I felt so old, and I was probably in my own mid-20s at the time. But there are days when I don’t officially feel like an adult now, because the way my money is structured, I have to ask someone to transfer it to me. There’s a gatekeeper, because I don’t control everything myself. It was structured this way so that I didn’t lose Medicaid the moment Angela died. It protects me, and also makes me feel shame because no, I don’t really need money for extra Skittles. But I’d like some.

And the thing is, my dad is not controlling in the slightest. If I said, “dad, I’m not feeling well. I need to go blow money at Wawa like an unsupervised nine-year-old,” he would say that was a perfectly valid use of funds and knock yourself out. Get the large soft serve. It is all about my nervous system and my inability to voice needs. I have traditionally been very bad at it, but I am learning to surf the waves now.

For instance, reaching out to Brian and telling him I was in pain, noting that I was heard and believed but that it didn’t change anything in the short term. That’s fine. I don’t hold on to hurt. It may be that everyone is just busy, overwhelmed, and focused on other things. I am not the center of attention right now, nor should I be. I was not trying to make anything about me but having the boundary that this is my space and others do not control it. I am certain that if I found objection to any of their content, they would tell me exactly where to go with my discomfort.

The hypocrisy was astounding, and not from Tiina’s daughter. From her daughter’s boyfriend. He said that all the breadcrumbs I left revealed something that was already public knowledge because I waited for the official online footprint to start running before I did.

It was placing blame on my shoulders that was there, but not isolated. I was not allowed to be an excited member of the inner circle. I was clearly told I wasn’t liked and to get the hell out, and any favor I did was all by my own choice. That is true- relationships are not transactional. But if I wasn’t seen as a team player, that information is data for the future. If my work and gifts are seen as intrusive, then I need to take them somewhere else. Tiina and Brian never saw me as intrusive, and I had a creative partner who would respond to my entries, even calling me to tell me what she liked and didn’t like about something.

Tiina’s daughter’s boyfriend ignored all of that. He had no idea how many middles of the night chats he ruined not because I am incapable of taking correction, but because I have a hair-trigger allergy to being treated like a threat. If someone is basing their entire lives off the forward motion of this blog and my writing, that’s a red flag. That is “this situation is already beyond workable.” The message is not that I am not responsible, that I lack empathy or accountability. The message is that I am a writer, and you have to deal with me like a writer. You don’t get to pop off and tell me not to write. You simply ask me to leave your life if you cannot stand having a writer in it.

Nothing that I said was threatening. His interpretation of my words was threatening. I just have to keep remembering that, because it’s not a requirement that he believe me. It’s a requirement that I do. He’s an adult. He’s entitled to his opinion. But I’m wondering if he’s ever told Tiina she had an obsession with me. Knowing her as well as I do, I’m sure she would be thrilled by that hot take as well.

Telling me that I need help and I’m obsessed erases all of Tiina’s feelings in this situation, and Brian’s too, for that matter. Tiina didn’t reach out to me and say “I hope we can still be friends.” Brian did. Tiina’s not there yet, and I refuse to put her on my clock. What will happen is what will happen.

When Tiina’s daughter and son-in-law asked me to take something down, they did not mention it was going to come with a side of “you’re ours to bully now.” That’s the part that hurts. The relentless of the mismatch between reality and my writing. Because the reality is that when you allow people to read your thoughts, you open yourself up to an enormous amount of criticism, like you do when you do YouTube or OnlyFans or whatever. The difference is that plain text is the backbone of the internet, and now it’s virtually ignored.

But plain text is also dangerous, especially when you write in long form for people who are built to shut down nuance. The difference is that here, everyone is a 3D character. I don’t intentionally hurt people. I intentionally write down what hurts me and people react with hurt. Because it’s never “wow. It sounds like you’re going through the shit. How can I help?” It is always that I cannot get my shit together and I’m a developmentally arrested toddler. That having a place to write is what is crazy in and of itself, not working within the boundaries I need to be a successful writer.

I am also not reversing the victim here. What I did caused harm to someone even if I thought it was innocuous. No one wanted a debate on whether I meant well or not, just take it down……. until Tiina’s son-in-law bullied me after it was impossible for me to write anything about him, affectionate or not. That is not attacking my bad behavior. That is attacking my right to say what I want. It is always my recommendation that after you leave my life, you simply change the channel. Because what’s not going to happen is that my writing all of the sudden disappears. No one else has that power over me.

Being a writer is a very lonely life because people take your writing so personally. You do, too. You shake and cry while you’re getting it all out. But because the reader didn’t see me cry and shake trying to talk about losing platonic and creative love, they think that I’m cold and heartless and they’re the only ones who really feel. It is not that. It is that we have had an asynchronous response.

Right now, my contact with Brian and Tiina is limited to “seen. Heard. Understood.” That is all anyone needs in this lifetime, because they don’t see me as protecting myself needlessly. That continuing to write would only enflame the situation and I’m right just to stay away. Maybe just for now. Maybe forever. But what I won’t do is live every day in shame over my writing, cautiously asking everyone if it’s okay for me to have an opinion.

The proof is in the pudding. People get over things. They come back.

:::stares in Richmond:::

And Tiina is not the kind of person that would let hard work go unrewarded. I know she saw me. I know she saw me trying to connect with everyone, including their kids. That when I “had the COM,” they were my kids. What they needed was on me as their safe adult. In fact, she actually thanked me for taking 10yo shopping while I was a nervous wreck, driving like someone with a baby in their car for the first time. They would be so offended, because they’re not a baby. But I guarantee you they used to be.

Learning how to relate to kids as a parental figure was hard, and what I think Tiina was trying to tell me is that I was taking more on than she wanted, but she didn’t know how to say that. So she didn’t. If there was a vibe around the house that I was obsessive, it was because I was running on a different plane than everyone else. But I don’t think I was. The relationship with Aada was all adrenaline, all the time. The relationship with Tiina was in the dirt, literally grounding me.

It was not a direct cling to a person, but to an idea. That I could spend my days wandering between Baltimore, Stafford, and Louisa, not having to choose because Brian and Tiina made me feel safe that way. And once that idea took root in my head, I began thinking of ways to give back because of their hospitality. It was never a one-way street or an obsession, and I’m sensitive to that word because it was the same tactic used against me when I was emotionally abused as a kid. Everyone told me I was obsessed with her and never thought, “hm. This could be grooming.”

When I published my thoughts about all of the emotional abuse, the narrative among my former friends was that I was a monster for trying to destroy someone’s career because again, no one takes accountability for harm I endured. It’s only a problem that I wrote about it. It was emotional abuse that started when I was 12 and didn’t really end until I started playing for Richmond. In my head, I am absolutely a Diamond Dog.

But because of my background, I chuckle to myself and think “USG doesn’t want me to have nice things today.” That’s the answer to everything that goes wrong. Tire goes flat? Government. Out of Cheerwine? Government. I walked into a wall and hurt my shoulder? Clearly the government.

What feels threatening is never being wrong. I was wrong in this case. I will be wrong in others. Feeling threatened comes from “this place is not as safe a space as advertised.”

I need to phone home.