27 (March 2025) pt. 1 in 27 / 27 / 27 / 27 / 27 / 27 / 27 / 27 / 27

I can’t keep a running journal to save my life, so I’ve decided to do an update on the 27th of each month, since it is my favorite number in all of space and time. I haven’t decided if they’ll all be written in one sitting or be deposits of thoughts saved as drafts throughout the month that I hit publish on each 27th. Leaning on the latter… This one will be a two parter, though, because I’m getting started late and, well, I haven’t been around here for a very good while.

Anyway, I’ve gotten an answer as to why I can’t maintain a journal (or much of anything routine.) In the last year, especially within the last two months, I have gotten more answers than I can handle–answers about things that have been ongoing in my life since the dawn of Matt. About one year ago, I endured three appointments, one of which being a three hour long set of tests, and was firmly diagnosed with Autism. I’m not going to lie, while I took it well for about two weeks, I ultimately did nosedive and lost the good part of last year to a mental collapse so bad that I was almost hospitalized by my psychiatrist. I mean, that collapse was so bad.... it included bouts of bawling in the floor, throwing things at work, and a month-long leave from that job for cutting myself in the back room (and I have no history of cutting, it was a first.)

I was on a rollercoaster of medicines for the constant anxiety attacks but they either didn’t work, had adverse side effects, or, in the case of Lithium, had an allergic reaction that caused fluid buildup in my brain (thankfully I eased off in time for it to not progress to full blown Lithium poisoning… I think. I didn’t go to the doctor for it, I rode it out laying on the couch watching Gojira fucking kill it during the Olympic opening ceremony.)

My (new) therapist, who is someone trained specifically to handle autistic people, decided that once my anxiety was down (which we eventually managed) that we should reapproach an ADHD diagnosis. I was given a single prescription to fill for lisdexamphetamine (Vyvanse) and given the spill about how extreme the impact of the medicine is, in opposite ways, for people with and without ADHD.

If you didn’t know, people who have ADHD are calmed by it and their focus is restored. The whirling thoughts in their head become quiet and redirectable. Normal existance briefly unlocks. People who don’t have ADHD get amped tf up and take it recreationally for this reason. My favorite story about this difference was one I found while looking up the medicine I’d been given: Someone said they attended a concert with several friends. Once there, all of them were offered an amphetamine. When it hit them, all of their friends went wild and barrelled off into the mass of people. They, on the other hand, zenned out and thought “wow… I think I can actually do my homework…” and sat under a tree by themselves to do so.

So, uh… my reaction was the zen side of things and it is unreal how completely different I feel. I have never felt this way in my life. It would take an entire entry to cover how profound the change (for the better) has been.

Once that diagnosis was secured, we moved onto another that had high results in my 3 hr testing session and I was referred to an EMDR therapist for PTSD. I am in love with her, by the way. She had me figured out immediately and told me by the end of the intake appointment that it was looking like a pretty serious case of it and that it was likely Complex PTSD. She picked up that I was fascinated by the process and has thoroughly exposed me to the hows and whys of each step along the way, showing me her guide paperwork, sending me home with books on the birth of EMDR therapy and neuroscience of how it works, and emailing me entire textbooks. I think I would die for her.

Anyway, EMDR is an eight phase process with several phases repeating in the middle as needed. I just graduated phase 2 and had my first go at phase 3 (where we barrel into the explicit details of traumatizing memories head on) last appointment. We’re doing phase 4 next time I see her, which processes the current memory brought up in the last appointment. Everyone says I’m going to cry or get broken at some point. One joke was that I’d end up bawling huddled in a corner while they’re looming over me yelling or something. That’s not how it works, of course, but the therapist did say she’d be surprised if I didn’t at least cry a little at some point. Hey, challange accepted. I struggle to feel things. My partner had to encourage me to cry when we were having to put our dog down. If she can somehow get to me while talking about things I’m already very open to talking about with anyone who will listen, I’ll consider it a privilage to ugly cry or throw a lamp or something.

(I had originally typed ‘if she can break me, I’ll consider it a privilage’ and snorted, wondering if that’s where my recent curiousity about femdom came from. Ah, that was lgbTMI.)

We’re also not sure if I have OCD. It was decided it was autism instead when I got that diagnosis, and she explained the overlap between the two conditions and how they can tell the difference. Something has recently come to light (a story about something a stranger did that I also did and how people suspected she had Malignant OCD) that makes me want to bring it back up with the specialist. I meant to last visit and faggin forgot.

So, in short, life has been extremely eventful since I was last here, but with the power of the other half of meth, I believe I can keep this journal going with some consistancy. I’ll drop a part 2 to this entry tomorrow and cover things that aren’t mental health related… like that time I rode a train for two hours covered in a week’s worth of BO and a backpack full of dog piss… or that time I was awake under the surgeon’s knife while his alexa blasted Dio, Ozzy, and Judas Priest. Damn, I haven’t even posted how my chest surgery has healed. I gotta get on that.