The Correlation between Agenesis and Avoidant Personality Disorder: An Investigative Analysis

Posted on by under Life changes, Writing and creativity

It’s a logical assumption

Image
Photo by Wendy Wei: https://www.pexels.com/photo/man-leaning-on-rock-near-beach-shore-1662625/

When I was homeless in Minneapolis, I had State Insurance, and I was under a Doctor’s care. I was also seeing a psychotherapist. The psychotherapist recommended I get neuropsychological testing.

I sent the report to the Advocate who was helping me apply for Disability

I took photos of the report from the doctor. I sent the report to Social Security with my Disability Application. Social Security approved my request a few months later.

It wasn’t the first time psychiatrists and psychologists have tested me. I have been in several programs in as many States. My parents encouraged me to do it in a misguided attempt to help me succeed in life.

A surprise for me, but not for my family

Twenty years earlier, I was in a rehabilitation program in Florida. The pre-screening involved visits to a psychiatrist’s office and a psychologist. They diagnosed “Avoidant Personality Disorder.”

It always bothered me that I had difficulty being outgoing and social. I never understood why I was awkward around girls and never had close friends. When I told my family about the report, my brother said, “ No Shit.”

It looks to me that one leads to the other, but I could be wrong

I thought of that report after I read the Neuro-psych report twenty years later. The report said I had agenesis of the corpus callosum. Cognitive Impairment can be one of the varied symptoms of ACC.

I was big for my age, and I was a clumsy oaf. I was also teased and bullied for being “slow.” Looking back and thinking about it. I learned to distrust people, and I never knew how to make friends.

I’m not aloof or snobbish, I’m terrified

Things were better in middle and high school, but I never could let anyone get too close. I’m a little better now. I’m sixty-four, and I’m married. It’s surprising because I started dating late in life.

I read that ACC is a chronic disorder, and I know that to be true. I felt bad about my inability to get close to people. As I get older I don’t care as much.

I’m better at getting over the fear, but I’m not as outgoing as I want to be

I have learned late in life that I can write my own story. I’m more likely to say hello and start a conversation in a coffee shop or while waiting in line somewhere.

In my teens and twenties, I would have died first. I have conversations with people all the time. I even enjoy the company of other people sometimes. It hasn’t been easy to break out, but I’m, getting there.

I’ve had a lot of “AH HAH” moments as I’ve read the report

Since I found the Psych report, I have been searching the web for information about the agenesis of the callosum. my research explained a lot about the cognitive and personality problems I have.

Despite my issues. I have come a long way. The Doctors told my parents when I was an infant that the prognosis for a happy life was grim. They said that I would be institutionalized.

I have avoided long-term care so far

The Psych report when I was in my fifties stated that I should be in a long-term care facility. I’m married and I live in an apartment. The point is I fought through it.

You don’t have to lie down and quit or die. I didn’t when I learned what I learned about myself. You can follow my lead. Keep trying and learning. Challenge yourself and push the envelope.

I could hold a job after all

For someone who wouldn’t amount to anything I was employed for twenty years. I owned a home once. I’m married and pay rent and bills in an apartment.

Final Thought:

We all have struggles. Never quit. Keep living and trying and failing. You will find success and it will be sweeter because you worked harder for it. I still get down on myself at times, but I don’t wallow in it.

Never quit, keep on trucking until you get to where you want to be then set a higher goal. I’m glad I never quit.

Subscribe to receive my stories in your email.

The Intriguing Consequences of a Lack of Communication Between the Two Hemispheres of the Brain
It makes things harder than they need to bemedium.com

My Success on YouTube Has Given Me the Courage to Dream Big

Posted on by under Writing and creativity

Coming to a stage near you

I sat in front of my worn-out Surface Pro and started the webcam. My first YouTube video was an uncomfortable mess, in my mind anyway. I played around with YouTube, and then I got serious. A year later YouTube monetized my channel.

It’s like everything else online. I have good months and not-so-good months. In my mind, it’s all good. My attitude has always been to have fun. I’m having fun on YouTube, but more important, is that I’m impacting people’s lives.

“On Good Authority put the idea into my head.

I read and respond to as many comments as I can. It’s humbling and gratifying that so many young people value what I have to say. Earlier this year, I read “On Good Authority” by Anna David.

The book is excellent, and the chapter on podcasts has been on my mind since I read the book. I have a new goal. I will be a guest on at least one podcast. I have proven that I have something to say that’s valuable to people. I took a speech class in college years ago. I also took a Dale Carnegie course.

I conquered the course, and I earned a few pens

The Dale Carnegie course was terrifying. The speech class was scary, but nothing like the Carnegie course. The point is, that I did well in both courses. I know I can be a good guest on the right podcast. Talking to millions of people online would be scary.

But, not as scary as the next item on my bucket list. I want to do a Ted Talk. I have been wracking my brain on how to practice. I was thinking I would need a picture mirror. I decided that wasn’t necessary.

I love watching Ted Talks, I want to be on stage

I will use my Surface Pro. It will be like creating YouTube videos. The only difference is that I will be standing up and pacing like they do on the Ted Talk stage.

The one thing I’m good at is communicating. I can talk and I can write. There’s no reason I can’t make it happen. If it doesn’t happen what have I lost? The important thing is exploring new things and having fun.

I’ll quit dreaming and trying new things when I’m dead

I’m sixty-four years old. I’m going to make up for lost time try new things and expand my mind and horizons. If things don’t work out, who cares? I will learn new things and grow as a person.

Final Thought:

We all need to pursue our dreams if we want to thrive. You might have had obstacles and hardships that held you back. Break out of the chains and go for it. There’s nothing worse than regret. You’re not too old or too young.

You’re breathing, so you have time, get after it.

Subscribe to get my stories in your email.

A Mind-Blowing Question: Why Do So Many Parents Need an Ass-Kicking?

Posted on by under Writing and creativity

What I saw pissed me off

Image
Photo by Elina Sazonova: https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-girn-inside-a-bus-4403962/

Ten years ago, I worked as a security guard at a County bus terminal. What pissed me off was the neglect for their children I saw from parents. On cold winter days, I would see parents bundled up, their infants in arms or a stroller without a coat or cap.

It begs the question. An adult was cold enough to wear a heavy coat or jacket, but they didn’t have the sense to bundle up their kids? And parents and their cell phones. What the hell? There was a security guard at the terminal for a reason.

Good thing I was looking out for the child because his parents sure as Hell weren’t

I couldn’t be everywhere at once. I lived in fear that a child would get hurt while I was on duty. One afternoon I had started my first walk around the terminal. A bus driver did his walk around the bus. The drivers did a pre-trip walk around to see if there were any issues before they began their route.

There was a mated pair of pigeons that lived at the terminal. People would feed them. They raised I don’t know how many broods in their nest in the beams of the roof of the terminal.

The child wanted to pet the pigeons

I was walking by the bus as the driver completed his walk boarded the bus and started the engines. The pigeons were under the bus picking at crumbs. A small child saw the pigeons and was heading under the bus for a closer look.

God was looking out for the child. I was at the right place. I saw the child bend down to crawl under the bus. I screamed as the driver turned the key and the engine roared.

It brought back a memory

The child stood up and ran off. I headed to the janitor’s closet to calm my nerves. I suspect the child’s parent was on a cell phone. I thought of that incident from over ten years ago when my wife and I were on the bus yesterday.

We were on our way to the Dollar store again. There was a young woman on the bus with her small child. The woman’s cell phone rang. The conversation lasted until the bus arrived at her destination.

Do you realize how fast a child can get grabbed, or how easy it is for them to get struck by a car?

She didn’t pause her conversation. She never glanced back to see if her child followed her across the street to the school. A car could have struck the child. Someone could have jumped out of a car, grabbed him, and sped off before anyone could stop him.

I saw that crap all the time when I was a security guard. I see it when I’m on the bus or walking around town. When me and my siblings were little. My parents put harnesses with leashes on us. They got stares, but we enjoyed the sense of freedom and my parents kept us close by and their eyes on us.

When you have a child it’s time to grow up, leave Drugs alone

Illicit drugs are a scourge on society. I smoked pot when I was younger. I grew out of it because I realized it was holding me back. It upsets me to see young people stoned out of their minds with their children in tow.

I saw it often at the bus terminals. A stoned young man passed out in the men’s room at the bus terminal one afternoon. I don’t know how young his little boy was. He was old enough to walk and understand what happened to his dad.

We waited for his mom, none of us wanted him in the custody of Family Services

Per procedure, I called the cops. We were more concerned about the little boy crying because of his dad. The cops got ahold of the boy’s mom. They waited until she showed up to get him.

I don’t remember if the boy’s dad went to jail or the hospital. The cops could have called Family Services, but none of us wanted that. It happened ten years ago. I hope the dad got his act together and his son has a good life.

Bad parents raise bad kids who become bad parents. Break the chain

It’s a Generational curse. Kids who aren’t raised right don’t become responsible parents. I worry about later generations. Children learn from the verbal instruction and by example.

A parent’s most important job is to raise good kids. From what I have seen some kids aren’t allowed to grow up to be decent people. They are lucky if they survive childhood.

Final Thought:

Survivors will raise their kids similarly because that’s what they know. Too many parents fail at their most important job, and we all will pay the price.

Taxpayers pay for social services jails and prisons. So, why don’t you do your kids a solid and put the phone down and leave the booze and drugs alone and raise your kids?

Watch the news and read the paper. A lot of kids have no moral compass. What kind of world will they create? I’m glad I’m getting older. I would hate to see what the future generation will be like as adults with no self-control, spiritual values, or morals. Raise your kids right.

Grow the Hell up for God’s Sake.

Subscribe to get my stories in your inbox.

The Harrowing Night of My Experience with Sleep Paralysis

Posted on by under Writing and creativity

Damned near scared me to death

Image
Photo by Rulo Mora: https://www.pexels.com/photo/person-wearing-a-mask-and-a-black-robe-14075066/

I was sound asleep one night. I had to be at work the next morning. It was early, the house was quiet. Something jolted me awake. My body stiffened. I had no control over my movements. My body tingled and the hair on my head and body stood up. I felt an energy-like static electricity all over my body.

I lay there helpless and terrified. The terror ratcheted when I heard a disembodied voice, “ I’m going to kill you and your entire family.” The voice I heard was calm and matter-of-fact.

Was it real, or was it programming?

My mom was still alive at the time. When I was younger I went to Charismatic church services with her. “Binding Satan in the name of Jesus,” and casting out Demons were things I grew used to hearing about.

When the voice grew silent, the static electricity left my body and the paralysis ended. The voice scared me and it pissed me off. I don’t know if it did any good, but I started to rebuke Satan.

At least it made me feel better, so it couldn’t have hurt

I rebuked the bastard and invoked the name of Jesus. I ordered Satan out of my face and home. As I said, It might have been a waste of time, but it made me feel better.

I haven’t thought about that night in a while. I have been listening to “The Huberman Podcast. Dr. Huberman has been conducting Interviews with Dr. Mathew Walker Ph.D. Dr. Walker wrote, “ Why We Sleep.”

Sleep Paralysis serves a purpose, but it’s scary to wake up like that

It’s a wide-ranging series of Interviews that had me taking notes. There is a name for what happened to me that night. I Googled “ Sleep Paralysis” and found a lot of interesting information.

What happened to me that night has happened to other people as well. Unsurprisingly, other cultures attribute the event to witches and Demons. It raises the question, was I dreaming? or was there a real demon threatening me?

Fortunately, it doesn’t happen too often

All I know is that I never again had sleep paralysis. I still have nightmares on occasion and I sleepwalk. I haven’t walked in my sleep or had a nightmare in a while.

Sleep paralysis serves a purpose. If we weren’t immobilized, we would act out our dreams and run the risk of hurting ourselves. Sleep Paralysis happens as we fall into, or out of deep sleep. Twenty-five to fifty percent of Americans have had sleep paralysis at least once.

Suppose you have never experienced it. I can tell you it makes an impression. That night happened thirty-five years ago. I still remember it like it happened last night.

Final Thought:

There is more to reality than what we see every day. There is the external world we interact with and there’s the world inside our heads. There is also a spiritual world. I glimpsed the dark spiritual realm that night and I never want to experience it again.

Sleep Paralysis
Have you ever been dozing off or waking up and unable to move or speak? The experts at WebMD explain the phenomenon of…www.webmd.com

/media/6d9c2b818c8cd0d63811b906a4b1e7f0

Subscribe to receive my Stories in your inbox.

The Intriguing Consequences of a Lack of Communication Between the Two Hemispheres of the Brain

Posted on by under Writing and creativity

It makes things harder than they need to be

Image
Photo by Anna Shvets: https://www.pexels.com/photo/finger-pointing-to-a-brain-scan-4226119/

It must have distressed my parents when I was a baby when it was time to sit up, crawl, and walk. I didn’t reach those milestones when I was supposed to. My mom told me stories of how she would be in tears because I couldn’t understand how to tie my shoes.

My parents thought they had some clarity when the doctors diagnosed my Dyslexia. How surprised they would be if they knew. Years after they passed away I found out Dyslexia wasn’t my problem.

My brain is wired differently, not a big deal at all

It was an honest mistake, I guess. Missing benchmarks is also symptomatic of Dyslexia. The “ Brain Damage” trope my parents rammed down my throat also makes sense.

It makes sense because I was born with agenesis of the corpus callosum. The corpus callosum is a white matter tract. It connects the human brain’s two hemispheres.

It could be a problem, one side needs to know what the other is doing, I guess.

The corpus callosum allows the two hemispheres to communicate with each other. With agenesis, the corpus callosum doesn’t form, or The organ might not be there.

As you might imagine, when the two hemispheres of our brains can’t communicate with each other. There will be issues. It’s why I’m so clumsy and prone to messiness and disorganization.

It’s also why I overcompensate by doing things the same way, and it’s why I dislike change.

I grew up believing I was Dyslexic, but it appears that’s not true

Dyslexia and agenesis share a few of the same traits. Traits like sitting up and walking later than I should have. Having trouble learning to tie shoes is also a trait of Dyslexia and agenesis.

I thought it was interesting when I read the neuropsychologist’s report. It clearly stated that there was no evidence of Dyslexia. I had the symptoms. I understand how the doctors made the mistake when I was young.

ADHD is a common symptom of agenesis

I haven’t been diagnosed with ADHD. If I had I wasn’t told about it. I have some of the traits. ADHD is a common symptom of agenesis. I have always had trouble focusing and sitting still. When I was a child the doctors prescribed drugs to calm me down.

They threw the drugs away, I’m not sure it was the right thing to do

My parents threw the drugs away because they turned me into a zombie. I always wondered why I had a hard time sleeping at night. Insomnia is one of the symptoms. I read the myriad of symptoms and shook my head in amazement.

It was like reading the story of my life. A man is supposed to be able to assemble things work on an engine and change a tire. If you see me trying to change a tire get your phone out and record the show.

The video will go viral.

Anger and bitterness are wastes of energy, I’m trying hard to let it go

I spent most of my life bitter about my situation. I wondered why I had no talents or gifts. I was angry at my parents and God for putting me on the earth to take up space and not be good for anything.

I owe my late parents and my God an apology. I have the gift of writing and communicating. It took a lifetime to find those gifts, it took too long but I’m making up for lost time.

The past doesn’t matter, I’m doing better here and now

Bitterness served no purpose. The hand that I was dealt doesn’t matter. What matters is how I’m playing the cards I’m dealt with. I’m determined to make the later stages of my life the best part of my life.

Making peace with myself is the start of that journey.

Final Thought:

None of us are perfect. I’m finding out late in life the reasons I had so much trouble. It’s a struggle, but I’m doing my best to stop letting my limitations get me down. I’m working hard and I’m defying the expectations of doctors and family members.

Whatever limitation you have, keep fighting. Continue to learn and grow as a person. It will be harder for you than it is with other people, but the victory of overcoming will be sweeter. Whatever you do, don’t be bitter. I know from experience that bitterness will weigh you down and keep you from your goals.

Never give up.

Subscribe to receive my stories in your inbox.

Interpreting a Psychiatric Report: Contemplating Borderline Intellectual Functioning
Trying to keep things in perspectivemedium.com

Did a Wrong Diagnosis of Dyslexia Hold Me Back?

Posted on by under Writing and creativity

I don’t know what to think

Image
Photo by cottonbro studio: https://www.pexels.com/photo/photo-of-an-elderly-man-with-gray-facial-hair-8860209/

While I was cleaning out my Google Cloud storage, I came across the results of tests I underwent by a neuropsychologist and his team. I used my cellphone to photograph each page. I included the report in the paperwork I sent to apply for Disability.

I knew deep in my heart that Dyslexia wasn’t my problem

It’s been interesting reading, and it’s given me a lot to think about. The thing that jumped out at me yesterday when I was re-reading the report. I grew up hearing my parents talk about my Dyslexia. I was nine years old when the doctors diagnosed me with a learning disability.

“ Such a profile of Academic performance is not consistent with a language-based learning disability such as Dyslexia.”

Excerpt from the report from the Neuropsychology tests

“What the Hell?” I thought, To hear my parents tell it, I had all the symptoms. They reinforced the thought. They blamed Dyslexia for every setback and failure of my adult life.

Never mind the fact that other Dyslexics have productive lives, my Dyslexia was worse, or some crap like that

It was the theme of my life growing up, “ You were born with Dyslexia and Brain Damage.” I grew so frustrated with it. I told my dad once, when I was in my twenties, “Not everything is about Dyslexia, Sometimes I f_ up like everyone else.”

I have heard other people talk about Learning Disabilities. “ I never let Dyslexia define me.” Well, isn’t that special? It was beat into my psyche from the minute I started school.

Mom wasn’t forthcoming, she flat-out lied

Mom and Dad were holding out on me. One day out of frustration. I asked my mom, “The Doctors must have diagnosed something other than Dyslexia. Other Dyslexics are successful, why am I having so much trouble? What did the Doctors tell you?”

“ I don’t remember.” my mom answered without looking me in the eyes. The only time I caught her in a lie. I was in my thirties at the time. At this point, It doesn’t make any difference.

I ask myself, “What difference does it make?”

I try to put it in perspective If I had known the extent of the cognitive issues I was born with, would I have given up? What should I have done? All I wanted was to have gainful employment and a family of my own. I never achieved those goals.

The thought of giving up never entered my mind. I was driven to work hard to show others I wasn’t feeble-minded and lazy. I also wanted to prove it to myself.

If I had known the truth, would things been different?

If I knew the truth what would I have done differently? I don’t know, but I suspect the knowledge would have been a crutch. I learned to work hard and never quit. If I had been a quitter I would have ended up where the doctors said I should be, in an institution.

Hopes and dreams are powerful. Would I have accepted it if I knew for sure that I wouldn’t get to where I dreamed of being? would I have muddled through life waiting for death?

In the past, I looked back and wondered what might have been, but what if it was never meant to be, to begin with? I’m not stupid. I have a writing talent. I proved that I’m a good communicator, and my growing YouTube channel has established that.

Better late than never, I guess

Why did it take so long to figure this out? The plan is to not worry about the timing. I am grateful I discovered my writing talent and I’m grateful for Medium and Illumination. The Illumination Publication and the Medium Platform have given me an outlet.

The question was, “Did a Wrong Diagnosis of Dyslexia hold me back?” I’m not sure it did. I’m also not sure what path I could have chosen that would have led to a fulfilled life.

I knew deep down Dyslexia wasn’t the whole story

I was diagnosed with Dyslexia at a young age. As I grew older I had the nagging feeling that Dyslexia wasn’t the reason for my dysfunction. I found out years later that my feelings were correct.

Knowing the truth has no practical benefit. I’m on disability and will never get fired from a job again. The information has given me a certain amount of peace, but I can’t help feeling angry and bitter.

I have a lot of time now to do what makes me happy

I’m not proud of that, but I always try to be honest when I write. There is a bright side. I have more time to write and make videos. My content entertains and helps people. It took a lifetime, but I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing.

My past has helped me be productive in the present and I provide value for people, so it’s all good.

Final Thought:

It’s hard to get out of the box life puts you in. Your hopes and dreams Life thwarts your dreams every chance it gets. Never lose hope. Keep trying to find your way and do what you can to be happy. If God wills it, you will get to where you’re supposed to be.

Mom and Dad Held Out on Me, but What Difference Does It Make?
Questions without answersmedium.com

Subscribe to get my stories in your inbox.

I Wanted to Leave the Labels Behind, but They Followed Me into Adulthood

Posted on by under Dyslexia

No matter where you go, there you are

Image
Photo by RJ Prabu: https://www.pexels.com/photo/white-tank-top-1630618/

I walked across the floor that May evening in 1978, I was on cloud nine. I thought I had burned the crutches of “ He’s brain damaged, and he’s Dyslexic” to ashes.

Special Education left scars on my psyche

I had spent my grade school years and part of middle school in Special Education. Classmates would tease me because “He’s in the retard’s class.”

My self-confidence grew to the point that I did what a lot of my classmates did. I left the base in Japan and flew to the States a year before the rest of the family.

I was happy to be back with the family, but I was disappointed in myself

I failed and ended up moving back with my family when they came back to the States. I have tried every Federal and State job training and Rehabilitation Service.

I never could learn a Trade or keep a job. We were living in Florida after my most recent firing. That’s when my parents insisted I apply for a security guard job, because, “ anyone can be a security guard.”

I was on the edge for a long time

I went through some things. I had been hiding my mental health issues for years. I couldn’t hide them when I became homeless. I now have another label that I never wanted to have, I’m Disabled.

Being on Disability goes against everything my parents taught me. I felt guilty at first, but now I take advantage of it. I can do what I want to do.

I can write and be me

I don’t have to pay attention to the whispers of how slow I am, or the comments about how lazy I am. I’m not lazy, and I’m not slow, I’m deliberate.

There is no one to tell me I can’t be a writer. If my dad were alive, he would shake his head in disbelief. I took a creative writing class and did well in it.

He would be amazed and proud of me

He would also be amazed that I write and publish online and people enjoy what I write. I’m sixty-two years old, and I’m erasing the labels that were chains that bound me most of my life.

My adulthood was stunted. I wasn’t able to get out on my own like I was supposed to. I have done a good job of making up for the lost time.

I have new labels now, labels that I have chosen for myself. I am a husband, I am an uncle. I’m a writer and a good man. I will never let anyone define me again.

They will try to put you in a box:

Parents, teachers, and Vocational Rehab caseworkers tried to put me in a box. I’m free of the box. If you have Learning Disabilities or Mental Health issues, fight the real enemy.

Rise above the whispers and low expectations. Find your path and follow it. Don’t allow others’ lack of faith to get you down.

Believe in yourself and live your life.

End Spring Break: Let’s Save Lives Like Riley Strain’s

Posted on by under Writing and creativity

Spring Break serves no useful purpose

Image
Photo by Aleksandar Pasaric: https://www.pexels.com/photo/people-walking-on-the-street-between-buildings-2385210/

In the early 200s, I worked enough overtime as a security guard to afford a weekend in Cancun. I was in my forties and it would be my second trip alone. One of the things I wanted to do was go to “COCO BONGOS” I saw a segment on the Travel Channel and I had to check it out for myself.

After a day of drinking on the beach, I went to my hotel room and got cleaned up. COCO BONGOS was a short walk from my hotel. I walked there to see when it opened.

Long Island Iced Teas are awesome

The place didn’t open until 9:00 P.M. An American Doorman was working outside of the club. He talked me into buying an all-I-could-drink pass. I bought the pass and killed time at the hotel bar and The Hard Rock Cafe.

I arrived back at COCO BONGOS early. There was a line that stretched for quite a distance. Inside the club patrons filled all the best seats. I walked up the stairs to the last remaining nosebleed seat.

My waiter was at my side right away. “ What are you having tonight sir?” He asked. I told him I had been drinking all day and I wasn’t sure what I wanted. He suggested a Long Island Iced Tea.

I had no idea how much I paid for the All I Could Drink Pass

I had an unlimited drink pass. I was half-lit before the show started. I have no idea when I left the club, or how I made it back to my hotel room alive. I’m still amazed that I woke up the next morning early with hardly any hangover.

I thought about that night when I watched the News footage of Riley Strain stumbling down the street. The National News reported that the bar is under investigation for overserving him.

They should have called the cops, Riley would have woke up sick, but alive

I don’t understand why the staff kicked him out of the bar. If he was causing a problem, why didn’t they call the cops and have him spend the night in the drunk tank?

Throwing Riley out alone when he had trouble standing up because he was trashed, is irresponsible. I know that Riley should have been careful, but I was a kid once, so I can’t judge him too hard.

Spring Break is motivated by greed and should be outlawed

The Bouncers should have sat Riley down somewhere and called the cops or Paramedics. The whole thing upsets me. I can’t wrap my head around how it must hurt to bury a son so young.

What purpose does Spring Break serve anyway? It’s time that cities stop rolling out the Red Carpet every Spring. I know Spring Break is fun, if I was young and had the money, I would have partied with the best of them.

They’re in college, but they’re still kids

Kids will be kids. As Adults, we must do what we can to help them survive college. A mistake cost Riley Strain his life. Let us do what we can to stop more tragedies from occurring.

It is time to do away with Spring Break.

Subscribe to get my stories in your email.

Mom and Dad Held Out on Me, but What Difference Does It Make?

Posted on by under Parents and Family

Questions without answers

Image
Photo by cottonbro: https://www.pexels.com/photo/man-wearing-brown-dress-shirt-6566823/

I honestly wanted to know

One day I was talking to my mom. It was before she passed away, so I was in my thirties. We were talking about my issues, the fact that I couldn’t keep a job until I started working as a security guard.

“ Come on mom, there are Dyslexics that are keeping jobs, why am I the only one that can’t?” It didn’t register then, but looking back, I know she was holding out on me.

She wouldn’t look me in the eyes, she never avoided eye-contact before

“ Surely the Doctors found other things wrong, there has to be something else going on.” I looked at mom silently pleading with her to tell me the truth.

“ They diagnosed something else, but I don’t remember what it was.” She wouldn’t look at me when she said it. At the time, I thought my mom was perfect it never occurred to me that she wouldn’t ever tell me the truth.

As one Vocational Rehab counselor told me, “ Dyslexia isn’t your problem.”

I had problems. Dyslexia was the obvious one. I found out years after mom and dad died, that the problems were more extensive than mom and dad let on.

I never could get out on my own. At first, it was because I couldn’t keep a job. I couldn’t learn what I needed to learn fast enough, or once I learned it, I was too slow.

Mom and dad were always insisting that I join these programs

I lost count of the Vocational Rehabilitation programs I completed. I would complete the programs with hope and new confidence, only to be knocked down again.

I was in my fifties; and homeless in Minneapolis. I had State Insurance, so I was able to receive care from a Psychotherapist. She arranged for me to get tested.

I was in my fifties when I found out the truth

After years of confusion and self-pity. I found out there are reasons that I have so much trouble. It also dawned on me that mom and dad knew the extent of the problems, but they wouldn’t tell me.

I underwent Neuro-Psychological testing. The testing was supposed to last a full day, but they stopped before noon. I was too stressed out. They were probably concerned that I would have another Stroke or a nervous breakdown.

Things make sense now

I was upset when I received the results, but I was also relieved. I’m still confused about why my parents didn’t tell me the full truth. I guess they did but in their own way.

Looking back, not a day went by, “ you’re Dyslexic, Lawson, and you were born with Brain Damage.” Mom and dad meant well. They loved me.

They were repeating what the Doctors told them in the early sixties. When I looked at the Brain-scans with the Doctor in Minneapolis, I learned the real diagnosis.

Not Brain-Damaged so much, but Brain-different

“ You’re brain is Interesting.” He said; as he pointed to the C-scan picture. He told me every way that my brain” is wired differently.” I’m not Brain-Damaged at all.

I have a High School Diploma, I have a few years of college. I was reading college level before I was in High School. I’m not Brain-Damaged, I’m different.

They meant well

Mom and dad tried to help me. I was always pushed into programs that they thought would help.

That stopped when mom died. Dad wanted me to be a security guard forever. He didn’t think I could do anything else. He damned sure didn’t believe for a minute that I could live on my own without help.

Obviously, my dad was correct

History shows that my dad was right. Eight years after he died, I was homeless.

I’m confused, and I don’t know what to think of any of this. If I had known the full truth, would it have made any difference? was I fated to be homeless for almost three years?

Would knowing have changed things?

I wonder if I would have been kinder to myself. More forgiving if I had known the truth all those years, years that I struggled to learn and keep a job?

None of this matters now. All the mental health and Learning Disabilities issues came to a head in Minneapolis. I’m on Disability now.

I no longer have to worry about it

I no longer have to worry about getting fired, and I don’t have to hear the whispers of co-workers. Co-workers who thought I was lazy and trying to get out of doing my job.

My life is good now. Every once in a while I think about what might have been. Every once in a while, I wish my parents were still alive so I could ask them questions.

Final Thought:

Worrying about the past is fruitless. Forgive your parents. They were human and did the best they could, and if the thoughts and memories get too much, write about them. You will feel so much better after you get it out of your system.

The Day I Learned Something new about Myself
And it wasn’t a surprisemedium.com

My Most Viewed Stories Since I Began Writing on Medium
The top eleven in my writing portfoliomedium.com

https://ko-fi.com/lawsonwallace54054

lawsonthewriter1@GMail.com

My Background and My Goals as a Writer

Posted on by under Writing and creativity

A little about me and what I hope to accomplish

Image
Author’s personal photo

My name’s Lawson Wallace, I’m a 63-year-old married man. I live in South Carolina with my wife Olivia. A woman I met on Facebook. I’m the oldest son of an Air Force Enlisted man. I write on Medium.com and I’m a senior editor for Illumination Integrated Publications.

My dad’s duties in the Air Force required a lot of travel. We lived all over the States, and we spent quite a bit of time in Japan. I graduated from high school at Yokota Air Force Base.

We lived all over the Country. We also spent time in Japan.

The traveling continued after my family moved back to the States. I’m hoping I will stay in South Carolina for a long time, but I will not lose sleep if I have to move someday.

I’m on Disability, so I have a lot of time to write when my wife allows it. My goals as a writer are, to make a living with my words. I make enough writing on Medium to buy a book for my Kindle every month.

I want to use Medium to pivot into new writing gigs.

I would like to pivot away from Medium and make money with other platforms. That’s why I have a Substack newsletter and a YouTube channel where I talk about my writing.

The ultimate goal is exposure, I want writing gigs, I know I can be an asset, and I need to find clients that I will be a good fit with. I’m confident I will do that.

In no particular order, here are my top twenty stories

I’m not afraid to document my mistakes. I have submitted my writing to magazines, only to get rejection letters. I ordered The Writer’s Market, I looked through it and found out why my writing was rejected. I wrote a story about it.

The 2023 Writer’s Market Arrived in the Mail, and No Wonder My First Short Story Submission ended…
Writing is about gaining and using knowledgemedium.com

Sometimes, I voice strong opinions, this story is a commentary on current events. It received a lot of views and reads. It shows that commenting on controversial topics pays off.

Drag Queen Story Hour Is Disgusting, and No Way Should Children Be Exposed to It
Let kids be kidsmedium.com

I’m White, and I’m married to a Black woman. We have a good relationship. I write about our lives sometimes. Whenever I write about our marriage, the stories do quite well

I am a White Man She is a Black Woman We Get Along Fantastic
We have both learned Diplomacymedium.com

This is a story I’m proud of, I was accepted as a writer for The Writing Cooperative. This was the first, and so far, the only story I have submitted to them. It was accepted right away. It’s one of my favorite stories.

I Had Wanted to Write, Working at Bus Terminals Inspired Me to Do That
The beginning of an ongoing journeywritingcooperative.com

I live in a delightful apartment complex. The neighbors feel the need to slam their doors as hard as they can. There are other issues with the neighbors, so I’m sure there will be other stories written.

Slamming your apartment door is important, I need to know you’re coming and going at all times
Rude and clueless people annoy memedium.com

I was homeless for almost three years. I write about the experience often. This is one of my most-read stories about that time in my life.

If You Give a Homeless Person Twenty Bucks, Don’t Expect Him to Go to Burger King
You’re paying for a liquid lunchmedium.com

One of my earlier stories, and it’s the first story that had a lot of views and reads. I still think about that job over twenty years later.

I Worked at the Largest Low Income Community in St. Petersburg
It was Funmedium.com

My most well-received stories come out when I allow myself to be vulnerable. I wrote this story to get something off my chest that had been eating at me for a while. I felt much better after writing it.

IT Might be truth but it;s not my truth
You can rise above itmedium.com

When I was a kid, I and my family lived in Japan for a number of years. My dad was stationed there twice. During our first tour there, my parents moonlighted as English teachers. We became friends with a lot of Japanese people. We had opportunities to go to Japanese bathhouses on occasion.

A Hairy White Teenager in a Japanese Bathhouse
Lawson Wallacemedium.com

Not only am I married to a black woman, but she’s also a lot shorter than I am. Even though we live in the American South, we haven’t had too many issues, although there have been some funny moments.

The Looks My Wife and I Get When We Are Out in Public
We laugh about itmedium.com

I’m a little rough around the edges, and I have a problem with overly-sensitive crybabies. I wrote this story to express my disdain for “The Woke.”

You’re not “ Woke,” You’re Weak and Pathetic, so Grow Up
Have a sense of humor and consider the sourcemedium.com

Another story that received a lot of comments. I don’t see the logic in dragging down rich people. Rich people create businesses that employ people like me. Dragging them down will not lift anyone up.

No, The Rich don’t have an obligation to Take Care of Homeless People
Achievement is not a crimemedium.com

An early story that received a few reads. I started to write more personal stories. Those stories do well, but they are painful to write.

I am stronger than I thought I was
And so are youmedium.com

Another angry story. Census takers are still knocking on my door to this day. They ask the same questions and get the same answers. I have filled out and sent three completed census forms, but they can’t figure that out yet.

Is the Census Bureau Government at its Finest?
I hope notmedium.com

Let me start off by saying that I didn’t go outside until the cops and ambulance left the scene. I have enough sense not to go outside when there’s a gunfight in front of my apartment. A badly worded sentence in the story caused confusion.

The Gunfight outside my Window
Or how my wife and I dodged some Bulletsmedium.com

When I was in my late teens-early twenties, I lived with my grandparents for a year, after I left Japan. The house was creepy, to say the least. I shared a true incident of a night that freaked me out.

The house my grandparents lived in
It was a very creepy housemedium.com

Another early story was the first one where I wrote about how I met my wife. It’s short and to the point. I have written several stories about our relationship.

I met my wife the year I became homeless.
It was a day or two before Halloween 2014. I had accepted a Facebook friend request from an African-American who lived…lawsonwallace.medium.com

A story about bad memories coming back to cause pain. This is one of many stories I wrote about being homeless. As the years go by, the memories fade, so I don’t write about as much as I did, but memories and stories return at the oddest times.

Bad Memories Make Great Stories
At least they are worth somethingmedium.com

Homeless shelters can be dangerous places. I tried hard to be invisible, but that didn’t stop close calls from happening. I almost was hurt a few times. I’m fortunate and blessed that I was able to get out of that life.

I Had Two Close Calls at the Homeless Shelter, All Because I Forgot My Own Rules
I didn’t keep my head downmedium.com

If you would like to read more of my stories you can have them delivered to your inbox as soon as they are published.

Get an email whenever Lawson Wallace publishes.
Get an email whenever Lawson Wallace publishes. By signing up, you will create a Medium account if you don’t already…lawsonwallace.medium.com

Memories of homelessness

Posted on by under Homelessness, Life changes

A Day at Transitional Housing, with Psychos for Neighbors

A time for healing

Image
Photo by Ryan Conrow from Pexels

After months of no privacy, trying to sleep in a cavernous room with bunks inches from mine. After having to find a place to go before sun-up when the security goons threw us out into the street.

It was an upgrade

I thought I was in paradise four months later. The caseworkers found me a room at a transitional housing apartment. It was a small room with no running water, and having food or cooking in the room was not allowed.

The bed was a thin rubber mattress. It was on a wooden box. There was a small desk with the most uncomfortable plastic chair created. I was in paradise.

The neighbors were a trip

It was often hard to sleep at night. The guy living above me would wake up around the time I went to bed. He would turn on his TV as loud as possible.

I was the only man in the building who could close a door without slamming it. The restroom and showers were down the hall. The guy two-doors down from me had Parkinson’s Disease. His tremors and shakes were so bad. You couldn’t walk too close to him because he might hit you.

He had a reason for peeing all over the restroom floor, but the other guys were drunk or stoned.

Maybe it was a good thing the volume was too high

The guy right next door on one side loved to watch porn with the volume at full blast. One guy that lived down the hall would have heated arguments.

He would yell in his room for hours

I at first thought he had Internet access, and he was arguing with someone online. He was arguing with himself. There was no smoking allowed in the building. The smokers would be up and down all night. Slamming their doors as they headed downstairs to go outside to smoke.

Minneapolis is a neat city to walk around and explore

I would spend my days napping or writing in my room. If I was going stir-crazy, I would walk the skyways, or head to the library, or take the light rail to The Mall of America.

The shelter had a park for the residents. I spent the summer days in the park. I would drink with my neighbors and watch the pretty office workers as they walked by.

I would watch and listen to my neighbors. I discovered that no matter how bad my situation was, I was in a lot better shape than a lot of other people.

We talked for two years before we met in person

I had met a woman online. We had a plan to get me out of Minnesota and to get me to South Carolina to be with her. We talked all the time on the phone and online.

I had State Medical Insurance, Which was a good thing because I had some physical and mental health issues. The Hospital and Allergy Clinic was a short walk away.

I was coming back to myself

I had lost all my confidence and self-worth. The two years I spent at transitional housing did a lot to get me back to the man I was before I became homeless.

That time in my life will stick with me forever. I have regained the confidence I lost, but I still live in fear of becoming homeless again. I’m glad that God brought a good woman into my life.

I learned the hard way that I can’t do it alone. I’m so happy I have a wife with a good head for managing money. I listen to her because I never want to be homeless again.

Final Thought:

When things seem bad, hang in there and keep going forward. If you keep the faith and hope alive you will get through the dark times. Having someone who cares helps a lot as well.