johnpalmer

So, I’ve been trying to figure out how to say what I next want to say.

Do I dislike who, and what, I am? Of course not. That’s ludicrous. I know that I’m a good person, even though people have said I’m such a horrible person, I shouldn’t even hang out with people who want to see me, because I’m that toxic. Thanks, Pat and Barbara!, et. al.

Do I despise who I am? Even more ludicrous. I was born to understand love and humanity. Yes, I know, some people will view me with contempt and disdain, because I’m injured – thanks again, y’all! – and don’t think there’s any reason to listen to me, to find out if maybe there’s a good explanation for why I’m acting strangly.

Well – do I feel unwavering contempt for myself, for doing, and acting, strangely, in ways that people will later view as contempt-worthy, and hateful, even though I can see that my actions allowed a hateful person to see me as contempt-worthy and hateful? Dude – I really do not do self-hatred, nor do I hate the disabled and injured. Why are we discussing all of these stupid questions?

Here’s why: Do I feel completely and thoroughly ashamed of being someone, who, on occasion, suffers from extreme fatigue, neurodivergence, infrequent emotional lability too extreme to allow rationality, and, do I further feel totally ashamed and worthless, because I can’t always be a mature, responsible, emotionally-stable grown-up able to hold productive discussions about relationships?

Yes. 100%, and totally. It’s why I can’t write anything these days – everything sounds like the whining of an ugly, faceless, useless hunk of biomass.

There’s a song that’s been ringing through my head – probably Odetta’s version, it sounds like her strong, wise, voice, leading “this little light of mine… I’m gonna let it shine….” One of my gifts, insofar as it’s worthy of the name, is, I see lights that shine, better than many. I could see it in both of my brothers – I later realized it was in me, too, but I wasn’t aware of the signs.

Once I hit maturity, I learned about my own heart’s ability to shine, to see joy, and beauty, love, and, all manner of wonderful things. Even better, I learned to have some control over it. I learned to shine it. I could see the effect it had on people. It made me happy.

One really awful thing about being me – about having my particular set of circumstances – is that parts of me shut down, without warning. Once a person sees this light from me, I understand that it can be painful if it’s gone, so I exert a lot of energy to turn it on, when needed, and to keep it going while I’m with someone. But over the long term, my life has been one where the light is bound to go out, and I’m no longer completely human. That’s how it feels, and not having something all humans have is, in a sense, being “not completely human.” You see what I’m saying? I’m human, but something is missing, just as surely as if it was amputated, except, a light to shine can grow back. Hypothetically, at least.

The worst thing is, due to my disabilities, I sometimes turn ugly, in mood, expression, mannerisms, or appearance. Sometimes, even if I know I’m ugly, I’m too tired to fix it. And people can justifiably freak out because of that, you see? I can’t blame someone for freaking out – it’s not a normal kind of ugly, so people have to adapt. The problem is shame.

Because I’m ashamed of being broken, damaged goods, toxic, etc., I never think through how I’m broken, why people say I’m damaged goods, what specific toxins are present, and how can they be neutralized, etc.. I avoid it – it’s past the door labeled “shameful stuff, do not disturb.” So, when someone freaks the eff out, I’m not ready to explain things to them.

Just out of the blue, I came up with “I’m sorry – sometimes, my emotions express themselves in a weird way, due to my PTSD.” But first, I had to confront the shame enough to recognize that I’m not crucifying myself in front of people, I’m just offering an explanation. Instead, my shame leads me to try to ignore the times I’m damaged goods, or toxic, and hope the other person just forgets. That’s not a terrible strategy, to hope a friend forgets a behavioral outlier – but an explanation makes it easier for them to understand, and not need to forget, the outlier.

I’m ashamed that I need to remind myself to be a good, happy-making, human being – it’s not enough to do nothing wrong, you need to do some things that are right. I’m deeply ashamed of having weaknesses that could be pointed to and mocked, which would hurt when I’m exhausted, or mentally/emotionally injured. And I couldn’t tell you, not if my brain clicked on, and I was no longer damaged goods, and not if I had a million years, could I tell you, how ashamed I am that I can’t turn on “this little light of mine.”

I miss you – all of you out there. But without that light, nothing really seems to make any sense, so, it’s really, really, difficult to engage.

(Return Address, inside address, etc., skipped)

Re: “YELLOW CARD” encounter with your provider, Biggus Arseholius, and John Palmer
(refs prior doctor, who I call "Dr. Prior")

To whom it may concern:

Mr. John Palmer has a severe speech impediment, especially under stress. Twice now, your caregivers have pressured Mr. Palmer to the point that he has been obviously flustered and upset. The first time was Dr. Prior, telling Mr. Palmer to “stop fighting him,” when Mr. Palmer was trying, in good faith, and as calmly as he could, to answer Dr. Prior's questions, prior to a medical procedure. Getting a PTSD patient frustrated and upset before a medical procedure is a bad medical outcome, and obviously, scolding is an unacceptable response to a good faith effort to answer.

In the most recent incident, a far worse breach of patient trust occurred. Biggus Arseholius had pestered John until he was upset and flustered, and then, accused him – the patient, John Palmer – of being “aggressive” merely because of the frustration that he, Areseholious, had caused! This is what resulted in Mr. Palmer’s inability to respond to the harassment verbally, which necessitates the use of a non-verbal signal – the yellow card referenced above.

It is natural for caregivers to have problems with patients who are both a genius – and normally appear gifted with eloquence – who also have pain, cognitive impairment, and concomitant speech impediments. That said: those “problems” are what medical training calls “challenges” and, they are on the side of the caregiver, not the patient. Disabled patients are entitled to good care too, and while the patient (yes, me) must also help, the caregiver must be the “adult in the room” who handles things, like a frustrated patient, in a mature, and responsible manner – not an unjustly accusatory one.

To both upset a patient, and then call the patient aggressive, is an extraordinary breach of trust, and a wholly unacceptable patient outcome. Your clinicians need to do better. Due to my speech impediment, I can’t calmly explain why I am upset. Merely answering Arseholius's questions was extremely difficult! Instead, I use a well recognized, non-verbal signal: one that says “what just happened should not happen in any caregiving scenario” – just like a yellow card means something happened that shouldn’t on the soccer field (or, in other sports).

I can provide your clinicians with some advice.

First, if this patient is having problem answering your question, pause, and ask the question a different way – this gives him another mental pathway, through which he might be able to answer more easily.

Second, if this patient is simply trying to provide too much information, pause the conversation, explain the specific piece of information you need, and then, either let him know he’s given you what you wanted, or, if need be, allow him to continue. Just as with a stutterer, John sometimes feels a need to finish an interrupted sentence – so even if you have all the information you need, it is polite to ask him to continue, if there’s more he needs to say.

Thirdly, become aware of signs that you, the caregiver, are causing unnecessarily difficulties for the patient. Active listening and observation allow any observer to see that a patient is having internal, non-obvious difficulties – signs of frustration with everyday tasks are usually easy to spot! The person having difficulty is used to minor issues – e.g., I know I have a hard time speaking sometimes! – but a trained observer can spot incipient frustration. Put another way: a caregiver, who is watching for problems, can, and will, spot problems, like a speech impediment, before the person with the speech impediment becomes severely frustrated.

Obviously, Mr. Palmer can’t return to this clinic until he is assured that no further accusations will be leveled against him for behavior that is fully within clinical expectations, entirely innocent of wrongdoing or wrongful motive, and not remotely criminal. I must be assured that I can be a patient, sometimes even a difficult patient, without being accused of wrongdoing, nor of a desire to do wrong.

There’s a concept I’d like to describe, and I pull it from shamanism, but, it seems to me that it’s something that might be the basis of things like art therapy, where creating art can help people get in touch with their feelings, and sometimes the thoughts and reasons for unpleasant emotions.

When I enter the spirit world, I start with a fixed set of images, to help ground me, into saying “I’m not in ordinary reality any longer.” Well, that’s what I’m suggesting to you.

In this exercise, use a starting image of an “emotional landscape” where you can imagine yourself in any form you like – as a person, as a tree, as a flowering plant, as a spirit of the forest, or the earth, or the water; or anything you like, but, obviously, it’s best if it’s something that belongs in a “landscape.”

( when you enter the emotional landscape... )

(This is the first of a series of essays - they aren't posts like a normal "hi, here's how I'm doing, how are y'all doing?" I'm not ready to read, and respond, though I'll try. These are "how do you live when you are (or, how do you live with) a person who's too damaged for ordinary descriptions?)

I have a problem with forgiveness. I do it too easily. The reason for that is simple: people hurt me all the effing time, and I don’t know when I’m entitled to respond.

All my life (I believe) I’ve had me/CFS. Early in life, I was taught not to complain, and to ignore many things that bothered me. That’s part of the “people hurt me all the time” – things that shouldn’t hurt, can hurt me. I have to forgive those minor, unintentional, hurts constantly. I also I learned that no one really cared when I was hurt, and, when they hurt me, if I complained, it was always *my* fault.

I don’t mean, if I complained about getting swatted to a parent, I got another swat. I mean, if someone hurts me in a social situation, and I try to express that I’m hurt, it’s somehow my fault, the whole situation, and not even a bit of fault for the other person. My pain doesn’t matter. My feelings don’t matter. I have to accept any hurt thrown at me, and avoid hurting anyone, in any way, because I’m the ugly weirdo (brutal truth, not self deprecation). That has to change if I’m going to survive. It might not change. Meh, it happens; people die.

What are the limits? I’ve been thinking about that, and “stuff that shouldn’t hurt me, does,” and “basic human behavior”. Well… one day, in a store, near Christmas, I realized the checkout clerk noticed me wincing at the music and so, pretending she was just being jolly, started singing it, loudly, at me. How do I know she was doing this? Folks – especially we neurodivergent people, but all bullying victims – learn when people are doing that. And wow, do folks hate it when we’re right and call it out!

I want to make one thing clear: I don’t mean she was being a horrible person. She was the equivalent of a big sister tweaking her kid brother; this is a perfect example of a “microagression”. She realized she could hurt some poor slob who just wanted to get home and collapse, so she did. Somewhere, I need to learn the courage and anger to look such a person in the eye, and say “you’re doing that to hurt me. Stop it… no, I don’t want to hear it, just stop singing.” No complaining to managers – it was a (relatively) harmless mistake, and it shouldn’t have hurt me as badly as it did.

Then… I have to do something braver. She might feel stabbed in the gut, like, if her kid brother screamed for mom, she’d say “come on, I was just playing! A little!” if mom was angry. I have to ignore that, stay angry, and walk away. My attitude must be: “You hurt my inner child – I’m angry, until my child is safe and comforted, and *you* don’t get comfort – even if you weren’t a terrible ogre, even if you were ‘just playing, a little.’”

I know how it hurts, to be told I was hurtful, especially when I caused pain without realizing it. I want to help her process, and assure her she’s *fine*, now that she stopped, just, some customers *are* very sound-sensitive, etc., etc.. But it’s not my job, and even if I wanted to take it on, *that* is where things go wrong. Friends will have time to talk it out later; those who don’t talk it out are risky people to hang with. Those who aren’t friends have to learn to deal with their own emotions, so long as I try to be gentle.

It’s crazy to say it, but friends shouldn’t need good reasons to care about another friend’s pain. They should just care about avoiding it! But not all of my pains are visible, and some visible pains… shouldn’t be. What I’m doing isn’t working, so I recognize I have to do better. I have to make the right pains visible, and remember that a friend who doesn’t care about your pain (even if your pain is “weird” or your reaction to it is “ugly”), is not your friend at all.

What are *your* obligations, as my friend? Well, some pains need to be ignored, not stared at, and, as best as is possible, forgotten, even though you are shocked that I suddenly looked so hurt. I could almost have this printed on a card:

“Even if it looks like you hurt me, or upset me. I might be having a flashback to an old trauma, of a similar situation – you didn’t hurt me, PTSD did. If you keep hitting a trigger, I’ll let you know what it is, as quickly as I can identify it. I’m sorry my PTSD makes it look like you hurt me, but, gimme time to get to that, while I deal with the PTSD, okay? First, my trauma, then your comfort.”

Um. Did you see how complicated that got? And how accusatory the ending sounds? You say, or do something, and I have a flashback, and you feel hurt – not unreasonably. I want to comfort you. But I have frickin’ PTSD, so I can’t stop to explain that when I’m having a flashback. Later, I’ll tell you it wasn’t your fault, and you better effing trust me, because it’s dirty pool to blame me for your hurt, when I’ve done my due diligence in reassuring you, right? That’s true for any friendship – if you need more reassurance, ask for it, but don’t decide my reassurance wasn’t enough, not ask for more, and blame me!

And don’t tell me it’s hard. I get that it’s hard. But I’m the one with the broken brain, major depression, constant pain, and constant fatigue, and probably more I’m forgetting to mention, and I can’t do it alone. Do you need some hugs, some cuddles, more verbal reassurance, an explanation? I’ll try to do any of those things (cuddles excepted for most guys), but you need to play fair with me and let me report my experiences, my fears, and my traumas.

Okay, and then, if I say something like “when you argued with me, I felt bullied,” you are allowed to *ask*, “did you think I was bullying you?” and if the answer is “no,” you take it as golden. (It might be *wrong*, but it’s my mistake to make – not yours to correct.) If the answer is “maybe” or “yes”, you have a problem. I don’t think you’re a perpetual bully, but I might fear you were in that situation

The problem is, maybe you sang along to a jolly Christmas song, and it hurt, and I felt you were microbullying – I felt bullied, even though it was just the ordinary sorts of – I think in the UK they call it “piss-taking” – friends do. You rib your friends about embarrassing moments, they laugh, and poke at yours. So: maybe you’ll say “if I ever do that again – whack on you for being oversensitive to loud music – you can call me out. I’ll try not to, but, come on, man, I might make a mistake.”

Right there – that’s friendship. We have an issue, we try to avoid it, if we mess up, we try to make right.

But if you say “oh, come on man, you can’t feel bullied every time someone teases you about being sensitive,” I’m gonesville. I have to be. It’s not that I should feel bullied when someone teases me in that way; and I’d rather not be. But I can’t help it – that’s why I asked some hypothetical person to stop, as a friend would, if they cared. I can’t risk friends who don’t care, not any longer.

I keep wanting to write some re-introduction post, but there’s not a lot of point. Hi, I’m the blog author, John Palmer. I’m a broken brained gimp who is a terrible friend, and I have depression and PTSD.

You’re going to hurt me. Seriously: you’re going to say things that hurt, sometimes just reading what you write hurts, sometimes, just existing hurts, and you’re on the periphery, and it still hurts that you’re there. You can’t avoid that, unless you don’t interact with me at all. And, I’m going to forgive it all, and try to ignore it, because it’s not your fault. You don’t know better, and I’m not willing to tell you enough so you *do* know better.

Why? Well… there’s something that’s entirely absent in our culture right now: compassion. It’s gone. No one wants to talk about it. Strength and forcefulness and “being a nasty (expletive deleted,)” that’s cool and neat and powerful – caring about others is for losers, right?

Anyway, if I need help, when dealing with people, because they hurt me, and I need to explain the pain they cause? Yeah, I’m not going to do that, not yet, you think I’m stupid enough to set myself up? again? Look: I was the butt of one of the biggest jokes I can imagine: this woman pretended to care about me, and understand that I had a lot of problems and was in constant pain and could just barely hold it together without dying, and, pretended to give a damn for, I dunno, a dozen years? And with that setup, managed to stab and crush and tear every single positive part of our relationship, until there was nothing but carbon and rust, being ground into me for the rest of eternity. PTSD, don’t you know. You can’t just hurt us for “just a moment,” whooo, no.

Friendship is bullshit. Because I came out of that relationship, and every friend I had told me how much they loved both of us, which is codeword for “John, don’t seek help from *me*”. Thankfully, two people talked to me, believed me, loved me, and caused me to continue to live. One of them died, and I can deny I’ve been tempted to follow.

Because I’ve learned there’s nothing I can say that will ever protect me from evil. Compassion is not for weirdos like me. I’m in too much pain, so, I can’t point out the *ONE THING* to do to stop the pain. Who wants to put up with that?

I can’t push back in a relationship, so I’ll always be pushed around. No one will ever have to say “no, John, I care about *your* problems right now, stop worrying about how *I* feel.” Well, a therapist might, but, a therapist is someone you pay a lot of money to, for an hour of listening to you, and if you can’t SPEAK, that’s a big waste of money.

That’s why I get pushed around. When my brain is broken, I can’t speak properly. I can’t put big ideas into words. I can’t have a discussion in which real problems are solved – I can only get yelled at, and told I’m wrong, and meh, it happens, people die.

Well… I’m sorry, but, people *do* die. Mortality is part of our fate. And, meh, it happens. I get yelled at, feel like crap, and decide I’m so desperately lonely I’ll just lick the crap off and go home and mope about it. And, again, I say, meh, it happens, people die. Lots of people die from loneliness each year.

You can argue with a lot of what I say, but, don’t argue with me over “Meh. It happens. People die.” People die from some of the most petty crud imaginable, when it lands on them on the wrong day. And people like me, we have to remember that if we let up our guard, we will be one of the people who die. So, as flippant as it sounds, “meh, it happens, people die.” Remember that if you dare – it’s not one of those “happy thoughts” you use to fly in Neverland.

I don’t dare trust friendship, and I don’t dare trust my broken brain. See, the pain I feel, it’s neurological. If it overloads my brain *slightly*, I’m forced to go through a lot of error-correction, and I find I’m a lot stupider than normal. If it overloads my brain completely, well, it’s like I took a sudden, minor, injury – I’m in real pain, both physical and mental/emotional. This is one of the things Pat took major offense to – me failing to hide my inescapable pain. That’s hilarious: any time you see me acting the least bit cheerful, I’m hiding my pain as best as I can, and it’s not for my sake that I’m hiding it. Still, that’s the problem, right? My broken brain makes me a target to other people. Even people who recognize that I’m having a terrible pain reaction – even when I’ve explained it’s me, only, and not a bit their fault.

The PTSD, well, that just means I can’t talk my problems out. See, I say “I felt like I was being bullied,” gets turned into “HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME?” no matter how carefully you try to explain “I need to say how it felt, so we can try to avoid the same thing happening.” So, I end up just ignoring how it felt. It doesn’t matter, because it only matters to me. It’s invisible, just like my pain.

I have a new pain doc. He doesn’t care that I have a speech impediment, nor that my brain sometimes misfires, nor that I’m in such enormous pain I don’t know how I can survive much longer with it. He does care about me answering questions correctly (even when the questions are not *presented* correctly), in getting me to “stop fighting him” (by trying to answer his questions, note), to telling me he’s plenty empathic and compassionate, so shut up and let him shock me and stick me with needles.

My wife wants him to shiv me in the spine and stuff steroids inside me to kill my blood sugars so I die slowly and painfully, but, only because it would be really inconvenient to wait for a doctor who hasn’t re-traumatized me already. It’s ugly, when you freeze, and immediately go into a toxic form of subspace, where you’re terrified to ask questions, or do anything that might make the bad man hurt you more. But she wasn’t there, so, my pain doesn’t exist. Meh, it happens, more often than I care to count. And if I ream this doctor out properly, maybe I’ll keep him from killing other pain patients. But, hey, PTSD, broken brain, wife doesn’t care (so she doesn’t want me making a fuss).

I really don’t know how to live any more. I’m going to, and going to keep trying to figure it out, but the answer used to be “love” and “compassion” and bullcrap like that. I need a better answer. I wish like heck I had one.

I got my best possible wedding present from my dear departed friend and lover, Deborah Ruppert. One day, she realized I was completely emotionally frazzled, and wanted to help talk me through it - something she was *very* good at, I might add! - and I was once again trying to push her away, though she was one of the people I trusted most, when I was feeling that way. I explained that I knew *all* of the techniques she was discussing, I could do those things in my *sleep* (arguably, I have), and yet....

She suddenly intuited just how hard I work, 24x7x365, keeping my emotions under control. And it was like, "OMG, you have an axe sticking out of your head! I bet it hurts!" And now that someone said it, I could look in the mirror and say "why yes. It's funny - it's a really old pain, but no one, no one ever, ever, ever, mentioned it before." Now, I could have figured out how hard I worked to maintain emotional stability if asked the right questions, by someone who knew the right sorts of questions to ask, but, I had no real guidance on how easily most people managed their emotions.

Instead, she put it all together - the times she's seen me having problems, and what other signs she sees at those times, the signs that my resources are just totally drained. Today, I know why I have so many problems managing my emotions - I'm in constant pain, and I'm having constant other neurological effects, and those both drain resources, as well as impinging on one's emotional awareness. In other words: people can do things that hurt you, just as much as if they given you a hearty, affectionate, slap... over a sunburn. It's normal to feel angry about, or afraid of, being hurt like that, but if your pains are invisible, you can't show any emotional reaction, or people will think you're weird.

So I've gotten really good at managing my emotions, because I've always had these pains that were invisible, so I had to keep them hidden - or so I thought. Still: Deborah might have saved my life by affirming my pain, and my skill at handling it.

Um. To avoid burying the lede - yes, y'all can accuse me of that a bit, already - I did mention a specific type of gift earlier, right? And, anyway, one day, I was explaining to my beloved Mildred Uzoma how a bad encounter had happened. First, she joked about how horribly stinky something was, causing me to have sudden nausea. "NOT her fault," my mind conveniently and immediately supplied - see, that's emotional state control, don't attack Milli. Until I explain I have a tender stomach, she can't account for it. But, I explained, that was what put me in the state Deborah Ruppert had noticed.

And so, I explained, when *Milli* suggested maybe I didn't need a shoe brush if I didn't want to get it from her preferred outlet, I blew up, because I was the one who wanted one, and knew damn well where to *find* one.

Well, at that point, she wanted to explain to me, she didn't mean *that*, and I shushed her. I explained to her, it wasn't *important* what she'd actually said. As if this had anything to do with her at all! Ha ha, no, this is how you handle your husband-to-be who is sometimes out of resources so his embarrassing defects all show up - surprisingly frequently, these days! - and he gets angry for no real reason. I *am* damaged goods, you know.

Something happened. I knew she was empathic, and a hospice nurse, so, she knows emotions are sometimes irrational, so maybe I shouldn't have been surprised, but, when it happened, I realized I hadn't thought it through. I shouldn't have been "not surprised" by her reaction - I should have expected it! Me, apologizing for my behavior in that specific context, had landed with the same dull thud as if the situation were reversed - if *she* had made abject apologies to *me* for being... an ordinary human being with the same irrational batch of emotions we all have. Oh, sure, *sometimes* our emotions are rational - but if they were purely rational, we'd call them "thoughts," not "feelings."

I don't know who said it first but, it was something to the effect of "so what if you're angry for no good reason, once in a while? Emotions aren't always rational, and we can always talk it out later." In my mind, we were married at that point, and not on September 4th, 2024, in Renton City Hall, but, the latter date *was* the date of the actual wedding, and my shoes were still well-enough shined that no shoe brush was needed... but I now have multiple such brushes.

Um. So let's say I indulged in foreshadowing, not burying the lede.

Here's the thing: in the past, appearing angry was equated with being abusive by far to many of my acquaintences, and, every time I tried to understand what they meant, in saying something that seemed so wrongheaded to me, I kept getting frustrated. Well... that's because my perceptions are different, so my language is different. Look: if you look at me, and you think I'm angry, good on you. It's perfectly fine if I display my anger. In fact, I suspect Milli helped me there, too, once.

One day, early in our courtship, I gave her a big hug from behind, and I know she could tell I had a strong erection. I couldn't explain why I knew this wasn't a problem, even though I knew it violated some rules people had suggested for dating. You see, the context was, we were doing some BDSM-y play, I paused to hug her, and then continued our scene. We shared some affectionate cuddles afterward. And this is akin to questions about displaying emotions.

"Should I have demonstrated my erection?" is the wrong question. "Was it okay to demonstrate my erection?" is also the wrong question. "Should I have prevented her from noticing my erection, if she did so incidentally to an innocent hug?" is the right question, and the answer is "no". Of course, even that answer can be abused, by an abuser, but the point is, it's not whether something is *visible* (or palpable/noticeable), but whose "problem" it is. My erection/arousal is my problem. If someone opens their boundaries to making it *our* problem, and consents, now we have a shared problem to solve - lovely life you're leading, if this is your biggest Problem Of The Day, right?

Well, this is the same thing as with emotions. An abuser thinks his erection is his intended victim's problem to deal with; an abuser thinks his anger is his victim's problem to deal with. Me, I think an erection, or anger, is mine to deal with, unless someone offers to help. And that's why it was so hard to discuss things with people in the past - they equated a display of anger with abuse. But it's not - it *can* be, especially to a person who thinks "you made me angry" is a "you" problem, and not a "me" problem. But, fuck, people are angry all the time. It's really pretty surprising, given how much the NTs scold us NDs to keep our emotions in check!

Anyway: emotions are much the same, and, just as fraught and rife with contradictions as early erotic activities. It's not just visibility, it's visibility, and actions, boundaries, and, goddamned it, *communication*, and a lot of other things. The primary takeaway is, if I'm hurt, frustrated, angry, as long as those are *my* problem, that *I* am trying to deal with, well, that's okay - no matter how rotten my poker face is, nor whether or not I choose to try to wear one in the first place. I know, I know, I'm contradicting the advice of probably a dozen of people I thought were friends, but, hey, I've been wrong about that kind of thing plenty of times. I'd rather be wrong about *who* is a friend, than wrong about what *friendship* is.

Anyway: the important part here, is, shortly before the 4th of September, Milli and I had a discussion in which I apologized for being human, and in return, she acknowledged my humanity and proclaimed her love for all of me, something no woman has ever done before in my life. That was the moment I was, in mind, heart, and spirit, married. Corporealy, and legally, that was the September 4, 2024. My birthday's a week later, her's is two weeks later, and the 28th is proposal day, so we have a month full of anniversaries - 4th, 11th, 18th, and 25th.

I have to admit, there are a lot of times when I don't have any idea why I'm alive. If I had cancer, I'd know I was struggling to get past the chemo/radiation, so I could resume my life, but I never really had a life to resume.

I don't have time or energy to socialize, and I know that socializing will do more harm than good. People are only ever my friends if I sneak in my weirdness under their radar; afterward, I can remain good friends only so long as I'm not a bother. It's just better not to allow myself to be a bother in the first place.

I can't read; I can't write; I can't speak; I can't listen. I remember all those years where I was dumbass enough to try to maintain friendships, for when I'd be better, because I thought there was a chance of things getting better. I learned the hard way that trying to maintain friendships just loses them, with people angry that I fooled them into being my friend.

I know part of the problem. I learned my empathy from cats. Cats love to be touched, if they trust you, and, if you're willing to learn what kinds of touch they like. Well, if you're used to stroking a cat to make a cat happy, you know much of what you need to make a woman happy, from the "don't act entitled to attention, or the cat might scratch you," to learning the spots of purr-stimulation. Well, both cats, and people, expect similar behaviors over time. Once I'm too tired, emotions scorched numb, no sense of happiness in anything, I just kind of forget that I enjoy touching, because it becomes too much work.

It's not just touch, of course - it's everything. I come across as someone I'm not, because my brain and emotions say "do good, happymaking things" and my body says "screw you, *with* the horse you rode in on." Well... my body does know its insults, to go with its injuries.

I like happiness, and I think it's because I know how important it is, just like a person in the desert knows the value of water - even when you might have plenty at the moment, you know it's precious and to be protected. I can't have much of it for me, but that's no reason that others shouldn't.

But I can't help make people happy any more, so there's really no *point*. There's just this stupid hope that the chronic fatigue syndrome, which started in my early childhood will sudden get better, now that I'm in my late 50s. Which, let's be honest: it's not likely to happen.

A few days back, I wrote this:
I did something good today, and I finally understand what it was.

It's hard to exercise when one has CFS. It's twisted - you only know if you did too much, when the price tag reveals itself, hours later, or overnight. And if you always feel like shit, you might not even recognize the price tag when it reveals itself. But I'm officially a full blown diabetic now, and that means I must exercise.

So I was walking. Ten minutes, only as fast as my legs wanted to go, and a nice dose of Vitamin D. That was a good thing, but, I mean, of course it was. Walking helps reduce fluid pooling in the lower body, and has a nice clearing effect on acute blood sugar. It helps protect the heart and kidneys.

If anyone ever reads this, and is afraid of diabetes, don't be too afraid. There are now miracle drugs for early stages of diabetes, and they won't mean you can have a big gooey sundae for dessert each night, but they will mean you can eat a realistic diet, with splurges allowed, and still keep your sugars low enough that you avoid being damaged by your blood sugar levels.

But you'll still need to exercise, and exercise doesn't have to be beastly. It can be a few intense minutes on an exercise bicycle, doing interval training; it can be a nice, slow, supremely gentle exercise you do, in your living room, so you can watch TV, not just your iPad/tablet(/PHONE? Say it isn't so!). That method works well for me; my treadmill is in the living room, facing the good TV, and no one argued because:
1) they love me and understand my needs, and
2) technically, I kinda own the house.

Still: owning the house just meant it was there when they *got* here, see? Now, it means they'd either set me up an enviable exercise room, or, keep the treadmill where it is. And I love the idea of the treadmill, because, so long as you don't need to look at your feet, you can walk as slow as you want - 1 mph, if that's your speed. If you can do that for 10 minutes, but you need the distraction of a good TV show, that's ten minutes of walking you'd never get otherwise.

If you *do* need to look down when walking, treadmills should be considered risky until proven safe. Your eyes and legs can't coordinate easily on a treadmill, because they're getting different messages. If you look at your feet, when on a treadmill, your eyes see no forward motion overall, but some backward motion. That's confusing enough. But the feet are insisting you are moving forward. Trust me on this: your legs (and likely the rest of you) are constantly telling your brain things, like, "we're moving forward". In general, "you" have never needed to know that, becuase "it just works."

PS: as you age, treadmills can become suddenly, unexpectedly, dangerous. USE THE DEADMAN CLIP!!! If you fall, most treadmills can sand the ever-living F out of your skin. You don't want that - what if your skin becomes "loppy"? Plastic surgeon can't cure loppy skin, so, don't get the F sanded out of your skin. If you're too arrogant to use the clip-on "emergency brake", I'd urge you to find a good bicycle (try out a recumbent), or an elliptical, if that's reasonably possible. (Remember: no one needs to know you did it out of arrogance :-).)

Where was I? Right, I saw a woman, seemed elderly, and she was having a lot more trouble walking than me. I passed to her side (I didn't want to startle her) and asked if everything was okay, and when she said yes, I said "glad to hear it." But I did want to be sure. She was going a long distance, for someone struggling as she was.

That said: who the heck am *I* to judge whether someone walking, while struggling, is struggling too much?

I was going to continue on my way, but, damn it, my brain served up the right scenario for me. Once she was getting across the street I was on, I kept my distance, and just asked, "You'd let me know if I could help, right?" and she laughed and said she was fine. Then my brain threw in a bit that would help, if she was like me.

"Okay; I was just worried, it's getting warm, and wow, what a bright sun!" Then I waved and walked away. If she was self conscious about how she walked, I just gave us a face saving out, I was only checking because of extreme circumstances. It was a white lie; it was about 78 degrees at the time, but it lets us both feel confident it was just me being neighborly. I wasn't saying she shouldn't struggle so much, and yet, if the struggle is too much right now, I'll help. Because something something sunny day.

(end quoted)
Twenty-four hours later, I realized the above was composed during a period in which I risked slipping into hypomania, due to poor sleep, due to pain. When I feel really good about stuff like this, it means I could be going crazy, acting with a tinge of irrationality, but not so much irrationality that it seems impossible.

I can't keep it up, and so, sooner or later, I stop being fun, and I might even present a burden, and then my ass gets kicked to the curb, usually with a sense that they're angry I hid the awful truth about myself from them. It's true - I pretended my life wasn't a living hell, because no one wants to deal with that. Then, when my life *being* a living hell interacts with our relationship, well, fuck, you don't think people fight to hold on to me, do you? No, if I want to retain the friendship, I must ignore the pain they've caused, and prepare to swallow more in the future.

Thankfully, I've learned from Pat that I don't need friends, so, no worries. Friendship is far too dangerous for me. It's not that I was an idiot for believing in some of the stuff Spider Robinson talks about - he writes good fiction for normal people. I was just an idiot for believing it would work for me, while I'm still damaged goods.

Maybe someday.

Today, I have a good reason to talk about one of complexities of my life, especially since it might help others.

Last post was about how to recognize pain. One crazy part, is, pain can also mimic emotional distress. I long thought that the intense pains I felt were emotionally based; they were often accompanied by memory and emotional memory flashbacks. They aren't. It's the pain that's linked. And in the process of discovering this, I learned a bit about EMDR.

But first: I'm going to talk about "links" here. The brain retrieves memories by what is linked to the memory - the more links you have to a memory, the easier it is to retrieve it. And there's more to it than that. For example, if you were brought up hearing that "greed" was despicable, you might call your toxic ex-partner "a greedy filty SOB... no, make it a greedy, lecherous, elderly pervert!" Well, that's the sort of thing I mean: greedy makes both lists. When you're angry, you think of the things that you think are despicable. So I'm not talking about anything truly strange, here, and there's plenty of science backing it up.

In my experience, when I'm having a lot of neurological pain, it's easy for bad emotions to be triggered. Why? I don't know, and I'm really not a person who can say what is *really* happening. It might be just what I mentioned above - when your brain is experiencing pain, you might remember similar pains, including iconic memories. But I also think, if your brain is receiving a bunch of stop signals that it can't interpret, it might stimulate different types of thoughts and reactions, including memories and emotional states.

Bad memories can become self sustaining, when depressed, or, when PTSD is involved. This isn't exactly controversial, which is why I think neuro-pain can trigger spontaneous flashback-like episodes. That seems to match my own experiences.

That's what brings me to EMDR. When I first heard it described, I thought it was bullshit. As stories came in that it helped, I remained potentially skeptical, but, hey, if it helps, it helps. In the end, you have to cure yourself of PTSD - other folks can only help you understand different tools that might help, but you're the one who is triggered, so only you can learn to handle it. So if EMDR helps you, please understand, I respected your use of it, even when I didn't think it was useful. Yes, even when I thought it was bullshit - after all, I turned out to be wrong. It happens. And when it happens, I sure can't say it was silly for someone else to believe in something that hadn't convinced me yet.

Anyway: if you don't know a lot about me, I'm a "shaman" which just means I am used to operating in different conscious states. Also, while it's none of your business, I don't use consciousness altering drugs for my shamanic work... not even tobacco. I recognized that my conscious states weren't working well, so, I worked with a known method for manipulating thoughts, feelings, and consciousness.

My ability to change my consicousness allows me to pull free of a lot of "traps" that PTSD sets for me - I recognize the trap in my brain, and I'm able to remember that I don't have to be this way, and modify how I'm handling my situation - all of my situation, including my pain, and my RL and emotional memories. (I flashback to bad emotional states, which is worse than remembering a single time when I felt a horrible emotion.)

Shamanism helped me a lot, but it just wasn't enough. And then, one day, I just decided, "I don't remember anything about EMDR, but, I do remember it deals with moving the eyes." Now: the story I'll tell sounds like it worked the first time. It probably didn't. I probably tried "rem-sleep" eye movement - eyes moving behind closed eyes. But my memory sucks - I don't remember how or when I first tried EMDR. I don't have the ability to remember that far back, so, let me present what I did find, and, again, remember, I'm not promising it worked like the proverbial charm.

If I'm in pain, and I'm facing flashbacks, if I open my eyes, it helps center me. "I am no longer there; this is no longer that time," is a good capsule synopsis If that's not enough, a quick eye shimmy will bring me back *here*. Well, once I'm "here" I'm just in pain. Just being in pain, rather than having pain and emotional responses, is a decidedly mixed blessing. Sometimes, it might be more pro-survival to wallow in a bad memory, while neurological pain is causing you a big problem. (No, I'm not kidding - neurological pain is no joke. Sometimes you need a counter-pain you can chew on to feel able to stand up to it.)

The key takeaway from this, for me, is, first, if you have flashbacks, it's not impossible to seize control back. EMDR might help, but more important than the type of therapy is getting you able to ride out any mental/emotional storm you're going through. You can get through it - I don't know precisely how *you* will get through it, but I do know you (general you) can, with the right help and support.

And here's a secret no one is likely to tell you: once you can cope, just a bit, it becomes easier to handle the day to day stresses. If you know you can use EMDR if the pain gets too bad, you might realize you can shandle more pain, without stresing, because you can always find a quiet place for EMDR-coping. If you can force your imagination to modify a flashback scenario, again, you might find you're not as afraid of flashback scenarios, because with some effort, you can seize control. Hell, if you find that you can clear your head by, e.g., sticking your hand/arm into a bucket of ice water, well, keep ice handy, so you're always ready for an emergency, and you might find you need it less frequently as time goes on. Any method you can use to help you cope gives you the ability to cope more, because you'll finally have the ability to find a bit of peace.

The second takeaway is, sometimes, when you think pain is emotional - *especially* if you feel weak, unable to control an emotion - it might be neurological pain manifesting. Taking a good look around might make it easier to control your emotional state. Or, you might do actual EMDR, which, remember, I haven't done. It doesn't matter which; just remember, if it works for you, the way it works for me, it means that you'll switch from emotional pain, to neurological pain. That might be good - it might help you isolate its triggers. It's still a very mixed blessing.

For me, my neurological pain seems to be tied to something that's too complicated to explain, but, the term I use is "the unwinding dance". For me, that means I have a sense of whether or not I have a reasonable chance of feeling better, and, it also means I have an idea of what is triggering the pain, and I have some methods of alleviating it.

I also suspect the way I feel - the sense that my body is tangled up a bit ("Marionette String Syndrome" is what I call it) might someday give us more information about how and why neurological pain occurs. All of these are topics for another day, but, if I'm ever going to do anyone any good, I want to introduce these terms - unwinding, MSS for Marionette String Syndrome, etc. - so I don't have to explain them every time.

Housekeeping note:
I'm still in survival mode - I'm not reading responses, because I don't have the spare bandwidth, not yet, but I have some stuff I want said. When I get a block of writing done, I post it. I care about responses, and hope to read them soon, but I can only say it will happen when it happens.

Start of post:

The most important thing I want written - and to see widely read, of course - is some information about pain. Because, as I mentioned, I have been in pain most of my life, but I didn't even know it. Part of this is because the doctors said I was fine, so my family thought I was fine, and told me nothing was wrong. After a while, I believed it.

Another big chunk of why it took so long to figure out is, most of what I experience, I've experienced to some degree all my life. If you start having weird feelings one day, you can say "this isn't how things used to feel; although I wouldn't call this 'pain' (nb: yet!), it's certainly unpleasant."

It's a lot harder when you don't have a before/after, and, even then, pain is subtle. For example, when I was 13, I realized that, sometimes, when I was reading, the words just didn't transmit - and I wanted to close my eyes, and sleep, the whole time. Well, you can guess what they decided back then: I was bored, right? That sounded okay to me - don't comic strips and such show people yawning when bored?

Well, I can tell you now, it was pain that made it hard to read, and it was pain that made me close my eyes after reading a few words, but it wasn't any kind of pain I could describe. What I can say, just to make sure we're clear, is that I could keep my eyes open, without any pain, if I looked at anything other than words. It wasn't that my eyes hurt - it was that *reading* hurt.

As I said, this first happened when I was 13, and now, with a lot more experience, I realize how the subtlety of pain also made it difficult. There was a before, and an after, but it was "here, for the first time, my ability to read without pain was outstripped by my need to read, by a lot." I felt the same pain before that day, but never to that level of intensity, where I couldn't make myself plow through what I had to finish. So even if I had known that "sometimes, reading hurts my brain," it still would have taken me a good many years to realize how frequently I felt the pain.

Which brings us to the main point of this post, I suppose. Why do I say "reading hurt"? What does that mean?

I have come up with a three part test of pain. Obviously, this works for regular pain - where else could I create a test from? My point is, if you felt anything that you disliked, that met this test, then I'm betting you had pain. And if you weren't having some oddball neurological pain, well... if what you feel is just like pain to this test, then it seems like it really merits attention and study, to learn what it *is*, if it's not pain.

The first part of the test is that, at some point you are definitely in pain. If you get a literal pinprick, we all agree you were, for a moment, "in pain". Not all pain is pinprick-able, so, I think of something like a minor tension headache. If I ask if you have a headache, when you feel tense, you might need to stop, and think - is it just stiff feeling or painful? And if so, you'll agree, you have a headache, and might even remember having noted it earlier.

So it's either something that can bring you up (like a pinprick) or a continuing unpleasant feeling. You might kinda forget the continuing style, but, you can check-in periodically, and recognize it's still there, until it isn't.

The next part, is, can it increase, and become harder to ignore? Because, again, pain can get worse and become much harder to ignore. It becomes something you can compare, like "yesterday was a better day for this unpleasant feeling than today is." And it eventually becomes something you do compare, even if unconsciously.

If you find that you can remain standing, or, sit near someone you don't like, because they'll do that thing that triggers your neurological pain because they think it's funny to see you react, then, you pay a "standing room only" tithe against the expected pain from the bully's interactions. That's what I mean, you compare it. You can't help but compare it, because it's a real pain signal, see? At the least, when it's intense, you wish it was less intense.

Finally, if it happens, can it make a person scream? I say "can it?" because sometimes you can stifle the scream, while acknowledging the essential screamworthiness.

So, when I said "reading hurt," I meant that there was an unpleasant feeling that I can't describe associated with it, and when I was 13, there was a time when that feeling was *way* more intense than I'd experienced until then. I'm saying it was so bad, it was like sticking my hand in too-hot water. I could force myself to do it, but only in small amounts, and, just like with too-hot water, the more I was burned, the longer I needed to rest before I could dip them in again without yanking them right back out.

Could that feeling make me scream? Yes, but not from reading. The other side of neurological pain is, certain types, at certain levels, literally muck with my brain. If I'm in too much pain, I stop being able to read - letters no longer look like anything but markings. So, can reading cause anything past that point? Literally (in all senses of the word), no.

That same feeling can make me scream, if it catches me by surprise, but I learned not to be around *anyone* if I could still be surprised by that pain, for a long time! So if you've ever been with me, and saw me suddenly wince, without any obvious physical pain, that was as likely as not me stifling a scream that I knew/know will just make me look weird... well, weirder.

You know what really sucks, growing up in invisible pain? Every manifestation of your pain is treated badly - at best, you're a whiner, a precious snowflake demanding special treatment.

You know what really sucks about being an adult, afterward? I've been trained not to expect any special treatment, and to apologize anytime my invisible pain manifests, and explain it's not the other person's fault, and so on, and so forth, and, I still get shit on for whatever reason is invented on the spur of the moment, as soon as a manifestation of your pain is sufficiently bothersome to someone.

Don't get me wrong: socialization difficulties are not the worst part of invisible, horrible, pain. The worst part is usually the 'horrible pain' part. Still, think about how twisted life gets, when you're in pain, but can't even say "I hurt," because the horrible feeling you are experiencing isn't one that makes people go "ouch". So a person can be the bad guy - the HORRIBLE guy! - just for letting pain show, unless everyone agrees that it's okay for that person to show pain.

In my humble opinion, these thoughts give new meaning to "treat people with kindness, because you don't know what burdens they might bear." They, also, might not know, and might be in sore need of kindness, even in the face of crankiness. Some days, everything hurts; it's okay to need to struggle with "cranky".

Anyway: this test isn't perfect, by any stretch, but, if you feel something, that passes this test, and you know _something_ about what causes it, it's worth knowing more about it. Is it serving a good purpose? Sometimes it is, just like "ordinary" pain. Sometimes, it isn't, like phantom limb pain.

Anyway: if you have bad feelings, not something you describe as pain, and it varies, and can definitely get really bad, well, it's probably pain. If it's *not* pain, it's still pretty horrible, so it merits attention! Because, for me, one of the things that was surprisingly difficult was giving myself permission to acknowledge that something was intolerable, just because I had a strong, scream-stifling reaction to it.

No one had *told* me it was intolerable... so how did I dare call it intolerable?

Hey, folks. It's been too long since I posted an update, and things have been unbelievably complicated with my life.

First, I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, a nasty neurological disorder that is probably the cause of me being in pain my entire life. Yes, that's right - I was in pain as far back as I can remember. When I was 27, and realized "other people *must* have more energy than I," I was right, but I was also understating my problems to an unbelievable degree.

The biggest reason why I didn't know I was in pain, is, my pain is neurological. Neurological pain can present in a lot of different ways, because it's what you feel when your body is saying "STOP THAT!" but not in any of the normal ways. The other reason I didn't know I was in pain, was, doctors said I was fine, so my family said I was fine, so I eventually stopped saying things weren't fine.

When I'm in pain, my language processing can go offline. I can't read, or write, or speak, or listen, the way I normally can. A lot of other crap can go offline, too - the more pain and fatigue I suffer, the less I'm able to do anything. In fact, that's my fatigue marker: when *everything* is harder than it should be. Which, if you think about it, makes CFS one of the more annoying disabilities to have.

Just this year - after suffering from extremely disabling issues over 4-5 years - I finally realized "if I can't hold a conversation - HOLY CRAP! A disability lawyer can tell me what tests to take, to prove I'm disabled!" Up until that point, I was freaking out about how to apply for disability, when my brainpower was so severely curtailed so much of the time. The idea that the severity of my disability would make my job *easier* once I got the right attorney just didn't occcur to me. That's how constrained my brainpower gets.

Anyway. Most of my life, I didn't want to live. I mean, what was I living *for*? I was constantly in pain and miserable, but I didn't know I was miserable *because* I was in pain, so, I couldn't solve the problem.

Later on, when my ability to be sociable was constrained, because my disability was clearly apparent to any casual observer, I was told I was a terrible friend, a hideous lover, and given the clear message that I should not accept companionship from people who offer it, because they might not enjoy my company any longer.

I knew that I wasn't a great friend or lover at the time, of course; I was just trying my best, as I always had... just like I always do. Oh, I fuck things up, make no mistake, but it's not because I don't care. In many cases, it's because I couldn't explain. But does it matter? There were plenty of unkind facts hurled at me, by a hateful bully who had me helpless.

That there was factual basis to the attacks hurt; it always does. But worse, it showed that doing my absolute best just wasn't good enough to avoid being savagely attacked. If you've known me for a good many years, you've heard me say it: sometimes it's not what is *said* that hurts, so much as that it is said to *hurt* you. That a person who knows your secrets is hitting your vulnerable points.

Anyway: that's when I started wanting to be dead, because what's life without love and friendship? But I couldn't talk about that, because no one understood the situation. And right now, I can only communicate in limited bursts, even if I wanted to. I think I'm healing. Of course, there's the sense of having failed epically at everything I've ever tried to be or do, but I've been dealing with *that* for some 50 years, so I don't think it'll kill me this time either.

And, I am alive. If I get long term disability benefits, I expect I'll stay alive, barring horrible things. See, now that I understand I'm in pain, a lot, I can start working on solving, or reducing, some of the problems, because I know their cause.

I can't fix the most critical problem - the pain and exhaustion that means I'm destined to watch life pass me by, because I'm too damaged to enjoy it, but, once I can devote my life to getting better full time, maybe I can fix a bit of that, too.

I have more to say, later.

I'm sorry I haven't been more communicative, and I'm especially sorry I have to be melodramatic here, but, for the past few years, I've put so much effort into staying alive, I haven't had much else left.

Hey, folks. It's been too long.

I have a quick PSA: disabled people are entitled to companionship, especially if someone requests, nay, demands, their presence frequently and continually. That happened to me, so I know.

If, after having made those demands, it turns out those demands were unwise, it is outright evil to blame the predictable failures, due to disability, on the disabled person. That happened to me, too. It was evil.

All of this remains true, even if a relationship with the disabled person isn't easy - we're not all sainted martyrs to our disability, some of us facing constant intense pain and soul crushing fatigue can act subotimally once in a while. Relationships are never easy.

If you feel there's something wrong with that assessment, well, I have PTSD, so it took me a few years to be able to come to grips with it. I started off loathing myself for being so toxic. What's your problem? I'll try to help you understand - I'm good at explaining things. I even explained to myself how toxic I'm not, and I believed it, back after I left high school. I had to relearn it, but, hey, PTSD, so I ask, again, what's your problem?

Oh, yeah. And if you end a relationship with a disabled person who burned through all of his resources, trying to be normal, because he cherishes you, and you decide you won't just say he can't keep up, but that he's a vile person? That goes beyond just plain "evil" and goes clear over to malice... the kind of malice often shown by people who made dumbass choices, and regret having made them.

I had to learn not to make dumbass choices - like trusting people - at the age of 5. I was shocked and appalled to realize I had to re-learn that in my middle age, but, hey, I was lied to for a dozen years or so, and I was naive enough to trust.

Answer: not crazy at all - acting in bad faith.

(Quick note: Dershowitz advanced a theory that it's not a crime for the President to try to get a foreign country to investigate a political rival, because it's perfectly natural for the President to think his reelection is what's best for America, and that he's therefore serving the national interest by violating the principles in the Constitution.)

Look: Dershowitz isn't stupid. He may play stupid on TV, but he's not stupid.
He is undoubtedly aware that the reason "treason" is defined *extremely* narrowly in the US Constitution is that kings will claim a person who acts against the desires of the king is committing an offense against the crown (i.e.: the state, not just the king).

So: Dershowitz is 100% aware that the founders wanted to create a stark separation between what's partisan/political, and what's nation-affecting, and they decided that crimes of "attacking the state" would be restricted to fighting the US, or giving aid and comfort to its enemies (and not merely it's "adversaries"). It would never, ever, be proper for the US to try to say someone (like a rival candidate) was working against the US, just because you don't like what that rival might do (like, "win the election").

If he were stupid and incompetent, he might not recognize how that plays out in the real world. He might really think something as pathetically stupid as "Trump thinks getting reelected is best for the nation, so it's okay for him to abuse the power of the state to secure that reelection". He's not that stupid.

And it's not like this is a difficult argument. First, there's the preamble to the Constitution. We, the people of the United States, ordained and established that Constitution. The President's service is to the people, not himself. And sure, it's perfectly human for a dolt like Trump to think he's the bestest ever because he's got so many media-fluffers saying he is. Nevertheless, no matter what the right wing media claims, trying to service himself, by attacking a private citizen, is flat out wrong, a violation of his oath of office, and of everything that our founders wanted for the United States.

Second, there's the Fourth Amendment; the government is supposed to keep out of the business of private citizens, unless there is cause to investigate them. The President violated that most sacred of duties, by deliberately trying to set up a fake investigation. Any other President might, just maybe, be able to argue "it's just an investigation, to answer some questions" but old WhinyPants McWitchHunt can't make that claim. He's been complaining about how horrible it is to be investigated, when there's plenty of cause for suspicion. He can't pretend he doesn't realize how serious his crime (requesting a baseless, bogus, investigation) really is.

Third, only the damnedest of fools would ever suggest that a person's personal feelings (like "it's better for the US if I'm reelected")should ever be permitted to override their sense of duty and responsibility. Face it, if a bank robber thinks stealing the bank's money, and putting it in circulation, is better for the local economy, that doesn't make it any less criminal, even though it's *not* an abuse of power granted under the Constitution to rob a bank. Why should personal feelings then excuse an abuse of power that is granted solely to serve the people?

Far down the list, we could note that Dershowitz made one claim in the past, and gave a completely self-serving reason for why he's correct now, claiming that *this* time, he's really thought about the matter. Since a lawyer is not forbidden from presenting a bogus legal argument, when defending a client, why should we pretend to accept that he's right this time, when he's paid to make a different argument? One would be wiser to assume the difference is the client's desires, not the considered legal opinion.

So, how crazy is he? Not very. Nor is he stupid. He is acting to protect the bad guys, he is advancing the most ludicrous of excuses, and he is trying to keep people in power who have shown that they will abuse their power, to the detriment of the United States.

There are a lot of words that might apply, but "crazy" is, alas, not one of them.

This blog post:
http://www.lawyersgunsmoneyblog.com/2020/01/the-facts-in-the-kobe-bryant-sex-assault-case
... indicates an interesting blind spot in cases of sexual assault and harassment.

The money quote:

I also want to make it clear that I do not question the motives of this young woman. No money has been paid to this woman. She has agreed that this statement will not be used against me in the civil case. Although I truly believe this encounter between us was consensual, I recognize now that she did not and does not view this incident the same way I did. After months of reviewing discovery, listening to her attorney, and even her testimony in person, I now understand how she feels that she did not consent to this encounter.

This is the "she didn't say no" defense. And this is one of the big blind spots in sexual assault cases. Sex takes time; it requires proximity; it doesn't forbid verbal interaction during most interactions, and those interactions can be paused.

That's the roundabout way of saying "Dude... she was *RIGHT THERE*. Why didn't you make sure she was at least not-unhappy?"

To more modern people (definitely more modern women, but hopefully all modern men!) this may sound like a ludicrous question. There's been a big movement to go from "no one says no" to "enthusiastic acceptance".

That is: if you're going to have sex with someone, and you have any question about whether they want it, the rule to be one of the "good guys" is to make sure they're enthusiastically accepting the activity.

(Okay, yes, granted: sex can be complicated; sometimes trades are made. "I don't like oral sex, but I do consider it a fair trade, you get some, I get some." Here, you might say "enthusiastic acceptance" isn't really the right standard. Yeah, granted, but trades are an edge case, and really don't belong in preliminary encounters. Not everyone is skilled at saying "no" in edge cases, so enthusiastic acceptance is the right standard to use until you've had plenty of time to learn limits and negotiate.)

Again, this might sound strange to more modern people, but in the 70s, and 80s, and 90s, "she didn't say no" was a sort-of rallying cry. It couldn't have been rape, if she didn't at least say "no". And so many people talked about that, and so many Very Serious People agreed that a person ought to say "no," as if the only possibly way a person can indicate a lack of consent is verbally.

Of course, "she didn't say no" leads to the famous "he said, she said" case; and even today, you can see folks like Weinstein and Cosby act imperiously innocent, even though, with enough mutually similar stories told, we can be pretty sure they're guilty of a significant number of crimes.

Of course, we know part of the issue: men, especially powerful men, want their crimes to vanish. We got to see a great example of that in the SCOUTS hearings of Kavanaugh. That one was a doozy.

Seriously: think about this. You have a judge on the bench, right? And a clear question of fact arises, that impacts his fitness for the Supreme Court. And this is a person who is supposed to be impartial to both the accused, and the accuser.

Was Kavanaugh impartial? No - he considered this question of fact to be an assault on him, and vowed revenge.

That he couldn't respond, impartially, to a question of fact, proved that he can't be impartial.

I mean, this is like the old joke "will you have sex with me for a million dollars? Yes? How about for $50? What kind of woman do I think you are? We've already determined *that*. We're just haggling over the price!"

Kavanaugh showed that he would not be impartial over the mere *asking* of the question - it was unfair to *ask*. And then, in prepared testimony, under oath, in a hearing dedicated to that question of fact, he vowed revenge.

In any healthy republic, the Republicans would have voted against him en masse. He'd sworn he'd be biased (albeit against their political rivals); he shouldn't be on the bench.

Heck, in any healthy republic, that he so much as felt insulted by the question should have killed his nomination, because, again, it showed he can't be neutral over a question that is clearly relevant.

Further, he insisted, in a written response (that is submitted under oath) that he wasn't at "the" party where the alleged incident occurred. That's an interesting tell, because it naturally raises the question of "oh? and what party was that? The one where she was assaulted? But you say that you aren't aware of any assault; are you accusing her of fabricating the story?

Those questions deserved to be answered, but the Republicans realized that the question of having to answer for decades-old accusations was riling up their base. They had to confirm Kavanaugh, or they might be at risk of losing their jobs - the very jobs they won't do properly, which would require them to reject him.

It must be fun to be a GOP Senator - you're supposed to do your job poorly, whenever doing so helps your party; you get to ignore any sense of responsibility or duty, that pesky "Constitution" thing (except when you have to swear you love it, and revere it, so long as you can convince everyone it means only what the wealthy and powerful want it to mean).

I mean, so long as you're someone like Inhofe, who is missing his brain, or his conscience, or his heart. (Mathematically, "OR" includes "or both/each/all".) If you had all three, it would probably require excessive amounts of drugs to help numb guilt, and the various effects on the body thereof.

So, folks.

If you live in a red state - one with Republican senators - please call your senator - the Capitol switchboard is 202-224-3121.

Tell them anything.

The President abused his powers, in trying to start investigations into two innocent men.
The President tried to get a second foreign power to influence his election.
You don't expect your senator to fulfill their duties, but you do expect them to admit the President committed a terrible crime, and tried to cover it up.

Frankly, I like the last one - it makes the accusation cleanly, while sticking in the shiv quite neatly.

Face it, the Very Serious People have convinced the news media that impeachment isn't just a *political* struggle (which it is) and has instead decided that it's a *partisan* political struggle, as if the 4th Amendment, bribery, extortion, abuse of power, and obstruction of justice were partisan issues.

I know, no one's mentioned the Fourth Amendment yet. No one's pointed out that the chief over all law enforcement in the nation tried to get a pair of innocent people in trouble with a foreign government, falsely claiming that *terrible* things were done. I don't get that. I mean, I know the GOP *CONGRESS* has pulled investigations "to dig up dirt" on political opponents, and the Press has all dutifully pretended they were started, and continued, in good faith (at least, I hope they were pretending - are they really *that* stupid? *Probably* not.). But Congressional investigations leave Congress control of the investigation and scope.

This? This was being handed to another nation, where there would be no control, and, where the other government might just decide they know what the US President really wants - announcement of an indictment, or even of investigation into "serious concerns". And, of course, this assumes the absolute best: that Donald Trump wasn't planning to have Bill Barr open a "parallel investigation, to help the Ukraine investigation." We know he was, right? But we'll all pretend there's no reason to believe that, because when Bill Barr was asked if the President asked for an investigation into a US person, he hemmed and hawed, which proves... uh... heh. See, this is why I couldn't be a right-wing "personality". I keep accidentally slipping, and telling the truth.

The point is, the President of the United States is hopelessly corrupt. To cover for him is also hopelessly corrupt. To cover for him knowingly (as 51 GOP senators have pledged) is aiding and abetting.

Yes, I know, there's a lot of fake propaganda claiming that it's "partisan" to have found he shook down the Zelensky, to have found that Trump withheld military aid to a military ally involved in a war, to have found that lots of people knew about it, and lots of people understood there was a clear price to obtain that aid (which Trump was legally and Constitutionally obligated to send), aka a "quid pro quo". We could believe that propaganda, or we *could* believe the testimony given, under oath, including those who had sudden *remarkable* recovery of memory, that said quite the opposite.

But this country wasn't founded on lies, and no nation can survive based on lies. Every American, even those who gleefully benefit from the corruption of the GOP, need to ask themselves, "if clear corruption, and clear violations of the law, with clear harm to a military ally, and harm to innocent US citizens; if all that isn't enough, what *IS*?"

... though, to complete the allusion, I sure do feel like I'm "borrowing", sometimes.

(Granny Weatherwax of the Terry Pratchett Discworld, would "borrow" space in an animal's brain, allowing her to ride along, and control the animal. She would be still for long periods of time, leading to her writing a small sign to alert reasonably-worried visitors. I'm not sure I got the spelling "right" - that is, the correct incorrect spelling - but I think it's close.)

I think, in retrospect, that it's a good thing that I'm so optimistic about how my body is feeling and doing, and expecting things will be better Real Soon Now. If I knew, in July, that I'd still be in survival mode (eat, work, sleep, and otherwise do minimal amounts of life-preserving work) through all of March, I don't know how I would have survived (other than the obvious: not dying).

("How do you survive X? That's easy. Don't die. Now, how do you make your life a bit better, make it a bit more normal, or possibly even flourish, in spite of X - that's the tricky bit. It's not always easy, and rarely painless, and you can't be sure another person's answer will work for you, so you probably have to figure all this out on your own. I wish I could take that away, but I can't - it's a journey that only you can complete. But I'll do my best to support you along the way.")

Things have gotten better and my body is approaching reliability. For example, last weekend, my (local) girlfriend and I did something we hadn't done in a long, long time... we went grocery shopping, and filled the refrigerator and pantry. That I can set out a grocery trip as a big deal kind of gives you the sense of just how deep things get.

I still have hundreds of dreamwidth tabs, because for a long time (remember: July!) I've been trying to tab up two weeks of posts, swearing that once I'm better, I'll read and/or respond to them. It's iconic for me - it's like "yes, I was a total flake for the past 3 quarters, but I still cared! I still wanted to hear from and about you!"

I gave up on that after my last post - just not enough energy, and a subtle realization that no one will be all that impressed with a "me too"/"like" style response to a four month old, just-a-post. But I've been missing you all, and yearning to reconnect when possible. I hope you're all doing well, and finding happiness.

I was going to return to posting with a bit about this scene and song:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lr0RSnLn23Q

... but instead I felt moved to talk a bit more about my chronic fatigue and how I kind of lost February.

And then I decided, you know, if I'm going to battle despair in public, let's steal a meme from Last Jedi and fight for what we love, rather than against what we hate.

That scene is from Ant Man and the Wasp, a superhero flick from the Marvel Comics Universe. It's a cute song where Scott Lang (canon: the second Ant-Man who actually did get the costume by stealing it from Hank Pym.) is dealing with house arrest (no, not because he has a mystery malady - that would be House M.D. Arrest) trying to get right with the government so he can be part of his daughter's life more regularly - but he's forced to risk it all, to save a life.

But I also found myself fascinated with a relentlessly cheerful song I remember from the 70s. It had to be the 70s, right? The Reagan era DEA surely classified such songs as Schedule I - high potential for abuse, no known ~~profitability~~ medical value ~~for drug companies~~. One line stuck out for me...

"We had a dream we'd go traveling together,
Spread a little loving, and then moving on..."

What a dream! Go to a place, spread some loving, then find another place, and do it again! Can you imagine a more wonderful dream? I don't mean a better dream *for you*, because dreams are personal (it's very hard to get someone to dream on your behalf, after all!). But for a person who can *have* that dream?

Seriously: can't you picture the world's surliest curmudgeon grudgingly admitting that, okay, for fools that have dreams like *that*, it's a pretty good dream, even if it's totally unrealistic. And that thought would come to them no more than 30 minutes after they harrumphed away the starry eyed idealist's iteration of the dream. Heck - if the curmudgeon's a gift giver, they might even donate some traveling stuff, not to pursue some cockamamie dream, but, you know, ":if you're going to be traveling off on some dumb fantasy, you might as well travel a bit (better/safer/etc.)."

I love how my brain sometimes pulls bits of music out of context to find delight. Today, I can also add the *next* line of the song, and my childhood recollection.

The song continues:
"...Something always happens whenever we're together,
We get a happy feeling when we're singing a song...."

Remember, I was, like, 4, when the Partridge Family came out (the song is the theme to the Partridge Family - and IIRC, the 3rd number 1 hit from a fictional band) but to that child's brain, the two parts to that line were completely independent, and stated
"this is one episode of a TV show, wherein something happened, because we were together" and
"by the way, we get a happy feeling when we sing a song."

Seriously: how many four year olds infer the episodic nature of TV, realizing that *something* must happen to create the episode, and that each episode must show one of those somethings? (I also realized that Snuffleupagus had to be real because *HE MADE DECISIONS*. We'd *see* him decide to wander off before Big Bird's friends came back to see him. A kindergartener was rocking Descartes! ("I think therefore I am" - something/one must be contemplating existence).

("Snuffleupagus?" An elephant/mammoth on the TV show Sesame Street. Initially, he was intended to be Big Bird's imaginary friend. Later, the writers realized that having adults constantly insist to a child that something real and visible didn't exist wasn't exactly *right*, so his existence was revealed. I nevertheless insist they'd already forced the issue by showing independent action and decision making.)

Another beautiful interlude happened when listening to "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." Talk about out of context - there's one bit about "since I set you free," and damn if it didn't make me cry. See, overblown "I love you, my sex/romance partner, and would do anything for you!" songs are a dime a dozen - cheaper, if you can find the collections of "almost big hits".

Ah, but songs that say "Hey, you, you *aren't* my sexytimes person, but I still care. If you needed me, there's no mountain I wouldn't climb, no valley I wouldn't cross, no river I would not ford, to help..."- well, they can also be a dime a dozen, especially because they don't tend to sell as well, *but* they're far more precious. Sex and romance are fine and wonderful but there's a deeper love that is more fundamental, and far more powerful (and empowering, IMNSHO).

Which brought me to the final bit of modern movie making I wanted to share, since I'm all over love today. I've come to a deeper appreciation of the Guardians of the Galaxy movies. They have the troubled family vibe ("You're not friends! All you do is yell at each other!" "That's right, we're family! We leave NO ONE behind! (pause) Except maybe you." Hands up for those who love a family with lots of yelling, but which knows how to close the circle when necessary!)

See, love isn't always as well appreciated or seen as strong, but in the second movie, there's this wonderful turnaround. It's a minor spoiler (not much worse than "oh, the good guys win, and it starts with...") so I'll put it behind a cut tag (I hope).

The setup is simple - Ego (the bad guy) is telling Peter (sorry, I mean "Star Lord") how to use the power that is his birthright. Peter can't figure it out, and Yondu mentions to him "you think I fly that arrow (Yondu's magical, nigh-invincible weapon) with my head, boy?"

That sets it up perfectly well, right? "Don't use your BRAIN, use something else!" Except...
( spoilers for GotG2 )

We value courage - the ability to do what's right, even when you're scared, because you realize there's something bigger than your fear. We don't always value love, which is one of the strongest motivations for courage.

I'm kind of glad that our stories are starting to talk about, and demonstrate, love a bit more. We need more talk about, thinking about, and use, of love. I don't know if anyone said it better than Jimi Hendrix: When the power of love is greater than the love of power, the world will know peace.

Am I the only one who's noticed that the two recent "they called Martin Luther King Junior by a racial slur!" both involved potentially blending the K of King with the Oon of Junior?

I know I do that *all* the time when typing - start typing a word or two ahead before I've finished the word I'm thinking of. I would think that there'd even be a scientific name for the issue, where someone reading from prompts squeezes two words together.

I sure hope I'm not the only one who noticed that, if someone had insults hurled their way, it doesn't excuse that person getting in someone's face with a hateful smirk. Oh, and a quick note to the viewing audience: people who care about how they were perceived will apologize first, then explain that wasn't what they wanted. People who protest innocence, With Explanations? In my experience, they can't be trusted.

I also hope I'm not the only person who heard Escape (The Pina Colada Song) and thought "hey, they were just about to walk out on each other, without a word, but now they know they have some interests in common, when they couldn't be arsed to do so before, so I'm SURE they're well set for building a strong, healthy relationship!"

I also think that Brandi (who's a Fine Girl) rather enjoys having a sailor who will *never* settle down, and a locket, that gives her an excuse not to make any commitments with any other interesting sailors she meets, and might even find the sailor who is a bit more poly, and can love both a woman and the sea.

My health and mobility issues are resolving, though slowly and imperfectly. It is amazing how screwed up the body can become and still function. Right now, I have a sore spot on the right of my neck, that connects to my left hip, in part because of a connection between my right shoulder and the right side of my head, and in part because of a connection between my left shoulder, and the left side of my hip. These connections seem to be adhesions between muscles that shouldn't be adhering. But they're unpeeling. Slowly.

My main fear now is that this might not affect my chronic fatigue. It seems like it should, and I think my fatigue *is* getting better, but... well, hope as a beverage is as necessary as water, and sometimes, it's okay to get drunk on it... but false hope has the world's *worst* hangover.

Sometime in the summer, I realized the constant hip issues and constant fatigue from them was killing me - mostly because of the continued uncertainty, day to day, of what I could do.

Healing from a tilted pelvis is not for sissies - and it's like a programming job, it takes longer than you expect, even when you're sure you've accounted for "but it'll be longer than I expect."

But I'm 99.9% sure I've fixed almost all of the cross body issues - issues where the hip hurts because some muscle on the other side of my spine is trying to hold it in place, because the right muscles are engaged.

That's huge - at that point, there's less question about what's wrong.

But damn has it been exhausting. I'm responding to months-old posts sometimes, and I've been trying to keep up on DW, but I think I have two metric expletive-tons of tabs opened, and catching up the past two weeks would make it three.

On the plus side, I have more mental energy, most days if I slept well the night before. On the minus side, I'm less and less likely to sleep well as this thing winds down.

I'm still out there - I still care about you (yeah, you, reading this right now - you're important). And I hope to be engaging more now.

I had to share this twitter link; living in a nation where it's better to be loudly, angrily unjust, than it is to quietly seek justice, we need some nice thoughts, to remind us that the world hasn't gone completely made - just some very important parts of the nation.

https://twitter.com/omgShutUpDon/status/1047466232700526594/photo/1

I had heard he'd made a statement to this effect, but he also made it during his prepared remarks:

"I was not at the party described by Dr. Ford."

That's a fascinating statement. He was not at "the" party described by Dr. Ford. Which party was that? I mean, we know it wasn't "the party at which Ms. (then)Blasey was assaulted," because, remember, he doesn't know _anything_ about her being assaulted. So again, _which_ party?

Life is *not* an Encyclopedia Brown story[1]. And yet someone learned enough in parsing facts that we are considering him for a seat on the Supreme Court, in prepared remarks, made a statement that contains damning knowledge (knowing *which* party he purportedly was not at), with no further explanation.

I wouldn't vote to convict him of perjury, and certainly wouldn't vote to convict him of sexual assault, based upon this statement. But that he makes such a damnfool statement, not off-the-cuff, but after careful consideration; and that he attacks this as a partisan issue (rather than a serious question that merits serious consideration); and the rest of his ridiculous testimony; convinces me he's unfit to hold a gavel at *any* level.

[1] A series of children's books in the US revolved around a character called Encyclopedia Brown - a youthful (12 years old?) detective who spotted flaws in stories told by wrongdoers - one example I remember is someone sees a knife stuck deeply into a watermelon and says it couldn't be *his* knife, his had a longer blade (longer than what? He didn't try to claim it was long enough to stick through of the watermelon).

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johnpalmer

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Recent Entries

Dislike? hate? contempt? How about....

Letter to doctor's office - thoughts welcome.

The emotional landscape - an emotional/spiritual exercise.

Forgiveness Problem

Closest I can come to re-introduction

Life updates

Thoughts on empathy

Neuro pain, emotional pain, and my experience with EMDR-like therapy

Invisible pain, and making sense of it.

Still alive.

Still aten't dead - PSA

How crazy is Alan Dershowitz?

How crazy the world can be...

The Senate cover-up begins...

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(no subject)

Pondering...

I aitn't dead... and might be starting to live.

Because it's nice...

Further damning evidence against Kavanaugh...