Neuro-Earnest Confessions

Brutal, beautiful truths from brutal, beautiful brains about living in our brutal, beautiful world

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  • Unhinged Neurodiverse Life Hack – Hygiene Hellscape

    Unhinged Neurodiverse Life Hack – Hygiene Hellscape

    I’ve learned over the years that one of the first signs I’m entering a mental rough patch is when I begin to neglect my personal hygiene. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been good with the 10-step skincare routine, how much money I’ve spent on fancy creams and cosmetics from France and Korea, or what new scrubs I’ve ordered from the TikTok shop; one day inevitably comes where no matter how hard I try, I cannot muster the strength to lift myself out of bed in the morning (or off the couch in the evening) and suddenly weeks, even months of effort goes to the wayside. I could make a whole post about the impossibility of keeping habits in general, and I will, but for now let’s focus on the immediate problem at hand – a stinky body.

    I don’t enjoy being smelly or sticky. Part sensory issue, and part good manners with common sense, the last thing I want to feel is if my breath or skin is bathing the room in a toxic miasma. I don’t want to feel the grime under the fingertips, the oil in my hair, or the mysterious gunk slowly building in my gooch. Seeing as most of my jobs have been in customer service roles and/or healthcare, presenting oneself as clean and well-groomed is not only a must for making sales and closing deals, but also for following basic sanitary and disease-prevention protocols. However, I’ve learned a trick or two to make the ever-difficult process of maintaining appropriate hygiene a little more streamlined, if not completely easy. I hope people can benefit from these hacks just as much as I have.

    1. WIPES ARE YOUR FRIENDS
    I don’t normally endorse sanitary wet wipes. They’re expensive, they’re bulky, and they are the farthest thing from eco-friendly and biodegradable. In fact, I expect and support any plumbers or civic engineers reading this to send me personal hate mail, as I know the scourge ‘flushable’ wipes have wrought on our sewer systems. HOWEVER, when the brain isn’t braining, wipes are as close to a godsend as you can get regarding skincare and odour mitigation. They’re quick, easy to use, and just a few minutes of rubbing them around your pits and privates can make a world of difference. When the shower is too much, wipes are your friend.

    2. KEEP IT ALL IN THE SHOWER
    Speaking of showers and bathing, I’ve learned that I can make my hygiene routine 1000x times easier by keeping everything easily accessible in the shower. Baths are for more than just soap and water; a good shower can include brushing your teeth, shaving unwanted hairs, removing calluses from the foot and knuckles, cutting nails, etc. For this hack, I do recommend some type of stopper so your more physically-dense waste debris like hair and nails don’t clog the drain. But since I’ve switched to flossing my teeth during showers, my gums don’t bleed nearly as much. A helpful tip associated with this hack is to invest a solid shower mirror to maximize cleanliness accuracy on the body. Funny how life can be easier when you make things convenient for yourself.

    3. BRING SENSORY ENTERTAINMENT
    The drudgery of hygiene routines can be made less so with some appropriate ambience, so I highly recommend setting the scene for a audiovisual experience to complement your grooming. I love putting on my waterproof speaker and letting a nice podcast or video play in the background when I’m bathing, and a candle or some drops of essential oil can add a pleasant aroma to mask the filth of human existence and chemicals of necessary grooming products. Make a shower playlist, queue up some YouTube on your phone while it rests in a comfortable water-resistant pouch, and let yourself get distracted just a bit to make the experience tolerable, even pleasurable.

    As with all life hacks on this blog, use at your own discretion and modify as needed to best suit your lifestyle. Not everyone can handle extra stimuli in the bathroom, nor enjoys completing their grooming in the cold, wet chamber of tiles and porcelain. But if you’ve been struggling to keep yourself clean lately, maybe give one of the above a try, and see if there’s anything else you can do to make personal hygiene a little more bearable.

    Yours Earnestly,
    R

    For more unhinged neurodiverse life hacks, check out the following:
    Unhinged Neurodiverse Life Hack – Hyperfocus Management
    Unhinged Neurodiverse Life Hack – Circadian Rhythm Who?
    Unhinged Neurodiverse Life Hack – It’s Okay to Quit (Part 1 – Your Job)

  • Unhinged Neurodiverse Life Hack – Circadian Rhythm Who?

    Unhinged Neurodiverse Life Hack – Circadian Rhythm Who?

    One thing I have noticed for myself and others dealing with our neurodivergent minds is the issue of a steady and consistent sleep schedule. In an ideal world, we could follow the neurotypical advice of maintaining a sleep hygiene routine; no blue light electronics two hours before bedtime, drink some water, set an alarm, etc. But the reality is many of these well-intentioned bits of advice just simply do not work, at least not at the level we need them to support us.

    Instead, I have found more success listening intuitively to my body and following a need-based schedule as opposed to a time-based approach for getting adequate rest. Simply put, there are some days where I can thrive off of four to six hours of sleep, and other days where 12 hours or more is needed just to feel functional. It is not a perfect system by any stretch of the imagination, but I do my best to honor my body, sleeping and resting when I feel the urge, and pushing myself to be more productive when I feel I can. This has manifested some unexpected advantages for me at different points in life, while also providing creative new opportunities to address some more challenging aspects of daily life.

    Just this week, I completed my last full-time week of work at my current job before transitioning over to part-time hours while I wait for my new job to start. I also participated in a paid research study to make some extra money for the holiday season. My scheduled ended up working out in such a way where Tuesday and Wednesday, I had about 12 hours of continuous work between the two. Monday night into Tuesday, I ended up falling asleep around 10 pm/22:00, a typical time for myself, but caught myself waking up at 3 am/03:00, well before my alarm was set to go off. Yet I was energized, excited for the study, and a little nervous about getting my responsibilities for my full-time job completed. Instead of forcing myself to get some additional rest, I took advantage of the time, got myself ready, completed some chores like dirty dishes that I had been procrastinating, and went into my full-time job ahead of schedule to take my time completing work there before heading off to the study. Obviously, I had several factors of privilege/advantage at play here, but I listened to my body and pushed myself when I felt I could. Likewise, that night I ended up crashing out in bed around 8 pm/20:00 and waking up at 5 am/05:00 the next day, a more ‘reasonable’ length of sleep achieved while still providing sufficient energy to get through the following day. I’ve also had to accept it for the opposite extreme; many times I feel social pressure on weekends to stay up late and forcibly enjoy the added free time. Sometimes I love it, and I do believe in pushing myself outside of my comfort zone if I feel there is going to be some valuable lesson learned, or at least a chance to spend time with someone I care about when I’m normally unable to see them. But this past Saturday, I felt DRAINED. I helped host a holiday party the night before from 5 pm to midnight, and then woke up early on purpose to complete a day of last-minute gift shopping where I hit 10k steps over several hours. Needless to say, I crawled into bed at 7 pm/19:00, and did not wake up until 10 am/10:00 the next day, sans a midnight bathroom break.

    All this is to say, listen to your body and try to schedule your life in conjunction with your sleep needs, instead of against them. You don’t always have to follow the prescribed sleep norms to be a productive and happy person. A growing mound of evidence supports the notion that pre-industrialization, humans engaged in biphasic sleep where we would wake up in the middle of the night for several hours to socialize, procreate, tend the fire, finish chores, relieve ourselves, and otherwise have fun when daylight hours were otherwise occupied by more pressing labor and responsibilities of survival. Evidence also supports that many neurodiverse individuals experience some type of circadian rhythm disorder, such as delayed onset sleep disorder, advanced sleep phase disorder, non-24 hour sleep-wake disorder, and irregular sleep-wake disorder. This isn’t to say you should ignore any legitimate concerns you have regarding your sleep schedule; sleep is essential for human health and if you feel there is something else happening (such as sleep apnea, true insomnia, or exacerbations from other comorbidities), please seek medical attention from a licensed and trained physician (ideally one that specializes in sleep disorders). But, if you notice that when left to your own devices, your ideal sleep schedule is one that falls outside social norms but still gives you the energy to live happily and healthily, consider prioritizing your ideal sleep times over neurotypical expectations when possible.

    For more unhinged neurodiverse life hacks, check out the following:
    Unhinged Neurodiverse Life Hack – Hyperfocus Management
    Unhinged Neurodiverse Life Hack – Hygiene Hellscape
    Unhinged Neurodiverse Life Hack – It’s Okay to Quit (Part 1 – Your Job)

  • Would appreciate some community input

    Would appreciate some community input

    I’ve been toying with the idea of providing neurodiverse-friendly support services and want to gauge community interest if such a service is audience-viable at this point in time. As a speech-language pathologist, I have extensive training in executive functioning and social communication skills that many ADHD/Autistic/AuDHD and other individuals could benefit from, and part of my purpose for building this site is to help support the community in any way I feel I can. This does lead to some ethical dilemmas I would like to address, and hopefully garner feedback from others regarding how to move forward.

    First and foremost, while my job title is “speech and language therapist” I recognize completely that I am not a trained psychotherapist and that I should not/would not address mental health disorders. However, from my research so far, there appears to be a 50/50 split of opinion on coaching vs therapy; many people feel ‘coaching’ focuses on practical results and future-forward thinking compared to ‘therapy’ which continuously dredges past trauma and can feel aimless and repetitive at times; other people worry (and rightly so) that coaching is unregulated with any shmuck from the street being a coach and causing more harm than good, while therapists are trained, licensed, certified, accredited professionals with legal and ethical responsibilities to maintain patient safety. Additionally, questions regarding financial liability arise as most insurances do not cover coaching and have limited supports for official therapy. Finally, many feel that therapy can be time-consuming as it requires more intensive treatments over time to address the root of problematic behaviors, while coaching is supposedly designed to be effective over a much shorter course of sessions with specific goals to achieve in the end.

    I do not quite feel comfortable advertising myself a neurodiversity coach, and I most certainly do not claim to be a licensed mental health therapist. I also understand that money makes things complicated and can impact access for low-income/resource-poor individuals. At best, what I am envisioning is some combination of group-based and/or individualized talk sessions on a singular basis that focus on a specific theme or topic, like a seminar. It would be free of charge and entirely online, and could be synchronous or asynchronous as warranted, as I want people to be able to access it as needed. Nothing is concrete at this time, but I would love to manifest this passion project as a personal goal/resolution for the next new year. Like I said, I want to use my knowledge and expertise to support people in their life journeys while still abiding by legal and ethical guidelines. Maybe down the line this project could be retooled as needed to become a proper coaching service or business model, but for now I want it to be casual and accessible to anyone interested. If it becomes super popular, there will obviously be attendance limits as I still have my own life and responsibilities to attend, but anyway I can help others, I would love to do so 🙂

    Let me know your thoughts! Any and all feedback, honest and critical but with genuine constructive intent, is appreciated.

    For my personal reflections, click here
    For my unhinged neurodiverse life hacks, click here

  • My Neuro-Earnest Journey So Far…

    My Neuro-Earnest Journey So Far…

    TW/CW – mention of attempted su*cide

    I intend for this post to be a little different from the more poetic/prose writing I’ve posted since starting this blog a few days ago, so my apologies in advanced if this type of writing does not end up being your cup of preferred tea. I do plan on posting more creative writing based on my experiences, but I also want this space to be a venue for sharing lessons and engaging readers in dialogue and discussion about both mine and your travels on this road of life so far. That being said, I do feel the need to share at least some of the inspiration for starting this blog in the first place…

    I was always a ‘weird’ and ‘awkward’ child. I could not fathom how people made friends, and spent many a lonely day pacing the blacktop during recess by my lonesome self. Books, and later the internet, became my escape. Maladaptive daydreaming during class became my norm. I was smart, or at least smart enough, to breeze through most classes; math was always my sore subject, but enough luck, hard work, and sob stories to teachers who either cared too much about my mental health or not enough about following rigid grading guidelines per district policy meant I passed with just enough to keep moving up grades/years. I look back on my youth and I can say with blunt honesty that I do not miss childhood in the slightest. Early childhood is a blur; middle school was torture; high school was a notable improvement (I did make real friends for the first time and began building an identity around actual interests) but it was a shadow compared to myself now. Some days I mourn the past I did not have, and other days I give silent thanks I’ve moved beyond that time, but I never once wish to go back. University (or at least undergrad) was much of the same story; I did have real friends, made genuinely positive memories, and continued forging a personality into existence. Some days I do miss college, and there are times I would go back to relive a specific moment if I could. But on the whole, while an improvement from my secondary school years, my tertiary life is not something I typically wish to relive continuously; rather, I appreciate the time for what it was and hope never to go back.

    As I’ve grown older, I now realize that is NOT the case for many, dare I say most, people.

    Most people (in my experience) look back on their adolescence and young adulthood with a deranged fondness, trying to reclaim a lost glory when life supposedly peaked. But what do you do when you feel like your life wasn’t great at that time? When you can still remember the nights you wanted to end it all. When your brain would tell you on loop you were unloved and unfit for existence. When you could barely function to crawl out of bed and brush your teeth, let alone write a 20-page term paper with references cited, or put in five back-to-back 10 hour shifts at your local cafe or retail shop to scrounge for meager wages supporting rent and a booze addiction?

    If you are like me (and let’s be honest, if you’re reading this blog, you probably are) then the above might sound a bit familiar. Executive dysfunction for activities of daily living? Check. Inability to engage with peers in socially-appropriate settings outside of shared special interests? Check. Getting lost in a fantasy world of your own creation because the real world is too difficult and sensory overwhelming to confront? Yep, check. This blog is for all of you out there, the wasted potentials, the ‘pleasures to have in class’ that grew up to be disappointments, the barely-surviving. It took a full-scale mental breakdown and suicide attempt during grad school, psychiatric hospitalization, and almost getting kicked out of my masters program a year later that finally got the doctors to diagnose my neurodivergence and help me begin the process of understanding that I’m not (completely) broken, I’ve just been having to survive a world that wasn’t designed with me in mind. This doesn’t lessen the trauma, or rid the emotional baggage, or wave a magic wand to make everything all right. But it was the important first step to finally start healing and learning who I truly am and who I am meant to be.

    I want this to be a space where people who are struggling can find a reason to hold on. A place where people can feel seen. Where they can better understand themselves, whether they’re just beginning this journey, or have been traveling the neuro-road for years and need a pit stop. It took my life falling apart at age 25, a true quarter-life crisis by definition, to start the process of actually growing up and learning who I am; if there is even the slightest chance I can help someone do the same for themselves by giving them a safe space here, I feel obligated. Strangers in the psych ward made that first space for me, and I want to pay it forward.

    I’m not an expert by any means. I’m still young and new on this journey (I turn 30 in a few months). I still have a lot to learn about myself and the world. But I want to do it with you lovely people. And I do like to think I’ve made some progress in the few short years since my crisis; I’ve gotten married to a loving and wonderful, equally neurospicy and nerdy partner; I’ve succeeded in completing school and getting one career off the ground and functional; and I actually wake up most days happy and grateful for my life. It’s a miracle what some psychotherapy, prescription drugs, and healthy outlets can do for the mind and body. I’ve even recently started letting myself dream bigger and wilder than before, feeding ambitions for future life goals that once seemed like an impossibility.

    All this is to say, if I can do it, so can you.

    I truly believe with the right supports, anyone can accomplish their goals and life a happy, meaningful life of love and purpose. If this blog can be one of those supports, however small, then let it. And if there is anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to ask. It was the kindness of strangers that saved my life, and the kindness of strangers I want to provide others. So if you have a story from your life you want to share, please feel free to share it here. If you have ideas for posts, or a direction you’d like to see this blog take course, please let me know. And if you need some advice, or just an ear to listen, I’m here for you. Let’s build community, and let’s build something earnest in this brutal, beautiful world our brains have to navigate.

    Yours Earnestly,
    R

    For my personal reflections, click here
    For my unhinged neurodiverse life hacks, click here

  • Running

    Running

    I wake up and look at my phone: 5:24 AM. I feel my heart racing and I’m drenched in sweat, but I’m also freezing. I spring out of bed and lean against the wall to orient myself. “Am I sick?” I ask no one in particular. Usually my morning rumbling signals to my dog it’s time to start the day, but he lifts his head to look at me, turns to look at the darkness still emanating from the other side of the window, and nuzzles back into the sheets. Meanwhile, I feel an overwhelming need to run. I throw on a pair of sweatpants but keep my same t-shirt. I quietly make my way to the front door and open it, doing what I can to not alert my dog. He barks like crazy whenever we leave the apartment normally, but I luck out this time since he’s still too exhausted and in the middle of his REM stage of sleep. Do dogs have REM cycles? I don’t know and don’t care. I just need to run.

    The morning air is still warm, but not unbearably. The first rays of daybreak barely peek through the clouds, blending into the glow of the streetlights as the night sky turns from black to blue and a faint purple-orange hue gathers in the distance. I race and race until the pace of my breathing finally matches the beating of my heart. I don’t care about my asthma or the beads of sweat quickly gathering on my forehead and under my tits. I don’t care if anyone notices me. To the casual observer I’m just your average fat, short guy trying to get in shape with an early morning run. But this urge is primal and uncontrollable, like a manic demon has possessed me to run until my feet fall off and I drop dead. I wonder if this is how that woman from the fairy tale felt with the enchanted shoes before she danced to death.

    I end up bolting around the apartment complex maybe 5, 6 times before reality starts to sink back in. The sweat, once a cooling and lubricating thing, now chafes my inner thighs and soaks my shirt in a sticky, gripping pain. My heart rate drops but my lungs once again need to catch up, and the lack of air in my body hits me full force as I collapse onto the stoop leading up to the apartment building, wheezing for precious oxygen. Where I once felt invincible mere moments before, I now feel nothing but my complete and utter inadequacy at maintaining a respectable human form. Sensory overload from the clinging, drenched shirt and growing hypoxia cause me to fall against the front door of the building, not even enough energy to muster the last few steps to my apartment door.

    These moods hit from time to time; the inexplicable urge to run until I collapse, the need for some type of stimulation before suddenly becoming overwhelmed by the slightest catch of the breeze. It exhausts me, drains me, leaves me broken and tired before my day has even truly begun. I want to scream, curl in a ball, and fling myself off a cliff all at once. Yet all I can do is cry; I can’t tell if it is self-pity, or physical pain from my lungs on fire, but the tears stream down my cheeks and mix with the sweat dripping from my forehead to land in a salty splash at the tip of my lips. I suckle on the concoction until I’m disgusted enough by my own slobbery and incompetence to muster the energy for taking the last few steps inside and passing out half-naked on the couch.

    There has to be more to life than just this simple routine of mania and burnout.

    For more personal reflections, click here

  • Monday Morning

    Monday Morning

    The alarm blares for about 10 seconds before the sirens wail too much and I want to scream. My fingers desperately smack the end table, hoping to hit the ‘off’ button, but instead knock over the plastic Moulin Rouge! cup filled with Sprite and vodka, spilling the concoction of last night’s mistakes onto the carpet. “Shit!” I angrily whisper to myself while I try to crawl out of the tangled mess of sheets I’ve cocooned into during slumber. I feel my dog stirring as my frantic attempt to get out of bed signals him to prepare for breakfast and a potty break. There’s some empty grasping for my glasses, only for me to squint and notice their marked absence from the usual spot on the end table. “Where the…” I ask myself as I start spreading my hands and arms around the contorted mass of blankets in my futile attempt to start the morning. I feel my laptop, and hear it still running from last night’s YouTube binge of old Bridezillas clips and Drawfee shorts. “C’mon, where the hell…aha!”

    Somehow, my glasses ended up falling into the tiny crevice between the bed and the wall. I reach down but my wrist and hand are just fat enough that I can only graze the tip of the lens. After 30 seconds of struggle, I relent and drag myself out of the bed. Forgetting my earlier mishap, I step onto the fallen cup, breaking the plastic in half and landing my ungraceful balance into the soaking puddle on the carpet. “God damn it!” I yell out loud before clasping my hands over my mouth, remembering my roommate. Then I remember it’s Monday and she’s probably already left for work.

    I waddle off the soaked carpet and begin dragging the bed over, so I can flop back onto it and reach for my glasses. 30 seconds later and the glasses are successfully secured. Afterwards, a poor attempt at wiping them clean with the only dry part of my sweaty nightshirt leaves them smudgy but usable. I look over at the alarm clock and notice the time; 11:37 AM. “Alright, class starts at noon. Maybe I have some leftover coffee….” I hear a squelching sound and look over to see my dog licking the vodka carpet. “Rover, no!” but he ignores me. “Rover, outside!” He perks up and looks at me, knowing I’ve said the magic word. I start to walk and he bolts around me; I move out the way to be courteous and not trip over him, but lose my spatial focus and slam my shoulder into the doorframe. It’s Monday, and I want today to end already.

    For more personal reflections, click here

  • Leap of Faith

    Leap of Faith

    I’m not the most spiritual person in the world, but I do like to believe there is some intelligent design to the universe. That life isn’t entirely random, and there is something looking at us, guiding us, if not always looking out for us. On the flip side, I do believe we are the masters of our own destinies; with some luck, privilege, common sense and preparation, and maybe a wild wish or two, we can achieve what we set out to accomplish.


    I feel the call of the universe has been pulling me towards making a great choice. Life is full of choices, and I don’t always get it right at first. But I do think every choice I’ve made up until now has been the right one, for one reason or another. The smart choices were good in of themselves, and the mistakes were valuable lessons learned. The times I thought I ruined my life turned out to be the most beautiful, poignant opportunities to self-reflect and strive to do better. The times I felt confident in my decisions, were self-assuring in a way I needed in those instances. Like the tattoo meme says, ‘No Ragrets’


    I don’t regret a single choice that has made me who I am today, good or bad. Yet I cannot shake this crippling fear of ‘what if?’


    What if I fail? What happens then?


    Make no mistake, I recognize these are valid fears. But I also feel those first thoughts stirring in the deep recesses of my mind that one could mistake for a burgeoning wisdom: trust the process, prepare accordingly, and take the chance.


    It is one thing to go in blind while facing the unknown, but I need to trust that I’ve done my research. I have intelligence. I have resources. I have a plan. And if it all falls apart, I have a support system in place to catch me. I’m not doing this blind; I’m doing this calculated. I cannot let fear win, because fear is what keeps our dreams at bay. So I’m going to take this risk. I owe it to myself, because the one question that hurts more to ask than ‘why’ something succeeded or not, is ‘what if?’


    I’m done with ‘what if?’

    For more personal reflections, click here

  • Rat Race

    Rat Race

    I want my work to be meaningful. I want my work to valuable. I’m tired of working jobs that lead to burnout of the mind, body, and spirit.


    Jobs shouldn’t cost you your time at the expense of your life. They shouldn’t force you to choose between your shift and a funeral, wedding, or birthday. And they definitely should pay overtime for holidays.
    Jobs shouldn’t cost you your health. Not your physical health, nor your peace of mind. Jobs shouldn’t lead to physical or moral injury, where you have to decide between getting the work done at the cost of your conscience or spinal cord.


    Jobs should contribute. They should bring good impact to the world around them. We shouldn’t have jobs that consume resources from our precious planet; we should only have jobs where we make things and do things for all to benefit. There is no inherent value in stock brokers and venture capital. There is value in farming, nursing, crafting, cooking.


    Labor should be a positive task; something we respect, find value in doing. It doesn’t have to be riveting fun every moment, per se, but it should be like exercise or a hot shower; make us feel good for doing it afterwards.


    I’m tired of feeling torn. The jobs that have meaningful impact are given unreasonable demands and unsustainable pay. The jobs that pay well feel meaningless, a waste of time. And there are plenty of jobs that lack both value and support.


    I dream a world where everyone can create and do something meaningful. There can be joy in labor, when we feel respected as humans and know our efforts have beneficial impact while being fairly rewarded. Let us help each other find those jobs, or make them if they aren’t already there.


    Let’s end the rat race.

    For more personal reflections, click here

  • Mail

    Mail

    I stare at my notifications, the dread building a crescendo before I quickly open TikTok to distract myself, yet again.


    22 unread emails.


    My thoughts linger on the number for a moment longer than I’d wish, but not a moment too soon does my phone ring, the screen blaring an unknown number from Washington state. Gripped in melancholic fear, I let the Samsung Galaxy S12 in my hand vibrate until the caller on the other end gives up; 12 seconds later, the notice of a voicemail message reads across the top bar of my screen. Desperate for an escape, my gaze shifts away from the phone, only to instantly catch the giant mass of letters, statements, and adverts piling on the dining room table.


    22 unread emails. 8 unheard voicemails. 44 unread letters.


    I’m swamped with shame and guilt over my inaction. How could I ignore nearly three weeks worth of communiques? Logically, I know most is probably spam. Trash. Not even worth my emotional turmoil. And the ones that are…I really should listen and respond. The job interviews to be scheduled. The family and friends asking if I’m okay. The late payment notices on my bills. Yet here I am, frozen on my couch, drained from a long day at work, barely enough mental capacity and physical energy to muster the will of ordering dinner, let alone respond to growing signals of distress from the outside world. This has happened before; one day I’m perfectly fine, responding back and forth with anyone and everyone. But then there is a catalyst; a trigger. A rescinded job opportunity. A failed assignment grade. An angry mother. Last time, it was a quote for a car repair I knew I couldn’t afford. This time, attempting to reschedule a background clearances appointment I missed because I overslept. There is rhyme and reason to this rhythmic neglect of responsibilities, but no true logic. One thing, however small, bends or breaks; and then paralysis overtakes.


    I want to do the thing, but I just can’t.


    Sometimes, it is responding back to people. Other times, it is chores; laundry, dishes, scrubbing the toilet. It even happens with the fun things in life; how do I explain to my DnD group it wasn’t a broken computer but a broken brain that kept my cleric out of commission for three sessions in a row? The guilt, the shame, the sadness compounds; before long I am unable to even drag myself to the bedroom for proper sleep.
    Eventually something gives. Overdraft fees hit the bank account, my boss puts me on a PIP, my older sister shows up at my doorstep. A swift, metaphorical kick in the ass drags me out of it and suddenly I’m Mr. Productivity for a week straight, trying to repair the damage I’ve done. I wish I didn’t have to be like this.

    I wish I could just do the thing when I’m supposed to do it.


    I wish I could respond to all this mail right now.

    For more personal reflections, click here

  • Club Night

    Club Night

    I love and hate nightclubs. I despise them in theory; too many people crowded in a confined space, music so loud you can’t hear yourself think, more than half the people there are under the influence and stumbling like zombies, limbs are flailing, no seats available, overpriced drinks, dirty bathrooms…the list goes on.


    But in reality, nightlife is a religion; the club, a temple; and I a devout follower, faithful and true to my gods of creativity and hedonism.


    There is something numbingly calm about the alcohol and music overriding your mind, drowning the painful thoughts of chaos into a riveting blend of lyrics and beats; the one time where vocal stimming to the melodies of the DJ is not just tolerated, but encouraged. The dancing burns the endless nervous motor tick of energy driving us on hyperdrive during normal times, and the physical movement scratches the stim itch like no other. Not every club or night out hits the same dopamine rush, but when it has been awhile since going out, or you find the right kind of theme night like Anime or Emo, the experience is transformative. Unforgettable. Magical, even. Throngs of people dressed in cosplay, shaking and grinding ass to the combined soundtracks of Hot Topic and our iPod Nanos in middle school.


    Find your tribe and you will find the joy of a good night out.

    For more personal reflections, click here