It's very important to me that I focus on getting some work done and researching these writing projects. It helps me keep my mind off the medical and my personal problems. I'm dreading the holidays. Social nightmare. Isolation has really helped calm my spirit. That thing with the house flooding makes me nervous about being away. I need to be very careful. I don't handle stress the same anymore. No one lives forever. I need to focus my energy on completing some life goals. Before its too late. I cant waste more time. Ive wasted enough. Life's too short for going through motions. I still have to play along, but really I'm going to need to simply say it how it is sometimes. Never was a social butterfly. Can't expect that to change now.

Memories and emotions can be intense. That's why I like to keep some space between me and other people. I need to be careful with memories. Very careful. A mind can play tricks on you, like a bad dream. 

    I had a lot of memories come up today. It's better that I don't discuss certain memories. Some things... it's better for everyone that certain things are not discussed. Sometimes the past can stir up resentments, fear, or sorrow. There are some days that sleep is my only real escape. Sometimes, there is no solution. 

Research - Honor

    Honor was very important in the old South. I want this story to give a realistic picture of South Carolina in the 1860s. That's why I'm spending this time on research. It's not about proving anything. People I know have already made up their minds about me. I've tried many times in my life to impress people. I've had some spectacular failures. I'm not trying to prove anything about me. That's a fool's errand. There's people I know that think they have me all figured out. The hospital, for starters. Sometimes I still try to prove the hospital wrong, but a lot of people I gave up. I can't hold onto the past. I can't relitigate and play out the same old narratives, the same old arguments, the same old appearances. I could do that from now until the end of time, it would make no difference but make me miserable. I try to keep my distance. I don't have the energy for that kind of thing. 

    It took me a while to realize that I can't change people's minds. They have to want to change their beliefs, and most people don't want to do that. It's that famous saying about arguing... no one changes their mind in the end. I don't want to litigate my life story. I'll lose every time. It's not going to help anyone to relitigate my story. There is something I can do, however. I can try to do justice to a story about Greenville. I don't think it will be so hard to do that, because it's not about me, thank God. I may have been born here, but my family isn't from here. So, hopefully I can be impartial, because I really want to give a true sense of what Greenville was like back then. 

    There were a lot of sons that went to war, and I'm writing this story about sons. Young men have something to prove, if not to their fathers, then to society. There were a lot of young men that went off to war back then. Hopefully I can illustrate what it was like to live through that. 

    For example, there was a family that was very important to Greenville that I have mentioned, the Earle family. There were many Earle's fighting not just for the South, there were some fighting for the North, though I don't know if the Northern ones were related in any way. The Southern ones included some brothers and cousins. Joseph Earle became a Senator. Alexander Campbell Earle moved to Alabama to farm. George Washington Earle moved back to Anderson. Lieutenant Claudius Eugene Earle commanded Company B of the 4th Volunteers at Stone Bridge, Battle of Bull Run, and shortly thereafter jumped from the sixth floor of the Ballard House Hotel in Richmond. It's not clear why he committed suicide. He left a letter with instructions on distributing his property and referring to slanders made against him regarding a young woman. 

    Sometimes honor can drive men to do strange things. If I can learn enough and work out the plot and the dialog, then perhaps I can illustrate what honor led the men of Greenville to do. Or perhaps not. But I intend to try. That is what I hope to accomplish. With everyone so concerned about what I do and so confused as to the reasons, I've lost the desire to explain myself. It's exhausting. But I think I can explain Greenville. Anyways, I'm confident that explaining Greenville will be a lot easier then playing the appearances game. 

    Meanwhile, I have to finish getting all the paperwork in order for Accountec to start doing deliveries. 

Civil War Era Greenville

    I've been fascinated by this research into Civil War Greenville and it's inspiring me to consider writing multiple historical fictions. I find history so interesting. 

    From what I've discovered so far there were no major bridges across the Reedy in 1861, as the main street bridge wasn't built until the 1870s. The railroad connection to Columbia had only recently been finished. Greenville County tends to name most roads based on where they lead, though it turns out Parkins mill road wasn't the original Parkins Mill road. Originally, the road leading from Augusta Road was not called Mauldin Road. Before Mauldin existed, before even Butler Crossing existed, Mauldin road was Parkins Mill road. It led from Augusta road (The main trading road) to Parkins' old Mill, currently the site of the sewage treatment plant, which was built after the city of Conestee (Just down the Reedy River past Lake Conestee) sued Greenville for dumping raw sewage and industrial waste into the Reedy in a case that went to the state supreme court twice. 

    The Reedy became the most polluted river in the state and it is still advised not to swim in the water because it is supposedly too contaminated with E. Coli bacteria from human and animal waste. Some sources also advise that you don't fish in the River. At one point the Reedy had a nickname. It was called the Rainbow Reedy, because dyes from the textile mills changed it different colors. 

    Furman University was still located in Greenville during the city war and in fact it is said that James Clement Furman was instrumental in convincing Greenville to vote for succession, as it was traditionally a unionist stronghold. The University was located off of University Ridge Road where the old County square offices await demolition in preparation for a new commercial development that I believe will feature a rooftop cinema. Before it was county offices and after Furman left it had been an indoor mall. 

    Furman was closed during the civil war, as young men were expected to serve and many did, though Greenville was relatively untouched by the civil war and became a refuge for deserters and draft dodgers, especially in the North. The Baptist Female College (Furman's women's college) remained open at the corner of Academy and College streets. 

    Many of the families that the roads are named after (Earle, Caper, Elford, Perry, Jones) were involved in this time period of Greenville history and fought in the Civil War. I'm still tracking down family histories and I need to visit the library. 

    The city is coming alive to me in new ways as I learn more and map out the development. I'll have to compile some of what I find. I've yet to find one online source of Greenville Civil War history. It wasn't particularly eventful so many sources gloss over it. There was, however, an ambulance factory (the former Carriage factory whose building still stands by the Reedy downtown) and an ammunition factory.

    I want to have something to leave behind. After the dust has settled and the talk has died, I want there to be something left... something real. I want people to be able to read and feel connected to the story. I want them to feel like they are part of it. I want to connect with people through the words the way great writers do. Hopefully I can do that. 

    I don't like leaving the house. I worry about social pressures. I worry about intentions. I used to blend in somehow. That's become harder. 

    I want people to really know me. If I use the right words, then they can. I have to find the right words. I don't want to force my words or presence on anyone. But I want people to really know me. Words are elusive. And if I don't find the words, the narratives will be built anyways, and I'll be shut out. I took for granted that I would find the words. That people would know me. But if I don't find the words, what will they say about me? Judging from experience, nothing good.

    I have to find the words. Before it's too late. I really don't know if I'll find them all. I want to be able to give the world something meaningful. Something of true value. 

    What worries me is that I may fail to bring the characters to life. Social interaction hasn't been so easy in recent years. Not that I was ever a social butterfly. Will I be able to write lifelike people if I don't grasp all the social complexities? I need to be cautious. I don't have the energy to keep running into walls.

    I've gotten a touch distracted. I need to take great care. My desire is to finish some fiction. Something that people can enjoy. I'm still building up a well of projects. I'm generating ideas. I cannot afford to let myself neglect this. 

Research on Civil War Society

     I'm continuing to research the events and culture of the civil war era, the politics and the people. It's very interesting. I'll have to make some field trips. I'm trying to define the scope of the book. It was a large war, and I don't intend for it to be comprehensive on the war itself. I'd like to cover a number of key events, however. I definitely plan to mention Bull Run, the aftermath of Gettysburg, and the burnings of Columbia and Chambersburg. 

I've moved from researching the bloody fourth to refreshing my general civil war knowledge and finally to knowledge specific to Greenville circa 1861. This morning I did a rough outline of the first few chapters and begin writing chapter one, in which the protagonist has arrived in Greenville to find and assist his father, who had traveled with the rest of the family down to sell some goods, leaving his son behind to manage the estate.

The Palmetto Riflemen

    I've definitively identified 3 of 4 Earles that were supposedly part of the Palmetto Rifleman (B Company) of the 4th Volunteers: Captain Alexander Campbell Earle of Greenville, Lieutenant Charles Eugene Earle of Greenville, and George Washington Earle of Anderson. The First two were brothers and the third was a first cousin. A.C. went on to lead the Earle Cavalry after the 4th dissolved and moved to Alabama after the war. Charles Eugene committed suicide the day after commanding company B in the unexpected absence of its captain during the first battle of Bull Run. G.W. survived the war and returned to Anderson. 

    The fourth Earle, Joe, is a bit mysterious. There is a Joseph Earle, cousin of A.C. and Charles Eugene and also from Greenville, but he joined the Charles Artillery Battery, not the 4th Volunteers. He survived the war and died as a sitting U.S. Senator. I've decided to write a fictional character to take his place. I'm going to place him as the son of an abolitionist who is caught in the South at the beginning of the war and poses as Joseph Earle when joining the 4th. This will give me a chance to write a bit of an outsider's perspective of the Palmetto Rifleman and A.C. Earle's Cavalry. 

I've compiled the major events of the 4th volunteers and Alexander C. Earle's Cavalry and I'm beginning to put down some prose for the beginning of the story. I'm also working on filling out a works in progress page to track my completion of the different stories I'm writing.

So far, it's...

Tales of the Attick

All the Colors of the Rainbow

The Watcher

Induced Psychosis

The Messenger

Greater America

The Bloody Fourth

     I've decided to write the story of the Bloody Fourth, also known as the 4th South Carolina Volunteers, a regiment of upstate soldiers who held the line at the 1st Battle of Bull Run, a.k.a. the 1st Battle of Manassas. I found a book of letters that's giving me some background. The unit was formed in Anderson, SC with men from Anderson, Greenville, Oconeee, and Pickens. The unit saw heavy fighting at Bull Run and did not survive the war, but was broken up into other units, one of which, Earle's Company of cavalry, eventually was disbanded in Greenville, though not before being charged with desertion.

Research

    I've decided to engage in some research to enhance my writing projects. I've been bringing some new ideas down the pipeline. I still am working on some more Tales of the Attick, All the Colors of the Rainbow, and The Watcher, but I have a new idea for a political satire, a coming of age piece, and an alternative history piece. I'm going to review some civil war history, early 20th century, and a few classics such as Romeo and Juliet, Gone with the Wind, 1984, Cyrano De Bergerac.

    I'm working on adjusting Accountec to focus on managing my 1099 delivery income and hopefully my writing income. I don't see it being possible to do taxes and bookkeeping as a business given my particular disabilities, but I think doing deliveries is more manageable. As soon as I get my new glasses I'll be able to start delivering. The medicine the doctor gave me helps with my focus and driving anxiety.

    I'm working on some new writing projects. I hope of my various ideas to have something new to post soon. I'm trying to minimize distractions.

Metamorphosis

    I think this is my opportunity. I've been somewhere between The Metamorphosis and The Invisible Man. Maybe I can come out new. Maybe this is my chance to reinvent myself and wipe the slate clean. Everyone thinking they got me figured out, maybe I can disrupt the game. I've been changing the players. But I need to change the story too. It's not enough to clear away the Bipolar and all the rules that it came with. I need to reinvent. I really do need to start over, but without moving. Maybe I can find a way to do that. I'm tired of maintaining this persona. It makes no sense. Full of contradictions. The world is moving. If I can't catch up, maybe I can change the rules. Maybe there's a better way to write this story. I do have a name. I have to decide what that name stands for. My words and actions will make the difference.

Opportunity knocks

    In a way this dystonia thing provides me with an expected opportunity: To put to rest the bipolar BS. I had no choice but to stop aripiprazole. The involuntary muscle movements were painful, and were waking me up from sleep. So I had to stop the medication. This means I am on no Bipolar medication: No mood stabilizers, no antipsychotics, plenty of antidepressants, and a stimulant. So I should definitely become manic if I am truly bipolar. So far I see no signs. Keep in mind the original diagnosis was made after a reaction to a medication and a lot of indoctrination. Either I'll go stark raving mad or I'll finally be free. It will be a relief to know the truth regardless of how it turns out. 

I'm spending some time in meditation today, continuing to strive for that inner peace. I'm also filling my well of writing ideas and continuing to experiment with different writing projects. 

 

Arachnids marching 3 by 3 huzzah! Huzzah!

Finding Peace in the Chaos

    I can understand why some people are frustrated. We see the present through the lens of our understanding of the past. For a lot of the Bipolar education and treatment, it was only me and a doctor. They don't know the extent to which I was misled and miseducated. All they know is their experience: It's been chaotic, with a lot of meds and theory. It would be much easier if it was all just made up, rather than a misinterpretation. It takes a lot of energy and time to entertain misconceptions. I don't have that energy and time. It's a waste of energy and time. That's why I focus on basic symptoms that everyone can agree on: things like dystonia. I'm focusing on my strengths: written words. I'm focusing on basics: proper nutrition and managing my finances. We have limited time on this earth; I hope to create something with my words. Something people can enjoy... stories and poems. 

    I have to have some truth in my life, even if everyone else is in love with a myth. The healthcare situation got out of hand. There's more to me then labels and medications. There's more to me then how dust free my home is. I can be funny. I can be fun to be around. But I don't have the energy to debate my psychology. I don't see why some people so fixated on certain aspects of my personality. Then they wonder why I need space. Instead of answering the same questions, arguing about the same details until I'm blue in the face. There's more to life. I need to find it. Alone, if necessary. But hopefully not.

    Hopefully my life will have people in it that I don't need to argue with or talk in circles or treat conversations like interrogations. I don't know. There are some people I have spoken to in a long time, and I don't know BS the next conversation might bring. But somehow, I need to find a way to communicate better with people. To get them to understand that there are some things that I don't have the energy for. I'm exhausted of playing games with people. I'm tired of implied accusations, guilting, shaming, and all the rest. I'm tired of being manipulated. Tired of being treated as less than, whether intentionally or unintentionally. Tired of loaded questions and statements. Tired of the whole judge and jury bit. There's got to be something real beyond all of the BS. I need something real. And that's what counseling is about for me: finding what is real and truth after so much time arguing and playing along. I'm way too old to be living my life that way. I'm not actually 10-25 years old. 

    Maybe, just maybe, if people want to be in my life they might eventually catch on. Because I'm running out of ways to explain what I feel should be obvious by now. I can't play along anymore. I need something real. I regurgitate old arguments, accusations, judgments and resentments anymore. I've wasted way too much time. Life is too short. I don't have the energy. This person is permanently closed for unsolicited advice. This is me. Take it or leave it. Whichever you choose, but there is no third option. I don't enjoy the frustration or chaos any more than anyone else. So, for God's sake, don't come into my life to fix me. You won't succeed. 

Reasons Why I Don't Fit FDIA

    Ok, so I had some clarification explained to me. Even though I'm confident I don't have Bipolar, I do have something else... several somethings... autism, ADHD, and cPTSD/DID. Which means I don't have FDIA, I was just a little miseducated on what I do have. It was still harmful to be misdiagnosed and miseducated on my health. I do think that having more control over my healthcare and more education on my actual problems has been helpful. Maybe my life will seem a little less like a game of "Clue" now that I've cleared up some of that. 

    I haven't been fighting just for the sake of being disagreeable, I've been fighting for clarity. This time I have taken to be alone and to seek counseling has helped me find that clarity. But these crusades by certain people in my life to push narratives on Bipolar and drugs have been distracting, to say the least. I hope I have seen the end of the crusades. I'm tired of fighting. It's a relief just to breathe and enjoy proper healthcare.

 

Gary, hold still this will only take a minute.

 

Fly me here! Fly me there!

    One of the weirder things about the hospital was the way some people kept implying that I had some sort of secret master plan. It was very bizarre. I think people want to believe that everything happens for a reason so badly that they cannot see the randomness as it happens. They want to believe there is some bigger plan, that everything is moving with purpose. They cannot see the chaos and the randomness of life. It's too disturbing. They want to believe there are secret plans and secret going ons, when more often it's just a lot of people doing their own individual and often short-term things. 

Dystonia Strikes Again

Side effects can be frustrating. Now I had to stop a medication because of dystonia. I couldn't sleep because of muscle spasms. The hospital people said just go to the ER if you need to. I think I'll be ok. But I'll keep that in mind.

Tired

    Doc changed things a little the other day. I think the change is helping. 

    It's hard to keep faith in today's world. There's a lot of hatred out there. I try to stay focused on being kind. That's not always easy to do. Agendas run around, there's always someone recruiting for some kind of crusade. I want to write some stories to entertain and hopefully make people laugh. I think the world could use some clean, healthy laughter. It's a beautiful thing. It helps bring people together, helps them relax. Life gets confusing which people running in different directions, looking for someone to pull along for the ride. I hope to write some more funny stories. I love to make people laugh with some clean humor. 

    I worry about the agendas. Always someone trying to sign me up for something. If they're not signing me up for something they're pigeonholing me and telling me what I believe in a kind of, if you're not with us, you're against us thing. As if we're all on teams fighting against each other. That's how I got into the whole 'sides' thing. Then they were calling me paranoid. Maybe I just don't want to sign up for the latest crusade. I don't understand the running around. All this activity, so frenzied, as if a PTA drive is life or death. 

    Give me a reason to fight and I'll fight, but mostly I see a lot of chaos of different people with their pet causes going on the warpath. Ready to run me over because I don't agree that XYZ cause is the end all and be all. So much division, and people just chomping at the bit for more and more of it. 

    That's why I'm saying, count me out. I'm not going to fight people just to make a point. I'm not going to run around just to make a show. So eager to sign me up for a half dozen different things just to keep me running around, consequences be whatever, so long as there's action, never mind the end result.

    I don't know if I'm the only one who finds the chaos of modern life disorienting. I yearn for the clarity of a pure cause. One that is not tainted by special interests or pet projects. I don't know if I would call it corruption, but there's always undercurrents, unspoken goals, vague nuance, read-between-the-lines activity. 

    Growing up, everything seemed so much simpler, purer, cleaner. Now life is one big ugly mess in motion, dressed up to look like something else. I'm always looking for hidden motives, not because I'm paranoid, but because people literally don't mean what they say and I'm not quite as naïve as I used to be. It's impossible to have a conversation without getting hooked into something. Where are all the clean, respectable role models? Where are the good people? All I'm seeing are the every-man-for-himself types and the hypocrites, the jackals and the con artists. I wish I could say different, I really do. It makes me sad inside. 

    I need to keep my peace. The next crusade is just around the corner. I don't want to get swept up this time. I don't want to be played. I don't want to be a pawn in some man's game. I want to mind my own business. Everyone else is out getting theirs. I need to have something for myself. I never wanted to see it that way. I wanted to believe. That ain't worked out so well. I need to keep my peace. This world can run people over in a heartbeat. Best not attract attention. I hate to say it. I really do. But I don't know how to please people these days. I feel tired inside. I feel weary in my soul. 

    It took me a while to see. I was delusional. But I see now. And it makes me sad inside. This world can run you over. You might never see it coming. I'm broke. I'm tired. And I'm getting old. I'm pretty sure most everyone has already decided whose fault that is. And I can't change their minds. 

    It's always, what the hell is wrong? Why can't you? And I'm just tired of arguing. Can't teach the blind to see what they don't want to see. They're too busy signing me up for the next crusade. They've got me all figured, I'm just tired of playing along. 

    There have been a few people that have truly seen me. Not just pretending to, not seeing what they want to see, but seeing the real me. I think in recent months I could count those on one hand: 2 friends, 1 counselor, 1 nurse, and one lady I ran into at an appointment. Five people. In a metro area of over a million. 

    Honestly, I don't even get the feeling that the doc understands. He gets close to understanding, close enough to do the job. He tries. He gets close. I know he wants to understand. But I feel like we're different. He understands all those medical people that I don't get. He's able to fit into the frenzy. I'm the part that keeps bumping up against all the other parts until the whole process jams. I'm the voice that never quite knows what to say in the moment, and then the moment passes by. I'm the one that comes to in the middle of a conversation realizing that I haven't the slightest clue what people are talking about or worse, I simply do not care. 

    I came into this trying to resolve issues and I'm coming out with a fist of pills and no answers, just detours and revisions. They gave me the option to whittle down my list of labels. But honestly, I could only eliminate two: drug addict and bipolar. I'd like to eliminate more but that seems factually inaccurate to attempt. 

    I even tried to donate blood. It was going to be two birds with one stone: 1. I would help people 2. I would make a little money. Nope. They wouldn't take me. Spent all that time. A couple hours. Told them from the very get go I had a VNS implant. They wasted all my time only to turn me around and say, we don't take people with VNS implants. Well, why the hell did you waste all my time? I told you from the get-go. Felt like such an idiot walking out of there. I told them the minute I walked in. Makes no sense. 

    I'm tired of talking to people with closed ears. Now, it's like message in a bottle. Not going to waste my voice. VNS already gives me a sore throat; I'm not going to waste my voice. It's just pointless. 

    I do enjoy some things. I enjoy my peace. It's nice at home, no one to please or entertain or deter. Just me and the cat. This world is so weird. It can't all be me. 

    I really like the Walmart+, but not what you think. It's not the saving a trip to the store. The store is just 5 minutes away. That doesn't bother me. No, I love being able to pick exactly what I need and the software saves what I pick so instead of going around all the distractions and trying to make sure I get everything I need and just what I need and almost always getting something I don't need or forgetting something, I always get exactly what I need. Yeah, they goofed up a couple times. Couple times they left things out. Then sometimes I have to substitute so I get a different brand. A couple times they gave me stuff I didn't order for free. But I've gotten it down to a system and I always get what I need. That is priceless. Not having to worry about traffic is an added bonus. I can't afford an accident. 

    I need an editor to help me with some quality control and what not but unfortunately, I've been too far past the point of caring. It's true what they say though: it can always get worse. I just hope it gets better. Tired of the medical and people trying to fix me. I'm honestly not sure exactly how the VNS helps me but I don't need any more setbacks. I'm leaving the thing alone. 

Recovery

    I'm still working on reducing expenses and finding a job. I'm going to have to write off the business startup expenses as a loss. Managing my health takes too much of my time to run a real business. I'm going to try some food delivery if I can manage my driving anxiety. Ever since the doctor quit and I had that accident, I don't like driving so much. If it's a familiar area and traffic isn't bad I'm ok. Plus I need new glasses before I drive a lot. Unless I use the contacts, but I can't use those much. Hopefully soon, I'll have a new job. 

    Between the anxiety and the lack of income, it's not been great. Of course, the THC products were great for anxiety, but the hospital doesn't see it that way. So they prescribed something. As soon as I can fill it... should be easier. I guess they feel better when they have total control. It's been hard to get the meds filled on time though. The insurance puts up road blocks or I run out of refills or the pharmacy is out. I just hope I get a job soon. I need some income and I don't feel great about driving a lot. I can't afford an accident and I'm not as sharp as I used to be. 

    I'm told some things are permanent. I've felt rather helpless in recent years. It's frightening when you can't keep up. Used to be I was a little behind the pack. Now it's not even close. I'm in my forties and in the same career/financial position as someone in their 20s. It's really sad. You can only pretend so much until the truth becomes obvious. Down right depressing. I've pushed the limits of the medication so hard that the doctors threaten to quit. It's just ridiculous. 

    So now I'm focusing on minimizing my expenses. I'm trying to cut them to the absolute bone. I still have some progress to make on that. It's the only way to make sure that I don't become homeless. I just didn't realize it was this bad. I thought I could still catch up. They're telling me that's not realistic. 

Acceptance

We've been working on acceptance. Accepting that others won't always understand. Accepting the mental illness thing. Accepting the limits of the meds, accepting that my life won't be that normal 9-5 life. Accepting that I don't have as much real support as I would like.  Accepting financial uncertainty. The closer I get to acceptance, the more I can grasp what I can have. But if I veer into that lack of acceptance, if I push too hard, then I'll become unstable. Thats the danger zone. But I'm still trying to understand what I can maintain. Life seems so touch and go sometimes. But there are no magical answers. My experience in march reinforced that point.

Tight leash

It seems the doctors are keeping me on a tight leash. Granted, I'm on several meds, but I'm having trouble getting them on time.

 Today, I'm working on The Watcher and Tales of the Attick more. 

Nerbus

Spidey gets a liddle nerbus... all di humans tryin to step on me...

 

Spidey gedding oudda hear!

Today is piano music day. I've been playing around with my guitar a little. Trying to find that peace until the new job comes through.

Anxiety

    You try not to think about it. You tell yourself that everyone goes through these things. But then you worry. What if something happens, you say to yourself? Can I predict the future? What if I don't get that job or that promotion? What if I say the wrong thing? Do I have the money to make it go away? And what about the next time? And the time after that? What will it be then? Will I have the ace up my sleeve? What will I do when I can't make it go away? Where will I run? Will tomorrow be the day my luck runs out? Will I get hit by a bus, get robbed? Will the kidnapper that abducted and killed someone from just down the street pick me next time? I drive by that place almost every time I go out. Granted, I didn't know those people, but what if I had been there when he came in with a gun? what would I have done? They're both dead now. 

 

Nonono, you can deduct the stolen acorns as a casualty loss, not a business loss.

    I am closing the tax and bookkeeping business permanently for health reasons. I look forward to working again soon.

    I think there is a fundamental misunderstanding of autism in the community. There is a gap of understanding that creates unrealistic expectations. It leaves me chasing shadows. So long as that gap exists, I will always fall short. It is a self-fulfilling prophecy: to believe in the impossible so that you can fail. 

    Why is it impossible? Autistic social behavior is different. It leads to miscommunication and in a field like tax, communication is important. Hypothetically, if I could simply do the taxes and have someone else do all the communicating, including the nonverbal communication, then it could work. If I could be a puppet master, and have a puppet interact with bosses and clients, then yes, I could do taxes.

    Unfortunately that's not how the world works. I'm tired of trying to explain the obvious to people with closed ears. It's like screaming at a wall. There's no medication for this. There's no machine. There's simply reality, and the reality is that the business world is not autistic friendly. I really just don't understand this world sometimes. There's a reason I don't get hired at jobs. There's a reason I'm disabled. You can close your ears and scream lalala all day long but it does not in fact convert me into a non-autistic. 

    So long as the world engages in magical thinking about what I am and am not, I will always fail. I will always fall short. It is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I cannot keep chasing shadows. I'm trying to find a job that will hire an autistic, because I cannot run a tax and bookkeeping business as an autistic. I would need people to interface between me and the clients and that's not realistic. It's like having a translator follow me around. I can't even manage to get people that know full well what autism is to understand and I'm tired of explaining. It's wishful thinking but they're addicted to it and together we drive the doctors crazy trying to achieve the impossible. Somebody has to have the sense to say "stop". Otherwise, it's eternally a square peg through a round hole. That's not paranoia that's just common sense.

Losing Ground

    Spidey tought dat di bat would lose intewest qwuickly. Apter all, it was a small house, a bunch ob mispits, and not anudder bat nor castle nor cabe. 

    “I thought it vould look better from the rafters.” A voice echoed from above.

    Dat bat. Can’t appweciate a good cobweb. He was looking more awake and he would get this funny look in his eye when he got hungry.

    “You know… a few careful torches could really vamp up the place. I was known for my style back in zee Western Wood.” He paused as if for questions. When none came, he continued anyways. “It was quite a majestic place. Uncle Boromir used to be quite fond of telling us stories, so much so that we began to call him Uncle Bor. He never quite figured out vhy. So one day, when he was putting us to sleep with his tales of the crypt - he used to put himself to sleep all the time, let me tell you- we snuck out inbetween bouts of consciousness, and we flew into the Cerbal bats as they were on their way out of town to take vacation when one of them challenged me. He said, ‘Vlad, you old good for nothing! I bet you’d never have the guts to leave the country and explore more of the world.’ Vell, It didn’t occur to me that he was merely trying to get me away from his cousin Trina until I was on a boat with a bunch of cars and video machines and leaving harbor with my coffin and trunk.”

    There was a flapping of wings and suddenly Vlad was by the window, peering out down upon the backyard. He rarely stood still, shifting his weight and dancing around until something caught his eye. They were sharp eyes, and he peered imperiously at the yard and the woods beyond.

    Spidey turned to his webbing, absently spinning a thread while he waited for the next shoe to fall. He was werking on his greatest creation yet: a cobweb of the little homeless girl named Mona from the alley down the street who suffered from a most tasty looking collection of fleas. He had decided to call his work the Mona Fleasa. He was already lining up a dealer in his imagination. 

    “I don’t suppose it has a basement?” The bat was craning his head around the window sill.

    “Of course there’s a basement, the family that lived here put all their extra stuff in it before leaving Spidey di place. It gets nice and moist because the water table isn’t far below the bedrock… hey, wait a minute… don’t you hab some sort ob cabe to fly back to?!?!”

    It was too late. He had already flown out the window, on his way to measure the basement for a coffin.

Doing More with Less

    They say life has seasons. I think that is very true for someone like me. I think I'm moving into a new season, putting the past behind. This season I am focusing on fixing my financial situation by reducing consumption.

    I'm not the one who is the smiling gladhander. I don't have the personality or the talent for it. I will never be Mr. Popular. I do believe we have destinies of sorts. Mine lies in written expression. 

    I'm continuing to look for a day job while exploring my creative ideas. Hopefully, they will come to me in due time. I have hit the limits of the medication. It's time to be my natural self. 

I have a bad feeling about this place...

 

Chosen

Actions committed in the blindest of ignorance

Facts inconvenient, truth intermittent.

Protestations overwritten, narratives formed without contrition

As history becomes a lie.

Heroes are minted and pasts are erased,

As no one cries for the wrongs now replaced,

And as they rise up to claim their new jewels,

the Chosen eagerly climb onto the shoulders of fools...

Drama contrived and plots newly written,

With murderous emotions, the witnesses smitten

screaming for the heads of false demons from the past

And eager for a villain to sacrifice at last

Deaf to the voices of reason and caution

Charging forth to the point of exhaustion

Their mania for the blood of the token guilty

Will erase all the past and complete the new history

Confusion resolved with self-justifications

Hardened ears, deaf to exonerations

Determination and volume the measure of justice

Reinforcing the story lest the truth should resist.

Echoes of lies resound through the air

Till nothing remains of the truth that was there.

Still Looking...

    It seems part time work is not that easy to find. I'm going to try to broaden my search a bit. I'm moving from Accounting to retail more. 

Differences since Clozaril DC

I do feel different since discontinuing Clozaril. I feel more emotional. I feel less armored.

Some of my doctors will practically commit hara kiri if I suggest I don't have bipolar. Which is exactly what Prichards did. At least he had the sense to understand that trust had been broken. Some people don't like autism or believe in DID. Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do about that. What I can do is educate my doctors. For example, one ER psychiatrist said that Bipolar is "one of THE MOST OVERDIAGNOSED things in the book." Ive been in these hospitals and centers and I'm convinced the man is absolutely correct. There's plenty of bipolar labelees. It's just that the whole point of these labels is to help people. If the patterns fit, the meds help, the education helps, then great. If it doesn't, then its time to move on. All of the meds I'm on help other disorders. Mood Stabilizers NEVER worked. Not from day one. It's time to move on. 

Life is short.

I feel that what I grew up doing is not sustainable. I've been pushing the medication and the science too hard and now it's come full circle. I need to be deliberate, not repeat failed strategies. The medication helps, but I need to go slow, reduce expenses, not take on more and more. It's clear to me that pushing the limits of medicine has reached its limits. Reducing consumption and holding steady is going to have to be my goal. I don't want to be bitter or demanding. I want to appreciate the small things. 

I got all my meds approved and filled. I'm focusing a little better. The cat's doing well.

Person:

Do you know what your problem is????

Spidey:

 No, tell me ebbyting.

Yesterday's inquiries didn't go very far. No positions available. I'm still working on getting vyvanse approved.

Always look at the bright side ob your lice!

Prior authorizations

The insurance continues to drag its feet on vyvanse. I'm a little annoyed. It's a really good medication. It gives a very smooth effect as I recall. I hope they change thier minds. Otherwise, its concerta for me. Nevermind its generic and shouldn't cost that much. I was excited it went generic for exactly this reason.

Advantages of counseling

The advantages of counseling for someone with autism are numerous. They include some of the same advantages that anyone can gain, but particularly additional insight into social behavior, social problem-solving, personal insight, and improved communication. Some people don't believe in autism or counseling or whatever they choose not to believe in. Some people don't believe in evolution, some people don't believe in God, somewhere there may still be people who believe the earth is flat. Some people believe in ghosts; other people do not. I believe in patience and personal space. It's how I tolerate others. I give them space when we don't communicate well, and I have patience for when they are ready. I have to have patience for myself as well. That's something I've learned: I'm not always able to meet people where they are. Sometimes I need space.

The dietary changes continue to pay dividends with my blood pressure and my metabolic. I'm still applying to jobs, but I hope I get a decent part-time soon. I want to be productive and earn some money. It also helps keep my writing fresh.

Focus

This time spent alone has helped in some ways. I gained back a little weight, the digestive symptoms calmed down, and I feel more clarity from this time to think. It's making more sense. Screening my communications has been helpful as well. I feel less confusion with fewer voices. It's not that I don't like people, I just need the clarity of the quiet.

Continuing...

I'm still looking for part time work. I'm trying to minimize and carefully filter my social contact so my life can be less confusing and scam free. I think my health care providers would appreciate fewer people messing with me. It gives them less work to do. Like Artstick said, can't have too many cooks in the kitchen. The less chaos, the better.

Wrapping up my life of Crime

Hopefully, I'll be working again very soon. I'm tired of healthcare. Only now I'm due to see the dentist! *sigh*

Patience

    Life gets confusing sometimes, and I see the effect of a lot of bad communication. So, I'm trying to exercise patience and humility as I try to wrap up clearing up this healthcare situation and seek work. I'm trying to be very deliberate and selective in my communications so that I'm not misinterpreted. I knew communication was important, but it's absolutely amazing what miscommunication can do. Choosing words carefully is something I'm going to focus on. I'm going to present my best self, and hopefully that will lead to good things. Otherwise, I'm going to need a lot of metaphors. 

Laughter

    I'm trying to work on some more funny stories for people, because I do believe that laughter is great medicine. Life gets too serious sometimes, we need something to laugh about to break it all up and be able to breathe. I know that's true for me. I need to laugh a little. 

Interview

    I'm interviewing for a new job today. I hope it works out. 

 Some of the things that people hate about me are some of the things i like the most. I like to avoid large social gatherings with the formalities, fakeness, the schedules and the shows. I like the substance beneath it all. They said when in Rome do as the Romans do. But that phrase leaves out the obvious: Rome fell. Societies come and go. Tying your horse to a group of people is only worthwhile in that it serves a purpose. 

The Answer

I honestly would have liked clozaril to have been "the answer" for me. It might have saved me some heartache and grief. But experience and feedback tell me otherwise. Sometimes medicine isn't that simple. Sometimes a medication that appears to be a fit at one time does not in fact resolve problems at another point in time. I liked the idea of having a formula for my life. It was a beautiful idea. 

Serenity

    I dunno, I get the feeling that I'm a little bit short on serenity. I don't know if I strike people as being laid back, but I'm not. I get frustrated. I've felt so driven. I get the urge to rub pennies together as if they might start a chain reaction and multiply. 

    Very strange, the world. Very strange. My life is seriously not as exciting as most people seem to think. Like because my parents had a fancy house I have it made. I do not. Not even close. I have to ask questions too. Questions like, will I be able to pay for food? Will I have a home? Will i have a job? I have to ask questions like that. And thats not actually a new thing. God forbid social security does decide to cut disability, then I'm well and truly fucked. It's really funny unless it's your life. Unless you're the one wondering if you'll have a home. Unless you're the one wondering if you'll be able to eat. Then it stops being funny. It doesn't seem like the people who know me consider for 50 seconds how close I am to oblivion. I'm just one bad day away from a really bad situation. I don't have a safety net. No golden parachute here. No parachute period. Can't even get ads on my writing site.       They scam me for money. The guy thats broke. Makes a whole Lotta damn sense. We've got millionaires in this city but no they take my money when I can barely pay for food. Makes a whole lotta damn sense. 

    But no maybe I just worry too much. I'm sure thats it. I'm sure I have no problems. Carefree. Yep. No problems here. Million dollars under the floor. 3 secret mansions.  The IRS will never catch me. Ha. Ha. Ha. HA.

If March Taught Me Anything...

    I was wandering through the untethered confusion of the aftermath of 2022 as best I could (which, some would say, was not well at all), when I landed in that ER after the Spravato treatment. What a jolt that was. I have not felt safe since then, but I'm able to sleep now. This is part of how the contractor convinced me to buy the security system for the home that I live in. I had never felt the need for security before. It's always been one of the safest neighborhoods. Now I arm the security sometimes 24/7. Another bill to pay. My sense of certainty has diminished drastically. I doubt what I know. The doubt what I've done. It hasn't even been that eventful, I didn't think. I didn't think I was important enough to be noticed. I felt like it took a lot of nerve to go back to that ER. It did feel a bit surreal and mechanical. I learned a bit about power dynamics that month. I learned what happens when you attract the wrong attention. Maybe it was silly of me to think it would be any different. But I thought by being quiet and following the letter of the law I would be ok. I was wrong. I was very wrong. I'm looking for the faith inside myself. I'm not sure what the world wants. I'm trying to find out. I'm trying to communicate better. I'm trying to be realistic. I cannot over rely on medication. I cannot fight the system because I will lose in a heartbeat. I cannot possibly be that intelligent if I can lose at life so badly as to be in this situation at my age. 

Corners of the Mind

Closer the walls and harder the task
Alone again, I scream at the glass

Closing in, the mocking faces

Here I am, in the same old places...

Running faster than I can think

Making choices between every blink

Into the fear and righteous anger

I'm from one into another danger

Where do I go when the last castle falls?

Where do I go when the goaler calls?

Where did I come from that I came to here?

What do I do when I'm lost in my fear?

    I'm reminded of the old saying, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting different results. 

    For me, that means going back to the same people, the same career paths, the same medication, expecting different results. It doesn't matter which drugs I try; I've tried so many. It doesn't matter which way I word the same things to the same people; they're still going to act the same regardless, it doesn't matter how I repackage my accounting and technology services, that ship has sailed. 

    I can't keep jamming a square peg in a round hole. My auditory communication is not great. It never has been. And it's gotten worse with the VNS. Some people don't like to communicate in writing. That became an issue in 2020 especially. It still is. 

    That's why my counseling is so important. It really helps with communication and executive skills. The Psychiatrists have made up their minds about me. I'm never going to change that. The drugs won't change that. My poor auditory communication won't change that. 

    I do have to be realistic. I do have very real limitations. Thats why I need to be careful (in Psychiatrist speak "paranoid"). Because I could trust the wrong people, I could make bad decisions, I could go the wrong way. I've already gone so many steps down that road. I'm broke. I've been medicated out the wazoo. I've seen doctors all over the east coast. I have to slow this down. I need to be careful. Deliberate.

    Otherwise, it's one long train of disaster after disaster. I can't afford more mistakes. Theres that old saying about how in life we occasionally fall down and get back up, only that as we get older, we get up faster. Compare that to MIPs poem about falling in a hole on the same street, and eventually choosing to go down a different street. Ive gone down a few different streets... different jobs, homes, hospitals, doctors, but I keep falling into holes. I gotta make sure im not falling into the same holes again. Thats why I have to slow it down and think. I have to be a little paranoid now, so I don't fall into the wrong hole. Because I may not get back out the next time. I'm getting too old for this. I'm running out of time. 

Tiktok Scam

    Well, I guess I never learn. But these criminals think of everything. It starts with harassment. A bogus offer. Before you know it you're being threatened. At the end, you're out the money, stressed and humiliated. This is how social media scams work. 

    This one came from a tiktok account claiming to be associated with Stoll, Keenon, Ogden, PLLC. from Lexington, KY. Claiming to be an artist. The Scam was for $400. 

    Here's how it worked:

    She contacted me out of the blue claiming to be interested in a photo of mine. She was an artist, she said, and wanted to make a painting of the photo. All she needed was my permission to use the photo.    

    Yeah, right. A long and very intense back and forth later, she had repeated threatened to call the police on me for cashing the check and refusing to follow her increasingly bizarre and aggressive instructions to send money to other people. At the end i sent the full $400 and told her to leave me alone. She did not. I had to call 911 and talk to mauldin police, who instructed me to block all communications from her numbers and accounts. She still persisted, and then the check bounced, leaving me out $400 and a long of stress and harassment. I have followed with the FBI and am preparing to file a report with local police. 

    BEWARE OF ANYONE ON SOCIAL MEDIA MAKING OFFERS. DO NOT ACCEPT CHECKS FROM PEOPLE YOU DON'T KNOW, EVEN IF IT LOOKS LIKE A LEGIT CHECK. I was stupid to fall for it. But I was short on money and now I'm even shorter and I have to file a police report. Be careful of Stoll, Keenon, Ogden, PLLC. They are passing bad checks and threatening people with arrest. 

Sleepwalking

    I'm trying to slow this down. This is like sleepwalking from one decision to the next. The sleep itself has improved, even though I haven't gotten my sleep equipment. The isolation has helped my blood pressure and anxiety. I had too many people in my mind, trying to mess with things they didn't understand or had no business fooling with in the first place. The internist really seemed to hit the nail on the head with the shot and recommendations. I swear, everything that MIP manages to fuck up, the outpatient people help me clean up. Completely different meds and recommendations. 

    But my mental state has not been perfect. The meds have sedated away the restlessness. My focus and mental presence remain sketchy. I'm waiting on the insurance to approve the Vyvanse, but I doubt it will be a game changer. I need to make more measured decisions, more careful decisions. This has been a bit of a three-ring circus. 

    I've taken down the business website until I can make sure of my ability to deliver upon the promises. I can't afford any more screwups. I feel like the doctors are so eager to sweep under the rug the screwups with Prichards that they will find any distraction or diversion to change the conversation. I did idolize the man, but we went through so many drugs and combinations and dosages outside of guidelines that I'm not sure what that did to my mind. 

    I know the psychiatrists and doctors want to believe in their colleague the magic maker and all his skills, but it's dangerous to do so. It's dangerous to pretend as if these drugs don't have risks. I don't think it's safe to drug lightly. I don't think it's safe to use so many meds in combinations off label and outside of guidelines. I don't think it's safe to recommend THC and Spravato and then blame the patient for the results. We got here together. I have to mentally untangle it. I have to call attention to these dangers because I want people to be safe.

    I felt like going back to memorial and their psychiatrists was something I had to do. I felt that I could not predict how my mind would handle having no one to manage the medication. I had been on medication since the age of 10. It did not seem like a good idea to stop taking medication suddenly, and the internist was not prepared to take on the task, or so he said at the time. 

    But it leads me to question so many events and circumstances of my life. How exactly did I become a walking science experiment? How did I get to this point?

The Space Between

Canyons and valleys

I can't reach you out there

With all the space between

Maybe life is suffering

But I thought there was more.

I've seen it here and there

Those other things I mentioned

It never lasts too long

And then I'm back again. 

I have to go away

In order to come back

I have to find a way

To find all that I lack.

Come find me in-between 

I'll save a place for you

We'll write our own brave story

And finally make it true.

Age

    People tell me that I look younger than I actually am sometimes. Growing up, I was an idealist. I did have confidence, outwardly at least. I come to realize in this dispute of mine over diagnoses that, regardless of the details, medication can only do so much. It's been quite a distraction, trying to understand what exactly the different medications are doing and what they aren't doing. 

    When I got diagnosed with the DID thing, I thought it was a chance to reinvent myself, to improve my life, but it hasn't quite turned out that way. Instead, I find myself brushing up against barriers that I was either unaware of or was trying to ignore. Ironically, I passed the CPA exam but it expired a good long while ago. I'm feeling my age in moving slower, responding slower, not having the same endurance. I have to be realistic. I don't know who I thought I was. But it's become clear I've been expecting too much from medication. 

    I feel like I've overestimated myself and seen life unrealistically. It's hard to unhear and unsee, it's hard to unknow. I think I need to reach into myself and find that inner solace to quiet my thoughts and simplify my life. My mind is too curious. It wants to tap all the wells. I need to be careful. My cat may have nine lives, but I think I have fewer. I came back from two comas, maybe I shouldn't push my luck. 

    I like to see the younger people taking a turn. Maybe they can do more than I could. I'm still looking for some part time work. I think Accountec is going to have to focus on the teaching, which is what I originally wanted to do with my accounting. I'm not sure what that looks like at this point. Social systems simply aren't easy to navigate. They are everywhere. I find writing much easier then actually talking. Strange how that works. Of course, it doesn't help that this implant makes talking a bit more difficult than I anticipated. Just another example of me overestimating medicine. 

    Every time I think I know what to do, someone or something proves me wrong. I should have been a simpler person. 

Dear Readers,

    I truly lack the ability to fully grasp the how's and why's of the past 28 years. But as the days go by and I see the effects of it all, it leads me to doubt the future. I feel the need, for my own wellbeing and safety, to step back more. I'm not honestly sure at this point where my confidence came from. Was it youth? Was it the medications? I don't feel that confidence anymore. I don't feel as durable. 

    I've expressed parts of me that I had kept more hidden, here for the world to see. Honestly, I was worried I was running out of time. I was worried that something might happen. Instead, it's been more of a slow sinking feeling. Seeing the contrast between the world as I see it, my internal world, and the world out there has been jarring. I'm tired of arguing with doctors. As much as I'd like to be right about myself, I'm tired of arguing. I'd hate to be like the NYC shooter guy and be like, study my brain after I die and find out the truth, but seriously, is it worth arguing? I'm leaving it alone. 

    My focus has not been great. Unfortunately, I can't fake it till I make it on that. Whether it's ADHD or whatever, I'm not going to argue and I'm not going to push the bounds of modern medicine any further. I'm going to reduce my presence a bit. I'm closing the tax part. I'm going to try to focus on tutoring and writing. Or maybe just writing. I've got to find one thing, one thing I am really, really good at, mysterious health issues and all. I'm getting too old. I have to think about my remaining time. I have to think about what I can give consistently, other than words. My focus is not strong enough, my health not stable enough, my interpersonal skills not effective enough to practice tax. 

Ashes

How Aspergers Became Autism (And all the confusion in-between)

    I wanted to review again the progression of my mental health from the 1990s to 2025. It's pretty clear to me now that the truth is that Bipolar is not real for me. Misdiagnosis and medical goobledy-gook dressed up to cover up poorly misunderstood Autism that was in fact diagnosed (As Aspergers) in the 1990s and then continuously overlooked and misinterpreted. I think the interpretation that I am paranoid or my self-diagnosis of FDIA is rather a symptom of all the misinterpretation that has happened. This is why I insist on Autism being the primary diagnosis: It is the one diagnosis that unambiguously has shown up for decades and consistently caused me problems. It is the clearest description of my symptoms, and in combination with some ADHD, can clearly explain my struggle. 

    What really tipped the scales for me was finding out that the same medications often prescribed for Bipolar mania also treat Autism spectrum symptoms. They were treating the symptoms but calling it something else. I have to insist on that stopping because Bipolar is in fact much different from Autism. 

    I do not have manic episodes. I have autistic episodes with ADHD. I do not have alternating episodes of depression and mania, I have a lot of frustration from misinterpretation, and I have unipolar depression.

    I do have trust issues with people that INSIST on talking about Bipolar, as if that is my name. The Bullshit has followed me long enough. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of the miseducation. These experts can't even agree, they might as well listen to me and stop this bipolar bullshit. It's not that autism is better, it's just NOT THE SAME THING. AUTISM. TRAUMA FROM BIPOLAR MISDIAGNOSTIC BS. Some ADHD. LEARN SOMETHING. That is the malpractice and the insurance fraud right there: insisting on a DX and ignoring the correct DX despite all evidence to the contrary. 

    It may seem like a small thing. But it has followed me for decades. I just want the correct DX on the chart, next to the correct name and the correct treatment. That's all. It's not helpful to misdiagnose. 

Fake it till you make it!

    I feel that when I was growing up, fake it till you make it seemed like a winning strategy. It seemed accepted. These days, some of the cracks in that philosophy seem more obvious. I feel like I hear more people talking about the importance of being genuine. 

    Fake it till you make it is most associated with a salesman known as Glenn W. Turner and is different from the psychological concept known as "acting as if" in that acting as if means to emulate qualities that you don't actually have such as confidence, but fake it till you make it is a philosophy that encourages dishonesty in social interactions in order to project a certain lifestyle or talent that isn't actually there. Presenting yourself as a great investor while hiding losses would be an example of fake it until you make it. Presenting yourself as confident while being honest about your performance would be acting as if. 

    Fake it till you make it goes hand in hand with Ableism.  The idea that you can do whatever you want, regardless of your limitations, just by changing what you believe and how you present. Nuerodyvergence isn't actually real, its just a mindset, so the thinking goes. It's a magical idea... but life is not a fairy tale.

Trade-offs and Mental Health

    The question I come to in mental health these days is: what is realistic? Is it realistic to push the doctors and the medications so hard that my doctors quit and the meds cause ER visits? Is that realistic? I said this because I can't be the only frustrated one. I think that I've pushed the limits of psychiatry pretty well, from the feedback I've gotten. 

    So what is realistic? What is realistic with autism-adhd plus whatever you want to call whatever the rest of it might be? I'm trying to find out. Realistically, my job is to do what I am able, no less and no more, just like anyone else I suppose. 

    I feel I've attracted so much controversy that it blows my mind how much controversy there is. I almost want to get retested just so they can verify that yes, facts are facts. Autism is real. ADHD is real. The rest of it is... whatever the rest of it is. I'm not going to argue. 

    I'm just so tired of people being so curious about my life. It's really not that interesting. I think most people would consider me somewhat boring. I have a few personal possessions, but it's really not what people make it to be. It's not a life to be envious of, unless you're starving and homeless. 

    I'd like to be less interesting. I'm really not that important. This is me being humble, being honest. My life is not some mythical thing. It is a person trying to get by. I do not have some secret plan. I don't think the doctors do either. We're just dealing with what we've got. Maybe some unrealistic expectations of what medicine can do. 

    I'd like to reiterate: 1. No, I don't have money, please stop asking. I'm not a bank. 2. Yes, I do have autism, it's a real thing. 3. Refer all other questions to someone else. I have enough of my own. I'm rather certain the doctors are doing everything they can. I think making someone repeat themselves should be categorized as a misdemeanor. I'm trying to focus on being thankful. 

Dear Psychiatry

Dear Psychiatry,

    The 90s are over. It's time to move into the 21st century. To that end, I would like to summarize and reiterate a few key points. Autism is very real and affects about 2.8% of the population, including me. ADHD is very real, and affects about 11.8% of kids and 4.4% of adults, including me. HIPPA is very real and is important for keeping medical records valid and useful. Without reliable medical records, we cannot take good care of the population. It's important that patients are able to have trust in their providers. 

    I am guilty of relying strongly on medication. This is not the same thing as drug addiction. I have at times expected too much of medication. Medication can be very dangerous. I hope to take mine safely and privately. 

    I do not know what the future holds, but I need it to look different from the past. It is not my responsibility to educate the world on how medication can be safely used or misused. It is not my responsibility to educate the world on clozapine's shortcomings as a medication. It is not my responsibility to explain the limitations of the bipolar model. It is also not my responsibility to allow these things to haunt me. I need to give up my medical guilt. I do hope that autism becomes increasingly understood. I hope that new therapies and treatments for autism advance. 

    I hope that I find peace and a place to thrive. This medical drama has taken too much of my time. I look forward to some peace. I look forward to some prosperity. I look forward to less time working on my medical situation. I look forward to fewer arguments with doctors. 

Ashes

Self-Image and Times of Crisis

    I feel like times of crisis can severely challenge self-image. Me, before all this happened, I thought I was the same things my counselor thinks I am: funny, nerdy, smart, odd, creative, autistic. Now I'm not sure what I am. At the hospital they seemed to see a different person. And I was in a dissociative episode, so I'm told, so maybe I was acting like a different person. It's hard to see myself the same again. It was a very strange experience in which I was conscious, but in an altered state of mind in which my memory and my emotions worked differently. It was similar to that time I had the car accident, and I was in a state of shock. It was very much like that. 

    The weird thing is, now I'm not sure how to act. I don't feel the same. I'm in the same place. I'm doing some of the same things. But my state of mind is different. Even my writing seems different. I'm not sure what to do with that.

Side Effects of Spravato and Ketamine

    While I will never regret trying ketamine, these medications have certain side effects that can be quite scary. The biggest one that I've encountered is the one that landed in the hospital: sudden changes in heart rate and blood pressure. That will freak you right the hell out. I don't know if these medications can cause heart attacks or strokes, but you feel your heart going like a percussion set on steroids, you feel the surge of the pressure, you're going to be calling 911 like I did. If you have any sense, that is. 

    When I left the spravato center, they didn't check the vitals. I remember feeling off. I remember refusing to answer questions. And then I ended up in the hospital. These things can be dangerous. But at the same time, they have helped me so much. That's why I advocate for really well controlled access in controlled conditions to these medications. So that people can get relief in safe ways. I should have stayed at the center longer. I should not have left before they thoroughly checked me out. 

     I do hope that life is meant to be beautiful. For me, though it may not be apparent, it has been a struggle and at times very dark. I want it to be beautiful. I want it to have happiness. I want it to be gentle and kind. I do not want strife. So, I am working on smoothing some of my rougher edges and increasing my tolerance. I am doing this so that life can seem more beautiful, and less like a war. I do get angry when people assume they know me or what it is like to be me, as if it is easy, as if I don't know what it is like to stare into the face of an abyss. I do know. I don't wish to agonize over the depravity, hate and struggle in this world anymore then I have to. I hate arguing. I just want to be. 

    I'd like to thank all the little rodents. They're quite tasty with a bottle of A-. I'd also like to thank the nurses and the doctors, while reminding everyone that we're all human (or vampiric bat, or Spider, or, well, you know...) and we all have our strengths and weaknesses, good times and bad. 

    I'm taking some time to review the site, after a bit of a cooling off period, some better sleep, and improved sinuses. I'm trying to get it in shape for showing ads. I need to focus, so I've improved my boundaries around online harassment, scammers, and beggars, because God knows I'm not a rich person and I have my own problems. My property is now protected by Vivint Security, to further discourage disruptive behavior. I do not have the finances, the will, the desire, or the time to put up with BS. 

The Knowledge Tree

 

   Once upon a time, a sickly young boy was walking a field in the village of Green Vale and came upon a medicine man. The medicine man was busy tending a tree by the River of Reeds. The tree was storied and old and stood taller than the others. As the boy approached, the man paused his pruning and greeted this stranger.

    "Hello, young man, what troubles you?" 

    The boy explained that he was of the Furlat tribe and was said to be diseased of the mind. He acted different, he did not fit in. Did the medicine man know of anyone that could help?

    The man gave him a kindly smile, picked a leaf from the tree. "Eat this leaf of knowledge. It makes your mind strong again."

    The boy took the leaf and ate it and felt better. 

    "Now eat this acorn of medicine, it makes your body healthy."

    Over time, the medicine man taught him everything he knew about the knowledge tree. They passed the days together, tending it in isolation. They became so alike that they became known by the same name. Yet the sickness persisted, though he ate of the knowledge tree regularly.

    One day he saw some women tending a bush further down. The bush was queer looking and thick, with colorful leaves and strange berries. 

    What's that bush called, asked the boy, now a man.

    The medicine man was old by then and tired but looked upon his pupil with kind eyes. "That is the bush of common sense, and those are the women that tend it. The berries are potent and strange, like that of a weed. They change your mind and make you obstinate. That bush has torn apart families and good friends at times. Be careful of the bush, my friend, but if you feel that you need it, talk to the woman tending it, and she will tell the story."

    So the man went and he talked to the woman a great deal and ate of the leaves of the bush of common sense. He even tried the berries which gave him thoughts that he found unusual. 

    The other medicine men were quite incensed, and they called upon the village elders at the medicine center to have the boy locked up. 

    "This boy is out of control!" They said. "He has eaten of the bush and its berries and now he questions his former master! He must be addicted to the bush or fornicating with the women!"

     The man's former teacher had retired, have long tended the knowledge tree and seeking his rest. It was only the upstart who stood against the college of medicine men.

    So, they took the upstart and interned him at the medicine college. There they proceeded to berate him and instruct that he was now an addict and needed to learn his place. "They will not take you back!" the medicine men warned. "You are an addict and a criminal!"

    The man became very embittered, and when they released him he returned to the women tending the bush. They did not believe the lies of the medicine men, saw the truth in-between: That the man was doing as he always had done, learning and relying on the teachers and the garden to nourish him and make him strong. And the women took him back. 

    He continued to eat of the bush of common sense, as well as the old knowledge tree he had relied on. He only hoped that the medicine men saw the errors of their ways and overcame their ignorance and arrogance. But only time would answer that. 

Emotional Numbing

 Emotional Numbing

Trust Issues vs Paranoia

    Trust issues and paranoia are both forms of mistrust, but they differ in their origins and impact. Trust issues are often rooted in past experiences where trust was broken, leading to habitual behaviors of distrust. They can manifest in various relationships and may involve behaviors like constant checking or suspicion. Paranoia, on the other hand, is characterized by irrational suspicion and intense fear of betrayal, often without a clear origin story. It can feel heavier and more detached from reality, making it difficult to interpret neutral or uncertain situations as genuine threats. Understanding the difference between these two can help individuals seek the appropriate support or therapy.

Trust Issues

 'Trust Issues': Signs, Causes, and How to Overcome Distrust

The more I review the past the more I question what I know. I think it's important to be realistic in life. Autism isn't a death sentence, but does come with definite and rather permanent differences... Differences in communication, perception, and comprehension. I need to focus more. Accounting will never be what I wanted it to be. I don't have the mental integration and the capacity. I can't keep chasing shadows. I'm still good at writing. I can give the world my words. Because I believe the standardized testing results, even if others wish to deny those results. Someone with impaired recall, adhd, autism, and psychological problems is not destined to have a great deal of success in business. If I truly could choose to not have problems, then the world would indeed be simpler. But from what Im being told, that's not in the cards. I realize there is still some disagreement amongst the professionals, but only on the finer details.

Some people, they just don't get it, and never will. I need to focus on my writing. Leave the past behind. I can't wish it back. I cant pretend it back. I cant rewrite it back. I cant medicate it back.

    I've been thinking a lot. Again, when the hospital mentions jail and restraining orders, it seems like a good time to think. Life hasn't exactly gone smoothly, and it's a bit of a mindfuck at times. 

    The funny thing is, in college I was so boring. Barely ever had alcohol, my social circle was a church group. I wasn't the greatest student; I spent a lot of time working on my computer. Eventually I built a custom liquid cooled rig, after graduate school. I don't understand people so well. I was not captain of the cross-country team for very long in high school, it all started coming apart in junior year. I used to write fiction to cope, but I didn't share much of it. I wasn't very confident in my work. I blended into "the background" so often. It seemed like I was living that song every day almost. Seems like so many missed opportunities. I did not find my place. When you spend so much time alone, maybe it looks paranoid. 

    Counseling involves more direct communication. Makes things simpler. Less reading between the lines. I like technology, too. It makes sense to me and makes my life easier communication wise. I'm so much better at visual communication. Not everyone likes that. They don't understand my desire to communicate in writing. They sometimes seem to resent my use of texting/messaging and other written communication. But if anyone is ever going to know me other than my counselor, I have to communicate. So, I leave these words for people who want to know, like a message in a bottle. 

    For those for wish to know the God's honest truth of my life, here it is: I'm a nerdy guy with autism spectrum. I never found my place. Yet here I am. I'm still trying to find my way. I've been quiet. That was always my way. The world is not a predictable place. It's easy to get lost. I'm trying to understand where I am going, because it's not clear. To me, anyways. And the number of opinions can make your head spin.