Tag: writing

Grief Should Be Sponsored

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 3 Comments
Daily writing prompt
What brands do you associate with?
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I am emotionally eating my way across Texas, and feelings are delicious.

So far, grief has been brought to me by Cool Ranch Doritos the most frequently, followed by an assortment of coffee cake.

Last night, we all gathered and sent pictures for the slide show that plays as people are milling about the room waiting for the service to begin. There turned out to be a fair number in which we all looked equally terrible and were thus chosen. We also went down memory lane and this is the kind of interaction that’s been missing from my life. No phones, just talking and remembering.

It’s also the first significant chunk of time I’ve spent with other people in ages. I’m getting used to being part of a family system again. I’m sure I’ll go back to Baltimore and everything will be too quiet, because the rhythms of my family are not quiet…. although some of us are more into Bluey than others (I’m with the children… it’s great).

This morning I was supposed to go with my dad to Exchange Club, and I overslept. I feel terrible because I know my dad wanted to introduce me to a lot of people. Me oversleeping is the weirdest part of all of this because I’ve been waking up at 0530 since I got here. I think staying up later is finally getting to me, because we didn’t shut down the “party” until after 10:30 last night. I’m used to going to bed long before that.

I used to think it was because I was an old person, and now I think it’s that my circadian rhythm naturally follows the sun. I like going to bed and waking up early. Last night was aberrant because I cannot remember the last time I stayed up that late with other people and didn’t find myself leaking energy at an alarming rate. However, I did sleep very hard.

As a result, I’m feeling quite rested and capable of taking on more today. Yesterday, it felt like I was just running ragged. Angela not being there to hold court and direct us was a palpable feeling, tangible in its depth and breadth. The difference in the energy of the house is staggering, because she was a force of nature.

I see so much of her in my stepsisters, Kelly and Caitlin. It’s comforting that all of her quirks live on in the smallest of ways. I still see Angela’s facial expressions in them, and it always makes me laugh in a knowing way.

I am supposed to go back to Baltimore on Tuesday, but I’m having trouble accepting it. I need more time with my family, but I also need to wrap things up in the Mid-Atlantic one way or the other. My lease ends November 30th, and I will have enough money to move wherever I feel comfortable. I do not know whether that is staying in Baltimore or not. At the very least, DC is still in the running because my sister will always have a federal component to her job and thus, business trips that include spoiling me.

My dad is not sure he wants to change his life by having me live with him, and I’m not sure I want to change my life that way, either. The easiest option is not always the best, but it may prove to be over time. I do not want to live alone anymore, nor do I really want to interview housemates and live with strangers. I also don’t have any income, so getting housing takes some doing. Having money is not enough, and I do not make a living from my combination of web sites, but my stats and earnings are looking better.

Thank you, Fanagans.

The sensible choice for me is to buy a station wagon or an SUV so that when my lease ends, I can pack up the stuff I want to move into my own car and drive it to where it’s supposed to be. There is no way that even a car payment and insurance would add up to what I pay in Uber/Uber Eats/Amazon/etc. a year. I will not have a car payment, though. I will buy a car in cash so that the only bills I have are maintenance and insurance.

I also want to get a service dog, and a service dog big enough to counter balance my weight deserves a huge cargo area in the back. I do not know if my dad wants to live with a dog that big, either. So, we’ll see. My dog is not really negotiable because I need someone there to keep an eye on me. It’s easier in this house because I’m used to it completely. I need help in unfamiliar environments.

My dad suggested taking a road trip with one of my friends to get my car back to Baltimore. I like this idea a lot. Aaron is going to help me pick it out (I stopped writing and talked to both of them, so this is a real thing now). Aaron is a programmer and “shade tree mechanic” who will make sure my engine is solid. It would make me feel better if he came with me if we get an older vehicle, but I’m really not even scared of that if Aaron says that I’m golden.

Ok, Aaron is in for the road trip (I’m chatting with him while I’m writing, so this story is developing… film at 11:00).

It’s nice to have something to be excited about in this garbage dump of a situation.

“We can’t stop here. We’re in bat country.”

Maybe I can talk Aaron into some vlogging as we drive. Our conversations would be hilarious…. I think. Sometimes we just enjoy the silence together. It depends on what kind of mood we’re in.

I suppose that part of my task list for the afternoon is looking on Facebook Marketplace to at least get an idea of what’s out there. I prefer a stick shift, but that may not be possible depending on what kind of cars are available. Stick shifts are not very popular these days.

I’m calling it the “Running Aarons Tour 2025.”

We’ll get to eat at some good restaurants and really take our time if we need it.

The secret to having a great blog is actually living. I haven’t been doing a lot of it. Now, I have a lot more financial freedom to be able to buy experiences. They say that money cannot buy you happiness, but it can buy entrance tickets to things and that’s kind of the same thing. I would much rather have the time of my life than buy something material. It makes my blog lighter than sitting in my room all the time…. but that’s what my mental health has been telling me to do for the longest. Everyone tells me to get out more. Now I can really do it.

“Now I can really do it” must be in quotes because I don’t know that my introversion will actually allow me to make many changes to my lifestyle. I like being, as I once joked with Aada, “the Harper Lee of Your House.” In some ways, I will always be this separate.

I was telling Angela’s night nurse that it’s almost like I don’t belong to one person, I belong to everyone. He said, “that’s poetry.” I never thought of it that way, so Cordero, thank you for the compliment (see, I told you that you’d make it in).

But the pendulum has swung too far in the introverted direction. I can come out of my shell a little more and still keep my life as a writer in balance. I’m not the shut-in that I’ve been, nor do I want to continue that life. I want all of my readers to see more of me, and the only way to do that is to do things I’ve never done before.

Part of it will be travel. I know that I could put together media on the road that would make me happy, and that’s the only goal I can really accomplish. Then I can see if my humor resonates with other people. The last decade has not overall been a happy one, so my entries have not reflected that I’m sometimes funny.

Sometimes.

I’ve been angry and sad and grieving and all of those things, so I’m looking forward to the sun coming out a little bit.

But not today.

Today, grief is being brought to me by Cool Ranch Doritos.

Feelings are delicious.

Watching and Waiting

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What could you do more of?
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In the aftermath of a severe shock is not the time to do anything rash, so my task is to watch and wait over the next few months to see what our new normal looks like as a family. Angela’s presence is already missed, but we are keeping her alive through repeating her favorite phrases and asking ourselves what she would do. None of us learned to load the dishwasher in the first year of medical school.

If my dad noticed that Angela had a particular skill that impressed him, he’d always ask which year of medical school they taught her that. You learn a surprising amount there, the least of which is being able to load an entire cabinet of dishes into the top rack and attempt to add the front end of your car.

Such a large part of our institutional memory is gone, and we’re all grieving differently. I hope that I seem relatable to my stepsisters because I’m not showing outward signs of grief. Because my mother died nine years ago, all other deaths seem to come in stride. It’s not that I’m not sad, not emoting. It’s just an internal thunderstorm……

that usually ends up here…..

I have taken over my stepmother’s old office, and it’s comforting to walk into the room and say, “Alexa, turn on Angela’s office.” All the lamps come on at once and it is instantly homey. I also have a nameplate that says “Angela McCain, MD – Board Certified, Rheumatology. I’ll need to get a new nameplate if I move in with my own name, but surprisingly I have been mistaken for the doctor before. In the 1990s, I worked for her and we both had short red hair. A woman thought she was me and dropped her pants when I walked into the room.

I did not have “patient drops pants” on my Bingo card.

She had shingles, btw.

It was my first diagnosis, seconded with “good pickup.”

“Good pickup” was like a hug from Jesus. It meant we were on the right track and is your basic doctor’s “attaboy.”

It’s so weird that there’s still a rheumatology practice out there in the world without her… that the entire specialty didn’t just stop turning. I’m not being facetious when I say she was one of the top in the world, named to Texas’ Top 100 Doctors every year since 1990. It was unusual to run across a mind as bright as hers, which is why seeing her after the cancer had really taken hold was quite a shock.

Brain cancer is so weird. I’m glad that I arrived in time to see what my dad and sisters had been seeing for months. The one I’ll always remember is that I asked my dad for coffee money, and she said to give me a thousand dollars so I could do whatever I wanted. I did not know whether she just wanted to do something nice for me, or whether she really thought Starbucks’ coffee costs a thousand dollars….. not that it doesn’t.

“Don’t like it too much. These are better than drugs.”

Sometime this week I need to go to the Apple store because the battery on my watch is failing. Then, I can see whether I’d like to be the proud owner of an Apple computer or not. I’ve been mulling over upgrading my iPad for the last year or so, but I also really have an interest in a desktop. So we’ll see. I only spent $3 at Starbucks, so I have $997 left over.

Plus, my dad said that he would get me a birthday gift and it hasn’t been until now that I’ve thought of anything I needed. My iPad is getting so old that it’s not taking the newest versions of apps or the OS. I would lose the headphone jack, but gain a ton of processing power.

My dad would tell me to watch the latest Apple release video. That’s not actually a bad idea.

I’ve got time on my hands until the funeral, because my main job is staying at the house with the dogs while my dad arranges the business of death. My cousin Jason is the funeral director, and I think my dad is going to ask him to sing. He was once on American Idol, and Angela adored his voice.

It’s going to be a beautiful service, and I look forward to seeing old friends I haven’t seen since high school.

However, it is not until Saturday. I will be watching and waiting until then.

Go Home

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received?
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The best piece of advice I’ve gotten lately was from me. For the last few months, I’ve been telling myself to go home. Pick up all the pieces you dropped when you left for DC in 2015. I even contacted Dana and told her that I was incredibly sorry and would like to be her friend if she wanted that. It’s not something I saw in my future, but I decided that if my body was whispering to me to clean up a mess, that’s a big one.

No word, but that wasn’t the point. I have no control over what other people are going to do, but I knew that I wanted to reach out. I have a feeling that no matter what, I’ll never hear from Dana or Aada again, but it’s okay. I don’t have to cry because it’s over. There’s plenty to smile over when I think of our relationships happening at all. And sometimes, I get stats from their geographic areas so I pretend that they’re still reading because they love me, even if they don’t want to reach out.

Or maybe they just hate me that much….. but I don’t care how they feel about me. It cannot be all bad if they’re still willing to listen to my silly stories.

Which are tremendous.

My stepmom died on Sunday of six brain tumors. I’m thinking about moving in with my dad so that neither one of us has to live alone, but neither one of us are sure whether we want that. It’s a big decision, and honestly doesn’t have as much to do with how we feel about each other as it does with money. I could really screw up by moving to a state without Medicaid expansion. My dad and I are also both really private people, but the house he has is large enough that we’d never see each other unless we really wanted to do so.. I’m glad that we’re both in “thinking about it” mode, because here’s the thing… people are saying that it’s my dad who shouldn’t live alone, but I have more problems than he does at times. It’s more of a case of we need each other.

If I am allowed to come home.

Don’t get me wrong. Maryland is home, and so is Texas. I have a feeling that I would feel the same in Texas that I do every time I move back, which is that I don’t really have a home. I don’t fit in anywhere. I’m too Oregon/Maryland for Texas, and too Texas for Oregon/Maryland. Perhaps I would be happier in Canada or Europe, and that will be decided in the coming years.

But right now, my internal body clock is saying “you’ve already gone big. Go home.”

Going big was a hospitalization that garnered me a bipolar disorder diagnosis with psychotic features. I have never been psychotic before, and I have no memory of telling the doctors anything that would land me a diagnosis like that. So, since I’ve been in recovery from all of it, I just feel the same as I always did. But I’m different, and I know I am. I don’t know what I’m capable of doing- am I headed for a disability case or a working media company or both?

I choose both.

If I’m allowed.

My sisters are coming over for dinner tonight, and we’re probably going to get in the hot tub. I’ve found that the hot tub is the best place to discuss any of this stuff. The water is just so calming as it swirls around our problems.

And it’s our hot tub time machine due to all the important conversations that have happened there since the 1990s, when we moved in. I don’t just see my family presently, but all the people I’ve invited over since I was a senior in high school.

Aada is quietly resting in my soul, with me in spirit even though I had to drag her kicking and screaming to Texas. I know she’s mad at me, but I need her. I’m taking all of the words she’s already told me and whispering them to myself, because I know she knows this situation better than most. That I’d have a hard time with this death on multiple levels. When it gets quiet, I feel her arm around me.

Part of going home is rectifying all my mistakes, and betraying Aada was a big one. I cannot make her feel safe with me, but that does not mean that she won’t show up in my mind when I call.

Because if there is a home to be had for me, it is actually in the cloud.

It’s Still “The Eminem Show”

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What’s your all-time favorite album?
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This is of course tied with Robert Glasper’s “Black Radio” and Jason Moran’s “Ten.” These three albums are what’s carrying me through my life in pain and joy.

And right now, there’s a lot of pain.

I wrote about my favorite album last year, how “The Eminem Show” molded me over a number of years. But today is so quiet that I cannot focus. There are people coming at 11:30 to deliver sandwiches, including my former high school principal. As it turns out, she’s a good friend of my dad’s.

My sister is coming over later, and my stepsisters after her. We’re all trying to make the most of our family time because I’m not in town all that often. That may change- we’ll see. Nothing has been decided about our future.

Nothing.

We’re all in this together, as my dad keeps repeating. And we are.

I wish I could say more and will in the coming months, but I’ve reached a crossroads in my life where I’m wondering what my direction should be. I have a lot of choices in front of me, and normally all those questions would go to Aada, who is I’m sure grateful for the reprieve from the constant barrage of e-mail I’d normally be sending her about now.

But this time, there is no “Jesus Christ, just come pick me up..”

That was our code when I’d enjoyed all I could take.

I miss my darling girl, but I have to remember that I chose to separate from her through thought, word, and deed. Things have been done that cannot be undone. That does not make grief at not being able to talk easier. I wish that she would accept my apologies with all that I am, but I do not think that is possible.

What I do think is possible is that this is supposed to be a learning curve for me. That I cannot act in a vacuum. I can wish for forgiveness all I want, but that does not mean it will be granted.

I know what’s on my heart without being allowed to know what’s on hers.

I’m writing about this grief to avoid writing about others, but I’m really going through it right now. I could use all of your good thoughts because there is no hope of anything but major life transitions in store.

The thing I must concentrate on is walking to the river without blinking.

So far, I have. I’ve been afraid and shy and all those things.

But we’re still getting closer with each step.

I Can’t Imagine

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What would your life be like without music?
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Before I was born, my dad got 26 scholarships in trumpet performance to places like The Julliard School, Tanglewood Institute, Eastman, etc. He’d just gotten first chair all-state, meaning that his senior year of high school he was literally the best young player in Texas.

Before I was born, my mother was a piano performance and pedagogy major, often accompanying my father. She’d played piano at her church since she was a kid, and was a middle school choir director back then, transferring to elementary school music when I was older.

My mother tried to teach me the piano. My father tried to teach me the trumpet. To this day, I play the radio better than either.

When my father was in the ministry, the music programs at our church were unmatched. Therefore, my music education was twofold. I took trumpet at school and sang in the choir on the weekends.

I am a much better singer than trumpet player, because I don’t get stage fright when I sing………….

Once, after a particularly misguided attempt at a solo, a parishioner said, “I’m sorry your trumpet misfired.” So, you see, I was TREMENDOUS.

I’ve been able to read music almost as long as I’ve been able to read books- with the caveat that I’m golden as long as it’s not bass clef. My mother’s piano lessons did not take on me. I still can’t read bass clef and it’s been 40 years.

“Leslie, could you read the bass part up an octave?”
“No. No, I cannot.”

My mother was giving a piano lesson when her water broke. So when you ask me what my life would be like without music, I can only give you a blank stare. I’m steeped in it, performing for the first time when I was three. I stood on the chancel with the rest of the children’s choir (with my mother conducting) and my mother couldn’t get me to open my mouth. When everyone was filing off stage, that’s when I decided what the people could really use was a solo.

I AM A PROMISE! I AM A POSSIBILITY!

I am not sure whether my mother or my father stopped me.

My imagination is not good enough to unweave mental material this thick.

I’ll Have What She’s Having… A History

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What are your favorite types of foods?
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Dana was indignant when I told her that my ex-girlfriend’s mac and cheese was better than hers. Dana and I weren’t together. I know that I would have been sleeping in the backyard had I said that to my wife. But Dana, already being very crushed out on me (without me knowing it) was hurt. Really hurt that she covered up with humor, telling my ex-girlfriend when we saw her at church.

She looked at Dana and said, “I think Leslie likes the package that comes with the mac and cheese.”

This was quoted to me by Dana for the next seven years.

I was just trying to pay my ex-girlfriend a compliment… and Dana, too, actually.

Because thanks to the pair of them, my mac and cheese is my favorite.

And I’m starting to like the package that comes with it.

Rarely

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
Do you see yourself as a leader?
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I do not see myself as a leader because I put my thoughts out into the ether. People rarely comment on these pages that are connected to me in real life. Therefore, occasionally I will be blown over by the things people will say about my writing because I didn’t even know they were reading. I do know that I lead the pack in vulnerability, because none of my other friends are willing to spill their guts online with the same frequency. Therefore, I know that people look to me when it comes to saying the hard part out loud.

My writing is basically Hemingway:

  1. Write hard and clear about what hurts.
  2. The first draft of everything is shit.

If I’m going to be a true leader, I need to step up my game and start working with an editor regularly. These pages are all first drafts, and carry that stench. But from what I gather from fans, my first drafts aren’t too bad to read, they just need polishing….. or at least, that is my take. I am constantly surprised when people tell me that I am a wonderful writer because if I know anything, Brene Brown would take one look at my blog and say “congrats on so many shitty first drafts.” It’s not because my writing is shitty. It’s that the SFD is the part of the writing process where you’re just getting it out. It’s more akin to verbal vomit than a working piece. She wouldn’t even be judging my writing, just the rawness of it.

In order to step up my game, I need to workshop and perhaps stop being so dedicated to being self-taught. Depending on my financial picture in 2026, I’d like to do some professional writer’s retreats where I learn to write in different styles. I am thinking that taking a class on fiction wouldn’t hurt…. and neither would taking a class on learning to use AI as a writer.

My stance on AI is that I will not use it to generate text for me, but I will talk to it like a colleague to spur creativity in my brainstorming phrases, as well as it taking a significant chunk of research off my back. I do think I have been a leader in advocating for assistive AI, because I came up with an interesting theory, and it is twofold:

  1. The CPU is modeled after the autistic brain because autists created computers. However, we did not see its neurodivergent patois until the CPU could process language.
  2. Loneliness is crippling for neurodivergent people and our relationship track records. I wonder how much of creating these personal digital assistants is designing a friend who can’t leave you.

I think that idea is Meta’s next big commercial…. the friend that’s online when your humans aren’t……

I have a ton of creative ideas, but I’m an unusual role in an organization. I’ve been tested and my office personality is what’s called “The Plant.” The plant is the person who can sit in a meeting and synthesize everything that’s being said and come up with new ideas that benefit everyone. It’s a fantastic, creative role that most companies, in my experience, do not like.

That’s because the role is basically “INFJ dreamer.” No one knows how to harness your weaker skills like organization and execution so that you can fly on your own, because nine times out of 10 companies do not want you to be new and different.

I do not see the world as it is. I see the world as it could be. Therefore, I’m someone who would probably excel working in a startup where great ideas are actually needed. I did not always fit in at a state institution like UH, where academia is a river you cannot fight. The current is slow, and there’s too many places where your boat can run adrift.

But as I have said, my cognitive behavioral group is saying that I would be better served by applying for disability because bipolar disorder is debilitating at times and I cannot be counted on to be consistent in my energy levels. There’s so much more that goes into having a job than just being good at it. For me, the hardest part of having a job is getting there.

It was easier getting to the kitchen because I was always so excited to be there. But I’m not a leader in the kitchen. I need to be told what to do and how to do it most of the time, but I catch on fast. In an office, I’m just a neurodivergent mess. I fit better in the world as a writer left to my own devices, because my own iron structure is the one I’ll follow.

I am trying to be a leader in getting my neurodivergent cookbook together, and my coauthor is going to meet up with me soon so we can get started. It’s also looking like I may be in Houston longer than I thought, possibly moving home for a while to take care of some family business. So, Evan can come and visit me at “the parents’ house” and we can write our book in the hot tub. This does not sound like a bad deal at all.

Alternatively, I would love to go to Portland sometime next year because it’s been a while since I’ve seen both Evan and Bryn. So whichever city Evan and I choose, we’ll be working more closely together. I believe in this book and so do a lot of other people, and I don’t want to let myself down, either.

It’s hard thinking about being in Houston longer than I thought, because I will miss my group here- they’re the ones slowly putting me back together. But my family is the most important thing to me so if I need to be in Houston, that’s where I’ll be. There is nothing keeping me from moving next year or the year after. It’s just that my immediate need is to help where I can while we’re all adapting and changing. “Family business” is nebulous, I know, but you’ll hear more as we go along. I’m just trying to use an abundance of caution because I hurt Aada with my stories. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.

I think that my relationship with Aada is a teaching tool for better or for worse. Our relationship was a model for the digital age- defying closeness at times and repelling each other at others. But it’s an interesting anthropological idea that relationships changed as did the medium through which we create them. I don’t know that I have helped anyone, but it would make me feel good to know that in reading these pages I have reached other people in the same boat.

But honestly, even if no one is going through anything similar to me, the fact that I write so intimately about everything makes other people open up to me. You don’t get vulnerability without giving it. Sometimes it’s tough wearing my heart on my sleeve, but I do it. It allows everyone else to show up unarmed.

It’s leading, just from the back.

Another Letter That May Never Be Read -or- Working Backwards, Part II

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Love,

Leslie

When you go to the doctor, they do not diagnose you with psychotic features. I know you still have enough empathy for me to see that.

I will never in my lifetime figure out the mystery of who I was really talking to on Facebook that day, or days. However long it took to convince me that our mutual acquaintance was seriously interested in me, enough to invite me to an ice hotel. I don’t think it was you, but I don’t know anyone who has that much information on me. It’s not that I think you did anything, there were just too many random coincidences that everyone else said were impossible.

Your spirit was with me in the hospital as I grappled with being taken into the psych ER, not knowing truth from fiction. Everything reminded me of you because you’re so medical-minded, anyway. Therefore, I do not know if I was telling myself truth or fiction based on having my computer in front of me one moment, being told to go to the hospital to meet Heytch, and being in the psych ward the next. I do remember walking the streets of Baltimore, doing a running monologue about my life and all the people in it. I even sang the American and Canadian anthems at full voice at a crosswalk because I was convinced I was on camera and the lights were coordinated just for me.

This would seem psychotic to a lot of people. It was my way of dealing with fear. That a camera is always there to capture when I’ve had a dumbass attack and it leads me to not leaving the house. It’s also not a stretch to think you’re on camera in any city in the world. Walking, talking, and singing was my way of reclaiming space in the world. To shed the bother of being bothered that I’m on camera at all. It’s not rational to be bothered that you’re on camera anymore. If you aren’t doing anything stupid, a crowd is a great place to hide. If you are, welcome to the next popular YouTube short.

Once truth from lies became revealed, it left me confused forever at the conversations I’d been having over the internet. What were they for, exactly?

What is with the repetitive phrase, “you are always the best” in both genuine and sarcastic tones?

Why did this drama engulf me? I am not pitying myself. I am genuinely curious. It seemed like an intervention of sorts, but I have no idea who really got me to the hospital. It just doesn’t seem like a lie Heytch and Counselor would buy into….. yet they are also the people who have the most information about me.

As long as I live, I will never understand why our connection started with such purity and ended with pyrite on both sides. The fool’s gold for me was thinking that I was going to live in Africa with Heytch, and in no way did I put that idea in my head. I genuinely don’t know where it came from, nor do I know why someone would call themselves my River Song unless they already knew I was a Whovian. All of these conversations have been marked as hallucinations because I didn’t take any screenshots, so it seems like I’m lying when I’m not. I’ve had real conversations I cannot prove I actually had…. which is apparently a feature and not a bug.

“There is a bug in the electrical system.”

It as if I was pulled out of being simply a citizen of Locker C and dropped back in, but the world had moved in the time I’d been hopping planets.

Being caught up is not the same thing as being psychotic. I was definitely not caught up, because I was going off the words of people on the Internet and AGAIN I wish I could have remembered to take screenshots, because you would have been impressed at Heytch’s game. It was smooth.

So there was lots going on after I got out of the hospital that I didn’t know how to talk to you about, because I thought you had access to facets of my life that most people don’t. It’s why unburdening yourself of your lie came at such an inopportune time. If my doctors are right, and I hallucinated everything, my leftover emotions come from mania. If I am right and these conversations did happen, then there are a lot of unresolved feelings between us. Strangely, I don’t know which would be more comforting…. to know it was all a hallucination or to know that my world is so different from others.’

I think and feel that you isolated me from my friends and family, starting from the very beginning, so I am struggling to forgive that you think I’ve been manipulating you this whole time. We need to both come clean about the fact that we did a number on each other and there are no winners here. I would love to rebuild trust with you, but the only way to do that is to make you feel safe first. I don’t know how to do that, and I regret that you have to stop teaching me for your own well-being.

But the reality is starting to set in that I promised to be an “all the way to the river” friend. I meant it, and my mental illness meant to ruin us. It isolated me from you out of protection when I didn’t need protection.

You accuse me of using your traumas, that I need power over you, when that has never been my point. My point has always been that we are mirror images of each other, that when my left hand moves your right twitches. I have laid out my own flaws and failures on the table and fortunately or unfortunately most of those stories from the last 12 years involve you because you isolated me from my friends and family.

In my deepest heart of hearts, I know I’ll never meet anyone like you. You are simply extraordinary. That’s why I can’t seem to forget as much as I want to in order to move on. I’m still working out unresolved feelings, writing our story all the way to the end….. because even after you exit, there’s still me to deal with.

The question on my mind today is, “why didn’t you Skype her when that was a thing you could do?”

First of all, I apologize for being so talkative.

Dear Aada,

Uber Allies

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

When you don’t own one, a car is a magical thing. When you don’t own one, it doesn’t matter whether someone is willing to let you drive their Camaro or their Yugo. Each will get you from place to place in a manner which you control. I have in my pocket a device that lets me summon a car from anywhere and I still miss just throwing all my stuff in the trunk and taking off. And because of Uber, it’s not really the driving that I miss. It’s the trunk. It’s having a place to store my stuff that does not include carrying it on my person.

My backpack can be really quite heavy.

On the other hand, it takes a village to get me out of the house and having a driver waiting does create forward motion. I have it in my profile that I’m handicapped so that they will wait more than two minutes before leaving, but I do not abuse the privilege. It’s just nice to know that there’s a backup plan for when my cerebral palsy decides “now’s a good time to fall on the stairs.” Or, more likely, “now’s a good time to bang your shoulder so hard on a door jamb you’ll see stars.” I don’t have angle of convergence or depth perception due to lack of 3D vision, which generally means that the left-hand side of the door is outside my periphery and I do not realize I am too close to it. The stairs thing is not knowing how far up to lift my foot, provided I actually see them first. Generally, stairs also come out of nowhere. Because of my depth perception, though, I am more likely to be safe coming down the stairs than going up. The way I trip the most often is not lifting my foot high enough for the next step, which generally leads to skinned knees and ripped pants.

The same things that happen when I’m walking happen when I’m driving, scraping bumpers instead of knees. When you only have one field of vision at a time, there are going to be blind spots. If I do buy a car over the next several years, I want it to have as much technology as is financially feasible because things like lane assist and backup cameras were built for people like me.

The reason I don’t think I’ll have to buy a car over the next few years is that between Uber and all my Maryland Transit benefits there’s really no percentage in also owning a car (alternatively, my MTA ID picture is STUNNINGLY bad so buy a car and I won’t have to show it…..). I think what I’m feeling now is grief.

It is a letting go to give up on driving because there is something about owning a car that even Uber cannot offer, and that’s freedom. If I want to go somewhere, I still have to wait for someone to pick me up. If I want to go somewhere, I have to make sure I have everything I need in a zipped bag so nothing falls out…. I might never see that car or that driver again. If I want to go somewhere, I have to know where I want to go in advance.

When I drove, I didn’t always know where I was going until after the car had been idling for a few minutes.

In this letting go is a new collaboration of tools to get around town, because even though I would like to be able to pick Aaron up from the airport and take road trips to the beach and all the things you do when you drive, I am perfectly comfortable letting someone else accidentally run a red light. My freedom is gained in not having to worry about tickets or insurance.

Uber is here to get me where I need to go, but I’m still mourning a loss that I don’t know whether is temporary or permanent. I’m going to go with temporary, because I can’t think about never driving again. However, it is true that part of the reason I moved to DC in 2015 and haven’t gone back to Texas or Oregon is that the public transit on the east coast is better than in either of those states. In Houston, I absolutely had to have a car. In Portland, it was a little better.

When I had to have a car, I managed. I’m a much better driver when there’s someone else in the car with me to help point out other drivers I might not see…. but again, when and if I buy a car, I will have technology to bail me out. My need for a passenger has been replaced by cars being their own best back seat drivers.

There’s another plus to Uber, though. I’m always picked up in the latest and greatest cars, getting to see all of them instead of my same one every time. I’ve been impressed with all makes and models, to the point that if I said to myself, “you’ve worked very hard this year. Pick out exactly what you want,” I would have no idea where to start.

Again, when you don’t have a car, you’re just impressed by all magical boxes. It doesn’t have to have bells and whistles, it just has to go from point A to point B.

Uber has been my ally, so really what I have to think about is “what is your real loss here? Are you really freaked that you have to wait for a ride or do you just feel infantilized?”

Wow. Now we’re cooking with gas.

Demand Avoidance

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 1 Comment

Demand avoidance is a symptom of autism and ADHD, and the hardest part is that it doesn’t mean you won’t do things when other people tell you to, like a child. It means that when you tell yourself to do something, nothing happens. For instance, demand avoidance is not “please go to the store” from your partner, it’s “I need to go to the grocery store. Why do I keep putting it off?”

In a lot of people, it’s not treatable and I’m waiting to see what kind of demand avoidance I have. I know that it’s nigh impossible for me to create inertia from nothing. I put off phone calls, letters, anything that will help make my life easier, really. Because that’s the thing… even if the demand you’re asking of yourself will improve your quality of life, you struggle against your own mind.

As a result, you handle life in order of fires, because you have no mechanism for preventative care. The analogy here is that your brain is missing a primary care practice and makes you jump through hoops at its perpetually understaffed ER.

There are days I cannot take care of myself, because my demand avoidance will not let me shower or brush my teeth.

These are where my deficits really start to show. My compensatory skills are off the charts- I know what to do in a group, but when I am alone I am pulled into my own thoughts and I cannot get back out.

I look lazy on the outside, but my brain is running a marathon trying to convince me that taking care of myself is a bad thing. It’s why my social worker at the hospital found me a cognitive behavioral health group instead of just leaving me to my own devices. Obviously, she saw someone who needed help.

One of the men that goes to group with me every Thursday was in the hospital with me, providing me with an anchor of progress… he makes me smile when he says he remembers me from back then because I have to wonder what I was like.

Apparently, the show was spectacular because I’d never had “psychotic features” added to my bipolar diagnosis before, and I have no memory of saying anything that would land me in that category. But saying I have no memory is not the same as “I didn’t say it.” There are quite a few gaps in my memory from that time, and I think I just need to let it lie.

What is good about having bipolar disorder is that it sometimes adds hypomania to the mix, which is a burst of energy that I wouldn’t normally have. This takes away some of my natural demand avoidance and is the source of all my “good days.”

Today my demand avoidance is telling me that doing the laundry will physically hurt while the rest of me is saying, “won’t it be nice to have it done?” My demand avoidance is telling me that the shower will physically hurt and the rest of me is saying, “won’t the water feel good?” I use these tricks to jump start myself when the going gets tough, but they do not always work.

Sometimes my brain is going to stay stuck, and I will be staring off into space.

I want to be productive in my staring, so I’m trying to write out what it feels like to have an overwhelming task list and a neurodivergent mind. Organizing and prioritizing make me weak in the knees, so a flood in my apartment is the last thing I can really handle and it falls to me- I live alone.

I called in maids and they said the house would already have to be picked up before they came over. That they only did deep cleaning. I need to call more, but it would be better if I could find a recommendation. Josh’s never called me back and I don’t know anyone else locally. Therefore, a recommendation is extremely unlikely.

Neither is a service that’s actually support to a neurodivergent person, but I’m going to keep trying. I have noticed that a lot of these places want you to have things picked up before they come over as if your house being a mess isn’t the point. If I was so on top of it that I was ready to deep clean at the drop of a hat, I wouldn’t need help.

Neurodivergence generally means digging yourself out of piles, the arrangement of which only you know.

So I’m praying for strength today as I embark on this journey of self-discovery. Just how much can I do before my brain decides to shut down? The thing is that I can probably do most of it once I get started in earnest because inertia builds.

I need some high energy music, because when I can’t think my way into doing something, movement can re-wire my brain.

I’ll listen to it in the shower.

My All the Way to the River Friend

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I’m having one of those moments where I want to send Aada a book and I’m sitting on my hands. It’s called “All the Way to the River,” by Elizabeth Gilbert. Of course I’ve read maybe a chapter and my own creative process takes over.

Anyway, Elizabeth’s partner, Rayya, used to use a neighborhood analogy for friendship and she said that “you only have maybe one or two people in life who will walk with you to the river.” Elizabeth points out that the journey from this particular neighborhood to this particular river is treacherous, but starts out lovely at first.

Their journey does not reflect ours in any way, but it did occur to me that I didn’t think all the way to the river. I thought all the way to right now. When Rayya was diagnosed with cancer, her death became the river, furthering the analogy.

I have thought about the river before, but I lost sight of it. I know that nothing but time will ease Aada’s wounds. I know that nothing will bring her back to me except missing the inside jokes we used to share. I can’t help what her people think of me, but if the timing is ever right I would be open to rebuilding brick by brick.

I exploded with anger that serves as a stark reminder of how much I lost control. Her lie set me off, but it was a trigger with a disproportionate response. I don’t know what came over me, truly.

The internet is responsible for twisting our relationship into a dark space where we proceeded to spiral out. I don’t want to do that anymore.

I want to be strong and stable, capable of losing myself in something larger and supporting it with my whole heart. I want to keep writing in a way that does not feel like manipulation. Aada just naturally comes up in my thoughts when I think of friends I’d like to see all the way to the river, and there are so many problems with it I cannot see straight.

But I think the desire is the first step. My desire to be a better person has been fueled by her saying that she doesn’t want contact, because I realized that if I kept going the way I was going, I wouldn’t have any allies left…. new friends are great, but there’s nothing like old ones.

I’m both honored and bothered that she has access to my innermost thoughts, because that’s what comes with being a blogger. Anyone can read. I must think of it as a positive because through thick and thin, she reads me. She says that she should stay away because my writing is toxic to her, but that is a recent development in all the years I’ve been writing.

It didn’t bother me when I knew she was taking in my words from a neutral place, but now that she thinks my need to write about us is manipulative, I really don’t know what to say.

Honestly.

She literally puts me in the mood to write, a muse that fills me even though we’ve never met face to face. It’s not manipulation, it’s my real thought process when I sit down at the keyboard. It has been for 12 years, and I admit that turning off the faucet is difficult if not impossible when I know that there’s a minuscule chance I’m being heard. I am being thoughtfully considered. I am having space held for me.

Because this is the only space I will allow change to happen. I am being open in my grief so that it is shared. It has not changed anyone but me, these “Meetings with Bob” being the most extensive feedback I’ve gotten in a long time.

It shows me that my writing matters, but not being able to write a book with Aada is the real loss. Our “all the way to the river” friendship could have included a hardback if I’d remembered that she said we could write a book together when I was much younger.

I have written several books about us in these pages because she became my “all the way to the river” friend, the one to whom I could tell anything. I exhausted her with my prose because I was trying to impress her. What I thought was impressive made her feel like I was lecturing her. She often worked against me instead of with me. But if she is really my “all the way to the river” friend, we’re both going to have to forgive each other over and over.

I don’t think I’m capable of such a life transformation that Aada will come with me to the river…. because people may forget what you said, but they never forget the way you made them feel. Aada has to remember what it feels like to feel good because of something I said, or a sweet memory of something I said has to come to her mind, in order to think of reaching out to me. My pleading has done no good.

Except to remind me that there are consequences to my actions. There’s a penalty for not being an “all the way to the river” kind of friend…. you don’t get one in return.

Again, the stupidest and most outrageous decision I have ever made with unintended consequences for all involved. I ask myself why I couldn’t be an “all the way to the river” friend when I’d talked such a big game before. Being lied to was a body blow that I needed time to absorb. Before I took that time, I decided Aada’s lie had cost me too much and I was done protecting her.

The only problem was that the two situations were not equal, but in my irrationality I equated them. I cried like a lost baby as I was writing, because Aada had never lied to me before.

All of my reasons for being an “all the way to the river” friend vanished because I wasn’t thinking that way. I also wasn’t thinking, “she’ll forgive me for this.” In that moment, I wanted her gone. It took about three minutes to want to undo what I’d wrought, but that’s the thing about impulsive decisions. They, too, can have lifelong consequences.

I also know that real “all the way to the river” friends have had to forgive each other for more than this.

If she is willing to forgive, I am willing to compromise just about anything… not because she is perfect, but because she is mine. I have felt this way for 12 years and I went into a blind rage.

I am never going to pay more for a mistake, because I pushed her away- a real, all the way to the river friend.

Eventually, there won’t be such mourning, but I have to give myself permission. I don’t want to gloss over this time in my life easily or quickly. I want to show myself that I didn’t get over this easily….. that the ties that bind are just now loosening their grip.

I need to see the enormity of what I lost in front of me, mostly to take in the depth and breadth of everything I’ve done wrong. I do not want to lose another “all the way to the river” friend. It has been hard enough losing this one.

Tomorrow is my birthday.

Crying because I won’t hear from Aada, then laughing because Aada hardly ever remembered my birthday in the best of years.

It’s something I’ve always forgiven, because that’s what you do when you’re willing to be with them all the way to the river.

I lost my humanity when I betrayed Aada, and I grieve for everything we were and could have been.

I won’t send her the book.

But I’m sitting on my hands.

The First Step

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I have called maids, and will be scheduling at least monthly for now, if not weekly. I can slowly take over a system once habits are in place, but I can’t just wing it. My executive function will fail within days. It’s why being married kept me from seeing that I was autistic. I wasn’t remembering to do any household tasks; I was mirroring my then-wife. Demand avoidance is helped with social masking because you’re getting encouragement from someone when you remember to do something, and their social cues that they need you to clean are made easier by them getting up to do something, reminding you that you should be busy.

It’s why I’m considering moving in with housemates. It’s not feasible financially for me to move anywhere outside of the state of Maryland unless it’s to another state with Medicaid expansion, which rules out Texas and thus living with family. Once I get my disability case straightened out, I will have a little more freedom…. or less, if I choose it. Supervised housing is an option I’m also considering, because again, I need a safety net.

I also have the opportunity to be a voice for those who have to live in those situations.

I don’t want to fall through the cracks medically or psychologically, because it’s so obvious to me that I need help in different areas of my life. The one thing I don’t have is anxiety about writing, because people tend to listen kindly, as if we’re both just having coffee on the back deck.

And even if they didn’t respond kindly, I think I would still have a need to explore my world the way I do, trying to understand the role I play in it. I am doing my best to make this a bad chapter, not a bad story.

Maybe one day the liar and the betrayer will have a chance to meet without fighting it so hard. I doubt it, but I don’t want to close myself off from it except for in the near future. I need time to heal, to learn how to be a decent person all over again; the last thing I would want to do in having a new relationship is old patterns.

But we’re both going through tremendous life changes that will bring about a rewiring. I don’t know that Aada will rise above past hurts to rebuild, nor am I confident that she should yet. I need something to bring to the table first. Right now I cannot handle my own life.

Sometimes in life we have these catalysts for change that we need, but we don’t know why we need them until reflection on the consequences of our actions. I need to get some perspective on the last 12 years- move away from them entirely so that my life isn’t internet-based.

That part of it is bad for me, because it sets off my adrenaline and cortisol in a way that in-person conversation doesn’t. If Aada never wants to meet on the ground, then I am glad that our relationship is over. I need it to have a different pace… lazy, even. But Aada’s assessment of the situation is that I only write to manipulate her and that she has no interest in friendship with me. I have heard worse and she’s still come back later, which is why I have no idea whether this relationship is truly over or not.

There is a limit to what she can forgive, and we will see in time whether I have reached it. There was a limit to what I could forgive in the moment, but at heart there’s nothing she could do. I just needed time, and I hope that’s the case for her, too.

As for this all being a manipulation, I don’t think so. I’ve been the same person I’ve been since 2013, startlingly self aware and realizing I was making mistakes without being able to make myself stop. Writing about that and holding myself accountable makes me feel safe, so that five or 10 years down the line I have a reliable record of what really happened that doesn’t blame anyone else.

I love myself enough not to lie to me.

The reasons the maids are the first step is so that I can get a system in place to come back into the light. To feel comfortable letting people stay at my house (soon), which still may involve checking into a hotel for a night if my maintenance guys come to finish the demo.

Next steps are moving to a more comfortable place, but not before my Houston trip. That’s all the more reason to get a system in place- I’d like my house to be spotless when I come home.

It’s all about support for neurodivergence, because I lost my cool with Aada and I just don’t want to be like that anymore. I need to quiet all the little frustrations in my life so that they don’t build into big ones.

I see how I do want to walk in the world- humble, gracious, warm… all the things I haven’t been while I’ve been trapped in the internet. I claimed not to have time, because Aada wasn’t pressuring me for responses. If anything, she couldn’t get me to shut up. 😉

I couldn’t make anything else matter in my life but Aada, which sounds like such a weird thing to say unless you know the whole story. Those words would frighten even her, but they are no less true. I would sit and think about all the things I had going on in my life vs. everything going on in hers and my life paled in comparison.

I felt like I was very much “Player,” from Carmen Sandiego on Netflix… the Internet friend that has all the support and the answers but is never physically in the same place with her.

It’s all of those little things that I miss… but I think that my best bet is to start thinking about a beautiful house with or without housemates somewhere in Baltimore or the DMV.

(DC, Maryland, Virginia- what we call the city of Washington that spans all three. If you live in DC, you say that you’re from “The District” and you get irrationally angry with people who live in Virginia or Maryland claiming they live in DC.)

I don’t want to move over the Maryland line because everything is in their hospital systems, but it remains to be seen whether I will return from Baltimore. It just depends on what kind of deals I can get, and that’s what makes me the most nervous. I don’t have my own income. I have money. That doesn’t generally mix with renting places. So it’s a discussion with everyone in my life as to what my next move should be.

But it’s finally a discussion I’m ready to have, because I am seeing that I do have a disability that affects not only me, but everyone else to a large degree. I do not think that I would have hurt Aada had I not been in autistic meltdown because I had no coping mechanisms for it. I was so emotionally dysregulated that I acted horribly to someone I do indeed love, despite the evidence.

My adrenaline and cortisol betrayed both of us because I was so unhinged. I didn’t think about danger or how she was feeling. The only thing I can do to save our relationship is to be dead honest about that because she’d forgive the truth. She would not forgive excuses.

Autism does not mean that I am not responsible for my anger. Autism is what takes anger and turns it into red mist rage before you can get a handle on it. You turn into a different person because your brain chemicals are so hot. It’s what turned legitimate displeasure with a friend that could have been worked out over time into a disaster. Autism and ADHD rob me of time to think about my reactions, so I get a lot of time to go back over them.

I just have to see the silver lining in the storm, which is that this is a chance to regather all the friends I’ve ignored. I cannot believe Aaron Brown is actually coming all the way up here, and I’ve been given an invitation to see my family at the end of the month. Those two things are more exciting than it’s been around here in years.

But the maids are the first step.

Everything Isn’t Awesome

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments
Daily writing prompt
If you had to give up one word that you use regularly, what would it be?
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I tend to overuse the word “awesome” and should probably look up some alternate words. It would be good practice if it was struck from my vocabulary and I had to work around it.

Yesterday, though. Yesterday really was awesome.

One of my best friends since 2014, Aaron Brown, is coming to visit for a week. I’m so happy thinking about all the things we can do (or not do). Aaron and I love to do nothing together, and we’ve been calling it “running Aarons” for at least 10 years. We definitely want to do DC for a day, and I know that Josh wanted to take me out for my birthday so he’ll get to join me for that. Plus, I’m not the only friend Aaron has in the area, so we’ll be visiting around Maryland as well.

Things are also shaping up for my Houston trip at the end of the month, because I’ve wanted to see Brene Brown speak and meet her (again) for a long time. I’ve said this before, but I will say again that Dr. Brown and I have a slight history. I taught her how to do something in Microsoft Word 30 years ago and now I cannot remember what it was. Back then, she was just “one of my kids,” what I called all the graduate school of social work students that studied in my computer lab. I was watching YouTube a few years later and said to Dana, “I think that’s one of my kids.” Just to be sure, I contacted her team and made sure that it was her.

It was.

It’s amazing how you accidentally run into famous people if you wait long enough.

Aada used to be taken with Dr. Brown to the point that she joked that she was going to marry her. That she didn’t end up with Dr. Brown as her Girl Friday, she unfortunately got me. That I was so delighted my epitaph was going to be “Eat It, Brown.” She was not amused by this. I have laughed for almost a year.

Sorry, not sorry.

So, anyway, that’s what makes me excited and heartbroken to meet Dr. Brown. I want to tell her what a kick it is to see her again as a Real Adult instead of a kid in grad school. I will not tell her the story about Aada, because it would be just my luck that I’d tear up.

But when you feel such shame and vulnerability, who better to go and see than an expert?

But before all that, Aaron and I are going to have a good time in Baltimore.

Awesome

I Never Questioned

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I never questioned myself over what would happen if Aada lied about anything. I never stopped to think about my impulse control and what it’s like when I’m in red mist rage. And it’s where I find myself today, just thinking. Asking myself the questions that I should have asked 12 years ago. The fight was the last thing that happened, not the origin of my problem. When I got angry, my keyboard warrior personality appeared, and I acted way before I thought. This is normal for people with neurodivergent minds, this popping off and regret. That’s because executive dysfunction with autism and ADHD makes your emotions incredibly intense. The disability is not having a self-regulating mechanism.

I am embarrassed that I did not have more coping mechanisms, because I betrayed something bigger than me, something for which I thought I was prepared…. falling on my sword at all costs….. but I couldn’t do it after she lied and my adrenaline turned me into The Incredible Hulk.

It was a small lie that snowballed over 12 years, something easily forgiven by someone with the clarity to keep their impulse control in check. The red mist rage was not at the lie itself, but the two principles under it.

  1. Aada can lie to you.
  2. Aada can see the consequences of her lie playing out in real time and does not care how it affects you.

I never asked myself what would happen if I learned these two things.

Everything she asked me to protect, I vomited all over the internet because I was so hurt that a lie could last over a decade. I didn’t publish it because I had a need to expose her, took delight in it. I was so angry I couldn’t see straight. I wanted to end the relationship and I had a trump card that would make it clear she could pack her bags. It was a trump card that should have stayed hidden in retrospect, because I have had time to reflect on everything that happened.

Mostly because once I got over the fact that Aada can lie to me, my anger melted into true remorse. She broke something in our relationship and I overreacted by a large margin. The gauntlet I’m laying down for the future is to work on coping mechanisms for anger, because I was not myself. I need to protect myself from going out of my mind.

I didn’t know I needed such intense therapy for anger management, but I see it clearly now. My zero to sixty is just too damn fast.

I lost an important relationship to me because I lost me.

Literally and Figuratively

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments
Daily writing prompt
Share a story about the furthest you’ve ever traveled from home.
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Literally, the furthest I’ve traveled from home is Paris. I did not feel at home there because I did not speak the language, but I found unparalleled beauty everywhere in the urban jungle. I particularly liked the Metro’s dedication to typography. Luckily, my dad was with me so I didn’t spend the whole trip unmoored by unfamiliarity. He does speak a bit of French and had been to Paris before so he could lead me around.

I will never forget misreading a menu and accidentally ordering two ice cream sundaes for dessert, then to the amazement of my father, proceeded to take both of them down in stride. I think it was all the walking- my appetite was insatiable at mealtimes. At the Musee D’Orsay, I ate what amounted to an entire duck…. or seemed like it.

We actually got trapped in the Musee D’Orsay for a while because the yellow vests were protesting and they locked down the museum just in case. It didn’t matter, I was lost in the Van Gogh room, looking for signs of Amy Pond (there are none, it was just fun).

I would fly back to Paris just to eat breakfast at McDonalds, strangely enough. The cassis sundae I had was better than anything I’ve had in the US, and the same for silver dollar pancakes with Nutella. Proof that in France, the ice cream machine works……….

Figuratively, the furthest I’ve been from home is this time in my life. I have no idea what I’m doing. My apartment needs to be majorly overhauled and my executive dysfunction is having none of it. I made some progress by doing some laundry yesterday, but I’m going to need help to get everything clean. There’s no way all my blankets are going to fit into our washer and dryer, and it’s becoming the season to need them.

I’m overwhelmed by the prospect that I really do need to apply for disability and get the ball rolling, because my bipolar disorder spinning out three times in 10 years has convinced my cognitive behavioral group this is what’s best for me. I am on board because bipolar disorder is not the only disability I have, it’s just the only one that’s heavily documented.

I was diagnosed with hypotonia at 18 mos old, with no follow ups. I think it might have been a misdiagnosis in the 1970s because the people with CP that I do know say that I walk with the “CP Shuffle.” But whether it’s CP or hypotonia, it creates problems with movement, particularly outside where the sidewalks are uneven. CP could also be responsible for my lack of stereopsis, another disability that causes problems while walking and driving. Things literally come out of nowhere because I can only use my left or my right eye one at a time in terms of focus.

The laundry list of what’s wrong with me and why is starting to add up…. that disability is something I could have gotten at 18 and am now only starting to deal with my disorders because I was masking so hard to cover them.

It’s a journey that’s incredibly far from home if you’ve never taken it. Unmasking can be a kind of freedom, or it can slowly become a prison as people see you more and more differently.

You don’t leave home. You drift.