Mud puddles

I’ve been on, what seems like a semi permanent duality of consciousness. Existing here and somewhere else simultaneously. While I’m sure I should seek a medical and psychological evaluation by a professional, it’s not so overwhelming that I can’t function. While most times the sense of “living other lives” in my dreams, it happens in short very frequent bursts throughout the day. It can be confusing, but it’s like I’m shifting with the sun and moon.

During the changes it s like a changing of the guard. Every shift change there’s a couple minutes of chaos. Sometimes it comes with the same dream walking state but while I’m awake. One shift is around dinner time. While I sit at the table I get really overstimulated and need to put on headphones and try to balance out the senses a bit. So I know these can be signs of early dementia or But I’m not ready to deal with that yet. Instead I’m deciding to see where this other place I dream walk is and see what I can learn from there. here’s what I can share so far.

Every time I’m there it’s wet, and rich with green growth. It has the feeling of a medium to large city surrounded be very large suburban areas, which is most like any of the places I lived on the eastern side of North America. However it feels more like west coast. With the deep rich mossy covering of the natural growth and large trees.

There’s a hill on a suburban back street that’s dropping down to a cove. There’s a bi level house at the street with a short driveway leading into the lower level garage and stairs hugging the stone lower level wall up to a small porch and upper front entrance. The stairs are old brown stained wood that looks overdue to pressure washed and retreated. Walls of upper level are a pale yellow that was probably bright when it was painted 10 years prior, but now is like a faded photograph of itself. There’s a narrow sidewalk that goes down following the curve of the street and the retaining wall of the small property.

There’s an old pickup parked on the street with some rust spots on faded blue paint. A couple shovels and rakes in the back with two. There’s a couple stacks of white 5 gallon buckets. Not only can you smell the saltwater air, the earthy rot and musty smell of the trees and fallen autumn leaves. There’s a small pizzeria or something nearby. There’s a bar with a pool table in the back. The front of the pizzeria only has three small tables and a window counter with 4 stools for the few who stop in to eat a slice, but it’s one of those places that gets some steady business of takeout orders and the tables are spill over for busy nights with the small bar. There’s some green neon beer signs back by the two small single stall bathrooms.

There’s a brunette that works there that lives at the house with the old blue pickup. She’s mid to late thirties with long brown hair just past her shoulders. She has very Mediterranean features on a fair skin. There’s a younger man in his early to mid twenties who looks to be her son possibly, wearing an apron and a red t-shirt he obviously bought a size too small to show off his muscled body for the middle aged ladies that came in to see their friend at her bar/pizzeria and supporting her business. He is a bit confident as a few of those friends secretly not just fantasize about this young guy but a few have secretly had hook ups with the kid and they are worried their friend will freak out with them for “molesting her child” even though he’s an an adult, it doesn’t matter because he’s still her baby.

It’s truly an odd scene. I’m not sure what I am supposed to be seeing here. Several times I’ve been here but the image tends not to change. It’s quite the mixed bag of emotions. Mostly from the one woman who can’t seem to stop herself. Guilt, lust, happiness, loneliness, fear, anger, sadness. The poor woman is stuck and can’t decide how she wants to change her situation or even if she wants to? Her inability and unwillingness to make a choice keeps her in a state of torment. She can’t decide. She won’t. She instead sits buried in alcohol to just exist in that world with just a little less pain.

Malignant

Growth comes from seeing something that needs change, learning as much as you can to understand it and finding a way to make it better. This is how we’ve gone from walking around and hiding in caves, to flying to the moon. However sacrificing all ethical thought and actions to make progress is not good growth. Instead it’s like a cancer growing from within. You can try to treat it or cut it out, but there’s always a scar or something left behind. Meanwhile there’s 30 other problems you’ve created trying to fix something caused by those bad choices. things damaged like this aren’t easy to repair. Unfortunately as long as there are those who hold onto the past will cause as much damage as those who deny the past in the name of progress. Prosperity isn’t money. It’s life and experience.

Humans are by far the most destructive, selfish, and petty beings. the worst of them live in North America. Globally the problem is men and their fragile sense of superiority. religion further exacerbates the problem as a divisive tool for those seeking power to convince those more ignorant to bend to their will. Political parties claim they are for the people but only are there for those who add more riches to their pockets. If no side is right then how can we move forward?

We can’t.

Nobody budges and nobody cares. Denial is as bad as the malice. Enabling is as bad as the malice. Only when everyone says “no more” and makes equality a real goal, then there is no future or hope for progress.

Falling apples

When can we choose psychosis over medical intervention? While it’s scary and bizarre, sometimes it’s better than the reality that you’re broken.

To heal you first need to acknowledge that you’re fucked up. Then you must accept that you’re fucked up. Only then can you ask for help. Getting help and going through with treatment is hard. It’s hard because not everyone has the strength to get through their battle. Many lose their battle because they quit. They punch their ticket and leave a mess behind. That rings through generations as an echo of pain.

It’s really hard sometimes. It’s even harder to see where someone lost that battle. It reminds you that it’s not a one time battle. It’s a battle you have to choose to fight every day.

I spend a lot of time getting by. I’m not complaining here. I’m just saying that some days are really hard. I don’t know how many times lately I have drove out into the middle of nowhere and just screamed out my pain. Yelled at the rocks. Cursed to the sky. Threw stones at invisible giants. All of this to just have moments of feeling like I can feel normal around others. Lately I’ve been struggling with it more. We have added medication to make me seem more calm around others, but while some things are starting to calm, the autism is presenting more. While I struggle to hide my sensitivity to things around me, I deal with the fact that I’m noticing it more myself and now worry if everyone else will see through the mask I wore for years.

Tonight is hard. I’m dealing with so much that my mind is doing things that I need to address. I can’t dismiss visual or auditory hallucinations. Are they hallucinations? Lights flashing in the corners of my vision. The reality is I just want to ignore it and accept the psychosis, because the alternative is scary.

Now it hits. The scene of things hanging off the branches. Shoes against a blue sky. The times I saw things I wished I hadn’t. That thing that left a stain. empathy is overwhelming sometimes because trying to figure out why leads to what, and finding the what leads to the pain of understanding. That they felt so much pain, loss, misery, that it was better to them to leave. Seeing the reality of there being nothing left but an empty shell and a spent soul. Seeing things like that wears you down.

So while I sit fighting my demons and feel overwhelmed and stressed beyond measure, I don’t want to ever make that choice. Instead I take time for therapy and self care. I work on what I can control. I learn from the choices made by others and take that knowledge with me to fight another day.

Dream and dimension

Dreams feeling so real that they have to be. I mean the smells, sounds are so tactile it’s like a memory. I truly feel like they have to be, now especially a peek through the dimensional veil into an alternative reality. Sure they seem bizarre and wild, but some feel as mundane as a morning fart. Just a touch of gas is all. Nothing more. Nothing less. Never mind the next one involves making defensive strategies for invading gorillas that are far advanced like the planet of the apes but they’re also as big as King Kong. Then there’s the ones that are apocalyptic survival after tech is dead and no longer sustainable. Some are worlds of other beings like birds or canines are the elevated beings.

Travel at the speed of a short nap. Which reality is the one you exist? Am I dreaming of this reality over there? Armies fighting off giants and dragons. A man walking through a wash in the desert hiding from invading armies that have decimated the small towns after a massive strike destroying the government with cyber attacks and then physically attack a divided nation. They all feel real. Here I am just some broke, and broken human trying to understand why I feel lost in space and time. sometimes I can’t wait to go to sleep. Other times I fear it so much I avoid it for days.

Same vision different day

Nothing has changed. Everyone talks shit on both sides about what is needed. Nobody actually pays attention to what’s really going on around them. They follow propaganda to what drives their feeble minds frenzy. All focused on things that aren’t irrelevant, but are part of the same thing. Nobody watches for those who are waiting to strike while we take each other out. The world hasn’t changed, just the way you play the game. I know this as I type this out on my media driven communication device. I hate carrying it, but it’s become a bit of a necessity for now. Regardless, while everyone is blaming everyone else shits about to get real bad for all.

End of the line.

I realize a huge trigger of my anxiety is death. The finality of it. 25 years ago I danced with it frequently. A couple times it almost claimed me permanently. I tried changing myself to fit in even further. Still, no matter what I did I couldn’t care one way or another if I lived or died. Now after a deep breath and my mind bridging across new chasms i had the realization that my past lives are in fact just genetic memory. Something that tagged onto a part of the dna download that programmed this life. It makes you see why men try to control the narrative. They try to ensure they have offspring and preferably male. Someone long ago had this realization and shared it. And Ignorance and science had yet to discover the things like dna, evolution, etc. They ont understood their own survival instinct. Well as we move on something has to balance the scales. That same thing is still evolving. Viruses, diseases, genetic mutations, etc are all evolving too. So there’s no room in the future for those who can’t provide growth towards the bigger picture.

All I wanted was to be a dad. To look down and see a piece of me in them, a shape of a nose, eyes, hair, whatever. The problem is I have had no such luck. Mind you I was very fortunate to find my wife who had three beautiful children of her own and I have grown to love as my own. That has brought me some happiness, but there’s still that part of me that wanted one child with my DNA. come to find that no matter how many times I planted a seed, it would not bare fruit. It didn’t matter how plentiful my seed was, it lacked the part that made it viable. So now this line ends with me. It had nothing to do with what god I worship or anything other than I lack that code to go to the next level. So no further “reincarnation” or “rebirth” for me. When I die, I will be gone with the last electrical signals in my brain cease to flicker. My memory will only carry to the last generation of people I make any impression with. I will just be gone like a fart on the breeze.

This could be a good thing though. I mean I find my ways are no longer relavent. My way of thinking and acting is no longer needed. I may see the next generations failing too but the ones who are meant to continue, will. While I wish I could see what 100 years down the road looks like, a part of me is glad I can’t. I wouldn’t fit. I’d be like a wart on the nose of society.

So while I understand it’s easy for some to say “don’t dwell on things that haven’t happened yet. Be in the moment.” It’s hard when all you see is numbers and know your clock is winding down fast. The best I can hope for is to plant a tree and have my body be the food that makes it grow strong and tall.

Typically misrepresented

Everyone talks about atypical on Netflix. I’m not a fan. Mainly because of the bs drama is still making Sam out to be the cause of everyone’s stress. I get that, but I thought it was supposed to be about Sam but too much focus is on everyone else’s problems. I much preferred on the spectrum. It’s available on HBO NOW. Warning it’s a show from a different country but it has English overdubs available. It was really good at showing the characters truly trying to get by in a world that never understands what it’s like. Mind you I understand it’s not easy living with us, but we’ve seen that story before.

Spectrum disorders are in no way make us unaware of how people see us. Some of us are highly functioning enough to know when we’re perceived as weird. So much do that we learn to mimic others so we can act “normal”. Growing up through the late 70s and 80s the word “retard” was used a lot. It was not in a clinical sense (to be delayed of development) so you don’t want to be labeled that. We had the foresight to hide.

I was diagnosed when I was 15 with autism spectrum disorder. I was treated as just another hyper active child. This originally was labeled as ADD. I lucked out having a therapist that understood my concerns and was also the therapist for my mother and understood exactly why I needed him to keep that to himself. I don’t know if my mother reads this blog, but if she does I’m sure this is all just a “lie” or me “being over dramatic” or a “whiny little faggot.” What’s funny was this therapist she loved even though he was “a fucking gross faggot, but he’s ok enough. I guess.” This is how he actually was able to pin down my diagnosis so well. Seeing me and the home I came from he knew that it was more than a neuro diverse brain, but there were deeper childhood traumas. My diagnosis overall was autism spectrum disorder with ADHD PTSD and Social Dysphoria.

Instead of doing treatment with medication he saw I was able to function rather well in the environment. I learned how to maintain myself as well as function as a buffer for my younger siblings. The youngest of my siblings at the time was already diagnosed with ADHD and was being treated with medication, but it wasn’t something that stayed with him. As soon as he got to big to argue with he told mom fuck you! I’m not taking those fucking pills!

In school it was challenging because I learned by watching others. I can read a book fine, but my brain files that information where I can use it in recall only after seeing how you are supposed to recall it. The best example of this was my music class. I could read music. I learned theory and practices etc, but I always failed music. It wasn’t until my last music teacher sat with me watching me learn a hard song (battery by Metallica and pull me under by dream theatre)on the guitar during lunch only after hearing it twice and was able to play it seamlessly with the recording. He stopped and says he doesn’t understand how I can do that but can’t do basic sight reading. He knew I could read and understand what was on the page. I knew what the time, key, notes, and the instrument I was playing, but as soon as I was sat down with the sheets of music I couldn’t play. I told him it’s because I can’t hear what I’m reading. I told him it’s ink on paper until I hear the music. I finally passed a music class that year. Not with high grades because sight reading etc still had to be graded, but I’m happy to say I got a C- and that was a passing grade.

Here I am now. 45 years old and only learning over the past few years that I’m ok. Yes I have this thing that most people call a disease or disorder, but I’m not “retarded” or “challenged” or “slow.” This isn’t a disease. It’s not a disorder. We’re just wired a little different. that guy with cerebral palsy isn’t fucking slow or stupid either. Nor that person with Down’s syndrome. We’re all people who are just as human as you. We just want to live our life with your typical judgment.

Cracks in the concrete

I’ve been seeing things that make me wonder what I am supposed to prepare for? My grandmother carrying a big heavy battle axe ready to split a skull. My grandfather standing under falling waters. My father cutting down a large tree. People attacking others and not showing remorse. Those who have fought long and hard, just quit and drop their sword. These are visions every day now.

Meanwhile I’m losing my mind trying to accomplish little tasks. Always being stopped by something out of my control. Slowly this is chipping away my protective cage. The place that holds a beast of rage and fury deep within. The walls are beginning to crack. I’m not sure how long before it breaks. I’m hiding in a dark corner trying to breathe. I hear him breathing.

Lies and what lies between

All my life I have had a connection with everything around me. Understanding deeply the truths of each thing. The problem with that is nobody likes being that vulnerable. So you pretend to be naive or ignorant to what people say or do. You pretend to believe their lies or play along with the game. However you grow tired of the feeling you get for tolerating the poison in the well you drink from. You move on and find yourself secluded but the sickness you feel goes away.

Eventually you find yourself looking for company of people who instead are like you you search and find some, but you realize they are just as broken as the ones you sought refuge from before. Few are genuine. Some you become good friends with, but others who refer to you as friend are just poison and you again need to distance yourself. They use “good deeds” to earn favors that they use to benefit their own agendas. Again you find yourself withdrawing. Only keeping contact with the ones you can trust to not manipulate you, and keep minimal contact with others.

From a distance I still see what happens. I see that I still need to be cautious of my surroundings and pay mind to who I let in. I learned this time that strength is not good when it’s only good for the few while it benefits them. Strength needs to endure when it’s hard and must benefit the whole of the community. We are still far from the path forward I guess. Humans are the most flawed species on this planet. A virus that is unlike anything else. Ultimate bringers of havoc that set forth destruction in their paths. Even those who try to live better, still can’t help but to fall to their more basic need for self worth.

I have doubt that there still be much hope for a real positive outcome in the near future. We continue to fall.