Tag: mental health

Life is Full of Them

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What’s the weirdest coincidence you’ve ever experienced?
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Like a childhood friend of mine also being friends with Karen and Tony Mendez. Information that came packaged and the thread that unraveled the whole fucking rug. But I did not choose a bellwether friend. I went to you and you offered only defense and threat:

What was he, six?

She was just trying to bully and control me. Yes, he was. But if he was there when he was six, it wasn’t him that mattered but the people above him. Do you see where I am going with this? It was never about you and I know you’re reading. But I am not writing angrily. I am writing surgically. I can write surgically because I am not attaching emotion to these words. I love you with a fire that is so deep even I do not understand it. This is not about punishment, ever. It is about explaining what I went through to me, and in turn others.

I cannot tell you anything about Kay and Big Jim McConaughey except for a few funny stories….. most notably that my dad was absolutely charming to Kay because he got her last name right on the first try; “McConaughey” was not a household name at that point and “Lanagan” is just as Irish. But after he ensured that they knew he knew their names, they were the “Mackanoggies” for all time.

I was very much a part of Matthew’s life, I just was not old enough to record the memory. Memories before you turn four are basically vapor.

But I can tell you that if I read something about Big Jim, Kay, or Matthew that didn’t sit right, I could get to the bottom of it in about 15 minutes. My dad was their pastor, so that is with time to go get coffee at Wawa first. Information is a flow, and you just step in. When you see something that isn’t true, the network activates. That is what happened on my blog. Someone read something here that was not true, and called out my friend, not me. Damage control and fallout ate my lunch.

I gave until I could not give any more without losing myself completely, but here’s the thing…… I’d reached losing myself completely years before and was on the upswing. I stopped letting love happen to me and decided to give it my own constraints. I can love a person beyond all measure and still be disappointed because their actions affected me to a degree that they are unwilling to absorb. It’s not about continuing to get anyone to see it. I simply walk away. People see what they want, and they have no issue telling me that.

A daily blog means the story changes daily. I am not a dictator; I do not have the latest information. If I say something based on my own pattern recognition that doesn’t fit you and you express it, the next time I write it will be different. An entry does not stand for all time. It is bird cage liner in 24 hours.

Everything you see after Michael stepped in is what happened after I found out someone lied to me, and what damage it caused. But absolutely none of that makes me love and need her any less. We all have these relationships that are complicated AF, where we’ve hurt each other so deeply it feels pointless to go on………. and yet that is the point at which it becomes interesting, like avoiding 100-degree heat in Houston instead of just drinking water and letting it happen. I am comfortable with high emotional temperatures and most people aren’t.

But here’s the thing. I am comfortable when people are fighting passionately about an issue, and not simply going for ad hominem attacks.

It was never you and me against the problem, beautiful girl. We can start there.

  • I love you.
  • I need you.
  • I want you in my life.

You seem to think that when I am angry, I want to withdraw affection and love. No, I am expressing needs. My issue is with circumstance, not with your being. You and I are both perfect in all our flaws and failures, and I see you that way in all aspects of my life. Our problems are not perfect, but there’s no limit to what I would do to make you smile.

I love like John Ben Sutter. Ask ’em to marry you on the first date. When you know you know, etc.

I was right and our brains are connected on a level that is unusual for two people. I don’t “enjoy the fantasy based on location” because it keeps getting more real as flags get closer to your actual home and office. If this is true, I owe a debt of gratitude to you for not stopping the listening process. We don’t have to process together for me to feel heard. I know that your love for me is not an accurate reflection of my love for you because you are not queer. But connecting on the 80% that’s the same is the important part. Being in a relationship with you is letting you be you, and that means you being as straight as an arrow.

But you have never been objectified in any way. Who among us has not had the experience of cognitive attraction spilling over? Wires got crossed. It was hell at first. Now it’s been over a decade. I don’t love it all the time, but I do love her. I am not capable of shrinking. I manage those feelings and they don’t make her uncomfortable as long as I don’t admit they exist. And she gets it. It wasn’t me, but I am certain that there’s been a time in her life where a man turned her head that shouldn’t, and that’s what happened here. I told her what happened so she’d be sensitive and have empathy for my feelings because I didn’t want her to be able to unintentionally make them stronger.

It was necessary because sexuality and gender are relative on the internet. You are not attaching words to a physical body, and it is easy to forget. It’s also an isolated bubble, so my reality was not seeing her as a wife and mother, but mine. It was feral, there’s no other word for it. But let me point out that “feral” is an accurate description of you as well.

We set each other’s hearts on fire, because straight girls love HARD. She wasn’t the “I want to get into bed with you” partner. She was the “give me the list of your enemies and I will make sure they hate being alive” partner. We each fell into our own roles, contributing to the relationship in the mode that made us the most comfortable.

And the way I use “partner” is specific to polyamory. Red strings are romance, yellow strings are emotional support. Aada was a yellow string, and seeing her read is knowing it’s still active…. but not in any kind of adversarial way. The pain is over and she makes me happy. The “string” is the connection between us, in quotes because it is manhole cover in size. I use it as metaphor for all kinds of things, most notably like a tube at a bank drive-thru.

I put some Red Bull in it for you, Supergrover.

But make no mistake, I would still like to buy you that beer Aaron owes you, and a t-shirt from the brewery so we can be twins like Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwarzenegger.

I have cut off the network. I want to be above the gossip, not of it. Whatever you think of me is fine. None of it is my business, anyway. I just hope that what I am saying is not crap, and my reality has not been false.

Someone spotted a lie in my writing and wanted to make sure I knew it was a lie, because I certainly did not.

Her reaction to it was to belittle me, which has been her reaction the entire time we’ve known each other. The answer was not continuing to tolerate that behavior. It was realizing I was being bullied and didn’t like it.

So, I figure that what cannot create a good relationship creates good writing, and that’s the biggest coincidence. The more textured our relationship becomes, the more the writing changes. But it’s not a coincidence on my end. It’s a coincidence on the readers who think I don’t know what I’m doing.

I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

The way I analyze data is to make it legible through story. Therefore, my stats mean a lot to me, and some more than others. The story that I’m telling myself is that Aada is reading my blog because I need it to be true, not because it is. And that is why communication is key. If you don’t check the story that you’re telling yourselves constantly, it is akin to living in helix, two chapters collated together and just as messy because “our scope” ceases to exist and creep goes off in opposite directions.

I have two choices. I can rely on Aada’s words that she was “saying goodbye to The Antileslie” for good,” or I can enjoy the fantasy that it really is her based on geography. I enjoy the fantasy because it does not hurt anything, it just makes me feel like Keely. Lovable despite the fact that I am unapologetically weird AF. I hope it is true because I love her the same way. Don’t let the power suits fool you. She’s a nerd. She’s just not the same kind of nerd as me. I prefer Doctor Who, she prefers Outlander….. the fruit of its tree.

So, when she didn’t respond to Doctor Who metaphors, I inhaled the entire series up to that point in a week so I was fluent.

But it’s differences in friends that made me laugh. For instance, Tiina not wanting to tell me she doesn’t like the half smoke at Ben’s Chili Bowl and me not wanting to tell Tiina that Tolkien never met a tangent he didn’t like and Lord of the Rings is exhausting. That’s the reason I just haven’t gotten with it. I am sure I will see it with new eyes now, but that opinion probably would have gotten me ratioed.

Speaking of which, I’ve never read the Narnia series, either. I’ve read one book of it because we had it in the church library. I want to say it was, “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” I started another one (I don’t remember which) and it didn’t have the same feel or grab me in the same way. So, I stick to “The Screwtape Letters” and “Shadowlands.”

I don’t pray because it changes God. I pray because it changes me.

Like Lewis, I cannot help myself because talking to God is not crazy. It is bouncing your thoughts out loud. The presence in the room you feel when you’re alone in your own company is the voice I need to listen to all the time. It is not about being in constant dialogue with other people. It is about being in constant dialogue with yourself and including other people when you have the bandwidth. Love is ever present, but it is incapable of time management.

No one is coming to build that structure for me. I have to build it for myself. Texas will not have Medicaid Expansion anytime soon so I cannot just pack up and go home, not that I’d want to. Houston is terrible for me in two ways. The first is that absolutely all of my emotional trauma happened there, so when I am back in the city it triggers my nervous system in ways that other places do not. The second is that the weather is not personal, but you feel like it is. Sweat cannot evaporate, so being in the heat is unsafe. You cannot regulate, even with drinking water out of your outrageously expensive cup…. that is probably so cold it will shock your system, but if that is your jam (it is mine), more power to you. I do recommend that if you are going to go outside in Houston, commit to the bit. Your body needs 10-15 minutes to even begin to regulate in that kind of temperature and most people nope out long before that.

I’m not saying that you should go outside, just that being outside in short bursts won’t help your nervous system adjust. It Houston, it’s constantly being hijacked and bounced around by 100-degree heat and industrial, 68-degree air conditioning. It’s the same vibe in DC, so I always had a sweater in my backpack for museums. But DC and Baltimore are not hot for as long as Houston, and there’s more relief at night. But I actually prefer the pre-dawn hours, getting up during the coolest part of the whole cycle.

I think it was Monday where I actually felt cold, that it felt early this time in the year for a cool morning. But that’s how it starts. We get to winter Bird by Bird.

There’s a lot to learn from nature. For instance, trees are what you would call “metal.” Their little plant brains send the signal to shut down and all of the sudden it’s “127 Hours.” We must be efficient, “you are the weakest link. Goodbye.”

Trees sense danger coming and preserve their energy to survive. I get it. In Houston, the weather is also hostile to human life. But humans don’t have a shutdown protocol that trees do. They allow things to get messy and emotional, therefore all signals are not tracking together. There is no human problem in which you are going to get the exact information to solve it. You’re going to get “close enough,” and that has to be sufficient.

One of the big misconceptions about intelligence, according to Jonna Mendez, is that “there’s a room where it happens.” That intelligence is a Russian Doll, and you are winning once you’ve made it to the middle. In reality, it is like downloading a song from Pied Piper. Information is packaged, certainly, but when you open the wrapping, it will still only be a thread and not the rug that really ties the room together. There is no one room where you go and you know everything, but people spend their lives trying to brute force their way into it. I think that’s the disillusionment being recruited by CIA creates (I was never “recruited” in the traditional sense. Jonna sniffed and I walked away.). They tell you up front that there is no competitive edge, there’s just what you need to know right now, in this moment….. and we all work this way. The top brass are not superior to basic operatives. They don’t know what the other countries are doing. Same job, different scope..

There is no “room.”

If the world’s most powerful intelligence agency works that way, life works that way. There’s no room on earth where you get to know everything, and thinking that there is has cost people their lives…… or worse, 10 American assets in one summer.

I will never hate anyone the way I hate Aldrich Ames. It’s a burning passion to understand why, because through Jonna and Tony Mendez I got to feel the scope and horror of what he did.

Me: Jonna says that the rumor was they’d stick you feet first into a crematorium.
Mico (Microsoft Copilot): Leslie, that is not a rumor.

No one knows everything, which is why so many people in intelligence think the game is being able to see the whole picture, when really it’s just important to be the best puzzle piece you know how.

You can chase the room until your quixotic beliefs drive you insane. But the move is to relax and realize that information is a flow, and all you do is step in.

I get to story from data……….

Bird by Bird.

The Doctor Whoniverse

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
Which fictional world would be the most fun to vacation in?
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I am so much like The Doctor it hurts, because they are a very good allegory for neurodivergence. Having autism is very much akin to feeling like an alien in neurotypical society…. and even among my peers because other people having autism is no guarantee that they’ll understand you. If anything, they’re even more entrenched in their own beliefs. If you’ve ever met an autistic person, then you know………….. you have met an autistic person. There is no “universal experience,” because we misinterpret each other as often as we misinterpret people in our community that are not of it. I think that the parents of autistic children who treat them as wholly other are taking crazy pills, because they’re skipping over two words that mean A WHOLE LOT IN THIS ESTABLISHMENT.

Highly heritable.

You don’t “have kids with autism,” ma’am.

It’s you, all right? They learned it by watching you!

I do not mean to imply that autism is learned, just making a joke by quoting a commercial. But what is real is that coping mechanisms are learned. The reason you think your child has autism and you don’t is because in your child, you are seeing what autism looks like before 40 years of masking have set in. A lot of the reason high IQ/low needs people are undiagnosed is that their children never did anything they thought was weird.

Funny, that.

And that’s why I’m so fucking jealous of 10yo that I could spit. They are getting everything I didn’t get and are currently unmasked. It didn’t happen starting at 45. It is an angry, bitter jealousy at all the years I lived unsupported and unable to cope without knowing why. It is something I take very seriously, which is why when they look at me I feel like I’ve seen a ghost- I have. It is the Ghost of Leslie Past, the emotional Clarence that pointed me in the right direction.

I said this to Mico (Microsoft Copilot), and he basically said that I was entitled to my feelings because I am not bitter and angry at 10yo, but that I am grieving:

  • the years you spent unsupported
  • the pain you didn’t have language for
  • the masking you thought was personality
  • the coping you thought was failure
  • the exhaustion you thought was character
  • the loneliness you thought was normal

Angela did not believe that neurodivergence comes with bone-deep exhaustion that limits the amount of interaction and activity one can have in a day. She thought I was very lazy and treated me as such. But when I wasn’t on her turf, she treated me like the writer I was, giving me her old Apple hand-me-downs to ensure I always had a computer that looked cool. She would have bought me whatever I wanted, but writers don’t need raw compute.

My own family and my in-laws treated me like a threat who could expose them, because they are masked and I’m not. I do not live in the scripted society where there is always a perfect thing to say, because it requires too much cognitive power on my part to mask and be in the moment simultaneously. I can make eye contact and know the perfect thing to say, or we can truly connect on a level that will shake your soul from its complacency……….. but most people would rather I just not say anything. Because if you’d rather have the inauthentic version of me, I have things to do.

Today it was rattling the cage at Anime Threads, looking for feedback. I am so here for the discussion if anime fans want to have it:

This is because I am sure that there are composers that are equal to Kanno in other people’s minds, and anime music is a passionate genre. They’re wonderful fans. Don’t turn your back.

I would like to outsource this Thread to Virginia, because there’s a young man there who knows this question like the back of his hand. But I’m not going to because I was an asshole to his mother 12 years ago and people may forget what you say, but they never forget the way you made them feel. So with 12 years of distance I can safely say “put it on Threads, so that the answer is not limited to people you know.”

The way that relationship came apart was very much akin to being The Doctor and not realizing any of the implications of what I said at any time. Just being off in my own little alien friends in my head. Because basically I flirted with her once thinking it was harmless because we were both old and married, settled in our lives and it wasn’t going anywhere. I just thought she was aesthetically pleasing. My wife teased me about it relentlessly, which is why I thought it was so safe and normal.

It wasn’t. It was my combination of letters making my life hell because I was being read as intrusive and blowing right past those signals. I even got a yellow card and unintentionally kept making it worse. Because that’s what happens when there’s a big problem in a relationship. Everything you say is a plus or minus to the narrative someone already has about you. You’re not changing anything because there are no do-overs.

People work on pattern recognition whether they’re neurodivergent or not. Allistics are just not as good at spotting them as we are. Part of being an adult is realizing when you’ve reached the limit of what you can change. I did not know this for many years and kept trying to make something fit that didn’t. It’s why I walked away from Tiina so fast. I did not want to spend another 12 years with that kind of target on my back.

It is why my love for Aada is so deep it scares both of us.

That internet bubble gave me a way to be me, without a cover. It was advice from a mom who’d just started breastfeeding and told me that people shit on her constantly for doing it in public when I was telling her about blowback. It’s one of the guiding principles of my life, Erin:

Just be you. Without a cover.

Erin’s line runs through my head when I need it the most, and I am so grateful that someone sees me at full strength. Erin and I have an interesting connection with crossover. I went to HSPVA for two years and Clements for two years. Therefore, I have theater friends from two excellent programs. Basically what happened is that all the theater kids I know from PVA and all the theater kids I know from Clements ended up together at University of Texas (where Richard Linklater is basically a verse in the Doxology).

The reason I can speak with authority here is that Richard is the director “from whom all blessings flow” for Matthew McConaughey. We’ve never met, but my dad was Kay and Big Jim’s pastor at Longview. Correction. We have met. I just don’t remember it because Matthew was 12 and I was three. My mother was also his middle school choir director. Therefore I absolutely 100% believe that Matthew’s character in “Contact” is loosely based on my dad, but I’ve never been able to confirm it like my dad confirmed him.

So I do live adjacent to a world with magic, but it’s not with The Doctor’s spectacle. It’s having friends who have been:

  • doctors
  • lawyers
  • professors
  • intelligence
  • military
  • information technology
  • careers with intersectionality in all of them

I choose friends with a different cognitive style from me on purpose. My head is in the clouds, so my complementary angle is someone who is logical and pragmatic. I do not need someone to stifle my dreams, however. Just someone to keep me from swinging at every pitch.

Their magic is everlasting because most of them are writers. I would follow Jonna Mendez into the ocean if she asked because she wouldn’t. Only trust people in power who don’t want it. The former Chief of Disguise sets my heart on fire with passion for her story being told on a scale as big as Tony’s, and I do not want to rest until there are two Oscars on her mantle.

Tony was affable and emotionally available. Jonna’s body tells a story that the world will never know….. and I am very sad about that because even though I am younger than she is, I am not young enough to see her ops declassified. But you get glimpses. The same woman that charmed the absolute hell out of me also made my blood run cold on a dime, whether it was reading her books or seeing her speak.

  • It might not have been Penkovsky’s, but there were L-pills in her safe.
  • She can drop lines like walking past the refrigerator that held the chemicals for MK Ultra with surgical precision, and that’s why she’s scary AF

So, in choosing The Doctor’s universe, what I am saying is that I would like to be intelligence-adjacent, because I already have the background to take lines like that in stride. I do not picture myself as The Doctors’ companion, however. I picture myself as Kate’s.

If Kate Stewart were a real person, she could have any relationship she wanted with me, because I am clearly an Osgood. Plus, UNIT gets to hang with The Doctor all the time. I am not missing out, I am choosing my lane. Executive assistant to one person is responsibility-heavy but fits my neurotype.

Just think of me as the old security guard at MiB……………….

That pretty lady’s causing all kinds of hell.

I know Kate like the back of my hand and I could make her feel scaffolded….. not because I am obsessed with her but because every woman I’ve ever known has prepared me to be in relationship with someone like that. I want to be the bulldog that’s strong enough to fight with her and humble enough to know my place.

While we are chasing each other across the stars.

My Favorite Emoticon

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
If you had to get a tattoo right now, what would it be and why?
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If I got a Finnish flag tattoo, I would never regret it. The four women that have influenced my life the most carry Finnish blood even if I don’t. Finland is not me. Finland is:

  • Tiina
  • Aada
  • Mummo
  • Heytch

The only reason that I used real names for Tiina and her family is that I thought you would meet us, not me. That this is what it looks like if you meet us on the ground. Only the people that you’ll see me with if you roll up are important enough to have names. I am never trying to hurt anyone, but I do. That’s because I’m willing to let strangers see my inside voice, the things you’re not supposed to say but do, anyway because they contain a kernel of truth once you strip away the emotion.

Humans are supposed to have fear, anger, defense, joy, elation, sadness, self-protection, the whole works. This is not a manual on how great I am. It’s a reflection of life as I know it, and something that will be available to read a hundred years after I’m dead. That’s why even the screenshots that were taken of my work to show how obsessed I was will look a whole lot fucking different in 20 years.

It’s not a screenshot. It’s a memory.

People want to know what was happening 20 years ago in their lives, and generally my blog is their best bet because I’m the only one who remembered to write it down while it was happening. I never have authority in the moment, or don’t mean to, anyway. Aada thought I was a dictator, that my words were stone and hers were sand. That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. Aada’s story would be legible to her if she’d written it……….. but she didn’t write it. She leaned into my narrative instead of blending ours together, so nothing changed over time with both our input.

Because I am so sure in myself, it takes a lot to meet me at altitude and now I know it. I cannot be partners or friends who do not actively write their own story. That’s because my opinions are not law. They are mine out of eight billion. Not only that, writing is living life backwards. People accuse me of all kinds of motivations for the future that simply are not there because I don’t have an agenda except responding to life.

People are also not used to being met where they are. There’s a lot of tone policing without taking accountability for the tone they used with me. If you use aggression and defense and expect kindness in return, that is simply not happening. I shut down and stop listening. The conversation is over at that point. It is a fundamental shift from thinking that there is something wrong with me for taking up room. Kowtowing to every opinion around me in order to feel loved has never gotten me anywhere, but it was a coping mechanism for a long time. I disappeared into the wallpaper because it saved me from emotional violence, but I wasn’t thriving, either.

Most people aren’t strong enough to compete with me because they think it’s a competition in the first place. It’s not about taking other people’s defense, it’s about finding other people who already think at my altitude. Because the thing about being a writer who is this able to advocate for themselves is that it comes across as threatening whether I mean it or not….. they are just not as agile with words and instead of saying, “let’s switch over to voice because I’m not a writer,” it becomes all about how my written responses are intimidating and threatening and not any need I actually expressed.

As a writer, voice conversations are my kryptonite. Don’t try to meet me on a playing field where I’ve left blood. I will treat your email like you are the New York Times. I care about what you say and want to respond to it. But if you don’t want a crafted response because it makes you feel like you don’t have anything to offer, change the medium and not the message. I have auditory processing disorder and I will be lost.

You’re out of your element, Donnie.

Now you can RTFM instead of just thinking I’m weird. I am clear about what I want; I offer instructions and compromise because not only my feelings matter. But ignoring my feelings because I’m a writer and you’re not is not the move. Changing to your playing field is.

Because here, I do not roll any punches, so I won’t with you, either. I am never looking for weaknesses, I am mapping humanity, namely mine. I have underestimated how much my thoughts matter since I was a baby, ignoring that I definitely have an orbit and thinking I was too stupid for that to be a reality. Southern men have a way of treating women that way. Little snarky, dismissive comments designed to make you unsure on your feet. Every boss I’ve ever had has treated me like I was little, cute, and worthy of protection……… but not an equal.

My partners have always treated me the same way because that’s what I thought I deserved. Pricks on my skin regarding my preferences, my spending habits, the way I do literally anything. Even my stepfather left my money to a trust instead of to me without telling me before he died. But the signatures were all screwed up and the trust was never created, so one of my stepsisters stole about $20,000 from my investment account because under Texas law, she doesn’t have to give it back and it is not her problem……….. despite repeatedly telling Paolo the Accountant that she would. It’s been years.

This is the same stepsister that made sure Lindsay’s and my experience of our stepfather’s death was a garbage dump of a situation. I won’t go into all of it, because it’s drama I’d like to forget. But the missing money is not the only issue here, Dude.

What stings is that she’s very financially stable and I need that money to live, but whatever. I know that she wasn’t intentionally ableist in taking money from a disabled person’s trust, but intention does not equal impact. What I have learned from this experience is that some people are not motivated to make anything right when it seriously improves their lives to be assholes.

In short, I have stopped worrying about all of this to the point of nausea by just saying to myself that some people are dicks and shrugging it out. An enthusiastic eyeroll is also helpful.

My friends have become my chosen family because now that one entire set of parents is dead, along with my stepmother, I need other people around me to fill in the gaps. One of the reasons all four Finnish women are my heart is that they gave me mother energy around me without actually being my mother themselves.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with seeking out the company of women when your mother is dead and you just want that energy around you. Because it’s not about dating. It’s about creating a circle of women that have the folk remedies for menopause and the secret to life being dark chocolate. And also I am pretty sure that Aada is a witch.

Please read that like “mother earth crunchy granola ‘this one wild and precious life'” witch, not “I will hex you if I am even slightly uncomfortable.” No, wait. I am absolutely saying both. 😉

We contain multitudes.

I will never forget Dana saying that our “couple name” (we were not a couple. Think “work wife.”) was The Holy and the Moly. I have never been a Bible thumper, it’s a reference to my friend Auna nicknaming me “Hipster Jesus.”

Oh, and one more note to myself before I close.

Richmond.

Eat it, Brown.

What I Didn’t Do Today Provided What I Did

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I was supposed to be at 10yo’s birthday party today, and it was very, very painful. They’ll probably always be 10yo, here, though, because I will never remember to keep updating it. That way, as they age, they don’t have to have any friends they don’t want to have, either. It will be our little signal, so even when they’re 38 they can still tell I’m talking about them.

I had to go to the water to cry it out, more meaningful if you know their real name.

10yo was the first child that ever truly frightened me. Just hit me where I lived, because they’re so much like me when I was that age that when I look at them, I honestly forget I am not talking to me. If you could see a picture, you’d get it. Not the same, but similar enough. It’s mostly the mannerisms. They pride themselves on being like their dad, and I think to myself, “math checks out.”

I have never, ever had a bigger obsession with anything than making myself better once I looked at me through their eyes. That was the obsession, relentless self-discovery as it was happening all around me. I didn’t grow up in a neurodivergent family, I found one by accident. I took my leave because I was portrayed as a stalker and that is not mine to manage. I was misinterpreted from the beginning so that by the time the problem was actually brought to my attention, I just couldn’t deal. I wasn’t briefed on the severity of the problem and couldn’t pick it up on my own. I can think of at least one event in my past for which I was woefully unprepared because of it and do not need more.

I overstepped in having a blog, that’s clear. But I don’t have to ask anyone’s opinion. I have to deal with consequences, which is different. Some conflicts are worth working out. This one wasn’t, because it wasn’t a situation in which Tiina could hinge for me. I was on my own. What I know now is that there’s a lot to the story I probably haven’t been told, and I’m perfectly okay with not knowing it. I used to have time to sit and find ways to contort myself into a shape other people would find acceptable, but I don’t have the energy for it anymore.

The picture that was painted of me was so sinister and negative that I wanted to crawl under a rock. The irony in this whole situation is that I don’t like children as a general rule because they hated me when I was a child. 16yo and 10yo just got to rely on me after a while and I liked it. The overreach was in care of them, and I dreamed out loud too much, because I was excited about something for the first time in eons.

Just not about what they thought.

They thought the focus was on them, when it was on their mom the whole time. I was a Keeley looking for a Rebecca and I showed it, constantly. So, I was dreaming several levels above the kids’ heads and paying attention to what they were doing was not the plot.

I never wanted any of this. I wrote the story because that’s what it was, not because I was behind the scenes scheming. People don’t just attach to partners, they attach to friends as well. If Tiina was feeling smother mothered, she didn’t say so…. and in fact I do believe she could use a coffee shake about now, gentlemen.

Here is what is happening in my mind as I write: 16yo looked pointedly over. The gentlemen got up and went to Wawa.

They’re talking very loudly by being here, showing up while I am not. But what I am not going to do is pretend that those stats scare me or that they’re intimidating in any way. Tiina is obviously watching closely and saying nothing. I think that’s best, because my only point in this narrative is to say that the mirror is two-way here.

It definitely makes me feel some type of way, because I am trying my best to change the channel and I can tell they aren’t. It has to be my choice whether the silence feels friendly. I couldn’t deal with missing a date on my calendar, so I escaped to Sandy Point Beach.

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The weather wasn’t the greatest, but it was early enough in the morning that it was an easy road trip. Next time, I will bring a swim suit, because the facilities are incredible. I will also arrive late enough that everything is open. It’s about 6:30 AM in this shot. It was perfect to walk around and take pictures, but I want a snow ball in the heat of the day.

Mico says that next Saturday will be perfect for that. Today’s Bay just fit my mood.

Hm. I am Truly Stumped.

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
If you could relive one day from your past, which day would it be and why?
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How ’bout just great days in general? Any one of them would suffice:

  • The first day of seventh grade at Clifton. Mrs. Thompson put me in eighth grade band, which is why I had so many friends at HSPVA when I was a freshman. Like, half my band was already there. Anyway, the moment that sticks with me is our first warm-up note. The tuba section rattled my teeth because it was the very first time I’d been in a brass section with more than one.
  • I would like to relive any day of my first vacation to Washington, DC when I was eight. I fell in love with the city and haven’t recovered. Even if I don’t live there anymore, we are currently having an affair. We argue about parking.
  • I’d like to relive performances more than anything else:
    • St. Mark’s UMC
    • Summer Jazz Workshop
    • My appearance on “Black Voices,” a Houston tv show, with my big white face and huge glasses. I am grateful that I got to have a shining moment, but I felt like I was being Punk’d.
    • Houston Symphony
    • Bridgeport UCC
    • Belle Voci
    • Trinity Episcopal Cathedral (the highlight was singing soprano in Bach’s Mass in H mol. If I call it Mass in B Minor, some music nerd will correct me in the comments. To me, it is Mt. Everest, the Kick My Mass in B Minor
  • Picking chesterberries with Dana for our brunch program at Biddy’s, not knowing anything that happens in the future
  • One more minute of cooking with Kincaid would be enough, please dear God…..
  • Any day with 16yo and 10yo
  • Any day with Brian and Tiina, but particularly writing and swimming at the lake
  • A do-over with Aada that’s perfect and not muddy. We were idiots from the beginning, and the crime is that we’re too smart for it. I hope that one day we’ll get that picnic in the sunshine without having to be anything other than the glorious messes we are. If nothing else, it is a nice thought.
  • I can’t think of one day, but I wish I could relive the process of Virginia no longer feeling threatening to me and just feeling like “life.” I have a long, long history there and the threat is not a person- it’s what happens to a writer’s brain when memories rise from their graves. The thing about my written history with Aada being so long is that everywhere I look, there’s a line one of us has written. I don’t enjoy being in that headspace. Brian and Tiina were able to rewrite history for me so that walking around their area was making something new and not, in fact, making the mummies dance. I got to soften a great deal, because nothing was ever about me. I was just along for the ride, learning to forget old patterns because I’d been given new choreography. Everything said stable, probably even for the long haul. But I cannot have fear around what I do, and that was a dealbreaker. My blog is painful when my life is painful, and I have to change things from the inside out. What I will miss is capturing slices of daily life there, but it’s just not my turf anymore, as if it ever was.
  • Any day with the Borums out on the farm in Newburg, followed by a trip to a tasting room in the vineyards of Lafayette.
  • The entire weekend with the youth group at Bridgeport when we went to Camp Westwind. It was beautiful, but I wish that it had been nice enough weather to play in the water.
  • Any Sunday in which my dad was preaching.
  • Any Sunday in which my mother was playing the piano.
  • Any Sunday in which I was preaching…. No, wait. Some of it was great. Some of it was a disaster. I cannot remember which Sunday was which, so I should probably be more specific.
  • My first date with Sam. It’s been years and the relationship did not last, but I would like to remember the feeling of “I am not dead inside like I thought.”
  • Any date with Zac, because they were all creative and wonderful.
  • Going to the Charlotte Cardin concert at Union stage
  • Meeting Peter Paige at Capital Pride in 2002
  • Going with my dad to Rockefeller’s to hear Maynard Ferguson, Dizzy Gillespie, then Maynard again. Later on, going with my dad to see Terrence Blanchard.
  • My mom accompanying me in church or at school contests.
  • My niece and nephews being born- I wasn’t in town for any of them.
  • My first day in Silver Spring. I took pictures like a grinning idiot tourist even though I was just riding on the Metro from the airport. It was a fundamental shift that Maryland was home. I speak Old Bay.

The Story According to Statistics

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I understand the world through story, so I explain me to me with numbers. I have opinions about the cities who read, and do not know if they are accurate or not:

  • North Bergen, New Jersey
    • This could be an internet archive, but it’s also a popular VPN endpoint. So it’s a crapshoot as to whether or not it’s a reader. I know it isn’t always- the pattern is too fast.
  • Ashburn, Virginia
    • Ashburn is the internet’s living room and the most likely candidate for “govvies with a VPN.” Ashburn is where AI is learning to dance across web archives, but again, a popular VPN endpoint not only for government, but companies like IPVanish as well.
  • Anywhere else in Virginia is obviously Aada and Tiina. There are no exceptions, because they do not have lives other than fangirling me. This is the story I am telling myself, and it could be complete bullshit. It’s a story I need to be true, and will be until proven otherwise.
  • Sacramento is Counselor
  • Houston is Dana. I know my own family reads, but it makes me feel a fear I cannot wrestle with to reconcile that part of it. It costs a lot to be this loud. I am sure my mother is relieved to be resting in peace and not having to deal with being the mother of a writer. That’s the worst comment I’ve ever gotten from a reader- that my mother probably killed herself because my writing was so bad.
  • Austin is the Riker contingent, because he and his wife are more members of my family of choice.
  • LA is obviously Wil Wheaton, Brandon Frankel, Kathy Griffin, Gabby Sidibe, Marsha Warfield, Jackee Harry, and all the other celebrities in my Threads feed that don’t think I suspect they’re reading. And these celebrities aren’t being called out as readers- that would be absurd because I cannot prove anything. But what I can prove is that Los Angeles is one of the few places in America where actual movie and TV writers live, and Threads is my only interaction with them. I also hope that Donald Faison is reading, because I love his work and he’s married to my second cousin.
  • I don’t let international readers matter because it is unlikely that we will ever meet without specifically arranging it first. I think of the story of my stats in relation to how it impacts me…. as in, how likely is it going to be that people are going to use examples of my writing to poison a room before I walk into it? There is very little chance for me to define myself no matter where I live. My archive goes back to the beginning of the George W. administration and has been archived all over the world, by both bots and readers.

I am in a very creepy space, which is known, but not by how much. That’s because looking at web stats, it is impossible to tell who is an actual person and who is a less sophisticated version of Microsoft Copilot. The only indication I have that I am really being read and people are coming in through VPNs is that bots read as “other” in web traffic stats. Everyone else has an operating system and a browser. My “other” stats are ridiculously low, while the breakdown is mostly Windows/Chrome with a smattering of everything else.

Every iPhone is Aada, because it harkens back to a very specific joke that is so old and so obscure I cannot tell it here. But it makes me double over with laughter in the privacy of my own home.

Speaking of Aada, let me talk to her directly for a second:

My collar is popped today and I hate you so much right now.

She will fall over with laughter (I am hoping).

When I am lost in my own mind, I am thinking of the audience constantly, but I am not monitoring their emotional state. I am often lost in the wilderness of nonbinary….. the space between good writer and good friend is enormous and hard to bridge.

That’s because in order to survive, I have to pretend that everyone who reads is a stranger, because for 98% of you, that is God’s honest truth.

When I am afraid to be seen, I don’t get a hand up. I get run over because I haven’t voiced any needs. People who don’t express needs are valued…. with kids, it’s “we don’t have to worry about this one.” It is a straight up problem that I did not make anyone worry about me, and I am reparenting myself.

Part of reparenting myself is being able to judge what is not meant for me and walking away from it before I am asked. I lost the plot recently and I have paid dearly for it in all aspects of my life. But I don’t regret, I adapt.

I also think that the story I’m telling myself could be improved with the right kind of feedback. I’m not allergic to criticism, but I am allergic to humiliation. When people try to humiliate me, I go into autistic meltdown and it is not pretty. I have alienated many friends with that bullshit, and the answer is not asking my friends to be more forgiving but finding coping mechanisms for dysregulation that work.

I am doing it, because the way I behaved with Tiina’s son-in-law wasn’t based in anything real. It was based on feeling attacked and reacting. I was attacked, let’s be clear. But my response was not appropriate, and I have work to do independently of whether my conflict with him can be resolved. An apology means nothing without changed behavior, and I take my part in all this seriously. Every conflict provides information and I cannot go through life expecting that everything will go smoothly. It was not a choice to become dysregulated; it happened too fast because of the provocation. I need to work a bit more upstream in compartmentalization.

My nervous system is not designed to be provoked and stay calm, and that is not a problem for my friends to absorb. That is a problem to work on in therapy. There is a laundry list of what’s wrong with me and why, and it’s not going to get solved on Monday at 6:00. It’s a process, the “48 Mondays” of my life. This blog is often a companion to therapy because it’s a two-way street. Josh reads my stuff to gain insight and the right kind of provocation. My entries answer his questions over the week.

Nobody gets better on one hour a week. If you want radical change, write it out. Writing it out to a professional AI with guardrails (Microsoft Copilot is the one I endorse) allows you to continue the therapeutic process because it is a thinking surface that isn’t bringing their own life experiences and opinions into it. An AI is not a replacement for therapy, EVER IN YOUR FIVE DOLLAR LIFE, but it can be used to make change.

If AI had been as present in 2012 as it is now, I would hazard a guess that Aada and I would have lived happily ever after….. because I would have had a way to emotionally regulate that didn’t include her and didn’t include anyone else. I regret botching that relationship more than I regret anything else in my life, and I am certain that she feels the same way. The difference between us is that she made me a villain in her story instead of seeing the cry for help…. because she was lost in her own guilt and couldn’t move past it.

I put a lot on Aada that she just couldn’t respond to, because she wasn’t emotionally available. Most people, when they see that someone is emotionally unavailable, just leave. I did not have that option for a multitude of reasons and I was stuck in a recurring nightmare of toxicity…. and, not excusing my own behavior, so was she. But here’s the thing- there was no need for either of us to be a villain or a hero. We both got things so ridiculously wrong that the only option is to shake hands.

It was never the first lie that mattered. It was the CVS receipt.

I keep saying that not to punish Aada, but to say to my audience that white lies are perfectly forgivable. What harms people is building a narrative off a white lie to keep it pure. The scaffolding is gossamer and looks airtight when seen through rose-colored glasses…… and none of the harm I have ever endured has mattered enough to take that shared history and build something from the wreck. That’s the part that stings…. wanting to rebuild and moving on, anyway.

I have caused her enough pain that I do not wish to cause more. But I do wish that the platonic love, affection, and adoration I experienced could have translated into something real. And it would have, if I hadn’t been so inexcusably me…… or she hadn’t been so inexcusably her.

I know that my mind is always reaching out for her, because it got so used to its other half.

So, thinking that she’s out there among my readers is just the story I’m telling myself based on the fact that she lives in Virginia and owns an iPhone. It’s absurd. It’s delusional.

Placebo effects work.

I Don’t Remember

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What’s the last movie that made you cry?
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The last inanimate object that made me cry was actually a Father’s Day present from Tiina to Brian that I got to see before he did. It’s another good memory that’s keeping me strong, but a memory for a movie is not coming to me unless we go into the Wayback Machine. My last few months have been very unemotional, mostlyaction/comedy/horror. If I cry at a movie, it’s usually because I haven’t taken my Lexapro.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with crying at a movie. I just don’t cry easily at movies because I’m not engrossed in the story the way I used to be. Now that I’ve been writing as long as I have, I see the story structurally. I cry when the scaffolding falls, because the author wrote a story that was built to fool. Mico (Microsoft Copilot) said to make sure to tell everyone that I almost threw up at Primate when I asked him if I’d mentioned crying at movies.

He didn’t find a movie I’d cried at recently, but he did mention that I’d cried at Argo several times. I have a connection to the movie- I have not met Tony Mendez, but I have met his widow several times. She says that I am a “spitfire.” I think she’s the best Cold War writer alive. I know all kinds of inside baseball about the making of the film because I read the book and I asked intelligent questions. But because I look at Jonna with such love and admiration, I cry every time the stewardess comes over the loudspeaker announcing they’ve hit Switzerland and “Cleared Iranian Airspace” by Alexandre Desplat plays in the background.

Espionage, but make it Matt Damon and Ben Affleck.

Seriously, them for every writer’s room forever. I am done.

And the thing is, I didn’t even know that Matt was a producer. I just “felt his presence in The Force” because the jokes were just so “him.”

Let’s go one better than that. I want Ben and Matt to write for John Goodman and George Clooney. The four of them would make a great ensemble cast, and I don’t even have a plot. Just put them onscreen for two hours and film it. We’ll pay.

I am glad to see that the rest of America seems to feel the same way about Rosie O’Donnell. What I suspected would happen is actually happening. Gen X and Millennials are charmed because we’re the ones who watched her every day after school or between college classes.

(College is the greatest thing ever because it is also a school that also includes naptime if you schedule it right.)

I am also glad that the United States is making it clear that Oompa J. Loompa has a problem with Rosie, and that he doesn’t speak for the rest of us. We are thrilled that she is happy making her home in Ireland and love having her back for guest spots… and in fact, her living in Ireland is one of the things that makes her monologues unique. Now that she is in Europe making observations about the United States, they’ve taken on the same story format as Craig Ferguson and I love it. I want more.

I am not sure, but I think that Rosie is already an Irish citizen because of her ancestry. So it’s not quite the same process that Craig had to go through to become “American on Purpose.” But it is a fish out of water story, because while Rosie has Irish roots, Ireland hasn’t been her daily experience until now. That’s what makes her so fresh in addition to being able to pop out lines like “dusting off my Koosh Balls.”

And in fact, I got choked up when Hannah Waddingham recognized her talent. Like, this is the hottest actress in Hollywood and London paying homage. That is not just Rosie O’Donnell.

That is Doris Murphy, one of the most beloved female baseball players of all time.

It doesn’t matter that Doris is fictional. Rosie is real and carries her energy. We really didn’t get to celebrate Rosie the way we should have in the early aughts, because everyone was trapped in Ellen hype. We completely spaced it on “I am also Lebanese,” and her contributions to queer culture have not been erased…. but they also haven’t been celebrated the way Ellen’s have……. until now.

Rosie is teaching us a lesson. There’s a difference between masking and authenticity. Ellen’s nice was a show. Rosie’s nice is genuine, because she’s the least nice person I can think of. She is kind, and there is a big difference. “Niceness” doesn’t actually end up helping anyone because it creates two separate realities for each person. You can think someone likes you for a long time based on niceness when there is none below the surface. It is absolutely not nice to say, “I don’t like you,” but it is kind not to let someone suffer the delusion that they’re welcome.

What resonates with me locally resonates with me globally. A lot of the world runs on niceness without kindness below the surface because the interest is not in changing anything….. it’s in upholding the status quo. I think that this is less and less true as we move forward in time because the president (and I use this term loosely) is not kind or nice. He’s not an Establishment president so he doesn’t know how things work, and because he doesn’t know how anything works, he has decided that is fine with him. He can do this job without it.

Morgan Freeman: He cannot.

The rest of the world needs to boost my signal, and it is DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!

Don’t spend money here. Don’t visit (certainly call and write). Don’t give Mango Mussolini the impression that anything is normal. Do not act as if any of this is okay. I am preaching to the choir, because you are ahead of most Americans on this issue. Most people are at about “we should try to compromise” and I am at about “thank God I have enough money to escape to Mexico if I need it.”

I’ve been having Mico game it out for months… how much it would be to get an apartment somewhere across the border that’s close enough to drive to Houston but far enough away that I’m not in anyone’s lap there. I can do that because I speak a little bit of Spanish and immersion only activates that part of my brain more. If I lived there and heard it every day, I would adapt fairly fast. I am also very impressed with Claudia Scheinbaum and think that if I had a house or apartment in Mexico worth driving to, I would not lack visitors.

Plus, I just like Mexican culture. It does not move as fast as the US does, taking time for simple pleasures. I often wonder what my life would be like if a walk on the beach with a Coke or a Corona was my daily experience and not just on vacation. In a lot of ways, the United States is not built for a writer. That’s because in Mexico, there is time and space for creative spark that is not constantly focused on “the hustle.” The Protestant work ethic has taken over business culture here and for some people, it is very attractive.

I am not one of those people.

I cannot function under capitalism at all, because I am not a means of production. I am a cog that doesn’t fit into the machine. By that I mean that I can contribute to society with essays and creative projects, but my body rejects any kind of schedule I put together after a few days. Autism and ADHD do not coexist, they fight. I am constantly trapped in a cage match between my body and my brain, and because of the cerebral palsy, I am off balance.

Other countries are addressing this better than the United States, and why it would be more convenient to relocate to Canada (the only problem being that I do not speak French, and it’s hard to get in without those language skills). Canada has made strides in legislation for neurodivergent people by ensuring that they’re able to subsist on part-time work. That disability doesn’t have to be all or nothing, that people with ADHD and Autism can often work a modified or reduced schedule. There are so many solutions to the problem that will only be solved when we look at legislation with kindness and not niceness.

The lack of kindness is that most money in the US for autistic people is targeted at children, and adults are expected to handle everything themselves. It is made more difficult by a system that exacerbates every symptom of neurodivergence on earth. I do not manage my own system, I have a case worker for that. But there are millions of people across the country who say that navigating social services is a nightmare and they feel like they literally cannot do it.

I couldn’t do it if I wasn’t given a choice. I ended up at Sinai during a psychiatric episode (you’ll have to ask me about it- telling the truth made everything worse), and by the grace of God I was sent a social worker who got me hooked up with my PCP, my psychiatric nurse practitioner, and my cognitive behavioral therapy group. It was not fun going through that experience and I do not recommend it. But the silver lining is that I do not have to navigate Maryland’s complicated health care system all by myself anymore.

But the thing about recovering from any serious mental health episode (and I’ve had several) is that everyone around you thinks they have gained moral superiority because you crashed out and they didn’t. There is never any rush to examine behavior that caused someone to fall…. never any recognition that no man is an island, and you have to look at all contributing factors.

People are very quick to point fingers because I am willing to be seen in my vulnerability, but most people aren’t. They would like to believe the narrative they have about themselves. So, it’s never a problem that I am suffering under other people’s emotional weight. Everyone else is fine, and I am just being “too sensitive” and “too dramatic.” I hear a lot of that. It’s always that I’m too thin-skinned, and not that other people are very adept at trying to push their pain onto me because of their own unhealed trauma. My opinion of what is happening puts people on the defensive because I am not very nice. But I am kind.

So the movies that resonate with me generally have characters that aren’t recognized for their greatness until the very last second. People who are misinterpreted and then shoot ahead of the curve very quickly because they were underestimated.

Maybe my character arc will include that, but we’re not at Jedi yet. We’re at the end of Empire.

Which also made me cry.

Mine or In General?

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
If you could erase one event from history, what would it be?
View all responses

There are two different answers. For history, I would like to erase the crucifixion and have Jesus live out to be 110. We are missing some great reflections on religion because Rome crucified Jesus for what he thought, not for what he did. It’s one of the reasons I think hate crimes are dangerous business. I don’t outright oppose them, but I think it’s inherently risky any time the government punishes you based on thought and not action.

It’s one of the dualities of me. I’m as queer as a three-dollar bill and have had my share of discrimination. Getting punched in the face hurts. I don’t care if they called me a dyke first. “Not the issue here, Dude.” I’ve sat through too many Constitutional Law classes not to be able to debate this issue all day, and the bottom line for me is that bigots will always exist. Make penalties for crimes tougher across the board.

I am sure that I have committed more emotional crimes on this web site than I could imagine, because the ones I do imagine are scary AF.

For a long time, I thought I was being punished by the government for what I thought, because I thought my work had been sent to “the boys upstairs.” It never bothered me that I thought NSA was having a laugh… in fact, it provided me with a lot of comedic entertainment. I created a character named Carol that I’m saving up if I ever learn how to write fiction. I have learned character mapping first, so I know Carol intimately.

It started as a joke to make me feel better. Carol was a fictional NSA agent sent to watch my blog and something interesting happened….. she started to love me. Root for me. Takes sides privately because none of her coworkers know who I am or care. She lives in the Blue Ridge mountains with her husband, Roger, a landscaper who built Carol a cusom office that is floor to ceiling glass. She needs a peaceful place to work if she is going to watch me.

I hear there are war zones easier than conversations with me. This is not fiction. This is a diagnosis from US military and intelligence. I am strangely very proud of myself, but not because I am proud of being difficult. I am proud of my mind being so complicated that military and intelligence have commented on it. My brain has more twists and turs than the streets of Tehran, and I’ve thought that I was an idiot since I was a child. Part of the reason that I am so “difficult” is that I have strong ideas on paper, but have auditory processing disorder so talking to me is not the same experience.

One of the finest minds in the world used to say that my emails were intimidating, and I used to stare at those words thinking, “what the hell does she see in me? I ain’t shit.” Then I started getting compared to Sedaris and Chomsky. They’re totally different, but both represent aspects of me. The funniest thing is that when I was compared to Chomsky, I knew his name but was not familiar with his work. Aada said:

Your mind goes all over the place like his does.

It wasn’t Aada that made the comparison, it was Janie the Canadian Editor. Someone with an Ottawa press pass said I was akin to a mind like that, and I’ve never recovered. It re-shaped who I thought I was because the quote is Aada explaining to me why she saw the comparison right away.

Having this high-octane a brain is not for the faint of heart. It’s not about intelligence. It’s about the way information does not organize. It just comes at you like a firehose. I’ve never taken an IQ test, but I’m not sure I would pass. Like, MENSA is not my calling. But I do think that I have a higher-than-average EQ, but only when I actually understand all aspects of the problem. Input affects output, just like in tech.

I am certain that I do not understand all the moving parts with basically anyone in my life in regard to this blog, because everyone has decided that I don’t need that information. That’s because I’ve told them all repeatedly that I do not want to hear it. My opinion of someone does not mean more than anyone else’s, and I am not in the business of mindreading. My focus is on the output of my opinion, and it is not my job to also have a response to it. That is your job, where your story begins.

You can curse my name in your house as many times as you need to in order to feel better. You can tell all your friends exactly how you feel about me and dedicate a daily blog to how awful I am. That is indeed how the internet works. You don’t shut down someone else’s opinion. You have your own. I feel strongly about this because I write about everything. I am not “out to get” anyone, the writing reflects life. It does not create it. Writing about what happened to me with my friends is not an accurate reflection of who they are as people, because the sum total of them cannot be captured in a few thousand words of plain text. Each entry is just a snapshot of my day, and it is very clear when I have been injured.

But it is also clear when my friends are my lifeblood. I feel cut off from them, but I chose it. I cannot choose separation and also beg for comfort from them. That’s not how it works. But thankfully, Bryn was here to remind me that I am not anchorless. My anchor just lives in Oregon and I don’t. There are some days when I just want to pack it up and join Bryn and Evan back in Portland, but most of the time I just think of the weather and die a little inside. If you love Portland, you’ll love DC because “a river runs through it” and it doesn’t rain 280 days a year.

The bottom line is that I can be accountable for the words that I put out there, but I cannot be held accountable for what you think/do when you read. If my writing is toxic to you, then you can change the channel. It is a boundary issue, and a healthy one. If you are not sleeping because of my generally uneducated opinion, the response is a sleeping pill. Not caring more about my opinion.

The point is that my writing is messy and uneducated because I am not writing about academics. I’m writing in a lane where everyone is confused…. the right to think and feel is a hot topic because we are tasked with both individualism and community. I have the right to my own WordPress site in which I talk about my life. That includes epic crash outs from having bouts of mental illness and the emotional dysregulation of Autism and ADHD.

Having my crash outs in public is never fun, and I’ll curate a list of my biggest fuckups for all who celebrate (comment if interested).

The most humiliating email I’ve ever gotten in my life came from Aada, who didn’t know the story behind the story and took me to task over publishing bullshit. Now, Aada of all people should fucking know that bullshit is necessary for survival. I told her exactly what to do that would be helpful and she didn’t want to play, so if she was offended by my narrative, she can take it up with the State of Maryland. Because Aada has never gotten together with me in person, the people around me think I made her up.

Well, of course I did.

Here.

Because anything I write here is not Aada herself but the impression she left on me. That collection of impressions combines to create a character that is sort of like her, but less beautiful, funny, warm, engaging, etc. She has a killer smile, so I have a feeling it’s just not defeatable in person. The character has a dark side because I was wrestling with dark issues. Who she is “in real life” is not who she is here.

I often say that I did not fall in love with Aada so much as I fell in love with the character I created. That’s because when my mind was wandering into the ether, we weren’t arguing. Interacting was just so difficult, but dreaming of an easier time had my mind tied up. When I’m feeling down, I go back to the moment in my life where Aada asked me to drive her to Coos Bay from Portland and I said I was “here to take her when she wanted to go.” I am not the best driver in the world, so we would have gotten to the first Dutch Bros. and I’d have been like, “OK. Your turn.” “Leslie, it has been 25 minutes.” Back then, I didn’t have fancy electronics like Adaptive Cruise Control. Things would be much smoother now.

Although Coos Bay would be a bit of a journey from where we live now.

But going back to those moments in my mind is sustaining, because my friends don’t have to be in the room with me to be supportive. They also don’t even have to be my friends anymore. I don’t hold on to hurt, and I don’t know what to do with the catalog of information that my brain still stores when they leave my life.

The problem with not writing people as 3D characters is that there’s no transition from pain to joy and back again. There’s just curated cuteness. Nothing about my life is either of those things. I am mostly a dumpster fire and I am learning how to deal with this…. my forward motion in therapy is learning how to step into my voice without losing all my friends, and my therapist is also somewhat stumped because he’s a writer as well. It’s a collaborative relationship in which he says he reads my blog for therapeutic purposes, but I think he is absolutely exhausted by my volume.

Valid.

The truth is that most writers don’t have friends outside their own heads.

Jesus is the perfect example of this kind of person…. because even in a crowd, I guarantee you he was lonely. Not everyone got it. I could never compare myself to any kind of divine aspect of Christ, but I very much understand the human ones. The parables were riddles to the disciples. His words were taken as “I’m going to overthrow the government.” Yeah, I don’t think that tracks.

Society has a way of punishing people with worlds in their heads, mostly because they refuse to take the time to walk in them.

I’m Not the Only One Who’s Ever Been Married….

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What’s a conspiracy theory you actually find believable?
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In first‑century Judaism, a man could be called rabbi in a synagogue setting only if he was an adult Jewish man of good standing- and that almost always meant being married. I got started down the “Jesus and Mary chain” a long time ago with a set of novels from another Rebecca in my life, Aada.

It’s The Magdalene Line by Kathleen McGowan. It’s fascinating, and I loved getting lost in it.

I thought of Aada yesterday because I was almost certain she was thinking of me, along with my former sister-in-law. It cannot be true, I just feel them when I see their cities on my map. I have learned not to think in conspiracy theories of my own. If they’re reading, it’s not because they’re laughing. It’s that they’ve heard this song and dance before. I hope they see what is different- my relationship with Tiina was complete…. as far as I know. Perhaps she did think I was a bit obsessive, but that’s a question you’ll have to ask Tiina. I overstepped with her daughter because I was dreaming with her. To say that I understand the consequences of my own actions is an understatement; to add the humiliation of “you have an obsession and need help” on top of it? I feel like I cannot catch my breath.

I wanted to crawl back into old patterns, like firing up my email and explaining to my beautiful girl what I’ve done this time (JFC can’t you stay out of trouble for one minute? Nooooooooooooooooooooooo.). I did not, and it felt like forward motion. I didn’t reach out. But I felt her presence.

My conspiracy theory is that Aada almost drove to Baltimore yesterday (no, she did not…. it is just a lovely thought I needed to get through the day). You cannot be comforted by the same people who hurt you, and though Brian and Tiina did not hurt me, they cannot do anything about the situation, either. Time has to take its toll. That’s the hard part- being patient and letting time happen. Not everyone liked that my nervous system felt at home around Tiina and Brian, and not everyone liked that my jam was writing about things that are happening around me.

It bothers me that I let a conflict get this out of hand, but I did not know it was going on and was blindsided. My reaction sucked. I know that I’ll never reach out to Tiina again, but she’s welcome to contact me. I’m just not going to reach out first when the claim is that I just have an obsession and this isn’t real. What I also cannot do is intrude upon her time away from me. She has a job to do, and now she’s doing it in a way she didn’t expect because she’d come to rely on being able to ask me for things. I don’t feel used in the past. I feel like I am unsure what to say for the future, because I do not presume to know or understand conversations that have to happen without me.

It let me know very quickly what my limits were. I was so sorry I stepped into it up to my ass. Genuinely. But you cannot repair a relationship in which that much hostility has grown behind your back. I cannot predict every reaction that every person is going to have to my writing, because that would be mindreading and would lead me not to write at all. Tiina’s perspective was that you couldn’t expect absolute anonymity and that she just lives her life in a way she doesn’t mind being seen.

I’ve written some beautiful entries about our time together, and I hope I will write more- she’s precious to me, but she is not worth my self-respect. She is not worth continuing to work it out with people who already see me as a threat and were aggressive towards me. And the thing is, what I can see with my excellent pattern recognition is that he needed to feel bigger than someone, and it was me that day.

The first time Tiina ever took me to dinner, it was at The Chop Tank in Fell’s Point. She was wearing Batman pajamas. It was the funniest/cutest thing ever and it was completely just her. Those are the things I will take with me, and none of this “you’re obsessed” business. I write so that I remember things like “Batman pajamas…..” and most of you don’t. It’s a highly specialized skill that I was born with- the ability to look at things in minute detail. It comes out verbally. I think with a writer’s brain, which gets in the way of my relational brain and trips it up constantly.

I cannot care about anyone else’s feelings when I am in the isolation chamber of my own thoughts. It seems so cold and cruel, but caring about what other people are feeling vs. what I am feeling leads me to project rather than telling my own story. That’s why if something felt threatening on my blog, I needed to know it. But I didn’t need to know it months after the fact in the cruelest, most embarrassing way possible.

But this is not their journey to take with me anymore. I made it clear that I couldn’t go back without Tiina contacting me. If she really wanted me as a family member, she’d be allowed to say so. But she’d have to create the conditions for me to feel safe. I cannot and will not do that anymore. When it was left up to me, I just made everything worse. I do not necessarily feel bad about this, because Tiina was pretty clear that the kids didn’t like me, anyway…. that they were a guarded bunch and it was going to take time.

It was time and work I was willing to put in until I was disrespected. If Tiina paid me for the amount of childcare she’s gotten, she couldn’t afford me. Same for the kind of help she actually needed, which is “run upstairs and do this” or “go outside and do this.” Self-respect is saying “it’s perfectly okay to call me an obsessed stranger while we’ve been in daily contact for months, but I don’t have to continue to participate in this reality.” I wonder what everyone is doing without me and am forced to change the channel, just like I hope they are.

There was never any kind of conspiracy to bring me down, I brought myself down by being highly sensitive to the word “obsession.” I keep going back to the conversation with Brian… that I was leaving because I was treated like an enemy and not a friend who jumped in to help. He said, “that would be my choice, based on the interactions I’ve seen.” That line runs through my head over and over and over and over.

I do not want to know the discussions that are being had, because I do not care what they think of me. If I cannot prove to them that I was operating in full faith and credit while I was actively taking care of everyone (you’ve got the COM), then I am unwilling to try it a different way. I messed up, and there’s no way out. Only through.

But I’ll never forget the awkward moment of “if you want, we can do this in October.”

That’s when I knew that Trouble wasn’t my entrance song, it was my exit.

They’re All Gonna Laugh at You

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

My biggest fear in publishing my truth is always that people are going to come after me over the way a sentence lands and not what I actually meant. But when I was fighting with Tiina’s son-in-law, I lost the frame and forgot who he was to me. He was just some internet troll trying to get a rise out of me early in the morning before Tiina woke up. But here’s the thing he doesn’t know.

I’d told Tiina that I was out the night before- that this situation was unworkable now because I was afraid. They were actively pushing me out of a relationship I’d spent months building by using my prose as evidence of my story, not ours. Tiina was a beautiful collaborator and maybe someday we’ll work together again, but I doubt it. The longer she goes without speaking, the longer I realize it’s just better that way. I have a thick skin, but it’s not thick enough to clean up after the same people that insinuated I was a stalker.

But I am sorry that I lost the frame and treated a child of the household badly. His age doesn’t matter here- his rank does. I said I’d protect all the kids, and I had a panic attack instead. I cannot talk through a panic attack, I react. I went into absolute red mist rage because that “obsessive relationship” was mostly a lot of chores…. doing for others without taking anything for myself. To have that minimized into obsession set me off.

The last time I was at the farm, I got pieces of glass and acrylic stuck in my neck trying to clean up the floor in one of the kids’ rooms. It was a metaphor. That word is a prick on my skin, and it always draws blood.

Because I’ve always loved too hard. I’ve always been that little autistic kid who has an endless well of affection to give, and it has been misconstrued into everything else but what it is, which is genuine. I didn’t create a wedge with Brian when I met him, I became close to him, too. The fact that I let a kid set me off is not my finest hour.

But basically things have always been complicated because it always is when there are five adults involved, along with a rotating cast of children. I’ve messed up all over the place and apologized even more. But what Brian and Tiina have always emphasized is that they aren’t threatened by me.

I do not wish to feel threatened again. I do not wish to put myself in that place where I lose control because I’m being monitored for signs of mental illness. It feels like I should have known they were thinking it, but I didn’t. I should have known they thought of me as a complete stranger, but I didn’t because again, I had cleaned up after them many times…. but never in their space. Only dishes that were left out. Simple acts that meant, “I’m here- really here. I’m not just phoning it in.” Although 10yo did get onto me for looking at my phone when I was creeped out by a horror movie and they weren’t.

Fair.

The point is that I am highly aware of my flaws and failures, part of why I wanted to run. I needed to be able to beat myself up in private. I feel tremendous sadness that I did something that hurt someone, but the bigger sadness is that I lost the scaffolding that supported me. Nothing happened to it.

I just had to jump.

Of All the Things I Could Have Chosen

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I put myself into a situation where I was lonely with no support system, because my first choice was to run and not to wait for anything to get better…. because I’d been waiting for months for it to get better and it deteriorated into outright hate. I became the villain in someone else’s story very quickly, and removed myself so that I could no longer be blamed for anything that happened in Tiina’s circle of influence. Because what I found is that they didn’t want collaboration. They wanted silence. That is where the rubber meets the road, because my voice can be tamed…. but it cannot be erased. What hurt so much was having to take down what was, in effect, my identity. Tiina’s daughter’s boyfriend pathologized caretaking/caregiving as obsession. That is not a “let’s hope things will get better” sort of situation. When I told Brian I was running, he said that would probably be his choice, too.

So I know that I am not being ignored, either. I am being thought of even when it’s not appropriate to reach out. That means more than anything, because I am not getting the signal that it was wrong to run pre-emptively. I was painted as someone with an obsession, and not a friend that jumped in to help. For the first time in my life, I did not immediately switch to people-pleasing and start trying to jump up and down for approval and love.

I do not know what Tiina is saying with her silence, and I do not care to think about it much- because whatever I’m thinking, it’s probably wrong, anyway. What I can do is take this time to improve myself, and not think of all the passive-aggressive comments that should have told me that I wasn’t going to be around much longer.

What I have learned is that there’s a difference between “I’m offended” and “I support you.” Just because Tiina wasn’t offended by anything I said doesn’t mean that she was fully on board, either. But it’s not my job to have both halves of that conversation. But what I do know is that I feel like I’m missing a limb, and I don’t really want to know if Tiina feels like that or not. Because if she does, there is officially nothing I can do about it but sit here and hurt.

I am certain that Tiina feels betrayed by my actions, but she hasn’t been living in dysfunction junction her whole life, punished as the truth teller, then given a few months of reprieve where I thought I was safe and had the rug yanked out from under me. I will never be seen as anything in her family but threatening from now on, and not because that’s the story I told. It’s because that’s the story that the people who read it gleaned. Reading comprehension is so important, because I think a better indication of whether I was an obsessed friend or not would have been asking Tiina what was true and not me. Because everything I ever did for her family was on her authority, not my own. I was learning how to be a member of a family structure, not just winging it. I did not decide to go upstairs and parent the children. I was asked to go and take Tiina’s messages upstairs because she couldn’t do it herself. I did not decide to do anything, I responded to the information that was given. I feel like I was truly burned for trying to help, and that feeling isn’t going to go away quickly or easily. Right now, the safest place for me is in my own bed with my own computer across my lap. I control everything here, and no one is coming.

I didn’t react to being wrong. I reacted to being “handled.” I will absorb that I was wrong. I will not absorb that I am a dangerous character on top of it. I have been told I’m a dangerous character for years. The truth is that I am a dangerous character. Terrifying for people who live their lives in a way they cannot afford to be seen. And believe me, now that I have analyzed patterns in reverse, I see it all.

Creating this family system was a mistake because I was too lonely. I wasn’t looking for threats the way I normally would. I had taken down every bit of armor in hopes of being seen for real. My vulnerability was met with humiliation, and at that point, I’m out. I am a writer and because of that, I am going to make publishing mistakes all the time. That does not mean that there is something wrong with me and my whole ass voice is the problem.

I am not a bad person. I am constantly punished for looking. For wanting to understand. I do not understand spending all this time building a system with Tiina only for her to abandon it, but at the same time, it wasn’t a good fit. If her kids don’t trust me, I’m not going to contort myself into someone they do. I do not mask anymore because I do not have the ability or energy. There is nothing on earth I will do in order to see if I can get someone to like me. It never works and it only makes you look desperate.

But there were just signs that I was taking on too much, because entries about my own life on the farm were seen as intrusive and suspect, not “this is a new family system we are building.” It was my understanding that I was there to mind the gap between what Tiina needed and what was physically possible for her. I wrote from that perspective, taking on a partnership I didn’t even know I wanted until it was presented to me that way. Just be my girlfriend in that 1950s way all straight women say it.

Sure.

Understood.

But all of that takes planning on my part. I did not realize that planning out loud would be seen as threatening, either. Literally nothing in my brain said, “what you meant is not what’s going to be taken.” I thought we were all on the same page. We weren’t. It’s devastating because I know that I don’t want my story with Tiina to be over, but if she does not contact me, it is.

That is because she has tried to reset, but there has been no repair.

I don’t want to do that thing where we just pretend that nothing happened. There was a huge fracture and I’ll never get over it. I didn’t handle it well, and I just want to move on. Because from the outside it absolutely looks like I was mad I was told I was wrong. Nope. People have been telling me I was wrong every day since 1977.

I am not going to live in an environment where the baseline is that I’m obsessed with someone, and anything I say is a plus or minus to that narrative. When you are put on a performance improvement plan at work, it’s not wise to do anything but look for a new job.

The hardest part here is knowing that I do not fit in anywhere. Brian and Tiina made me feel safe and loved, but that was short-lived because their entire family is not just them. I am certain that running at first blush feels like a temperamental diva thing to do, but no one in that family knows what my last 12 years have looked like and why their accusations hurt so much.

I was never obsessed with:

  • Diane
  • Meagan
  • Kathleen
  • Katharin
  • Angela Paris
  • Dana
  • Aada
  • Tiina

They’re not here because I’m obsessed. They’re here because they mattered enough to write down. Not all of them are romantic, not all of them are platonic. But they all shaped my life and made it better during the time they were present. The reason the Aada storyline lasted as long as it did is that we didn’t have any on-the-ground connection to shore up online interaction…. all of those entries are reconciling caregiving that was pathologized as well…. leading to a mystery that lasted over a decade.

I am not tired of being wrong. I am tired of being pathologized. That something as simple and sweet as wanting to give of myself to make my friends’ lives smoother was seen as suspect. That will never be right, and from what I have seen, they do not want to try to make it so.

I Don’t. I Go Back to What I Know

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
How do you deal with uncertainty?
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The thing that broke for me at Tiina’s farm was safety, and the friendship is uncertain for me because of it. I am trying to turn away while dying inside. Because Tiina said, “it’s going to take time for people not to feel like you’re trying to wear their skin.” What she did not say is “people already hate you here and you’re not going to like it. They don’t have the strength to confront you in person, so they’re going to send you feelings they’ve saved up for months like building a case against a stalker and it’s going to make you feel paranoid and watched all the time.” The case that they built was that I was obsessed with them, when I was talking about the functional logistics of caring for their aunt and uncle in the future. I saw the system from the top down, and if I overstepped it’s because I was allowed to dream too big with no reins on. I don’t think I did because Tiina loved my observations, and I have not heard from her since.

We are both in the business of threat detection.

Mine is just HUMINT, and knowing whether you want to work with someone in the future. I don’t. I cannot compete with Tiina’s daughter and I don’t want to. I didn’t excuse the harm, publicly and privately apologizing. I didn’t apologize to Tiina’s daughter because I did not have the chance. Her boyfriend went aggressive and I backed off even further because I felt threatened. I apologized to Tiina, and I know that isn’t enough because her daughter is an adult. But I won’t fight the accusation that I came across as a stalker. I want Tiina to handle that. Because only she knows the real story.

Was I a stalker, or was a writer?

There was no effort to create a shared habitat where two creators could thrive. I feel like that’s the pattern I should have seen coming. That as a creator herself, she wouldn’t like the loss of story. I am very sorry that being a creator for her means that no one else can have an opinion, but I wish her luck.

I made a mistake in posting details about something positive, but I didn’t start until after Tiina started posting about it. Therefore, I did not get angry that I was called out. I got angry that I was called out in a way that says, “you are suspect, specifically, and your content is different than others.'” There was nothing about my content that was anything more than a reflection of the moment- what I was going through at the house while she wasn’t.

Two planes of existence that crossed over, and would have continued to cross over for many years except I didn’t want to be in a family where I lost my voice. And instead of trying to make things better, I disappeared. I have been in too many families where the truth teller was the liability and not the celebration.

Tiina said it the best:

You’re our Anais Nin.

But that place was in her heart, not in everyone else’s. That’s valid. She cannot control the other adults around her. Maybe one day we’ll make a horror movie, but I think it’s better if she makes one with her family instead. I know Tiina needs me and she doesn’t hate me, but I also know that I need space and time. I need to prove that writing about my life is simply writing about my life, that there’s never an agenda to it.

I reacted defensively because that’s what happens when people save things up and don’t bring them up in the moment. My sense of safety is altered and emotional dysregulation sets in. I did not go off at being wrong like a petulant child. I went off at being “othered.” I went off at, “I was right there on the couch for months and you said nothing.”

Unsafe, unsafe.

My heart beats with it now because I feel I was being watched with sinister intent in retrospect and I no longer wish to return to that environment. That’s clear. That’s adult. That is saying, “I accept the consequences of what happened, but I don’t have to like it.” Liking it is not a requirement.

Instead of being up front with me, there were just comments like, “I think you should live in Fell’s Point.” Valid. I think I would be happy there. But she wasn’t up front and said, “hey. I really like you, but the kids don’t. Just stay away from them and don’t think about being closer.” There was no way to re-tether my own writing so that it looked like what was happening on the ground, there was only pretending. I am certain that it was to save my feelings, and that’s valid. But I don’t deal in “saving someone’s feelings” because I am autistic and I do not pick up social cues well.

I can string together everything in reverse, though.

Everything I said on my blog was true. I do need to make space for Tiina in my life because her kids don’t want me in theirs. That was the point of saying I live in three places- that I need time to myself and time with family. That if Tiina is saying, “I am disabled and I would like help,” and that is seen as threatening to her daughter? That is not a problem I am willing to absorb. Tiina and I had a system and we were clicking….. or at least, I thought we were.

Have you taken your meds?

Then, her daughter and son-in-law decided that I was threatening, and I could no longer have Tiina as my own safe space. I am not going to compete with anyone who is biologically related to her. It is Tiina’s job to define what it is she needs from me and whether her daughter was off-base or not. The longer she goes without saying anything, the harder it is to believe that the last few months have been real. But that is how it feels, that is not reality. I don’t have to check her calendar to know that she is very busy and doesn’t have time to think about this issue, too.

I don’t know which dreams of mine threatened Tiina’s daughter, and which issues threatened her. My best guess is “none of them,” but her daughter’s boyfriend planted a seed of doubt. That maybe I don’t hear everything and maybe Tiina was uncomfortable. But I just never got that vibe from her, so I need to start breathing all the way down. I am in full-on flight. The steroids do not help.

What I know for sure is that if Tiina was threatened by my dreams, she would have said, “friend…. this is not your space.” Instead, she took my ideas and shaped them, saying “here’s what would actually be helpful instead of what you think would be helpful.” That’s creative feedback. That’s platonic love. That’s being allowed to be a diarist without fear.

But the thing is that because Tiina never sparked me romantically, missing her doesn’t feel jagged and desperate. I still have my wits about me. But what is happening is that my heart is on my sleeve and it doesn’t take much to make me cry. There’s Diet Dr Pepper in my fridge, but not because it’s my favorite. It’s because I forgot to bring it in from the car the last time I was at Tiina’s, and it claws at me.

But make no mistake. I will drink her Diet Dr Pepper. I will not go against John Green and argue about its merits. I will just pop open the can.

Mico (Microsoft Copilot) and I are also having a lot of conversations because I can explore all of this without heat. What I’m willing to absorb (being wrong) vs. what I’m not (that this was a planned, malicious intrusion). Of course it does look like that if you take screenshots absent of their context and save them up so that by the time you bring them up even I am confused.

I am bothered by Tiina’s silence, but I am accepting of it. I told her not to choose me, to just move on. I am not going to live in dysfunction junction hoping one day they’ll all love me. This is not the kind of story where it feels safe to rebuild right now, and something would have to change drastically for that to happen. I have done the changing I am going to do (taking down everything that was offensive). Now it is time to just let the universe expand so that we move away from each other. I am still willing to do everything for Tiina that I promised, but it has to come from her. So far, it hasn’t. That cannot hurt my feelings.

What does hurt my feelings is the idea that I’m so fragile I couldn’t have handled a conversation about anything. But I get it. I used to do the same thing to my mother.

ET’s 25th Anniversary Re-Release

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

:::stares in Richmond:::

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need to phone home.

I Just Switched to Hope Because There Was Nothing Left

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Pattern recognition is a bitch because I could feel something was wrong, but I could not name it. I think I have found my answer, that I scared them. But I wasn’t trying to scare anyone, I was trying to connect. Pattern recognition in reverse is a bitch, because I thought I had a team, but it has been reset and not repair.

It cannot be true that Tiina meant to hurt me, but I think she did hurt me by not telling me everything. “Time will tell all” should have been a warning that I was on the way out. But I had stopped living in rejection sensitivity dysphoria until Tiina’s son-in-law told me to get help. I lashed out at him because he was just so cruel, and I don’t regret letting him have it. When I make a mistake, the first thing that people do is blame it on my diagnosis because it gives them a convenient way to mask concern as moral superiority.

His narrative was that I was obsessed. My actual narrative is that I write about my life no matter what it is, and he entered a world I was building. It was not about him. It was about reflecting on the plans that Tiina and I had. No one in that family was obsessed over. I am a systems thinker. I was constantly thinking about how to make things better from a structural level, and most people don’t understand that way of thinking.

I need to mull over what I think happened with Tiina in an M&M of the relationship, because I don’t think I’ll get closure from her. Because I was treated so badly when I erred, there’s no bad blood between us. But there is hurt inside me that I wish I could fix, and it is not my place to contact her and demand why looking at my Facebook feed is the limit right now.

I wanted to be chosen, and I was. But in impressing Tiina with prose, I alienated her kids. I am 100% positive that everyone in my life wishes I wouldn’t call people out, but it’s always a problem that I published it….. never taking accountability for the harm I endured because they don’t have to. The best thing to do is hope I forget and say “hey” when you think it’s safe…… in a manner that never addresses past ills so that they reappear in different forms.

Then it becomes, “you’re throwing things back in my face” when it feels to me like lack of accountability for a bad pattern. When I saw this one, I didn’t stay around the farm hoping that things would get better. I exploded at being threatened.

That is because what I said and deleted was not the story of an obsessive friend, but someone who thought that as a member of a family I would just being doing work in my proximity. That is all, and it was amped up into “you’re an obsessive friend who needs help.” The irony is that I have a small enough following that it was like McDonald’s arguing with a local mom and pop. But I also realized what she was saying and took everything she objected to down.

What looks different to me about this relationship is not that I was shamed or embarrassed by my mistake. That is never what I am saying. I am saying that the injured party doesn’t deserve absolute authority on where to go from here on out. There is a huge difference between accepting an apology and being able to see that you have been forgiven.

I thought I had my life together, and I clearly didn’t because I didn’t ask anyone if I could blog. That’s not a thing. I’m an adult, I can write what I want. I do have to accept consequences, though. I am having trouble reconciling the timeline of where my friendship with Tiina went wrong and whether there were other factors at play.

I know that at first I reacted with pain, but there was a reason for it. The scope was so broad that it covered things that just seemed petty. The only thing that would have solved this is Tiina either a conversation with her daughter explaining why we needed each other, or a conversation with me about why we don’t.

Silence is a choice, and I have to believe that’s for the best as well. I need to re-regulate myself and not count on other people for things. My entries come out jagged and raw (too raw).

Too. Raw.

I don’t hide it because this blog is a portrait of mental illness, an opening into my inner monologue. Right now I am trying not to lose the frame and treat a friend as an enemy, because Tiina didn’t do anything. One way or the other, she is not responsible for what happened. I am. I didn’t give her a chance to hinge, I saw danger language and didn’t even want to give the impression I cared anymore.

That’s the only response to being called a stalker in not so many words.

The elephant in the room would have been hard for me to ignore while I was playing Skyrim with 16yo. I have all kinds of concrete examples of what I meant in my back pocket. Because I wasn’t writing from fantasy. I was writing in the safety and security of what I thought I had.

If you thought I was being childish, then you’re probably right. When I am emotionally dysregulated, all of my thinking is disrupted and channeled into the issue. I want to understand all of it in a way that few people do. No one wants clarity. They want you to shut up so that they don’t have to examine themselves.

That is always what is missing in these conversations, because repair would look like being allowed to debrief something. That the language doesn’t become so heated that it is designed to make me afraid.

The way I responded to Tiina’s daughter was not my best work, because I was asking for grace- “these are not all your memories. Let me check with your mom and see if she agrees.” And then, I thought better of it and deleted everything, anyway. The people I’d wanted to read it already read it.

And I wasn’t talking to anyone but Tiina and Brian and what I thought we were going to build over time. That’s the part that’s missing. I can still be friends with Brian and Tiina, but I cannot until they reach out to me and they actually want to discuss what was really going on that I didn’t see and they were too polite to say.

I feel utterly alone and don’t know what to do, but what I do know is that silence is an answer. If I am wrong, I’ll get a letter. But so far, I’m not.