Disordered Thinking and Work

 Link posted to my Facebook on September 8, 2026

To date, besides babysitting and nannying, I've had 16 different paid jobs in my life. I've tried to play to my strengths - like attention to detail in business process, and nurturing young children. I've also intentionally stayed away from my weaker areas - like anything heavy on verbal communication (or physical coordination) - such as customer service (or waitressing).

I once applied for a job that included Teams or Zoom meetings, primarily to become more comfortable with the online application and interview process, rather than with any real intent of taking the job itself (unless it seemed spectacular). I made it through to a second interview, which revealed a few additional job responsibilities I knew I'd ultimately struggle with; namely, booking flights and hotels. 

I don't even do that for myself (since I never go anywhere) and I couldn't fathom figuring that all out on my own - on a professional level. It probably sounds absurd, coming from a person of my age; but I don't even really like driving to and around the airport here in Phoenix. It is way too easy to get lost finding the proper parking and terminal when there isn't construction - which they perpetually seem to have going on. I'm sure it would have been possible to figure out how to book a bargain flight; but without a personal reason to 'buy in' (aka my own vacation) I'm sure I'd struggle being enthusiastic about it. 

I worked in the public and charter elementary school systems for about 14 years. I even thought it would be a good idea to get a dual Elementary & Special Education degree and started down that path (as a post-bac). The longer I worked for the public school, while also watching my (now-ex)husband teach high school and college, the more I saw the dichotomy between what Administration officially said, and what happened in practice (in the classroom). As an aide, I recognized my limitations and lack of ultimate authority, which worked well for me. But when I was asked to teach a variety of grade levels in the computer lab (still as an aide), or supervise a 1st grade class for half the day when the district didn't have enough emergency subs to go around, I saw the flaws in the system. Also, the couple of times I had a 'behavior' child 'entrusted' to my care, I felt incredibly poorly prepared or trained (odd, given my own kiddos history). I still love kids (and education), but my tolerance for educational bureaucracy ultimately dampened my enthusiasm for that as a professional career too.

If I'm going to work, and take time away from my own offspring, to do a job where I'm not going to be paid terribly well, and perhaps be treated poorly too; I better have some enthusiasm for the task itself (or at the very least have some belief in the industry's presence).

I'm certain I'd have trouble with financial markets; because as much as I believe wealth can be a good thing, I don't want to have to perseverate about it. I've never had large amounts of money, personally. So, sums above $10K sort of fall into that monopoly money category I visualized during ECON 101, along with the marginal gains. My eyes glaze over and I only hear the teacher from Charlie Brown's class.

The pattern with all of this, I've discovered is, I don't have a lot of drive when it comes to pursuing a professional occupation. I think, for the gals I went to college and high school with, it was either the highly intelligent or the ones who enjoyed competition (competitive environments) who pursued actual careers. I love the concept of women choosing (or having the opportunity to choose) a vocation from something they love or are good at. 

During my formative years, it seemed to be the push for girls was to do well in their studies, while also becoming good at domestic occupations (everything it takes to keep a loving home, even on a frugal budget, when necessary). I tried my best to reconcile how a girl obtained enough education and training, and kept her foot in the industry's door just to pick it back up (if necessary), while at the same time being out of the full time workforce engaged in raising children. Church leaders worded it (at the time), as 'just in case'; which I'm fairly certain has changed at this point.

I do believe many women are completely capable of running a functioning home and holding down outside employment or pursuing a fulfilling (and even lucrative) career. I don't know that I fill those shoes. I'll admit to a mighty struggle with the division of labor (in my marriage), while we were both in school (and working).

My executive functioning would have to be much higher (than it currently is), or I'd have to love operating at a frenetic vibration level for performance. And perhaps if my nervous system hadn't already reached its lifetime capacity of eggshell walking and other-shoe-dropping along with backup preparation for those activities, maybe I could enjoy being so incredibly involved or busy. Mentally, it just all sounds exhausting if you have to plan for all the contingencies that could (and in my case, inevitably would) occur in all those given occupations. I'd never keep up with it all and would beat myself up for all the stuff falling through the cracks. Oh wait, I already do that to some extent with my current work-life balance.

Perhaps the biggest challenge with me and work is the lack of perception. I can attend to spoken and written directions for the most part. I'm not so good with picking up sarcasm or veiled instruction. Some employers want you to read their mind, or be their version of completely independent (ie. a self-starter and problem solver right up until you step on another person's toes or take on more than they've actually non-verbally delegated to you). I'm sort of averse to ongoing tension in the workplace. I'd rather address it and get it solved (even if it means finding someone more suitable to the bosses preference). I'm sure there are worse things than going to a job where you know you aren't wanted. Fortunately, that hasn't been my experience. I've either had great bosses, or they've been so incredibly patient (and so teaching oriented) that I didn't pick up on any underlying displeasure.

. . . Other than . . . my first 'real' job in high school.
The bosses sister (in law?) left behind a shoe when they came to visit from out of town. He (the boss) asked me to make sure it was packed up and ready to go out the door when UPS came by. I'm pretty sure I said something like, "isn't that your wife's job?"
And he let me know that my job was to do whatever he told me to do.

Thus began my education on the meaning of 'other duties as assigned', which seems to appear in nearly all employment contracts or itemized lists of 'required skills' these days. 😂

Maybe it isn't bad when you have an exceptional (or exceptionally ethical) boss,
and you didn't grow up in the 1970s and 80s.
The disordered thinking (literal word interpretation) part of my brain still rebels on the inclusion of that phrase. 

Disordered Thinking and my immersive Autism experience

Link posted to my Facebook on September 7, 2026

Most of the time, we hear about people on the Autism Spectrum (or those having ADHD) describing their sensory experience as overload, or too much stimuli. We see it portrayed as young people rocking or hand flapping (aka stimming) in response to their nervous systems being overwhelmed by the 'too much' that is any given 'new' environment. That has never been my experience.

There is a gal at church who unabashedly likes to hug me; sometimes saying she does it on purpose because she knows it 'bothers me' (while simultaneously laughing, presumably because she knows it isn't true). And maybe I come off that way, but her hugs are always welcome. I think sometimes my affect / appearance doesn't reflect what is happening on the inside.

So, in an effort to communicate what is perhaps unrelatable to everyone else, let me attempt to use words to describe it.

During my first year of college, I would go to the library in the evenings to study. How much time I spent actively studying what was in the textbooks and how much was hijacked by the study of human nature could be debated. The men's basketball team coaches (maybe the football team?) prescribed an hour (or two?) of mandatory study time in the library. The head librarian (also my ENG 101 Prof) had a team roster or paper where members were supposed to record their names and check-in time. Poor Mr. Jordahl had the task of trying to keep the library somewhat quiet during the library's default social hour. [Note: If you don't see a hint of Peter Sellers in Mr. Jordahl, you aren't getting the full experience of English class (or the library). The man was simply . . . unique. And his accent just added to the complete package. Mr. Jordahl made English class tolerable, which is a huge accomplishment on his part, considering the depths to which I despise all things English / writing / grammar / bearing your soul / emotionally vomiting in words on paper for a grade; and technical writing or term papers are even worse.]

My experience at the library wasn't so much as a 'fly on the wall' as it was taking everything in. To this day, I can picture the library entrance (which is very different now, since they've renovated nearly every building on campus since I was there). Upon entering, there were flat seats with cushions on either side inside the doors, before you passed through the metal detector style barriers. The librarian's Ask Here desk was to the left, with the newspaper and map section beyond him, and the main reading tables straight ahead. I seem to recall half shelves - perhaps the reference section, just before the tables, made of blond wood, along with the chairs, and you could see the three half-glass walled reading rooms at the back. There were so many details, I couldn't possibly describe it all - but that is how my mind took it in - the total experience. And yes, it took some time to discover the additional aspects of the library and where things were located (ie. fiction vs. non-fiction book shelves, the AV room with computers, etc.).

I don't know how to adequately put in words how that experience sort of mirrors nearly every new location (and human) I encounter. And driving anywhere for the first time . . . far too many variables, on a good day.

If you've ever watched the movie Hoosiers, and remember the scene where these rural town kids experience this sense of awe as they enter the enter the stadium style gymnasium for the State Championship game, I sort of liken it to that.

Hoosiers (10/12) Movie CLIP - Measuring the Massive Gym (1986)

Every new experience has some of that charm, in a way. In effect, it sort of overwhelms my senses, in a good way (most of the time).

I was talking to my older sister last night (who is in town for our niece's wedding), and in my rambling way we covered about 100 topics. Sometimes, when you meet a new person, the experience can be so captivating that you can either: look the person in the eye, or you can pay attention to what they are saying; but you can't do both. I've heard it described as 'people with autism have a hard time maintaining eye contact,' which I don't know is necessarily the case. She confirmed it isn't just people on the Autism Spectrum that find themselves staring into another person's eyes, only to find they've lost track of the discussion. And if you want to pay attention (to their words) you simply cannot look at their face (without getting drawn in, and effectively losing yourself).

Mrs. Potter, on the other hand, the elementary school ELP teacher (experienced by the three oldest in my family), was not so much charm, as instilled terror. Upon walking in the door, there was a good chance you'd be confronted with a wave of coffee (which is fine if you like that smell / odor). Personally, sensing the very real need to recoil (to avoid throwing up or passing out) isn't the most pleasant start to a day of interrogation. I'm not sure you can have two diametrically opposed experiences, based upon the way someone accepts you (or doesn't). My very being (or presence) seemed to offend Mrs. Potter. There was no way to measure up to her mysterious expectations, spoken and unspoken. It was as if she wanted you to intuit her desires and directions before you even got to know her. I simply couldn't fathom what new scrutiny she had in store as she peered over her half-glasses at me, with her tall wiry grey beehive hairdo, which made her already 6 foot frame appear even larger. There simply was no measuring up, in her eyes (for me).

And I don't know if my soul is just longing for that acceptance of what my life is, rather than knowing the way I live in this world will eventually be too much (or too little) in another person's eyes. Or if what I'm really just seeking is to be able to fully immerse myself in the experience of being alive. If the entire process wouldn't result in losing myself (or my mind) in the overwhelm (or sadness) that occasionally occurs, my imagination doesn't want to abandon the entire opportunity. Because, I have somehow persuaded myself, if I could just get past the first moments, and even if I'm never able to fully measure up to another human's (eventual) expectations, I could appreciate what is (in the moment, at any point along the way). And then I tell myself not to be so selfish, because life is really pretty good.

The financial advisor that rents space in our office occasionally sings (or hums), in his baritone voice, in the hallway, and on his way out the door. If you've never sat in the alto section while a wall of sound from an adult male choir comes at your back and then washes over you in waves of bass, baritone and tenor; and you've never experienced that complete sensation of pure male harmony on a cellular level, that just elicits peace, relaxed nerves, and smiling . . . you have not lived what is the absolute pleasure of my immersive autism experience.

Not that all my lived experiences are that way, just . . . enough (new ones), to make me think: if life was full of this sense of wonder, maybe it really is worth it, just as it is. And I should stop seeking for something more, just to approximate being 'whole' or what is 'normal' to everyone else - which I will never know.

Disordered Thinking and Talk Therapy

Link posted to my Facebook on September 3, 2026

I went to see a therapist years ago, feeling incredibly disappointed in myself, because I'd handled something poorly with my son. It (the motivation to go) mostly stemmed from never wanting that to ever happen again and hoping there was some way to address what was going on (with me).

And for as difficult as it is to label exactly how I'm feeling in this moment, I'd say I'm approaching that - being disappointed that I didn't handle everything better. And yes, I acknowledge that maybe it might have required understanding (ahead of time) about what was happening. It doesn't change the fact that I'd like to not be in this place in the future. I'd like to handle my problems in a more productive way. Maybe that is just another in the ongoing list of challenges associated with disordered thinking and mental health.

The first time I went for therapy/medication (for myself), was in response to something said by a member of the quasi-IEP team at my son's charter school. In effect suggesting (in a round about way) that perhaps my son's diagnosis (at the time) was reflective of something in me. So, I found a medical doc who specialized in Psychiatry and OCD (or maybe I was given her name by referral) and made an appointment. As we talked about why I was there, the therapist asked if anyone in my family had been diagnosed with OCD or other psychological issues. We talked about my brother, and my family's association with depression. And then she asked what specific behaviors were concerning me. I told her I wasn't exactly sure, but named off a few things I figured could be considered to be 'perseveration' (another label they'd used on my son) - ie. I absent-mindedly counting how long the water ran when I filled the water pitcher. 

The psychiatrist was patient, but after a few minutes of back and forth, it was pretty obvious she thought this was sort of a waste of her time. She described in detail the kind of problematic behaviors people with OCD actually have, for example: not being able to leave the house without checking and rechecking the lock 10 times, touching the top of a door frame 23 times before walking through, repeated handwashing - to the point your skin is dry, cracked and bleeding - and still needing to wash again. She assured me I didn't have OCD and didn't need medication for my 'symptoms'. We had the one visit and she didn't see a need to follow up, so I didn't.

The next time I went (for therapy) was after the interaction with my son. I saw a counselor / social worker that time. I remember only going for a few visits - seems like I got a job which would have interrupted the timing - so we agreed I'd stop. The main take aways I remember from those sessions:

(1) The therapist told me I was adaptable. She thought I did a good job making accommodation for all the ways life (and expectations) had changed over the years. I didn't know that was something to be remarkable, and maybe that was just her way of trying to find something positive to say.

(2) She talked about praying in her previous marriage. She was remarried at that point. She said her impression was the Lord had let her know it was up to her if she wanted to get divorced. She had worked hard and there wasn't any shame in deciding to exit an abusive situation. There wasn't any abuse going on in my marriage, so I figured she was either telling me a story to help me feel comfortable with her (aka safe?) and that there was no judgement about anything I was feeling. I don't remember coming away from the sessions thinking she'd given me advice or permission to consider divorce; but it almost seemed like she wasn't taking it off the table - which sort of seemed odd, when I'd come in about my own disappointing behavior (related to my son).

(3) Each time I went in, there was a legal size paper (in triplicate) full of check-box answers that I was supposed to fill out. I ranked how 'satisfied' I was feeling about various areas of my life. Exhaustive in its scope really. I skipped a few I felt weren't really relevant to my visits - and she specifically asked about them and why I'd failed to answer. When I told her they weren't relevant, she assured me they were - in my overall heath and happiness. I replied that the nature of the questions seemed to be something I considered a standard by-product of a good relationship (with your spouse). And ever after that I felt compelled to answer (somewhat in protest) these particularly invasive questions, when I just wanted help relating to my teenage kid (with a disability). And my goal was to learn to exercise more self control when I was tired or weary of dealing with it all.

And maybe that is what I'm still struggling with . . . (15+ years on)
the idea I should be able handle stuff better when life is falling apart.
Because the nature of (my) life itself isn't going to change.
The support system isn't going to miraculously provide some additional type of assistance.
Maybe I thought there would be some previously unknown agency that could help - that second attempt at therapy; I know better now.

I've told myself for years that I'm just drawing the circle tighter, to accommodate what is, by cutting out what doesn't work (or makes life harder). There isn't much left to cut out anymore. And I always felt like that was just the impetus to look deeper for the simple blessings we did/do have - and find contentment there.

And until something rattles it, I guess the adaptable part of me just does its thing.
Sometimes there is white-knuckling it through the tough stuff.
And sometimes there is just letting go of the only thing keeping you attached to the apparent dysfunction, which appears to me (at this point) to be trying to white-knuckle functioning through a hard situation.
So I'm forcing myself to adapt, once again, because my family (the three of us) must come first - which seems radically different (in my heart), given what I've actually been keeping in the tiny circle.

Disordered Thinking and Enmeshment Theory

Link posted to my Facebook on September 2, 2026 

There is a quote I heard at church, 'the philosophies of men, mingled with scripture'. I guess the meaning may be fairly self-explanatory. There is 'science' or the process by which we take our observations, posit a theory, conduct an experiment, and analyze the data to draw a conclusion. In other words we have the scientific method (the philosophies of men), and we have 'scripture'.

Some people would argue that scripture is just a written version of oral history, which is also open to error and revision. For the purposes of this post, I'm going to say, I think the meaning of 'mingled with scripture' actually means intertwined with foundational truth. You don't personally have to find your truth in scripture. But let's just go with this premise: scripture (for this discussion) is referencing the concept of universal truth.

Years ago when my (now ex-)husband was working on his Master's degree in Spanish at the University of AZ, a doctoral student from our congregation spoke in church. The speaker wasn't in a medical or social worker program, but did reference Enmeshment; to provide an example of being too involved in something that didn't help a relationship. The speaker referenced getting lost in reading a novel for 5-6 hours, instead of striking a balance, with a little less time spent with the book, and more time on something higher the list of priorities - like the grad research or their spouse.

There is more (and less) to Enmeshment theory. 

An article by Saul McLeod, PhD (in Psychology) writes in Psychology Today (updated Feb 2025),

"Enmeshment is a psychological term describing an extreme form of emotional closeness where personal boundaries become blurred or non-existent.

"In an enmeshed relationship, individuals are overly involved in each other’s lives to the point that they lose a clear sense of their own identity and autonomy."

Naturally, Wikipedia also has an article (albeit very short) about Enmeshment theory

But just because we come up with a theory about something doesn't make it true.

I do believe that we can be so over-involved in caring for other people that we fail to care for our own basic needs - ie. nutrition, exercise, hygiene, etc. And sometimes, that becomes disabling for the whole family.

There are also syndromes or conditions with other names that describe extreme familial disfunction (like Munchausen syndrome by proxy, now referred to as FDIA or Factitious disorder imposed on another).

But again, just because we see something, and label it, doesn't always make it true.

If all parents of offspring with special needs (developmental, medically fragile, or other) or even normal needs, prioritized themselves above their children, what would become of the next generation?

Nearly always, we have family members that require us to give more during certain seasons. Infants would be an obvious example. Some families have members whose needs are developmentally appropriate, but unique to their chronologically aged peers. And so, for that season (or earth-bound lifetime) those families will have lives that look very different than the general population.

I also have a theory.

Continually asking families that have members with special needs, to step up to the plate and serve the priorities of the common population, can occasionally be societally tone deaf.

My positing that theory doesn't make it true, even if it is based on observation. I'm currently living enmeshed in the experiment phase. I'm uncertain if any of my interim conclusions are truly factual because of the dysfunctional nature of my thought process.

Perhaps we are all enmeshed a little too much in our own first world problems priorities.

We could all potentially be dysfunctional, depending on our point of view.

They will be much more able to give you something.

Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen, ch 2

I'm going to conclude: by even making these statements about a hesitancy to serve (in any season of my life), I understand some people I know would consider this as being lazy, less humble, having a lack of faith, or self-damnation . . . aka dividing oneself from 'god'. I accept the label, as with many other man-made theories, while knowing it still makes me unable to run faster than I have strength . . . which apparently is currently the case.

The philosophies of men mingled with scripture (aka my disordered thinking) . . . is making my head ache (unless it's something else).

I must be feeling at least a little better, because I'm back to being philosophical (I didn't say rational) . . . now, we'll see if I can avoid crying today as well.

Did I mention we're going to the PsyNP today?
I am not the client / patient.
Though perhaps I should be.

Disordered Thinking and depression

Failed to link this to my Facebook on September 1, 2026 oops

I guess I should have addressed this at the outset - the intersection of disordered thinking and the symptoms of depression. For the record, when I began posting about mental illness in July 2026, I didn't realize I was on the downward slope. So much of what I deal with day to day appears symptomatic; it is hard to tell the difference.

It is a constant struggle for me to know where my feelings about general parenting, and mothering my sons in particular, stray into learned helplessness . . . both for them and for me. It has been a gargantuan task, doing this alone - which isn't the reality - but it is how I've felt. The process of getting a medical diagnosis and SpEd services is sometimes by default (and sometimes by intention), long (and adversarial). You cannot pay a person enough to actually care about your child/student. We've had some excellent teachers and physicians; but in the end, they can only give so much. And unfortunately, that doesn't bridge the gap between what exists and what is needed.

So how much of what I feel on this front - the resignation - is depressive and how much is just realistic . . . given the time and brain capacity I have available to dedicate to the cause? It has been ongoing for so many many years. And then there is peri-menopause, which supposedly encompasses many of these same symptoms.

I sincerely believe in having hope and faith.
I'm struggling with another aspect of it.

As much as I believe in miracles,
I'm trying to figure out if the Lord actually requires every single mom be willing to sacrifice like the widow did for Elijah, just to have her children taken care of.
Keep in mind, I'm not comparing my situation - we aren't starving and I have an education and a job - two or three very different circumstances than the widow of Zarephath.
It just seems like we might have moved on from that level of desperation (in the 2,800 intervening years) . . .
until I find myself still weeping at relatively minor things, for no apparent reason;
other than, life is a challenge.
And evidently, my body was struggling to keep up with everything under the circumstances.

I'm curious if they would have treated my low iron before or after handing me mood stabilizers, had I recognized (and sought medical help for) my symptoms of depression.

One thing is certain, this isn't how I typically deal with my ongoing earthly battles.

 

Disordered Thinking and the extremes

Also linked to my Facebook on August 31, 2026

I don't know if it is possible to make mental illness seem relatable (or comprehensible) to people who haven't experienced it. As long as my sentences make sense, it is conceivable the assumption would be that my thoughts do as well. And of course, I'm absolutely certain at least some people will disbelieve or discount any symptoms I may have experienced as normal in the course of human life. Which up until about 10 days ago, although I knew I wasn't feeling in tip-top shape, I don't know that I would have recognized how bad it had gotten. So many of these same associated symptoms come and go in my 'normal' life. 

This dialogue is poignant (to me)
"I always wished I'd seen the signs."
"You're seeing them."

I need to be absolutely clear (for the sake of my family): I am not doing 'that'. Please believe me, I would call you.

We live in a day of such extremes though. I'm not sure we even recognize when we've reached the point of absurdity anymore. Just as an example - fitness trainers are dedicating a lot more hours exercising than the rest of the population - upwards of 8 hours a day. So of course their bodies look different than the rest of us. And they are the ones giving us fitness advice. But that same thing goes for nearly every industry. The people giving advice practice their specialty full time. And some of the advice is simply impractical for the rest of us. Some things aren't even healthy anymore, if taken to the extreme.

If your life is already imbalanced in one area (or more), you may not be able to do any more heavy lifting. I truly am happy that there are other people who can keep the gears greased and running in all the functional areas of their lives - personal, work, marriage, children, social, volunteer, religious, etc.

For some of us, it can take a lot less to tip us over the edge - because that is where we perpetually live - in that margin, on the edge. One additional personal health episode, one more emergency room visit with a child, one more request for service from an outside party, and we may be drawing from an empty bucket. Sometimes just doing the minimum is already too much, when you are overextended.

But if being overextended is already the norm, we may not realize we are pushing other people past their breaking point with the next expectation or invitation to 'do better'. Some requests, however well intended, are setting others up for failure . . . and the feeling bad about yourself that inevitably accompanies it.

On any given day, the average person can probably deal with multiple requests, a disappointment or two, and a handful of difficult assignments. It isn't always obvious to the outside observer though, when your one request made, disappointment delivered, or additional difficult assignment becomes one too many.

We talk about warning signs, but sometimes we are just so busy with our own lives, we fail to see what is going on with those around us. I'm not ready to diagnose the entire human population with being too busy (and by extension, insensitive). I don't think that is the case.

I think the brain prioritizes efficiently and creates a hierarchy of importance for all our given tasks. In the case of disordered thinking though, this process doesn't function the same. Current research suggests there may be an association with synaptic pruning (the brain's process of cleaning house) and neurodevelopmental disorders such as schizophrenia, and autism spectrum disorders.

Just as a thought experiment:
If every piece of good moral advice you ever received in your life operated its own sub-routine in your brain (like a line of code in a computer program), you might have one or two that ended up interfering with each other. And if your brain was unable to move forward when it came to these two or three pieces of 'cognitive dissonance', you just might struggle to free up enough working memory to function 'normally'. And when I say normally, I mean appearing to function like every other person whose brain simply discards unused input after a period of time. But because someone told you this piece of code was important, for some reason you've been unable to discard it. And it cripples the entire system.

In my experience interacting with people who have mental health challenges, they rarely deal with just this one thing. Quite often, in addition to the disordered thinking, they experience one or two physical health related issues as well. 

Here's my best real life analogy:
Years ago, I worked for a property management company. One of the company's several complexes had a central boiler to provide hot water for the complex. It also had a swimming pool (not heated). As the resident manager, I lived on the property, collected rent, and interacted with the renters. On the Thursday before a Monday-holiday weekend, the boiler went out. A part had to be ordered from out of state and would not arrive until Tuesday the next week. So, the the entire complex of 35 regular units and 8 daily-weekly-monthly efficiency units were without hot water for about five days.

I was sympathetic to the residents, as I had no hot water either. But I at least had a bathtub, and could heat water on the stove and mix it with cold water in the tub for my son. We had some units with only showers and hotplates. Needless to say, some people were unhappy.

When I asked the maintenance man what I should tell the residents (ie, could I tell them they would have pro-rated rent for those 5 days . . . ). He said to tell them exactly what one of the two owners told him, "My hot water heater works just fine. I don't know what their problem is." And, "they can use the swimming pool."

I would imagine he was joking . . . at least I would hope so.
But, the tone deaf nature of the statement, whether it was actually intended for the residents (or not) was disappointing. In the words of the maintenance man, "The owner calls himself a slum-lord."

So, as you interact with other humans, don't be tone deaf (aka - my brain works just fine. I don't know what is wrong with yours!); particularly if you believe they may be experiencing disordered thinking (or other mental health issues). They might just be more concerned about a higher priority (like a shower) than your 'first world' problem. As much as they want to help you, it is possible they truly can't . . . without offending you in the process (see B.O., lack of shower, reference above).

Disordered thinking and psychosis (part 2)

Originally posted to my Facebook on August 28, 2026

I'm going to be honest. I'm a little embarrassed (not more, I'm sure, than my entire family for me, and of me).

When I started all this 'public' posting at the beginning of July, I said I wanted to make the conversation around mental illness easier and maybe not so isolating. And even though this isn't something, in this moment, I feel 'accountable' for (as in fault-finding . . . not that I'm blaming anyone else either), I'm struggling to find words to describe what I am feeling.

A sense of detached shame - I guess.

I know people will have trouble relating to any of the experiences I documented. And now I have to wonder . . . what was real, and what is just perpetually in my head (as I was feeling it in the moment).

Psychosis can take more than one form (according to AI - see below). I've obviously been experiencing disorganized thinking and delusions (or it is obvious, to me . . . now). I'm not having hallucinations, and never have (unless you count answers to prayer - which I'm sure some people would). No voices. But yes, dreams (long ago) . . . so, judge for yourself.

I've been going to work, 'parenting', attending church, shopping in public, cleaning my home, etc. So on the disabling scale . . . I'd say it has mostly affected me, the people who've been reading along, and a few I distanced from my immediate circle (just to cover the unknown blast radius). And then, also, everyone I should have been actively helping while I've been out of sorts for the past year (yes, the training of organized religion always finds a way to be there in the background). [If I make this all 'public' - will that make a difference? 'Atonement for' - making things right and changing my ways?]

I'm just going to note, for the record - none of this AI stuff discusses iron deficiency. So let that settle in.

Years ago, I asked for an SSRI for social anxiety, and it only made me exhausted - it didn't help with anything else. I was too 'drugged' on the lowest dose to function.

I'm not saying medication isn't ever warranted.

But unless a very patient person pointed out that I wasn't making sense - when would this have become obvious to me?

Once abnormal becomes your 'normal' . . . you are just different, not 'ill'. And somehow, society has taught me, I'm also (in the eyes of many) a lesser person because of it - and my apparent inability to care for myself. Life on earth, with other humans (and perceived judgement), is a hard taskmaster.

DuckDuckGo's AI Sources:

National Health Service (NHS)

https://www.nhs.uk/mental.../conditions/psychosis/overview/

Cleveland Clinic

https://my.clevelandclinic.org/.../symptoms/23012-psychosis

Wikipedia

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychosis

Disordered thinking and actual psychosis

Originally posted to my Facebook page on August 27, 2026

There were days (I'd like to believe) when physicians had time to read your chart and your labs, and know you well enough to be mindful of your history (maybe because you lived in a small town where everyone knew each other for decades). These are not those days. And I don't live in a small town.

A year ago (July 30, 2025) my lab work came back. My nurse practitioner (who is great and I truly appreciate) noted my climbing FSH level and some other hormone getting lower (indicating the beginning of my carefree happy days would soon be at hand - lol).

My online chart tagged something called MCHC, indicating it was low. But the NP didn't comment on it and the difference in the decimal points between normal and me weren't so far apart. But, I started digging online - just to see what is was, what it meant, etc.

And I started taking an over the counter iron supplement . . . a year ago.

Something hasn't been right for a while now. I've felt it. It was like something I remembered from years ago. And at first it didn't bother me too much, because if you recognize something for what it is, you can often deal with it. Until you can't.

Had a simply gone to AI (and not waited until today), maybe I would have found this sooner. But sometimes, you don't know what question to ask, until you find yourself out on a limb (figuratively).

Q: can low mchc cause psychosis?

A: Low MCHC is often associated with iron deficiency anemia, which has been linked to mental health issues, including psychosis. Addressing iron deficiency may help improve symptoms related to mental health conditions.

(from DuckDuckGo Search Assist, michiganmedicine.org, and Healthgrades)

On Saturday, I went with my younger son to the health food store. He was looking for . . . I don't really know . . . a list of things. And I saw a liquid iron supplement. I thought maybe I should take that instead of the other stuff I had at home - just until the bottle was empty. An experiment, perhaps, to see if it was any different than the gummies I'd been taking the past year, or the tablets I recently purchased. After consulting the dosing label, and seeing the dose at age 50 was 3x the dose for 51, I decided on the higher dose. It couldn't hurt, right?

Did I mention I've been taking an iron supplement for over a year now?

In the last half-day, I can tell something is marginally better. Five days on this liquid miracle.

And yet again, I'm brought to wonder, once again . . .

how many times in my life do I need to get close to losing my mind,

and end up praying that semi-nonsense prayer

because I'm watching my rope fraying

and I'm in tears.

And next time (hopefully there won't be one), but if there is . . . will I be able to recognize it sooner? Like before the full on crazy happens and I begin pulling up stakes and cutting ties and self-isolating (because even if crazy isn't contagious, it does make others uncomfortable). Hell, it makes me uncomfortable (with myself and others).

The human body is amazing.

It is curious how the descent into psychosis is so gradual - without something to wake you to what is happening, you could simply tiptoe into oblivion. And not even realize it.

Scary, if you think about it.

Disordered Thinking and First-World problems

Originally posted to my Facebook on August 25, 2026

I'll be honest, this social media thing is so far outside my comfort zone, it pushes the envelope of everything about me. It would be much safer to set my privacy settings to 'only family' or 'friends only'; or better yet (and possibly better for everyone I embarrass by association), just publish it to my blog, which no one reads.

This is one of the so-few places I can push myself (socially, albeit virtually). It seems like I ought to at least try . . . as some form of functional therapy (it's one step past reading a book or listening to a pod-cast).

I know they make medication for people to treat social anxiety (people in my household have taken it - along with an alphabet soup of other meds . . . w/ +&- side effects). And I might go that route if I really couldn't function in my life day to day. I purposely keep my life uneventful, as apparently my nervous system has already exceeded its lifetime quota for eggshell-walking and other-shoe-dropping. And if you've ever been to a psychiatrist or therapists office, you will know it is a process, sometimes lengthy (read, time consuming) and expensive to find the effective targeted combination of treatment - without causing drooling (or some other unfortunate event).

Besides, my problems are actually only crippling to me (and maybe my sons, because I'm not a voracious advocate); and perhaps by extension, my larger family unit(s) - ie. nuclear parent/sibling family, (all my ex-)in laws, and my church family. Because I've learned not to push myself too much, so I remain, in some ways, a 'lesser' person. For instance, I only have a bachelor's, not a master's; I work nearly-full time, but not quite; I don't organize family get togethers (even though I'm the oldest of my parent's kids living in town); I know all my family's birthdays (but only send cards to my nuclear family), etc.

But, if you look at it in the grand scheme of things, I really only experience First-World problems. I'm surrounded by people who provide so much assistance (social, emotional, etc.). It would be incredibly selfish (and socially tone-deaf) to consider myself as 'needy'. Even if there are milestones I don't accomplish (in this life), I am far too privileged, given the history of the world, to think of myself otherwise.

I realize some of my dysfunctional 'symptoms' appear to mimic people who've lived in war-torn countries, even though I haven't. And I often communicate (in real time) like I have an intellectual disability, which I've never been diagnosed with. And I'm avoidant as h*** when panic sets in, because I'm afraid of completely detaching from reality; which happens to people with complex trauma (which I can't claim to have). So, in reality, I have it a lot better than many humans on earth ever will. And as my sweet neighbors used to say, "it isn't a contest" (for who has it worse).

My dad says it has only been in relatively recent years that we started using the term anxiety (in place of fear). And people have always experienced some form of fear (justified or unjustified - given Christ's admonition to not fear). I like to think of anxiety as a term we use for the more irrational type of fear that disordered thinking creates. Because people in the first world (for the most part) don't fear tigers/lions, 'God', or volcanoes - we fear each other. And that may be the most scary of all.

My older sister advised I shouldn't be afraid to share this part of myself. Allowing people to 'know' me through my words is, in some ways, like sharing a gift. And if I could just persuade my disordered thinking to look at it that way, I might be more comfortable with the whole endeavor. As it is, I'm often just placing myself on the mercy of any reader, to hopefully understand what my words will inevitably miscommunicate . . . in an effort to normalize talking about mental illness and disordered thinking. And hopefully, making it even marginally accessible, to understand what is is to walk in our shoes. So that someday, it won't feel quite so isolating.

Disordered Thinking and Organized Religion (part two)

Originally posted to my Facebook on August 24, 2026

This is sort of a repost of something from from a screenshot I posted in February 2013.

This poem text comes from a speech given at BYU (I assume, because I included this link - which no longer works: http://byutv.org/watch/babd9835-7719-4b3a-bec0-6972c04efb6a )

I think the leaders of organized religion accept the expressed principle as true; not because it is healing or restorative, but because they can't give you what you actually need (sometimes).

Maranatha

The path for some if never lighted,

Their love poured out all unrequited

And wrongs they suffer never righted

Till Shiloh comes.

Some promises remain unspoken

To faithful hearts that lay all broken.

Instead of coins, they get a token

Till Shiloh comes.

Some old wounds are never healed

While answers sought, but not revealed,

Leave God's purposes all concealed

Till Shiloh comes.

And some noble souls seem quite forsaken

Their dreams and hopes like plunder taken,

Their looted hearts left empty, aching.

Till Shiloh comes.

From such pains, O God, keep me secure.

But if not, through Hell let me stay sure

And in the dark, let me endure

Till Shiloh comes.

(Maranatha means May our Lord Come)

Shiloh is a term in the Hebrew Old Testament
for the glorious Messiah at His coming -
 Literally: Shiloh, "He Who's Right It Is"

There are some questions I don't ask

and some I've never asked.

And typically, I'm pretty ok with that.

And yet, sometimes I feel the need to just change what I'm doing; because the hard thing becomes too hard to look at (head on).

The leaders of the church I attend have occasionally, though very rarely, discussed Compensatory Blessings.

Since 2008, they've been quoting Wirthlin:

"all that is unfair about life can be made right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.”

(Wirthlin, J. B., Come What May, and Love It).

My heart says this is true.

I also believe 'made right' may not look like what we anticipate.

Disordered Thinking and Organized Religion

Originally posted to my Facebook on August 24, 2026

I'm only going one specific place with this one today.

There are probably lots of ways to read the story of Job in the Old Testament of the Bible. Maybe that has to do with the personal questions you have going in.

It is fairly standard to read the story and calamity in the life of a 'righteous' man, and then the man's receipt of restorative blessings.

I'm fine with that interpretation. A good solid, what we call at church 'Primary answer' (aka - one acceptable and understandable by children).

I'm never really sure why certain things get left in the scriptures, while others seem to be left out.

The story of Job seems odd in the 'to-ing and fro-ing' of Satan on the earth. And God essentially telling Satan, 'look at the prime specimen'. I'm not convinced that is the way things went down. But I'm not the storyteller or the transcriber of this history.

It's entirely possible I've been reading the question section wrong this whole time. The way I read it - each time God asks Job a question (beginning in Chapter 38), we proceed with the flowery language / descriptors, which I also don't think are the point.

Sometimes you need the view from the mountain.

I think that is what God gave Job.

Not an elevated view of his own life.

Not understanding about his trials.

I think God gave Job a revelation about the foundation of the world, like you would read a scroll or see the expanse of the heavens. Maybe there was a conversation that included, "Look . . ."

where God would direct Jobs attention to something He/They understand (having formed the earth for a specific purpose). And because Job was able to experience it (sort of) for himself (in a personal revelation), he was able to understand it (the majesty of God's world).

I'm not saying every trial becomes worthwhile. I think we've covered my opinion on the idea that God sent us to 'test us' (as malarkey). We might need a personal revelation about what we value most (a sorting of our own priorities by personal ranking or hierarchy, perhaps). I think God already knows us pretty well.

I do think, sometimes in the intensity of incredibly hard things (individual to each of us), sometimes we get answers to questions we didn't ask. And I'm not sure the individuality of those answers (and that time w/ God), weren't the actual point.

The restored blessings which came later were just the 'gravy'.

I'm not an interpreter of scripture.

Occasionally though, I wonder how often we can be told to content ourselves with 'what is' or 'current revelation' which frustrates the souls of the ones who need better answers.

Not a criticism of organized religion, just an observation.

Whether, possibly . . . spirituality is what answers God's questions, while religion only answers the questions humans can conceive to ask.

Disordered Thinking and Advocating for your offspring

Originally posted to my Facebook on August 22, 2026

When I was in elementary school, we had lunch first and left the cafeteria for the playground by ones and twos, once we were done eating. I guess that wasn't satisfactory, because they do it different now. I'm not sure who alerted me to the opportunity of staying in during lunch recess, to help bus tables in the cafeteria, in exchange for my reduced lunch ticket being free. But I jumped at the chance. I didn't really enjoy recess anyway (think AZ heat at lunchtime = sweat + dust).

However, when we had the end of the year awards assembly, those of us who stayed in to help in the cafeteria received certificates. It seemed a bit odd, but what kid doesn't love another certificate. And that is my first solid memory of advocating (or being obnoxious on another person's behalf). Hank was one of the taller boys in our grade, so he was hard to miss. He'd also stayed in the cafeteria to help during recess. But they didn't announce his name when it came time for certificates. So, I made a big deal out of making sure everyone knew Hank needed his certificate too. It wasn't fair for the rest of us to get them, and have him left out. He thanked me, which seemed unnecessary. In 5th and 6th grade, I had this absolute need to fight (verbally) when things were unjust. I argued a lot, with my parents, and my teachers, my classmates/church-mates, even (and especially) my friends and siblings.

I wonder how much of the deep sense of justice-denied (I felt at that age) is simply normal child development. I'm guessing it had more to do with the incongruous use of rules (and rewards/deterrents) I experienced then. The arbitrariness of it all didn't seem to be based in logic; and the cognitive dissonance (whether or not we had a name for that back then) was emotionally deafening.

All I wanted in 5th and 6th grade, so desperately, was to be normal. Instead, I became part of some post-Sputnik era, US Education Dept / National Defense Education Act (NDEA) program (aka human science experiment) aimed at enhancing educational opportunities for gifted and talented students (and those of us who came up with off the wall answers to Rorschach inkblot tests). Yes, I'm different; but gifted . . . well, if you consulted Mrs. Potter (our ELP teacher), she might have described it another way (willful, stubborn, unable to take direction). But I digress.

I've mused to myself sometimes that family members are the least capable people of advocating for their own children, when the root of the issue is genetic (or multigenerational). If the thing you struggle with most (as a parent human) is what is required for advocacy (for your offspring) . . . help me envision how that works. It doesn't in my mind (because although creativity goes with actual giftedness, it isn't something that I've been 'gifted' - how to envision something like that).

Like everything else, advocacy is defined by people who want you do it to participate in their process. So, advocacy can be documenting - what you observe, ie. the minutiae of diet, sleep, frustration, outbursts, meltdowns, their strengths, executive functioning, etc. Advocacy can be showing up for meetings other people called for their own purposes. Advocacy can be testifying at a hearing in front of a panel to plead for funding, or reciprocity, or compensation. Advocacy can be bringing people into your home or taking your child into public spaces to facilitate normal behavior and routines.

No one has ever said, advocacy is allowing your child to feel that life in his own skin is normal.

*I'm not being literal, it is possible someone has - just, not to me.

And yet, as I examine the memories - my best advocates have been:

(1) my parents - who let us talk, and talk, and talk, and talk, and listened to my siblings and I, almost as if we were peers

(2) my siblings - who were fiercely loyal, and in whose presence my being different mattered zero percent

(3) the girls at church who became my childhood best friends - even when I wasn't fiercely loyal, and their time investment might have been better spent elsewhere, but I only ever saw them as 'my friends'.

(4) the boy in Senior year English class (which I hated - the class, not the boy) who swapped writers notebooks with me when I got tired of writing song lyrics and morbid drivel (just to fill the pages at the teachers request) - and never judged me for being bat-sh**-crazy with how privileged I was, while simultaneously being completely self-absorbed/unaware.

(5) college roommates and friends who ever so gently nudged me toward some sense of normalcy by just including me, and inviting me to absolutely everything - even when my face told them, 'this is going to be an uphill battle'.

(6) the person who schlepped me to events, including me in their friend circle (after my divorce)

(7) And this, from a person who crossed my path recently: Why do you think you are bothering me?

To wit: the people who allow me to approximate being normal around them, while they ignore seeing all the other stuff and pretend it doesn't actually bother them.

Because at some point, what society assists in helping you learn about yourself (for better or worse) is in order to be accepted, you are going to need to learn to conform your behavior, your words, your appearance, and your tone to their standards . . . regardless of whether that requires you to turn yourself into a human pretzel (inside and out). And once you've done that = forcibly disguising your own personality and human traits by smothering them with . . . lies. You discover, you are still unacceptable (in very meaningful ways).

So, let's face it, I'm struggling to be human myself, and while you (my sons) may need an advocate . . .

I'm going to be mom.

And for as long as you need me, we will talk and walk together.

And you will be your normal

for me.

And for the rest of it, we'll just continue to develop

together

semi-oblivious, to the others,

until we are forced to into being obnoxious

on another person's behalf (or timeline/schedule).

Disordered thinking and long distance sibling-hood

Originally posted to my Facebook on August 21, 2026

My older sister once wondered aloud, "How would your life have been different, if you had come to college at Ricks (now BYU-Idaho) with me? And if I never said it out loud, I certainly thought it: 'I would never have grown up . . . and you'd still have to be playing interference / caretaker for me.'

Instead, I went to college, found friends, made my own mistakes, (by some miracle) got married, had children, finished my Bachelor's degree, had jobs, and learned the truth of Victor Hugo's words: “To love another person is to see the face of God.”

My brain simply doesn't process words the same way as the majority of the people on the bell curve. So, I guess that makes me different.

Secretly, I think we are all a little different in our own way. Mine just makes communication a challenge (and everything tangentially related to communication).

It isn't something I'm proud of;

it just is.

And yes, sometimes it makes for a confusing, humiliating, rocky ride. But it is all I've ever known, so I have nothing to compare it to. Honestly, I'm more surprised when everyone else just assumes they understand each other - that seems more bizarre to me.

Less bizarre though, was using the pay phone in the dorm hallway to call home my first semester of college,

and crying.

The year my older sister left for college did cause a huge upheaval. At least a third of my friend base disappeared, along with her - so, most of the wise mentors and people I looked up to vanished. But I still had friends my own age, along with a part time job, school clubs, and church. There wasn't really time to think or be lonely (or think about being lonely).

I'm not sure I even felt lonely at college. I was alone with my thoughts so much of the time anyway, it didn't seem unusual. But nothing was familiar - and maybe that is the Autism spectrum talking (or age awareness). And that felt isolating.

There were no people (at college) with whom I had a shared history - unlike the quasi-puppy litter we were at home, all constantly stumbling over each other.

After you get to know someone, or spend enough time with them, you begin to see micro-expressions. Or you just become accustomed to what they do when they are happy, carefree, or quiet. I don't know how true this is, but supposedly there is a 55/38/7 formula that explains communication: 55% through body language, 38% through tone of voice, and only 7% through spoken words.

It takes me a little longer (than the average) to pick up on non-verbal cues, even though I look for them. I think I just have a hard time determining what they mean - feelings, intentions, etc. So when I went to college, not only did it take an incredibly long time to get to know people (beside my own roommate); no one knew me. And that second bit hit harder than the first.

If you don't realize people think they know you, because they quickly take in that 55% non-verbal communication of body language they are reading; it is easy to come across as shy or dismissive. And then they hear your words and tone of voice, and some people think you are abrupt, too direct, or rude.

And you are just on the side feeling overwhelmed and confused, because you can't read anyone . . . yet. And they've all made assumptions about you.

So, as my siblings age (and change), and I realize they are much more complex people than I knew growing up; it has been fun to watch them - mostly as (new versions of) people I once knew so well (as children). And I like to imagine they are still the ones who make that effort to bridge my communication gap; because they see me as I really am, (and maybe someday really will be - when I don't have to try so hard at this communication thing).

Disordered thinking and the boogey man

Originally posted to my Facebook on August 20, 2026

This may be one (in an ongoing set of posts) that makes absolutely no sense - to anyone else. Right now, I'm not even sure where it is headed.

Disordered thinking and the boogey man . . .

For every year you are alive, you gain more experience. Typically this also includes some knowledge and awareness of the world around you. It may also include some facts, stories, myths, and well-intended but poorly executed advice.

The boogey man, in my mind, falls into this last category of well-intended but poorly executed advice.

I grew up listening to this version of Pandora's Box

(many thanks to the YouTube user for this link:

https://youtu.be/AYph2G3kzHI?si=BLJVMre2EBxnOGED )

If you aren't familiar with the story, in a nutshell: Pandora is told not to open the box. She opens the box and lets all the bad things out, before slamming it shut again. And then, finally opens the box and lets hope out as well. It is much better if you listen. But I digress.

If morals, a code of conduct, or 'religion' gives you something to strive for, as well as things to avoid, in your pathway through life; this is generally thought to be good and helpful. When you experience disordered thinking, it is possible to get the incoming wires crossed.

So, the list of things to avoid (if you have no experience with them in real life) just sort of become an un-embodied boogey-man. Essentially, you *could* begin to fear stuff that isn't actually scary, and you might over-emphasize your behavioral obedience into a self-made straight jacket - just to avoid the boogey-man (or whatever evil is lurking out there in the 'scary' world).

Sometime between my 19th-21st birthdays, a college friend shared a story with me about an experience from his full-time missionary service. He and some of the other missionaries would get together to play basketball during the week at an outdoor court on (or adjacent to) the church property. And soon, some of the neighborhood children and young adults saw them and joined the game(s).

* For the record, I love to watch basketball (in person, not on a screen). I am simply amazed at what a human body can do, on a court, with a ball. My human body does not do that. Again, I digress.

The missionaries are technically assigned one day per week to prepare for the coming week - laundry, cleaning, shopping, etc. (I've never been a 'full-time missionary', so this list is rather vague). My friend told me the mission rule was something along the lines of: missionaries were only supposed to play basketball on Prep days (or during exercise hours?). And weren't supposed to use basketball playing, in place of teaching, with investigators - a guideline my friend and his fellow missionaries sometimes didn't follow to the letter of the law. They viewed it more as a form of 'building relationships of trust' (also a mission guideline).

The point of my friend's story was to help me understand, not so much that rules are made to be broken; but, not all rules, if breached, have an immediate negative consequence (or possibly any negative consequence at all). A principle that had been drilled into me during my youth.

I think of those days as some intense life-coaching by this friend who (I believe) struggled (albeit, incredibly patiently) to get through to me, in my lack of self- (and worldly) awareness.

As we've previously covered, I quite often struggle with the meaning (big-picture) of language. I'm not sure this friend ever felt truly successful, but the mighty try was endearing in a way I'll be forever grateful. The lessons repeat in my mind from time to time.

So much of my youth was spent trying to unravel meaning (or find any meaning), and paying attention to things I had no earthly experience with. So, until I experienced something for myself - or saw it played out by others - I had very little comprehension of the lessons involved (religious or otherwise). When I say, I think in pictures, I'm being honest. So, concepts meant to scare children and teenagers into being good just became anxiety for me - on top of all the other stuff I was already confused about.

With my own children, I avoided lying to them, if at all possible. And I did my best to call out lying (or mistruths) adults tried to pass off on them.

For example: when an authority figure informed my oldest they had a rule against standing in the window sill (that was 3 inches off the floor) during a parent night on campus, . . . I openly questioned (in front of my son) if it was really a rule, or if they just didn't want kids standing there, and to please give him an explanation.

And with my second son, when an authority figure informed him she was a 'handwriting expert', I didn't call her out (as perhaps I should have); but she lost my respect immediately.

Intentionally lying to children is stupid (in my mind), and generally backfires. Adults often aren't good enough story tellers that kids don't figure it out, eventually . . . even me (with some help).

If we want to talk about truthfully scary things - like poverty, hunger, famine, starvation, homelessness, genocide, etc. - we can label the boogey man for what it is. There are plenty of truly scary, evil things in the world. Why would we want to start fabricating them, just to prove a point? A question I'm still asking myself.