Content Note (please read): This post casually mentions medical trauma and gaslighting, grief (including the loss of a parent), chronic illness and disability, neurodivergence (ADHD / autism), depression, and food‑related aversions/disordered eating.
Tread gently and take whatever breaks you need. 🖤
Yesterday’s post was kind of emotional.
It came out of nowhere. One moment I was upstairs at the back table, watching the birds at our feeder and poking at my morning checklist: haul the laptop upstairs (so I don’t wake the Moss Maiden), work through my phone‑call gauntlet (keep your fangs crossed- I might have a new neurologist lined up after the Diamond Headache Clinic fiasco), and decide between music or comfort‑show reruns while I world‑build on my current writing project and drink my morning coffee.
You’d think I’d be hyper‑focused on the fae WIP I tease during Folklore Wednesday– but nope. Lately, I’ve been elbow‑deep in a totally different universe, a story I started as a teenager when hospitals were my second home. It’s… grown teeth. Big ones. Sharp ones.
When I opened Peacock for background noise, I spotted the original 1998 Charmed in the “Continue Watching” row. Cue a full‑body flashback and yesterday’s teary tribute to Julian McMahon- the cherry on top of an already rough few weeks.
Change Is Hard. Neurodivergence Makes It Harder.
Living with ADHD and autism means change isn’t just inconvenient- it can feel like an ambush. I didn’t even know I was autistic until I read it in my own medical chart, and no one confirmed my ADHD until my late twenties. Looking back, everything clicks.
Some changes barely register. Others fling me straight into a Nope Fest™. Exhibit A: Dean’s French Onion Dip– my former ride‑or‑die safe food, betrayed by a mysterious recipe tweak that turned it weirdly sweet. Tragic.
Hyperfixation Hunger Strikes: The Safe‑Food Files
When the Big‑Brain Scaries strike, I crave highly specific foods. If I can’t get them? Hunger strike, goblin‑mode, activated. Behold the Sacred Snacks:
- SpaghettiO’s & Franks + Nacho Cheese Doritos (think chips‑and‑salsa, but unhinged). A mom‑pregnancy craving turned coping staple. Discontinued. Still grieving.
- Cucumbers & Ranch– but not Hidden Valley (they ruined it). Only Marzetti or Newman’s Own from the refrigerated aisle, thanks.
- Tomato, Cheese & Mayo Sandwiches (yes, Miracle Whip forever; fight me). Kewpie is acceptable; U.S. “real mayo” is a hard pass.
- Lay’s Salt & Vinegar Chips– thin, crispy, mouth‑destroying perfection. I’ve literally made myself bleed; worth it. (EDS be damned.)
These phases pair with caffeine loops. Current obsession: Bones Coffee’s Star Wars lineup (Wookie Cookie, Dark Side Chocolate Truffle, Twin Sun Tiramisu). Don’t ask me to pick a favorite.
Soda? Pepsi Wild Cherries & Cream has my whole necromantic heart right now. Vanilla‑Cherry harmony. Coke still slaps, but their vanilla tastes like lab‑grade sadness. Coke, do better.
Some Changes? I Honestly Don’t Care.
Weirdly, I’m flexible about grocery brands. I grew up in a strict name‑brand household (Grandma Marianne had opinions. Big ones.). In 2020, after Mom died, the Moss Maiden and I took over cooking. Grandma funded the groceries, but store‑brand anything triggered her beyond belief.
Solution? Decant generics into “approved” containers. Sometimes she’d rave, “They fixed the recipe!” Lesson learned: not all change is evil- especially when it’s cheaper and tastes the same.
(She passed in 2023; I like to think she’d laugh… or haunt me.)
And Then There’s Medical Change … the Kind That Sucks
Doctors’ offices are time‑share hellscapes for the chronically ill. Once I adapt to a routine- layout, staff faces, even the smell– I cling hard.
Example: my rheumatologist’s office. I’m there every 2‑6 weeks. The waiting room is always overcrowded, warm, vaguely food‑scented. An appointment for 12:15? Expect 2 p.m. And yet, swap a single familiar element (the PA who recognizes me, the exam‑room layout), and my anxiety spikes.
Chronically ill folks get it: sameness is a lifeline when your body is chaotic.
Tomorrow I’ll be phoning a new rheumatology clinic. After much deliberation, the current one may have kicked off The Cursed Knee Saga™– a careless PA, a dismissive doc who ignores labs for a month, zero treatment plan beyond “get more bloodwork.” And ordering PT like it’s a “cure all” despite numerous failed attempts, and I need better. Even if change hurts.
Final Thoughts (and a Little Ghost of Gratitude)
Change is weird. It can sting, save us, or sneak by in a recycled bottle. I’m learning to grieve what’s gone (RIP SpaghettiO’s & Franks) and celebrate what’s new (Bones Coffee, I see you). To laugh at Grandma’s brand‑loyalty ghost while buying Aldi cheese.
Mostly, I’m learning to hold space for both grief and growth- and to forgive myself when change feels personal.
Because sometimes? It really is.
Stay spooky, stay soft. 🕯️
-Sky, The Crippled Cryptid
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