Tag: grief

No One Matters But You

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
List the people you admire and look to for advice…
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I don’t look to anyone for advice because I can’t… and that’s true for every single person reading. You are only getting someone else’s read on a situation in which they have no experience. That’s because even if the particulars of a situation seem familiar to them, the combination of factors that make you, well, you are absolutely unique. My divorce wasn’t the same as Dana’s, for instance, and we were married to each other. I am blessed not to know much about what happened to her after I left Houston, because once I was done, I was really done. I wrote about her fondly and I meant every word. She’s still dear to me when I think back. But I’m not planning a future with anyone from my past. That’s because I asked them for their advice, and it did not work for me.

What works for me is being alone with the spirit, and that comes to me through classical music. Today, the thing that brought me to absolute tears was the a capella singers in the back of the church at Washington National Cathedral, because today it’s Nerd Church. Nerd church is where I have stuff to do at my desk, but church is going on in the background… or, it is until I think of something and have to write it down.

Some would argue that I have church on the wrong screen, but there’s nothing wrong with my tablet. It’s my desktop that needs work. I bought a gaming laptop with an NVIDIA video card so that I could use GPT4ALL in private conversations (basically Microsoft Copilot built for your PC and not cloud computing). It came with Windows 11, and this desktop is not that advanced- it came with Windows 10. A computer capable of Windows 10 with 16 GB of RAM will scream with any version of Linux you throw at it, so my nerd church has been finding out that I love my desktop more than anything AND ALSO I cannot stop crying.

There doesn’t have to be a sermon to remind me that I am a sinner.

There does not have to be a sermon to remind me that there are things I have done, and things I have left undone.

They are grievous unto me, to the point where right this moment it feels like I’ll never recover because there is no one to ask. It was my choice to be alone, because there is no way that the buck doesn’t stop with me. What I will say is that I needed to move on with my life instead of thinking that it was over. You think that when your only choice is lying or being hospitalized. That when you tell the truth, someone calls your care team and says you’re having an episode.

I often wonder if that’s how my life was always supposed to turn out. That there’s no combination of manipulations both by me and against me that wouldn’t have landed me here. I’m never going to see friends I dearly love ever again, because ““life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” -Soren Kierkegaard

I don’t push blame on others, because I know that I am not innocent. But I think that maybe a friend was too hasty in saying that she’d never betray me…. because the betrayal wouldn’t have been leaking my e-mails all over everywhere. I do not care. At least people would understand why things flying back and forth were so emotionally volatile. No, the relationship floundered because our ways of communicating and giving each other advice were, at the same time, perfectly perfect in every way and also diametrically opposed. She was raised by the almighty hand of the military. I was raised by the Almighty. Kidding, my dad was a Methodist minister when I was a kid and joke that “Jesus is the son of God and I was born to middle management.” These two things are very, very different.

And yet, not different enough because we clicked on a level that was unusual. I often think that our love for each other must have been something fierce if we could also fight that hard. But what I learned is that just because I was younger didn’t always mean I was dumber. I just felt like that on a number of occasions. I feel it now, as I’m trying to close out this chapter in my life and feel no energy for writing because it’s not like I have anything to say that will help anyone.

You can read me all day long (and you do), but comprehension is a whole other level. I was telling my therapist that because of my stats, I can safely and confidently say that many people have broken up with me, but no one has ever broken up with my blog. That people either fall in love with my writing, or they fall in love with me. Rarely do people love both. I am constantly comforted by the fact that my therapist is reading, because she does not know anyone in this blog and was saddened to hear that I wanted to delete everything. Just push the red button and kiss it goodbye. Losing the character of Supergrover made me lose the will to write.

Yes, it was all my fault.

Yes, I mean it.

That’s because our little echo chamber provided me with the love I was missing on the ground, in real life. She decided not to meet me long ago, she just wasn’t going to tell me. That looks like betrayal to me. This is not a story of every wrong I’ve committed, but also her plan to extract herself without ever having to do any real emotional work.

“Do you ever think this is all for the cameras?”
“Well, they’re getting the ratings, I’ll give ’em that.”

We are both back to our public transportation, nondescript government layer cake lives. Except that in my case, it’s figuring out whether I should file for SSI or not, because I do not know what my financial future needs to hold. I was diagnosed with hypotonic cerebral palsy when I was 18 and one-half months old. I was diagnosed as bipolar in college, along with ADHD. I have not been diagnosed with autism, but my therapist is helping me in terms of getting me the referrals I need. The question is not whether I can work anymore, but whether I ever should have entered the workforce as a “normal person” at all. AuDHD is so hard to catch that I could have used services in elementary school, and the problems with my muscles were evident…. when anyone bothered to pay attention to the fact that I was struggling.

The way I moved to Baltimore was a mistake, because I tried to go it alone and failed spectacularly. Now I know that what covered my autism was being married. I’m a wreck without Dana, but I do not mean that I am not over her. That ship sailed a long time ago. What I mean is that I am a wreck without the safety and stability of being in a relationship where someone else takes care of me. I leaned on her too much without knowing that’s what I was doing. It’s a gift I’ll never be able to repay, and it weighs on me not to be able to apologize.

But I just did, because people break up with me, but they don’t break up with my blog.

Speaking of which, I was telling my friend Ken that Dana had paid $20,000 for her culinary school education and had given it to me for free- another gift I’d never be able to repay. He said, “ah, but gifts by their very nature aren’t meant to be repaid.” So many people have walked around giving me gifts that I haven’t noticed because autism pulls me into my own little world. I have to be dragged into understanding how my actions affect others, because I will not even leave my house if I don’t have to do so. I would rather be alone with my thoughts, because it is so much easier than feeling like a drain on everyone else. I have found that a lot of autistic people feel this way… particularly if you are undiagnosed and have no idea why people seem reticent to tell you things.

I was left to figure out everyone else’s quirks on my own without them communicating, and I chose………………….. poorly.

My hospitalization was directly tied to my autistic quirks and how I was so misunderstood. That’s because I am of the opinion that in any conflict, I can only own my half. When I see more than that coming at me, I retreat. I haven’t written for several days and that in and of itself is emotionally constipating. But there’s nothing like a fresh computer install to invite me into writing because it all looks so new and shiny. It also helps that it takes less than 15 minutes to get up and running because so many things are in the cloud.

I found old e-mail from Supergrover that made me realize we were better off without each other. That she’d stabbed me with words when I showed up unarmed as many times as I had. That even her “dramatic e-mail” was all about my manipulations and how I’d hurt her. Absolutely no accountability for anything she’d done. I let it stand because I got what I wanted. I’d already explained her manipulations in detail; turnabout is fair play.

Then she set me up to fail, and I did.

My own words echo in my chest daily… “so which is it, after you block me?”

I’m sure the answer is over the rainbow, but at least by my count there’s six.

That’s the first time I’ve even been able to say I wanted to look for them. I know I deserve the storm.

I know that without any advice.

Fish, Part II

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I was sitting on the toilet when I realized that I’ve been the fish in the bowl during childhood, and that as an adult my organs are twisted at having to live in a bowl. Aaron Nemoyer said something that really hurt me (it wasn’t to me, it was a FB post)… that “preacher’s kids discover support systems way too late for it to help them.” Why?

We are never part of the support system your parent provides. In my case, it was my dad. More and more, it’s preachers’ kids’ mothers. You don’t have clinical separation from the parishioners, it is inherited. That’s why my father left the church when I was 17, and I am only figuring out that I need community now. In fact, it was ordered by my doctors. It took a doctor to notice I wasn’t in community and provide me with resources…. not a pastor.

Pastors cannot be objective with their own kids, and none of them are. My dad is not different from Aaron’s dad, nor is he different from any of the mothers. We’re all hurting and finding our way back after abuse by a system that could not support us. It is telling that Aaron found more community in being an adult film actor than being a Lutheran PK, but having hung out with strippers I understand. No one loves fuckups like fuckups.

Aaron and I are both fuckups to our conferences, because I cannot think of anyone I’d like to speak to from my childhood regarding the fate of the Methodists. They made their choice when they moved on without me. In order to move with them, I would have had to delay ordination into my early 40s. The thing I was raised to do is no longer an option on multiple levels. Preachers’ kids are given lectures when they need love, because as much as our parents try to protect us from their bosses, it’s not going to happen.

It was the same thing with DIA. I had no situational awareness because I didn’t want it. It’s better to know nothing if you date DIA. They’re not happy, but you are. Ignorance is bliss going from one system to another. I did not want to play nice because I wasn’t nice anymore. I was kind.

I just wasn’t kind to the right people.

Supergrover said she could get me to where I wanted to go. Turns out, she works for a company that flies people to war zones. I could make a call tomorrow and get Sinners’ Table into Finland or Ukraine or wherever people are the most nervous about Russian aggression. Or I could have, had I been willing to play games.

  • She never bought me any fonts.
  • She doesn’t remember anything about my life (quiz her. It’s an act.)
  • She isn’t as invested as me (this is the one that took me the longest to learn and why I let go)

I couldn’t have her truth without making my life a complete lie, and a real friend wouldn’t have made it that way for me like the Methodist church did. The lie there is that I had friends. I had parishioners. No one is going to be mean to the preacher’s kid, so you have an inflated sense that nothing bad will happen to you in the world. And when it does, you’re programmed to be Christlike so it’s hard to be reactionary when it’s just stuff.

Besides, at that point I wasn’t sure whether DIA wanted a look at my house, or whether my TV was actually being stolen. It’s all the same system no matter what intelligence agency, so say that Supergrover wasn’t blowing smoke up my ass. I said I wanted to own the spy museum after Jonna was gone. I wanted it in good hands. I think her son has it covered, but I didn’t know she had a son.

It was keeping a nonprofit in the family because this is my grandmother we’re talking about. SG’s lie cost me everything, not her.

Especially if it wasn’t a lie. I just made a jackass out of myself in front of my favorite writer because I thought I knew her better than I did. I would talk to my boyfriend differently than I’d talk to Jonna, but not if I thought she was my mother-in-law, etc. Keeping it in the family.

Let me explain. In “Argo,” Tony has a son. Tony does. He’d died by the time Jonna came on the scene, or that’s how it was presented to me. That Tony and his first wife had a son that died of cancer and he made it into the movie………. I did not know that their other kids didn’t.

So, I kicked a hornet’s nest I didn’t know was there.

How nice!

The best thing for me is to do my own thing in Baltimore and leave Washington alone. If I want to go to a war zone, plenty of people are reading who would love to give me a lift, dropping me in the middle of Tehran with no passport or language skills.

That was an Argo reference. If I really want to go to Tehran, I have to ask the Swiss or something. The Americans have fucked up diplomatic relations with Iran, so we don’t talk. We use back channels. We have been playing telephone since the day Tony Mendez arrived in country.

This is why “Parts Unknown” thrilled me. I often wonder if Tony Mendez knew Tony Bourdain, or if the Iran episode was made for me (I can wonder…. doesn’t mean it’s true… I think it was made for all Argo fans, not just me.) At the very least, Tony was able to pick up where Tony left off. 😉

Bourdain was able to show the current reality of Iran, the disconnect and the connect of modern relations with them. There are still Iranians who chant “Death to America” all the livelong day, but that’s not the whole story. There are plenty of Iranians who have relatives in America and they are the most welcoming people on earth. Tony wanted to eat, and boy did they feed him.

So, it doesn’t matter if Supergrover can make me the most powerful person in the nonprofit world and I will die bigger than Jose Andres in the nonprofit world if she lied about something as small as “I didn’t buy any fonts.” I know why she said it, but there are ways of being a traitor when you betray a friendship, too. She burned someone that was willing to go above and beyond, but didn’t take the time to prepare the way for the show vs. the reality.

I am always ready for the show vs. the reality, but I have to know the reality to create the show. That’s the part that was missing. Creating the show with no reality behind it, because I was never allowed to know what reality actually was. I got tired. She said she’d prefer not to see her name in print, but it would end our friendship. Our friendship was over the moment she denied me three times.

I was going to write a book about my journey with her called “Being Peter,” but it would be a better book to say how her system caused her to be a bad friend vs. the mistakes I made trying to be a good one. I didn’t do anything right; neither did she. Like, 11.5 years of it. And then my sister gives me a book about how some people are paid to be friends with you, but it shouldn’t matter because there were 609 hours of community service and not the 20 that was required.

I do see the Kennection.

Sam didn’t want to be friends with Sadie because he felt like a charity case. I don’t want to be friends with Supergrover because I feel the same way. It’s all about her. Keeping her, mostly, when she will not help you.

All of my stories are bullshit now. Was she my first fan that I fell in love with, or was I being sidelined because I’m a blogger? Who says she’s not friends with Matt and Mark?

Let’s end there. Matt and Mark are systems, too.

Suomalainen äiti keinuttaa amerikkalaista vauvaansa ja laulaa hiljaa

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

A scene is playing in my mind, because new learning has come from an ancient place for me… my own beating heart. The reason I learn so much there is that I’m not the only one in it.

I will say it in English, but I know right now that hearing the AI read the title back to me will make me cry (this was first published on Medium and I have only listened to it 86 times and I need another hundred because the baby said, “lovely post, btw.”:

The Finnish mother rocks her American baby and sings quietly.

The room is quiet. Esteban is gone… there is war. Only Aino remains. Aada drinks deeply, struggling to stay awake. Aino is not sure who she is singing for, but it is a blanket for both of them. I’m a silent observer of a mother and a baby I love, their connection filling me. Aada is not a baby anymore, as that war is long forgotten. It is questioning what those melodies might have been that pique my interest. How do you sing to your baby when your husband is at war?

Whenever anyone said something smartass about Daniel not being an MD, my standard reply was “my stepmother has done brain surgery in an operating theater. My boyfriend has done brain surgery while his team was being fired upon. OF COURSE he wasn’t qualified to do brain surgery. In the Navy, you GET qualified. It’s a very short course.

Singing to your baby is different in peacetime.

This is not peacetime, either.

I can’t remember who said, “y’all can go to hell, but I will go to Texas,” yet I am reminded of it by my motto being “y’all can go to Texas, but I will go to HEL.” Little airport humor for you there, Carlos. Aada says she’s not sure she’d live there, but my heart hopes my guest room has some of her stuff on the walls. I have, in fact, pre-ordered.

I have felt that strong a connection to that baby’s picture for many, many years. She’s older than I am and I was concerned about the microclimate of her pram. Like, WTF? I THINK SHE’S OKAY (well, that’s debatable but we are both “works in progmess.” Our roles are now somewhat opposed. The most hilarious thing happened. Just about the time she got over her girl crush on Brené Brown was when I realized that I was….. just a different version of Dr. Brown. Her, to me: “I just realized that vulnerability does not solve everything. I AM TIRED.” Me, to me, internally: “lord help me Jesus I’m fallin’ down the stairs.”)

I don’t say, “like, WTF?” I have been under the influence of a cis woman and it should wear off in 24–48 hours. However, I will not call my doctor if it doesn’t, it just means that she’s brought a few of my female social masks back. As I was telling her, my female social masks have failed and I’ve forgotten how, in a sense, to be a woman. She reminds me a little too much…. but I’ll keep her.

This is because she finally came clean with me. The reason she’s been so avoidant is that she’s a superfan. She wanted to impress me, and it backfired. We had a huge blowout, but that’s the thing about blowouts. Everything is clean and new again.

Aada is Supergrover, but of course I used a Finnish name generator. I feel I have to neurodivergently explain this because it is yet again another situation where I thought I was going to look like a stalker for moving to a country in which I didn’t even know she’d actually lived. That’s because I moved to DC to meet someone else, and Aada stayed far away from me to cover up what she’d done, making me feel like absolute shit because I thought she loved me- not like that. I thought she loved me like “hell no I will not pick you up at the airport, but here is $50. Dinner is at SIX.”

It’s so much more profound than that. I was right. We need each other now, and we’re bound by the brain. She joked about two old women in Home Depot or some shit and I thought, “I hope we do nothing together someday.” She’s different. Softer.

More vulnerable…………. and it solved everything.

Peace does not happen in a day or a week. I have a general sense that things are calm because my rejection sensitivity dysphoria said, “she thinks you’re a stalker” and her rejection sensitivity dysphoria said, “if this brilliant writer finds out I’m a nobody, I’m done.” This push/pull lasted until I put a stop to it and our friendship. Just went scorched earth because I had her dead to rights.

There is no more reason for her to be evasive. She can show up as her whole self, knowing that I love her truly in her perfection. Divinity is humanity. It is loving each other through these things that make me wonder how her äiti raised such a beautiful girl. We’ve been pen pals for over 11.5 years. She has turned me into her from the inside out.

I have also raised a very, very fine Lanagan in return.

Stabbing Myself in the Chest

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
Describe a phase in life that was difficult to say goodbye to.
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I used to think that the way my relationship came apart with Dana was due to me and me alone. It’s taken me a very long time to realize that no one carries a hundred percent of the blame for anything. That’s the hardest time in my life I’ve had to say goodbye to, because it was all encompassing. There is nothing left, and I am empty. I don’t love Dana, but I care that she’s okay after the fallout. It’s not wrong to want to know that someone has recovered when you’ve mistreated them. It is not wrong to know if there is something worth rekindling later in life (not with Dana, with the friends I got through her. Dana is a no-fly zone because our relationship ended with my glasses smashed into my face. I only let that happen once; even though Dana was my sweetheart, statistics don’t lie and I didn’t want to be that stupid woman who won’t leave in the future. It took a long time to get there.).

We can talk about my emotional affair with Supergrover all you want because I have never claimed that I am an innocent party in our destruction. Let me be clear again that I was the only one that struggled with romantic feelings for both of them, and not having any background at poly, managed to freak them both out at once. It was special. My best answer was “Supergrover is not interested in me, and if she was, that would be a threat. This is okay because it’ll never go anywhere.” It did go somewhere. We were blissfully happy in our little bubble chatting about anything and everything while Dana had no reason to be jealous. She wouldn’t let the relationship settle. If anything, she’d gotten a promotion and I needed a new best friend. When I married Dana, there was a hole in my life- the woman who talked shit about Dana with me so I could be a better person while also getting my feelings out.

My sister-in-law got it. Dana didn’t got it. That a crush lasted a little while, love of Supergrover was forever and those were two separate things. Who among us hasn’t had Schrödinger’s feelings for a friend while you figure it all out? I was angry and mean trying to push her away and she was angry and mean because she wouldn’t let me get away with isolating. This was annoying and necessary, something my mother did to me all the time and I hated her for it. “Just let me be” while also desperately needing someone with whom to talk it all out. You mean someone will check on me? I don’t have to check on myself all the time? I wasn’t a good friend, and I was fired for cause. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t remember that time in my life fondly because there were so many lessons that propelled me to today’s date.

Today, I get to have conversations like “Pippi Longstocking and Moomin are both turning 80 this year. I’m reaching out to all my artists because I could do it with AI but it would suck. I want a short on this.” Someone actually in the entertainment industry had the presence of mind to say “run it by Oy, Ltd (Moomin owners) and Astrid Lindgren (Pippi owners) first.” He did the same thing on the Ramona movie.

I want to go a new direction with Ramona because I don’t think Cleary noticed things about herself that she put into Ramona. She’s a combination of Harriet the Spy and Brené Brown. Her pattern recognition is picking up people’s emotions. This is especially evident in “Ramona and Her Mother,” “Ramona and Her Father,” and “Ramona and Beezus.” Each is an exploration of how she tries to fit in with her family, knowing she is the bookworm and doesn’t even care about being popular like Beezus. I have a feeling this continued because ignoring popular kids is the skill of every Ramona. Her inner monologue is so fine-tuned that you can tell she’s social masking a lot of the time before we knew what ADHD and Autism looked like in women and girls. Perhaps even Cleary was autistic and writing about her own experiences as a neurodivergent child. It doesn’t matter which one you have- some ADHD is debilitating and autism isn’t that bad, sometimes it’s the other way around.

The first diagnosis in medicine is always correct.

It depends.

I have run this by a doctor, a surgeon, and a Naval “Devil Dog” embedded with a team of Marines. All of them have said this is correct, except I think said Head Medic II was akin to “sure as shit.” From all of them, I got the standard compliment you give a doctor when they catch a fascinoma (case they’ve never seen before, like prima facie in law); “good pickup.” I don’t pick things out of nowhere. I have the same kind of pattern recognition House does and I’m just as rude about it (to most people…. to me I am factual and clinically separated because we are talking about issues, not people). I also know what’s above my pay grade and what’s not. And in fact, I have a good redirect I keep in my back pocket to keep people from bothering me, because I wear scrubs as pajamas and run into the neighbors.

Woman comes up with a very ugly rash on her arm and asks me about it. I’ll tell you what happened and then I’ll tell you why I’m a dermatologist. I can make you one by the end:

Ma’am, I’m not an MD. I’m just a medical assistant and it’s been a while since I’ve worked professionally. But what I do know is that you need to call your doctor immediately because you have a severe case of erythema nodosum.

Here’s what I actually said:

I’m not a doctor and I don’t know what the hell it is, so call your PCP/GP and tell them that you have little red bumps of unknown origin. That’s as good as it gets from me, dawg.

That being said, I was made a dermatologist by my rheumatologist stepmother, and I am an expert. Like, I’m the best. Just ask me. Here is why you, too, can be a dermatologist by the end of this article (not really…. please).

  1. If it’s wet, dry it.
  2. If it’s dry, wet it.
  3. If it’s not on steroids, put it on.
  4. If it’s on steroids, take it off.
  5. If you know what it is, don’t touch it.
  6. If you don’t know what it is, for God’s sakes don’t touch it.

This works for everything from horses to zebras…. to use a House reference that is actually a medical axiom…. never go looking for zebras because it’s usually a horse. But then you have doctors like House who get all the zebras in a hospital at once. It’s an impossible job, and it pays less than a surgeon because medicine pays you to cut. You don’t make money until you have a procedure. In rheumatology, these are things like infusing patients with immunoglobulins and Disease Modifying and Reducing Drugs (DMARDs). Lupus (really) comes with all of that and more, like ridiculously high amounts of Non-Steroidal Anti-inflammatory Drugs (NSAIDs), and when that fails, Oxycodone and Methodone.

You have your frequent fliers, but most of the time people are in so much pain that they keep their meds under lock and key, sometimes too weak to swallow them. Injections are your friend, and I wish my psychiatric medications came in syringes I could plunge into my leg every morning for this reason. I have a Pavlovian response to pills and that is the vomit comet.

All of these things make me feel like more of a child than I really am, because who can realistically throw up at the office or into a trash can in a kitchen every single day? Even if I could, that’s “marked as a weirdo” on day one and “something is wrong with her” on day three. I assure you that something is most definitely wrong with me, but the vomit comet is just a medication side effect. I also had a “suuri kuppia kahvia, mustaa” (large coffee, black), which might have something to do with it. I needed the extra push today, so I ordered a large coffee, two 2L bottles of Diet Pepsi, and made sure to refill the cold brew for tomorrow morning. After I am done writing, I am done thinking. It’s time to put on my headphones and zone out, cleaning and de-sanitizing my apartment. It won’t take too long as I just have to get out the trash and vacuum/steam clean. The hard part is turning off my brain, so I carry a notebook and a pencil.

There’s no way I listen to any artist without having thoughts.

Because Swedes and Finns like heavy metal (or some do), I want to recommend an album to John and Thunder Bird. They might like it, they might hate it. But it’s various artists like Serge Tankian (System of a Down) mixed with Bird (Charlie Parker), called “Bird Up.” It’s a hard listen that twists your brain, but it’s the kind of music I need right now. It takes everything up and I cannot think. Music theory is like math. I cannot do anything except sit there when I’m analyzing chords, but I’ve managed to learn to clean while I’m doing it. It’s one of the few things I can multitask. I can also listen to murder podcasts with the rest of the basic bitches, but I cannot listen to political comedy without wanting to stop and write down absolutely everything. I do not care about murder.

My apologies if I sounded mean to basic bitches. As a consolation prize, I will tell you that I am am nonbinary and the last person you would think of when you think of the classic “Karen” image. Supergrover is a Karen on toast when she’s social masking……………….. but she hates pumpkin spice lattes. I like them. I have been smart enough not to tell her.

Until now.

I have no doubt she still likes me as a writer and entertaining her is a goal.

God bless the czar, but keep him very far from us.

This is the blessing I choose to send- God go with her because I can’t. I fell too far too fast to come back up for air. I loved everything about her; everything that came with her was the problem. I would say the same about myself. Once she was my actual friend and not just my fan things went to hell in a handbasket. She tried to prevent it, but I was emotionally unregulated, not her.

Dana had just gotten a DUI. My marriage was taking a toll on me because I didn’t sign up to be Dana’s chauffer for three months and I didn’t sign up to worry about her that long, that hard either. So, it was natural that I was going to other people for emotional support and not a surprise that I caught feelings because I was vulnerable enough to let them get to me…. which they couldn’t have had I not been emotionally laden already. I don’t have any excuses for what I’ve done, I only have context and explanation. I think that neurotypical people are lost in the thought that I am trying to blame other people for my problems rather than trying to figure out what’s mine and what’s not. There are two problems with this:

  1. I resolve my issues, they don’t resolve their issues with me.
  2. If I feel the need to process something before a discussion, it is not me independently exploring how I feel. The goalposts move from actually addressing the problem to the fact that they’re embarrassed about how they acted. This is never their modus operandi, ever, because it’s a lot easier to rip me a new one than to get vulnerable and apologize.

to “I don’t have any culpability in our problem at all because you posted about it.” Exploring my problems on my own becomes “you’re out to get me” even when I’ve said things are clearly not that way. Supergrover has emotionally beaten me up for years over the things I’ve published that “make her look like a villain,” meanwhile every friend I have says that I’m way, way too hard on myself.

Part of this is true; part of this is that I haven’t told her story. That’s her story to tell, and you might start telling her to stop being so hard on herself, too…. because that’s how I feel. It was hard watching her self-destruct in front of me because she thought I expected so much and held herself to impossible standards. How do I know this? She told me that’s what she was doing and that two things were true:

In the moment, she was really mad.

Time goes by, and I “have hit the nail on the head.”

I am alternately the best and worst writer ever to her, when she’s the best and the worst writer to me. We could have had a real future with real money on the table because she likes writing children’s literature as much as I do. I’m working on several projects she’d be perfect for, and it is her choice not to be in my life until she realizes on her own what healthy love looks like. I think she thought that I wanted this toxic dumpster fire, and that’s not true. I gave up when cleaning it up failed year after year.

I have standards for friendship that my friends surpass. I’m not looking for friends, I’m looking for Companions.

I watch “Doctor Who.” I have standards.

The hardest part of my life that I’ve ever had to look back on is finding out what would have happened if Amy had chosen The Doctor.

While I held my weeping angel.

How Can I Keep From Talking?

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 3 Comments

It’s a double entendre because on the Internet, I cannot shut up. In real life, I try to escape talking any way that I can. It’s almost as if I social masked for so many years that I decided I was over it. The turning point for me was establishing that I do not like the phone and I do not care if you think I’m weird. I will adjust to the fact that you think it’s weird I don’t like to talk if you will give me a heads up that I need to talk to you…. and even then, I cannot always respond. I get demand avoidance over speaking because I need to choose my words carefully. I need to pore over every one as if they are precious pearls of wisdom…. because they are.

But only to me.

This web site is not useful for fawning all over myself, and if you’ll notice, I have noticed. That there’s no guts or glory without “writing about what hurts.” It is not because I will get a bigger audience that way; it is not that I will be adored any more or paid any more if I capitulate to the demands of my audience. It’s that I will have written a mountain of work that does not teach me anything about myself when I go back and read it.

I don’t want to know what I had for lunch today, and I can bore the everliving shit out of myself when I go on about Linux. I do it anyway because that is what is interesting to me that day. I just don’t go back and read it. That is for other people who have not stood where I was standing when I wrote it.

I am not immune to the fact that a lot of my stats are bots and are therefore inflated. But over a thousand of you get my words delivered to your desk or phone most days- today three times because I’m agitated about the whole world. That’s actually a thing about being neurodivergent. Our sense of injustice is fine-tuned, which is why I beat myself up badly for every mistake I make and also apply that feeling of anger towards the world when it is burning.

Make no mistake, I am an internal dumpster fire looking for ice because I am overloaded with the needs of my friends both spoken and not. Just because I am not in contact with my friends doesn’t mean my mirror neurons don’t feel them moving in the world. My heart walks out of my chest on a daily basis because I actually know people in Finland and Ukraine who feel threatened. I know Finnish immigrants who are scared for their relatives, and same for people in the US with relatives in China.

It scares me to the point that I will never visit, because my favorite Chinese blogger was threatened by the CCP. He escaped to Hong Kong and is now being actively blacklisted from the YouTube algorithm because apparently the CCP has some influence there.

I do not go where I am not wanted, and China sure the hell does not want me. I would bust them up when I got home. That’s because I notice everything that other people don’t.

I won’t remember your name.

But I’ll remember the way you smiled and what shoes you wore if they were cute.

I’ll remember little things forever, like if I offer you a Diet Coke and you say, “make sure it’s loaded with Jack,” I’ll remember you like Jack until I die.

But your name will not be important.

Your face is.

I memorize lines in faces and go carefully over them, like Mary “pondering them in my heart.” In a lot of ways I am breaking open over the mistakes I’ve made because they’re final and I have to grieve them even though they were necessary to let go of the person I was and become something new.

My whole fight with Supergrover revolved around us both slinking away because we thought we didn’t deserve each other, over and over in a loop that didn’t end until I finally called an end to it. I was rude and rough because I was wet cat claws out. It wasn’t necessary for her, but it was necessary for me.

I didn’t have enough strength to leave without being angry, because hers is the only picture in my mind that’s in color and never desaturates with time. It never will, because the chemicals she left on my palm metaphysically do not lift and won’t.

You do not accept grief, you learn to live around it. I fully believe that there’s a part of each of us that believes the other is not real and are too scared to face our demons. It was easier for her to run than it was to put on her big girl panties and talk it out. Over and over it was this way until she finally told me my narrative was tired.

Easy to pigeonhole a narrative as tired when you’ve never actually addressed anything and I have. Like, I still have questions that now I have to care won’t get answered, and I feel that she has a fuck ton of responsibility that she just decided wasn’t there.

She used my crush as an excuse for years not to get close to me after already dumping everything about her into me that made her interesting in the first place. So I just carry it, and it sits while I wrestle with her all night, walking away with my hip disfigured. It’s just better this way because now I’m only getting the responses I want because I made them up. She turned into a wire monkey long ago, ignoring my cries for affection and closeness as she twisted in a net of her own making.

We alienated each other because we got too close, too fast. Then we pushed each other way….. until the trauma bond started to itch and we’d come together closer than ever….. for a little while.

Kuuma.

Kylma.

Caliente.

Frio.

Hot.

Cold.

Over and over through the years, which is why my pattern recognition says that even though she’s not talking, she’s always listening. A pen pal relationship lives inside you, always. It’s funny that her words come out of my mouth constantly and yet I cannot imitate her properly in person.

But I’ve got her patois down.

What you are seeing is the product of someone completely different than me also being me through social masking what I thought she was. All autistic people need models for social masks, and in retrospect it’s a mixed bag that I chose her. That’s because in some sense, she’s taken on my personality as well. I have turned her into a cook, she’s turned me into a boss.

I couldn’t have made it here without her, and yet I’m good. Thanks.

She broke me down and built me up because her way of thinking was so different than mine. I don’t mean that she emotionally manipulated me in the slightest. I mean that she grew up in a military family and it provided her a lot of structure that I never had. I was social masking perfection and trying to be interesting to someone I view as the brightest mind in the natural world.

I wish I were being hyperbolic.

You just have to understand why my brain is on steroids, why I no longer struggle with suicidal ideation or really depression and anxiety. It’s all autism. All of it. When I can manage my emotions, I do better. Managing my emotions comes from writing it out and not bringing my voice into it. I’m too emotional on the page- in person I’m overwhelming and I know it.

The thing I liked most about her is that if I’m complicated, she’s The TARDIS.

She’s popped off at me too often now. When I try to defend myself, it’s manipulation. All her darts are fair game. Her narrative is tired. Write all you want and I’ll respond.

That turned into “I’m frightened by your output even though I logically know you’re a writer and I’m not so I will completely shut down and hope you don’t notice.” I noticed.

I’m there when she’s all snuggles and light, but I realized that was her social mask. That in all honesty, if I was getting the bitch on wheels, I was actually getting her inner monologue instead of the bullshit that everyone else gets. What made her invincible made me realize she loved me because she realized she didn’t have to front. She could just say, “Lanagan, fuck off.”

Sometimes I wrote it at the end of my letters just to save her some typing.

I feel bad that only my side of the story will ever get told, because she’s more wonderful than I am.

We are both perfect in our flaws, and I want our relationship to rest in peace. She’s back where she belongs, because she decided that traveling with me wasn’t worth it about the time I decided I was done. It was a natural conclusion because I know what I don’t want and it’s someone that completely shuts down and expects me to guess what they’re thinking and what mood they’re in. I don’t pick up social cues.

I have to focus on local so it calms me enough to talk about global. I am over focusing on problems. I am focusing on solutions. The plan to expatriate is real unless the people revolt. There’s probably not a chance of that because Kamala flat out lost. She lost both the popular vote and the electoral college. America has spoken and Project 2025 is everything they wanted and so much more that people regret their votes after being told over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over that all of this would spell destruction and it just wasn’t worth the time to pay attention or to vote. When people get overwhelmed they tune out.

Pod did not, in fact, save America.

I am not bitching about one election loss. I am saying that out and out fascism is already here and enough people aren’t alarmed enough to care about me and my issues, so why not go to a place where they already do? If Democrats continue to capitulate, it will not take one election to restore my passport rights, it will take eight of them alternating. My rights will always be up for grabs and my passport always at risk of being invalidated.

There is a possibility gay marriage will become this way again, and abortion already is. I’m not old enough to be able to relax on body autonomy because I cannot think of a worse idea than pregnancy at 47

I’ve thought about it for almost a minute now. Still can’t come up with an idea worse than that.

I am not cut out to be a mom. I am cut out to be a babysitter. I have never had the energy for other children, even when I was a child. I love them more now than I did then. Back then I was just a third grader who’d swallowed tweed.

It wasn’t until I realized that I had picked my lane early and social masked my way out of it that I became strong again. I’ve always been one of those autistic people that cannot survive in the real world because they live in a world of their own making- you have to literally pull them out of it. It’s just that no one recognized they had to pull, and I couldn’t tell them. I didn’t know the symptoms of autism, and I was not allowed to isolate.

Neurotypical people know better. The room should be loud and interactive. This is true for neurotypical people while I have to Perform Happiness.™️ I don’t have the energy anymore. I want to be authentic so that when I have a bad day, I’m surrounded by people who love me and are not dependent on that mask staying in place.

I am stronger and more capable at my computer than I am in conversation because I do not process voices well.

I come across as demanding while I’m passionate and easygoing when I’m not. You have to know me for a long time before you get into that rhythm and stop taking everything personally. That I am passionate about an idea, I am not “on the attack.” That I cannot perform happiness while talking about devastating things.

Devastating things like money, financial planning, business costs, etc. They are not devastating in and of themselves. It’s that I begin to burn and itch with discomfort because I know my logical function is poor ahead of time and being taught these things is not easy for either party.

I have to learn them cold, because I’m not about problems like these…. I am about solutions that allow me to dance above the clouds when the weather is poor.

A Fourth Reich is coming, because people didn’t believe it was possible.

Surprise.

The Ladder

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I have an enormous task in front of me, and that’s supporting myself in another country. I have a cushion, but not really. It will go fast without either an American job to pay me overseas or a job in another country. I am looking at every single way to do that and school in Finland is probably the last thing anyone would recommend, but it’s not the United States. I know everyone thinks I’m panicking for how good I have it, but if I want something to happen I need to direct the flow. The United States does not deserve my talent and I’m not being precious about my writing. They don’t need my cooking labor. They don’t need my tax dollars. They don’t need me. I am trapped here until the end of November because I do not want to break my lease. That means I am being loud enough about my intentions to make a move like this happen. Because when I’m loud on the Internet, people take notice.

I’ve already had people offer support in helping me get out of the country and I know it will still be there later on. Repatriation takes forever and no one believes it’s real until all of the sudden they actually don’t realize you’ve been living overseas for six months due to the nature of how Facebook works.

For instance, I would bet that some of you still think I live in DC. I don’t. I live in Baltimore. I moved a few months ago and it has been mediocre. I am not completely happy, and I am not sad. I think that a lot would be fixed by moving into a different apartment on the property, so I’m not even necessarily looking to move at the end of this lease, either. That’s because the next application period for Vami isn’t until September. Until then, I’m sending out resumes all over the world while also trying to build my writing into something viable.

I’ve made a lot of dumb choices in my life and am trying to rectify them now, but some of those things will never reconcile. Dana and I had a solid, nuclear, family and we both blew it all to hell. The fallout affected us differently. As I reflect back over all of those choices, I alienated people I need now and it’s too late.

The regret of those choices cannot eat me now, but it has tried for many years. I have treated myself like absolute shit because of those regrets and I feel like I’ve paid all I want to pay for them. It would be a blessing to be able to mend fences, and because I know that is not possible I do know that scar tissue makes you stronger. “Til I Collapse” is running through my head because the Finnish, Mexican, and English languages are duking it out in my head. Wait. Mexican is a murre, not a kieli. Puhun espanajassaa y tengo preguntas con sandias/juevos/whatever your country uses for “balls.”

“Wait. Mexican is a dialect, not a language. I speak Spanish and I have questions with watermelons/eggs/slang for balls here.”

“Questions with Balls” is the best way I could think of to describe asking hard hitting questions. Why do they let me write here? Oh. Wait. I pay them. I am starting to wonder about your taste, but don’t worry. The fact that you read me speaks highly in some circles. Just not in all of them.

But that’s starting to change as well. I make a habit of meeting people all over the world. People in Europe and Canada are objectively more frightened for America than we are for ourselves because so many more of us still believe in the cult than outside our borders. We are taking harsh, harsh criticism and by that I mean that I have been wounded many times with anti-immigrant rhetoric in both directions.

If I bring up a problem, a Republican will say, “you don’t like it? Get out.” I say, “I can’t even change my gender on my passport because you decided I wasn’t a person. I’m trying to get out as fast as I can.” Then I’m a coward, a traitor, and a Nazi. But Elon Musk and Donald Trump are not.

If I bring up a problem, a foreigner will cry with me and say “don’t come here.” If I say I want to immigrate to Finland, I become part of their immigration rhetoric, because they only have one idea what “immigrant” looks like and they are picturing a brown man that possibly wants to live off the government.

When people find out that I’m an American and want to start a media company, it all of the sudden becomes, “well, I don’t count that. You’re not one of them.” I am absolutely one of them, because I’m NOT LIKE US.

Only once have I ever gotten back up on something like this… not this. One woman made a complaint about immigrants drinking all day, and I said, “geez… I hope no one would care if they saw me having a drink in the middle of the day because I work odd hours. What they don’t know is it’s been six weeks since the last one, not last night.” This woman says, “I don’t count that.” Then, this guy says, “well, maybe you shouldn’t make such sweeping generalizations, then.” Sweeping generalizations are how countries function now, especially because of the Internet. What they know about American culture comes in soundbites.

I am taking everything I have ever learned from my time in DC and building it into something new. It’s a miracle what you can do when you don’t have a choice. I know that I will look back on this time in my life and realize that it was the most productive, the part where I really found my true voice and people who read me 10 years ago wouldn’t always recognize me now.

I have limits. I have boundaries. I have tolerated far too much because the only advice I’ve ever gotten in life is to grovel. That eventually someone would be able to put up with me…. as an employee, as a partner, as an anything.

Now, I do not care if I am any of these things, I deserve a voice and I use it. I wish other people would. I wish other people were willing to scream as loud as me and they are out there but not in my apartment. They’re in the UK and Canada and Europe and Africa. One local friend tells me that her kids are AuDHD and queer and there’s no life for them here. I am hoping that she does not notice I’m standing there on moving day…………. She has six children. I’m pretty sure I’m golden.

She is also Finnish, and sees WWIII landing on our doorstep. I do not disagree. I am just too far down the road in planning a Finnish move in the fall to know anything about immigration policies in any other country (except Canada, because I exhausted that research for months when I was 18). Canadian vitriol has convinced me I don’t want to go there. Meag has made it clear that she does not want contact and I don’t know anyone else. I have made it clear with myself that I do not want contact because she was a shitty friend to me from the beginning and doesn’t deny that. I just put up with a lot. So, whatever it is that she’s mad about can rest in peace, because I feel like our entire relationship has been both of us caring about her.

This is not “All Pick on Meag Day.” All the women I have ever loved become my special interest to a degree that they do not want. So, I went the other direction. I decided not to invest in any one person ever again. That, however, has been recent. All of the women in my life are still on this blog in tribute as I age because as much as I might like a mind eraser, there is no such thing. Passing over trauma has never worked, so working through it has become a mantra. Once I really started examining my hangups in fine detail, I could resolve it and move on to bigger and bigger things. My purpose feels enormous, because I know that I not only have the power to communicate, but to facilitate others’ success.

My heartbreak was worth writing down so that I could see later what was really important and what was just filler.

I have watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind several times to remind myself that love is always worth it. Sometimes it even works.

Koi ja liekki (The Moth and the Flame)

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I have a friend who’s an immigrant from Finland (actually, I cannot remember whether she is an immigrant or whether she was born here- whatever, the connection is close) who says that we should not move to Europe anymore, that we should build a queer future in New Zealand. As a fan of Finn Bell, I agree with her. However, I still have concerns about moving anywhere other than Finland despite Russian aggression. This is because I have found a way to move there for cheap. Of course my living expenses would not be covered, but my school tuition is. I don’t have to work very hard to get into culinary school, because I already know I’m a talented cook. I am not the best, and I do not have to be. I could make a bazillion dollars….. if I had it…. by bringing authentic Mexican food to the ski lifts of Levi, and don’t think I haven’t thought of it. I just know that running a restaurant is literally the most expensive thing I could choose to do.

Learning to cook is not.

I know that I do not want to run a restaurant. I know that I want to live the life of a student so that I actually have time to create content for the web. I am slowly networking in Finland, reaching out to Dave, Aleksi, and Cyril (other content creators in the area… Aleksi is actually Finnish, Dave is from the UK and married to another content creator, also Finnish, and Cyril is a student at the culinary school where I want to go, but he’s Indian). Because I want to work with Cyril, it is possible we could open a restaurant once we start making money from our media. It is not “using” the Finnish government for school if you decide that food costs are too high after you graduate. A culinary degree is good for anything, particularly intelligence. I know where I want to go, and that’s not CIA. That’s a quiet agency in the ass end of nowhere.

New Zealand is not “nowhere,” but it’s less exposed than the US. I have been making very inflammatory statements online because they deserve to be heard, but I am not immune to the fact that those are the people the president singles out first. I have loved the US my whole life. I do not want to work for foreign intel because I have any information to contribute; I would only work for US allies, anyway. What I do know is that real life intelligence gets me out of bed in the morning, but in ways you wouldn’t think of when you think of espionage. Like, how does it all work? I don’t have a particular allegiance in mind and generally don’t care that there are foreign spies in the US because don’t hate the player, hate the game.

Here’s where I draw the line.

The line was drawn in the sand when Donald Trump went into CIA’s house and told them that he trusted Russian intelligence more than theirs. It deserves a “Meet the Grahams” level diss track, because the president is a Russian asset. He’s not even bothering to hide it anymore, and Reagan knows all Republicans are going to hell for ushering Russia in the front door…. Hell, let’s just give Putin keys. And if that is not what you, Republican voters, were saying in the last election, then you need to take accountability for the fact that perception is reality. All republicans are traitors. All of them.

There was a mountain of evidence that a felon was not capable of being president, nor was there a mountain of evidence that Trump would change his behavior to the straight and narrow if he got the job. He didn’t even promise to quit drinking like Pete Hegseth. Speaking of which, I wonder how that’s going?

All Republicans are traitors, and the horrifying aspect of it is that you have to have sympathy. They were genuinely taken in by a cult. You cannot be mad at Mitch McConnell telling Kentucky voters that something is bad for them when he should have been doing it for the last 10 years, but here we are.

All Republicans are traitors because the party was lost and you stuck to the message. You stuck to the message that it was ok to be a convicted felon and to be president at the same time. What kind of future have you set up for your children?

All republicans are traitors because they didn’t know they were voting to have the AP press wire barred from the gaggle.

That’s because when AP calls it “Gulf of Mexico,” they’re the ones spreading disinformation. The first echoes of fascism started coming long before now. It wasn’t until I put it together that no one was actually holding you accountable that I decided to get loud. News anchors aren’t allowed to yell “WHAT IN THE ACTUAL EVERLIVING FUCK HAVE YOU DONE TO THIS COUNTRY, YOU BOTTOM FEEDING LOW LIFES?” It was bad when they wanted to kill Mike Pence. It was bad when they wanted to kill Anthony Fauci.

But then you came after Marianne Budde and I realized that I’m not a violent person, but I will slice your throat on paper.

The problem with American Evangelicals is that they are drawn to power like a moth to a flame. They do not care that Jesus was a poor itinerant preacher who loved his friends deeply and valued teaching and praying quietly. If you want to be Jimmy Carter and not Joel Osteen, you’re going to have “Christians” yelling that you’re not good enough because you just don’t hate enough people.

That’s the thing about Evangelicals. Their God hates everyone they do.

When you advocate for that “old time religion,” do you ever stop to think about what it is you’re really cheering?

White straight people had a good time back then, but fuck everyone else up the ass no K-Y.

You are advocating for Jim Crow, for women with no bank accounts and possibly no vote, queer people in the closet and all erasure of gender/sexuality rainbow excluded….. which shuts our country down in education behind the rest of the world. I do not know what everyone else is doing, but I am not going to sit around and watch everyone get dumber. Christian Evangelicals have ruined my life since it began, and you can all go to hell.

I am sure you will get there, because you profess the faith of the master and not of the slave.

I’m not black, but I’m not like us, either.

I’m autistic and depressed, so you think you can control my medications better than my doctor?

I’m nonbinary, and you think you can have that discussion with me as the USG than my doctor as well?

I’m AFAB, and you think you have the right to access to my body that I don’t have? Go fuck yourself.

It’s also amazing that we still have a problem with gun violence in this country considering we haven’t tried anything.

If you get sick, you can just go die.

Love, “Christians”

I am done with all of this and I’m not an emcee on a mic but I definitely feel the energy of a halftime show where America is concerned.

“God bless America? God damn America.”

The black UCC pastor had it down in 2008.

You’re 200 Late.

If I am lucky, fascism will die out quickly. Pattern recognition says I’m screwed for life and I’m dealing with it.

But not the fuck here.

Pro Tips from a Small Writer at Large… Who, Lightbulb, Writes for Medium

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Dedicated to a house and a refrigerator magnet no longer there.

Dear @one4paws (and Bryn B on Medium, if you’re looking for the actual talent in the family),

To the “just being helpful” brigade, I will no longer give you purchase. When people ask me why and how I’m queer or trans, I don’t always sit there and explain. I do when the person is kind and wants to be educated; when they do not, I walk away. I am not going to go 20 rounds with a homophobe, nor will I tolerate this:

Me to them:

I don’t want to fix it. I couldn’t even get married until 2001, and even then, it was a domestic partnership. Let them fix their own problems.

Them to me:

I’m sure the Nazis said the same thing.

Civil Unions did no good except on state taxes. No queer person is asking for special rights. They just call it that in the GOP to fear monger and make you think that queer people are so different. That straight people are not fully capable of evil, but gay people are… because we work in the shadows. That is not my present situation with being gay, that was my situation with being gay.

Lack of being able to file jointly with my wife on federal taxes for so many years and breaking up before we married federally never saved us anything. We didn’t pay much in tax, so a state return was maybe $30. I would have been able to build up more wealth in both Texas and Oregon if my federal taxes had been filed jointly as well. The United States has cost me too much emotionally and financially. I have no choice but to slink off to Europe where my being isn’t offensive and my need for help in my disability doesn’t translate to “you’re a dumbass” all the time.

Hate doesn’t get erased. The goalposts just move.

Before I recognized that I was autistic, it was reinforced that I was a failure. I wasn’t autistic and therefore special needs. I was bipolar and had a personality disorder. It is an absolute shot in the dark as to whether which diagnosis is correct, because a lot of people have both and the same drugs work. The reason I changed my mind and diagnosed myself is that no doctor will diagnose you until you have enough concerns to speak with them.

And then you’re an adult and they don’t want to label you because it creates a stigma; 🎶 stuck in a moment you can’t get out of. 🎸

If I had a slogan for autism, it would be “stuck in a moment and can’t get out of it.” If I had a slogan for ADHD, it would be “not stuck in a moment and can’t get into it.” Perkele and saatana would walk into my brain and say, “I’m so sorry.” That’s because the two disabilities fight, and if my psychologist in Houston was right then, it does not render him wrong now. It means that I cycle too rapidly for Bipolar II and I do not know if there’s a bigger arc overall that comes in months, not half hours. It’s not a personality disorder, it’s how my brain processes logic and emotion. I do not know what you are actually saying without a tremendous amount of clarification. Only my friend @aaronbrown8cc63b4e5d4 and you, my darling friend, have been there through it all with me. The laughter and love as I loved hard and let go, refusing to give up long after I should have. I am not in that lane anymore, and have sped ahead. I do not think I have a future with anyone except the people in my life right now. I have little faith that when people are mad they have enough emotional strength to sit and work things out. Autistic pattern recognition says I’m going to be viewed as a problem, so I handle everything alone.

Props to my friends for becoming great pals and advisors on many things, particularly my clothing because all of them been to Finland, but all of them know what cold feels like and how to beat it. I have people from all over the world in the chat group regarding the future of LMG and I don’t accomplish anything alone. I am constantly looking for ways to monetize queer voices because especially women are not financially validated and suffer even more financially in a female/female couple. And if anyone is offended by polyamory, you can look on a calendar at the exact date and time as to which we even had the option of being monogamous. Pro tip: NOT THAT LONG AGO.

Children, women couldn’t have bank accounts in America until 1974, and their grandchildren think women should be over it. I am so tired of the gold digger narrative that quickly turns into “I thought you were going to wipe my ass and clean up after me” and women think, “I thought you were going to financially support me so I didn’t have three jobs, like working outside the home, maintaining the house, and raising the children.” If they say it out loud, that’s when you get nervous if there’s guns in the house.

Men expect service, and they’re not shy about asking for it, because they are entitled to these things according to their fathers and grandfathers………. while also not doing the work their fathers and grandfathers did to provide. They want a maid who supports them financially so they can do nothing while the children play. This is, of course, not all men… but it’s where our country is going. Make no mistake, women were included in Kendrick Lamar’s “Not Like Us.” Before the blue, there was a stark red and white image that said, “OfKendrick.”

I’m not saying it like that idea is offensive or anything…. I don’t care that he’s a famous rapper, but I definitely care that he’s won a Pulitzer.

I am also still peeved that Matt Damon married someone else, but that’s neither here nor there. I’ve never met him, so my take on it is that he loves his wife more than me, which is appropriate because he met her first. 😉 This does not mean that I am any less capable of being one of his crew. I see the entire cast of Ocean’s Eleven as colleagues, and I’m not kidding because George Clooney bought “Argo” and then Ben Affleck directed it. Therefore, I’ve never met them, but I feel a kinship to all of them. It’s like the Coen Brothers. John Goodman is also my homeboy.

I’m scared of Clooney, but I have picked up some tricks from Kendrick Lamar and 50 Cent……

Did you guys know that Ja Rule planned a return concert and was bugging out because the tickets were selling so fast….. only to find out that 50 had bought most of the tickets? Josh Johson told that joke in his standup and I nearly fell on the floor. He’s my favorite comic, so I joined his YouTube channel to see how he workshops his material. He posts his deep cuts to YouTube and you can see them all for a small fee. Josh is a master class in storytelling, and the point is to learn style and structure. I am not a comedian.

I am sometimes clever.

People perceive me as having a lot of false humility and virtue signaling; that I manipulate people. That is not true. I am autistic and do not pick up the proper social cues. I am also not afraid to fail. Me speaking my mind is different from me anticipating your reaction, and it took me until about 12:00 this afternoon to realize that was the case (I realize it all the time; I backslide and this is just another mountaintop day). People do not take in that their actions hurt me just as much as my actions hurt them. Such is the nature of life. I am not trying to oppress you by being me.

There is no queer agenda and there never has been. Quit spreading lies until you flip the script and get it through your (proved by science) smaller capacity to be open-minded. Realize that the queer agenda is the same rights you have. No more, no less. If we get really busy we might add laundry.

But no promises.

Don’t you agree?

I love you, Bryn. Thanks for always being there for me, and I’m excited that you’re getting to know Aaron, too. Someone needs to make him behave. Might as well be you.

😉

Schengen -or- Finnish Grammar for Dummies, and by That, I Mean Me

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment


Sometimes life tells you where you want to go, but not before you can silence yourself enough to hear the answers.

The Schengen Area has become my next goal in terms of a passport. I have redirected in terms of options, not final decisions. I have until the end of November to make a final decision, and I have many before me. The Netherlands has a refugee program for trans people, and it is cheap to start a business. Finland is the cheapest option in terms of going to culinary school for free. I believe that Schengen will be more useful later in life if the British apologize.

I am not stuck on any one thing. I am trying to map everything out. I work backwards. The goal is a Finnish passport because it’s so much like Oregon. Any job becomes available to me once I speak Finnish fluently, and I’m on my way for it being day 23. I am finally understanding how verbs work and a few of the ways singular becomes plural. Finnish is so difficult that it takes up my entire brain, and that’s what I like about it. I cannot function on the constant barrage with what’s going on in my country. Laws are changing too fast and if I leave the country, I may not be able to get back in. Trans people are being harassed at the airport and their passports taken. At that point, I shut down:

  • a dog is a koira, dogs are koirat. Form follows function. A cat is a kissa, cats are kissat.
  • Romance language grammar sometimes applies. Minä olet is “I am.” Sinä olet is “you are.” Me olemme is “we are.” Ne ovat is “they are.” You can leave out the pronoun if it’s conjugated in the verb.
  • There is no pronoun…. and I’m crying when I say this…. to indicate the gender of the person speaking.

Hän on is both “he and she is.” The Finnish language is nonbinary.

You cannot legislate hearts and minds on trans issues, so there’s discrimination everywhere. But what Finns will die to protect is human rights. Having a Schengen visa opens me up to being able to live more places, essentially being able to live in Finland whether I have actual Finnish citizenship or not. I do not hate America for what it has done. I am a political science student. I will never not be a political science student interested in both State and CIA, because they do the same job. One is just public, one is just private. I am not as interested in DIA and the military, but not because I don’t like them. I just prefer information to violence because that’s where I’m the most capable.

One of the things that I talked to with Bryn was being secure that I was not offering to be approachable to foreign intelligence agencies because I have any information they’d like to have, unless what kind of cookies my boyfriend used to eat at meetings is burning inside them. He shared nothing, and we’re not together anymore (sadly- we just weren’t going in the right direction together- no harm, no foul).

I said I was approachable on both web sites as a message in a bottle to intelligence agencies that need me because they’re dying to recruit people and trans talent isn’t needed here.

Fuck you, Mr. President.

I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be and more of a woman than you’ll ever get. Choke on it, motherfucker.

But I’m not bitter.

If you’re wondering why I’d curse out the president, it’s because he said he’d grab me by the pussy on a hot mic that was intentional. It wasn’t even locker room talk…. not that it’s excusable. It’s just comprehendable. None of this makes any sense and I am struggling to understand why I should go on in this country. I do not mean in terms of struggling with suicidal ideation. I mean begging for a way out.

Applying to countries that have jobs in the Schengen region is my first choice. Somewhere like Starbucks would have no problem training me in the US and possibly paying for my flight to work in The Netherlands or wherever they operate in the region where the store works in English.

A restaurant would be better in Finland because it’s an easier transition. Terms are all in French. I could work in Viet Nam, I could work in Afghanistan, I could work in Tanzania, I could work in The Phillipines. Doesn’t matter. Cooking is French. Escoffier brought it to Europe and the rest of the West, Ho Chi Minh brought it to Asia and the East.

The problem is that I am really not capable of working in a restaurant, but the lighter load of culinary school fits. It’s an easy A compared to Finnish uni. I’m interested in getting my sword, but uni is cheap and I need a way to work through it. Culinary school is free and I might not. It depends on what happens between now and the end of my lease. I can’t default on it because even though it wouldn’t follow me, it would follow my dad. That’s what happens when you have money and not income.

My mother died. I have some time to rebuild now. I’m using it. I’m being up front because people ask me all the time how I’m living. I have to live rough so my expenses are covered for a number of years, but I’m okay.

I have a possibility of collaborating with others, and we’ll discuss that if and when it happens. Just know that I’m riding the Rainbow Railroad for all it’s worth because trans talent and money is not needed here.

There is a great big correlation between leaving the country and leaving the church. The United Methodists told me for years I was a sinner while taking my money and I didn’t have a choice.

Instead of staying and participating in a system that I have to fight against until I’m black and blue, I want to use it to move into a different system where there is no homelessness and consistent medical care. Prevention is worth an ounce of cure. If you can go to the doctor every time you sneeze wrong, there probably won’t be million dollar surgeries in your future. But you can’t do that in some states when you’re poor. Luckily, mine is not one of them. But my home state is, so that’s not an option unless I just think, “I’ve lost my fucking mind, why not lose it completely?”

As I was telling Phillipa, one of my new writers, “I could buy a house in NE Texas and settle down permanently, but then I’d have to live there.” Of course there would be perks, like immediate access to my family. However, I would lose everything in terms of the social network. The Deep South is not my place anymore, as if it ever was. Maryland’s politics are more in line with Albany than Richmond. Virginia continues to struggle deeply with St. Bob- what a Northern Virginian told me a Southern Virginian calls Robert E. Lee, thus the disconnect in Virginia culture. Maryland is objectively safer for minorities, and home of the greatest intelligence officer who ever lived.

I am not being specific here, because Harriet Tubman, Jonna and Tony Mendez all lived here. Jonna lives in Virginia now, where she’s on the board at the Spy Musem. I’ve met her several times and she’s delightful. We’re not close, but I admire her greatly.

“In True Face” is essential reading if you want to know what happened to Tony after “Argo,” and “The Moscow Rules” is the last book they wrote together. The reason I pick “In True Face” and “Argo” as your introduction to real life intelligence is that you have to be able to pick out Jonna and Tony’s voices separately and you cannot honestly do that until after Tony dies in Jonna’s timeline. I told her that.

Congratulations on owning yourself.

Her lip trembled because she knew what I meant. It was the second time I’d made her cry, and I’ve written about the first time so much that I don’t need to tell it again. I have felt those emotions and they don’t dissipate with each writing. It’s an experience I’ll remember forever because it changed the direction in which I wanted to go.

Jonna decided to go to a wedding in Europe, and that was all it took. She was a citizen of the world who had the fortunate and unfortunate experience of loving two intelligence officers. The only reason I say it is unfortunate is that she had to learn how to hang quickly, and as you read it’s a different kind of love. It’s harder to watch someone else going through a thing than it is to go through a thing. It’s easier when you’re both going through a thing at once.

It’s not a trope that spies date each other. It’s reality because they never leave the office because they can’t.

They’re as trapped as line cooks during a shift, and the reality is that cooks are often messengers for intelligence and waitresses are the silent witnesses that listen to everything. No one cares if a female waitress is listening, so waitresses are often spies in a uniform and people don’t notice.

Social masking is everything. Intelligence is nothing more than a small stage, which you will learn by rote as I did if you get into the rabbit hole of Jonna and Tony’s voices. I don’t enjoy the idea of doing these things. I enjoy the idea of hearing these things. All I do is talk to people on the Internet. It doesn’t matter where they’re from. If they’re not extremists with an agenda, I’m all in.

I just realized that I should rephrase in terms of being willing to work for allies. Fuck Mossad and IDF. They’re more powerful than Palestine and have held it over their heads. Palestine gets the jump on them one time and it’s excuse for resettlement and make no mistake it could turn into genocide quickly if Netanyahu all of the sudden decides he wants their resettlement land, too. There’s no guarantee the Americans would not support him in this now.

American Jews and Evangelicals are responsible for a lot of this and I am not being antisemitic. I am being political. The Christians and the Jews have decided that the Muslims don’t have a book that’s valid, only they do. Therefore, money is being piped into Israel at a rate that is unsustainable to ever make, much less keep, Palestine sovereign.

But Mormonism and Scientology check out? Please.

The reason Americans are so racist is that you don’t hear about modern Muslims in the news. You hear about terrorists. My answer is a big fat “I Will Walk With You,” the Twitter campaign that took off and made me proud to be an ally…. and “Muslims Report Stuff” completes me.

But the thing is, I’ve been ecumenical since I was born, hungry for information about all religions and not just mine. I have even watched documentaries on Mormonism and not just from escapees. I wanted to understand doctrine because if you’re going to ridicule something, you have to know it cold. I would believe that the Mormon episode of South Park took an enormous amount of research or an all call to the jack Mormons everyone knew in the writer’s room.

I do not ridicule religions that make you better. I ridicule cults because they do not focus on self improvement. They focus on glorification. Religion is not responsible nor helpful unless it begins from the perspective of “every problem begins with me.” I have no qualms about accepting the consequences of my actions as long as I’m allowed to have them. I do not want to be forced into reading minds again, because that is the essence of learning to manage high functioning autism. It is balancing the expectations in other people’s minds versus a very real dysfunction in managing energy.

It is never “dumber” vs. “smarter” with high functioning autism. It is how well you can fit into society. It is how well you can manage your own energy in the face of needing and wanting more space. When Aaron and I move in together, I want a house with a lot of space that neither one of us have to manage. It is not bougie, it is reality. We need help and hiring it out is the one problem that money solves with autism.

In other countries, this neurological difference is recognized (even here, in some states) and you have a social worker to manage these things for you- like a nurse to administer medication and home help.

I’m not old. I’m 47.

This doesn’t make autism less difficult, and I need people to recognize that I am not bitching about problems, but working on solutions. I am tired of having to fight for things like:

  • a service dog to counterbalance my weight
  • an assistant or social worker to manage my bills and house
  • the right people to live with me and help take care of me as I take care of them.

I am tired of fighting for a life of interdependence when Europeans already do things that way. In Finland, you have no choice. In that climate, you bond through those hard activities. You help your neighbor first, because Finns have to recognize that you’re willing to put in the work to maintain a friendship before they give it. That doesn’t mean buying them a present. That means getting in the snow and helping them dig. Philippa, Aaron, Bryn, and I are all interested in spending time there, as is my friend Aaron B. As in, Bryn and AB might not want to move, but they’re not frightened by snow and would love a Finnish vacation once in a while.

I told everyone in my Finnish discussion group (we’re all learners, so it’s mostly English… I am not this advanced) that I was learning Finnish because of the culture surrounding language, not because I cannot get by in English just fine. I’m also a writer, so understanding the rules of grammar is essential. One day I’d like to be able to publish in that language, and I’m on a bit of a deadline.

I’m not going to make it, and that’s okay.

My route to the YKI is long and winding, but it’s definitely what gets me up in the morning. I have a ton of Finnish friends, but none of them have anything to do with this.

It’s that over time, I realized that living in Skyrim was indeed possible.

If You’re On Facebook, You Can Skip This

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I’m posting it all over everywhere.

Dear Ben Affleck & Co.,

This whole idea started with the banner above.

I have addressed this letter as such because I believe that you, like me, have a village. If I write a letter to you, I have written a letter to Jennifer Garner and Matt Damon by proxy. Don’t think I don’t know who’s really running your program. That ex-wife of hers has her head on straight. God, you lucked out. Here’s how I knew it was for life no matter what form your relationship took…. “Jen, you’re the only one I want to do the work with.” You were criticized in the press while your heart was beating outside of your chest in public. You were bleeding out. I saw you. I didn’t know that your relationship with Jen was in trouble, but I do know that people whose relationships are in trouble word things carefully in public. It was the biggest mea culpa I’ve ever seen in my life. You were Taylor Swift before Taylor Swift and everyone missed it because they were so focused on the idea that love should be perfect all the time, in every way.

Sometimes, love is ugly.

“I’m the problem. It’s me.”

I can picture that conversation happening a hundred times in your life as you’ve struggled with addiction (and statistics say bipolar when you quit). You don’t quit addictive behaviors and neurodivergence when you stop drinking. You find other ways to get dopamine besides drinking and using.

In that moment, I felt like you were telling Jen straight up that now your drug was her, and it was healthy because it made you want to be a better man. If that’s not how you meant it, I know it had to be an approximation. This is because I’ve never struggled with alcohol, but I know what it’s like to experience addictive behaviors due to autism and/or Bipolar II (I am concerned at the rate these are mistaken, but I get it because the meltdown/burnout cycle presents exactly like hypomania and depression. So, no matter what form your neurodivergence takes, whether it’s:

  • Mental Illness Genetics
  • Neurodivergence Genetics
  • Self-induced Neurodivergence (the binge/purge relationship you have with dopamine once you become an addict)
  • PTSD (trauma due to one event)
  • CPTSD (complex, chronic PTSD like having an abusive childhood, then being sent to war)

…you’re going to be damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

Sometimes, love is being hopelessly addicted to the affections of an addict who cannot return them…. As in, you feel addicted to the high you feel when you are with them, but they disappear when it counts. It is why relationships among all these types of people fall apart early and often. They suck each other into their own little worlds and spin out with codependence as their reality becomes its own. It’s especially toxic when you’re addicted to someone, and you also need to leave them. That happens all too often as well. For instance, none of these people take criticism or compliments well. Their self-esteem has been in the toilet forever due to people not understanding their love language and their communication/attachment styles.

All of this is pointing toward two things. Here is the first:

Sometimes, love is being hopelessly addicted to someone you believe is manipulating you, when they’re just neurodivergent and don’t pick up social cues well; they’re losing the plot faster as the script fades; their social masks have worn out and they’re heading toward burnout. I honestly believe that’s why stars develop a reputation for showing up late. They cannot all be obsessed with themselves. Sometimes, getting up the energy to social mask takes longer than others.

Going off on a tangent, I wonder if that’s why women like taking their time in the bathroom to put on makeup, because it accomplishes two things- giving them a longer transition time toward work in the morning, at the end, a literal social unmasking. It would not be surprising to hear Jonna Mendez say that part of the reason being a spy while female is less dangerous is that they’ve learned more about how to social mask a situation than men ever will. They’ve been taught how to behave since childhood, the rigamarole of finding a man drilled in early.

Some women use those skills for a career in intelligence and forego getting married, because either they’re ace and don’t need to attract anyone on that level, or they’re just not interested in “doing the work with someone.” However, I do not mean that in the classical sense, the way Russia cultivates a culture of seducing men to get what they want. I’m sure it’s very effective, however.

No, what I’m talking about is a woman’s emotional intelligence, because it is often (not always) sharper than a man’s. Their innate biological conditioning makes their pattern recognition of men different than their pattern recognition on behavior in themselves. That’s why there should always be neurodivergence and women at the table. Solving a problem requires all three perspectives for correct analysis of behavior. No one of us will be right, but we’ll all be right together.

That is how it feels to have my processing disorder, AuDHD. Nicknamed “the golden ADHD,” it wins the award for being the most complicated thing on earth. Every decision is damned if you do, damned if you don’t. If something is good for my autism, it drives my ADHD insane. If something is good for my ADHD, my autism will slam on the brakes so hard I will go through the winshield….. and I’m not even lying. Most neurodivergent people are afraid of success because they get overwhelmed easily with fine amounts of detail. The energy it takes to manage a schedule and your spoons is a roller coaster at best, and my personality depends on which processing disorder is driving the bus. So, sometimes I want to go for ice cream at 0200 and sometimes I cannot leave the house. Sometimes everything sounds wonderful, sometimes sensory deprivation does. And due to lack of emotional regulation, most people see a different side of me every time they talk to me.

I have learned to go into sensory deprivation when I’m angry so that I don’t say things I regret. It’s not helpful or healthy to let anyone in on autistic rage, which is terrifying. I have true out of body experiences when I go into full on meltdown, and the first time I remember it happening clearly was when I was 16 and “growing into my powers.” It’s honestly the first sign I can point to in terms of it being emotional abuse. My emotional abuser was coming back to town for a graduate school or a wedding or something. I was getting ready for church and I made a mistake with a hair curler or a crimper or something. I realized I was going to have to take a shower to fix it and I just melted down entirely. It was the first time I’d ever had a full on panic attack where I went blind and couldn’t see with rage. I hurt myself. I don’t remember how. With a curling iron or something. I couldn’t stop myself because feeling the burn on my skin brought me back into my body. That’s how deep autism makes you dive into your own little world. It takes something as shocking as a curling iron burn to redirect your attention.

In the meantime, I am dealing with autistic overload and most people don’t see how hard it is…. It’s a running monologue fighting with your social masks. As a neurodivergent person of any kind, your first impulse is wrong.

A huge example, Ben (& Company) is that I found the only woman in the world I wanted to do the work with, and we’ve both pissed each other off so often that we’re tired. Really tired. I felt your love for Jen in that moment…. Wanting to better myself because I was high on life and not experiencing the world as the concept of “alone.” I was experiencing the world with an ace up my sleeve. Someone to call me on my bullshit whose mind was in more hyperdrive than my own. But there was just A Series of Unfortunate Events. I don’t know if we’ll ever rekindle anything, because the last e-mail I got from her said, “don’t play games,” and playing a game was the last thing I would ever do to her. She’s too smart. She’d see it coming. The problem is that her perception is off- she sees me as entitled, arrogant, etc. I’m not. I don’t have a script for our relationship in any way, shape, or form. It has failed due to my lack of social masks.

So much goes into me having been called “entitled,” particularly by people of color. They are trained to view me as dismissive because I’m white, not because I’m autistic. That’s not on them. My autism is not an excuse to be an asshole. I can be taught, redirected…. But I cannot suddenly become allistic. And if there was a magic wand, I don’t think I’d want to be. My neurodivergence is what makes me capable of believing that writing a letter to Ben Affleck & Co. is possible.

I’m not writing to Ben Affleck & Company for anything except to keep our heads down and work on scripts. I also think it would be rude not to tell them I can afford about $800 in rent if Ben does want a housemate who has his back. It’s not like I value having his money. I just want to write together- to get a seat at the table.

I write like Ben and Matt because they write like Aaron Sorkin like he writes like Amy Sherman-Palladino with monuments.

It’s all neurodivergent patois.

That we incubated at our respective performing arts high schools.

Tupac, Jada, Dave, and I are all the same person.

To each other, we’re just other people’s weird performing arts kids.

Not only that, Jennifer Garner is a preacher’s kid.

Preacher’s kids make great spies, Ben. I have discussed this extensively. And in fact, there’s a famous video of Jonna Mendez taking down movie and TV spies. Jen’s was the only one that Jonna said was so good she could use it in a training video.

Come to DC. Keep your head down.

We’ve got work to do.

Yours,

Someone else’s weird kid

The spiky ball… part deux

~ one4paws ~ Leave a comment

Hi there y’all, it’s Bryn.

So grief. It is a spiky ball of pain. It’s sadness, it’s fear, it’s disappointment. It’s relief, it’s fits of rage, it’s fits of sobbing and screaming and keening on the floor. For me anyway.Because for me, when something happens that needs grieving, all the grief I have ever felt is connected and not only am I needing to feel through the current thing that is lost, but all the things that were in any way connected to that loss.

Here’s an example:
When I was going through my divorce, it wasn’t only the grief of the marriage, it was the loss of the 15 year friendship he and I had before we ever started dating. It was knowing I would only have 2 of the 3 dogs constantly in my life. It was losing mutual friendships I knew would “side” with him even though we eventually stepped apart mutually and peacefully with love still in our hearts for each other and never asked anyone to pick sides. It was loving him and knowing we weren’t right for each other anymore. It was grieving the version of me who does love him and was right for him, because that was gone too. It’s being left with all the memories of the history and energy and time spent, being laid to rest.

I’m sure you’re seeing it, that what hardly anyone talk about is that grief is so multifaceted that you can’t know how much you will have to grieve when something happens until it happens and all the connections are torn from you. Until you are faced with this gaping hole that used to be a person or relationship that was a sustaining factor in your life. Now that one of the support beams is broken or gone, the house is falling down. It’s an entire overhaul of life to make stability an option again. And unless the other support factors in life are there and willing and strong enough to hold up the building while one sorts through the wreckage, this person writing, finds that structures crumble. That old systems that used to work great must also be overhauled. That every point of life that touched the support beam person or relationship that is gone, must be examined and built new, different, stronger.
As is evidenced by the first part of this spiky ball, the grieving keeps a comin’. So for me, the rebuilding, remodeling, reassessment and restructure never stops.
This year I have had 5 structural damaging grief events. I am not fine. I look fine, I am functioning. But there is so much damage and pain inside me that I am working through. And everytime a new thing happens and I want to reach for support, I remember that Ben is also dead. That the person who I could always reach for is at his own rest now. That I am left to open the grief of his loss again because I just want him to answer the phone and tell me he’s with me, he’s on the way to give me a hug and I am not alone. And when my childhood home burned, all the memories there, of life being lived, being released into the ether by fire.
How cleansing right? Until you look at the literal mess left and it’s a hearty reminder of the mess of emotions and memories I have to sort through, find places for. The tidying of this soul is an ongoing process, and life keeps throwing more messes to be tidied.

Grief is a spiky ball of pain, and I have found that as time passes, and there is some space and felt emotions that the spikes, they dull down a little at a time. And sometimes, like with grandma passing, it’s different and somehow easier, because 94 years is a long time to live for a person, and she has earned her rest. She deserves to be peacefully with the loves of her life and not to suffer. The losses that “make sense” are easier for me to come to terms with, so I try to find the sense in each loss. And sometimes the spikes dull, and even the ball may shrink. So while it’s still bouncing around in my heart, when it touches a sensitive place at least it doesn’t always lacerate, and tear the wounds wide open and bleeding again.

I just find myself wishing right now that there weren’t so very many spiky balls of pain bouncing around inside of me, stabbing at my heart and soul. I am sad, and I am tired, and I am tired of being sad.

The spikey ball that is grief. From Bryn

~ one4paws ~ Leave a comment

It’s been a while since I have sit down and written anything.  A lot has been going on in my life, well not a lot, but it feels like a lot because of how heavy the things are.
Early this summer (or late this Spring, 2024) my last grand parent passed away.  She was the real matriarch of our family. She was the loving, foundation. 
Losing people I love is always difficult for me. I have a long list of loss in my life, so long that I have C-PSTD around grief in general. For those that may not know, “regular” PTSD is usually something that happens to someone who goes through one traumatic event. Complex PTSD is a cumulative build up of repeated traumatic happenings.
Growing up, I knew about death. I was a farm kid enough to have raised our own cows for meat, and chickens for eggs. We had pet rabbits and I learned early what the food chain was.  I remember vividly once, as a toddler, comforting my aunt because my rabbit had gotten out and the dogs had killed it. (Now is not the time to discuss deeply, but I am aware now how as a 3-year-old I was somehow responsible for the adult’s feelings), We had dogs and cats too, who we had to send over the rainbow bridge. Early in my life I knew what death was.
Then, one night, I was 19 or 20 years old, at the drive in with some friends. I got a call from my boyfriend at the time and he was frantic.  He had gone for a drive with some friends of ours and had gotten in a horrific crash. The car flew off an embankment and immediately killed my two friends on the driver’s side in the car. 
We talked enough that I could get some information from him about where they were and who was with them and call 911. He helped the other survivor out of the car, and despite both of their injuries, he pulled the other person up the embankment and to the side of the road where he could flag down help.  I was in a panic for a good while, until his family told me which hospital he was taken to and he was stable. I also learned then that the other two people in the car, were in fact, dead.
This was my first brush with death and loss of human loved ones. The first two viewings I ever attended, the first two funerals I went to. They were my friends Lucas (18years old) and Sydney (16 years old). This car wreck changed our lives, my own and everyone in our community.  I learned that I never need to attend another viewing, because for me, the last memory I want of my loved ones is them alive.


Editor’s Note:
I wish I hadn’t gone to my mother’s funeral. It was the last image I have of her and it is stuck the deepest. I would have missed the church service, but I was creeped out long before that. I showed up and smiled. I was just intimidated. I turned on the preacher’s kid and muscled through. I will also never be the same.


And I learned how mortal we are. I learned that you always say goodbye before you leave, because it might be the last thing you say. I learned to tell people that matter to me that they matter, because they could be gone tomorrow.
Several years later, my first grandparent died. My sweet old Grandpa “Weird”. The death of an elder is different than the sudden loss of young people.  The is all this time to prepare yourself for the loss of our ancestors, watching them slowly fade.  And Grandpa had dementia, so he was mentally lost to us years before his body and soul were gone.  But I remember his funeral too, and that I had a panic attack most of the drive and before we went into the church.
Then, I worked in biomedical research with primates for 17 years. As an animal lover, I was always so happy to be able to be taking care of those amazing animals. To be there to advocate for them, and spoil them at every opportunity. But they were purpose bred to sacrifice their lives in the name of science. It was my job, for many, many years, to be the person who sedated and carried these animals, some that I had known for their whole lives, to the end of their study and necropsy.  So, I just kept stacking losses, on losses. For 17 years I made friends and took care of those monkeys, and for17 years, I compartmentalized the losses.
It seems counter intuitive to say this, but I am going to glance over the 8-month period of time in which my partner at the time and I had to say goodbye to both of our heart dogs, his grandfather, his young cousin, and our friend died young and suddenly too.  Needless to say, it was a bad time for us.
Then my first Grandmother passed, she was not the easiest person to love, but she was someone I could always call and tell her in full honesty the worst things I had ever done and she would save me from the shame spiral. (Which seems a little ironic, because I think she is also the one that taught my mother the same spiral who then passed that special skill on to me, but anyway) She would never sugar coat or deceive. She shot that arrow right through you because truth is. But she would never shame me with the truth, just ask the hard questions that allowed me to choose what kind of person I wanted to be.
Two years ago, my other Grandfather left us just before Christmas. I got to go see him not too much before he passed, while he was in the hospital. I got to go be there for my poor Daddy while his father faded.
And now we are here. Where I am I think maybe today even, at the one-year anniversary of sending my deaf and blind dog Duncan over the Rainbow Bridge.  And Thanksgiving will be a year since my rock, my best friend, my brother Ben passed away.
Ben, I could always count on. He knew that trust mattered to me. He was the most consistent and loving person in my life since I was in 6th grade and he sat behind me in advanced band, where most 6th graders were not.  HE played the baritone sax and I played the flute. And his brother was friends with my brother and I felt so special that I got to be friends with all of them.  Our families were so close. Are so close still.  I am so blessed to be able to feel so deeply for people, that it destroys me when they are gone.
Then in May, in the airport, on the way home from 2 weeks on the other side of the country to visit my partner’s family and My Leslie, I learned that my grandma was on her way out of this mortal realm. This one was really hard for me, because we got home and the next evening I went to house sit for a fried of mine.  Not something I could just drop or call in sick to. So, I got to say goodbye to my grandmother on video chat. She wasn’t really responsive to most input from people in the room, she was barely conscious, but when I told her I loved her and that I would be taking as many of her plants to live with me as I was able. She perked up, she acknowledged me and tried to speak, which didn’t work, but I was so glad to know she knew I was with her too, even if only in spirit.

Now, even more has happened, there is always happenings, and will always be more happening, because I am still here. And I will continue to feel as deeply as I am able. Thanks for reading.

I have so, so much more to say, stay tuned for more.

No Matter What

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Nonbinary children lose a set of social masks the moment they move away from their first family. This is because if their partner is female, they’ll lose their male social masks because they’re not living with their father. They’ll lose their female social masks when they’re living without their mothers.

Therefore, it is not surprising to me that coming out as nonbinary happened about a decade after my mother died, because it took that long for my female social masks to erode, but once they were gone, I could not bring them back. Having other women in my life is not the same. My behavior and judgment of it is my mother’s voice in my head, judging my father’s reactions. I know this to be true because like most people who have had breakups, a tiny drop of her hated me because I reminded her of someone she didn’t want to spend time with, yet here she was spending time with them.

Our relationship was so much more complex than just me being queer. I handle everything like my dad would, so I constantly hit every emotional trigger he ever wired.

I’m not saying that the relationship wasn’t a success. It had to be if it lasted 23 years. People grow apart.

Resentment doesn’t have to be monstrous for it to be felt by children. They just didn’t have the best relationship after they divorced, and I came out as queer. That meant that whether it was me or Meagan, she didn’t understand. I didn’t feel safe talking about any of my relationship issues with her because she took it so badly the first time around. Yes, the first time around. She didn’t think I was old enough to decide something like my sexuality which was translated to “you need to be straight for my comfort level.”

It’s devastating to be bisexual, because when you’ve been in a heterosexual relationship before you come out, you see the depth and breadth of your family’s homophobia. I am not saying that I was only with Ryan to please my mother. That’s ridiculous. You just can’t believe how acutely mirror neurons pick up the difference in how my partners are treated based on gender. That’s why if my Dad asked to meet Zac, he’d go because I’d enjoy it. Zac and my dad both love cigars. I love sitting and listening to men talk. I never introduced my mother to another man. I knew I had heterosexual privilege (when I dated men). I didn’t need to be reminded of it. To feel acutely that since I had a boyfriend, my partner was valuable was so painful it put me on the ground at 14. Therefore, I have traditionally shied away from relationships with men because “falling from grace” only needs to happen once. Going back up is when you realize that straight people are homophobic and queer people are prejudiced. Now that it can’t possibly get back to her, I can say out loud that the message from the moment Zac said he’d be opening to visiting with my dad if they were ever in town at the same time, I said “sure.” Because I know in advance that Zac wouldn’t matter less than Dana to my Dad, but I would see that bullshit constantly in my mother like I’d “leveled up.”

My family is not a monolith. There are too many opinions and feelings among us to say they did anything about my clan. I had the range of receptions, from good to bad. However, nothing truly extreme on the evil end of the spectrum, like getting disowned or excommunicated from the church. Just limited from being ordained and married in the church denomination where I’d been baptized. It was a long day’s journey into sideye and love the sinner, hate the sin (with pie).

However, it is actually David that I social mask, because I live with him

……………..after leaving my first family.

Leslie Lanagan is Completely Fine

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

One of the books that has really touched me over the past few years is “Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine.” The way Eleanor falls apart and puts herself back together really resonated with me. At first, she’s quiet and mousy. Then, over the course of the book, she develops into a real person. Self-actualized. More than she thought she was.

I’m on a journey to find that, too, but I’m still in the middle. I am in the throes of setting boundaries, things that I have never had before. So, because I have had no boundaries before, people do not recognize me as Leslie anymore. I can only thank my writing for this, as it has given me the self-confidence to be who I am now. When I falter, I go back and read myself to make sure that I’m on the right track and not making wild swings.

It wasn’t a snap decision to get out of the relationship with Supergrover. It was a snap decision to get into it. I “married” her within 15 minutes, for two reasons. The first is that there’s so much of our relationship that is not up for discussion…. and by that, I mean publication. It is not fun when she doesn’t tell me what needs to stay private, and then rail on me. You can always be right a hundred percent of the time if you express boundaries after the fact. As in, it’s not that you should have told me what’s fair game and what’s not. It’s that you want the right to be angry later.

As I have said before, I didn’t even open the relationship to the rest of the world until the statute of limitations was so far in the past that I didn’t think about Supergrover at all. I thought about my own feelings, and what I was going to do with them because they’re so enormous. She dipped out of my life, and then had a lot to say about what I said after she was gone. It didn’t seem right or fair to hold me to a standard she never set. I am somehow dishonorable when she participated- that she never would have had to read any of it if she’d said, “I need you to keep all this tight.” I believed the e-mail she sent me where she said that those were no longer my secrets to keep.

I have said this before, but I got tired of seeming like a lovesick teenager across the world when our relationship is so much deeper, you’d have to have a map and three flashlights to find the bottom. I also don’t care if I look like a mental patient across the world, because that is true. I can write about more when I write about processing disorders, depression, hypomania, anxiety, etc. It is also not surprising that autism creates depression and anxiety. You feel like an alien all day long. No one can stand up to that kind of pressure, so our humor is very, very dark. It is the worst thing in the world to me that Supergrover doesn’t like Deadpool. She’s not a merc, but she’s got the mouth for it. She’s so damned funny.

But there’s a flip side to all of it:

“How long has it been since you had myelin on your nerves? The 80s?”
“Something like that.”

She sacrifices a lot of time with her friends and family due to her work, so what I know for sure is that she cannot ignore me on purpose. She is ignoring me with a purpose. Always. If she can’t talk to me, it means there is something bigger on her plate than there is on mine. I joke that at least her job is easier than us trying to resolve all the bullshit we’ve got going on, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she feels the same way, because she is very good at her job…..not so much with the emotions.

But I can tell how much she cares about me just by the way she writes. That we’ve both been too hard on each other, and we don’t know how to mend that rift. We get together and regress into old patterns. That’s the only thing I was trying to break. I need her, more than she knows. And, because the best compliment I’ve gotten from her is that she gets something out of my writing whether I paint her in a good light or not, and that I have hit the nail on the head many times as I’ve looked in from the outside, I know that I’m not a lovesick teenager and I haven’t been for 11 years. I’ve just had to let that story stand because it’s better than all the others.

Dana was right; Supergrover would always see me as a mental patient. The part she didn’t see is that it was planned. I actually did get sick enough to check myself in. That wasn’t the planned part. The planned part was making it obvious I’m an unreliable narrator. Am I projecting, or does she love me, too?

She loves me, too.

This is absolutely killing me, because of one thing she said to me. Just one.

“Did I start to think the other end of the string was out to get me?”

It’s yellow.

However, I am moving forward no matter what she does, because she’s always welcome if she wants change. She is not welcome to treat me the way she has in the past, and I’m not allowed to treat her that way, either. But at the same time, the thing that got us into this mess won’t get us out.

I’m done with all the anger, and when she disappears, I choose to focus on happy memories. I don’t let her anger touch me.

So, at this moment, since I know that Eleanor Oliphant is completely fine, maybe one day I will be, too.

Oh, The Places We /Could/ Go

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

The woman I refer to as only “Supergrover” or “my beautiful girl” said that I basically distilled her behavior as 11 years of being a dick and not taking responsibility. But she didn’t seem to care about the answer. That she may think the world of me, but I cannot tell it from the way she acts. There is a huge gap between what is going on in her brain and what is going on in mine. I have very little insight into what she wants. I cannot tell what she wants and needs emotionally by talking around things, like telling me an entire e-mail is “vitriol” when we are both a spectrum. In every instance, I showed how our behaviors are the same- how we both react to each other the same way. She distilled it into “everything is my fault and I guess I was the only one who was shitty.” It was just putting words into my mouth because she feels bad about herself all on her own. Nothing I have done has helped, like when she told me that she’d feel bad forever that she wasn’t more present when my mother died.

I told her that she was present. That we talked when I was on the tarmac at Hobby. That of course I missed her, and would even have loved it if she came with me to the funeral, but I wouldn’t have ever put an expectation like that on her. I didn’t put the expectation to come to the funeral on any of my DC friends, much less someone I know very, very, well……. sort of. I told her that she was with me the whole time. She responds to anger and frustration, not love.

So, in the vein of trying to make her see that I do want a relationship and her assessment is completely false, here’s a list of all the things I really have loved about our relationship…. which in no way made our problems go away. As in, just because there are problems, it doesn’t make me love these things any less:

She buys me Kindle books for holidays, and apologizes if she misses my birthday while wearing “suits and crap for work.” Sometimes, she can’t make the clock stop on my actual birthday, but it always stops for me at some point. That’s really a great metaphor for our relationship- that we are both important enough to each other to make the clock stop.

She sends me pictures, whether they’re of her family, her dogs, her travels, etc. It means more to me than anything to be a part of her real life. Just because I see it in pictures doesn’t mean it is less valuable than getting together. I think that getting together and talking with our voices would clear up a lot in terms of the problem we have, but I have never been insistent that meeting up must happen. I just think it will give us the most change, the fastest. Like really seeing if we do like each other, or only our writer personalities do.

That is totally a thing.

Many people you chat with don’t turn out to be what you want in person. I am just determined to believe no matter what that if we did meet up, we’d get along because we’re too Southern and polite to make things awkward for too long. Not every conversation has to be difficult.

But some of them do. I told her that I thought in some ways, she’d built me up to be the boogey man because we didn’t meet immediately and now it’s just weird. As a result, it’s created a major imbalance because I overexplain and she “never complains, never explains.” I feel like a problem can be solved by communicating more. She feels like we should just get on with our shit. Meanwhile, just getting on with our lives and not talking about the underlying issues are what blows our future out of the water because we do care about each other despite our fears.

She told me I deserved better, but then didn’t change a thing. I’m not mad. I just want change and she’s choosing to believe things I never said without clearing any of it up. Meanwhile, our emotional baggage just piles up. I am tired of her using the buttons on her clothes to hold in her feelings.

She says that she will not be “held hostage” by what I want to talk about. If she feels like she is being held hostage, she should have said that before she told me I deserved better. Because this isn’t better. This is the same.

I keep talking because I’m concerned, and I wish things were different.

I called her on it in the moment, and instead of saying, “no, no, that’s not what I meant,” she flew off the handle. She got mad at me for saying I was enjoying watching her spin out on her own, after she said “please don’t contact me again” and then proceeded to rip me a new asshole in a separate e-mail. The entire e-mail also said “I’m confused. Do you want me to respond, or do you never want me to contact you again? Say what you will about my methods, but thus endeth the reading of the Riot Act when I told her that she was spinning out on her own. If you fucking tell me to never contact you again, and then you feel the need to unload everything you could have said before you told me to fuck off forever, I could have cared about what you have to say next so much more.

She said I was telling her exactly how much I cared about her. I was telling her exactly how much I couldn’t be paid to care what she thought in that moment because once you say “never contact me again,” it’s time for you to have a Coke™ and a smile and shut the fuck up. Anything you do after that is only robbing the other person of regret at confrontation, because you see how well they handle it.

Neither one of us can stop blowing up at each other while telling each other it’s for life and we should work on our relationship.

It’s not that we don’t mean those things. It’s that we don’t know how to get there from here, and everything I suggest is wrong. Everything she suggests is nothing. But I wish she would. I can’t compromise by going all the way to her side every time.