brightrosefox: (Default)
My modified Disablility Compensated Qi Gong exercises always help, mentally and spiritually and psychologically and physiologically. Like yoga, except Fake Yoga Cripple Style that is not actually yoga. (FYCS. FIX. Ha ha ha...) (Or hey, Fake Yoga Cripple Style Modified Exercise. FYCSME = FIX ME. Ha ha. Wow. Dude.)

But it isn't helping today. I'm too Hollow, which is my term for deep major depression. I'm too Postictal, after that unexpectedly awful seizure yesterday and its aftershock which were tiny seizures for hours. Emotional responses are foreign and results of emotion are mere symptoms, like crying and laughing. I will meditate again, do more qigong work, and breathe and much as possible.
FYI. I am having an episode of pure major Depression plus major Anxiety. This is accompanied by mild memory loss of the past two days. Everything is foggy. I know I should be upset about something, but I cannot feel upset. What is upset, anyway? I think I hurt myself emotionally yesterday. I wish I remembered what it was. I believe it started out with false happiness. Remember that weird assumption of some sort of hypomania? I think I was outside of my rational mind.

Back to special exercises.
People keep suggesting and recommending breathing exercises. I know all of that. I know people just want to share their personal remedies. I love it. Please don't think I am rejecting you. I love hearing your stories. Even the stories about yoga. I wish I could explain why just seeing or hearing the word yoga evokes a sad, upset reaction. It isn't that I am unable to do yoga. It is just that yoga extremists do not listen nor care about my need for compensation. My body was born crooked. I cannot form a proper straight line even if I held on to something. No amount of cajoling, insisting, or pushing different forms will change that. Please don't do that. Please just accept that I have to perform qi gong differently, and that qi gong included poses that are similar to yoga, and that yoga is not the greatest panacea of healing holistic practices. This is part of why I don't want to visit California, which makes absolutely no sense and makes me look prejudiced.

So. Please, please do talk about how much yoga is healing you, because that is beautiful and I am genuinely, honestly joyfully happy. But if you wish to suggest a yoga pose that can be modified for someone with a shaky, spastic, crippled body, please suggest an alternate form. That is all I ask. There is no such thing as a real panacea, even in the botanical world, even in the plant and herb world, and certainly not in the exercise world. It is entirely possible that I will find a set of yoga exercises that will really, truly help me, and I will join the ranks of yoga enthusiasts. Anything is possible. Nothing is off limits. Except evangelism. If I wanted something pushed down my throat, I will drink water mixed with special fruit and plant powders, like sea buckthorn and moringa.
This is coming from my years as a holistic enthusiast and pusher. I was bad. I was essentially an asshole. And then I learned that it was just wrong. I never want to do that again. Just because something works perfectly for me does not mean it will work at all for someone else.

Any form of good physical-spiritual combination exercise, be it yoga, qigong, taichi, strength training, cardio, dead lift weight, isometrics, plyometrics, dance, hardcore dance, etc, is wonderful and beautiful and strengthening, and will help everyone in some personal powerful way. That is the point of exercise.
I love you all. If you really want to help me, don't push me. Just guide me.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Copied from Facebook, because it should be put here.
*
My neurologist is hilarious and awesome. And she thinks the same of me. We're gonna schedule a brain scan. And we traded quips and jokes about why the he'll I didn't get diagnosed autistic until last year. And she agreed that I am badly stressed and depressed for no reason and she desperately wants to help, and she wants to increase the Zoloft a bit to see what happens, and she's very pleased that the passion flower is helping me sleep, and she cares so much it makes me cry. She hugged me when we were done.
I told her that I feel like I'm on another planet with super caring doctors who really help, and she looked so empathetic and almost upset about the lack of such support. I heart you, Chang Ching Debbie Lin, super neurologist and friend to patients.
*
And here I thought they would take more blood. I must remember that the good veins are in my right arm. I'm impressed I was able to watch both arms being poked. That was a big needle.
*
And of course I tripped and fell flat on my knees and shins while walking through the grass. As I was using the cane to slowly get up, I heard a woman call out, and then a hand was on my arm. She asked me if I was okay, and asked if I was going to the bus stop across the street. When I said yes, she held my left arm and helped me the whole way and stayed until we were sure I was okay. Then she went back across. Funny thing was that we were right next to both the hospital and my primary physician office.
I'm home now, and both my legs are bruised, and I'm all stiff and annoyed. But the look of concern on the woman's face made me grateful that people care enough...
*

Indeed, it's never big things, never major or massive emergencies. It is just several little things, one after another or at the same time, building up day after day, never stopping.

Dr Lin Super Neurologist has written "chronic stress disorder" on the list (right next to intractable epilepsy, insomnia, cerebral palsy spastic ataxic, and myalgia as doctor-approved medical issues on that lab test print-out I took to the lab that took two vials of blood). When she had touched my shoulders, she had exclaimed, "Ohh, you're stressed. These muscles are far too tight, even for the cerebral palsy." We joked back and forth - I said, "You know those internet memes that tell you to think positive thoughts to eliminate stress? I hate those." And she said, "It's exactly like saying that the best way to treat a stress-related disease is to get rid of stress. Helpful, isn't it?" - and she was genuinely worried.
She gave me those physical tests where I had to push against her hands with my hands and legs, and my left side barely responded, and I watched her mouth turn down and her eyes fill with sympathy. When I said that my medications were working very well for what they had to work with, she was almost gleefully relieved. She does want me to see a psychiatrist, and she thinks increasing the Zoloft may help mitigate some stress with its ability to handle more than just depression and anxiety. She was happy to see me able to genuinely express my sense of humor, and she liked that I called my depression episodes "hollows". I truly feel better for having seen her and for scheduling the six-month follow-up. Brain scan ahoy.

I know so many people with intense diseases, disorders that must be monitored and treated with porcelain delicateness, with multiple medical conditions that leave doctors stunned and astounded that these patients are still alive. This is why I don't like to compare. This is why I hate playing games, even though sometimes I find myself pain-bragging without realizing. My small, numerous, chronic daily medical issues are nothing next to something as huge as, say, cancer or MS. But they are annoying.

These varied, various, multiple little pains and problems are indeed growing and they are quietly and slowly debilitating no matter how many Happy Thoughts tm I throw at them, and they will be with me for the rest of my life, and I will work with them and treat them as best as I possibly can, and I am doing my best to turn away from insistent voices that cry about magical panacea drugs/herbs/exercises and seek out whatever magic works for me, magic or not. And all I want to do is reach out and hold the hands of those who are being struck down with health problems no matter how many times they get back up, who get back up no matter how many times they are struck down, who just want to rest.
I just want to rest.
brightrosefox: (Default)
So... there is that whole thing about "I am having a medical depression episode, I am medically anxious, I am in severe a chronic pain fibromyalgia flare that rates an 8 on Allie Brosh's pain scale, my spasticity is out of control, my hypertonia along with ataxia is interfering with my ability to balance, I'm very dizzy, I'm in a mental fog, I keep thinking of how Rose-kitten died and I start getting choked up, my joints ache and throb so much that I want to become a cyborg right now..."

And I got back from a shopping trip to Barnes&Noble and Target. And Adam picked out a beautiful autumn/spring coat with purple/rose/yellow/brown patterns I never would have considered and it was gorgeous on me and on massive clearance, and Adam himself found a perfect back-up backpack on massive clearance. And I found several new books I've wanted to read including a new Amber Benson book and a new supernatural suburban fantasy series, plus a Pinkie Pie doll from the company Aurora, the same kind that sells Fluttershy on Amazon, with soft simple fabric for hair that was perfect for cats to play with.

And I spoke cheerfully and joyfully with strangers, smiling so much that my disguise and my mask strengthened, and I knew that I could make it through as long as the medications held up, the Soma and Klonopin and Ultram and Vinpocetine and Picamilon and MSM and Vitamin D and Guarana and coffee. People asked me where I got my gold-colored cane and why I had it... and were honestly intrigued to ask about the cerebral palsy, no condescending remarks, no inspiration porn, just requests for details and honest educated understanding. And I was happy to educate, explain, enlighten, and watch their faces light up as they thanked me sincerely and walked off with more information, and that is all I want from things like that.

And the medicines did as promised, and I came home and fell down by choice, and as a wise, wise woman with a PhD told me, It Is Okay To Not Be Okay.

I am not okay. And that is okay. Eventually, I will be okay.

Some quotes I would like to share on trauma and living with illness, disability, life after trauma:

1. "Healing is seasonal, not linear.
It is true that healing happens with time. But in the recovery wilderness, emotional healing looks less like a line and more like a wobbly figure-8. It’s perfectly common to get stuck in one stage for months, only to jump to another end entirely … only to find yourself back in the same old mud again next year.
Recovery lasts a long, long time. Expect seasons."

2. "Whatever doesn’t kill you …
In 2011, after a publically humiliating year, comedian Conan O’Brien gave students at Dartmouth College the following warning:
"Nietzsche famously said, 'Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.' … What he failed to stress is that it almost kills you.”
Odd things show up after a serious loss and creep into every corner of life: insatiable anxiety in places that used to bring you joy, detachment or frustration towards your closest companions, a deep distrust of love or presence or vulnerability.
There will be days when you feel like a quivering, cowardly shell of yourself, when despair yawns as a terrible chasm, when fear paralyzes any chance for pleasure. This is just a fight that has to be won, over and over and over again.
… Doesn’t kill you.
Living through trauma may teach you resilience. It may help sustain you and others in times of crisis down the road. It may prompt humility. It may make for deeper seasons of joy. It may even make you stronger.
It also may not.
In the end, the hope of life after trauma is simply that you have life after trauma. The days, in their weird and varied richness, go on. So will you."

I chose these quotes because I have heard, over and over and over, "Oh, just get over it. Slap a bandage on it and walk it off. Are you still going on about that thing? It was years ago! Aren't you on medication and in therapy? Shouldn't you be past all that by now? Stop thinking about it so much; you're just making it worse. You're creating negativity in your own spiritual space. Negative emotions and negative thinking will destroy your immune system, you know. Stop stressing so much. I give up! You're hopeless! I can't even talk to you! You're a broken record! You're just making it worse. Why won't you listen to me? Every time you talk about getting worse, your mind and your body really believe it. Get over it! Think positively! Change your attitude! Do what I did! I quit thinking so much about the pain and trauma, and in a few months I was cured. I really think you need more positive thinking. You're bringing yourself down."

And the reason I have merely smiled, nodded, and replied, over and over, "Thank you; I shall consider that!" is because those people don't want to listen anymore, they just want me to stop talking, even though I just want to confide. And so I stopped confiding in them. It was a drain on my energy and time and it just made them irritated at me.

The point is that there is no straight line when it comes to trauma, pain, illness, damage, and negative life events. Some people will never seek treatment, and will continue to live in a post-traumatic stress cycle complete with angry outbursts, emotional breakdowns, and paranoia over things such as medical treatments. There is nothing I can do but be there, even if it is just as a voice to soothe, a hand to hold, a joke to tell, a distraction to offer.

But for me, everything is a cycle. I will never be free. I acknowledge that my entire life, literally, is, was, and will be about recovering from trauma. I have tools to work with. I have doctors who understand me. I have taken all my medical problems on with my own personal arsenal, and I know better than any of the people who dislike my methods how to work with, on, and despite myself. I have my girls, my spirit guardians, my coping mechanisms with human faces, the parts of my brain formed from fictional characters that allow me to handle different parts of my trauma. And so I keep going. Trauma is a part of my life. And that is okay.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Seizure happened in the kitchen. Jupiter meowed and rubbed against me while I crouched. Adam came in and gently lay me on the floor. My eyes were open and blank. Adam touched my face and reached for my mind, and I spasmed and gasped and blinked. I asked why I was on the floor. Adam helped me up and stood me against the large freezer. My memory is swirling. Alicia is holding me. Earlier, Adam said he told his boss, a fellow animal lover, that he needed an extra day to care for his wife. I rolled my eyes and said that was not necessary; that I was fine. Never mind. It was so dark and so white equally braided as order and chaos magics. I was spinning at ninety-nine percent light speed and thirty-five miles an hour. The world was elsewhere. A few seconds lasted a thousand years. Adam suggested I go upstairs and rest. Jupiter is suggesting a cuddle. I am thinking coffee and clonazepam and baclofen. I am made of light and love and pure order-chaos magic in its simplest form. I can give myself the right strength. May be that I can regenerate. As brightly and intensely as a Time Lord. I always shine enough for everyone.

brightrosefox: (Default)
I stretched the hell out of my back and legs and arms. It was lovely. I did it my way. I am very pleased and very satisfied. I won't discuss the various burning barbed wire pains that are distracting me even through the codeine, but I will talk about the beautiful meditative exercises I've been working with. Peaceful, serene, tranquil, calm, relaxing, refreshing, fantastic in multiple ways. The scene always changes, but always appears Zen in some way.
I had mentioned that my human coping mechanisms, my spirit guardians, had begun communicating with each other deep in my brain without my conscious knowledge, which leads me to believe that parts of my brain are starting to come together as part of the story, as my unlimited imagination and writerbrain is starting working on a whole new, amazingly unique, private story all on its own. No wonder I have been working on Amber's story beyond these bits of my brain. Amber has also given me free reign to write her as a fully developed character and not just a created coping mechanism.
In general, I am just... very happy.
And the funny thing is that I am in a depressive episode. I have all the symptoms, and I am quite conscious and aware. But I have things that are helping distract me: Talking about my imagination and my creativity, talking about the triggers for my panic attacks and my simple seizures, talking about comedy TV shows and powerful fiction books. Somehow it all is able to keep the major depression away, although it is a very intense fight. Sometimes I find myself weak and struggling, even physically, as thoughts of worthlessness and hopelessness, frustration and terror, pessimism and guilt all slam into me and my wall and my shell.
I suppose I could say I am happy. I feel happy.
But... what is happiness?
"Happiness is a mental or emotional state of well-being characterized by positive or pleasant emotions ranging from contentment to intense joy." Sure, I feel those things. However, there is a strong undercurrent of the exact opposite.
Brains, man. Brains are wild. Brains are weird. Brains are so complex. One day, I want to have an MRI and see exactly what my brain is doing. I want to sit with multiple brain specialists for hours on end, and just... talk. I want to talk about my brain.
Brains, man.
brightrosefox: (Default)
You guys, I amaze myself. I've been writing helter skelter all over the place: Novel, stories, novellas, blogs, facebook, notebooks with various pens, everywhere... in the middle of a postictal migraine and insanely horrific agonizing chronic pain flare-up following recovery from a panic attack. If I didn't have a computer or paper I might write on the walls. I hurt so badly I have no idea what I'm doing. I feel half fire and half water. Wild and raging, and all I want is a crackling bonfire and a rushing river.
I doctored up a photo of myself and it came out half gold light and half blue light. It looks inhuman. But part of me adores it so much. My face is two different parts. I am two entities in one. When I burn, I am cool. When I am cool, I burn. It is ying yang, dragon phoenix, up and down, left and right, I don't even know. I don't speak out loud except to my cats, I just speak through Story. So much Story inside me.
That rock. That rock that my husband gave me, the rock that he held while standing in Room 217 of the Stanley Hotel, in which Stephen King wrote "The Stand" and used as an inspiration for "The Shining". That rock is still next to my laptop. I am covered in words. I am filled up with Words. I may disappear into Story. I may not even see the world until I have to.
Is this what it is like to live in the land of the Fae and then come back to the land of humans?

jowitchzen2

Maybe it was the super moon. Maybe it is the heat from the sun now. Maybe it is anything.
brightrosefox: (Default)
bluelotusglow

bluedarklotus

bluelotus4

***
You lift your head to ask if this is a dream. She presses her finger to your lips and smiles. As she gently places the shining blossom into your outstretched hands, she whispers, "This will be safe inside you. Together, you will understand." You want to ask her everything, but you know you mustn't. She kisses your lips and stands tall. Raising her arms, she fades slowly. The air is filled with the scent of the sacred lotus. You press the flower to your breast and it vanishes, sinking inside you. And you begin to understand.
***
You find her in the swamp itself. This time she is wearing faded denim shorts and a sleeveless top, muscled abdomen and arms well exposed, bronze skin glistening. She is knee deep in muddy water, examining each blossom with careful fingers. She looks up at you with bright green eyes and smiles widely. Her hair is blacker than the darkest muddy water, tied back with satin. She looks so young and so old.
"Are you here for another one?" she asks. "Never mind, of course you are. Hold on. I need to find yours." She moves slowly, dipping her hands in up to the wrists until her skin is masked in mud.
"They're sleepy today," she says. "Here, talk. Ask which one wants you and I'll take it."
"Do I have to come into the mud?" you ask, preparing to remove your shoes.
"No, no, just call out. They'll hear you even far away."
You take a deep breath, focus on the flowers floating all around the woman, and say, "Dear blossom, come to me." You aren't sure if that will work. But then the woman nods. She tilts her head one way and the other. She turns around and walks a foot, then slowly bends at the knees and carefully scoops up a richly pink lotus that looks exactly like all the others. She whispers something, and the flower begins to glow. Grinning, the woman walks out of the swamp and holds out the flower. "Perfect!" she says. "Instant connection. Good job."
You cup your hands and she slides your lotus into your hands. There is a small amount of mud; it feels cool and refreshing, with a slight tingling. The lotus shines so brightly that you need to squint, and it disappears into your hands, under your skin.
You blink at the woman. "So that's it?"
She smiles. "Nope. Never. But you're learning more as you go. I'll see you when you're ready to come back. You'll know where I'll be."
You want to ask something, something important. You have forgotten. You just feel blissful. You reach out, and she hugs you tightly, burying her face in your hair. You rest your chin on her shoulder. She smells like lotus and frankincense and pure joy.
"I'll come home soon," you murmur. She just nods. Nothing else needs to be said.
***
The lotus flowers are in full bloom, all of them. You stand naked and waist deep in the swamp, surrounded. The blossoms and glowing gently, swimming around you. Your guide is nowhere. You cannot call out, or speak, or even whisper. You draw in a breath. A small pink petal floats on the air toward you and presses itself on your tongue. No, you think. I must not speak. You are crowded by flowers. Instinct speaks, and you fall back until the lotus flowers catch you. You are floating on a shining bed of full lotus blossoms. You are covered in tingling mud. You open your mouth and light streams from it. A single whole flower lifts and slowly flies to you and settles gently in your mouth. You breathe in very slowly, and the lotus becomes pure energy that pours down your throat like a refreshing drink. You close your eyes. Everything makes sense. You are everywhere. You begin to laugh, but you do not know if it is in your mind or through your mouth.
"There you go!" says a familiar golden voice. "How do you feel now?" You open your eyes. You cannot stop laughing like a child. The Lotus Woman has eyes that cycle through every shade of green, and you find it fascinating. She reaches for you, and you reach for her. She scoops you up and carries you to a heated rock beyond the swamp. There are clothes waiting for you, folded on another rock. The Lotus Woman helps you sit up. She produces a wood brush and slowly combs your hair, letting the bright, bright sun dry the muddy water away. She carefully rubs you down with a towel that feels like silk and cotton. You look at her, finally, and notice that now she is wearing a red sundress that moves like water, with boots polished like mirrors.
She finishes smoothing you down and helps you into undergarments, blue slacks, a red tee shirt, and boots similar to hers.
"We're going to the healing room," she says, "if you'd like. There will be oil massage and saunas and showers of all kinds. Now that you have your next lotus, I think you'll appreciate the new magic."
You just feel so much bliss, so much joy, so much euphoria, that you only nod and smile widely. She taps her finger on your nose. "Now, don't get excited. That'll fade. We need to make sure it doesn't overwhelm you. It's supposed to become part of you, remember?"
Licking your lips and taking a deep breath, you say, "Yes. I'll remember." Your voice sounds like small bells inside your head.
You hold the Lotus Woman's hand and shield your eyes from the sun with your other hand. She is leading you far from the swamp, but it is all right. You will be back soon, of course.
***
It is the way she looks at you, with that quirky smile and those gleaming dark green eyes.
You hold out your cupped hands, trying not to tremble, trying not to disturb the velvety white lotus nestled against your fingers.
"Is this your gift to me?" she asks.
"Yes," you say. "You have helped me so much... and I know you always have these, but I found this one right where I live, and, I mean, I know they're so rare, but..."
She holds up a hand, smiling so widely. "It's okay, sweetheart. I understand." She very carefully takes the lotus from you, holds it to her lips, and kisses the petals. "Thank you. It's perfect."
"Maybe... maybe tomorrow," you say shakily, "we can go to the swamp and... you know... talk to the other flowers?"
She tilts her head and her eyes fill with compassion. "Oh, darling," she murmurs. "Don't be so nervous. There's no need to be shy. This is your world. We will do anything you wish."
You nod, your throat thick with tears. You have no idea what to say next. You realize you don't need to say a word. You watch as she holds your white lotus gift to her breast, and you watch as the lotus turns into golden light, and you watch as the lotus melts into her bronze skin, and you watch as she draws a deep deep breath, exhaling into the sky. Suddenly, you feel a massive weight lifted, spiraling away from the top of your head. Energy fills you starting at your feet and moving in a rush until it reaches the same top of your head. You feel absolute and complete ecstasy, euphoria, tranquility, and serenity. You draw a deep deep breath, exhaling into the sky. You want to laugh, so you laugh. And she laughs with you.
You feel how deeply the universe lives inside you. You laugh, and you embrace everything you can reach, until you feel yourself glowing. You dance and dance, and she takes your hands and joins you, and the universe dances with you.
***
This time, you are standing ankle-deep in a swamp at midnight. Everything is glowing blue - the sky, the water, the lotus flowers, your skin.
The Lotus Woman is sitting in front of you, cross-legged, surrounded by blue and white lotus blossoms all in full bloom. Her bronze skin, her black hair, her green eyes... everything about her is shining with pale blue light.
You feel comforted and serene in a way you have never known at such a deep level. You carefully sit down in the same position, letting the mud flow against you. You and she are both dressed in shorts and sleeveless tops, no shoes, your hair both unbound. The mud sinks effortlessly into your skin.
Neither of you speak. After a few minutes, one lotus blossom floats into your lap, white and blue and covered in dew drops. You very gently pick it up and it dissolves into your skin with an intense burst of blue and white light.
She grins and laughs, clapping her hands. "Oh, yay! I was hoping you would get that one. It's been waiting for you."
You smile and shrug. "I guess I've been waiting too."
The dozens of flowers float and spin around you both, several touching your skin and her skin, merging with you in tiny light bursts that feel like soft winds. She holds out her hands and you reach out and you grasp them tightly.
You don't know how long you sit and meditate, but it doesn't matter. Forever can fit inside a single moment, after all.
The white and blue lotus blossoms swirl around you, lifting your soul, until the entire world is filled with light, and you feel completely at peace, bursting with serenity.
***
brightrosefox: (Default)
For me, my confidence always lifts so high with the little things.
The pomegranate red and the raspberry pink. Always.
http://beautyinfozone.files.wordpress.com/2011/10/it-cosmetics-pretty-woman-lipstick.jpg
http://beautyinfozone.files.wordpress.com/2011/10/it-cosmetics-love-story-lipstick.jpg
http://beautyinfozone.com/beauty/it-cosmetics-vitality-lip-flush-anti-aging-lip-stain-review/

The pomegranate and the raspberry are prominent and powerful in mythology and legend.
Both the pomegranate and the red raspberry contain ellagic acid and are able to filter UVA and UVB rays, making them excellent additions to sunscreen products. They both contain extremely high amounts of various nutrients, amino acids, and skin-healing nourishers. They both help guard against inflammation and some types of cancer. Their bright colors indicate their intense antioxidant abilities.

I am proud and happy to finally have found my favorite red and pink lipcolors, especially products that contain my favorite nourishing, hydrating, plumping, moisturizing, staining, and healing ingredients. I no longer need to search.
(Revlon Lip Butter Lipstick in Red Velvet and Cherry Tart come in second, while Too Faced Lip Creme Lipstick in Stiletto Red and I Want Candy come in third.)

In my current profile photo, I am wearing a blend of Love Story and Pretty Woman, affected by lighting and webcam angles. I will always feel strong with this lipstick, no matter what.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Dear Friends:
Do not tell me I will be a great author. Do not tell me I will finish this novel in record time and go on to land a major publisher and become so popular I will win awards. Do not tell me I will succeed. Tell me I will fail. Tell me I have no chance. Tell me I will be terrible.
My fear comes from the fear of failure, of success, of fear itself. I fear being bad, I fear being great. My motivation will be the intention of failure, not success.
I know this seems strange and awful. Don't worry. This will urge me on. This will make my writerbrain say, "Oh yeah? I'll show you! I'll make this great. I'll make this beautiful."
And I will. But don't tell me that.
<3
brightrosefox: (Default)
I don't know why I find this so strange, but this is my brain:
During these post-ictal severe pain states, I tend to be quite verbose and effusive in writing much more than I am in verbal speech.
Talking with my voice becomes mildly improbable, weak, abstract, and inept as I stumble. But in writing, my brain can move quickly, pause to check itself, and encourage my fingers to pull forth just the right words.
Naturally, my parents frown upon my constant use of the internet's social media to communicate, including email, because they want to hear my voice, which they call mellifluous. But there is no dulcet fluidity in a voice whose owner has been struck with temporary neurological damage.
However, sometimes communicating via writing, typing, and online social media really is just that much more powerful. And it gives my mouth and throat ample time to rest while those complex speech areas of my brain that had been momentarily damaged can gather themselves and become once more coherent.
It really is very embarrassing to speak out loud and find my words too jumbled, my tongue tripping up, my emotions spilling over until my voice cracks because I cannot convey what I need beyond the simplest of words in the manner of a fairly intellectual toddler.
Even when I have been hit by those neuron storms, words are very easy to find. Making sure others hear those words in the context I need can be so difficult that I bring myself to tears.
I am certain you know what I mean, friend's list.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Part One: (and also this story is mostly stream of consciousness and probably will not make sense...)
"In an alien dimension, a thousand years in the future, I lived near a palace. My name was Annalira Lotus Rose Fox. My two middle names came about because after my birth, our ponds and gardens grew multi-colored lotus flowers and multi-colored wild roses when it should have been impossible.
My family was full of shapeshifters; the favored creatures were foxes and cats, falcons and owls, and so the family names reflected all of that. My parents were Foxes, and I should have been as well. I was the odd one out because I couldn't change shape, but parts of me could change in other, weird ways. My eyes changed between coffee and honey and periwinkle, my hair changed between dark chestnut and golden auburn and raven black, my skin changed between snow white and warm ivory and light bronze. Usually none of these color shifts matched and there were always bizarre shifts and combinations. I always wore cosmetics because I saw too many problems, always wanting to conceal blemishes and brighten colors. I became very skilled at mixing oils, creams, and skin potions for my siblings and cousins and friends, because I needed to for myself. I looked very young even as I approached adulthood, and one of my best friends decided that I would never look old. I laughed nervously every time she said that. She thought I was the most beautiful woman she knew, and I let her think that because beauty is always subjective. Her brother hinted that she was in love with me. One day I will tell her that I always knew and that I love her too. One day, I will learn telekinesis from her, because that is her biggest talent, and that day might be our first date. I will probably marry a man one day but I will probably marry her too.
I was the smallest and shortest one in my entire family. They nicknamed me Little Bright Fox, and said that while my voice was soft it carried for miles. My aura was giant, they said. When I played with magic, I could make my energies visible in a way nobody else could. Those energies were extremely shiny and multicolored, which was uncommon.
I didn't have any specific talent the way most people in my country had. I had several small skills that I often blundered through. I was a born storyteller and artist, a psychic sensitive and an empath in many ways. My parents sheltered me too much. My birth was upsetting and I nearly died several times. An Owl uncle and a Cat aunt both said that I was too close to the Veil Beyond and to other realms, that entities beyond the veil could sense me as much as I could sense them. I grew up with physical and neurological pains that the best medicine couldn't heal, neither technology nor sorcery. My family made sure I had the best they could offer, but the Owls and the Cats kept predicting hard and intense life roads for me. They gave me medicines for the brain seizures and the mental imbalances, for the muscle spasms, the body fatigues, the nerve damages. I would be lame and weak, delicate and fragile for the rest of my life, but the Falcons predicted that on the inside I would become steel and diamond, supernova and volcano.
When one of my Falcon cousins discovered that I was able to cross dimensions without suffering the usual side effects, she was unable to keep it a secret, and the royal family asked me to work for them. After reviewing my medical disabilities, they set up a special financial and benefits account for me so I would be protected during my interdimensional travels. Walking into the Between never damaged me in any way; the Queen and the royal doctors assumed it was because I had been born partially gripping the Veil Beyond in my psychic hands. All of my Walks in the Between actually felt good, energizing and electrifying in powerful ways. It was how I discovered some of my stronger hidden talents. By the time I had finished an unheard of dozen Walks in the Between without any negative effects, my name had spread across the country, for both good and ill..."
brightrosefox: (Default)
Part One: (and also this story is mostly stream of consciousness and probably will not make sense...)
"In an alien dimension, a thousand years in the future, I lived near a palace. My name was Annalira Lotus Rose Fox. My two middle names came about because after my birth, our ponds and gardens grew multi-colored lotus flowers and multi-colored wild roses when it should have been impossible.
My family was full of shapeshifters; the favored creatures were foxes and cats, falcons and owls, and so the family names reflected all of that. My parents were Foxes, and I should have been as well. I was the odd one out because I couldn't change shape, but parts of me could change in other, weird ways. My eyes changed between coffee and honey and periwinkle, my hair changed between dark chestnut and golden auburn and raven black, my skin changed between snow white and warm ivory and light bronze. Usually none of these color shifts matched and there were always bizarre shifts and combinations. I always wore cosmetics because I saw too many problems, always wanting to conceal blemishes and brighten colors. I became very skilled at mixing oils, creams, and skin potions for my siblings and cousins and friends, because I needed to for myself. I looked very young even as I approached adulthood, and one of my best friends decided that I would never look old. I laughed nervously every time she said that. She thought I was the most beautiful woman she knew, and I let her think that because beauty is always subjective. Her brother hinted that she was in love with me. One day I will tell her that I always knew and that I love her too. One day, I will learn telekinesis from her, because that is her biggest talent, and that day might be our first date. I will probably marry a man one day but I will probably marry her too.
I was the smallest and shortest one in my entire family. They nicknamed me Little Bright Fox, and said that while my voice was soft it carried for miles. My aura was giant, they said. When I played with magic, I could make my energies visible in a way nobody else could. Those energies were extremely shiny and multicolored, which was uncommon.
I didn't have any specific talent the way most people in my country had. I had several small skills that I often blundered through. I was a born storyteller and artist, a psychic sensitive and an empath in many ways. My parents sheltered me too much. My birth was upsetting and I nearly died several times. An Owl uncle and a Cat aunt both said that I was too close to the Veil Beyond and to other realms, that entities beyond the veil could sense me as much as I could sense them. I grew up with physical and neurological pains that the best medicine couldn't heal, neither technology nor sorcery. My family made sure I had the best they could offer, but the Owls and the Cats kept predicting hard and intense life roads for me. They gave me medicines for the brain seizures and the mental imbalances, for the muscle spasms, the body fatigues, the nerve damages. I would be lame and weak, delicate and fragile for the rest of my life, but the Falcons predicted that on the inside I would become steel and diamond, supernova and volcano.
When one of my Falcon cousins discovered that I was able to cross dimensions without suffering the usual side effects, she was unable to keep it a secret, and the royal family asked me to work for them. After reviewing my medical disabilities, they set up a special financial and benefits account for me so I would be protected during my interdimensional travels. Walking into the Between never damaged me in any way; the Queen and the royal doctors assumed it was because I had been born partially gripping the Veil Beyond in my psychic hands. All of my Walks in the Between actually felt good, energizing and electrifying in powerful ways. It was how I discovered some of my stronger hidden talents. By the time I had finished an unheard of dozen Walks in the Between without any negative effects, my name had spread across the country, for both good and ill..."
brightrosefox: (Default)
Part One: (and also this story is mostly stream of consciousness and probably will not make sense...)
"In an alien dimension, a thousand years in the future, I lived near a palace. My name was Annalira Lotus Rose Fox. My two middle names came about because after my birth, our ponds and gardens grew multi-colored lotus flowers and multi-colored wild roses when it should have been impossible.
My family was full of shapeshifters; the favored creatures were foxes and cats, falcons and owls, and so the family names reflected all of that. My parents were Foxes, and I should have been as well. I was the odd one out because I couldn't change shape, but parts of me could change in other, weird ways. My eyes changed between coffee and honey and periwinkle, my hair changed between dark chestnut and golden auburn and raven black, my skin changed between snow white and warm ivory and light bronze. Usually none of these color shifts matched and there were always bizarre shifts and combinations. I always wore cosmetics because I saw too many problems, always wanting to conceal blemishes and brighten colors. I became very skilled at mixing oils, creams, and skin potions for my siblings and cousins and friends, because I needed to for myself. I looked very young even as I approached adulthood, and one of my best friends decided that I would never look old. I laughed nervously every time she said that. She thought I was the most beautiful woman she knew, and I let her think that because beauty is always subjective. Her brother hinted that she was in love with me. One day I will tell her that I always knew and that I love her too. One day, I will learn telekinesis from her, because that is her biggest talent, and that day might be our first date. I will probably marry a man one day but I will probably marry her too.
I was the smallest and shortest one in my entire family. They nicknamed me Little Bright Fox, and said that while my voice was soft it carried for miles. My aura was giant, they said. When I played with magic, I could make my energies visible in a way nobody else could. Those energies were extremely shiny and multicolored, which was uncommon.
I didn't have any specific talent the way most people in my country had. I had several small skills that I often blundered through. I was a born storyteller and artist, a psychic sensitive and an empath in many ways. My parents sheltered me too much. My birth was upsetting and I nearly died several times. An Owl uncle and a Cat aunt both said that I was too close to the Veil Beyond and to other realms, that entities beyond the veil could sense me as much as I could sense them. I grew up with physical and neurological pains that the best medicine couldn't heal, neither technology nor sorcery. My family made sure I had the best they could offer, but the Owls and the Cats kept predicting hard and intense life roads for me. They gave me medicines for the brain seizures and the mental imbalances, for the muscle spasms, the body fatigues, the nerve damages. I would be lame and weak, delicate and fragile for the rest of my life, but the Falcons predicted that on the inside I would become steel and diamond, supernova and volcano.
When one of my Falcon cousins discovered that I was able to cross dimensions without suffering the usual side effects, she was unable to keep it a secret, and the royal family asked me to work for them. After reviewing my medical disabilities, they set up a special financial and benefits account for me so I would be protected during my interdimensional travels. Walking into the Between never damaged me in any way; the Queen and the royal doctors assumed it was because I had been born partially gripping the Veil Beyond in my psychic hands. All of my Walks in the Between actually felt good, energizing and electrifying in powerful ways. It was how I discovered some of my stronger hidden talents. By the time I had finished an unheard of dozen Walks in the Between without any negative effects, my name had spread across the country, for both good and ill..."
brightrosefox: (Default)
Part One: (and also this story is mostly stream of consciousness and probably will not make sense...)
"In an alien dimension, a thousand years in the future, I lived near a palace. My name was Annalira Lotus Rose Fox. My two middle names came about because after my birth, our ponds and gardens grew multi-colored lotus flowers and multi-colored wild roses when it should have been impossible.
My family was full of shapeshifters; the favored creatures were foxes and cats, falcons and owls, and so the family names reflected all of that. My parents were Foxes, and I should have been as well. I was the odd one out because I couldn't change shape, but parts of me could change in other, weird ways. My eyes changed between coffee and honey and periwinkle, my hair changed between dark chestnut and golden auburn and raven black, my skin changed between snow white and warm ivory and light bronze. Usually none of these color shifts matched and there were always bizarre shifts and combinations. I always wore cosmetics because I saw too many problems, always wanting to conceal blemishes and brighten colors. I became very skilled at mixing oils, creams, and skin potions for my siblings and cousins and friends, because I needed to for myself. I looked very young even as I approached adulthood, and one of my best friends decided that I would never look old. I laughed nervously every time she said that. She thought I was the most beautiful woman she knew, and I let her think that because beauty is always subjective. Her brother hinted that she was in love with me. One day I will tell her that I always knew and that I love her too. One day, I will learn telekinesis from her, because that is her biggest talent, and that day might be our first date. I will probably marry a man one day but I will probably marry her too.
I was the smallest and shortest one in my entire family. They nicknamed me Little Bright Fox, and said that while my voice was soft it carried for miles. My aura was giant, they said. When I played with magic, I could make my energies visible in a way nobody else could. Those energies were extremely shiny and multicolored, which was uncommon.
I didn't have any specific talent the way most people in my country had. I had several small skills that I often blundered through. I was a born storyteller and artist, a psychic sensitive and an empath in many ways. My parents sheltered me too much. My birth was upsetting and I nearly died several times. An Owl uncle and a Cat aunt both said that I was too close to the Veil Beyond and to other realms, that entities beyond the veil could sense me as much as I could sense them. I grew up with physical and neurological pains that the best medicine couldn't heal, neither technology nor sorcery. My family made sure I had the best they could offer, but the Owls and the Cats kept predicting hard and intense life roads for me. They gave me medicines for the brain seizures and the mental imbalances, for the muscle spasms, the body fatigues, the nerve damages. I would be lame and weak, delicate and fragile for the rest of my life, but the Falcons predicted that on the inside I would become steel and diamond, supernova and volcano.
When one of my Falcon cousins discovered that I was able to cross dimensions without suffering the usual side effects, she was unable to keep it a secret, and the royal family asked me to work for them. After reviewing my medical disabilities, they set up a special financial and benefits account for me so I would be protected during my interdimensional travels. Walking into the Between never damaged me in any way; the Queen and the royal doctors assumed it was because I had been born partially gripping the Veil Beyond in my psychic hands. All of my Walks in the Between actually felt good, energizing and electrifying in powerful ways. It was how I discovered some of my stronger hidden talents. By the time I had finished an unheard of dozen Walks in the Between without any negative effects, my name had spread across the country, for both good and ill..."

loosen

Oct. 14th, 2006 02:41 am
brightrosefox: (Default)
Sambuca.
Three shots.
I sigh and close my eyes and taste a sharp honey anise witch elder licorice thickness.
Why is it that a couple of shots of liqueur are enough to relax the muscles that cerebral palsy has captured, better than a prescription drug, or a painkiller, or a plant, or even yoga?
I do not like getting drunk. So I don't. I refuse to do it all the time; I detest the feeling. And yet, my body becomes liquid.
So they say a shot or so might actually be okay. They change their minds about coffee, too. First it's bad (or good), then it's good (or bad).
Sometimes doctors will inject alcohol into the muscles of cerebral palsy sufferers, to relax the spasticity.
And they tell is it's an awful thing.
But they tell us it might be okay after all.

I enjoy this sensation of sitting, feeling the muscles in my legs, actually feeling them flow smooth, because I don't really know how it feels when they don't flow smooth. I touch my abdomen and the muscle underneath the softness is hard like steel. Spasticity is not limited to affected muscles. "Increased muscle tone." Sometimes I want to be all muscle. And then I remember that a bit of softness is so feminine and lovely and gentle. I don't want to be too hard. I am that way, underneath, truly. Too tight. Too clenched. To spastic. You run for miles, you climb stairs for an hour, you work a machine like a lover, and that feeling you get? That sense of the rush in your body? The tightness in those muscles? The good pain? Yes. Here. It's here. But I don't ask for it. I curl up on the bed and after the spasms stop, I stretch, slowly, and I move, carefully, stretch and move and massage, because I have to, because I didn't do anything but my muscles did.
Tense. Look at my arm, my left arm, straight to the fingers. Spasm, clench, hurt hurt tension cramp. If you could see. I am not really using my left hand to type. The index finger taps a key here and there on the left side of they keyboard. My right hand flies everywhere, hitting nearly every key. I could type this entire entry with only my right hand. I used to play a keyboard one-handed.
The sambuca is making the muscles in my fingers loose. Do you know what it feels like? It feels like air conditioning being rushed underneath the skin; it feels like something inside you is disappearing, pulsing, shrinking. I can't explain. I wish I could explain.
I am not doing anything. My abdominal muscles clench and retract on their own. Sitting crunch. Under the soft, it's a "four pack." But it still hurts because it doesn't rest. The body won't let itself rest.
I have been eating a lot to get more padding; winter will be here soon. I am not used to the softness. One day I will get there. And there will still be the muscle, clenching, tensing, spastic.

Loosen me.

loosen

Oct. 14th, 2006 02:41 am
brightrosefox: (Default)
Sambuca.
Three shots.
I sigh and close my eyes and taste a sharp honey anise witch elder licorice thickness.
Why is it that a couple of shots of liqueur are enough to relax the muscles that cerebral palsy has captured, better than a prescription drug, or a painkiller, or a plant, or even yoga?
I do not like getting drunk. So I don't. I refuse to do it all the time; I detest the feeling. And yet, my body becomes liquid.
So they say a shot or so might actually be okay. They change their minds about coffee, too. First it's bad (or good), then it's good (or bad).
Sometimes doctors will inject alcohol into the muscles of cerebral palsy sufferers, to relax the spasticity.
And they tell is it's an awful thing.
But they tell us it might be okay after all.

I enjoy this sensation of sitting, feeling the muscles in my legs, actually feeling them flow smooth, because I don't really know how it feels when they don't flow smooth. I touch my abdomen and the muscle underneath the softness is hard like steel. Spasticity is not limited to affected muscles. "Increased muscle tone." Sometimes I want to be all muscle. And then I remember that a bit of softness is so feminine and lovely and gentle. I don't want to be too hard. I am that way, underneath, truly. Too tight. Too clenched. To spastic. You run for miles, you climb stairs for an hour, you work a machine like a lover, and that feeling you get? That sense of the rush in your body? The tightness in those muscles? The good pain? Yes. Here. It's here. But I don't ask for it. I curl up on the bed and after the spasms stop, I stretch, slowly, and I move, carefully, stretch and move and massage, because I have to, because I didn't do anything but my muscles did.
Tense. Look at my arm, my left arm, straight to the fingers. Spasm, clench, hurt hurt tension cramp. If you could see. I am not really using my left hand to type. The index finger taps a key here and there on the left side of they keyboard. My right hand flies everywhere, hitting nearly every key. I could type this entire entry with only my right hand. I used to play a keyboard one-handed.
The sambuca is making the muscles in my fingers loose. Do you know what it feels like? It feels like air conditioning being rushed underneath the skin; it feels like something inside you is disappearing, pulsing, shrinking. I can't explain. I wish I could explain.
I am not doing anything. My abdominal muscles clench and retract on their own. Sitting crunch. Under the soft, it's a "four pack." But it still hurts because it doesn't rest. The body won't let itself rest.
I have been eating a lot to get more padding; winter will be here soon. I am not used to the softness. One day I will get there. And there will still be the muscle, clenching, tensing, spastic.

Loosen me.

loosen

Oct. 14th, 2006 02:41 am
brightrosefox: (Default)
Sambuca.
Three shots.
I sigh and close my eyes and taste a sharp honey anise witch elder licorice thickness.
Why is it that a couple of shots of liqueur are enough to relax the muscles that cerebral palsy has captured, better than a prescription drug, or a painkiller, or a plant, or even yoga?
I do not like getting drunk. So I don't. I refuse to do it all the time; I detest the feeling. And yet, my body becomes liquid.
So they say a shot or so might actually be okay. They change their minds about coffee, too. First it's bad (or good), then it's good (or bad).
Sometimes doctors will inject alcohol into the muscles of cerebral palsy sufferers, to relax the spasticity.
And they tell is it's an awful thing.
But they tell us it might be okay after all.

I enjoy this sensation of sitting, feeling the muscles in my legs, actually feeling them flow smooth, because I don't really know how it feels when they don't flow smooth. I touch my abdomen and the muscle underneath the softness is hard like steel. Spasticity is not limited to affected muscles. "Increased muscle tone." Sometimes I want to be all muscle. And then I remember that a bit of softness is so feminine and lovely and gentle. I don't want to be too hard. I am that way, underneath, truly. Too tight. Too clenched. To spastic. You run for miles, you climb stairs for an hour, you work a machine like a lover, and that feeling you get? That sense of the rush in your body? The tightness in those muscles? The good pain? Yes. Here. It's here. But I don't ask for it. I curl up on the bed and after the spasms stop, I stretch, slowly, and I move, carefully, stretch and move and massage, because I have to, because I didn't do anything but my muscles did.
Tense. Look at my arm, my left arm, straight to the fingers. Spasm, clench, hurt hurt tension cramp. If you could see. I am not really using my left hand to type. The index finger taps a key here and there on the left side of they keyboard. My right hand flies everywhere, hitting nearly every key. I could type this entire entry with only my right hand. I used to play a keyboard one-handed.
The sambuca is making the muscles in my fingers loose. Do you know what it feels like? It feels like air conditioning being rushed underneath the skin; it feels like something inside you is disappearing, pulsing, shrinking. I can't explain. I wish I could explain.
I am not doing anything. My abdominal muscles clench and retract on their own. Sitting crunch. Under the soft, it's a "four pack." But it still hurts because it doesn't rest. The body won't let itself rest.
I have been eating a lot to get more padding; winter will be here soon. I am not used to the softness. One day I will get there. And there will still be the muscle, clenching, tensing, spastic.

Loosen me.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Sometimes it happens and you sit trapped, you know where you are and you understand what is happening but reality around you is encased; you are in a black glass prison. The walls, egg shaped, are closed around you. You try to yell and raise your arms to beat against the walls but you cannot move. Your mouth is open; your lips feel dry. You can hear yourself breathe. You can feel your chest and belly move in and out, and your breaths feel labored and strained. Your heart starts to pump harder. You hear the television, the dialogue, the music, it's -- what is it? You were just watching this show. What is it called? Who are the characters? The very edges of your sight are black, a black hole, a wormhole, a singularity. If you close your eyes will you disappear? Will you vanish into your black hole? You try it. It is massive, it is a frightening Nothing. Electric sparks ignite across a howling landscape. This is your mind. This is the universe.
You cannot move.
You cannot move.
Your eyes open of their own accord, you cannot stop blinking. Blink blink. Blink. Blink blink faster faster.
Move, you think. I have to move. My hand. The fingers; can I make my fingers move?
The fingers of your right hand twitch but you are not doing it. Your hand has a mind of its own. Then your hand twitches. It starts to shake, rapping against the arm of your chair. You can feel it but you can't control it. You know what is happening. You feel everything. But this is a dream. It must be a dream. Is this real? How much time has passed? Five minutes, you guess. Someone is lying on the couch behind you, watching television. Can you call out? No. You are frozen. You are scared. Will it stop? Can you stop this? Why can't you stop this? Why won't it stop?
And then, suddenly, you break free
You break free.
You are free. You can move. You gasp for air. Your body returns to itself. You know everything now. You listen to the television like a lifeline. You turn your head and look at the screen.
Speech returns. Thought returns. You look at the clock on the cable box. How long has it been? Five minutes, it must have been. You remember your husband standing next to the projector hanging from the ceiling just before the world slipped away. He is now lying on the couch behind you. You ask him how long ago that was. He says, "A minute and a half, maybe? Why?"
Oh.
"No reason," you say. "Nothing," you say. "It's okay."
A minute and a half.
Five minutes.
Does it matter?

Reality lives inside the brain.

The clock says tick tock.

And it's done.
And you're fine.
It only takes a minute to slip into the black hole.
Alternate realities always freeze time.

In your brain.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Sometimes it happens and you sit trapped, you know where you are and you understand what is happening but reality around you is encased; you are in a black glass prison. The walls, egg shaped, are closed around you. You try to yell and raise your arms to beat against the walls but you cannot move. Your mouth is open; your lips feel dry. You can hear yourself breathe. You can feel your chest and belly move in and out, and your breaths feel labored and strained. Your heart starts to pump harder. You hear the television, the dialogue, the music, it's -- what is it? You were just watching this show. What is it called? Who are the characters? The very edges of your sight are black, a black hole, a wormhole, a singularity. If you close your eyes will you disappear? Will you vanish into your black hole? You try it. It is massive, it is a frightening Nothing. Electric sparks ignite across a howling landscape. This is your mind. This is the universe.
You cannot move.
You cannot move.
Your eyes open of their own accord, you cannot stop blinking. Blink blink. Blink. Blink blink faster faster.
Move, you think. I have to move. My hand. The fingers; can I make my fingers move?
The fingers of your right hand twitch but you are not doing it. Your hand has a mind of its own. Then your hand twitches. It starts to shake, rapping against the arm of your chair. You can feel it but you can't control it. You know what is happening. You feel everything. But this is a dream. It must be a dream. Is this real? How much time has passed? Five minutes, you guess. Someone is lying on the couch behind you, watching television. Can you call out? No. You are frozen. You are scared. Will it stop? Can you stop this? Why can't you stop this? Why won't it stop?
And then, suddenly, you break free
You break free.
You are free. You can move. You gasp for air. Your body returns to itself. You know everything now. You listen to the television like a lifeline. You turn your head and look at the screen.
Speech returns. Thought returns. You look at the clock on the cable box. How long has it been? Five minutes, it must have been. You remember your husband standing next to the projector hanging from the ceiling just before the world slipped away. He is now lying on the couch behind you. You ask him how long ago that was. He says, "A minute and a half, maybe? Why?"
Oh.
"No reason," you say. "Nothing," you say. "It's okay."
A minute and a half.
Five minutes.
Does it matter?

Reality lives inside the brain.

The clock says tick tock.

And it's done.
And you're fine.
It only takes a minute to slip into the black hole.
Alternate realities always freeze time.

In your brain.

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