Autumnal Equinox

Today is not only the first day of Autumn here in the US, the Autumnal Equinox, but as I type this, the precise house of my father’s passing 17yrs ago is upon me.

I’m well past the painful stages of a parent passing. Hell, in dad’s case we knew for 14 months he was dying. No, what I’m more feeling is 17yrs have already passed. THAT is a bit breath taking.

But since I one way or another missed blogging on all the other opening days of the other seasons since starting this wordpress blog thing-y…

Happy Autumnal Equinox, the single most memorable day of each year for me since I was child. And don’t ask why, because not even I know, lmao >_>

BTW, I just after all these years online, learned the full name of this equinox in the autumn, and was shocked to find it called “autumnal”. Learn something new everyday, lol.


Novel Writing Breakthrough?

I think over the last couple of days, while maybe not doing anything I thought was progress towards my writing on WIP, I actually HAD progress towards my writing, lol.

I may have just realized the rather major importance of what had become a minor nuisance recently in my writing. I have had this… Thing… This backstory + character arc + something I still can’t put into words for three weeks now…

But this rambly self story from one of my late arrival main characters that has almost grown annoying atop frustrating, acquired a story title in the last week like if it was about to be added to my short story work (the only type of stories I have completed to date). And tonight it dawned on me what this thing really is:

The naming of story arcs within a novel to break it down into workable chunks. It is now looking like my creative side has finally framed a way to somewhat parse novel sized story:

Divide it down into short story/novelette like “named” and mentally framed as “short story like” or “chunks” or babysteps >_>

This way I might, since I have not put this into practice yet to know for certain, I might be able to breakdown what had thus far been the insurmountable wall of novel plotting: too much to parse at once.

Mind you, I only have a grand total of one of these named arcs right now (Tale of The Two Sisters), and it has also defied note taking regarding it. BUT, this is at least a step forward on novel writing, and the first such forward step at the prose level for me.

Ever Expanding World Building and Refining of Chars & Plot pt2

Apologies FOR the delays completing this blog entry, but July was a rough month. The last of it I spent floating in and out of suicidal thoughts/idealization. I also learned the national suicide hotline is now closed to me, because only one local place answers that line now, The Harris Center, and apparently not only do they no longer have any clinician grade personnel staffing their lines, but…

Well very long, several day long story later, a supervisor from The Harris Center got on the line at one point and basically told me flashbacks were a choice and I needed to get over myself.

As physically unsafe and threatened as I felt by that point, that night (they proved to have my personal information and sent police to my house to explain things to me about knowing my place)… It started a process between my conscious & unconscious sides.

Wow, just typing about that week with the national suicide crisis hotline got my heart hammering, lol. But now that I remember my DID bridges, I am able to get control again before the flashback cascade that had been crippling me so badly the last month since the car crash.

Yeah, apologies, leaping around time line wise.

Due to that failed series of phone calls to the national suicide crisis hotline, I finally realized what my unconscious mind had been trying to warn me about for months.

I had stopped working on the bridges between here and now, and my various traumatized child states. That breakdown in communication is why things got so ugly after crashing my car into and through that fence June 30th.

But I’ve been working to rebuild those bridges, like just now after typing the above. It is a slow process, rebuilding trust, but just my realizing it two weeks ago changed my stress levels radically.

During July though, my creative side was not silent nor dormant.

This pair of blog posts about world building is about one very important new concept I am strongly considering adding to the setting for WIP.

Just to give some context upfront, while researching the word “Waif” I found out that today in real world, there is an estimated 100 million street orphans, several million of such here in the US alone.

And suddenly an inspiration hit me that I will likely be working on this weekend now that emergency car repairs are done and we must wait for the funds from which to do actual repairs with, to arrive.

The Shadow Dancer, is a short story about a teenage girl petty thief having the worst day of her life: she is about to be beaten to death and knows it. And then something from beyond intervenes and offers her a new family, hope, and chances beyond even her wildest dreams.

Here is the thing about that inspiration: it is strongly implied, to me the writer that is, that the force stepping in to help that girl is doing this in many places at once, across different worlds all at the same time.

The girl is offered shadowmancery, the power to manipulate, move through, and project shadows. Hard shadows. Light absorbing shadows. All this along with IF she accepts the gifts offered, her body will slowly toughen as the years pass and she matures into an adult, to the point of being about on par with Captain America from Marvel comics.

Now consider this for a moment.

The Genius Loci of my WIP, that which watches over an entire city-state of orphans and foundlings, is going to potentially be offering upwards of 100 million street orphans across the Earth and who knows how many other realms & worlds, super-powers.

In real world the total number of military forces, active and reserve, planet wide is less than 100 million.

And once the knowledge about this orphan super soldier army slowly filters its way out into the military and counter-intelligence networks globally, the world governments will come to learn there is not only an entity grade eldritch abomination roaming the earth that not even the nuclear weapons of Russia nor the US can stop, but it has quite likely extremely loyal street orphans scattered across the globe, with super powers, the power to shadow door near anywhere on the planet at will, and there are 1 to 100 million of them.

Atop that there is an already existing foundling elite, special forces of shadowmancer super soldiers TRAINED to defend all their brothers and sister to back up this shadow dancers “force.”

So I now have a VERY GOOD reason why the earth govts and militaries are all but scared shitless over this eldritch being they have only discovered in 1999 (story takes place from 2013-2016) that can shrug off even the largest nuclear and fusion weapons humanity has, but has “loyal servants/warriors” that each could possibly stop an entire army Company individually, extremely mobile, durable to all small arms fire, hard to kill even with heavier weapons, and…

Very very few know What this Thing/Eternal Darkness’ goals are.

All they know is this thing, Eternal Darkness, warns them a war is coming. And then when that war hits, humanity is very glad to have their unexpected allies, because even with all this…

Hundreds of millions will die, and the earth is changed forever.

The Shadow Dancers, if the concept sticks, fill a plot and world building hole of just why world govts and militaries are so paranoid and fearful of what this “Eternal Darkness” could be up to and plotting with its quite immense “standing” army.

The Autism Hell of being Suddenly Violated

The average person probably never deals with feelings of extreme violation, pain… string dozens of curse words here together as someone tears your hands and feet off slowly with a blunt saw… [inert here], is what i’m living through right now.

Why you ask? Because after some three hours of reading on my PC kindle software, I discovered it has been editing what I’m allowed to read and the only way to SOTP this, is to let it post filth at the bottom of my screen flashing every time I touch my mouse, keyboard or anything else I/O on my computer.

None of this will mean anything to a neurotypical NOR anyone that has never dealt with hypervigilance from PTSD. But to me… Only if I cut your guts open and rip them out, will you have any idea the rage, pain, screaming hell inside my head right now.

Welcome to autistic frustration rage when violent change hits you… Suddenly and/or when you can’t communicate something because… Your brain has no words/mechanism for the screaming pain rage agony that apparently no spoken nor written language has words for.

And I know it bothers neurotypcials to hear of it, because I have the beatings, prison time, and death threats from the professionals I’ve been told to trust and let help me, to prove how much NT’s have no grounds of comprehension.

Three hours of my life… violated, ruined, shattered… and it is late, I should be winding down, which was why I was reading, so i can sleep. Now I can’t even try lying down or risk night terrors for the next few days if not weeks, because i’m atop everything else, under constant strain from all this insurance stuff and loss of the only place I have felt safe for more than 13yrs: my totalled car.

And all I can do, is sit here, quietly, so police do not get called, waving guns in my face, screaming at me about murder, weapons, plans to kill people, and I risk being shot or more imprissonment as a retarded faggot psychopathic murderer.

Venting here is not helping. NOt one bit. Psychologists really need to get an education about ptsd and autism before they throw around retarded and harmful advice to their victims.

Ever Expanding World Building and Refining of Chars & Plot pt1

Okay, two, three hours ago I sat down to write a separate blog post here about my writing since my last post, and instead got a 1212 word scene seed (it currently has no chapters before or after it) of a scene that has been needing done for months, if not two years now.

And while trying to… When I clicked away from here to get that exact word count, I found another sign of my PTSD and how, where, why all organization is a major (like 7-10 level trigger item) trigger.

Earlier, in a flash of euphoric joy for writing, I made a folder for ALL bits n pieces for WIP. Knowing full well I’d have to SLOWLY move everything over there over the course of days to maybe weeks so as to not trigger myself again and again and black out the memory of yet ANOTHER folder made specifically for that task…

When I went looking for it just now… It was gone.

Thankfully an online friend had bugged me to start taking screen shots of where files and folders are put, so she could keep track of them for me somewhere beyond my PTSD reach and… Using my copy of that image, I found it. Here is the thing…

This thing proved I have MULTIPLE of the same folders scattered across my HDD, hidden in… who knows how many places, PTSD, panic attack induced places.

Now while I just barely avoided reach frothing rage level of frustration over this blatant sign of why organization is such a massive clusterfuck for me for decades…

I did something I have not done in 14yrs: I made a folder directly on my HDD under C/: directly for WIP. No more “writing” or “current project” BS. Just literal, WIP with date and year (I need those on things or my brain flips its shit later when I can’t remember when something is from, yet another PTSD and/or autism joy joy trait).

If I lose THIS ONE, my brains are going all over the walls of this room. I’ve had NINE f’ing drugs that were to help with this, and best any of them did was give me hallucinations and paranoia I was about to violently die.

This BS mental confusion ends here and now or goddamned ELSE!


On the writing frontier.

A new scene tonight. One rather critical at that. A new character idea for the series after this one within WIP, with massive implications for the over-arching story of WIP.

And writing has reached the point where suicide IS the better option to NOT being able to write anymore, and fuck all those crisis hotlines “counselors” who told me I was a cancer on society, go to the ER, call 911 and have cops blow my brains out.

Time for line in the sand regarding writing.

I’ve done it before. December a few years back, out of frustration at not being able to write for an entire year no matter how many times I sat down to f’ing try… I challenged myself with:

“I write so much as a scene before new years or throw all writing away permanently. Software, notes, everything.”

As you can see, I’m still here writing.

So, it is time to do what NO professional, MD, psychiatrist, psychologist, therapist, psyche nurse, ANYONE has helped me to do. F’ing write OR ELSE.

Creating stories is the only deeply passionate joy left in my life. I’ve lost all other hobbies, all but one friend (albeit he has proven his weight in platinum), so if I have to give up writing and story telling, fuck this world, it ain’t worth living in if all I’m doing is burning oxygen to make the rest of you feel better about yourselves and suicide.

Yes, I’m pissed off, and sick of where this path has taken me, the listening to PROFESSIONALS, taking PROFESSIONAL advice, taking PROFESSIONALS drugs… And ending up with near NOTHING left.

Time for me to take care of me or die trying.

Cars, Writing, Cars, Therapists, stuff n things

Huh, been a while since I posted anything here. Well guess new therapist/psychologist and a car crash might have something to do with that.

In June got a new psychologist/therapist, due to old therapist of 5yrs had to bow out all future appointments due to chemo. Luckily he has since gotten the all clear cancer wise, but he is still months away from returning due to chemo most affected his voice.

First new therapist/psychologist was not working out. After 4 weeks and 4 sessions… Even brought someone along with me to confirm my experiences while there, and… Even my friend/car buddy was growing annoyed with this Phd psychologist’s lack of engagement and passive-aggressive jabs at PTSD and my anxiety.

Enter second new therapist, whom I saw for first time last week, and… Night and day difference. For one, the lady actually participates in the conversation, has a sense of humor, and turns out, though I was not told this by insurance originally, she does EMDR, which is what old therapist did.

But being new therapist, lots of room for things to still go wrong, have been down this primrose path before, so being patient and waiting to see what happens. But my hope is she will cover areas old therapist could not, and in a tag team effort I can get all aspects of my anxiety, PTSD, and aspergers dealt with finally.

Now to the bad bad news.

June 30th, within minutes of July 1st, wrecked my car. And as of this blog post, totaled it. Insurance totaled it I should say, since car buddy and I have already figured out what work is necessary to make it derivable again. Just insurance found repairing the body damage, battle scars from going through a fence, to be more expensive than the value of the car. So… They totaled my girl.

Will be buying it back, doing the repairs myself with that money all going to car buddy since he is the one who will be pulling transmission, getting it towed to tire places for the new tires and rims on the front, and new windshield (bad cracks, not busted out). After that salvage title, re-inspect, re-register, and my battle scar covered girl will be back on the road.

I’m gonna move the writing part of this into its own blog post, since I feel I’m still trying to jam too much into these damned things and hitting the TL;DR threshold >_>

But I will say on the wreck thing, it was PTSD caused, and that psychologist raising his voice and calling out “next” when I told him about what I’m about to say, is a huge part of why that guy is now former psychologist I’ve seen.

What happened was at a red light when it turned green, car in front of me didn’t go. So I hit the horn. They still didn’t go. So I went around them. They took off immediately, and began tail gating me. Changing lanes to stay behind me, made all the same turns with me, and after the third turn following me… The hind part of my brain freaked and went into survival mode.

About a 100yards into this flight of panic fore-brain figured out what happened, and I realized I was on a street with no lights, hit my high beams, just in time to discover the road ended about 10ft away. Over a high hard curb (that’s what took out tires), through a fence (that’s what did the body damage), and the only place I felt safe on earth… Has been lost to me for 17 days now.

Now thankfully, I have legacy insurance from when I used to work. Full coverage, towing & rental coverage, so I’m in a POS rental (that I rarely drive due to fear of wrecking it would be impossible to repair, and I’m SUV familiar, so I find this a valid concern). Sadly, insurance just wants to total it and move on. But buddy and I have done all the work on this car up until now by ourselves, so with the money TO DO the repairs & to get the parts, we can do it.

Buddy has been surprisingly helpful during all this. Surprisingly because no one, not even family nor wife ever helped this much, nor grasped how badly my anxiety can kick my ass on the bad days.

But hey, I guess this is what happens when you are there for someone on their darkest days over the last year, lmao. So yeah…

I’ll have my car back, eventually (damn are insurance people slow), and have my “safe place” back too hopefully. I have no idea how my autism may react to the changes to the car. So we will see.

Screaming Pain When Trying to Write

Okay, first, apologies, am writing this while triggered, so not all of this may be lucid/coherent. One part of my complex PTSD is how it takes on some aspects of DID (dissociative identity disorder) when i’m freaked out, and past n present n voices of other parts, all start screaming over the top of each other.

Psychiatrists call it “thought disorganization”, but since the only class of drugs they ever offer for it, anti-psychotics, only magnify the problem not help with it in the least… I’m not convinced it IS “thought disorganization.”

Of course only two psychiatrists, or any other kind of medical professional for that matter, have not thrown me out of their offices when I exhibit this right in front of them… My pool of data points is highly limited. Particularly since the second psychiatrist ended our one and only appointment by screaming “get out, get out!!!” over and over again >_>

Anyways, the reason I am here today is to whine about trying to write while… While the attempt TO write TRIGGERS… Well I’m not wholly sure WHAT this is, particularly since I’m not allowed to talk about it around mental nor medical healthcare professionals. All such attempts end in “get out, come back once you’ve calmed down” or violent expulsion by police or security.

But, tried to open the writing project I’ve been working on this week, and near instant becoming feeling violated, raped, screaming pain filling my brain, skin crawling, fearing for my life if I tell anyone IRL, and some other things… I don’t have words for, since I have never seen an equivalent of them IRL to draw upon for words to describe.

Though usually that just means I’m feeling a sea of pain from sub adult trauma parts/states all triggered up at once, all screaming their pain and pain only, because they are from the youngest years of my childhood and before I had words yet to express the feelings of their moment OR the cognitive capacity to process the fear and thus connect it to coherent words.

Or in short, it really fucks up my day, and likely next few days, since these kinds of episodes last for hours or days. I mean I guess I should feel lucky they no longer last the WEEKS they did eight years ago but… Not much of a constellation prize.

I still can’t go out into public, at least not safely, with this thing hanging over my head every single day and moment of my life. They are not triggered by the same things, all the time. I mean hell, all I did was open a writing project I have worked with for days, weeks, months, and BANG, i fear for my life level screaming pain filling my soul and brain.

And how the hell could I even attempt to write about the experience when hey, writing is what i was trying to do and INSTANT CRIPPLAGE.

Venting any of this here because… This blog is technically to show other PTSD & autism sufferers they are not alone.

Even if at times like this, feeling alone is precisely what I feel. Because I know if I tell anyone IRL, i’ll have police banging on my door, screaming about murder, waving guns around, and an investigation into my murder plans. I’ve been through it five times already, and have no desire to risk being shot by one of these psychotic fuckers that only have to say “I feared for my life” and it won’t even go court nor even charges against them. And…

I’d be long dead before any of that happened. Twenty plus bullets to the chest and head tend to do that >_>