There is no one particular thing in history that fascinates me the most, because it would be like asking me about my favorite book. I cannot pick one because genres are so different. Types of historical events run thusly.
My fascinating war is WWII, because I love reading about both England and America’s contributions to intelligence. It’s not that the intelligence itself was new and different, it’s that the rules we live by today were codified then…. particularly for Americans, because OSS transitioned to CIA in its’ aftermath. Being obsessed with British intelligence during that time period is based on one man. You could argue that he was the first hacker by breaking the Enigma. You cannot argue over whether he was queer. Alan Turing is the best and biggest example of why queer history must be taught. The crown prosecuted him for “homosexual acts” in 1952, AFTER HE BROKE THE FUCKING ENIGMA. Breaking the enigma machine was his Palm Sunday. Good Friday came two years later, when he died by cyanide poisoning. It is thought to be suicide, but unclear. It doesn’t matter. They hailed him as a hero and crucified him, with no resurrection until Gordon Brown issued an apology in 2009.
2009. That’s 57 years.
I do not know how Jesus and Alan Turing would think about being connected to each other in this way, but it’s an apt description of the process… an innocent man encouraged to bully himself to death (or was murdered- with cyanide it’s hard to tell either way and he worked for MI-6 or its equivalent. I am not implicating the British. I’m saying he had a lot of enemies foreign and domestic plus a nightmare of a life…. and don’t give me that “Turing was never recognized” bullshit. He was recognized by those who knew exactly how much he mattered. You cannot tell me that no one could have pulled strings for Turing in terms of being prosecuted by the crown. No matter what, they just didn’t. Never forget that Bletchley Park isn’t as wonderful as you thought it was if the people who worked there later washed their hands of him. It’s why I can love and hate intelligence at the same time, because with stuff like this, their “intelligence” is relative. In terms of American intel, we wouldn’t have done better than England, it’s not “all shit on MI-6 day,” though if Le Carré just saw me type that, he probably laughed and thought, “every day is “all shit on MI-6 day.”).
There was no law in England to retroactively pardon all men convicted of homosexual acts until 2017.
2017.
It doesn’t matter that now CIA is actively recruiting everyone, no matter their gender identity and sexual orientation. Same with the United States military. I am sure that there are still the same type traps queers used to fall into in the US/Britain are still there in third world countries (Africa in particular scares the shit out of me for queer American and British case officers in Uganda and Nigeria. I doubt there would be time to instigate a plan to get them back.). But the reason it doesn’t matter is that we still feel the internalized homophobia and institutional pain of all of it. What our countries have done for us, even when we did the jobs literally no one else could. It hasn’t been enough time for that kind of relief, and if African American pain is any indication, ours isn’t going anywhere. You can’t make marginal changes to society where you keep perpetuating racism/homophobia so that there are reminders of it everywhere and also say “get over it.” England has made leaps and bounds of progress over us because their culture adapted quicker. They got rid of slavery faster and have had even more time to get over it, and they never had anyone buy into slavery to such a degree that they decided to break off from the UK and create their own country just to keep it going. Say what you will about Jonathan Groff, but he abolished slavery in 1807, probably by sending a fully armed battalion to remind them of his love. They also got gay marriage faster and did away with cultural stigma earlier.
I am ultimately glad we won the Revolutionary War, but I often think about what would have happened if we’d resolved our differences. Canada, for all practical intents and purposes, lives in a much colder climate and has a rougher life in all aspects because of it….. and yet they are always happier than we are. Getting rid of cultural stigmas fast would be better than :::gestures broadly at everything:::. We seem to do better in the northeast, not that homophobia doesn’t happen there, but it’s usually not as bad as the Deep South, where attitudes about race have informed attitudes about homosexuality because they’ve used the Bible to interpret the law with no signs of stopping now. They do not give a fuck about freedom of and from religion, and they’re traitors to the Founding Brothers’ message. They would have been on board with hating gays just like they owned slaves and said all men were equal. But if they were worth their salt, they wouldn’t have denied my right to exist. Thomas Jefferson would have been apoplectic because he thought that the highest form of government was limited to perhaps a mayor and a school board. If that. He was all about personal liberty, a blessing and a curse.
In the immortal words of Jed Bartlett, America’s best fake president, “these people don’t vote, do they?” It was sarcastic, but some of the Founding Brothers were very elitist and thought that only people who were educated about the vote should be able. I agree with this in theory, but what are we going to do? Go house to house and check? It’s a democracy, and yet it does hurt it to have someone vote on name recognition alone and things like that. I’m not saying that voter shouldn’t be educated. Far from it. The people who go door to door in that manner are invaluable because most people won’t take the time to research. It’s easier to go to a free event where candidates are shaking hands, but even that’s hard because lots of candidates run on empty-headed charm.
Politics is the world’s second-oldest profession, and I have found that it bears a striking resemblance to the first.
Politics is not a bad profession. If you succeed there are many rewards, if you disgrace yourself you can always write a book.
-Ronald Reagan
There are a lot of books out there.
That’s one of the reasons I love intelligence. I feel like the news is always getting half the story right. Though I cannot get the whole story on current operations because no one does, the old declassified ones make me able to read and digest; I can make my own opinions rather than a news anchor spinning it for me. Looking up operations during WWII is easy because it has the most that’s been uncovered by now. I want to meet the Ministers of State in the UK as much as I want to meet the Secretary of State in the US. That’s because they would have the most information about current operations, but just the public face of it. The press secretary for received intelligence vs. talking to someone under cover. It’s not that it wouldn’t raise the cool points out the window and twist you up in the game. It’s that they’d have to avoid everything by nature because they don’t know what they can say and what they can’t. Talking with someone at State is superior because they know the talking points. However, they do not know sources, methods, and locations.
Reading the news just isn’t as fun as learning by conversation. It creates more historical events that fascinate me, and it’s exciting to think that I might find the next one. History repeats itself. I was here for 9/11 and 1/6. They’re both dates that “live in infamy,” but sooner or later I’ll find something good.
It’s such a loaded phrase. Being a kid at heart literally means “an adult who finds childlike joy…” and gets confused/conflated with “childish.” I have been called a kid at heart with many different tones of voice. 😉 My personality lends itself to it, though. I take everything literally, so I am trusting at first- to quite a large degree. I am programmed to be pastoral, not prosecutorial. Judgment comes after a situation, and Monday morning quarterbacking is easy compared to saying what I need to say in the moment. I understand more in post-mortem.
That’s because thus far I’ve let my emotions manage me rather than the other way around. In some ways, this will always be an issue because there will always be a communication gap between neurotypical and neurodivergent…. but I can do a better job of not raging at my environment; I am too overstimulated to function and fighting through it. I am not disengaged or emotionally flat with people all the time, it is the opposite. I emote too much, too fast, and it all comes across disjointed because I am treating every single aspect of a problem as if it’s of the same importance. It is equally important that Supergrover and I share a million interests, from helping the world to Diet Coke. But in her mind, helping people is more important than Diet Coke. I remain unconvinced. 😉
Where flat affect comes in is that I feel these huge levels of emotions, and then one of two things happens. It’s either disengaging because there’s too much stimulation, or I can see my social masking is failing and stop emoting to lock down the amount of emotional damage to myself. I am developing the strength to say, “I need time.” That’s because if I react and it’s angry, my disproportionate anger is going to come out because I’m not angry at this one thing. It came when I was already dealing with overstimulation, popping up when I already have reached the limit of my coping mechanisms.
Which, because I didn’t know I was AuDHD, are very poor. Just for the record. We didn’t have mainstreaming in the 80s, so I am sure that played into it, too. My mother never would have wanted me in special classes, mostly because I had a processing disorder and I was so incredibly bright. She never would have thought I needed help unless she saw mental retardation, because my “brilliance” blinded both of us. This is true for so many AuDHD people. They just fall through the cracks because they seem smart and normal. Meanwhile, you’re not diagnosed, you just feel like an alien. Telling people I’m AuDHD is a lot less scary than not knowing and faking it by necessity.
I am not programmed to see people as inherently bad- in fact, “kids at heart” is exactly how I view all adults. I am friendly to everyone, often not tracking when other people aren’t telling me the truth and buying in without questioning it. The only reason I’ve never been taken in by an Internet scam is that I understand the web better than anyone who started learning it in 2003. 2003 is four years too late to be me in terms of Internet knowledge. Yet, I am unlikely to figure out there’s an emotional problem long before it’s huge so that I’m not putting out fires.
I also have AuDHD rage that comes out of nowhere, why I think “stimming” would be so helpful. I would say that it was PTSD if I hadn’t felt that kind of rage since long before the emotional abuse happened. Emotional abuse was not the cause of my rage, it became a directed subject. One that I had to turn over in my head that most people thought was obsession and was actually autism….. monotropic thought processing an emotional problem on this web site is not a “fuck you” sort of thing. It’s that I have an opinion damn the consequences, and I will take them over making my writing what they want it to be. I am finding my audience in real life, too, because it’s so much easier to write about people who don’t care it’s here because they know if I’ve written something they don’t like, they can talk to me about it. But they won’t stop me from having an opinion because they are certainly entitled to theirs. It’s more even than than think because when they’re hurt I process, it comes across as “you are entitled to my opinion,” not “clearly I have upset you and you are researching why you feel that way. What can I do to make you feel more secure so that you don’t keep ruminating on it?” There is no equal exchange, I’m just a bad person. It’s always my writing, not what they did to trigger what I said and thinking perhaps that though my story might have validity, theirs just has a little bit more.
If Supergrover had come to me and said, “hey, this is starting to feel creepy,” I would have said, “same.” I would have asked what I could do to change, not doubled down and said “your feelings are wrong.” Also, here’s three friends that don’t hate me. Call them instead of Dana. We’re on the rocks. In fact, I actually did say “you’re betraying the one who’d take a bullet for you over the one holding the gun, beautiful girl.” I ended up in the psych ward of Methodist hospital, and not because of anything she did. It was because I was overstimulated and struggling with both the processing disorder and the depression/anxiety stemming from it. Not everything was situational, but I didn’t know that because I didn’t know overstimulation and rage to it is a normal autistic response. Not pleasant, but true. There was so much rage at Dana because her behavior always came across like Supergrover didn’t do anything wrong except picking me over her. She did no such thing. Dana didn’t write to her. There was no relationship to save. Two paths diverged, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. My beautiful girl and I got closer in a way that was too much to share with another partner, because by then she really felt like one in a yellow string sort of way and not red. Jay and Silent Bob vs. The Notebook.
None of this made us feel like children at heart, though there were moments and I wish I had more of them. We are excellent at teasing our siblings, terrible at treating each other like one because we are first children used to getting everything we want. Supergrover has never had an older sister, and so far treating her like one has been FROWNED UPON IN THIS ESTABLISHMENT. And yet that cute baby is her. I pushed her away for good reason. I felt like a kid at heart with 15-year-old reflexes, in appropriate for 36. I could have done so much more to prevent going that way, both if I’d known what my brain was doing and now having the gift of retrospect and reminiscence.
I was a complete jackass and I’ll never get over it, but hopefully she will. She is not a kid at heart, and not because I don’t see it. She doesn’t. Or perhaps she does, until you hurt her, and that’s the most likely answer. I do not find fault in this. I find fault in telling someone they’re forgiven and treating them like they’re not. I hate hypocrisy more than life itself. But once I made one mistake, it snowballed every bit as bad as a problem at work. I got overstimulated and angry, expressing genuine needs softly at first, building over time, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. Neither could she, but we had two different approaches to the problem. Hers was to be nice on the surface and avoid talking about the problem, just calling me a judgmental dickhead without laying her side of the story on the table. It’s not “my side,” it’s “you’re mean.”
No the hell I am not.
You didn’t give me any information and started exploding because I didn’t have it. That’s quite a bit different. You think my blog entries are bullshit becaue I’m writing from what I know and you’re writing from what you know. When you don’t compare stories, you don’t get to react like you have and I’m just aiming for the bomb. Therefore, we are starting from a place of be being overstimulated and anxious because I know that if I need you, you’re only going to get angry. This happens with multiple friends, Supergrover is the latest example in a line.
It’s “blame the person who told the story instead of realizing I could have told my own and just didn’t because it’s so much easier to stand in judgment of you than admit my feelings.” There is nothing in that kind of dynamic that takes away from stimulation, so I tend to explode once resentment has set in and all my social masks are failing. Deep emotions are always frowned upon in that particular establishment. More communication makes a relationship better, not less. She understands more about me than anyone else because I went back to the place of “everything is normal,” not knowing that it wasn’t. I’ll never get that back, and she’s responsible for a whole lot of ground where I just have to say “get your shit together. This is not okay.” The building blocks of our relationship are adrenaline and dopamine. We never quite managed to turn it down. We just flamed out.
Not doing it again is turning down that adrenaline and dopamine on my own, hard but not impossible. I want to let go and move on because she pretends not to see what I’m putting down and assumes I am trying to hurt her a hundred percent of the time. I am trying to make her feel bad, goad her, provoke her, throw emotional bombs, and a hundred other emotions I wasn’t attaching because I don’t track the same. I was trying to find the problem because she wouldn’t.
I can do all that on my own, because she wasn’t showing up- so why does it matter whether she is here or not? Once I start forgetting details, I’ll be fine. Right now it’s too much, all the time. And that part is all her fault separately from all of mine. It was three nuclear bombs, not just one emotional bomb in her direction. She does not recognize me for taking on her shit anymore, everything is a treatise on why I’m a bad person.
She doesn’t see it my way, and says that I’m the only one who ever ruins anything…… but she made me so glad to do it after EIGHT FUCKING YEARS of going up and down trying to prove to her that I was the person she met in the beginning. I wasn’t this narcissist who thought my emotions were more important. I am not going to include your story in my thought process if you don’t tell it. It’s easier to shut down, but it’s unproductive and over time, just gets mean. Being called a judgmental dickhead was my every day reality, and if I got mad about it, all of the suden she was enormously impressed with me, just had no time. THOSE ARE NOT THE SAME. That’s because when the “enormously impressed” was over, she hammered me into the ground. I have a million terms of endearment for her, she used to call me her goddess of the moon. It was replaced by judgmental dickhead a long time ago and I’m out if the only time you don’t seem angry is when I call you on it and it goes back the way it was within days.
I’m not the only one in her family that goes ignored, but I am the only person she’s kept on a string for this long…… and I really don’t even know why, because what in the hell? You accuse me of stalking and then write to me as if it’s no big deal? You think that’s not going to fuck me up six ways to Sunday when you’re the one that told me the things that separated me from my wife in the first place? No ma’amela, Pamela.
It was too much, too fast, and I am not entirely responsible for that. But it takes a kid at heart to see it, because adults double down. Nothing is ever wrong with them.
While I have no problem skipping down the sidewalk.
If you think you might be autistic, here’s a test that will tell you how your brain processes information and the likelihood that you’re autistic, not the diagnosis. Autistic brains have specific traits, and I seem to have all of them except “stimming” all of the time. However, I know it would help me to do so because emotional strength is also handled with movement. Movement is what stops you from flooding out, like looking at the ceiling when you’re crying to help you stop…. not because crying is bad. It’s that when I’m crying I know people can’t understand what I’m saying. You can also interrupt intrusive thoughts by standing in a “parade rest” sort of position and rocking back and forth side to side. It interrupts your pain signals and refocuses your attention.
This is a trick I picked up from an alto in my church choir who is also a therapist (probably retired by now)…. it’s how she taught me to handle my music triggers when they popped up. Church music affected me completely differently after the clusterfuck of 2013. I had trauma responses to every single one, deservedly so. It was helpful learning how to breathe through them. I got away from both the church choirs that created those triggers, but you can’t control when triggers happen.
I remember sitting my choir director down, a mutual friend of ours who would come to know me well and whose partner had known her for years and years. Therefore, I felt like I had to establish boundaries quickly. I walked into a random church in my neighborhood and immediately knew this is where I wanted to study classical music, but I had requirements, and ironclad ones. I said:
I’m going to tell you something, and I need you to believe me the first time. If I leave rehearsal or church, just let me go. I will come back. But you have an anthem coming up for me that I know will trigger me in advance. I have true trauma and anxiety, I’m not blowing you off.
His eyes got wider as I laid out the story, but I needed him to buy in whether he believed me or not. It wasn’t negotiable with me because no one gets to decide how hurt I am. He did choose to believe me, I am not castigating him. I am owning my space in the world. I was able to be in choir and take voice lessons while only singing the things with which I was comfortable or could desensitize before it came up in worship. That was the most productive route. I sung an entire movement of John Rutter’s Requiem all by myself without falling apart, something I never thought I would be able to do…….. but it wasn’t the Pie Jesu, either. Linking to it because this is as close as I’ll ever get to feeling Dia de Los Muertos, coming back to it often when I feel the most bereft that my mother is gone. However, I don’t listen to this because even though it is absolutely incredible compared to how I was feeling that day, I can pick out the notes where feeling bad made me not respond with my voice the way I wanted…. but it’s something other singers would notice, not a layperson. I love listening to recordings at Westminster Abbey the most, because I know that Rutter writes for children- boy sopranos- and my voice has the same qualities, so I know I’m doing him justice.
But one of my choir directors told me that I had a lovely voice as a soloist but needed to work on blending. That’s true of most soloists, to be honest. There are some voices that are just bigger than others. Fact. So, people with huge voices often have to mute to the point where it’s painful. That’s why it’s so hard to get a sectional sound when the notes are very high.
I also know that opera is a bigger voice than Rutter, so when I have to turn on the afterburners, fitting in is even harder. As in, I alternate between straight tone and vibrato depending on the phrasing of the piece and what voice I need for it. Sometimes tamping down “my opera voice” is harder than others. It’s mystifying to me how some notes are easier to hit when you’re doing straight tone and some notes better when you’re at full voice. It’s the difference between a little boy in a cathedral and someone like Charlotte Church and Reneé Fleming. Both beautiful, both unique, different kinds of breath control. My particular favorites are Kathleen Battle dueting with Wynton Marsalis and Jessye Norman singing Christmas music.
See? I have a few different interests because of ADHD…. except do I? Is the monotropic thought process the music or the writing of it? I believe it is the latter, and you can tell by the way I’ve worked through the problem with Supergrover in particular because it was an unfamiliar environment at first, then the only one where I was truly comfortable- alone together- then the thing that made me ruminate the most because I needed to understand what happened before I could move on….. and for autistic people, that takes a long-ass time.
I think autism is such a good answer for why I don’t fit into the system. I mean everything literally and I have harsh judgments of everything because my sensory perception is always turned up to hell. Comfort in my situation is threatened and I react that way. It’s not that I am trying to hurt you, it’s that I cannot deal. I am trying to focus on why that is, and learning the differences and similarities between monotropism and ADHD/Autism is a fascinating study. How I am a secret wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a classified document…. with a system that has thus far made me feel like I was kept in a bathroom.
Autistic/ADHD rage is a thing, and nearly a hundred percent of the time it’s not you. It’s that we don’t feel safe even before we talk to you, our anxiety sometimes looking for confirmation bias- that we are damaged in some way because we just can’t get with a program that was never designed for us in the first place. Plus, we have so much more information than we did when I was a child, so people are getting diagnosed earlier and earlier. But for kids who were never tested, they’re only realizing they have monotropic responses as adults.
There’s a whole lot of us who just don’t fit in because social cues land differently for us than they do for you. It takes an extensive amount of communication that neurotypical people are just not used to doing and get frustrated. No one is going to give me anything for free in terms of a career, so I have to find a way to do things differently. Like I said earlier, you can use your superpower as a deep thinker if you can get help with your intellectual difference at work.
Neurotypical people do not like truth bombs, and autistic people launch them all the time because we don’t process the same way. We’re here to tell you how it is whether you like us or not…. but we don’t realize we’re doing it because we are not tracking with you…………. but we think we are.
This is because you take every social mask you’ve ever worn and keep compiling information so that hiding your autism and ADHD becomes par for the course. Where this becomes problematic is when you have a situation for which there is no mask, and the difference in processing shows itself quickly. Like having autistic responses to everything and it coming across as narcisstic rage. The reason I know this is true is that I am always, always humble enough to think I’m wrong and often do. I apologize. I make amends. I change my behavior so that something doesn’t happen again. I don’t blame the other person for all my shortcomings.
I turn a problem over like it’s a die from DND…. one of the reasons I get angry when people hold me to a single entry because I have the right to be angry and the right to work it out through my own thought process. I have had character development over the last year, this blog dynamic because I am, not the other way around. I am not making up interesting things to get views; reading about my life is interesting just as it is. I am not “Angry Anymore.” I am dealing with all my issues in the best way I know how- processing them with a singular focus. My monotropic interest is helping me to become a better person, because I am never any one thing….. and I can see it by reading my catalogue. I don’t have to have external validation to know why writing benefits me. I get it, but it’s not the point. I get more out of seeing patterns in my own behavior than I do when other people notice good things.
Writers are the kind of people that want to tell their story while being terrified you’ve read it. I decided to punch through that one fear alone, because it’s the one thing I do well enough that it could become my superpower. I don’t think I’ll win any awards, but I do think that people identify with me whether they say so or not. That’s because I’ve talked to enough people to get a representative sample… if something is true for 100-200 people, it probably resonates with a lot more people than that.
Autism makes you feel like an alien, and you can’t control how people respond to you. However, you can control how you respond to them. You have to let go of people that you feel are trying to talk you into being normal. Putting their expectations on you. You don’t need that anxiety. Lean on people who do have autism or take the time to look it up. The people that love you will want to understand you. The others will feel like they’re trying to modify your behavior like a dog….. which probably feels more pronounced if you were never diagnosed so your family did this to you early on, leading you to believe that some people are doing this even when they’re not.
ADHD and Autism generally lead to depression and anxiety. Our brain chemicals go haywire from having to manage how we act in public and how we act at home. For me, it’s trying to be engaging in public and completely detached from everything and everyone when I’m alone. When I’m recovering from a party, I need a sensory deprivation tank if it’s available. I just want to become a human .7z file for a while. Therefore, while I sometimes have energy to go to a party, I rarely have coping mechanisms for staying. It’s too much, too fast. It’s not that the pandemic made me more introverted, it’s that introversion revealed my autism. That I functioned better with sensory deprivation and good sleep. I got a weighted blanked and started sleeping with the sun. I write in total silence, often with the lights off. Sometimes, in ADHD mode, I can handle writing and music at the same time. Right now I am listening to a space heater and it’s enough.
Speaking of “enough,” I think you can tell that my one interest is writing because I get so lost in the story that paragraph breaks fail me. I need a neurotypical Karen editor who will go apeshit on my writing like a white woman at Applebee’s in her 40s….. for lunch with her inferior mean girls.
I thought I had one of those, but my ADHD and Autism got in the way. Not that anyone should excuse my behavior like it’s no big deal or “I can’t take responsibility, I’m autistic.” It’s only context, it’s not the whole show. I view it like having alcoholism. You don’t get to write off your shitty behavior just because you’re drunk. You can’t use it to avoid consequences. However, you can make amends by being humble and apologetic. You will get nowhere if you double down with “I didn’t hurt you, it was a symptom and therefore you can’t blame me.” Autistic children can do that. Not because they’re autistic. Because they’re children. You, on the other hand, have to find your own coping mechanisms and you’re responsible for handling your own shit. Autism doesn’t render you incapable of working on a problem and treating people respect. Recognizing that neurodivergent rage is a thing, but that doesn’t render what you did while you felt it acceptable.
Freedom of speech is not freedom from consequences. But if people are unwilling to compromise on those consequences, you have to move on. That’s because you know you’re neurodivergent. There is no chance that you’ll ever stop making mistakes when it comes to miscommunication. Some people take it out on their partner, which is why being a neurodivergent’s support system is so difficult for both parties. Generally, if one partner is neurotypical, the other feels parented/bulllied because their reactions are considered “normal.” There is no room for error in that scenario.
I will forgive anyone that I feel will forgive me…. but when I stop feeling that sense of balance, I will detach quickly because I feel that if you are not listening to me now, you certainly won’t later. If we are in conflict now, that speaks volumes about what happens down the road. Treading over someone’s boundaries the first time causes a fracture, and people only forgive so much.
Allow for that. Give them a break. Acknowledge that this is hard and will never end. That autism doesn’t allow you to pick up social cues in the same way, because I watch how people act and cannot duplicate it. It’s not that I can’t pick it up, it’s that I can’t put it down.
Literally. I turn things over like a die in DND. If you’re curious, I got 210 out of 235.
Sir Patrick Stewart said on Graham Norton that when he took on the role of Macbeth, Sir Ian McKellan asked if he could give him some advice. Patrick said, “PLEASE!” Patrick proceeded to make tears roll down my face when he said that Sir Ian said, “the key to unlocking Macbeth is ‘and.’ It is not “tomorrow.” It is “tomorrow….. AND tomorrow…. AND tomorrow.” It is the interminable march of days, the piling on of all kinds of trauma small and large, the fact that it seems like it will never end right up until it does. That’s why there’s such a dramatic boost between happiness while poor and happiness while comfortably middle class. When you have savings, the minutiae of life does not drown you, constantly. It is also true that happiness does not get much deeper after that. Once your basic needs are met, it doesn’t make you another 50% happier to be a multimillionaire.
I think that’s because Shakespeare recognized a specific kind of future. The one where you, too are stuck in a moment and get get out of it. I wish I could do all of life like I cook, which is knowing enough to be able to correct a mistake on the fly… not knowing whether I have just experienced a symptom or whether it’s a regular dumbass attack and treating everything like the latter, blowing it out of proportion with rejection sensitivity disorder. And I could give truly frightening examples of it, but most people who have anxiety and depression jump to the worst of conclusions first because they can’t handle their environment in the first place. It’s hard to feel like people love you when they’re exhausted by behavior that frustrates you all by itself.
It’s hard not to feel like everything is your fault when people are so insistent that the common denominator in every interaction is me. There is no possible way I own a hundred percent of the blame for every situation in which I encounter. It’s just not physically possible, especially when I’m a fixer/pleaser and do things to make people smile often. But people are more naturally drawn to you when things are going well…… and when things aren’t going well tend to think they’re right more than they are. So do I. It’s human nature. The objective truth is found in the chasm between our two stories, and most people don’t have the stomach for that.
People conflate “the common denominator is you” to mean that you are responsible for every slight that happens (as if you have that kind of power) and every misfire in communication; it’s “you are somewhat responsible because a situation takes two or more people to create and you need to own your part.” For instance, Dana and I agreed that we both fucked each other up. After one fight, we divided up percentages and decided it was 60/40 in her favor. Then, I told her I would have taken 75 and she lowballed herself. I tend to take on more guilt than I should, and I am now only reclaiming a normal amount of room in the universe rather than being unable to dictate any terms with anyone. It leads all my energy to bleed out, trying to please everyone from my family to strangers. This has often led to people being entitled to their boundaries with me while ignoring mine because I’ve let them get away with it for so long.
I didn’t decide that I was the only arbiter of my friendship with Supergrover. She shut down and didn’t give me information, then didn’t have any tolerance for me making decisions based on what I thought rather than what was actually going on with her. But it wasn’t because I didn’t ask or want that information to purposefully ignore her needs. It’s that mine were never addressed, ever. She felt great about me adoring her, but not about the fact that she had severely emotionally wounded me. And I wouldn’t have cared by now if she hadn’t forgiven me on the surface so that I felt like I was a ghost in her life. The one in which she thought I was a threat and then checked in with me, not establishing new boundaries so that I didn’t constantly walk on eggshells around her.
Like getting annoyed that I wanted to know something basic through conversation, seemingly annoyed I hadn’t looked it up when I couldn’t have Googled the information, anyway. Why would I do that if I don’t want to give you the impression that I try to get information about you that you don’t want to give?
Tomorrow…. AND tomorrow…. AND tomorrow….
The feeling of how she treated me hasn’t gone away, and I know exactly why I didn’t walk. It felt like the pattern to which I’d become accustomed to in childhood, trying desperately to please someone that had already moved on so that it felt like I was pouring love into them while they tolerated me. Fully capable of being a baby monkey, too scared to walk away from wire because I don’t know how to find cloth yet. I haven’t been taught. But I am teaching, reparenting myself. Trying to give mysellf what I didn’t get, and part of it is saying what I mean and meaning what I say. Everything is a lie as I figure out what’s masking and what’s not.
I just know that my social masking wasn’t limited to autism, it was reinforced by trying to be good (which meant quiet and out of the way) and covering my needs. I’m not special. Most women and girls do this. However, most girls aren’t preacher’s kids, either.
I’m not trying to piss anyone off, it’s just a side effect of change. People see me differently and they ought to. But remember that we’re both going through a struggle and behavior doesn’t exist in a vaccum. If I have to be responsible for my behavior, you have to be responsible about what triggered it. You cannot say I am wrong a hundred percent of the time, because my self-esteem isn’t low enough to believe it anymore. I can work with boundaries, but not when you don’t set them.
So much of my need to run from Supergrover stemmed from her marrying Michael, then not telling me for almost two years, then saying “surely I must have gotten the wedding announcement,” then saying there weren’t pictures, etc. I can believe that last one, but everything else sounds like “lies you tell” when you want to protect someone…. and this isn’t the first or only example of her doing it. Her identity fundamentally changed, her life had moved on in a concrete way, and it felt like I wasn’t worth telling…. whether it was/is true or not. It’s not what she intended, it’s what I felt in those moments. She also didn’t talk about anything but work when that was the last thing I wanted to know about her most days.
It was too big a hurt to mend alone, but an even bigger one that she was right there and couldn’t hear me. She had the right to set that boundary with me, but I had the right to walk away when she did it, because she explicitly said that there were things she wouldn’t be opening up about again…. which was, of course, the thing that drove my crazy dreams. Then, over time, she relaxed about it and I felt like there was a new boundary set with no way of knowing whether it was true. Actions and words didn’t line up for a long time. She wouldn’t have reacted to me so angrily all those years if I hadn’t hurt her, or if we had truly mended the rift. We “put the word ‘free’ on a note so high we couldn’t sing it,” paraphrasing Tony Kushner. Or, one of us couldn’t. Taking Kushner literally, I can hit that high B flat at 1500 yards when I’m on my game. I’m currently not, but that’s not the point. The point is that you get out what you put into it. I wouldn’t be able to hit an emotional high B flat at 1500 yards without years of understanding someone, just like years of voice lessons makes me able to sing “The Star Spangled Banner” (No one will ever, no not ever beat Whitney Houston taking it in four at the SuperBowl.) I will never be Whitney Houston without another party’s input. It takes both of us being vulnerable to move forward.
It’s so counterintuitive, but leans the relentlessness of life into rolling joy rather than rolling pain.
Being able to move fast and take chances doesn’t happen in a vacuum, either. It comes from examining yourself to the point where you understand and trust your own intuition, because you’ve talked to enough people to know whether you’re a good judge of a situation or not. How often your behavior is a source of joy or worry. When it pays off to focus on yourself and when you’re ignoring people. When you ignore them too long, they’ll go away.
When I tried to set boundaries with someone who had no issue setting them with me and just not apprising me of the situation consistently enough to understand it, she ran. I don’t have to take it personally, but I do have to remember it’s what she does. She doesn’t let me know what the boundaries are and blames me for overstepping them, but is also the one I’d trust with my whole life because she’s shown me she’s rock solid in other areas of our relationship. It’s worth working on, but…
I am driven to create through writing stream-of-consciousness blog entries because it is showcasing the random order of my brain and entertaining people (even if only through schadenfreude). I haven’t been told that I’m worse writer than Brene Brown, Glennon Doyle, and Martha Beck- so I continue to believe that I am capable of writing on their level with an editor. Someone to collate my thoughts into a self-help book by taking out the filler and focusing on what matters. An editor is important because I do not want to be the one in charge of going through what I’ve already said and deciding whether it’s worthy of editing and publishing. I also think I’ve got a framework for at least three books woven into one based on past writings, but not enough hubris to say that they deserve more than they’ve been given…. which is readers on the day it was published.
When I’m in the middle of a problem, it runs continuously in my brain and I look at it from a million different ways. Therefore, I do not know which of my entries regarding any of my characters/subjects/plot points explain something the best. One runs into the other. It is a continuing monologue. I have been told I should publish a bound anthology, but I will not do it unless I’m approached because I do not want to take on the task of deciding which entries are essential and which are just fluff. That’s because sometimes my intuiition is off as to what will resonate with people and what won’t. An editor coming in blind would relieve my soul greatly.
The other thing that relieves my soul is that I don’t have to write a book to have something worth publishing. I already have 20 years of entries- 10 from this blog and the other 10 in the Wayback Machine. If nothing else, writing these entries has proved to me that I am capable of writing a book. That’s huge.
I have known that I could write a book since I was a child, but I didn’t have the confidence when the writing went so well and my research skills were so poor. I developed a doctorate in bullshit, because I could get an A on a paper by writing the whole thing as fast as I write a blog entry and just making up the books I used as sources; I knew the names of the publishing houses off the top of my head and wrote convincing titles. I didn’t do this in college because I did not have to manage my papers against six other academic subjects, choir, and marching band.
I am going back and picking up building blocks for my true self that I never had because I couldn’t see all the social masking I was doing for ADHD and autism. What I know now is that I am capable of taking in a firehose’s width in information all the time, but knowing what’s important and what’s not is a challenge. My brain uses an obnoxious yellow highlighter on every word, because I am making connections so fast that everything is important under the right circumstances.
I have started reading celebrity autobiographies recently, and not because I like stardom and pop culture. It’s that there’s no other genre that sounds more like me. First of all, they’re actors. I’m a writer. Creative process. Second of all, they’re just telling the story as they saw it. Making judgment calls about how others’ actions affected them. Being angry. Being remorseful. Being guilty. Being all of it and through the process of writing it down, letting it all go.
I started with Prince Harry, Kelly Ripa, and Lauren Graham. I’ve got “Worthy” by Jada Pinkett Smith on hold at the library. It’s helping me find a lightness in tone that doesn’t come across with spy fiction and non- except “The Unexpected Spy” by Tracy Walder- she’s a TV show and Ellen Pompeo noticed. By and large, people like Le Carré don’t put as much humor into their books as I’d like, but it’s ok. The jokes land harder when they don’t happen all that often.
My favorite line from “Homeland” is “Karachi….. After you stole the car.” My favorite show about intelligence is “American Dad,” and feel that if I was any character on TV, I can best be summed up by Roger Smith. Pretty sure I asked for Pecan Sandies. I am the type person that grows to love a subject through the criticism of it. As in, someone becoming more beautiful to you because of their flaws. Both shows are great at taking the piss while also being sensitive to the fact that intelligence officers are people. One of the reasons I loved “Argo” was the incredible humor while in the midst of a serious situation. Using humor as a reflex to deal with what’s hard. Masking to protect their real identities, feeling like frauds. Roger Smith is the only one that walks in the world unafraid of being caught. I want to walk like that, and I am trying to find the keys to be able to unlock that part of myself.
I like seeing people without their social masking because if they stop doing it, so will I. For me, it’s to cover a neurodivergent brain. For others, it’s just the secrets they’ve kept are now killing them. For neurodivergent writers, it’s both. You’ve kept the shame and guilt at not responding to others the same way they respond to you hidden because you know it’s all your fault. My brain is not different, it is damaged.
When people do not understand this, they treat me as intellectually inferior. When they do, it’s so much better… but there is only so much of a leap you can make between having empathy for a disorder and having a disorder. Those two types of people communicate completely differently, because that person has what they’ve read on their minds while the other has a lived experience. Having a disorder is exhausting when you feel like you have to prove you’re ill because you look fine. Autism is just a processing disorder, but the anxiety and depression stemming from it is caused mostly by the enormity of the difference between what we mean and what other people hear.
This entry was interrupted by my need to eat. I sauted some hot dogs in butter, then added eggs and ghost pepper cheese. Hot dogs aren’t my first choice, but I thought that’s all I had and in retrospect, lunch meat would have been better. All sausages, vegan and meat, taste better if you split them down the middle and let them confit. The butter will mix with the fat in the sausage and develop a sweet, firm crust. Thus why it’s called caramelization. I also tend to saute sausages whole and cut them up later, because it’s easy to obtain said crust when you don’t have more than two surfaces. Hot dog pieces are too small to make sure every piece touches metal and cooks evenly. The better the crust, the more expensive it will taste. Because butter has a lower threshold for heat, I’ll wait longer for the caramelization so I can keep using it. Even if I was using Pam or olive oil, I wouldn’t put the temp up much further. You don’t want to burn the crust while the inside is still warming up. Burgers cooked low and slow this way are pretty hard to beat, particularly vegan because the crust will taste familiar even if the sausage doesn’t. A good crust made ith butter will cover a lot of sins in a sausage’s ingredients….. particularly if all you can afford is franks from the Dollar Tree. For breakfast, I would choose low-sodium Spam before hot dogs because it’s sweeter, but the outcome is the same. Caramelized, crispy outside, soft texture inside. The thinner you cut it, the better it will taste because the butter and caramel will be the forward notes, skipping over the flavor in the Spam and making it taste like real food.
There should be an award for that.
Meat always tastes better to me cooked in its’ own fat and butter. This is why I don’t grill. Whether it’s a Beyond Burger and margarine or a beef burger and butter, the caramelization beats the fat dripping off onto the coals. I do like grilled meat, I just don’t prefer it. I also like turkey because you’re continually circulating the butter over the bird by basting it. Grilled and fried turkey is also very good, but I prefer a crispy skin with Cajun seasoning.
Also, people tend to have way less faith in the red button than they should. When it pops up, people kid themselves that they know better. What they don’t know is that when you take a turkey out of the oven, it continues cooking internally. The red button accounts for that time.
“Zip code. Fargo, North Dakota. Right now.”
I learned everything I know about turkeys from Joe Bethersonton, “King of Auto Sales” and the Butterball Hotline. When I realized that there were things I didn’t know about cooking a turkey, I credit that show for making me want to learn. Dana usually grilled our turkey outside, and it was great. I wanted to be good at the classic presentation, one reminiscent of Norman Rockwell.
These last few paragraphs are indicative of how my brain works. My superpower is being able to explain the things I do well as much as I do the things I do wrong. For instance, acknowledging that I am not at fault for every conflict I’ve ever had. I own part of the fault. That other people are not responsible for my reactions/responses, but they are responsible for knowing that they don’t come in a vacuum. That we have to talk about my behavior in the context of what triggered it, because without it we do not reach mutual empathy for the other’s position.
Thus, trying to find solutions to the ways in which I feel like a burden by focusing my talent on something productive. Getting to know myself certainly is, because by admtting my failures, I let go enough to move into the future. Otherwise, you are trapped by feelings of murkiness at unclear boundaries, unsure of how to proceed. Even worse when you establish boundaries and they run right over them due to the nature of their personalitites. It’s hard to deal with consequences when you know your ADHD is at fault- your disorder, not your personality. No one else can excuse your behavior, a “get out of jail free” card, but people might have more empathy for you if you’re honest rather than trying to hide the limitations in how your brain works. It helps other people cope in the way they phrase things to you so that conflict doesn’t pop up to begin with.
So many people do not establish boundaries at the beginning of a relationship, the most important time. That way, when you’re wrong it’s clear you’re wrong. There’s no way to argue about it, you apologize and move on. Difficult to do when the other person’s response is to shut down at a threat. It only keeps you out, it doesn’t help to resolve anything. People think they feel better by avoiding a problem when solving it is just harder than they thought and they give up. Understanding someone else’s perspective is so hard when you’re invested in the fact you’re right.
Nobody made you do anything, yet no one should make you do everything. We are built for friendship intimacy, eros, agape and philia, whether you’re monogamous and coccoon with one partner, shutting the rest of the world out, or whether you’re a social butterfly. But there is also a fine line between interdependence and codepence, which everyone should study. You cannot be emotionally intimate with just one person and expect all your needs to be met. You don’t have a sounding board with which to correct the story that you’re telling yourself. You have to have friends with whom to bitch about your spouse and a spouse to bitch with about your friends. But both parties have to know that you’re just going somewhere to vent, you’re not going somewhere to make an escape plan….. and it always will be if you don’t develop emotional bravery.
I haven’t had it lately. I’ve met some incredible friends and dropped off the face of the earth because I had to- I’ll get back in touch. I am just trying so hard to focus on my own mental health that it’s taking my ability to connect with others. I just don’t have the spoons. I am in the unenviable position as to having anxiety about going through all of this on top of social anxiety when I call people, a necessary evil when you’re dealing with health insurance companies, GPs, and specialists…. not to mention the government if my occupational therapy doesn’t reveal my gaps and fix them. It just feeds my anxiety that I’m incapable of living within a system that helps most people. I do not want to go the disability route in the slightest. I just don’t know where I am on the spectrum and I want to get it resolved. Why I can spill my thoughts like a pro and struggle with things that make you look like a dumbass in neurotypical eyes. I think that’s because neurodivergents are not managers unless they’re high-functioning ADHD. Enough executive function to deal with fires and not drop details in paperwork. I think that’s because younger people are diagnosed than me, have had years of training in how to cope. I have no idea how people just learn those things on the fly, and get horribly anxious when I struggle.
People with ADHD require inertia, hard to get started when you’re bipolar and anxious about everything. I don’t need to tap out, I need to tap in. I’m just discovering that the barriers to entry are great and I wish I could hide from it. Surely I’ll just get better by not leaving my house because a magic fairy will come and fix me.
Learning to deal with autism and ADHD is the grief that you’ll never get your moment. You are told your entire childhood that eventually things will all come together as you get experience and I have gotten none of that. I have developed a talent for bullshit that I only saw when I started getting real. Patterns emerged in my writing that I couldn’t see before, the reason my autism is beating out my ADHD on a consistent basis. Going out is too much stimulation, but my ADHD side makes it where staying home isn’t stimulating enough. So, I go out and want to come home nearly immediately because walking in the world seems like our entire society is blaring at me. It is through no fault of their own. It’s my sensory percepton issues. The world is loud even if you were born neurotypical, male, white, able-bodied, straight, and cis. With sensory perception issues, the fact that the tag on your t-shirt is scratching the back of your neck feels as important as anything the boss has handed down, because the stimulation of it is overwhelming and covers everything else.
“It’s just a tag.”
I don’t go anywhere in which I don’t feel armored to take on the world. Clothes that do’t irritate me, comfortable shoes, a hoodie to guard against being cold in the air conditioning or outside in the season for it (you need good gloves, socks, an insulating layer like a vest or thermal shirt, and shoes padded on the inside with good tread. More important than the quality of your coat- with all that, I can wear a hoodie. Uniqlo. Look into it.). In the winter, I like sweats and long underwear as opposed to jeans…. but an open cuff so that I don’t always have to wear sneakers with them…. and stirrup pants drove me crazy in the ’80s because of the elastic strap. I wore them anyway because I liked the feeling of my pants not sliding loose and they kept me warm. I like hiking sandals with socks, but the kind that look like tennis shoes so that only the color of your sock shows through. I like wearing them without socks, but it doesn’t look good with pants. The reason for this is that in the cold, water dries quickly from your shoe, but not from your socks. They get soggy and you’re finished. With hiking sandals, you dump out the water and your foot is warm again because of the rubber in your shoe heating back up. Sandals don’t have anywhere for water to absorb except the top straps…. and we have already mentioned that my toes are covered. I don’t understand those people, but William Sledd’s Summer Rant goes through my head when I see it. “If you see someone with a toe ring, I would just go up to them and say, ‘girl? What the fuck is on your toe?'” “The anklle bracelet…. the perfect accessory to a toe ring.” I think it came out over 10 years ago, and it makes me double over with laughter every single time.
Again, entertaining my audience through only storytelling, a stream of consciousness unmasking of what it’s like to live in a neurodivergent brain and the struggles in remaining positive around it. You don’t immediately realize it’s relentless. And then the struggle sets in. This is not a transitory state. This is the same hassle you’d feel if your cat got diabetes. You mean I’m going to have to give it shots for the rest of my natural life? You mean I’m going to have to teach housesitters how to do it? You mean I have to justify why I’m willing to take care of an animal with serious needs? It’s all too much because in this case, the cat is you and the last person you want to take care of in that way. Most people are focused on others to avoid the deep dive I do.
And it only helps them so much. Breaking free does not come without costs, but it does come with self-worth when you realize you do things extraordinarily well…. it’s just not the way in which everyone expects. I hope that one day I’m in the position to say that I don’t like the crowd and where it’s headed so that I’m grateful for this journey, but right now it’s too difficult and scary to say that.
I just know that I have a doctorate in bullshit, and now I’m learning all the reasons why…. not to avoid having responsibility, but to learn which ones I can manage.
Lindsay and I have been through the emotional ringer because of our stepfather’s death, and I use that term loosely because my mom didn’t marry him until the aforementioned trip when I was 24 in which my wife called me up nd told me she was cheating on me and she was leaving. So, I don’t have fond memories of their wedding at all. She wanted to be the monarch, I wanted to be the democracy. I did not like it, and I’m glad the trash took itself out. I was miserable for a while, but not long enough for it to matter in retrospect.
It’s been a complicated relationship the whole time. Trying to appease my mother and being frighteningly uncomfortable around him because he felt entitled to my body and I don’t as a general rule like people who don’t know me touching me in a seductive way, being more familiar than they have any right to be. He kissed me on the lips once without asking and I thought I was going to punch him with rage and didn’t. He told Lindsay and me that he was sorry, that he had kissed his other daughters on the lips without incident…. *but they had grown up with him.* He, like every man I know, felt entitled to touch me and obsessed with Lindsay to a degree where I am not noticed.
But that came later. At first he picked up on the fact that my mother loved Lindsay’s voice and she didn’t treat me the same, so he buttered me up with compliments to make me feel better. It wasn’t necessary. I am used to walking in the world behind her, because the attention she gets that I don’t might be annoying, but she saves me from having to deal with a lot, too. Everyone, in my observation, rushes in to do things for Lindsay in a way they don’t rush in for me.
But our stepsisters didn’t even bother to tell either of us that Forbes was being buried next to my mother and give us the time and date. Lindsay found out on Facebook. No one in that family who is still alive ever accepted us, but I had a relationship with the oldest, who thought I was brilliant and deserved to work in DC. The funniest conversation we ever had was her outrage that Ben Affleck played Tony Mendez because he wasn’t Hispanic. I wish I had gotten to reassure her that Tony didn’t care. He just thought he was more handsome than Ben. 😉
It’s nice that I have some good memories, but they weren’t consistent because Susan lived in San Antonio and I lived in Houston at the time. She was half Latina, half white and was the chair of the Mexican studies department at University of Texas- San Antonio. We both identified with The Struggle, a perspective no one in my family shared because they are all white. Someone actually said to me “why do you focus on minority issues. You don’t have to live with them.” She was making fun of Oregon, deservedly so, but still. It felt like she as laughing in a way I didn’t like.
But that’s Texas for you. Everyone riding the line with polite racism…… which is ridiculous because we annexed part of Mexico in the 1800’s. So many, many, many Latinx people are discriminated against every day when their families have been Texans for hundreds of years. There is no “go back where you came from.” We’re on their land, Holmes. Slow your fucking roll, Karen.
I feel like I have to apologize to the Karens in my life, particularly the ones who are Latina, because they are not the stereotype. But there’s just no other word to give that complete a picture of a white woman who feels like she owns everything and everyone. Double that for POC and queers, depending on whether they’re an angry liberal Karen or a MAGA Karen (which now stands for *making attorneys get attorneys.*)
So, Lindsay went apeshit after the funeral on the youngest two of our stepsisters because she was so hurt. Forbes’ sister in law tried to make it okay, but there’s not a way to make it so. Lindsay was traumatized, and so was I because when Lindsay went to the cemetery and sent me pictures on the anniversary of my mother’s death, the gash was still there from the burial and the headstone wasn’t there for carving.
I made sure my mom’s side is beautiful. It has a treble staff with the beginning notes to “Amazing Grace.” Forbes was a CPA so his side looks like an incomplete Word Document.
And if that’s not enough, I don’t know whether this is true or not, but I haven’t to Forbes’ lawyer directly, but apparently Lindsay gets to start her financial planning and I don’t because I don’t have a trustee and it will have to be set up before the money is mine. Lindsay says this is not true, that both our trusts are set up the same way, so the jury is still out. We are also requesting a list of beneficiaries for our dad’s retirement, because we think that Forbes may have used it on a down payment for a house he built with the woman he married six months after my mother died. This was not problematic to me. He had health problems and if his wife wanted to take over his care and feeding, great. The problem is that our mother didn’t leave us any money in her will. She left it to Forbes to manage. The money that we got from him doesn’t add up. It feels like he may have padded the gifts to his biological daughters with money that wasn’t his by dividing everything equally.
I need it for my retirement, but it’s a possibility that I’d sink it into a down payment on a house if I wasn’t taxed at 40%. This is because I think I could do better with DC real estate than I could with an IRA. It would also be a crash pad for my sister. But the money we have isn’t enough for a down payment unless we bought an apartment or condo in a shitty neighborhood, paying attention to when industries might move in. If we’d had the money for an apartment in ’01, Kathleen and I would both be in a very different financial situation, especially considering where we lived. If we’d applied for a mortgage to buy a house in Alexandria or Arlington, we would have made a nest egg no matter how long we stayed. If we’d kept the house as a joint asset and just rented it out, today we would be millionaires, especially if we’d been willing to risk it a bit and buy in Columbia Heights or Shaw. You can buy a house anywhere in the city of Washington, but you’ll get the most bang for your buck if you go into a neighborhood that is currently trashed out. Washington, DC is only 60 square miles. That means property values begin to skyrocket quickly in undiscovered pockets. Think about the people that bought in Georgetown in the 70s. Their houses are worth five million.
I don’t have the money to dream big, because it takes money to make it. But it’s a nice thought and a good thing for both Lindsay and me, so we’ll see. Even if we never do it, the idea is fun to explore. I don’t know that Lindsay wants to work past retirement age, so I don’t know if she would even need a pad in DC by then. So, it’s the equivalent of just searching Zillow for house porn.
It feels better than arguing in my head about why I don’t walk in the world like Lindsay, and how I can use my strengths so that people don’t see me as her weaker, meeker counterpart. I am learning to deal with my emotions differently, which lets go of a lot of rage. I don’t feel like everything is going wrong all the time because I have more emotional strength to be able to handle something like this. I am not getting edgy at an enormous change that as of yet, I do not understand.
New environments are difficult for me to handle, and this is one of them. I have never had to think about money before in this way, and it’s frightening to have something explained to you that you had no capacity to understand in the first place. It feels good to be in a different financial place than I was few years ago, but untangling the emotional strings around it is difficult…. most notably that I’m angry my mother died. My mother is the one that I could have just said, “I cannot make this phone call under any circumstances right now and it’s time sensitive. Will you help me?” My mother would not have understood why I couldn’t make a phone call due to social anxiety, but she’d do it anyway. I will make a phone call for you because I am not emotionally invested in what the other person has to say. I will clean your house for the same reason. There needs to be an exchange between people like this who all clean each other’s houses for free, because we don’t have the emotional attachment as to how it became that way. Shame and guilt, etc. I don’t think it’d be a problem as long as we don’t get lazy and under value what others are doing for us. Bartering vs. getting work done for free because you can’t be arsed.
I don’t want any more stimuli than grief most of the time, because it’s what I can handle right now. It has to be managed before I can manage anything else. It’s not a constant scream of pain anymore, just that my reactions are always going to be irritated and angry if I’m thinking about grief and dealing with other people.
When I am being short with people, I only want it to refer to my height.
When I love someone, I love their food. I make breakfast the best, in my estimation, because I spent so many hours bonding with Dana over our brunch program (chef and ex-wife for those just joining us)… but it wasn’t just that. We loved to cook together more than life itself, and breakfast was the thing that made her face light up. Breakfast food comes easily to me, because now I picture what Dana would do and how she would do it every morning of my life. This is not a bad thing. We’re not together anymore, but I decided to stop spending time with our negative memories a long time ago. I will talk about them to use them as an illustration, occasionally, but I would never talk shit about her just for sport. Our fights make us both worse characters, because our joy was so apparent. I am also not in love with her anymore, which I know is confusing…… and yet not, in my brain. I can write about her in all the romantic terms I want because of the tense. It may sound like I’m in love with her, but not when you look at all the “used to” instead of what is happening in my life right now. Remembering someone fondly is easy. In your memory, they become the people who fucked you up, and it doesn’t matter because you’re at peace with the fact that you fucked them up, too. No one is 100% a victim…. or at least, that is the case most of the time. I am sure there are examples, but by and large everyone contributes. Just like when I cook.
Because breakfast food is my love language, I used to have dreams of cooking Supergrover breakfast, and I don’t mean that in a sultry “morning after” kind of way………….. anymore. 😉 I mean that I could have been the chef, directing everyone as to what to do. That’s my happy place. Lording over a kitchen in order to teach other people how to fend for themselves. I want to go into a kitchen where I am given that authority without the responsibility. For instance, everyone saying “you should do it because I’m not a chef.” That’s not helping me, that’s succumbing to fear. If you don’t teach other people to work with you, over time you’ll become the cook all the time. “You’re just so good.”
That’s what’s great about marrying a professional cook. They work on you from day one, and it’s better if you want them to do so. They are not going to be your personal chef. I, like her, started with the basics. An egg. Diced vegetables……… repeatedly. Respecting first contact with eggs and knowing when to flip them. Interestingly enough, learning to make an omelet is so storied as part of a cook’s education, but Dana never taught me and I was never in a restaurant where it was on the menu and had to get up to speed fast. I play around in my own kitchen, but I’ve never folded anything successfully…. and because of anything but effort. I can only get better so fast, because I can only feed myself so much. I can only store so much when I make it ahead of time. Getting good at pancakes and oatmeal took a week or so of doing multiple iterations every single day.
Breakfast is also the only time I bake. I do everything from a can or box, but still. My favorite are orange rolls. The bread is the same as a cinnamon roll, it’s just the at the icing has orange or orange juice in it. They’re pretty divine…… If I’m in a savory mood, though, scones are stupid easy and forgiving. You can throw anything into them and the dough will react like a pancake, adjusting so that the food doesn’t take a left turn at Albequerque when you used a teaspoon and a quarter of something because you didn’t measure it. Cooks, by and large, hate baking because they’re used to tweaking by hand. You can do that with dough and pancakes. You cannot do it with cakes. In general, dinner service and pastry are two different fiefdoms, and bakers’ personalities are more laid back because they’re not in the same pressure cooker that the brigade is. Of course, there are exceptions. But most restaurants don’t sell as much dessert as they do main courses, anyway. Most nights the restaurants I’ve worked in could have had only one person on pastry, because we didn’t need more than a pie’s worth of dessert all night. Dessert went out of fashion with Atkins and South Beach. For people who aren’t foodies, dessert has been passed over for more bacon.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
The only thing I don’t use much is chocolate. I mean, I’ll put chocolate in pancakes a lot of the time, but it’s just a flavor note. I don’t make chocolate pancakes with chocolate chips and chocolate sauce because I’m not a Death by Chocolate sort of chick. Black raspberry chip vs. New York Super Fudge Chunk.
Ice cream is the dessert that’s my specialty, but I don’t have an ice cream maker, so I haven’t done it since Tapalaya.
First, you take a bunch of bacon and cook it in a rondeau. Then, you strain the bacon and put it aside, making ice cream base in the pan loaded with bacon flavoring with the drippings from straining it and re-adding it to the base. But the bacon just makes it insane when I prefer plain sweet cream or Mexican vanilla. Mexican vanilla is the one place skim milk is a good application, because you can make an amazing ice milk with it. Ice milk, to me, tastes better without fat because you can tell a difference between it and ice cream.
I would rather have ice cream with 23% butter fat and just eat less of it.
Except on the nights when I’ve been too tired to cook and it was immediately available. I can save my cooking for the morning, when I have the most energy for it. Getting up early and eating breakfast sets the tone for how much energy I’m going to have later. If I just drink coffee because I’m too lazy to eat, I don’t have enough strength to mask and I recede inside myself rather than sounding like a put-out dickhead because I can’t cope with my environment and it’s not personal but it sure sounds like it. I take precautions not to be that guy. I can’t get by on a piece of toast. My body needs a load of energy early on. So, I need eggs at a minimum. Eggs with more butter than people usually add and probably peanut butter toast and some Greek yogurt (full fat). Vegan sausage patties if I have them, and I don’t care whether it’s Just Egg (plant based eggs) or actual chicken eggs. One doesn’t really taste that much different than the other when I add all my spices. I love Old Bay or simply salt, pepper, and garlic. Season eggs like you would season a chicken. For instance, Montreal Chicken Seasoning is really amazing in a scramble. So are Tony Chachere’s, Paul Prudhomme’s Chicken or Red Fish Magic, and Slap Ya Mama. SYM is Cajun spice like Tony Chachere’s with the heat turned up. It’s probably beyond most people’s comfort level, so use sparingly when cooking for white people.
Another breakfast favorite is extraordinarily thick Greek pudding with cinnamon and nothing else. It makes your brain *find* sweetness in the cinnamon rather than sugar. If I had an Instant Pot, I could learn to make my own and I would, because I like it thicker than most companies make it. Yogurt is particularly good with fruit like raisins, prunes, and dried cranberries, because if you add them and put it in the fridge, they’ll plump back up. Yogurt with plums sounds more legit, right? Raisins are good in ice cream base for the same reason, particularly rum raisin and putting the alcohol in the base at the end so that the alcohol doesn’t all cook out. The bite of alcohol stands up to the fat of ice cream base very well. It will also make you feel tipsy immediately. Tread carefully. It will hit you before you really know what you’re doing.
Two scoops would have done it.
That’s an old joke for three people.
I think I’ll wrap it up there, because I have so much to discuss that doesn’t have to do with food. But I’m going to go make some breakfast first.
What’s the biggest risk you’d like to take — but haven’t been able to?
There are so many risks I’d like to take, but haven’t been able. To count is to number the stars.
The biggest risk I’d like to take is having children in my life. That I don’t want to have them, but I’m not afraid of my partner wanting/having them. It is not that I am specifically looking to date a mother. I am saying that I had to let go of a lot of fear when I was dating Sam, because it was a thing between us that she had kids… but by “thing between us,” it’s the the possibility of being “mom’s girlfriend who lets us get away with murder” became real in a way it wasn’t before. I have no doubt that I would have been particularly good with her kids, because they were every bit the music nerds I was as a child. I started brass in fifth grade in “the system,” shorthand for the toughest music program in the nation, depending on where you go. But excellence in music is something Texas schools take very, very seriously. So, it’s not competition inside your school so much as it is the willingness to thrash other bands, publicly. In my band, we never did “Flight of the Bumblebee,” but that scene in Drumline is indicative of the kinds of things my band could do. My one year in marching band, we did a suite from “On the Waterfront.” I’ve never seen the movie, but Bernstein wrote a great score. What this has to do with the kids is that they were the type kids who would not have been impressed by this because their bands probably did something better…… and the conversations about it transcend age, because you remember what you’ve played and the circumstances surrounding it forever.
In fact, the biggest reason I’d like to have children in my life is to pass on everything I know about music. Classical music is a driving passion in my life, and something that children simply do not love without repeated exposure to it. I promise that even to a child who hates it, if your favorite piece is Moonlight Sonata, they remember…. and it will make them cry when they lose you. I, for all practical intents and purposes, cannot listen to solo piano often. My response is visceral and primal. Grief is a gaping wound you’re constntly living around and trying to ignore its presence. I work on my shit all day long- living around grief is not that you become immune to growth because you can’t get over it. It’s that you are no longer who you used to be. You are not only grieving the one you lost, but the self you presented in front of them.
The closest my mother ever got to an unguarded version of me was telling her I was in trouble psychologically and letting her visit me in the hospital. In the past, I wouldn’t have told her something like that, that I needed her in that specific way, because it was both Lindsay’s and my mission not to upset her. We hid things from her because we knew they’d set her off, worrying her needlessly. We did that successfully, but our mother didn’t really know us, either.
There were two things that set her off after the divorce. My being queer, because I was part of that “perfect family” vision she lost and it made me feel guilty AND the fact that I was the child that reminded her of my dad the most in temperament and she did not appreciate that fact in the slightest. When she was angry at me, she was fighting with someone who wasn’t in the room. I can have empathy for it, but it doesn’t erase the fact that in some ways, we just became incompatible. That’s because she gave me the message constantly that being like him was bad. I spent a lot of time at my dad’s house because of it, because the longer we lived together, the more I became anxious about it.
One of the biggest pain points I had to reconcile in therapy about my childhood was feeling like I threw Lindsay to the wolves. That my mother completely decompensated and I didn’t help because I couldn’t. My autistic nature and sense of justice makes me the kind of person that will argue with a signpost. Her depressive nature made me feel bad about needing to talk about our relationship on that level and my mother’s refusal to go there. She did not want to admit she was sick. She did not want to admit that she needed therapy and medication. I am not saying this lightly, like I’m just this therapy case that thinks everyone should do what I do. I am saying that in my clinical observation, she was a trainwreck….. and she couldn’t clean it up because she didn’t think she deserved it. Depression ate her lunch as well as blindness. She was stuck in a permanent state of Eeyore that left a pallor over the whole house. Her depression rubbed up against mine and it was every bit as detrimental as adding a depressant like alcohol to already depressed behavior. It went forth and multiplied.
Fundamentally, she did not like me. I am not saying she didn’t love me with all of her heart and mind. I am saying she did not like the way I processed emotions because it came across as blunt and narcissistic because she would never have had me tested for anything that would have put me into special classes. She didn’t want to face a social stigma if she didn’t have to. Autism makes you sound like you’re the biggest asshole in the world, that everything revolves around you, when in most cases it’s that I’m not thinking about your response and I throw truth bombs when you aren’t used to them. If you are a person that avoids confrontation, then all observations of behavior like I have on my blog are going to feel like an attack. That’s because my words don’t carry the weight of social construct or nicety. I am not working from that core, masking my thoughts. I am letting them flow through me and writing is my every day example of how my mind works. I am trying to create a YouTube video in your mind about autism and ADHD through the cunning use of word pictures.
My brain processes information differently than any of my friends, but I would say that Supergrover and I have the closest thinking style to each other than the rest…. except Beck. We are so connected I am not sure we are actually different people. I am feeling the same heady rush you get in a romance because new relationship energy is focused no matter what kind it is. It makes me feel good, a new source of dopamine that gets constantly refilled because I am not using her for it. We refill each other’s cups of energy because we’re focused so hard on ourselves. You work differently from a place of abundance than you do of scarcity. The biggest risk I’ve already taken is unmasking. I’ll never do anything more important, because when everything is already out there, my blog cannot be used for blackmail. I can be confident in my intuition again, because I have extensive knowledge of what is and is not normal for me.
I am never telling people what they should do in a conversation, just “this is what I’m hearing and that is how it makes me feel.” I am a stickler for not using the words “you made me” in a conversation….. or, more accurately, when people say “you tried to make me.” Absolute bullshit this time, Sherlock. I express needs and retreat or move forward depending on your responses. Some of them are naturally going to make me feel good. Some of them are going to make me feel bad. But you didn’t make me or try to make me feel any of those things. I am responding. I am not going to put myself through blaming myself for your words. That I should have known something that you did, because you have a certain picture in your mind of how our interaction should have gone accoding to social convention, when I am always standing just to the left of those. I can see and analyze human behavior, but I have to know if the person is neurotypical or neurodivergent first, because that’s going to alter how I view someone’s perception. What they are capable of seeing and what they’re not.
For instance, I would take responsibility for Supergrover’s care and feeding if she was ill, but I would not take responsibiity for knowing whether she needed it or not. That I should have been somehow able to divine when she was ill and what that meant for me in terms of how I should respond. I am using this virtual relationship on purpose, because taking responsibility for helping her get well is something she has never asked of me, therefore it can be a fictional example instead of a real one. But people in relationships do this to each other all the time. They leave their expectations unsaid so their needs are unmet and blame the other person for just not seeing it. I can blame my mother for that in a way I cannot blame others, because if something about my behavior isn’t noticed, the hierarchy of parenthood says it’s something she should have…. and should have listened when I expressed needs in a way that no one else should have to do now. But I do not blame her for not responding to my needs when I was so excellent at keeping them hidden. I am saying that when I opened up, she seemed immediately uncomfortable with my life. Therefore, the urge to open up wasn’t necessary right up until it was unavoidable.
I have no doubt that other queer kids feel this every day. That they are told through thought, word, and deed that they are not enough. That their parents have no idea how much cultural stigma affects them because they are fed an extra helping at home when our growth and development is fundamental to setting our personalities. The message that we are not enough is so loud that our suicide rates are up to three times larger than the general population. We are not far enough out of white supremacy Jesus apologists everywhere for straight people not to be enculturated that way, that straight is the only way and if you’re gay, be celibate about it.
Sex is one of God’s greatest gifts and on the present day base of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, yet despite homosexuality naturally occuring in every population on earth, including animals, and evangelicals feel nothing about the fact that they’re justifying stunting queer people that way. That there should be no discussion about the fact that science is real and the Bible is not, and I say that because nothing is provable, not that the truths it holds don’t matter. I do have faith, but it’s centered on what Jesus accomplished and not sticky, sticky blood theology.
There is a fountain filled with blood……
Give me a break.
I wear an icthus, not a death instrument. I believe in intelligence and espionage, thus loving the story of smuggling Jesus out of Israel and into Egypt, and the new church establishing the sign of the fish to know whether they’re safe or not. For the uninitiated, if you were Jewish and a part of the new sect vs. orthodox, you would drag your shoe in the sand in the shape of the bottom arc of the fish. If the other person was Christian, they would drag their foot in the opposite arc. It was an underground way of spreading the message.
Those are the good parts I take away from the Bible and not the hypocrisy surrounding it. If I take in the message of the Southern Baptist church, I am forced into a state of shame that even God wouldn’t want. God promises a future in the Old Testament to prosper you, and anything that steps on my personal liberty to a degree in which that promise is not extended to me is over the line, Smokey. Mark it zero. There is a direct correlation between evangelical Christianity and American police thinking they are the sole judge, jury, and executioner when, in fact, all lives matter. We are not saying that black lives matter. We are saying your behavior takes away from that message. That you are saying one thing and doing another, constantly speaking out of both sides of your face. Calling out hypocrisy is different than oppression. The police are also white supremacy apologists because their religion tells them it’s okay…. and the police skew conservative on social issues. Clearly.
Clearly.
See? Now I sound judgmental about policemen when I am judgmental of the system. My ire with the police and my ire with men are the same. I have a boyfriend. Clearly I am not anti-male. But I am definitely critical of the ways in which white men are groomed to treat women, and critical of men who aren’t strong enough to stand up to that systemic change and let it happen. The police continue to believe black lives matter less no matter how much we might attempt to break them of the habit…. but things are changing, slowly. I think there’s a wreckoning going on and people who don’t normally stand up are finally feeling the burn. We cannot let our culture go to hell in a handbasket, and we are slowly destroying each other. We cannot legislate our way out of treating each other like shit.
Especially when so many of us process information differently and because of it, we are treated as less than as well. Mentally ill people are seen as their diagnosis and not their personality. I will always be known for the ups and downs of bipolar and not what I manage to accomplish in spite of it. Some days, I am not even capable of enough spoons to leave the house. I get everything delivered so leaving the house is only dependent on the things I can’t find with Uber Eats or Amazon. What no one seems to get is that needs to be my normal. That I function better with less stimulation and engagement, so please. Invite me to anything and everything, but have sympathy for the fact that I cannot have as much energy as you all the time. Let me off the hook for social engagements immediately and don’t walk away mad about it because I am not conforming to what you need in that moment.
That’s because when I do have spoons, you’ll get the very best of me. I won’t always let you down. I am just different. What I am saying is that I cannot respond to that much stimuli all the time, and I isolate in order to gather energy for it. I am not shy, I just don’t have much of a social battery and when it runs out, I need to get the fuck out of public. When I panic with social anxiety, I don’t expect anyone to be happy about it. I am saying that I am trying my best, and please be patient with me.
I am not responsible for your reaction, only to be sensitive to the fact that I am not always working on my time and I need to roll with it. I can’t completely drop out of society except for my weird little collection of internet friends, the clown shoes to my stripey tent. What makes my friends so lenient with me is that they can be absolutely honest with me as well. You don’t want to go to something I planned five minutes before? Sure, no problem, but I will be angry if you don’t reschedule. Not rescheduling is the friendship death knell. I think that’s why I prefer internet relationships. I can’t remember who said it, but “the kind of people I’m attracted to are the kind of people who also don’t want to leave their house.”
If it seems weird, think about how many college students have bonded without ever having met since 2001, when distance education really began to get in full swing. I have no doubt it led to romances after showing off in class…. easy when you’re virtual and also in the same city so the transition isn’t a huge vacation with a once in a lifetime chance of it working out. If I moved to DC “for Supergrover” at all, it’s so that if our relationship would go in that direction, it could without incident. For instance, saying “meet you in Dupont” is different than “my plane lands at 10:44.” It’s the safety and security of meeting for lunch instead of meeting for lunch after picking them up, hating each other, and being stuck with each other for three to seven days.
It was Ted Lasso who said, “be curious, not judgmental.” I’ve been like this my whole life, my autistic gift for rambling manifesting as truly personal questions that some people are into and some find offensive. What becomes problematic is two people who love to have deep discussions start out as the first and degrade into the latter. If someone hurts you and still asks intrusive questions, you’re going to see it as an attack when the other person’s tone hasn’t changed. Then, it’s harder to mend the problem.
Emotional problems will never resolve with the ignorance of them.
Fighting through it is hell on earth, so the best thing that people can do for themselves is to spend time with a third party, because the longer you sit in that tension, the more you make decisions based on how you feel without the other person’s input and it starts the drift. One fissure snowballs, and people tend to ghost each other quickly due to lack of emotional bravery. They cannot sit in the cognitive dissonce of fighting without taking so much personally that they walk away thinking that they’ve been wronged on both sides…. at the end of a fight, not the beginning.
The biggest risk you’ll ever take is being vulnerable enough to work it out, especially when times get tough, because that involves strength you didn’t know you had and don’t develop until you have the desire. Relationships devolve into push/pull, because equilibrium is harder and harder to maintain.
Insecure attachments do not feed anyone. You have to know when your attachment style doesn’t feed you, because you cannot go any longer without understanding how they became that way. When you start with the question of how they behaved, you end at the possible things you might have triggered it, and not for malice. Checking where you could have done something differently that would have helped and didn’t, then cataloguing it to deal with another problem later on. That’s how you win or learn rather than losing. Each failure becomes a building block instead of a seminar on how much you suck.
Continuing to believe that “you made me” is a thing will constantly make you feel angry or guilty. Knowing that you’re responsible for contributing to a problem without being responsible for others’ reactions is key. It keeps you humble enough to leave room for negotiation, because you recognize everything isn’t all about you. I’ve realized I sound like a narcissist because I will keep arguing ad nauseam, making the other person feel unheard and like my word is law when in reality I just have an anxious attachment style and the need to turn over a problem in my mind until I can stop overexplaining. I often walk off in an argument, but not without it being understood that I am coming back…… most of the time. The swings were too big with Supergrover because the problem was so great. I couldn’t stand the thought of going one more minute like this and having to put energy toward it because of the trauma bond.
In short, I never would have tried to become Supergrover’s real friend because I didn’t feel secure enough to rest in it. I was just willing to work on it until I did, because the safety and securiy of knowing we could meet for lunch and not have it be a big deal has always been off. I invited her to go with me to something and she said no, but “someday, perhaps.” It’s the only time I’ve ever “asked her out,” because I knew that to ask more than once was beyond her comfort zone and I got tired of waiting to know if she still thought the idea was weird. I felt like the only way out was through, that we should sit in it until it wasn’t weird anymore. Until we could commit like an angel and a demon who have each other’s backs for all eternity. Lucifer and all his brothers….. but taking turns as to who is demonic and angelic all the time because they do. Never forget that Lucifer is a fallen angel, a child of God like everyone else. Neil Gaiman is the only writer I’ve ever met to capture this perfectly. “Good Omens” is a masterpiece. Neil Gaiman is entirely responsible for us being called “The Holy and the Moly,” changing frequently. I think she would have been a good sous chef. I think I would have, too, just in a different area of her life.
It fits in with all my other nonbinary natures, and it’s a huge risk to acknowledge it because I have imposter syndrome. That my writing doesn’t matter, that I’m bullshitting people over my gender, that people only tolerate queerness or disability to be nice, the list goes on and on. But acknowledging it allowed me to let go of anger, guilt, frustration at that treatment and just call it out as it comes up.
In the world of “Let it Go,” I am Roy Kent, looking up at Rebecca and mouthing the words.
The more I understand the disconnect in my personality, which is neurodivergent to a bigger degree than I thought, I understand more about why my reactions seem so two-faced when I’m not mallicious in the slightest and so hurt when I hurt people with my own fallibility. I am not saying that I have an excuse for every wrong thing I’ve ever done. I’m saying that maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on myself because a public lashing every day is only so helpful. When you have problems, you have to start searching for solutions. I always start with medicine, because you can’t live in a doctor’s house and not begin the process of thinking that way, just like when you turn 18 in a lawyer’s house should count as One L. Plus, for background on my novel, I got three books from the Kindle store on how to think like a spy, because one of the plot points is a recruitment in Paris with enormous consequences. My protagonist has to be a confident enough asset that a case officer can trust them.
I know exactly jack and shit about how to do that, which is why I spend so much time at the Spy Museum reading non-fiction set in France and Asia. I know a lot about The Cold War and the transition from OSS to CIA. I don’t know anything about Viet Nam, which is why it is both inconvenient and not that I’ve decided to write a book about it. Pros include going to places I never thought I’d go, meeting people I never thought I’d meet in real life that only exist as avatars, and possibly having a good enough proposal to get a grant to finish, and I believe with all my heart that I can do it because Jonna Mendez said, “maybe we should hire you.” 😉 Cons include leaving my house.
This is because half of my brain speaks ADHD, and half of my brain speaks Autism. The way those brains fire are completely different, yet there is crossover in behavior… not what drives it. Therefore, I am constantly tempted by change and hate it within a month. Why I have more energy than I think I do, constantly. Why I look like a vulnerable narcissist a good bit of the time and I can stop apologizing for it now. The way I describe situations hurts neurotypical people because they’re reading my words with a voice I don’t intend. I am being kind and not nice. They are being nice and not kind. I do not interpret words no matter how they’re delivered without running them through a million checksystems before I know how I feel about something. That’s because my first reaction is ADHD, no impulse control. My response is autistic. I go deep inside myself and ruminate, getting burnout quickly and having to regroup with no if or when as to my reappearance. This is because it takes time and patience for me to get the energy to do social masking……. because when I don’t my interactions hurt people.
The urge not to sugarcoat things anymore is how I’m letting myself off the hook. That I was doing myself more harm by trying to sugar coat something because my emphasis was on the wrong point. It’s not that I am not listening. It is that I don’t understand. I am not a narcissist because I’m direct. I act like one because I’ve made the executive decision not to care about what comes out of my mouth because I cannot control your reactions. I can only control what I say. I can be mindful about that without concentrating on my fear of your response. Fear is what causes burnout and isolation. Burnout is difficult, because you cannot predict spoons in advance. So, you take a day off and it’s fine, but it’s not enough transition time to reset anything.
The other thing is that my autistic nature has a tough time with having days off because of my need for structure and schedule…. and burnout because masking becomes exhausting quickly.
The main difference between being a narcissist and not is empathy. It’s not that I don’t have it. Far from it. I process it differently than a neurotypical brain and get edgy at being misunderstood all the time, even by other people who are neurodivergent because not all quirks line up. When you both have processing disorders, the way you communicate is sometimes more difficult and less. It’s hard to tell what’s a bad pattern and what is us continually reading each other wrong?
I learned in one YouTube video why my entire marriage to Dana was on the rocks from day one, and it’s something that neither of us would have picked up on because I wasn’t a writer back then in the sense that I am now. I didn’t spend hours alone every day like I’ve done for the last eight years. We did not have the coping mechanisms to deal with autism, ADHD, and cerabral palsy because only one of us had all three. I was never going to get as much alone time as I needed from an extrovert. She was never going to get as much interaction as she needed from me. The longer I went into writer mode, the more I got comfortable with receding into total autism mode…. where writing took away all my barriers in communication and I felt freer when I wasn’t constrained by other people’s opinions….. not that I don’t need other people in my life.
Writing brought on the process of unmasking all of this. Why do I write from the early morning and sometimes again into the night? Because I am not interrupted. There is no one to tell me to shut up because if my friends don’t want to talk to me, they don’t have to. Other people will read my words and it will resonate with them instead. The last thing I want in this world is to feel like a burden, so I retreat to an enormous degree. I want to invite friends into my inner circle that understand me, rather than having to save up enough energy to mask. I just don’t have that kind of disorder. I refuse to be continually uncomfortable all the time, and it was my 37th birthday that really got me thinking about all this… in retrospect, of course.
My birthday that year was at the end of my first year of friendship with Supergrover, cute and cuddly monster that she is. So, we’d had a year of talking nearly every day, nearly every hour. It was so adorable it made me throw up in my mouth a little bit. I couldn’t have been happier on the first day of kindergarten. This is relevent because my birthday party was where I realized another, darker nature of the fissure with Dana and it was becoming more apparent. We simply were not compatible on a fundamental level and had ignored it for years. Keep in mind that I am not saying all the other reasons are now invalid. I am saying that they are the many cores I’ve been working through these past 10 years. The problem is that complex. No one thing is true, it is a wheel in which I stuck too big a stick. But the birthday party stuck harder.
Dana and my friends threw a birthday party for me the night before my first day at work. I didn’t have to be there until 0900, so it was no big deal. We weren’t big partiers. Even if everyone stayed until midnight, it was fine. Still plenty enough time to sleep, as I wouldn’t have slept a full eight hours on the night before my first day, anyway.
Well, people get there and I’m cool for about an hour tops. This is not unusual. What was unusual was being strong enough to say, “the house is huge. You guys go ahead.” I was okay with it and also not. My birthday party wasn’t for me. To design a birthday party for me is to make sure I am not completely overstimulated at every moment. But I didn’t know that ahead of time. I just surfed up and down, masking and not. Deciding on the fly and suddenly needing to leave. It makes me seem like an all-around self-centered jerk when in reality my nerves are on fire.
They’re on fire from masking and from trauma, inextricably interrelated so fire is never one alarm. One sets off the other, an alarm as loud as morning prayer in Damascus and which also changes five times a day. My prayer is to be stable, inshallah. We can’t always get what we want. I haven’t stopped trying.
I can only ask for so much patience from other people while I work out my shit, while also accepting that my brain and body are more complicated than most. I’ve been beating the shit out of myself for not understanding everything perfectly since I was born, and assuming that my limitations are other people’s fault a hundred percent of the time. None of that is objectively or subjectively true, but the neurotypical world is set up for me to feel like a failure. Representation matters, but in terms of autism and ADHD in adults, no one cares. Apparently, ADHD is only for children and we should have just learned to cope by now.
If I had been diagnosed as autistic, that is seen differently in other people’s minds. People look at ADHD and just see spazzed out little boys. You begin to see how ADHD works in women by looking at autism first. That’s because they aren’t the same, but again, present that way. People with ADHD tend to have problems logically. People with autism tend to have problems emotionally. My body has decided to cut out the middle man and have those two disorders duke it out for supremacy when both of them suck.
ADHD will only rescue me from autistic burnout for so long. That’s why when I travel, I’ve loved the seven and 10 day trips I’ve taken and hated the shorter ones. Not enough transition time to really enjoy myself. But again, “hating” is relative. I loved going to Paris, but it was a long haul for three or four days. It completely upended my rhythm for months. It was worth it, but for my thrill-seeking ADHD side. My autistic side was nervous and fearful the entire time. I am sure I was delightful company because of it, because my dad and sister don’t expect me to see fear in front of them when it’s relentless. It’s not fear of them. It’s that everything in my environment affects me differently than it does them. They’re both neurodivergent, but not autistic as far as I can tell. That’s because my dad and sister can change his environments at will and I cannot keep up with either of them.
It affects everything, from feeling out of place socially to the tag on my shirt to the people talking about their problems way over there that I’ve somehow managed to overhear. It’s too much stimuli in every outside environment, which is why I take public transportation. It is built-in, ironclad transition time. If I am driving, I am still in control of something. If I’m riding the train, I can fall asleep….. which I often did coming home from my job as a SQL developer because I could only handle so many people and problems in one day before I passed out. I know I prefer the train because I did have a car here for a while and wrecked it because of rumination. I got so lost in my own head that I took an unmarked curve a little too fast and couldn’t correct in time. Or, at least, I assumed it was marked until the cop told me it was marked on the other side of the freeway. Well, thanks a lot. That was helpful. I’ve never been here in my life.
I decided that being neurodivergent and having eye problems was not the best recipe for a driver. Getting my Fire HD and Bluetooth keyboard was the committment I needed to make the hour and a half on the train count. It’s a great writing environment as long as you don’t forget your headphones. I find that either movie soundtracks (Argo, The Bourne Identity, Syriana for me) or white noise are my best bets for being able to tune everything out except the motion the train makes, unperterbed by the sound. Reinforcing boundaries is hard when you know that some people are just crazier than you’ll ever be. Logic keeps chasing them, but they’re stronger and faster.
It’s not the sound of the train that’s bothersome, but the people on it. Most DC locals keep to themselves. Tourists will talk to anyone, for any reason, at any time. Most Americans are too polite to turn down genuine interest because we don’t want to seem rude, while avoiding tourists is a DC sport. There is also a huge difference between the federal government and the DC population. There is a reason that 5:00 in DC used to be called “white flight” and it has gotten so much better over the years, but we aren’t done yet. Therefore, there’s disagreements of all kinds on the Metro and you just have to ignore it when it gets loud…. that is, if I am completely uninterested in the conversation and not jumping in because I can’t not. “I had the right to remain silent. I did not have the ability. -Ron White
Again, ADHD vs. Autism. Am I worried about challenging my political beliefs on the subway to learn something and have more to talk about here, or am I worried that my sock is sliding down into my shoe? Are we going to talk about peace in the Middle East or why Whole Foods doesn’t have the veggie dogs I like and why I am nuclear pissed about it?
But if we’re going to talk about love, know that I’m not trying to hurt you when I describe real life situations, and I’m not trying to evade fault. I am owning what is mine, without speaking for you. I think that is being kind, in spite of the fact that it wasn’t nice.
I don’t need you to understand it. I just need you to respect it. Otherwise, I’m just another Leslie crying at her birthday party. I’m betting that if you are autistic, you have cried, too, when it happened to you.
Hm. Today it’s “Sunday mornin’ rain is fallin,” and I’m hearing Adam Levine singing in my head. I made myself an outstanding cup of coffee in which I mixed every kind I have in one airtight container (the only one I have, thus mixing the end of other bags). It’s Cafe Bustelo, Community Coffee King Cake, and some kind of Folgers I don’t remember buying, but someone did. Not sure what I’ll brew next, but I have a lot of tea I’m looking forward to as well. I still haven’t drunk all the Pu-erh John sent me and I’ve also got lots of Stash English Breakfast and powdered matcha. Of everything I make in the morning, I like matcha the best. I just don’t like to drink it every morning because making it takes longer than a Keurig pod. I have about two hours before I have to “get ready for church,” and by that I mean I’d like to take a shower before I watch YouTube. It might be a good day to take a look at the scriptures later.
I had a line cook that didn’t know me from Adam come after me online for saying that the pen with which Biblical literalists paint the Bible is the root of all evil, and he thought I was saying that Christians were the root of all evil. Ripped me a new one for saying David and Jonathan were in love. We can’t even prove Jesus and John weren’t, it’s just more likely that he had a partner and a housecarl……. like me.
If that wasn’t clear, I meant he was married to Mary Magdalene and it is written that John is his favorite Disciple, so I’m sure he showed up big for everyone to think that and write it down. I don’t think it was sex. I think it was being willing to give up your career for someone else’s…….. like me.
The line cook said that if he made fun of my community, it would be a hate crime. But if I made fun of his, that was fine. Got butt hurt, so I knew that it was a pointless fight before it started. I said, “you don’t even know who you’re talking about when you say I have no idea what I’m talking about, and this is not a fight you want to have with me.” And I tapped out, because I couldn’t get across to someone with a literalist view of the Bible that taking the Bible seriously and not literally is the only thing I can do in this day and age. There is no proof, and we need to stop pretending there is. There’s not even any proof in the Bible that God exists, only people’s reactions and responses to them. No Biblical literalist is going to accept that as truth, so why bother? He doesn’t study theological giants. I do. If I am the one studying debates between Rowan Williams and Christopher Hitchens to learn the finer points of what puts Christopher off about organized religion, I can use it. I can use Hitch’s words against him in a wonderful way, because I know he doesn’t care about Christians who take constructive criticism and use their faith to improve themselves. I feel like Christianity would do a lot better in this country if it stayed in its lane.
It is embarrassing. EMBARRASSING. That England does this better than we do and they have had divine right of kings and no separation of church and state since the beginning is one of the weirdest things on earth. We supposedly built this country on separation of church and state….. but what we really said in effect with our cullture is that each state was free to pick its own organized religion. Georgia and Massachussetts Bay were not the same.
We of the United States have never protected freedomm from religion as much as we’ve needed, and I’m tired of it. Again, there is only so much of white supremacy Jesus that can be justified, as well as hypocrisy. People are leaving the church in droves and we shouldn’t stop them because we brought this upon ourselves. Our membership will change when we do and not before. In my opinion, I can hold everything I love about religion in my own heart. I don’t need the church if it decides to die, and it seeems to be doing much to help itself along the way. Catholocism will probably die before it changes because Pope Francis is not as liberal as it needs to get. He is just a Band-Aid, and cannot be even that because there are so few priests willing to push the envelope further than saying that gays and the divorced are people.
You have to leave behind what no longer serves you. I have already decided that I am right for the church, but they decided when I was 15 that they were not right for me. I moved to a denomination where I could be ordained, I was just tired by then…… and frankly, too hurt. I really think so. I think I went into shock at my situation, then my adulthood believing I wanted something I didn’t. It wasn’t untrue. It waas when I was ADHD and masking I could handle leading a congregation. When I was autistic and trying to comfort myself, I couldn’t handle even one other person in the room because of overstimulation. All of my behavior cannot be contributed to depression and hypomania, because my energy levels switch too fast for that.
I am a neurodivergent that is self-aware to an enormous degree. I realized that I should not handle a congregation because of what I could do to them and vice versa. I don’t think that mentally ill people make good pastors, because you react differently to emotional stimuli when you feel good, and the difference is so striking that you can’t project stability because you aren’t stable, actually. And there’s no shame in it. Realizing that you are not mentally healthy enough to take on the needs of others because your own health is a lot to manage is courageous.
I didn’t want to stop leadding people. I wanted to start leading people in a different way. I think I do because so many people tell me that. A woman yesterday told me that I have a very interesting life and that I wrote from deep inside me. Exactly what I was trying to portray in my writing and something I needed to hear because things haven’t been going all that well in my estimation.
I have no doubt that Supergrover has looked in on me and decided that healing and moving on is better for me, but I’m only doing it because I have no other choice. It’s what I’m working on because I have already done all I’m going to do. The way I write is assuming she’s out because she told me she was, but she rarely holds me to one entry or letter forever. We’re just not close enough to stop her ire because we’re not checking the story we’re telling ourselves anymore. She has no idea what I’m doing or not doing in trying to portray our lives when they meet. I use the adrenaline of sex to cover a lot of other ground and I promise she’d rather people think we were naked in the middle of the freeway, and even more interesting to think about what has more adrenaline than sex? All right. You’ve got me. She designs roller coasters.
She doesn’t like all this, but she gets it. Symbolism in writing is a thing. Also, Dana will laugh. She doesn’t like it, but she gets it……. or at least, I hope they both laugh because it’s been 10 years since all that for Dana and 8 years of trying to manage just the two of us since. It’s an interesting conundrum because the longer I go without contact, the more okay I am. And then I’ll hit a trigger and need her immediately, but I self-soothe instead of getting anxious she’s not around. However, I do not think this is the way our relationship should go. I think we’d be much happier if we made the commitment to be imortant on both sides. This is because the more we communicate intensely in the time we have, neither of us have to worry about each other. For instance, having one 45 minute meeting early on would save us a lot of them later, preferable for people who are both obsessed with other things, including their families.
It’s weird to feel like our spines are sewn so we don’t face each other, and our strength is in the seam. I wish I could watch her face when she reads that line, because I think it’s one of the images that she’ll love. I have so many perfect pictures of us, and exactly none of them are something she wouldn’t enjoy as well. That by now Michael is real to me in a way he wasn’t before, especially the way he changed her life in a way that I would have wanted for her if I’d been able…. and not just on one level, but many. I told her than and she thought I was trying to make her feel bad. No, just trying to say that I love her for who she is, not who I’m trying to get her to be. That she can be straight if she has to be. I am absolutely certain at times she wonders why, because I’ve never met a woman who didn’t say that if they were in any way queer their husbands would never hear from them again.
What has happened over time is that I want to be there like a family member without forgetting where I started. That our relationship is an evolution and I’m always going to treat her like I used to be attracted to her and not because I am and trying to hide it. It’s that I can’t change my speech patterns. I’ll always have a hundred terms of endearment for her. She will always take my breath away in a photo or audio/video. There’s not a moment I feel I won’t love her forever in a way that people remember love in third grade. What she has to decide is if she’s okay with that in a friendship. That it’s tinged with romance because I felt those feelings and moved on, not that I’m uncomfortable with her life now. And I know she knows that, and feels so guilty that she cannot be there to catch me right now, because she thinks I have no idea what she’s dealing with and I do. Desperately and completely. It’s why I have no idea whether she’s taking time to mull things over or never coming back. She does not have time to pay attention to anything. She, like Mel, is in the position of starting her own kitchen and I treat them the same way. “See you in three years.”
What she views as goading and provoking is not that I get impatient with timing. I get impatient that no matter how long we go, there’s never an e-mail longer than a few words…. which indicates that no matter what I’m talking about, she’s always avoiding it. When she does have time, she’ll respond to anything that doesn’t involve our relationship. We don’t work through anything and yet she’d eat anyone’s face off who tried to look at me in a way I didn’t like and I feel exactly the same way about her. I would bitch slap her boss if I thought they needed it, and neither one of them would like that very much….. but I would. I would be Mrs. Don Draper on their asses and every single one of them would hate me down to the mailroom. The thought of this makes me laugh harder than it should, because she is definitely a Don Draper-type personality (or comes across that way in text), and I feel like I have the sensibility of Betty’s chihuahua personality.
The funny thing about Betty Draper and me is seeing how much she got away with and what I could’ve….. I am actually pretty happy she ended up with a husband when I think about how her life would be different with a female partner. Like, this could be a script. I’ll think about it. However, it would not be based on us. Just the idea is funny. All powerful women who have wives act differently in a large crowd than those with husbands. It doesn’t jive with the way straight women are vetted to work at high levels in government or industry. The way they are groomed to react like men because nothing gets done if they don’t. A woman with a wife has been pissed off by that her whole life and has the strength to fight back because she doesn’t have to deal with it at home. Her career is also the worst when it comes to her partner being a writer, so if they were like me in any way at all, it would only be that they have that one thing in common to create comedic tension.
And the thing is, Supergrover is just an archetype. Hillary Clinton. Michelle Obama. My sister Lindsay. Carly Fiorina. Melinda Gates. Helen Thomas. I could base what I’m thinking about on any one of them…. the push/pull of a powerful person meeting a no one on the Internet and finding out the other one is smarter in some ways. I feel that I am older than Supergrover, that she is older and sometimes not wiser. I hope that she is impressed enough that she would agree with me and that she is every bit as much right as me on the opposite end of the spectrum. That we all age at different rates and in different ways. But to find that it transcends class is a particular blessing. If she thinks I’m smart, I’m smarter than nearly everyone and no one could have convinced me of it that didn’t have her pedigree. I’ve felt like a dumbass since I was born because I didn’t realize how much I had stacked against me. How much the Internet took away my limitations in communication. I feel smarter around her than anyone else because it comes with such strong belief in myself. She also has the presence of Picard. When she says something, it’s with the authority to make it so. She thinks I think of her as a suburban mom. No, I think of her an an Evelyn. A Michelle Yeoh, an accurate description of her beauty in one picture.
She doesn’t have a prayer life except running, and I hope it’s productive. Sometimes, you feel more in prayer by zoning out and letting your body do the work. Sometimes, it’s thinking through things. The answer comes from praying, not what happens afterward. You know yourself, you’re just afraid to say what you want outside of the intimacy of prayer, because that would involve talking to someone else with an opinion. Either way is fine, and I feel like she is taking care of herself by listening to her body. I am taking care of her by listening to her mind and sending her support by letting her know that I’m thinking about her. But if I tell her that I’m thinking of her and she doesn’t want to open up to me, it doesn’t mean my prayer hasn’t mattered. It means thoughts and prayers can be only that because I haven’t been invited to sit down at that particular table.
I picked up a term on “Covert Affairs” that I really like and I use it all the time to describe my blog. At CIA, to talk about security credentials, they talk about who has been “read in.” In my life, that fits perfectly, because I know exactly down to the letter I’ve typed how much you guys have been read in, and it’s only the amount I want you to have. To go further than this is not helping me, it’s hurting them. That’s because if they wanted to tell their sides, it would be in the comments section, not from me. I reveal so much that anything more is their story to tell. I don’t push limits on purpose. It’s hard to negotiate boundaries and hard when you’re brave with them out of necessity, not lack of love for others.
Dana and I had a hard time because when Supergrover found out that I’d read Dana in on something that she didn’t okay, I freaked out. It wasn’t the initial secret that kept Dana and I emotionally apart, but its reverberations and how she reacted to me after it. I was a hndful, and so was she. Post hoc, ergo propter hoc. When I say I didn’t have a choice on whether to leave Dana (because that would have involved our triangle or foursome being solid and it wasn’t), I mean that if Supergrover had talked to Dana and I had talked to Michael, Dana and I could have worked it out. But, I was left in the position of choosing between them and Dana had to lose because Supergrover forced my hand in a way that no one else could. I had to write about her to handle our lives together and I couldn’t let Dana see my reactions to it. Case closed.
But then Supergrover had the audacity to look at the clusterfuck she created and make it all about her. That she hadn’t created a situation I couldn’t handle, but that I was stalking her by coming to DC……. then getting surprised when I was perturbed about that. We’ve been stuck in that push/pull since 2015, and I didn’t decide to stop loving her. I decided to stop working on it.
I can handle what she’s dealing with on my own, but no I can’t. She can read this blog and not worry about her safety, but no she can’t. We could solve all this in an afternoon, even if it was just chatting on Facebook Messenger, but I’m betting we won’t. After eight years and no need to look me up because I gave her all my contact info, she cannot possibly have been too busy to connect. She just wouldn’t. She decided what kind of person I was then and has looked at me through that lens ever since……. the one that says I’m perfect for everyone else except her because she can’t forgive me and never will. Not in the way that truly means redemption and intimacy. But she said she could do nothing about how I felt, how she felt, etc…… but she could do something about the present. If she can, I hope she will. I just will not accept being the person she only talks to short sentences at a time. I don’t want to get by on a glass of water when I have ridden her waves.
I am working on why she affected me the most because I don’t completely understand how it happened, but I want to. I want to even if she does not, because even if she didn’t want the next decades, I did. Even one is a long time when you’re talking about life afterward and how it changes. But it is very interesting to work on the issue of how relationships change over time when you don’t have context for anything but each other- the fact that I have seen she has dogs, but never petted them. That I have heard she has a husband and kids, but never met them. That she likes art but I’ve never been to her house, etc. And yet by writing to each other like a soldier and a lovesick girlfriend for 10 years, it has created the same type intimacy now that they felt then. Do you think my love for Supergrover is less real than those type movies and novels based on very real life? Hayat only spent a few hours more with Mike than I spent with Supergrover before we created a lifetime connection like reader/writer, which carries more responsibility for me now than I had before. It is not a wonder that I wanted my wife and that responsibility to be locked into one person because it was too hard to manage it when they weren’t. But that’s because I was green and didn’t know what I was doing. It’s easier now that I don’t feel the pressure that she’s paying attention to anything I say. I just hope it shows I do see her in 3D when she can open her eyes to that possibility. I think that the message will resonate later, it’s just that right now it’s incredibly loud and extremely close.
Working on how I feel about everyone else is easy because I don’t have the pressure of keeping their identity secret to the degree I do with Supergrover, which is why it’s so hard to put anyone else above her for any reason. I’ll do that when she’s older. Right now she’s my baby, and I have to wait to go back to work til she’s in kindergarten. It’s the best analogy I could possibly have for what we’re going through, and I hope she takes it in because I’m childless so what I’m putting down is not something she’d pick up. That I am definitely responding to a baby, but it’s her. She doesn’t see it because she doesn’t think she needs it, and I’m the one that sees the burn on her face when no one else can. It’s a lot. She’s a lot. But thank God my life isn’t anything else, because I’d still believe I was straight trash if it hadn’t happened.
I don’t want to be disrespectful to her, ever, so I’m just arranging my life so that it doesn’t matter when she’s here and when she’s not. I am Amy Pond and River Song, setting a place for her at dinner in case she shows up. And with her even unto Trenzalore………….. but only when and if she’ll have me.
Do lazy days make you feel rested or unproductive?
Let’s get one thing straight.
As a writer, there is no such thing as a lazy day. Work is inverted. In order to put out content, you have to spend time thinking about the ideas before you start typing. Writers look lazy and unproductive because they’re lost in thought….. and that’s a good thing. I sit at my keyboard with my head working independently of my hands. I will stare off into space, typing as I think of something. Some days, the thoughts are fast and furious. If I feel that kind of mood, I’ll put on some EDM and dare the bpm to keep up. EDM really makes me type faster, because it takes an extraordinarily high amount of beats per minute before I lag.
This is not to say that there is no such thing as being a lazy writer. I’m just not, so I don’t assume others are, either. To me, being a lazy writer is avoiding typing. That if you really want to be a writer, you’ll do it. The longer you say you’re a writer and don’t type anything is where the issue lies. If there are stories inside you that you can’t type, you are only limiting yourself by your own fear.
Intelligence is one of my favorite topics, and I love Jonna Mendez on YouTube. She’s a former spy (Chief of Disguise before she retired) who is also a local, so I cannot remember if I heard this from her directly at her book talk here (for The Moscow Rules), or whether it’s from one of her videos with Wired Magazine. But she says that the bigger the crowd, the more no one notices what you do. it inspired me as a writer, because of course the bigger the sample selection of readers, the less will care what I do. I can say whatever I want, because people are always going to be lost in their own lives and so am I. I’ll deal with their feelings about me when they realize I have feelings about them. When you think about it that way, you allow yourself to step off a ledge. Those who know you best might not catch you, because they cannot adjust the version of you in their heads. It might take a different audience for you to level up. As a blogger, my audience gets bigger and changes every day in different ways. Sometimes it’s that Facebook brings in more people than WordPress. Sometimes, it’s that i’m more popular in India or the UK than I am here in the US. Sometimes the US is even third, and those are the days I really, really relax. Whatever it is, it is not waiting for criticism or letting me cripple myself with fear. It is also not letting fear of criticism build, either. It’s getting bigger and getting used to it. I can only dish as much as I can take, and my level is just about where the trolls come in.
I write in the dark to walk in the light, because I cannot take in what others think at all. It would paralyze me. Everyone’s a critic and most of the time wonder why I stop writing about them. So, in order for someone to criticize me and for me to need to keep writing about them after that must take a hell of a lot. Trust me, you don’t even know.
There’s no way to be lazy with the way a writer’s mind works. You haven’t signed up for a nine to five job. It doesn’t matter if the baby woke up fifteen minutes ago and you just got back to bed and “why God? Why won’t it stop?” If you have an idea that you know will express how you feel as art, you have to write it down. I don’t mean writing down every thought you have. I know on this blog it seems like it. I mean leaving yourself key words so that you can pick up the brainstorming session later. It is so very, very difficult to strike gold at an inconvenient time because the creative process is a flow. It, like grace, does not leave you where it found you. To help this, I have two modes and I do one or the other. The first is that I have a lime green Moleskin so it’s easy to see that also has a pen attached next to me in bed. Not on the nightstand. I literally sleep with it like a teddy bear. If I want to write something down, I use the flashlight on my phone. This is my preference almost 100% of the time because the idea is cemented in the writing of it. But occasionally, I’ll be lazy and just say, “Siri. Open Notepad.” I don’t know what the app is officially called, I just said that to Siri one day and it worked. I use voice dictation rather than voice notes, though since Beck and I communicate with them, I’m liking it more. So, perhaps. The best thing about voice dictation is that speaking aloud and reading it later helps ensure I’ll remember it.
It’s also not a lazy day if you take the time to have deep interactions with people, because as a writer you have to have things to describe. Your life is on display, particularly when you write fiction. On my blog, people already know I’m talking about them. Case closed. Not knowing for sure creates buzz that isn’t here. But at the same time, you have to have real life experiences on which to base your world. For me, that’s my angle on everyone else’s behavior and not because their behavior is bad. This blog is the result of trying to overexplain to myself why people are doing what they are doing. It is less intimidating than trying to build a fictional world, which is why I’ve gotten into a professional writers’ group on Facebook that’s really not for sissies. Supergrover would be so proud of me, and I know it. I also know that I’ll miss telling her about my criticisms because she would want to see me grow over time just as much as my writing group does.
Do you remember that scene in “Eat. Pray. Love.” when Liz and her friend are talking about all the people signing her divorce decree? Like, they weren’t even there… Mother Theresa and people like that. Well, that’s how I feel about Supergrover. That if she knew about the wriing group thing, it would make her feel good so I’m imagining her signing off on it.
Most days I know I cannot be a writer without her, and I wish I could mean that differently, because it would make me look like less of a sad sack with an excuse not to be great. It’s not that. It’s that when you love someone, your dreams have to be balanced. You have to take the other person’s fears into consideration. I do not want to be great in a way that ever costs her something. What thrilled me about being together was that we both made the other feel capable and strong… but only when it was good. We turned on each other and never recovered. Now, I’m struggling with a work in progress that could introduce questions neither of us want to answer and she doesn’t see that as problematic. I do as I’m looking down the road. My romantic life doesn’t depend on her. My career as a writer does. At no time do I mean this blog. I mean I don’t want a book to be published and I get those questions nd handle them badly. I’m working through it because I believe my idea has legs, but it’s not anything I’ve talked about before. It’s something I sit in when I look lazy.
I have new ideas for books every day, but I don’t let it control me. Having an idea for a new work in progress is like being polyamorous. You need the stability of the day in, day out grind…. doesn’t mean your life won’t flip upside down during new relationship energy. I cannot fall prey to those bursts of dopamine, because it’s just my ADHD. Those are the things that go into my Moleskine or I dictate into my phone. They’re the brain droppings that could later on become content in my books.
You work every minute of every day of your life when you write. This is because whether you’re completely immobile or laying brick or cooking or coding software or selling insurance or modeling hand cream, you’re still writing.
You’re writing when you’re doing everything else. The collation of your ideas is the most important part, because it really helps to have a clear map of a subject before you start typing. If you think that is not true of this web site, that I wander into nowhere, you’re both right and wrong. I do not see plot and character until I am reading something back. Not while I’m laying it down. It’s the only thing that allows me to be completely open and honest- my willingness to completely change my opinion. I also look at “All Things Considered,” but it might take me a week or two to get there. I can’t explain everything I was feeling during a situation in one entry. To hold me to a single entry is a literary device called “synecdoche,” when a part represents a whole… like calling cars your “wheels” or female lawyers “skirts.” I do not know whether “skirts” is offensive or not, because I never heard it said with derision. But I’m also from the South, so please don’t cancel me in New York or some shit. My synecdoche for Supergrover was “Cheerios,” and yet it doesn’t come close to representing her whole self. Reducing me as a writer to a snapshot of my day isn’t fair or helpful, but lets my beautiful girl score as many political points as she needs to avoid opening up to me. Therefore, I rattle on about her here because our shit is unresolved. She thinks I’m doing it to get back at her, I think I’m doing it because this is how I survived life before her. She seems to forget that I was a writer for 10 years who also blogged before we met, so it doesn’t seem to occur to her that I’d be processing this way no matter how our relationship was doing.
It doesn’t surprise me that her synecdoche for me is “entry.” I cannot get her to accept that she is everything, everywhere, all at once. That no one entry can contain the complexity of our relationship and doesn’t try. That’s because I hope I’m explaining to her like I’m explaining to everyone else; I haven’t stopped seeing the world in 3D, writing about the world around me. She has stopped talking to me about what I’m doing. I don’t have enough information to put it to rest, and I never will at this point. I just had to let the train wreck happen and pick up the pieces. I am just not blessed to have someone who thinks they can learn something from it. She thinks I’m out to get her when I’m the main character on my own blog. How dare me! Of course I should write about my anger from your perspective……. no, I can’t, and here’s why. That’s expecting someone else to read your mind and then getting upset when it doesn’t happen.
What all writers know is that the more we look lazy and unproductive while writing and no one understands the way we process, the easier it is to lapse into thinking your only friend is you….. wherein you spend even more time alone writing into a Moleskine or asking Siri to open Notepad.
I will certainly try to keep to a topic, but no promises. I’m in a space case sort of mood because I am miserable. Nothing serious like COVID, just allergies that won’t quit. I am laughing over “Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me” right this moment because I’ve been saying that Sudafed PE should say “does not work” right on the box. One of the things on the show I listened to last week was that the FDA just released a statement saying “Sudafed PE does not work.” So, if I want to feel better, that means a very hot shower and taking my inconvenienced ass downtown where I can get the real stuff. If you can get alcohol delivered, I don’t know why you can’t get Sudafed. Couldn’t you just use the same ID scanner I’d get if I needed an emergency White Claw? Seems like an unrealistic expectation that I would want one, but someone does. 😉
It would make someone a good neighbor to do this for me, but I don’t actually know any. The queer boys next door seem to be nonplussed about me. I think it’s because they’re probably 10 years younger and upwardly mobile yuppies. It doesn’t mean that they don’t like me or vice versa, just that we don’t have much in common. I hold out hope, though, because we’ve only been able to meet each other and have said “hi” from our yards. Maybe by next year it will look totally different. I have no idea, but having cute boys next door never hurt anyone.
One of my other neighbors is Gladys Kravitz and we are united in the fact that we don’t like her at all. She can take a long walk on a short pier. She saw all our cars in front of the house and called the county on us, saying that we had too many people to all be living in one house. So, I had two weeks to get my disaster area of a room in spotless shape (which I almost never do because AuDHD) before the county came to inspect. They got here and saw that everyone has a bedroom and we haven’t spoken since. I think that was five or six years ago.
My landlords are kind of my neigbors, but not really. We have separate entrances and don’t interact much. However, if I needed something, I could call eihter of them immediately. We don’t talk every day, but we gather for holiday meals…. though that may change this year. I don’t know what the plans are, but my landlords have one daughter that live with us and one daughter that just recently bought a huge house. So I don’t know what Thanksgiving and Christmas look like for me yet, but what I do know is that I’m not slated to come back to Houston for either holiday as of yet, but it’s very early. My dad and I are the kind of people that will wake up one day and say, “I want to go to DC” or whatever and just do it. He just has a lot more frequent flier miles than I do. 😉
In short, stay tuned.
The people that affect me much more than my actual neighbors are the friends I’ve met through becoming a writer. In particular, J.L. Henry and Tyler Moore are essentially taking over my education. Tyler added me to his writing group, and I swear it was like getting into grad school. I am done. Floored. I cannot thank Tyler enough, and I will be back to group as soon as my latest stint in Facebook Jail is over. This time, I got banned for something even more stupid. I hit the enter key and was promptly accused of bullying. The text box for the infraction was blank. I can’t get anyone to look at my case, so I’m stuck until November 11th.
Therefore, if you find something you think is worthy of posting on Facebook, I would really appreciate it. Not asking for random praise, just that engagement is important…. but at the same time, I know not every entry is worth sharing, either. I hope you all find something and probably will because the thing about AuDHD is that by not staying on topic, you’ll cover so much ground that there’s a topic for everyone.
I have learned that non-tech people will listen to my opinions on linux even though 90% of my readers will never actually use it. That’s because I have the tech background that is almost exlusively “translating Geek to English” and I’ve gotten the IT job every single time I’ve put that on my cover letter or resume. It’s true, I am operating system agnostic, but I hate iOS for iPhones the most. Luke Miani agrees with me, and he’s one of the preeminent Mac vloggers on YouTube (also a local, incidentally). I should reach out to him and ask him if he needs a copywriter or something. Huge for my CV. Anyway, Luke, if you’re reading this, do you need a copy editor or something? (He doesn’t know I’m alive, it was a joke).
Also, do you guys like vlogs? I’ve done a couple, but I’d be willing to do more. I just don’t because my primary mode of communication is writing. It’s nice to get out of that rut, though, and just talk into the camera like I’m video calling Bryn instead. I might do it, anyway, just because I know Bryn likes them. I will eventually start recording my entries again, but it will take some time. The only reason I don’t do it now is that I need server space. I can’t decide whether I want to host the .mp3 files myself, or buy into something like SoundCloud. I could do all that on YouTube, but I specifically want audio because Bryn “likes to listen to me like a podcast.” If I can find a way to do that, it’s priority one. If more of you want it than that, drop a dime in the box and it’ll be done by tomorrow. 😛
Speaking of donations, I don’t ask for them but it’s a necessary evil. I don’t make buckets off it or anything, but I love it when people will send me $3 and say it’s for a cup of coffee to keep me going. You know what makes me feel better than three dollars for coffee to keep me going? nothing. It’s so much less about income and so much more about validation. I also don’t expect to make real money here- I am building a religion, living Comfort Eagle….. my hat is on backwards. I’ll show you my tattoos. I am in the blogging business I am calling you DUDE!
Today is tomorrow. Tomorrow is today. Yesterday is weaving in and out.
Cake provide the lyrics to my life at all times. My favorite painting of all time is “The Persistence of Memory,” and of all things I would tattoo on my body (as opposed to will) is a dripping clock. I don’t care if Dali was ADHD or not. He make the official logo.
I don’t know what this has to do with Neighbors. I’ve never even watched that show.
But I do know what it’s like to be ADHD and just feel like talking for no particular purpose. I lead down winding roads, and one of the criticisms I only get from my family and friends is that it seems like you “wander into nowhere” and that leads them to believe whether I’m on an up or a down. I’m Bipolar II, and you have never seen a woman get angrier in your life than when receiving that particular criticism. It’s because they become parental about it, infantilizing me to an enormous degree when I have so far made it through 46 years while on ups and downs. Slow your roll. They aren’t very good neighbors when they do it, even under the guise of being helpful. Depression and mania are two completely different sets of emotions and physical responses. Anxiety adds another level. At no time does this turn off my AuDHD need to ramble about nothing. I don’t do it because it is easy. I do it because it is hard.
Rambling about nothing, like neighbors, is the easy part. Anyone could do it. But I would challenge anyone to be as brave as I am in these pages. I don’t get to know you like an Internet neighbor I wave to- you guys really know me. You see me every day. You know what my life is like if you even read once a week….. it’s probably better if you only read once a week (in my estimation) because themes are repetitive as I look at them from more than one angle. Finding an angle on something is what brings me peace, because I can walk away from that writing session feeling lighter.
No one sees all the crying.
I write differenty at Starbucks. I don’t dive as deep so I don’t have emotional reactions in the store. I cannot do what I do without sitting alone in a room, lights off, with the door locked for safety. This is entirely doable since I start writing at 0500 and the house is eerily silent. But in that kind of mood, before the sun is up, I sit down at the keyboard and slice open a vein.
The Supergrover entries take the most out of me, the reason I was so offended when she said I didn’t write her as a 3D character. It was a body blow, and I hope she really takes in how much she wrecked me with that one line. Not a 3D character? Have you even read me, bro?
Anyway, I shake and cry and try to find things that make me laugh, because that was the biggest clusterfuck I have ever been party to, and I’ll never be the same. Neither will she. In some respects, I want her to come back and say she was wrong. In others, I hope she deletes everything and moves on with her life. It depends on what day it is. How bad the pain hurts. How much her behavior affected me and really fucking sucks to deal with on a daily basis, because it’s relentless breaking a trauma bond, and I’m sure she thinks I’m being dramatic. She can also take a long walk on a short pier, because I have wrestled our problems to the ground with no solution, because she’s the only one with answers to my questions, and they’re too big for me to handle alone.
And she knows it.
I’ve told her that for 10 years, and nothing. She doesn’t deal in emotions. I don’t deal in avoidance of them. We are totally fucked unless someone gives, and it’s not going to be me this time. I have done all the giving in I’m going to do because it’s been a decade. If she was going to show up in any real way, she would have done it by now. Fuck the hypocrisy and either get right with me or move it along. Your mama wolverine claws are coming out and you don’t even want to hug me? Get out of here with that bullshit.
I am so done there’s not even a word for it, and I still reach out for her in the middle of the night when I’m scared. Again, only one with the answers. But fuck my feelings, right?
I told her it came across as “only Supergrover is allowed to need things.”
And here’s the plain truth. In a lot of cases, she is. But she doesn’t get this one. She fucked up, she knows it, and won’t deal with reality because that involves feelings she can’t access. That’s because she thinks she’s fine. I do not. I think she’s a hurt little girl and needs a mama wolverine just as badly as I do……… because there’s always going to be things we share with friends that we wouldn’t share with our biological mothers.
I bet she didn’t even think of that, and when she does, so much of my need to be near her will make sense. We are now, in a very real sense, mothering each other. And if she has to wonder why, I’m going to need her to put on her fucking glasses and “read through many lines” again. She reads my e-mails so fast that she’s only picking up a quarter of my meaning, like saying I called her a liar. What I actually said was based around “the lies you tell,” a Southern way of saying you’re being polite to save someone else from harm. I said “the lies you (universal) tell,” and that’s not like you (personal) at all.” I wasn’t saying “you’re a liar.” I was saying “I think you’re being nice and not laying your feelings on the table because you want to protect me from emotional injury.”
No, she saved up all her “laying it out on the table” when I expressed the same need I’d been expressing ad nauseam for 10 years and she wrote me a long ass e-mail saying she didn’t have time to answer anything and I’d just have to be happy with the neverending cycle we’ve got going, which is toxic. We aren’t toxic people, but we do not have patterns of healthy people, mostly because she won’t open up to me except when she’s telling me how busy she is. Letters that really hurt me and don’t get us any closer to healing are long and involved. E-mails that say “I was just thinking about you. How are you?” are almost nonexistent.
She says way too little, and I say way too much.
We have turned into me and the queer boys next door, waving to each other but not really making an effort. I love her too much for that. I cannot put toothpaste back into a tube, another thing I’ve been saying for 10 years. If you can’t commit, as a general rule for all my friends, then please just leave me be. I don’t have room for any more anxious attachments with avoidant people. One is enough, because no matter how hard I try, I can’t turn off my mama wolverine, either.
Let’s first get the fantasy out of the way. I could try living without depression. If only there was a medication that could do that…. even when medication works, it’s a Band-Aid, not a cure. If you thought I was weird before I was on medication, trust me, the medication didn’t touch any of that. Still lost in a world of my own making, which has been very dark and I’m trying to find my way out.
It’s been 10 years, and I’m starting to wonder when I’ll be able to wake up in the middle of the night without reaching for Supergrover. I don’t wish she was mine in those moments. If it’s that time of night, she’s there to calm a fear or kiss an emotional boo-boo. For the last 10 years, I’ve tried to tell Supergrover that. I’ve tried to tell her she represents safety and security in my dreams, the one who’s always bailing me out because if I fall I land on her cape. She thinks I’m trying to make her feel bad, and I know why but I do not accept it as valid. Her feelings as to why I’m trying to make her feel bad are based on something she told me, something I love but that she thinks I hate and must need to berate her about it.
I wish I could try asking her flat out, “why do you think I’m trying to guilt you and make you feel bad that you can’t be my partner? The reason I ask is that I feel like I’m trying to tell you I feel safe and you’re mad about it.” I have a working understanding of basic biology. To hold something like that over my beautiful girl’s head would be the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever done in the history of the universe, and I have never done it. What I have done is told her why I thought what I thought every step of the way. I was talking to her to have empathy, not to encourage. I asked her, “surely you’ve spent more time getting over someone than you wanted?” She agreed, but now it’s eight or nine years later and she still thinks I am trying to make her feel guilty for something I was never trying to guilt her over in the first place.
The fact that she even feels bad that she can’t be my partner is touching to an enormous degree, because I wonder what it is she actually liked about that picture to even inspire feeling bad. What would make her feel guilty she couldn’t do it? Her letters read as bittersweet and they made me cry because of it. The picture of us together wasn’t being intimate romantically, clearly, but I do think she saw the dogs, books, and witty banter thing pretty clear. When we’re together, it’s like having a steady stream of memes to your inbox except we’re just that funny so there aren’t pictures.
Of course, she was already dating Michael at this point and had been for a long time (without my knowledge- this was early- so it might have just been her fixer/pleaser nature bucking at not pleasing me. But at the same time, I hope she does know that my heart was in the right place even when I didn’t show it. I am far less reactionary when I’m not being trolled on the Internet, and I can say the same for our mutual friend.
It changed the whole way I do relationships on multiple levels. The first is that unless my partner is military and just wants to, I won’t get married again. That’s because I know within myself from being queer that I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me who to love. If I married someone, it’s because the legal benefits outweighed staying single, particularly with dating someone military. Being a dependent is a whole other thing.
But what I know from being queer is that you don’t have to get married for love. It’s not because I’m throwing a shit fit over tradition. It’s that marriage was never a part of my childhood, teenage years, or early adulthood. I could look in on it, I could not envision it because I am a Weird Barbie. I also know that all my readers know that Zac is military, so I feel like I should say that dating him is not about trying to convince him we should. I don’t have a “game” here except having the closeness of romance without the obligations of romance, which seem bigger at 46 than they did at 24. So, if you are looking for an eventual wedding invite, you’re not getting one. Die mad about it.
My next partner will get a completely different version of me than anyone has ever seen, because I’ve grown past Sam and she’s the only one who saw the previous model. But they’ll get a different model because I’ve already met the most important person in my life. It’s unfortunate that the most important and the biggest romance are not the same person, but I hope each will learn to roll in their own time. For Supergrover, that might mean roaring in someone’s face or it may mean we’re done. But what I’ve noticed is that she says “I vowed not to respond to your e-mails or blog posts” a lot…… and it jump starts my heart in all the right ways. She is reading. She is absorbing. She is getting something out of it.
I wish I could try hugging her for the first time. I think it would solve a hell of a lot. It would make our relationship look so much different to find the way we fit against each other in a hug, because it says everything about how much we trust each other. You can totally tell distance between people because guys don’t generally want to hug at all. If they do when they meet, they are generally either trauma bonded or actual siblings. for instance, I have noticed that combat vets hug each other more than most, and I am blessed to know enough combat vets to say that. I hate that they got their personalities through such intense pressure and pain, but trauma makes all of us who we are. I understand them and they understand me because PTSD looks the same in all people, no matter whether you were emotionally abused, raped, or kidnapped (as an adult or child). Physical and emotional pain set up the same way. Your emotional fibromyalgia starts with a reality break in all cases.
For me, the reality was raising my mom, because my biological mom didn’t want to and my emotional abuser was a fucking mess who couldn’t get it together until she did. I walked on eggshells around her all the time, which means I have the same reflexes as a combat vet now. Where we differ is in degrees. But it’s all the same shit. No matter what happened in childhood (including combat here because 18 is only an adult in theory), it will be measurable with the same llst of symptoms. Believe it or don’t, it feels just like being autistic or having ADHD. You are wakling around with a third degree burn on your face and acting like it’s not there……. until you doo the work and realize how relentless the burn is and try to turn it down. The severity of your emotional injury depends on the length of time it takes to get your reaction times and behaviors back to whatever your new version of normal might be.
My thing about Supergrover is this type of work is what we set ourselves up for. The emotional affair we were having was completely on the up and up except when I decided to ruin it for all sorts of reasons. The first time it happened, it was because I couldn’t get rid of her internally. She was my every waking thought because she couldn’t not be. Supergrover didn’t plan that part of it, because she didn’t know anything about me as a writer. My process as opposed to what’s published. All this time, she’s read my e-mails and blog posts and thought she knew me. She does, deeply, to the point where if it had been an arranged marriage, we would have figured it out eventually because the rest was too good……… the same way it is now when it’s an arranged marriage of an entirely different nature. No one should attach seduction or it being sordid in any way….. I crave her because now I’m not naturally designed not to. It’s a trauma bond, like you’d have with someone in your foxhole.
What is it that Diana Gabaldon says about secrets? I can’t remember the whole thing, but it was basically about Claire knowing Jamie doesn’t cheat on her. That when he’s with John (or whomever, I can’t recall), secrecy deserves respect. That if something was up, Jamie would just tell her. The same is true of me and Supergrover. The difference now is that she believes I believe she could suddenly be touched by an angel and change her mind about Michael; it makes her terrified to open up to me anymore, and I let her get away with that for far too long. It was not a friendship anymore and I couldn’t break the addiction. I could say the same for her.
I could try trusting her for the first time. I fell in love with every inch of her because she told me the truth, always, even when I didn’t like it. She stood up to my bullshit and I finally felt like I’d met my match intellectually. She could go as hard and as long as I wanted with argument and rhetoric. She always had her p and q statements in a row. We were never merely contrary unless we were just trying to act like eight year olds, which she will absolutely cop to- in retrospect, it was childish, and a war that never should have happened on either side of the equation. I wasn’t stalking her. We were both trolling the hell out of each other, trying to find hot buttons we could use and which ones should be on speed dial. Which ones were just enough below the belt to inspire fear.
Hers were just better, and I folded first. I wanted her to see that she wasn’t so tough because she was treating me like she was. We both called each other’s bluff, the moment I realized she’d have to be my primary partner now (from my perspective- she could share. I can’t.). That she’s hot shit, and therefore a relationship with her hits different and she’s blissfully unaware of that fact. She ended me for a while because I had to figure out what to do. I was in charge of something I never asked for and also wanted. I have only wanted to dive into her to the level she wants me there. And now I’m there to the point where I’ll never get out. Think about how much Peppa the Pig has changed the entire speech pattern of a generation of children. This is us, and i hope that I am as talented as Peppa the Pig.
It would please me if she told the author of Peppa Pig that, and it is not a sure bet she doesn’t know them. It is not a sure bet she doesn’t know anyone. That’s because in terms of gait and manner she’s kind of like Olivia from Scandal or SVU, take your pick. I like the image of Olivia becauuse Supergrover showed up like my white knight and that was Shonda’s vision for Olivia. Why she wears white all the time. Supergrover looks beautiful in white, and she also wears it all the time.
She’s also the whitest person I know despite not actually being white.
I don’t crave the sameness of her life, but the difference she makes in mine. For her, every day is the same. Just normal, everyday, suburban crap. And then she gets to work but when the shit hits her fan, it also hits different. My life feeds hers and vice versa because we’re too different for direct comparison until you get to how much information our minds are capable of processing at once and the capability for Large Discussions is unbeatable. We can talk like Eleanor Roosevelt and Amelia Earheart instead of The Trailer Park Boys….. and given that we both grew up in similar situations, not a turn our lives wouldn’t have taken had we each been looking for it.
I have been doing things for the first time for 10 years just through the nature of the path my life has taken. One of her firsts is only having enough time to get to know a tiny fraction of me, so she’s missing out on all the emotional intimacy I have to offer and trading it for a mistake I made so long ago that it should have been forgotten by now. I am not chiding her for holding onto it. Her right. Her perogative. But not her perogative how long I stay when she forgives me on the surface and makes it where we don’t have any firsts to share.
I don’t have strict principles because I’m AuDHD. ADHD and Autistic people may only have one: “annoy the shit out of everyone and see who stays.” I can joke about that because we drive each other up the wall. But when we joke about our symptoms, we’re not punching down. The thing about “seeing who stays” is that neurotypical people do not have an easy time in neurodivergent spaces like my house.
Zac and I are made for each other in this respect, because his house is a neurodivergent safe space as well. He’d have to tell you what his neurodivergence is, I just know that we have a lot of crossover because we love being together and are also bad at scheduling. He gets busy or has a TDY (temporary duty) elsewhere, I’m utterly obsessed with writing and forget to look up. All of the sudden it’s been several weeks or a month. That’s because neither one of us treat the other like a possession. I can’t remember who said it, but “he’s mine like my neighborhood, not my notebook.” It’s an attitude I carry now, because I feel like Bryn is mine in that way, too, and so is Supergrover even if she never puts it together that I am indeed the friend I said I would be from the beginning.
(I am her old, grumpy wizard and she is my young, brave, crazy knight. I am chronologically younger, but wouldn’t have her energy level at gunpoint. Not enough Diet Coke in the world. “Doctor Who,” as I’ve mentioned before, is not the only television analogy that fits between us, because we are very much like Arthur and Merlin from the BBC drama “Merlin” and Merlin and “Wart” from “The Sword in the Stone.” I take that back. She is still like “Wart,” but I am definitely, definitely Archimedes. She will be remembered as King Arthur, and I see her as Wart to cope. I do the same thing with my younger sister. Her professional persona is intimidating, so when I’m talking to her in real life it helps to think of her as a six year old. That reminds me of a principle I live by. Never treat anyone as if they’re older than 12 because they won’t respect you for it if they’re bad people. Good people need people who disagree with them and ignore their celebrity status. The evil are certain about everything, especially how important they are.)
Now, if there’s any principle I live with, it’s wanting relationships that are as drama-free as the one with Zac…. although I hope that Zac knows just as much as I do that our inattention doesn’t mean less care. We’re busy and we live over an hour from each other. The principle is just to be the person that has the other’s back. I frequently wish I could do as much for him as he does for me, but we’re at different points in our lives. It’s kind of different getting to be a princess every once in a while…… A princess that wears space man underwear, but still.
As I was reading back over earlier paragraphs, I realized that one of the principles I live with now is that my sister needs me more than she used to in a very concrete way. I am what she has left of my mom, because we’re still in touch with our aunts and uncle, of course, but we lived with her. My dad can tell her some stories, but not all because I was there with her after they divorced. I am the institutional memory of what was and will be, not because I can predict the future. I can just predict I won’t want to stop writing it down as it happens.
It’s something I know that I hope I can pass on to Supergrover and Bryn, as we’re all eldest children but their mothers are still living. My mother’s life was cut short by so damn much that I am going to be there for things that my mother never could, in way she never could because Lindsay and I didn’t open up to her like we open up to each other. I hope I can pass on that your siblings become your children when you realize you’re what’s left. No one gives you that authority, you’re just doing what you’ve always done and it feels weird not to try because grief is this whole other thing you will never understand. I don’t even say “I know how you feel” when someone tells me that they’ve lost their mother, because we almost certainly aren’t going to have the same experience. I am jealous even now at how much older Supergrover is than me and she still has her mom.
On the other hand, if she hadn’t died so young, me dating Zac (or any man) would have killed her… I wouldn’t have allowed myself to struggle with those questions on my web site because I never allowed myself to date anyone without thinking it was permanent before. Without knowing up front they were capable of marriage. It’s only because I’m starting to look at what I can manage that I can handle the dissonance between what works for other people and what works for me. I could not dive into myself to this degree if I was responsible for other people, and as I get busier I hope I will look back at this time in my life as a burst of creativity no matter how painful. I hope I’m now on a better path because I took the time to search for it.
I can’t control what principles guide others, the most important principle for interacting with others I live by.
I just lost paragraphs and paragraphs of this essay because WordPress screwed me, including the part where I said this was an expose on what it’s like to live that life of bipolar depression, not an indictment of my situation right now. My answer is that I, like all bipolar patients, struggle with life feeling like a series of moments where you’re putting off killing yourself… and that Supergrover was the thing that helped me keep all of that in perspective. That there are bigger things than me at work, a chessboard I’d never see with other factors at play, and a face I’d never forget because she’s “hell on wheels in a black dress.” She lost that beloved position in my life because she couldn’t commit and I was exhausted. Doesn’t mean I currently love her any less. I’m just sad. But full of hope because I am so much more than I thought I was. That’s due to her covering my ass. She’s not getting that I need her to own the fact that it’s difficult saving hers while also being a writer who publicly examines her life and her deciding that she wants to tap out is problematic and is absolutely contrary to the Mama Wolverine she said she was. Not interacting doesn’t take away my need to dive into the wreck, and it’s dangerous on many levels because I understand her better than most people and not because I’m a diagnostician. I am holding more cards. Again, it would have been so much more clear if I hadn’t lost the lead. Literally.
What you see is what you get. My situation is dire, and the reason I go on busting Supergrover up is that the dire part is completely and totally her fault. She cannot escape that fact, and doesn’t think she owes me anything when I agreed to help her carry her bag of shit. I’m not so much married to her as married to it. And she knows it. But it’s my behavior and not what triggered it until she comes back and says she’s been licking her wounds. It touches me that she thinks about me while she’s away. That what I say does resonate with her. That my words may be used in situations that matter. That I am actively building up someone who really, really needs it. That I pray to God all the peace that’s running through our chord is with her in the darkest moments of her life, because they are darker than mine. Her life feeds mine and is part of what puts off killing myself because I spent so many years loving her more than me. My first instinct is to protect her, and she knows it.
Thinkinng I was stalking her was over the line, Smokey. Mark it zero.
I can respect her thinking it and I don’t punish her for it. I really don’t. I punish her for not talking to me about it and telling the one person who hated my guts at that moment……… the wife who was tired of my crap and used that information to great effect. She ended my marriage with it and thought nothing of it. Me breaking up with Dana didn’t involve her actuallly believing that I was stalking someone. It ended because she wanted to break up and needed information she could hold over my head, and that’s what she picked because those closest to us know our biggest vulnerabilities. She hit below the belt for YEARS on this one issue when it was completely fucked up for her to think I would ever walk away from Supergrover. Ever. And she knows it and she supported it. So, instead of working with me, she got tired of my crap and used every bit of information Supergrover gave her to berate all my opinions and bully me for something that she knew wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t the actor. I was the responder. And she knew it.
Supergrover didn’t leave me even in my darkest hours. The complete darkest. She, like Dana’s alcoholism (which I will state exactly that way because I’m describing her behavior in retrospect, not what I believed in the moment.), according to Homer Simpson, was “the cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems.” Dana’s alcoholism made her alternate between funny and scary. I could say the same about Supergrover all day every day and twice on Sunday, because her words at the beginning of our relationship affected the way I viewed her and she didn’t correct any of my assumptions. In my mind, her little girl decisions on how to cope with consistent out of body experiences made her who she is. She is 12 feet tall and bullet proof and when she’s angry she has no problem lettiing you know that. Our power imbalance causes me great anxiety whether we’re getting along or not, because I am reading between the lines on a lot of shit. She doesn’t have time for me and now that she’s said it, I’m out. But I still see her face is everything I do because she made it where I can’t not.
I can’t afford it, and neither can she.
I spend time with her character because she won’t talk about our issues with me. She takes all her feelings about me and tells someone else, then finally, finallly, after eight years broke it down and said she could do nothing for me. It felt like a bullet to the chest because I’d given up so much for her already without her even having to ask. I had to do those things to protect myself as much as her. Anticipating her needs was so easy right up until it wasn’t.
Seriously, when we’re working on all cylinders, it feels like flying over the mountains. The best audition you ever had. Hitting a high C perfectly in a concert. Knowing powerful, powerful writers I don’t. Knowing that if I’d moved here when we were at our best, I would have been welcomed with open arms because she didn’t constantly think of me as a low-key threat and I didn’t think of her that way, either. She might have even picked me up from the airport back in those days. I know she would have picked me up at her old Metro stop… at the very least, she would send someone else to do that. She’s very good at that, and I mean that so very lovingly and not in a snarky way at all.
But there were things that gutted me. Like moving and not giving me her address so I could surprise her once in a while. The last things that were meaningful to both of us were a bracelet with her favorite cause on it (and it’s now fairly ironic) and a pen that was meant to be a gag. It was her present, but I lit up like I was Santa Claus himself. I also just thought of a joke about her that she would love and now I’m laughing very hard and sad I can’t tell it. Too close to the hard out. But anyway, since I knew those things were big hits, as well as some books in case she wanted to change careers that I thought would be helpful (these were all different Christmas and birthday presents on different years, I’m not a baller trying to win her like a carnival prize). There is one way that I am more precious to her than her husband and always will be, and not because she kept anything from him. It was that she told me before she told him, so she remembers that, not that she didn’t want him to know.
Because Michael and I are the only ones who know all her secrets at once, it’s why I need him more than I’m jealous. I know they control every bit of her behavior and I know that if I’m struggling, so is he and I will not apologize for that statement. She is a queen and she needs to be told that every single day and not because I don’t want her to have it. I really believe that shit. If you believe nothing else I tell you, believe THAT. She has released so much dragon fire for me while also accepting a hell of a lot. Doesn’t seem to give a fuck that I’m in love ith this character every bit as much as I love her in real life. Is, I hope, secretly proud of the little bubble I’ve made for us in this corner of the Internet while also respecting her privacy.
It’s a lot, but it keeps me from putting off the things I love the most about life. It gives me a different perspective, one that’s bigger than I used to have. I realized that from the very beginning, my hunger for her was always about knowledge, not that particular kind of intimacy. It’s why the idea attracted and repelled me for far longer than it should have, and it was my own choice to be miserable over it…. but again, the way she laid everything out anyone would have. She knew how I felt from the very beginning. That what she did turned me on because it felt like she had shown up like fucking Richard Gere while I was in the middle of a tumultuous relationship. It was a hardcore disaster, but a bomb I needed to wrestle with like The Moment. I decided that especially in retrospect, but even in the moment, I knew I was making the right decison. The bomb was going to go off, and it was going to be hell on earth, but I’d be able to escape domestic violence and alcoholism if I left right the fuck now.
Supergrover has changed her mind many times over whether she wants to respond or not, and it kills me when she vacillates between Mama Wolverine and I don’t even want to tell you how I feel.
But that push pull is exactly what I need to keep the mystery of faith……..
Once you hear the emergency brakes, you’re likely to hear them again.
I do not call her a character like The Doctor in real life. I call her a character here because it’s just an outline of who she is, not the complete picture. You can’t ever know that because there’s so much I can’t include. So much she’s seen that I haven’t that I can’t talk about. So many things about her life that affect me, but I can’t hold onto her as tight as I can for once in our lives. It would help me a lot to know she’s real at this point. Or, as I told her a hundred years ago, “besides. Can I really make a decision like whether I’m in love with you or not if I haven’t seen your rack? What kind of idiot do you take me for, woman?” Then, she punched me in the metaphorical balls with the answer and I told her to fuck off. Now I’m laughing so hard I might fall off the couch. Grasshopper will never in her lifetime reach satori compared to that. Or, at least if I have, I wouldn’t know it. I hate it that she’s funnier than me. She needs to tone it down. 😉
Learning what I’ve learned over the years has been the 10 years I’ve needed that the first therapist I told all this to said I’d need to get over it. That’s because the trauma started years before I met Supergrover and she was the one who told me her secrets in hopes of understanding my own. It’s what makes us two peas in a pod, and our relationship goes better for both of us when she recognizes it. By now, again, it’s not getting any better because instead of talking through the situaton, she’s avoiding it. What I have not thought until having months to think about it is that our relationship is crazygonuts because we haven’t met in real life. I have been perfectly happy with not meeting before now, and will be. Our relationship is not dependent on it, and wouldn’t need to be. I just believe we will continue the same pattern until we make the commitment to each other to break it, and I can’t think of anything faster than realizing the other actually exists in a way we haven’t experienced before. We get angry and troll the hell out of each other in a way we couldn’t do in person. It’s the shortest way to make us stop regressing.
I’m proud of myself for recognizing what I needed and stepping away, because I really can’t handle Supergrover’s life without being able to understand it from her perspective. I also can’t stop living vicariously through her because I need to know what the boundaries are on the hard out before I start writing that day. She talks around everything and I Socratic Method everything until I figure it out on my own. It’s exhausting, and figuring out how to pray for her and love her from a distance is so much easier than working without a net.
I just can’t stop caring that I might identify her, so I feel the weight she put on our relationship in a deep and meaningful way that I’d rather share with her than carry alone. It would feel different after a walk on The Mall, and it’s what calms my internal rage. That whether it was romantic or platonic, all of my dreams where we share a glass of wine or a meal have been picnics in the sunshine. Walking around a pond feeding ducks. Now we can do that in my dreams, but I have no need to wine her and dine her even in lucid dreaming because it’s just not worth it to dwell, even in dreams. Nothing is going to change, so why bother? I am proud that even when I hit the sleep stage where I’m so crazy I don’t remember my own name, I don’t go there.
We walk on the beach as if we’ve been doing it our whole lives, and I want to be there for the rest of it. It’s what saves me from living my life as a miserable bipolar patient staving off the inevitable. When we’re together, I feel like I could do anything. No one has ever given me those feelings in such a unique was so that they were instantly believable and objective in fact.
What I have been putting off is laying out these feelings in front of her. That I’m as married to her as Michael will ever be, and those conversations in the sunshine are more than gold to me, even when I’m making them up. And I know they’re made up, because they’re the out of body experiences that help me deal with my real life…. complicated, wild, and wonderful because I once fell in love with a girl, standing in front of a girl, asking to be a fan because she thought I was a great writer. I wish I could bottle that feeling and use it as hair product.
It stops everything I used to want to stop putting off, which makes me feel safe in a way I’ve never felt before. I sleep better because this love became mine, completely by chance and no less wild and wonderful than the ups and downs of a decade in which we’d seen each other every day.
But if we’d seen each other every day, we wouldn’t have this, either. The cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems…… according to Homer Simpson.
Stories That Are All True 