Unless she didn’t get my message, my endo doc has completely blown me off. Also, I’m now starting to think, no matter what my PCP doc and Tom think, that levothyroxine is responsible for the anxiety attacks and racing heart. Sure I’ve had some anxiety. Who wouldn’t that felt like shit? But THIS degree of anxiety when things are going well? It’s just not like me. There’s nothing out of the ordinary going on in my life right now that goes beyond the normal everyday ups and downs. 

Yesterday the raciness and anxiety came and went in waves. I finally had to take a chill pill at the end of my day. I slept a whopping 10 hours and did NOT want to get up and face another day of feeling like shit. Then an idea hit me. Food blocks the absorption of the levothyroxine and that’s why we’re told to wait a half-hour, or even an hour before we eat or have coffee. I took the pill and then had a smoothie and my coffee right away, and… nothing. All has been just fine and that was 3 hours ago. Each day I will wait 5 minutes longer before I have my coffee and we’ll see what happens. 

It’s kind of sad that I have to be the one to diagnose myself and it’s also a reminder that most doctors don’t seem to know what they’re doing, but I really, really suspect one of my medications is doing this to me. Not some sudden kick-ass “anxiety trip” when life is going well. 

At least Tom and I got to spend a week in Waikiki in my dreams last night! My dentist was in one of the dreams too, but I’m not sure what it was about. The night before last I had this dream I had to move a long strip of carpet that was wet on the ends. I don’t know where I was moving it to or how I could’ve possibly carried it. The thing was about 10’ wide and 100’ long. 

Later… 

I’m still not sure just what Aly wants. She speaks of missing me in her blog and how she doesn’t comment on mine because that’d be totally unwanted, yet she hasn’t responded to my feedback on my-diary. I guess it’s still probably for the better that I stay away from her and the trolls. I mean, I’ll talk to her if she wants to talk, but it’s looking like she’d rather not so I’m not going to reach out to her any more than I already have. 

Years ago I may’ve written about the pictures. Not the pretty pics I collect these days of nature and animals that I plaster throughout various blogs and other accounts of mine, but the celebrity pics. As in Charlie’s Angels, Linda Ronstadt and Gloria Estefan. 

For years I tried to convince myself that my ability to communicate to them and for the pictures to be able to see, hear and understand me was just my crazy mind high on wishful thinking. But I never really believed that. We can’t exactly lie to ourselves. We can lie to and fool others, but the one person that’s hard as hell to deceive is ourselves. At least I totally believe that. 

But it wasn’t them. The entity or ghost or being or whatever you want to call it that “dwelled” in Kate’s pic was not Kate herself. Kate’s pic was just the host. Just the pretty packaging that housed a spirit of God knows what kind. I don’t know the hows and whys, I just know the whats, if that makes any sense. Someone or something “took over” those photos. Something with a full-blown sense of awareness. It couldn’t physically reach out and touch me like Tom can reach out and touch me. I couldn’t hear its voice like I can hear his voice. I never saw any movement within the pictures; they didn’t blink their eyes or anything like that. I never smelled anything unusual, nor did I feel anything. Meaning that when I touched the pictures they felt like what they should feel like – paper. 

To this day I really, really find it hard to believe that I simply “brought these pictures to life” and simply imagined an existence within just for fun or because of the hardships I endured as a kid. The people in the pictures were always making eye contact with the camera, and I can’t imagine being able to do this with just any picture, especially someone I know. I know that sounds absolutely insane, but it’s like with my other psychic abilities or whatever you want to call them; an acute sense of knowing. I just knew they were aware of me and what I was saying and doing. 

But how??? Was it some kind of power coming from me? Something else? They were “unique,” too. Meaning that each one was their own person/personality/identity, but if I got a copy of the same picture later on, it would be like “meeting” a stranger. They wouldn’t have the same memories as the other copy. I know it sounds totally ludicrous, but that’s the way it worked. 

I don’t know what the hell the presence was that dwelled within the images, but whatever it was so strong I could kind of sense it even if I’d take the pictures down (I usually had them taped on the wall). 

Eight years or so after getting the first of the pictures, I wanted more privacy, so to speak, as I got older, and ditched them all. The first round of pics only contained those of Kate and Linda since Gloria wasn’t famous yet. 

About 4 or 5 years later in my early to mid-20s, I had pictures again, mostly Gloria’s. My mom was the one who ended that collection. Most of it anyway. Dad drove most of my stuff down to their place in Florida to be shipped to me in Arizona and those never arrived. I was surprised either. 

So until I kick this anxiety, regardless of what’s causing it, I printed out an old Gloria pic that was one of my faves so I feel less alone when Tom’s not home. Has it helped? Yeah, I think it has. But we only “talk” when he’s not home. No, it’s not that Tom would freak out and drag me to the local funny farm. It’s just that when he’s here he’s all I need. I mean, I could talk to the rats, but they don’t know what I’m saying. Whatever’s “powering” this photo with knowledge and awareness does.