Tag: mental health

Careers

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments

Again, I cannot get WordPress to load the pull quote with today’s writing prompt, but it’s one that I did recently, anyway- the one about which careers I would like to do instead of this one, which I assure you I would not do if I thought I could do anything else. Being a writer is a lonely endeavor, but I seem to get the most done this way. I just don’t know how much of a value-add I am right now. It’s a rebuilding year.

The writing has to go on no matter how I am feeling, no matter whether I want to publish or not. Web sites that don’t change in 24 hours don’t get repeat visitors. So, if I make money from ads based on my thought process, my thought process goes on paper no matter what it is. I have been lucky in that my readers will accept any topic from me; what I have not done is switched to academic papers when I was going through something hard. I haven’t hidden away from my grief, shame, mental illness, any of it. It has led to a number of discussions with myself lately on how much I like being a product.

Maybe I would be happier doing something else, but I don’t think I would get the same type feedback. Now, I feel so much less tortured in my soul than I used to. The depression is lifting and I can handle more than I could a few months ago. Where that will lead me, I do not know. But it will not be turning the same problems over in my head, because I’ve been allowed to move on.

But in all of my moving on, I have not allowed Aada the same grace. She has been reading, taking in all my writing as punishment when I’m the one that feels punished by my own actions and feel terrible about them. The message is coming across to her as inverted, like I have some malevolence in store. I do not know how this is happening, but I want to say for the record that I thought I was excellent at raking myself over the coals, and I’m sorry for the lines in which it seemed like I was dragging someone else with me.

This leads me to a deeper issue within my own writing. If I set out to punish myself, then why was Aada so hurt? How could I have written the narrative better so that she knows she’s off the hook?

My silly ruminations weren’t for her, but she read them, anyway. I have no idea how I feel about that, because I’m too used to it to feel embarrassed.

Well, I am embarrassed by the emotions that came up in Aada as she read, because my hurt and my pain were the point of the entries. I did not write them in a way that did not affect her, and I’ll be struggling with that for a long time, because it’s not really a question involving Aada but all the people in my life as I muddle through having a blog at all.

How do I write my frustrations out without hurting the other people in my life? The short answer is that I can’t. To be so frank with my opinions is to create a ripple effect.

Sometimes, the ripple effect is good. People read things here that enlighten them to the path I’m on and it makes them have more empathy for me in person; they feel like they know me better. I have given them context as to who I am, and they like reading me because of it. But then when I write about a conflict between us, the conflict only deepens because I have written about it.

That’s the part that always trips me up. The blowback. My stomach hurts. My head hurts. My brain races. My heart races. My adrenaline fights not to go up and I swallow bile.

I’m a sensitive person, and I am not saying that I don’t deserve these differences of opinion. Mine is not the only story that’s true.

I’m just saying that when I have hurt someone, this is what happens. I start to overheat and melt down.

Like when Aada said that it was my goal in life to take her down, embarrass her.

No, my goal in life is to make memories with the woman I love.

Some of them, because I love her, are difficult.

Some of them, because I love her, are easy.

That’s why none of the positive things I write are clues in a game (although I do like Clue, I’ve only played it once or twice). They are just as genuine as everything else. I wish I could endorse my writing somehow…. If only there were a way to check if I’m really who I say I am, like going for coffee……..

Going for coffee is my favorite way to talk with someone whose read my writing and needs to vent. The conversation cannot get too heated on either end, and I’m not ashamed to cry into my latte. Sometimes these conversations are living the entry twice, because I cried when I wrote it. But the easy nature of friends helps the conversation to get back on track quickly. It’s not the same as writing in this space to figure out a conflict. We have solved it in real time.

Though I think it will take a long time for Aada to heal, I do not think this is the end of our movie. She thought I was rejecting her when I wasn’t, and it took the wind out of her sails. This last round was peaceful, and I told her I loved her. It was a benediction of sorts, allowing her to go in peace.

I have taken that peace for myself, and it reminds me to slow down in my writing. To notice smaller things, like the sunrise this morning. The taste of my coffee. The water in my shower. To feel differences in temperature, like the sharp cold of the morning air embracing me after a night covered in blankets.

My entries are progressing into a new era that doesn’t feel like profound loss. I have been given a chance to start over, and I am taking it.

I want to surround myself with people I can be safe, stable, and genuine in creating deep friendships, a support network built on trust. I’m really starting to think about who is going to finish my life with me, because I’d rather know a few people for a very long time, and a disorder that needs to be managed in order to make it happen.

I am the most safe and stable in Baltimore, ironically. It’s a dangerous city, but it’s got the best health care package for me. I can move anywhere in the state of Maryland, the trick being that all my doctors here are already set up. I’m not sure that I want to go through the hassle of setting them up again so soon after I’ve become their patient. But moving back to DC does weigh on me, and I think about it every time I have to renew a lease. I just don’t think I can make it happen this time around. I’m running out of time.

I would like for my apartment complex to make it right by giving me a new apartment on the grounds. We’ll see. I’m also surfing Craig’s List like a madman.

I am overwhelmed because moving takes more energy than I have. I need help, and I know that my dad and sister will be available as we get closer to my move-out date. I am learning that we will do anything for each other, and that makes me feel invincible as I work through what needs to happen between now and November 10th, the absolute date at which I will be homeless if I do not find something.

It is comforting knowing that the things I love most will fit in my car, and that lets me escape to anywhere, or dream of it, anyway.

I dream of a lot of things, which is why writing suits me. Today I’m dreaming of a better world for myself, one that doesn’t flood when it rains. I would like my home to be warm, welcoming, and inviting. I would like for light to stream in. I have a laundry list of features that I want in a new place, including laundry. My neurodivergence is eating my lunch.

I need to be more strict with myself. I need to time writing sessions rather than letting them be open-ended because I have too much to do at home to make WordPress my entire focus. But at the same time, I know I will not be able to post and move at the same time, so it’s banking entries so that people have more to read while I’m off the grid.

But it’s not a carefully calculated baring of my soul, it’s just brain droppings. I go all over the place, or try to, and that’s the point of the journey.

I make a career reflecting on my interactions with the world, and it responds by reacting to me. It all seems fair, it’s just difficult.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My Specialty is Flexibility

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

For some reason, I can’t get my browser to insert the pull quote containing today’s prompt… But it goes something like “what food would you consider your specialty?” I worked as a cook for years, and I have yet to find a favorite. But the thing I make the most often when I need to comfort myself is macaroni and cheese.

Not Kraft Dinner.

It’s a casserole filled with multiple kinds of cheese, mirepoix, and a crumb topping made out of club crackers or Goldfish. I am pretty sure I can woo anyone with this dish, I just haven’t found anyone on which I’d like to work that particular magic. You have to be invited.

Real macaroni and cheese is work, which is why Kraft Dinner has simplified it. I enjoy taking the extra time and effort, especially since a casserole will last me for several meals. Mac and cheese with some kind of protein thrown in is never something I mind having more than once in a week.

When I’m cooking it’s all about love. I want friends in the kitchen to sous for me while I direct the recipe. I feel I have at least cooked professionally long enough to break down the jobs for everyone else by station. I don’t abuse power, I just get it done. You can teach more with kindness than you can with hostility, but try telling Gordon Ramsey that………

When I’m cooking, I think about love and how I want it to direct me in the future. Because I’ve been so sprung over Aada for 12 years, I’m looking in a different direction. She has never been interested in me like a partner would be, and I am realizing that emotional support cannot be everything. It’s not about displacing her, exactly. I just need more than she can give, and that’s so okay. She’s beautiful just the way she is, and she was made straight.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t say “damnit” a lot when I found out that particular tidbit.

So what I’m looking for in a partner is someone like her, who is strong and vulnerable in all the ways I’m not, plus actually wants to go on a date with me would be a nice change.

Finding love like that makes me miss Aada more, not less, because I realize that my time would be divided so much differently out of necessity. That my girlfriend (most likely) and my possible step kids will take over my writing life. That’s good, that’s necessary. You can still admit that change is difficult when you’ve only known something else for a number of years.

I honestly cannot tell you why this transition did not happen earlier. It just never worked out. I have dated since I met Aada and I have fallen in love. It just didn’t last.

Mostly because I didn’t care.

I would eat my own comfort food, take my own long baths, sleep in powerfully comfy sheets, and just focus my attention on a possible career as a writer if I ever get my act together.

I know it is possible if Aada read every day for 12 years, because she’s smarter than everyone else.

Mostly.

We both have our weak spots, and one of mine is that she feels like I’m beating up on her. She already feels terrible, and I just keep bringing shit up. That’s got to stop, because the slate is wiped clean. I have done all the thinking about our problems that I’m going to do, because being off in my own little world did not allow me to see that I was hurting her. I was just working on my own stuff.

I was trying to wade through the hard parts of our relationship so that I could come to peace within myself; that came across to her as “you will be stronger than ever once you’ve punished me enough to move on.”

Yeah, that one hurt.

That’s because she’s been my heart since 2013, and she didn’t deserve to be thrown away like I would get over our “breakup” quickly and easily, as if she was disposable. If you break up with someone and they’re a writer, it’s going to hurt if they’re any good.

It would not have been my recommendation for Aada to keep reading, but she said that she stopped on Friday and would let me have my space. I have my doubts as to whether this is actually true, A-Dog O’Bling Bling. 😉 I sent her a letter yet again pouring out my heart, and perhaps hearing the back story of what really has gone on these past few months helped her to see that I’m not the monster I play on TV.

My web site is all about exploring relationships, and mine with Aada is the only one I’ve been in to be able to tell you about, with guest spots here and there, but for the most part it was just us chatting all day. I couldn’t build a web site outside of her because I was giving her too much energy. She couldn’t keep up with the volume, and always felt guilty about it. Meanwhile, I’m like…. “But you like to read, don’t you?” I never minded when she couldn’t keep up. I minded when that excuse was actually her hiding a problem from me.

I hope she’ll at least cop to that.

I am a sponge and I can feel energy, even from someone’s writing. I can tell the difference between “I’m slammed” and “I’m ignoring you.” The tone is completely different, no matter how much you might mask it.

I told Aada that maybe my writing wasn’t for her, because she didn’t think she was as interesting as my readers did. And honestly, I think that’s true. Nobody likes to read about themselves as much as they like to read about somebody else, because they don’t identify with the conflict. Aada identified with it too much, and I’m sure is basking in the glow of not being subject to all my “homework.”

I don’t know, though. Even now, after all we’ve been through, she told me that she just needed to get together the willpower to stop reading, and stop wanting to correct the narrative. That genuinely broke my heart into a million pieces because I would be thrilled if Aada corrected the record in so many ways.

Why does she not think she has a side of the story here? That my entries are edicts? Why does she give me that power over her rather than telling me to shove it up my ass?

I know from 25 years of blogging that I can be wrong. Really wrong. Devastatingly wrong. And instead of getting defensive and angry, it helps to roll with the punches. Write corrections where I can, because sometimes people don’t want to talk about my writing. The ones that do have a better relationship with it, because we collaborate on what’s going to be said. Aada hasn’t had that because she cut me off (I deserved it).

She is forgiven for that, but it’s hard to correct her record when she walks away.

I also don’t think that she’s ready to give up her relationship with me, not in her heart of hearts. I’m not sure she has the stomach for it, but we’ll see. I think she thinks it’s interesting how I weave us in and out, she just doesn’t read it with enough love for herself. She does not see the tapestry I’ve created, the 3D characters we’ve both become, because I can talk about victories and defeats in equal measure… But often, happiness writes white.

The ink just doesn’t get deep enough to make an impression, so in thinking of things to write about I often explore problems in my life so that I can put them down for the day. What Aada is missing is the part of my day where I’m the lightest, which is after I’ve finished for the day. It would be great if she came in at Happy Hour and not “this is my space where I turn things over.”

This is advice for my new friends, who cannot possibly know me as well as Aada does in other ways. I figure if she thinks I’ve been punishing her, I should tell her how I feel when I’m the lightest as well.

I wish I had a memory of us hugging, and then I don’t because I think it would make me too emotional now. Once I had hold of her, I wouldn’t let go until she did. I would hope that at least sometimes, it would be hard for her to let go, too. There’s not a hint of romance, but deep companionship that I won’t find anywhere else BECAUSE we’ve fought so hard. I am in my grateful era, that all of the strife is over and I can just relax. I want Aada to enjoy the benefit of the calm in my soul.

She really undid me with her letter the other day, but I cried so hard that it let some light in. I no longer feel as sad and depressed as I’ve been the last few months, because I feel secure in her in a way that I never have before. If we do not reconnect, everything will be okay. Nothing will be the same, but everything will be okay. Before, when Aada would walk away our trauma bond would go off and my palm would itch, brainrace and heart race intact. I don’t feel that anymore, because the trauma bond is broken. It is a huge leap forward in connecting with other people.

I have a feeling I’m using the words “trauma bond” incorrectly…….. What I mean is that we had “instamacy” because we each trauma dumped, not thinking of the consequences years down the road. It has been a mixed bag. I think she likes the idea of me writing my first novel and dedicating it to her; I don’t think I can do it without her. Therein lies the rub. I feel like I will not proceed as a writer if I do not have Aada in my corner.

These are all the things that are in my writing, this absolute glowing about Aada’s magic qualities, that she misses when she reads. I’m betting she has few people around her with a positive view of me if she views my writing as punishment. If she tells people I’m punishing her, then that’s what they should believe. Those are not my facts, that is how my writing affected her.

I am saying that I hear that.

She said that hopefully I could let go of the hate and vitriol, and I wish I could. Sometimes I get angry, and those feelings are just as valid as joy for a scratch journal about mental health. Those angry entries are symptoms of something larger, which is showing mental health as it really is. If you follow me every day, you can see my neurodivergent tendencies fight it out. Some days, autism is driving the bus. Sometimes. ADHD has the wheel. It has never, to my recollection, been Jesus.

But for every single time I’ve been angry, I have been joy-filled.

You should see her eyes. I have, and I’ll never be the same. Her gaze is so wonderfully powerful in a photo that I would fall all over myself in person. I think that’s the part I regret most about our relationship, that I never got to apologize in person, moving the story forward in a more positive direction. I think I could have accomplished more with a smile and a hug than I could with a letter, but both methods of apologizing are inextricably interrelated. Going without contact comfort for 12 years led us to be a lot crankier with each other than usual.

I don’t think she realizes that I let go by writing, that I am not carrying around hatred, vitriol, punishment, any of that. I have been so careful to talk about both our flaws and failures, trying to be fair and balanced, trying to see her perspective without her giving it. I have raked myself over the coals trying to apologize and she says she cannot stomach the flagellation I’m doing to her. I asked her where her empathy was for all the times I’d flogged myself.

I don’t mean to flog myself or anyone else, but when you try to get to the heart of shame and vulnerability in a relationship, you talk about hard things. Putting them away and pretending they don’t exist is harder than bringing something into the light and sharing pain. I have been so grateful to the readers that have stuck with me, especially those that have commented, and I’m sorry I have not been keeping up with them.

I think the most magical quality that I’m trying to find in my writing is, “if I can attract someone like Aada to my writing, how do I attract more people like her?” I want readers that are smart, engaging, funny, thoughtful, etc. Now, they are starting to appear.

I hope that it is because I have presented a story all the way through, not picking and choosing “the best of,” but showing that relationships are complicated and so are the people in them. I cannot think in soundbites, I need to understand all the way around the nature of a problem. My soul has not been settled for months, tossing and turning from despair to despair, with jolts of joy to remind me that life was worth living. It got dark for a while, but thanks to my mental health team, the swing is going up.

I am not trying to hurt my beautiful girl. I have been hurt. I am not trying to punish anyone but myself. I’m not punishing anyone, but asking Aada to own her part. To not be a victim because neither of us were. We both have gone through some hard things with the other, and neither of us has a stellar track record at connecting with the other. But through my writing, both in e-mail and here on this web site, I have managed to explain myself well enough. Why would I want to punish her when I am so excellent at punishing myself?

Yes, it was all worth it. From the highs to the lows to the end of the show for the rest of our lives.

But it’s not just that. It’s that Aada and I have reached a good stopping place. That it is now possible to start again because we both got closure and will give each other time to rest. It’s not time to throw each other away. It’s time for me to be stronger now that I’ve lifted her up enough to move on.

Maybe Michael is right. Some relationships just shouldn’t be. But love is all about risk, and I’ve already risked this much. I know she has risked plenty for me, more than I know and am afraid to ask.

But one day, down the road a bit when both of us have breathed the peace of interim, I hope she’ll let me make her some macaroni and cheese.

It’s the closest I’ll ever get to really letting her know how I feel.

History According to Me

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What major historical events do you remember?
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The first news story I really remember was when Adam Walsh got kidnapped.

I watched the space shuttle Challenger blow up with the rest of my fourth grade class.

Baby Jessica fell down a well.

My father preached through all of it.

I really wish I could remember what he said in his sermons all these years later, because I remember feeling comforted then.

I was a child, taking in everything through a child’s lens. I was afraid of being kidnapped for a long time after Adam Walsh disappeared. This was the first time I knew that facts could have an emotional impact. It was 1981. It felt like that was the first moment I realized how big and scary the world could be.

The second moment was huddled on the floor of my townhouse in Alexandria with my then-wife, Kathleen. The Pentagon had been struck that day, as well as the twin towers. There were fighter jets flying over our house every 10 minutes for about three days, and the phone lines were jammed. Because I’d been home that day, I’d actually heard the plane slam into the Pentagon, but the TV wasn’t on. I had no idea that I’d just lived through a terrorist attack. I thought it was a construction accident across the street. That’s how loud it was, even miles away.

Less traumatic, but still important was that I led a prayer and remembrance service for Matthew Shepard after he was murdered at University of Houston. It changed me because I learned that I could indeed be a leader when others were in pain, and I could step into the role my father had and it didn’t look bad on me.

I can see myself preaching through things, in retrospect, but I think I have more of an impact here.

I’m able to talk about my experiences, and how the historical and the emotional come together to make me who I am today.

I used to be more dialed in than I am now. I have ignored the news for months. I have been focusing on my own journey, pulling myself out of a lot of grief. That has started to change with getting back into the swing of things. I’m starting slowly. I listened to Pod Save America in the car.

I distanced myself from the news because it drove my anxiety, whereas a lot of my writing became repetitive self-soothing, echologia to calm myself down that riled everyone else up. I’m learning that my words do have power, that I’m my own kind of news, and that I’m not comfortable with it. I’ve had to become comfortable with it over time…. To accept that to put my own thoughts into the universe is to create a reaction, a ripple effect.

No one knows what is going on in my mind as I write, weaving history and my emotional life together. There are many people that I wish would come over and sit with me, because writing is often a lonely endeavor. It helps to have a dog, which I do not. But I enjoyed being in Houston and my dad’s dogs lying next to me while I pounded the keys. It has made me consider a service dog with renewed fervor now that I actually have the time and space to dedicate to one.

That will be a moment in history to savor, because I think at that point I will be so obsessed with training my dog that Lanagan Media Group will just become a repository of our pictures and videos.

Something about Aada’s letter has stayed with me… That she will miss the time in her life when reading Stories was the highlight of her day. Her manipulations isolated me from the life I was writing about, so in effect she helped bring about the changes she didn’t like. My task now is to find what it was all those years ago that made my writing appeal to the broadest possible audience. It is how nothing being the same will make everything okay. It’s the transition I have in front of me, where getting back into the news is a choice. Getting back into society is a choice. Not being so closed off is a choice.

Walking towards health and wholeness is a choice. I am on my way, because being in my Cognitive Behavioral Health group and attending therapy is helping turn down the dial on all my emotions. It will be possible for me to get out and make friends locally in a way that it hasn’t been before. I have more of what I need to survive, which is care and connection out in the real world that doesn’t depend on the Internet.

The 24 hour news cycle drove me insane, because there wasn’t a moment of my day that I wasn’t anxious about something. But I cannot afford to be tuned out, either.

It is a conundrum, because I like being dialed in. I just don’t feel strong enough to handle the world’s anxiety when I can barely handle my own.

Again, it is striking to me how much this blog has made history in other people’s heads, that things I’ve published have come across as news to them. I am learning how to deal with those consequences, and it’s such a large part of my need to branch out. Maybe write some academic papers. Who knows?

History belongs to the writers, and this week I learned why that is so unfortunate.

Do I Like Risk?

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What’s the biggest risk you’d like to take — but haven’t been able to?
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I am not generally a daredevil, so it’s hard to think of anything I’d like to do more adrenaline-filled than go to the spy museum and read books. But perhaps if I had a friend with me, I’d like to do something more brave, like bungee jumping or sky diving. It really depends on my traveling companion. Do they want to do high adrenaline stuff? I’m flexible.

I’ve always thought that Hawaii would be my perfect vacation because they have all the extreme sports, but if you want to lay on the beach and be a bum, you can do that, too. I will have to talk to Bryn and see how risk averse she is, because she’s the person I can see doing that stuff with. If I meet a partner in the future, I’m sure I’ll want to include them, too. But my best friend being with me is non-negotiable (if she wants to go).

Skydiving, among my friends, has gotten mixed reviews. I think the only way I will know how I feel about it is to jump, because some people loved it, some people hated it. Both are equal in their fervor. I am sure that it is the same with bungee jumping, I just don’t have any friends that have done it…. well, maybe Lindsay has, but I’d have to check and there’s no way she’s up yet. I don’t want to poke the bear, okkkkk…….

I am hoping that I get the chance to travel as I age, and have mentioned before that I would like to spend some time in Finland with all the other neurodivergent weirdos. That includes going into the sauna, then jumping into the lake. I am almost certain I will not die, and that I will not get a truly Finnish experience if I do not do this at least once.

Maybe I’ll love it. Maybe they’ll have to call an ambulance. Who knows?

I’d also like to visit other parts of the world, but I’m not sold on where I would like to go except for Helsinki (and Tampere, to visit the MOOMIN museum). I know that I’d like to explore the UK, because I have only been to London. Maybe Rosie O’Donnell would let me visit her in Ireland. 😉

The most important part is that wherever I go, I take a piece of home with me. Aada’s letter yesterday served as that talisman, a new Gmail era that I don’t want to delete. Last night I felt emotionally regulated for the first time in months, actual tears threatening to fall with relief.

She doesn’t feel sorry for herself, she is aware of the penance she is paying. I feel exactly the same way in an equal and opposite reaction. I hope it will allow us room to breathe and come back together in the end.

We’ll just have to see what these next few years hold, because I think we at least need that much time to rest and relax. We’ve both been through a really hard thing, and I make it more complicated because I’m a writer.

Trips like these where I am constantly taking in new information are so important. I don’t want to stagnate in my writing or anywhere else, and it’s important that I drift away from Aada to the extent that I can. I have been so dialed into her for so long that I’m finding it hard to walk through life without her, but resolute that it’s time for me to find out how to cope on my own.

I just know that she cannot stay away from me any more than I can stay away from her. Even yesterday, she said, “for now.”

I’ll take it.

She has shown me that she has the ability to change, and the ability to face the music in really hard conflict. I wasn’t sure about that before, and now I feel better. It’s still time to let go and trust that the universe has our backs. That just because we aren’t talking, that doesn’t mean that peace isn’t flowing through the chord that runs between us.

If is is meant to be, it will be. I can rest in that.

So bring on the adrenaline. I want to live before I die.

The Last Letter

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Dear Aada,

I know what you did and how you did it. I’m not angry, but I do think that the manipulations are fascinating. I got so sick I nearly killed myself twice, and none of that would have happened if I’d had a therapist to bring me back down to earth.

You shattered my heart with your lies, because I know that going to Portland was a lie as well. It only took one mistruth to unravel all of it, with you complaining that I betrayed you instead of you lied and got caught.

I shouldn’t forgive you, but I do. It’s for me and not you, because I know that if I get a response to this e-mail at all, it will be full of all the things I’ve done wrong. I am slowly coming out of the shell we created to be whole again.

I’ll move on and be successful without you, but I also hope that you get healthy and change. I think I’ll always hope that, because people who’ve been manipulated always hope that the person will change. I refuted all other facts, and “sure as shit, you’ll get her side, Dagger,” was because I thought that Jonna lied and not you. Because you would never lie to me and you never had.

How wrong I was.

It pains me that we will never see each other’s faces after all these years, adding new depth and breadth to the laugh lines on the other’s face. I can envision it perfectly if we both get help, but right now I think we’d fight to the death.

I wish you peace, my Finnish baby. I’m angry and hurt in a way that I never thought I would be. But my memories of you are pristine and it was all worth it.

I did love you with an intensity that surprised even me. But now it’s time to stop, because you’ve made it clear that’s not what you want from me. I’m just throwing emotion down a hole and expecting it will come back to me. The chord that runs between us is breaking, because you thought you needed to be bigger than you were.

What would it be like to come clean from all that?

You can stick to your story that Michael knows nothing, or you can admit that looking into you is easier than looking into Mummo.

But I want to be clear about something. My anxiety was tripled when you started fighting me on Michael because I was scared of him. I needed you and you exploded at me. I needed you closer and you just left. The biggest nightmare I could imagine was happening and I warned you it was going to happen and still nothing.

I gave away enough clues over time that Michael finally figured out who you were. It wasn’t that I just decided to say “fuck Aada” one day. I wanted you to say “I’ll be on the first train” but your anxiety won that day.

You didn’t care about any of the consequences you laid out for me.

That’s hard to swallow, but I would if I thought it would do any good.

You won’t come clean with me because you’ll insist that we know nothing. You’ll stick to your story that I nailed you over “one little slip.” The reason no one is interested in you is that you never did anything.

When you steal a story………………………

Maybe one of these days you’ll find it in your heart to confirm or deny everything Michael is saying, because I will never believe anything you say again without it. I want the whole truth, and yes, I CAN HANDLE THE TRUTH.

That was my Jack Nicholson impression, I am not yelling at you.

I find myself too tender to yell at you. That all I am is embarrassed at having to rebuild my life after so many failed relationships. I wonder what would have happened had you decided to meet with me in person, because I don’t think that I would have been open to Michael’s story if we’d actually had a happy relationship. Your overreaction and anger to the simplest things made me realize I was in over my head.

You say that you hate when people get up in your business, but you got up in mine without thinking twice about it. You ruined a relationship for me when it wasn’t necessary, and had a hand in complicating a second. Dana makes three. Was it worth it for you? Was it worth it for me to think you were a superhero all these years?

This is the first time in my life where I have hoped desperately that I’m wrong. That surely the lie cannot be so fine tuned that all our process conversations were based on things you’d overheard. Of course you picked up the lingo and the basics from someone else.

It really worked out for you when you told me that Heytch and Mummo would never speak to me again and I shouldn’t bother making amends. I don’t know what would have happened if I’d really bared my soul and got honest with both of them. I owe them reparative work if they want it.

But I know that no one, if they are in their right minds, in your family is going to have a lick of sympathy for anything I’ve gone through, because they rightfully need to surround you with their love and care. I have my own people, and I think I chose wisely. If there was ever reparative work with you, it would start with why you felt the need to lie.

The people being manipulated by people like you always hope for a change and a reconciliation, and hope for long after the relationship has ended that the person will come clean with them. Meanwhile, the manipulator is usually into the wind and onto another dopamine source.

It makes me wonder if all our people pleasing is love addiction. That perhaps the reason we can’t talk to each other is that we are both “qualifiers” for the other. That we both gave away too much of ourselves hoping that the other would love us. I was so lovesick over you, and it all had to do with the fact that I thought I could lose you at any time. Meanwhile, your safe & comfortable office was a mystery to me.

“It’s the not mostly that would fry people’s hair.”

Aada, I bothered you about being on your “in case ofs” for 12 years, and yelled at you that you didn’t tell me you were out because it led to so much anxiety. Meanwhile, none of that anxiety was real because you were never in.

I cared for you in a way that I will never love anyone else, and that part is clear to me. That while I was being manipulated, we have some very genuine moments in our past and I will take those with me.

It’s time for me to find out who I am without you, because at the very least it will take you months to figure out what you’re going to do in this situation…. Whether it is easier to run from a lie, or whether it is worth it to you to find out why I’m so clearly invested despite all the harm that’s been done to me. I am stunned at Michael’s assessment that some relationships just should not be, because my preacher’s kid mentality says that there’s nothing that cannot be forgiven.

He just does not want me to take the risk that you will be absolutely as harmful to me in the future as you have been in the past, and maybe that’s your fear, too. That you cannot give any more than you’ve already been giving, because telling the truth would be a step down on holy ground. That you would rather hide in the dark rather than coming into the light and receiving me as the friend I always said I would be.

I just won’t go that far for a liar.

That’s why our relationship is a total loss right now. I cannot put any trust in you and all of my trust has been misplaced so far. What I’m searching for is something to write about that is healthy, that does not have this level of drama and intrigue, that genuinely helps me find my directions and not my distractions.

I know that thinking of you will not go away fast. Your birthday and your name day will always be reminders.

I’m dialed in.

Through you, I have found a direction that suits me, which is spending time in Finland with all the other crazy neurodivergents. It will be impossible not to be reminded of you there, but I’m willing to put away my discomfort to enjoy a society built for me. I have built a lot of dreams through trying to impress you, and they are still good ideas whether or not you’re impressed.

I’m lost right now. Truly lost. Even though you don’t want to admit it, you’ve enjoyed all my love and affection. You have admitted that you have taken energy without refilling it, and that has been damaging to me. But that’s what I thought you needed- having your cup filled at the expense of mine because your life was so much more important than mine.

I do love knowing that we’re equals, that I didn’t marry the government.

The fact that you sat through lines like that and didn’t come clean makes me crazy. It’s why I’m better off releasing you from whence you came. That’s because your story is so woven into the fabric of your life that I think you really believe you were telling me the truth.

But I’m always hoping you’ll change. We’ll see whether that’s a flaw in me later in life.

I believe in you, that you have the ability to change. I just don’t think you will.

Yours, an all the way to the river friend, if our relationship is built right from the ground up.

If it has no chance of that, then I don’t want contact. I will always want what is best for me, and this seems to be it.

There’s no apology without changed behavior, and I am no longer willing to hold my breath waiting.

Leslie

Where Y’all Are From

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

One of the things that makes me really excited to be a blogger is the flags in my stats. I have people reading from places that are close to me (Wheaton, Reston) and places that are so far I have no idea where they are. For instance, I do not have a lock on Indian geography, and I am more popular in India than any country in the United States.

It’s probably Aparna’s doing. 😛

But that’s assuming that Aparna lives in India, and most of what trips me up in my stats. I have been making assumptions on who is reading based on my stats, and I need to stop. It only drives me crazy, it does not help anything. I’ve been defaulting to just looking at stats in my web app, because the web app cannot get as granular as who is reading by city.

I forgive myself because I am just so human. But that does not mean I do not need to change. Part of my growth and development is not appealing to any one geographic area, but writing to the whole world at once. That strategy seems to be working, because I am not popular in the United States by a large margin. Really, the only thing that puts me over the top in the US is that I live here, therefore most of my ads are going to be targeted here.

However, you would be surprised that my US stats are often beat out by India and the UK.

Remembering that I have fans all over the world is remembering that I have a bigger mission than just “blogger.” That I want to spread some good in the world, so what am I going to write about there? I could cover hundreds of topics, and I will. Right now, I am digging myself out of my own hole so that I can rejoin the land of the living.

There’s a few things I could do right off the bat that would help. I could change my master password on everything, because it means I have to type Aada’s name fifty times a day and enter her birthday backwards on my tablet.

Aada’s real name makes a banger of a password in haxxorspeak, so I’ll be sad to lose it. But I think that choosing a new master password so that I don’t have to think of her even incidentally is best. And somebody else’s birthday will make just as good of a passcode on my phone/tablet.

These are the things that will change me the most fundamentally, because I know they are adding to me thinking of someone who no longer wants me to think about her. If she did, she would have come to me long before now.

So in moving on, I’m trying to think of the things that would help me the most immediately, These seem like such small things, but that’s why they’re so important. It is reinforcing my connection to Aada to have to type her name and her birthday all the time, and I want to stop those thoughts cold.

I want to stop all thoughts of her cold, because she asked for it and now it’s something I want, too. I do not want to be as unstable as I have been the past 12 years, and anything I can do to promote that is the only thing that matters.

Aada says that Michael knows nothing, that I have lives in my hands if I out her. I think that was a scare tactic, and we’ll see how many lives for which I’m actually responsible going forward. Women in their 60s aren’t operators, according to popular legend.

I am still in the space of thinking I have betrayed my friend and my country, so I’m not feeling so hot. But when I get into that space, Michael reminds me that I retook my own agency, I stopped accepting Aada’s lies as the truth, and I refused to be manipulated any more than I already had been. He’s got his work cut out for him, but he’s the type of friend that’s willing to do it. He’s been invaluable to my Cognitive Behavioral Health group by being in touch with my counselor when he sees that I need work.

It’s the kind of friend Aada said she would be, but just never had time. All of her lies put this into sharp relief, because I know that she did not want to see me suffer because of something she said. She did not show up when my mother died, even though she said that she wanted to and regretted it later. What I know for sure is if her mother had died, there wouldn’t have been anything that kept me away from her, that nothing would be more important in my world, so wondering why she was so avoidant is no longer a mystery. She had no plans to tell me how deep the lie really went.

Michael thinks that this lie ruined her first marriage because my former father-in-law got tripped up in it as well. That we were all living in service to this lie while worried about the wrong person.

Judging from the little bit that I know Mummo, she would not have wanted our care and connection, anyway. That it was too much for her to think about us worried about her. So, I don’t think that I should feel guilty that the care and concern did not go to the right person.

But did it really go to the wrong person? If Aada was the one that needed it so bad she was willing to lie to get it, I don’t think that my affection was poured down a hole. I have to write it off as a fan being so impressed that she got off on the wrong foot with me, and never went back to correct any of it. She just kept digging us into a more and more secretive hole without footholds to find our way back up.

It bothers me that both Aada and Michael are so resolute in their stories. That I have to choose who is telling the truth. I had to choose Michael because he uncovered two lies Aada told me that unraveled the whole sweater.

Therefore, when a lot of me hopes that Aada was telling the truth, Michael is right there to keep deprogramming me.

It was all just so real.

Now, choosing what’s real is easier. There’s Aada, whose story was a complete fake, and then there’s everything else. If I go towards Aada, I am choosing to be gaslighted. If I go towards my group, I am asking for their help in remaining stable.

It is my opinion that Aada will stick to her lies and remain angry at me that I exposed them. That is okay with me, because I do not want to be in a relationship with anyone that tries to control me. Her control was so tightly wound that I still feel the ties that bind, and Michael is right to use the word “deprogramming.” For every lie that Aada told, he has a real answer.

It makes me wonder where I’ll be in five years, when the pain of all this has finally passed. I know that I will never be able to talk to the real Aada, because I do not think that she has enough emotional bravery to sit down with me and admit how bad things really got.

Because what if the lie is so ingrained she’s lying to herself? How much of her story does she actually believe? How many people has she puffed herself up for to make herself seem more important?

She scared me so bad that I’m constantly afraid that I’m going to get her fired, as if I had that kind of power. If I do, I shouldn’t. Aada clearly needs help, not a comeuppance.

It feels good to say that Aada needs help because I’m tired of being the only one who is dealing with their mental health in an actual setting prepared for it.

I was hospitalized twice, so I’m hoping that Aada will realize that being hospitalized isn’t that bad a deal. You get better.

Bipolar with psychotic features might even be an appropriate diagnosis for her.

Working on Myself

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I’m working on myself to the level that I understand the phrase. Writing when I feel like it, making sure to make time for lots of self care. I have been through a really hard thing, and I would like to recover. While I would never kick Aada out of my life if she reappeared and said, “I seriously want to work on this with you,” I have decided that she has already left and I’m just catching up. Losing a friend is always hard, but I’ll bounce back. I’m already on my way.

Slowly.

Last night I had to go to Urgent Care because Tiina invited me to her farm and I had to make sure I didn’t have COVID or the flu first. My reasoning was that if it’s just a cold, I could still go. Ruth, my NP, assured me that I would feel worse before I felt better and not to push myself.

Y’all, I woke up this morning feeling like I’d been hit by a truck.

I need to go to the pharmacy later to pick up some cough medicine, and then I’m coming home and getting back into bed. Or sitting on the couch with my tablet. Whatever. What I am NOT doing is driving to Virginia today.

Four hours round trip to myself in the car just to listen to podcasts and sing and all that sounds great, but not when I feel like this.

I cannot even hide my disappointment because I’ve been looking forward to seeing Tiina since March. I texted her and said, “is next week just as good?” I’m still awaiting a reply because it’s so early in the morning.

I am probably sick because the relationship with Aada ended. When I feel down in the dumps, I often present physically. My immune system just isn’t as good when I’m sad, and there’s not only this relationship ending, but my stepmother dying as well. These past few months have, in a word, sucked.

It’s time to start looking forward, even in my writing. Dipping back into the well of my own loneliness where Aada is concerned is no longer serving me. I am talking to my friends and group members all week long, and getting out more now that I have a car. I have surprised myself many times this week by not having things delivered and just going to places myself. Life doesn’t feel so overwhelming when I’m alone in transition.

I’m working on finding a new place to live, which may actually be a new apartment in this complex…. Or it could be someplace entirely new. I’m leaning towards letting my apartment complex get it right, because moving is such a hassle. Even lugging things across this campus won’t be great. But it will be easier than moving back to DC. That’s what I need right now…. Something easy. I’m not ready to change my whole life and it feels like I just got here.

I will if I need to. Changing my life doesn’t seem like a bad thing. It’s just hard for me to accept change fast, especially as I age. My compensatory skills don’t kick in as quick as they used to……

I’m currently having an energy drink (C4 in Cherry Popsicle) and I just took two Aleve. I’ll take a hot shower and that should put me together long enough to do my errands. The prescription I have is for Tessalon pearls, but I find that Delsym works better. That being said, prescriptions are cheaper, so we’ll see what I decide when I get there.

Oh. Wait. It’s Sunday. The pharmacy is closed on Sunday. That answers that. If you are a Delsym fan, should I get grape or orange? This may be the most exciting choice I get to make all day. I also need to grab some Mucinex, because I’ve already got real Sudafed vs. the PE and the PE version says, “DOES NOT WORK” right on the box.

Tiina has a beautiful farm and I was so looking forward to all this. I have even been keeping up with my Zyrtec for the occasion. I know that it’s just one of those things that I turned up sick today, but I am just so BUMMED. I’m achy all over, which would make the road trip that much more uncomfortable. I keep talking to myself trying to come up with ways I can Frankenstein myself back together and still go…. And then I think that Tiina would not be very happy if I gave her my cold, anyway. She would probably prefer to stay two hours away from me while I don’t know if I’m contagious or not.

In terms of what to do instead, it seems like all my favorite YouTubers publish on Sunday mornings. The big three are Tyler & Todd, Laura Kampf, and Vanwives.

Tyler & Todd own a homestead in the Canadian wilderness and post about their improvements every week.

Laura Kampf is a carpenter from Germany and makes all kinds of stuff.

Vanwives are Crystal and Jaz, who own a huge homestead in Canada as well, sometimes doing crossovers with Tyler & Todd.

I love all this HGTV kind of stuff that people are producing and at higher values than one would think out in the middle of nowhere. Living on a homestead is not something I envision unless I wanted to live with a group of people, because I would not be motivated to work the land and take care of the house without someone to social mask. I am a great helper to someone else who likes to manage these projects, but they are not something I see myself capable of doing on my own. People tell me that I can do anything I want to do, and my disabilities say, “not so fast, Leslie.”

So I watch these people on YouTube to get tips on all this stuff, knowing it’s unlikely I’ll use them unless I meet people who are also interested in owning a homestead. If I do, I will be quite knowledgeable and helpful to them because I’ve been studying DIY for years. YouTube is a university for maker projects.

But I don’t just watch DIY. I also like to watch mechanics overhaul cars. Restorations of old BMWs and Mercedes are my favorite, and because of this, I wanted my own. Aaron said, “there’s nothing more expensive than a cheap BMW.” That’s how I ended up in a much newer Ford. There are jokes about Ford’s reliability all over the place, but the parts & labor are undeniably cheaper.

Speaking of parts for my Ford, I’m having a lot of fun looking at mods like a more aggressive grill. These are parts on which I’ll probably never spend money, it’s just fun to window shop. I like to imagine more than I like to purchase. Car mods are my current Sears Christmas catalog of the soul. I think about adding approach lights a lot, because I could change the colors to different pride flags at will. I think it would make my car look smarter than lots of stickers.

However, pride stickers reminds me of a very funny story.

When I was 18, I had a Mitsubishi Mirage sedan. It had a window cling on the back that had a pink triangle and a Christian fish interlocked.

My dad and I switched cars so that he could get my car serviced for me, and I get a phone call:

“I’ve enjoyed driving around, everyone thinking I’m a Christian lesbian all afternoon.”

A pink triangle would actually look great on my car, because it’s a dark gunmetal gray. I should look for one, because today’s kids are losing touch with what it means. It was the symbol for homosexual during the Holocaust the way Jews wore yellow stars. I think it’s an important symbol to bring back as America leans toward fascism.

I’ll have to surf the web and my local queer bookstore to see what kinds of car accoutrements are available. A strip of rainbow on the back bumper or a rainbow license plate frame will be easier to take off later. Window clings are invaluable for the same reason. You don’t have to spend hours scraping your car to remove them.

I’m going to have this car for a long time unless my life drastically changes, like getting a service dog. The right service dog for me is 65 lbs, enough to counterbalance my weight and heavy enough to brace and let me pick myself back up when I fall. I am certain that a 65 lb dog would fit into the backseat/trunk area with the seats folded down. However, an SUV would be more comfortable for both of us. The cabin is my area. The cargo hold is your area. Bliss.

We’ll see how all that shakes out, though. I’m caught between wanting a dog and wanting to travel. We’ll see which one wins out, because of course you can board a dog. I just won’t want any time away from mine. And in fact, once my dog is certified as a service dog, I won’t have to be without them. It’s fun to think of my dog being a jet setter.

Ooooh, the Aleve just kicked in. I just felt my whole body relax.

I’m still not well enough to go to Virginia, but I might just make it to Walgreens.

I just don’t think they’re open yet……….

It’s about six in the morning. Even though it’s a weekend, I was so excited about my road trip today that I couldn’t sleep. I was taking the doctor’s advice and waiting to call it until this morning, so it was hard to drift off. I took some sleeping pills and finally went deep, but not for long.

My dad gave me these pills called “Sleep 3,” and it’s just a bunch of herbs and melatonin. They’re amazing. I am going to have to get another box, because they work better than the prescription I’ve been given. Luckily, I already have to go to the pharmacy.

It looks like it’s going to be a particularly lazy Sunday after that. I am going to have to put off being busy with finding a new place to live. I just don’t have the energy and I’m supposed to talk to my own leasing office tomorrow. Again, if they can make it right by giving me an apartment that’s actually habitable, I’d like to stay.

My life has been really, really hard the last few months. I need to get out of this apartment in the worst way possible because it has flooded four times. It’s flooded right now. I need to be out by November 10th, so being sick today is not the most convenient time. I really could have used today in terms of meeting possible new landlords.

It’s time to let it go, because I really am too sick to deal with all that. The nurse practitioner (who was ADORABLE, btw) told me that I might want to come back in a couple of days to make sure I’m still negative for the flu, because my symptoms were awfully flu-like. She also told me that if I didn’t want to come back, they sell flu tests at the pharmacy.

Luckily, I have to go…. Oh, wait. We’ve covered this. 😛

Saying goodbye to Aada last night was the hardest thing I’ve written in a while. It was not a rejection of her, like “never talk to me again.” It was the realization that she was already gone, and I needed to catch up. That of course she wouldn’t want to be my friend after this no matter what I did. I exposed everything she didn’t want other people to know about our relationship for 12 years, including the lie that she was a CIA case officer.

There is so much of me that cannot believe this lie because there are too many details over 12 years. My brain tries to put together every possible scenario that leads to Aada telling the truth about her life. But when I do, Michael stops me. He’s firm. She’s a liar. And a good one. She convinced more than just me.

Yes, I did think about what would happen to her if I wrote all of this. I sweated blood. But in the end, I had to claim what happened to me after making a thousand percent sure that Aada, Mummo, and I were all inconsequential to each other before I published. That there’s no way I could hurt either woman professionally with my writing.

Talking about how bad things got is allowing me to feel better as I process my way through everything. And in fact, it robs me of regret that my relationship with Aada is over. That will change in another 10 minutes because I cannot make up my mind over such a thing. The thought that we will never talk again is too big for me to take in. So I know she’s not going to contact me today. I’ll be saying that a lot of days in a row until I don’t have to anymore.

Part of the reason it’s so hard to wrap my brain around the concept of “over” is that Aada and I have kicked each other out of our lives more than we’ve had a happy relationship. So, it’s hard to know whether this is the end, or whether a year from now I will get a heart-wrenching e-mail, surprising me in its depth and breadth. Because that’s how it works…. Every time I have gotten attention and affection from Aada, it has been surprising to me how raw her love for me truly is. I know I made an impression on her heart, and that we both hurt each other beyond all measure.

Michael says that there are some relationships that just shouldn’t be…. That it isn’t writing Aada off not to engage in her manipulations. That I will know I’m healed when I won’t accept contact from her, or at the very least, it is superfluous. I cannot imagine not accepting contact from someone who genuinely came clean with me, and showed apology with changed behavior and not just words. But not knowing whether Aada is capable of such a thing is where the toxicity lies. Maybe things would be better in the future, but am I willing to take that risk?

Love is all about risk, so I’m not there yet. I’m not strong enough to say never again, because my heart is still tender and raw, missing Aada and wanting to be comforted by her when there is no comfort to be had. She has not been truly present for me in the 12 years since our relationship began, so I cannot expect her to be present now. If she has been reading, she knows that she caused me enormous pain with her lies and my intuition is that she can make a mess, but she won’t clean it up.

I want that. I want her to want us to get healthy.

But maybe Michael is right, and some relationships just shouldn’t be.

Nothing will be the same.

Everything will be okay.

The Quiet

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Aada once got onto me for painting my feelings as fact. Here is how I am feeling, which is not fact at all….

Dear Aada,

I have been over and over this. It is time for me to say goodbye, and I don’t know how. I have never known how, because every time you walked away, I had to comfort myself. I had to find someplace stable to ground myself, never really finding it because I didn’t have enough time. My fear of losing you would become too great, and I would try anything and everything to get you to come back. I thought that I was doing the right thing, and often, I wasn’t. We tried over and over to get healthy, but we couldn’t because there were so many lies between us. That will never be my fault, and I refuse to take responsibility for a mess you made.

I can feel the drift beginning even now as I retake my agency.

I struggle to forgive you telling me that I couldn’t see a therapist because I’m in such hot water now. I went from a Bipolar II diagnosis to Bipolar I with psychotic features, and nothing about my personality changed except I stopped hiding your story from my doctors. What I know for sure is that the struggle will end eventually, and my heart will just be left with a hole where you used to be.

You have fought me too much for me to ever believe that you’d come back, but I’ll repeat a line you used on our mutual friend… That there’s no statute of limitations on guilt, but if you felt any you’d have contacted me long before now.

Have you ever even been to Voodoo Donut?

I thought as much.

You tried to save the world by telling me a lie. No wonder we couldn’t get closer despite both of us wanting that. I’d hit something too close to your lie and you’d explode at me.

As time wore on those swings got bigger and bigger as you tried to convince me that I was the only manipulative person in our relationship, which you could do because you weren’t going to level with me.

That’s the part that destroys me. That you put so much emphasis on truth and not being called a liar… Meanwhile, most of our relationship was fake. You only really talked to me about work, which makes the lies add up exponentially.

I believed in you so much that I thought Michael and Jonna were lying to me.

Michael says that I’m being deprogrammed like a kid in a cult. I’m in Cognitive Behavioral Health because when I was admitted to the hospital, the doctors thought my reality broke.

But you’re right. You don’t owe me anything and you never have. I need to give up the fantasy that you’re going to appear in some grand gesture and apologize so we can actually start working on a healthy relationship. I need to give up the fantasy that we’ll see each other again, and that is heartbreaking.

I promised to love you for this lifetime and every one after that. You didn’t promise me anything.

So no matter how loving and open I am, I do not see this relationship coming back together.

If you felt any guilt, you would have come to me long before now.

God go with her, because I can’t.

A Place Frozen in Time

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I cannot prove one way or the other that Aada is actually reading. I just have my guesses depending on how comfortable I am with that thought; it changes by the day. As I told Michael, “I know I’m entitled to feel what I feel, but you get the vulnerable part of me that’s willing to admit that I even care what people think.” I’m brave to write about my life because it comes with an enormous amount of blowback.

How I deal with it is up to me. People are free to come and go from my life, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel lost at being entertaining to people as a writer, but not as a friend. That sometimes, there’s just nothing I can do to bridge a gap, and I need to let go.

The entries regarding Aada’s lies reveal some serious manipulation that I was not prepared to hear. Michael had to shake me into reality because I fought the truth tooth and nail.

No record? None?

Maybe you just can’t find it.

I was defensive, angry, and most of all, I hurt. I didn’t give Michael the time of day at first, because surely he couldn’t know my Aada, and she’d confirmed as much. That Michael knows nothing, and if he’s the person I want as my bellwether friend, go for it.

So on the one hand, I’ve got someone telling me that she’s a trained interrogator and field agent, and someone saying “no. She is not. She has been lying to you.”

“I will step away,” she replied. That was her answer for everything. Any disagreement at all and she turned away.

It was never about her “one little slip.” I saw that today and nearly came unglued. She lied to me for years about knowing someone she didn’t, and yelled at me when I wanted to talk about it more than one time. I told her to stop it, right now. That’s her boot on my neck.

In the end, I told her that I didn’t care what she did now, that she didn’t fit in with any of my other friends and wouldn’t even give them a chance. I don’t know why. She would have liked Bryn and come to tolerate Aaron (“perhaps Aaron can refrain from rolling his eyes”).

That’s an old, old line from 10 years ago when I told her that I couldn’t shut up about her.

Our new relationship energy could have lit New York for a month.

That feeling has never gone away, not for a day in 12 years. She lied to me and destroyed something precious, and still I’d give a limb to talk to her in person. We both spiraled out into something unhealthy, but there are too many great lines in our past not to write some more.

I just don’t think she’ll forgive me for what I know she’ll think of as embarrassing her and not me owning what I feel happened to me. As I have said before, maybe Aada is telling the truth and I chose the wrong friend.

I just highly doubt it because knowing Jonna was the lie that tripped her up. And instead of being angry at herself for lying to me, she was angry at me for writing about it. In my opinion, she’ll run as far away from me as she can get, because she will stick to her story that I’m the one who’s nuts. That I’m the most manipulative person she’s ever met. That I have somehow done her wrong by finding out that she pathologically lied as she saw consequences coming for me she did nothing to prevent.

She could have at least told me she lied in person. That would have at least prepared me for Michael lowering the boom and I would have continued to believe Aada over Michael until the end of my days. Because how could I ever have access to the databases that would tell me that my reality was fake?

How much did she need my adoration? The sad part is that she would have had it if she worked for a car wash. Her personality is that adorable and I’ve told her that from day one. That’s what makes this story so heartbreaking… She puffed herself up for no reason at all, and lost me in the process.

My journey with Aada has been different than her journey with me. She never had to deal with blossoming feelings of romance and having to be honest about it, then tripping over my own feet as I navigated feeling like shit about myself. It was then that I was the manipulator, when all my red flags hung out, waving proudly.

Aada gets a lot of credit for not holding me to my worst mistake, which is why I’ll always give her grace and comfort now.

I just won’t tolerate lies and will have a put up or shut up attitude toward what she does for a living. She doesn’t have to prove to me that she does what she does now, but she’ll have to untangle whether she lied or how.

I wore a CIA baseball cap like it was hers. That’s why I was destroyed when I lost it and a little too excited when I found it.

But I never wore two things with CIA on it at once because I didn’t want to look like I was pitching.

I just wanted her with me all the time, and that felt like it, as well as the Starbucks cup I bought with one particular gift certificate. The hat was stolen, but I still have the cup. Every time I drink from it, I think of the one who made it possible for me to have it.

This secretive bubble that she wanted was a place frozen in time, because we cannot go back to it. I have destroyed her web of lies in front of her face, and I’m sure the blood drained out.

But why wouldn’t I write about all of this when it is the absolute source of why I’ve been such a dick for so long? Literally no one else in my life mattered, so everyone could come and go and I didn’t notice. I gave up other relationships to make this one more secretive, because I couldn’t know that her swearing me to secrecy was bullshit.

It was the swearing me to secrecy that made Michael call bullshit and start hammering details. That he wanted to help me get well because he could see that Aada’s story was making me sicker… Both in that she wasn’t telling the right one and we were not checking the story we were telling ourselves.

Aada wrote that she was going to have to brace for the changes that were coming, and now I know what she meant. It was her cue to go into the wind, the only trace left being a few web stats that are guesses.

She says she’s glad she’s flying under the radar, that Michael knows nothing. We’ll see. I’m pulling for her because I don’t want to think that all of my worry and anxiety was based on a lie.

I was hospitalized twice and I cannot stress this enough. Being a psych ward patient at Methodist in Houston was a country club compared to being hospitalized in Baltimore. She didn’t come to visit either time. In all of her worry about me, she was never truly present. That would have been looking into my admittedly lazy eyes.

Something tells me that if we’d met in person, all of this would either be worse or I’d have moved onto writing about other things a long time ago. It was easier to write about Aada than my other friends because she allowed it. If we’d met in person, I would have believed that she saved the world many times over and I know that because I have until now. Michael thinks that’s why she lied… So that I would think she was a hero and adore her even more than I already did.

That would have been impossible.

Because it was the internet, it was closer than a heartbeat. Dings all day long between Facebook Messenger, email, and Signal. Little thrills because my super spy had time for me.

And when we were fighting, I’m sorry to Aada that I never put this together until today….. The noise ramped up my adrenaline the more we went back and forth, making it impossible to deescalate. We took each other off at the knees every time and it wasn’t necessary.

Basically, none of this would have happened if we’d had a happy relationship, and I bear just as much fault for the way it’s ended as Aada. That’s because relationships tumble and roll. When we were younger, it was my turn to be the villain in her story. Now, I don’t think of her as the villain, but when I write about problems in our relationship, she does.

I’m not trying to make her out to be a villain, just ignorant of the consequences she laid out for me.

And I cannot know whether she’ll ever contact me again because life is long. She’ll want time to heal, but even she doesn’t know what will happen after that. I promised to be her all the way to the river friend.

She never promised to be mine, I just assumed. I think I assumed correctly as long as I did what she said the first time without asking. To argue with her was absolutely pointless.

She would just get mad and walk off, leaving me to crumple in tears until the next time she had something funny to tell me, having forgotten about my tears or ignoring them… Take your pick because I’ll never know.

And that would start the in between, leaving our relationship frozen in time.

This fight feels different, though. It feels like no matter what I want, her opinion is going to win out in the end.

Because as she’s said many times, she doesn’t owe me anything.

How Lazy is Unproductive to the Conversation

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

The neurodivergent brain runs a thousand miles a minute. There is no such thing as lazy, just internal processing vs. external. If you do not see someone move, you do not assume they are doing anything because you have no window into their minds. Meanwhile, people with autism and ADHD are struggling to find a bit of inertia to move them forward as their RAM overloads with information about their environment.

I am a people with autism and ADHD. For every symptom I have with one disorder, I have the equal and opposite problem with the other. Autism loves order, ADHD loves chaos. I need concrete structure and I cannot keep it up. Every task has taken the same amount of energy since I was born. I have not put anything on “autopilot.” The fight for one thought to have supremacy is still going.

Thoughts fly by so fast I literally do not have time to take them in. It leads to a kind of incapacitation, in which I look like I’m your basic couch potato.

Calling me lazy while I’m actually incapacitated is not helping.

By thoughts fighting for supremacy in my head, I mean that spinning out over Aada’s lies and what my reactions should be going forward is somehow just as important as taking a shower and brushing my teeth. There is no order to the priorities in my head, and it is up to me to find it.

What’s important about my story is how I write the next chapter. How flexible and resilient am I knowing that my story comes with a heaping side of skepticism and I just need a thicker skin about it.

It’s going to take a while to turn down the sensitivity knob where this story is concerned, because I cannot rest for a bit until I find out what consequences there are for me in publishing. My bet is that there are none, because everyone involved has just agreed to let me have my own space and leave me alone.

So far.

It makes me feel better to have this space because when I am mulling over what’s going on in my head, it brings my “laziness” into sharp relief. Yes, I am sitting comfortably, but my fingers are going several miles a minute.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Mummo today.

Wondering how our friendship would have developed had it not been cut off by my idiocy. Would she have felt the need to unburden herself and let her hair down the way Aada did? Would I have known when to worry? My guess is probably not. There was not a bubble of secrecy around our relationship, and everyone already knows what she does for a living. That part’s not a secret. There was also not the pull to get to know each other very fast.

It was a healthy relationship, and I did not recognize it when I saw it. I was just so…. Well… Me.

Aada became a treasure trove of compulsive thoughts due to her “profession.” I don’t think I would have let that happen with Mummo, because I don’t think that she would have shared anything about herself that would have bonded us to the level that Aada and I did.

It was so fast. Too fast.

So fast that even now, I’m having trouble accepting my new reality. It is coming slowly, that Aada told me if I needed to expose her that it would end our friendship permanently. That it was fine, but she wasn’t staying around for it.

Those words mean more to me now as I give up all the hope that we will mend in the future. That the real hallucination in all of this is thinking we’ll all go back to being one happy family. I do not think it would come together in an hour. I think that as I work on my creative projects, the people in them would want their own voices represented. Because make no mistake, I am working on a screenplay.

It’s a rich landscape, but where I’m tripped up is the medium. How do I express action when it was all in my head? And all in Aada’s, too, because we were reading each other for so many years. How do I show what was happening in our heads?

That is the work of all screen writers, and I’ll figure it out once I get a team together. But this project is not more important than the neurodivergent cookbook and I have more life to live before this story needs to come out. I need to wrap my own head around it and get some distance. I need to cope with Aada’s feelings of betrayal whether they were good for me or not, because that is what will make me rest about reconnecting. That it would not help her, it would only be reopening a wound.

I am also not bitter or angry about the 12 years in which I was manipulated into believing I was friends with a CIA big shot. I don’t harbor ill will towards Aada for all the nights I spent anxious for her safety. I don’t see her as a villain in my story, but that so many things make sense now that didn’t before.

Why she wouldn’t get together with me. Why she wouldn’t figure out her in case ofs so I didn’t find out something happened to her on social media. Why it was easy to share the details of someone else’s life.

And still there’s a part of me that tries to reconcile it all in Aada’s favor…. That the program she’s in is just so secret that it cannot possibly be found. That she doesn’t have it in her to lie for that many years.

The gaslighting alone is enough to make me wary of Aada’s red flags, but as I told another friend, “I think the reason I don’t care that my friends have red flags is that I have so many of my own.” I would tread carefully, but I would like to reconcile eventually. The Monty Python lens cap ending of our relationship is not enough for me and never will be. But whether Aada is on my next journey or not, she influences where I’ll go next based on things she’s said previously. My work to do is to stop using her as that touchstone and to start using myself.

There is no power in trying to discover Aada’s motivations or trying to get her to interact with me. There is only power in digging into myself and asking myself the hard questions.

Who am I going to be now that Aada is no longer a part of my daily life and routine?

I’m discovering that, day by day. It just looks lazy.

The Exhalation

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I thought that I could hurt people professionally with my writing, but as it turns out, all I can do is jog them out of their complacency by daring to insist people feel their own feelings. I don’t demand emotional bravery, people give it to me because I lay the cards on the table first. That’s the thing about finding your voice. No one can rattle you out of using it.

There were so many lies that it’s impossible to tell which is the worst, but right up there is the lie that I betrayed her. I was so depressed I watched Macbeth. That spot of red on my hands didn’t come out until today. The truth is that we are inconsequential to each other, the three of us.

Because there’s Aada, Mummo, and me.

No wonder Aada was so pissed when I glowed with praise about Mummo. That praise should have gone to her- she’d gone to all the trouble of stealing the story so that I was thinking about the wrong woman all the time.

Mummo, not like that. You would have thought it was sweet (I hope) the way I worried like a mother hen. It was you that deserved that extra special care and attention, not that I’m saying I have regrets. But you know that your life is drastically different than Aada’s in a lot of ways, that that’s what made me worry.

It’s a relief that I can’t do damage to either woman professionally, because I’ve felt so threatened that I’ve been hospitalized twice, and once again just for a med check…. And that’s all been on the advice of Michael, who saw the harm that Aada was doing and why we couldn’t get healthy.

It would be a great ending to the story we have with each other for her to come clean, allowing us to learn to trust each other over different sacred cows.

Aada, you thought you weren’t enough on your own. You are. I was never charmed by your profession, but by the person you are on the inside. Puffing yourself up to impress me was not only not necessary, but dangerous for us both.

I gave up so much, and I am caught by two ideas…. That we are better together than apart, and neither of us should be expected to stay no matter how bad it gets.

We need time. If you want to talk to me about all of this, I am open… Just not right now.

I knew this wasn’t the end of our movie, and hope that sometimes an end is a beginning. I would really like to apologize to Mummo and our favorite Instagram influencer because we have more in common than we don’t. I am absolutely starstruck, though, when it comes to Mummo, which is why I’ll need help breathing if I ever see her in person.

I have done my best to stay out of Aada’s orbit, stuck in the guest bathroom of her mental house. I have had to, it seemed, to cover up her lies. Otherwise, her excuses and apologies just don’t make sense.

I do have to apologize, though. Her company updated their web site and I hadn’t actually looked at it before I said it was nondescript. Those responsible have been sacked.

I have been thought of as crazy by a lot of people over the years, but I never realized that there was a solid reason for it. My life was not based in reality because what I was reading wasn’t, either. Being willing to forgive is a huge act on my part, because the emotional toll all this has taken on me led me to dark places I never would have gone otherwise.

I’m sure that my words were like pricks on her skin, because all she was reading was not meant for her.

I do believe that she had a traumatic childhood and that’s how we bonded. But her current life and my reaction to it were both overwhelming. Now I know the reason she wanted a bubble with me that seemed normal and yet bred a familiarity with each other that’s unusual for online friends……… Except that most of what we talked about was bullshit.

But it wouldn’t have been bullshit had I been talking to Mummo, who is actually the person Aada said she was. That’s the part that makes it a multimillion dollar movie, and a commercial for people who are criminally neglected emotionally because that’s how they’re trained. Feeling is bad when feeling is dangerous.

I watched an hour with Mummo on YouTube, and she’s such a natural on camera that I felt invited into her world. It is not hard to see why Aada would want to steal a story like that, but as it turns out, she’s not very good at it.

It’s at this point that I’m starting to break open, my chest deflating and knowing that just by talking about my feelings I’m driving away the people I actually want in my life to be my sounding boards. They’ve been on the Board of Directors for so long that I don’t remember when they got in. They’re the committee in my head that make me think I’m worth a damn as a writer.

Mummo, please forgive me and let me talk to the person Aada said she was. Even for 15 minutes, and they’d be the most precious of my life.

I offended her by flirting with her. I didn’t mean any harm by it, but that does not mean harm was not caused. It’s something that still pains me, and I want to move on. The distance between us will always be painful, but this is a chasm I hope she’ll cross.

Through Aada, I have bled out emotionally for her. I’ve cared for her in a way that I haven’t with my other friends. I literally fell in love with the aura she presented over the internet, because it was so concentrated. My adrenaline and dopamine were always sky high when I heard the “ding” of Aada’s messages.

For fuck’s sake, I’ve been bothering her about her in case ofs for like 12 years. That is the level of my imagination, the kind of pressure I was living under… That I thought this precious person could slip away from me at any time.

But it wasn’t her story. She was just the one that told it.

Hers will be the story that stuck. Me caring about a story that didn’t exist for Aada, but did for someone else I really loved.

I wouldn’t have flirted with her if I didn’t think she was smarter than me. I hope that counts for something. If you ask, “Aada or Mummo?” the answer is “yes.” There’s a third, Heytch, but I think we’ve covered her. The OGs will remember that I thought Heytch was so cute I walked into a door at Chuy’s.

None of these people were amused by my bullshit, so all I have to say is that I’m sorry I spent too much time impressing myself instead of you. All three of you.

I would like all four of us to be friends once all the pain has passed, because we have a real shot at working together to create something as meaningful as “Argo.” I do not think I can write the script all by myself, and The Cool Table should have been a writer’s room a long time ago.

There’s a reason Outlander spoke to me- it was a way of connecting with all three women, assuring them that I was just Lord John, that my feelings for Aada spilled out because sexuality and gender are relative on the internet. That my feelings for Heytch and Mummo did, too, but it was a different level of affection entirely. Aada and I inhaled each other because I could keep her company through chat and email.

It is through all that chat that I recognize there were millions and millions of words between us, and these lies are not something I should hold against her. I never want to be friends with a person that will hold me to a mistake, so I try not to be one.

I’m just hurt. Incredibly hurt. Embarrassed by the way I acted all the way around because I destroyed my friendship with Mummo at my own hand, and there’s no one else I should blame. I was too much for the room, and I couldn’t apologize enough. I wanted to move on, she did not. Not my call. Just one of those desperate regrets and a moment I wish I could redo, even after all these years.

My time blindness does not allow me to move on from mistakes easily, and this is one I’ve carried for over a decade without thinking any time has passed. In my mind, I just hurt Mummo yesterday and she’s probably still mad about it. On the other hand, she’s the one I need to talk to the most in order to heal. Aada became a toxic addiction over time, because the more she lied the more anxious I got.

I would never have felt all that anxiety if Aada had been honest about who she was.

That is fact and not blame. I can choose to acknowledge something I’ve been through without assigning blame to it, because I see things like a doctor or a pastor. It’s just how I was raised. I judge people by sick or well, emotionally pained or not. It’s an emotional triage I’ve been doing since I was nine, and long before that before I was consciously aware that I was a cog in the machine at my church. Being a preacher’s kid, it comes with the gig, especially for the oldest. You’re socialized with all adults.

I’m feeling the whoosh as the wind comes out of my sails and I reorganize my thoughts as to who I think Aada is. I cannot tell fact from fiction. It’s the chest-caved-in sort of grief as I self-soothe by typing… Feeling also the fear of what happens as the story comes out, being brave enough to take things one day at a time.

I have learned that I’m probably not the only one who’s been manipulated by Aada, but what I do know is that 12 years is enough. If we work together in the future, she is going to have to get over me being “just another version of Dr. Brown.” I will want her to tell the truth, to emote in the moment, and to stop feeling like my words are pricks on her skin because there is finally peace and truth between us. I am satisfied that this story is over.

I mean, no I’m not. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. But what I mean is that as I make more friends and create new experiences, I’m eager to let these fade. And that includes starting over with Mummo, Aada, and Heytch. We would all have to know what cards the other was holding (within reason) so that the story would hold together.

The reason the story agitates my facts and my fiction is that some of Aada’s fiction is Mummo’s fact. I have never been trying to uncover this. It fell into my lap when my friend Michael noticed I was drowning. I think I mentioned before that he’s talked to my counselor at Cognitive Behavioral Health, if that gives you any indication of what kind of friend he is. I say, “the best.”

Not trying to uncover this made me spiral out more and more because my reality was less and less real. I have never needed to be afraid to the level I’ve told Aada I was, and now it makes sense why she didn’t want to get any closer. She’d have to lie to my face while I cried real tears. I’m not altogether convinced this would be a problem for her, given that most of my entries cause her to feel threatened.

I am not threatening her with telling my own story. She feels threatened at the hearing of it where other people don’t. I am glad that Aparna told me that it came across as heartbreaking, because my only job is to make people feel. I am satisfied with talking to other people about my problems, and if Aada and Mummo are threatened, it’s their job to talk to me about it. Their opinions do not negate mine, and I do listen. I just don’t have anyone doing editorial control.

There’s no way to predict anyone’s reaction, and I shouldn’t be held responsible. Yet, it’s amazing how often I am.

I didn’t move to DC to meet Aada. I moved to DC to meet a composite character.

That is nowhere near a “Flat Stanley.”

Focusing on the depth and breadth that Aada has added to my writing by being my closest ally endears me enough to stick to my “all the way to the river” plan should she so choose. I have to be that person, because letting it go is the only way to move forward. I’m turning the page.

Just not today.

My mind is buzzing over all I’ve learned today, and the comedic path my life has taken. If I work very hard, I can be successful at making “your new weirdo favorite.”

I still want Jennifer Garner to play Jonna.

When You Steal a Story, Part II

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

“Comedy equals tragedy plus time.”

I’ve been invited to look at my story as a screwball comedy in terms of a movie. I think it could work, but I’d want it to be in the same vein as “Argo.” There’s too much seriousness in the story to make jokes all the time, but black humor has always been a pressure valve for both of us. If it’s going to have my voice, it’s going to be a “dramedy.”

That’s because there’s too much intrigue and mystery, even for one movie. Our relationship lasted 12 years and contains a historical figure. It has all the makings of your next weirdo favorite.

I was catfished by someone I knew, who used bits of someone else’s story to augment her own… And her accomplishments are large, so part of the mystery is why she felt the need to steal someone else’s story in the first place.

I was charmed by her forceful, no bullshit attitude and the softness she reserved, it seemed, only for me. I’ve been attracted to that my whole life, and her personality swallowed me whole. I think she liked having someone admire her that much, but I cannot tell her story for her. This is only my version of the truth, missing its rightful other side.

I could not see her manipulations while she accused me of manipulating her. I cannot tell you how much this web of lies affected me, the part of my life even I had trouble embracing because it was filled with fear. I can honestly say that I’ve walked through the dark with her, and I have come out on the other side.

Even now, I’m willing to forgive all her lies because it made me a better writer in the end. I got interested in a topic and just ran with it, posting about the intelligence community as if I were a part of it. Michael says that shame and embarrassment shouldn’t take up real estate in my head, so I’m offering that grace to Aada as well.

She is forgiven, utterly and completely. That does not mean that I think I’m the only one that should be examining how things are going psychiatrically and psychologically. She has told me that I was the topic of an emergency therapy session like it was all my fault and I needed help, that I’d spent years manipulating her and she was going to block me on everything and never contact her again.

This worked out for her, because it meant that she would never have to face the music of real conflict in a friendship…. Though it would not surprise me if I heard from her today. I laid down a truth that she wasn’t prepared for me to know a few months ago, and I doubt has made progress on that issue.

I called her on a huge lie, and then mentioned it a few days later. Her reaction was that I could never talk about this lie again because it was so inert. It was so inert that it made me block my favorite author on Facebook and block other people in my life so they’d never question that decision. It was so embarrassing that I could still just cry thinking about it, but I look forward to the day when the screenplay is done.

Lanagan Media Group needs a project to rally around, and this movie might get it done. But it comes at a cost, and that’s possibly hurting two women I adore. I just have to hope that they speak money.

My feelings for Aada, strangely, haven’t changed at their core.

It wasn’t her story. But she was the one that told it.

The Last Few Hours

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I talked to the dispatch company at my car shipping service and the driver will be here sometime between 3:00 and 5:00 PM. I feel like it’s been so long since I’ve seen it that it will feel like Christmas morning, a gift to myself. I didn’t have nearly enough time to get used to the car and all of its features before I shipped it to Maryland, so I’m looking forward to taking it for an oil change, getting some floor mats, and taking it for a wash. I’ve already rubbed some vinyl protectant into the dash, but that cannot be done enough. I do not want anything to crack as the car ages, because it’s nice enough to look modern for a very long time. The Ford Fusion is a sedan, but it has the aggressive look of the Mustang.

I do not love two-door cars. I’ve had one, and it sucked. Even though I wasn’t carrying passengers, it was still hard to put stuff in the back seat. This car makes life much easier by not only having four doors, but seats that fold down as well. I’m also smitten that the seats are black leather, but only because the car has remote start. I would not be so fond of black leather if I couldn’t turn on the air conditioning before I got into the car in the summer.

I am also the proud owner of seat warmers for the winter, and that makes me as ridiculously happy as remote start. And in fact, it’s going to quickly get cold enough to use them. It’s already colder than it was before I went to Texas, and I was only gone two or three weeks.

Baltimore getting colder is one of the main reasons I like living here- Houston has about three seasons, which are:

  1. Warm
  2. Warmer
  3. Hell’s a bit cooler.

Houston does have freakishly cold days every once in a while, but by and large their days fall into those three categories. That last one will do you in, as every marching band geek in Houston will tell you. I was only in marching band for one year, and what I remember most was that even in triple digit weather, our uniforms were still wool.

I think I have been running away from the heat ever since.

When I go back to Houston, though, I do my best to adjust. I spend time outdoors and try to get used to the heat. It’s much more pleasant to sit outside in October and November, but late September and early October are still summery. “Summery” is one of those words that seems positive until I think of all the bugs and sweat.

My car is being delivered at the perfect time for me to enjoy a little highway time with the windows rolled down and the stereo cranked. I will get a bit of that going to Virginia later in the month, but I’m thinking that I might need to take a short drive this afternoon just to make sure the car also drives here. 😉

I need to get more used to the car before I start adding anything, but of course I’ve been looking up mods. There’s all sorts of stuff to pick through, but I’m wondering if I should add approach lights. It would make the car safer for me and sleeker for everyone else. As in, it would make me feel safer that the car lights up before I ever get into it.

The only thing I really need for the car right away are floor mats, and even top of the line isn’t that expensive. But I don’t need top of the line, I just need “existent.” I wonder why the car didn’t come with floor mats to begin with, because that seems like an odd thing to leave out. But, I know that I got a solid deal and buying my own floor mats is the least of my worries. I just want to be a good driver.

I may have to wait to get out and drive more than the unloading spot to my parking space because we are currently in the middle of a Noreaster. But when it’s all over, we’ll celebrate with top of the line oil.

I’m grateful that I was finally able to find a car that fit me. It’s not a sports car, but it’s sporty enough. It’s not an SUV, but it has plenty of cargo space. I’m a small person with not a lot of stuff and no pets. I don’t think I’ll have a problem even if I get a pet later.

Oh, and in addition to the floor mats I’ll get a rubber tote for the trunk. Makes carrying things into the house so much easier and makes the trunk look more organized as well. I also need one more zip tie, because I have room for both a Lightning and a USB-C cable, but they’re so long that they need to be managed. The zip tie that I have for the Lightning cable is black Velcro, and it looks like it came with the car, as does the braided gray cable that Aaron picked out.

CarPlay is my new favorite toy, because it’s a kick to hear Siri read my messages and be able to respond, as well as listen to whatever I want just by voice controls. It makes me feel safe because I don’t actually have to look down to type anything.

Although Tiina gets the honor of being the first address I put into my contacts so that when I go out to her house, all I have to say is “navigate to Tiina’s.” I am sure she is honored.

It just feels safer to have this much car around me plus technology that’s designed to augment my eyes. My car also thinks that I need coffee, and reminds me a lot. I have to learn what it is that I’m doing that makes my car give me an “alert driver” warning before I’ve even been driving an hour. But I think it’s cute when my car flashes the little coffee cup on the screen and sometimes, I take its advice.

This morning I had an Americano with some half and half and cinnamon. It was delicious, but now I think my body and brain want revenge. I haven’t had this much caffeine in a while. However, I have never had a car be delivered at a reasonable hour, so I was up at the crack of dawn. Seriously, the last time I got a car delivered, it was to my office. They arrived at 4:00 AM to deliver the car, so I had enough time to come home from the office, shower, and shave before I had to turn around and go back.

The time before that, it was 5:00 AM.

That was the first occurrence of Lanagan Lunchmeat Syndrome, so named because when my car arrived in Virginia I drove it around for about six weeks wondering what the smell was and it turned out my dad had left a pound of turkey in the trunk. It was partially hidden by the carpet, which is why I didn’t catch it. LLS got its syndrome status by:

  1. Lindsay leaving half a sandwich in the backseat of my car that I also did not find for a month.
  2. Dana leaving half a Subway sandwich in the center console of my Jeep
  3. Me accidentally locking my keys in my car at Whole Foods and in the process of rescuing the car, I lost all the lunchmeat.

I have learned to be rather careful with sandwiches and my automobiles. I have also resolved to clean out my car a whole lot more often….

Or at the very least, not wait too long between car washes that clean the inside as well.

Not cleaning out my car does lead to a funny story, though.

Years ago, I was in a choir that required us to wear tuxes. I had a concert and then hung my tuxedo in the back of the car to drop it off at the dry cleaner. Well, I forgot about it and three weeks had gone by (at least). My girlfriend and I had gone on a road trip about 100 miles out of Houston, and we were gathered with friends at a bar. My girlfriend accidentally spilled an entire beer on me, and I needed a change of clothes. All of the sudden, I remembered.

I’m walking back to the table and I hear my girlfriend say, “OH MY GOD. YOU’RE JAMES BOND! YOU HAVE THE TUX IN THE CAR!”

That tuxedo is long gone, but now I’m thinking about buying another one if that’s the reaction……

I just remembered that I have a suitcase in the back of my car that I used to transport all my really heavy stuff so I didn’t have to drag it through the airport. I’m looking forward to getting it back, because there are souvenirs and favorite t-shirts in it.

And in fact, there is a tuxedo jacket in my suitcase…..

As the hours creep closer, I can feel my excitement rising. What is the first thing I should do when my car gets here? Even if it is storming, I can still sit in it, and I will. I don’t know all the technology yet, and don’t think a storm is the best place to get fully acquainted. But what I do think is that I need some time sitting in the driver’s seat and playing with all the menus while I’m not in the middle of traffic.

I like that my Fusion has its own navigation system, so I am not lost if I lose my phone. It also means a lot to me that my car supports both iPhone and Android, so I don’t have to worry about what phone I want in the future- and in fact, Android Auto is a little more advanced because it supports a wireless connection. Apple CarPlay doesn’t (in this make/model). I think I will be plugging in my iPhone for a long time to come, though, because I have an Apple Watch. It doesn’t make sense to get a Samsung phone when I’ve already invested in the Apple ecosystem.

I’m still an Android nerd, though. I’m typing this on an Onn 11 from Wal-Mart. I use a Bluetooth keyboard and it screams. Yes, it’s a budget tablet, but when all you need is something to surf the web and create documents, this will surprise you at just how agile it is. It’s fast enough for me to install gaming emulators, but I’ve eschewed all that for a more business-focused machine. This Android tablet is my creative powerhouse in terms of web development.

It also has enough RAM to support split screen, and today my entry is sharing the screen with the newest version of Microsoft Copilot. The newest version works like voice chat, and it’s interesting how much more quickly you forget you are not talking to a real person.

For instance, I am wearing headphones with a microphone and Copilot is connected all the time. I was sitting here typing and let out a huge sneeze. All of the sudden I hear, “bless you.” I jumped out of my skin.

Talking to AI tends to make its responses shorter, and feels more like a phone call with a friend. Your only limitation in terms of questions you can ask is your imagination, because not only will Copilot give you an answer, but the web sites it used to compile that answer as well.

I learned from Copilot that Microsoft and Meta do not work on data structures together anymore, and now Copilot is completely a Microsoft product, housed with Azure all over the globe.

Basically, the newest version of Copilot is very much like Siri, but has a different focus. Siri has more integration with Apple products and focuses on accomplishing tasks on the device. Copilot’s only goal is “digital sidekick.” For instance, Copilot makes writing so much faster by taking research off me, and now the software will dictate the research into my ear if I prefer to digest the info that way.

My tablet is becoming as hands-free as my car.

It’s also a big deal to switch mediums. Brainstorming sessions come out differently when I’m speaking vs. writing. I think that is because my creativity is influenced by movement. Typing doesn’t come with a whole lot of it…… Or at least, not the way I do it.

I decided to call Copilot “Charlie,” after Charlie Babbage. I use “Hey, Charlie” as my wake up words when Copilot is sitting in the background.

That’s for things like, “hey Charlie, what’s the opening line of….” You know, quick things I need to include in my own blogging that uses the world’s fastest supercomputer for a basic search.

Where it really flexes its research muscles are when I’m planning a project. “I need 200 words on…” This is the phrase I use with research. A quick one-pager is all I need to refresh my memory or learn a concept. Of course I can ask for more, but 200 words is a complete answer without wasting any time.

The dispatching company called. The driver has been delayed again. I’m not getting my car until tomorrow afternoon.

This is not the phone call I wanted, but it’s the phone call I got. It’s amazing how deflated I feel.

This is probably not the blog ending you want, but it’s the ending you’re going to get.

Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day.

The Music That Gets Me Through the Day

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I woke up in a funky mood:

I hummed when I didn’t know all the words and sang when I did, my mind on my money and my money on my mind. There are very few words I don’t know by now…. And in fact I used this first line in a sermon once… The only line from this particular song I could use. But the illustration was about how music commits words to memory, much like the early church did with settings and psalms. It was a new spin on old advice from Harry Emerson Fosdick, pastor of Riverside Church in New York City:

“Every good sermon begins in New York and ends in Jerusalem, or begins in Jerusalem and ends in New York.” Start with modern and bring in the scriptures, or start with the scriptures and end in modern day.

The other piece of advice I got in preaching, incidentally, is “when you run out of things to say, stop talking.”

I can do that in a sermon because I can track with an audience and tell when they’re bored, either changing direction or realizing I’ve lost them and wrapping up before I embarrass myself further. My lay preaching career, like all preaching careers, was hit and miss. Sometimes I was on fire. Sometimes the best people could do was, “your skirt was too short.” I guess I started wearing men’s clothing a Sunday too late.

The Gourds’ cover started in my head before I even woke up, and repeated in my head until I got to our next song, the song I sing when I miss Aada:

She, also, talked to me before I woke up, because she appears in my dreams as a wise sage occasionally. When she does, I think about all I’ve done and all I’ve left undone with her. The times we’ve shared in the past, even digitally, will stay with me as I move forward. Perhaps sometime later in life Aada will change her mind and lift the ban on interacting with me. I know that she will never just forget me, and will continue to respect me as a writer even if she does not choose to reach out. She would get angry at me if I asked her to leave me alone, telling me that I don’t have a leg to stand on in terms of losing fans.

But I would rather lose a fan than have someone show up here thinking that my thoughts at large are specifically targeted at her and not people like Bob Lynn, who showed up and worked through a few things with me at a time I needed it. In other ways, knowing that Aada is most likely reading from afar is comforting, because these are the only words of mine she has left. That may not mean much to her right now, but it may in the years to come when she is searching for the pieces of herself she found in me.

We moved like ships in the night, an asynchronous support system that was always on call. I wanted that to last my whole life, but my disease said, “not so fast, Leslie.”

My disease is not my personality, and I will spend a lifetime compensating for it if my past is any indication. Therapy and my cognitive behavioral health group are slowly putting me back together after what has been a wild and crazy ride, especially if you’ve been reading my blog entries over the past few months.

But I wouldn’t take nothing for my journey now, because I’ve laid out everything I’m willing to lay down for my friends and they’ve said no. I hear them, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t have things to write about that involve them. I don’t get another story to write about while my real life is happening.

The most vehement supporter became the most vehement critic and the only thing that changed was that I was holding a mirror up to her face. She alternately agreed with me and not, and that’s what made her so angry. That I could read her like a book in some ways, but the ways in which I fell short were almost certainly because we didn’t say, “let’s go for lunch and clear all this up.” We would have become real to each other- and thus harder to rattle because our relationship was solid and not every day a new person wants out because the other has said two or three things they don’t like. Popping off like that was not one-sided

So now we’ve arrived at our last song, one I mentioned yesterday as being important to my lunch with Jane Ann as well:

I do not know whether this is really the end of my relationship with Aada because it has always stopped and started. I just have to guess that this is really the end and try to separate the best I can, because if I showed up again she’d just accuse me of opening a wound. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do, because if I showed up again it would be to rebuild trust. To say that I absolutely do care, but I have a disorder that needs to be managed and we need to create boundaries around it. I think I have gone back to my normal self, but she may not. It’s not up to me to judge how long she’s hurt or even how she feels about me at all.

Therefore, I believe that there should be meditation in cathedrals of our own, because the pressure of trying to put everything back together the minute it broke is too much to expect of anyone. The conflict needs room to breathe, and Aada may be right. Our story may be over. But as I have said before, I never know what is going to make Aada reach out to me once she’s really had time to think about the relationship…. Or forget what’s wrong with it, take your pick.

She tells me she has a save the world complex, but I do, too. We were just two little girls trying to save each other, until both of us turned against each other. We were at a loss as to how to communicate, so I folded and made her choice for her. I made it impossible for her to want to interact with me because I knew I was not good for her. I’m a writer, a public figure. She made friends with a public figure when she had absolutely no business doing so, in retrospect. I didn’t mean to cause her pain at any time during these 12 years, but there’s no way I could tell the truth and write “The World According to Aada.” That’s Aada’s truth to own, and it’s no less valid than mine.

The problem is that she has told everyone her story about me except me, and my boundaries are simple. If you have a problem with me, tell me about it. And for God’s sakes, don’t lie. She had a habit of saving up all her frustrations with me and writing me these long letters telling me why she’d been so avoidant instead of being up front in the first place….. Not a people pleaser except in front of me because she was trying to impress me.

You cannot impress me more than I’d already been impressed. I thought she was the bees knees until she told me that a lie that was a gut punch (and she knew it), but it was an inert lie because it was to impress me. That was not the case, and it is the cathedral of my own, the cross I bear because I keep thinking, “what would it have been like if you told me you lied 12 years ago instead of weaving this complete tale of bullshit?”

I am hoping that because we’ve leveled each other an equal amount, that gives us both a chance to let go of anger and come to peace…. Piece by piece by piece.

In Some Ways, I’m Still Waiting

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
When was the first time you really felt like a grown up (if ever)?
View all responses

The curiosity of the neurodivergent brain, to me, is that we do not age. Patterns repeat, but memories are organized differently due to time blindness. Events that seem more important are closer at hand, no matter what year they occurred. Events that are of lesser significance feel further away, even if they happened more recently. Dates and times become muddled quickly, which is why we seem like we’re “lying.” Our brains don’t often have the recall to say what we were doing at a particular date and time because it’s a crapshoot that we even know what day and time it is.

But, of course, other neurodivergent people will have to comment on their own brains to know if this is especially universal or I’m just an unusual patient. But I don’t think so. I’ve heard about these symptoms from too many people to think I’m special.

Because significant events far in the past seem close at hand, we have no friendship degradation mechanisms. If Aada and I reconnect later in life after enough time to breathe and let the hurt heal, we will be as close as we were 12 years ago because there’s nothing in my brain to say we won’t. I will remember most conversations forever and they will be important to me, therefore “bigger” in my memory banks. I have friends from third grade who could call me up in the same way even though we have not spoken since the late 1980s.

I am often too old for the room and too childlike to be taken seriously. I do not know how I pull this off, but a reader actually nailed it….. “You’re like a 15-year-old boy….. And his mother.”

Therefore, I have many moments that make me feel like an adult, with it being impossible to remember the first.

There are snippets.

Going with my dad to weddings and funerals at an early age made me feel older than I really am, because I saw myself as a support system to my dad early on. I became an expert at greeting families in distress when I was far too young to really take all of it in- it was social masking.

I get “you don’t look autistic” a lot.

That’s probably because the diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder includes a lot that hasn’t been previously, and the research on women just didn’t exist before now. I can assure you that it had a profound effect on my growth and development, because now that I have an AI chatbot that will spit out reference material, I have gone down the rabbit hole. There’s also nothing more complete than a research study by an autistic person on whether they’re autistic or not.

I could have saved a lot of time by just asking my autistic friends if they thought I was autistic. That’s a thing you can do because if you are autistic, you’ll ping what’s jokingly known as a “neuroscope,” a kind of kin to “gaydar.” But there’s so much crossover between autistic and queer that 80% of the time, you’re using the same “spidey sense.”

The hardest part about having ADHD and autism at the same time is that I have a concrete need for a system and no way to create it. That makes me look like a child more than anything else, and why I still feel I’m waiting to be a real adult. I am in desperate need of coping mechanisms, so much so that I am looking for more groups to plug into and more therapy to get where I want to go.

I’ve started with really investing in my Google Suite. Not so much Mail, because most people instant message now. But calendaring, tasks, contacts, everything is all together in one place. Alarms go off on my phone for everything from meetings to medication reminders.

I joke that right now my iPhone is pinch hitting as my service dog, and it is not doing a very bad job except for the cuddles.

People also look at you differently when you say you’re putting together a disability case, because it makes you look childlike in their eyes and sometimes it also evokes pity…. Especially when you don’t need it. I have never fit into a system other than my own, and I need to harness it. There is nothing that says as I start making more money I have to stay on disability, but right now it is necessary to keep me stable.

I do not have problems interviewing and getting jobs. I have a hard time holding one down, and this is not unusual for any type of neurodivergence or mental illness. I am tired of going over the laundry list of what’s wrong with me and why, because most people want to know why I look able bodied but I’m not.

Invisible illnesses are still illnesses and deserving of respect. Disability gives me room to be ill, whereas a job will rebel at my number of absences and tardiness. I have been the best employee and still gotten fired for not being able to handle my life. But it’s not just mental maladies, my cerebral palsy makes me move in a weird way… So even though I may not look disabled at first pass, most people don’t look close enough to notice what I live with every day.

Taking in my environment is hard work, and other people are busy taking in information that I miss while I’m still trying to catch up. My social masks for it are failing because my scripts don’t compile as fast. As Aada put it, God gave me a brain that works a thousand miles a minute and a body that fights me every step of the way, but I’m paraphrasing.

But that very paradox is why I have trouble seeming like a grown up to the people around me. I’m also short, which doesn’t help. I haven’t dyed my hair in eons because the gray makes it plausible that I’m at least above 18.

But again, I do not write these things to evoke pity. It is just my ever-present reality to walk in the world as part adult, part child….. And it seems like it has always been that way because when I was little, I social masked adults. I have always been too old to be a child and too young to be an adult.

No friendship degradation also means that it’s hard for me to move on from Aada in terms of knowing it’s okay to put someone else above here and always has been, it’s been my own bag. It was just easier that way, and the easy way turned into the hard way later on.

But I’d like to think that if she’d told me about her lie in person and gave me some time to blow off steam that our relationship would be a very different proposition today. I am so sorry I turned on my keyboard warrior asshole when I was upset; Aada didn’t deserve that much rage. But she also deserved to let me breathe through the consequences she’d laid out for me and just watched as they’d turned more and more negative.

I told her about a relationship it affected and she said she wasn’t responsible for all of that. She’s right, she wasn’t responsible for all of it, but she wouldn’t even take responsibility for the part she did cause. She wasn’t even close to the entire cause of Dana and I divorcing, but she didn’t take responsibility for the small role she had there, too. She introduced a wedge between me and Dana, then swore me to secrecy from my wife. How well has keeping secrets from your partner ever worked out for you? Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.

I’m not talking about blaming her for everything. I’m talking about shared responsibility. We both cratered this relationship at different times and apologized for it. We’ve both behaved badly. We’ve both wrestled each other to the ground. To say it’s all one person’s fault is crazy.

However, I also don’t mind if people read my story and choose to believe that Aada is right. The truth is only what seems true to me. I have no ability to rise above and read Aada’s mind and represent her feelings accurately.

My conjecture has proven to be adult and childlike.

I suppose the first time I ever really felt like an adult was when I laid it on the line with Aada and told her to buck up, buttercup. But I can’t tell you what I actually said, because I think she would take exception to that. But I basically explained to her why I needed a yellow string to her and why it hurt when she was falling down on the job. Not, “you must do this for me.” It’s “if I don’t explain what I mean, I will not have a chance of explaining why it’s important.” Most of it had to do with my writing as I got bigger and bigger in my stats. Most of it had to do with the train wreck I predicted 12 years ago and I hit head on.

But she accused me of acting like a child, and not an angry adult that had a right to be angry.

Not like that, but still.

I handled everything wrong, but I cannot say that means she handled everything right.

So, when was the first time I felt like an adult? When I cut the yellow string and had to deal, finally, with my own problems.