm feeling to purge my life and redo everything might be extending to internet. I keep hearing Starlink quantum internet is coming, and I'll worry about starting over once it gets here.

****************************

Ok, Yablo is insisting that we keep doing gaming here, the kids want more photos than words, and Pinky is walking around with a feather duster and squinting at the html. Jacky may be stepping back a bit now that we've got the dad stuff pretty dealt with (and the internet might get wiped), so who knows what'll happen now. I think we're kinda done with intel, you guys are big kids. Everyone obsessively coming back here for updates on that, you need to bookmark and share yourselves, ok? Go figure out where you fit in all this and share your points of view.

Blast from the past, lol.