unmasked

I abandoned this blog last December, but was reminded of it today in therapy when discussing my penchant for intense, directed projects to drag myself out of desolation. I even forgot what this domain was initially (“write.io”? “blog.write”?) but finally remembered it. I’m still paying for it, probably. Year-in-review:

Without diminishing some significant high points and positive memories, I spent most of 2025 afraid that I wouldn’t survive or flailing wildly all over everyone in an attempt to. I did survive, and I daresay stronger and better for it. Still settling into my “AuDHD” identity, exploring and pushing on things but pleased that after a lifetime of almost universally-negative therapy experiences, I’m batting 2/2 just by screening for neurodivergence expertise. (A favorite early therapy memory is, after I described an emotionally triggering experience that dysregulated me, my therapist told me to use hand warmers and earplugs. And I was like, WHAT? But… IT F-ING WORKS!)

On the good days, despite my best efforts to remain alive for my kids and other loved ones that my suicide would traumatize, I fought off impulses to throw myself in front of passing trains. On the bad days I would spend hours wailing, too paralyzed for impulsive self-offing, relegated to pining for some acceptable form of death… aneurysm, freak accident, terminal cancer… that would get me relief while sparing my loved ones the complications of a suicide.

Gratitude was a constant—gratitude for surviving at all, for random circumstances that landed me on my feet when it could have easily gone the other way, for the support and love and grace I have been shown by people in my life despite self-destructive decisions and unilaterally-imposed burdens on them. Gratitude is just a concept though; it can overflow as if a waterfall from my consciousness, but hardly a sizzle up against the horrific, raging dumpster fire threatening to engulf my nervous system in flames at any moment.

I began exploring residential treatment in January, and was even screened and accepted into a program that would have been fully insurance covered. I ultimately decided against it; a big contributor to my mental state was job instability and checking out of the workforce for a month would probably impair my ability to get what I needed to out of the treatment. Additionally, when I asked my therapist about it, he said I’d probably hate it but it could benefit me in the sense that I would get to practice frustration tolerance. The facility wouldn’t let me “defer” regardless and I wasn’t ready to up and check myself in THAT WEEK. So, no residential treatment.

Of course, that therapist had to stop seeing me suddenly in February because the application he submitted for a different kind of license was still processing. I know it was unexpected on his end and he had no choice… but this type of abrupt disruption was… not good. I knew how important it was for me to have mental health supervision; I searched for GA-licensed therapists (apparently there is no such thing as a GA-NY licensed therapist who is expert in neurodivergence… at least not one who takes insurance / has immediate availability) and found the right one on my first try. I also signed up for a “virtual intensive” 10 hours/ week of group therapy + 1 hour / week individual therapy and optional family therapy. They had neurodivergent-specific groups, which intrigued me.

During this time, I also decided to pursue a career opportunity that felt potentially risky—but the risks of staying in place ultimately felt worse. Immediately before starting my new work, I dropped the intensive virtual treatment… I really did try but at the end of the third week it was turning out to be a massive waste of time in which I might get 1-2 helpful nuggets over the course of a 3-hour “frustration tolerance” exercise 3 days a week. My time and my “frustration tolerance” was not well spent in that setting when I had new colleagues to build rapport with and a practice to rebuild.

Mid-March 2025 was a pivot point unlike any other in my life, both from that transition and for other reasons I do not intend to explain in detail, but what happened in March likely saved me, sparing me from what otherwise would have been an excruciating April and May returning to Atlanta and trying to reintegrate into synagogue life. Mid-March gave me angelic reprieve after months of agony and exhaustion from getting through the day.

I plunged back into dysregulation starting in late June, with July being fairly dark. But somehow I managed to stay engaged and productive, with only a handful of nights when various triggers caused me to lose myself and lose my ability to conceive of sustained existence.

Starting in August I was very very very busy in preparation for the high holidays in September / early October, and then for my daughter’s bat mitzvah in early December.

And for the most part, I’ve been doing alright. There have been a few unfortunate meltdowns, and I was highly neurotic leading up to the bat mitzvah… but understanding it all makes these times so much less threatening and so much easier to let go of and learn from. I had an actual good time at the bat mitzvah, which was a massive accomplishment for me, as I tend to melt down at my own events (or at best go into “work” mode and dissociate from social engagement or enjoyment).

The bat mitzvah was the thing hanging over my head at my worst, the thing that I had worked so hard to ensure was a good experience for my daughter (which meant I couldn’t ruin it and other people’s dislike for me couldn’t ruin it). Once it was over, a huge weight was lifted, but after a week or so, the endless plain of “what now?” stretched ominously before me. No structure, no goal, no certainty, nothing imminent to motivate me. I sank into cycles of neurosis and seeking external validation and reassurance.

This morning … I started registering to take the CA bar exam in February. And now I feel a bit more like myself.

Here’s hoping 2026 makes sense, and that I can climb closer to the equilibrium that eludes me in my eternally-warring cravings for novelty and predictability…