I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
Something happened last night that frightened me quite badly. My only protection is my habit of recording everything, making sure I have a record of everything. I’ve been trained through my entire life to do this, actually, from security to investigation to tech support to assorted aerospace operations; after a lifetime of it, seventeen years of that being paid to do it and do it well, it’s second nature.
My temper was pushed too far, finally, last night and I confronted someone who has been fishing for attention. I was told, coldly and to my face, that I was wrong and imagined it.
I was crushed — afraid that I can’t see what Is anymore, afraid that I have no grip on reality, that I’m too crazy to see anything but what I want to project. I cried for quite a while in fear and upset. I’d finally got a handle on myself again, and it turned out that I’m too crazy to see anything and can only make things up.
Except this morning… I went through logs. And reports. And carefully done detached observations. And checked with witnesses. I wasn’t imagining. I wasn’t projecting. Patterns altered in response to stimuli.
This is called gaslighting — telling someone that what they see isn’t real. This has been going on for the last two years.
It’ll take a few days of work to regain my balance, but I will. I’ve had a taste of Me again, and I need to STAY there.