This is an autobiographical post. The names of people and places may be changed.
We decided to write autobiographical posts about the colorful life we have lived. There will be tales of sleeping in a campervan on the beach, of defending a bird’s nest from a snake, and of running away from wolves while sick with bronchitis. There will be tales of diagnosis with PTSD and ADHD and how it changed our lives, of meeting biological family, and of job loss. It’s a tale of overcoming challenges, of finding out who we are, of love, hope, cats, and of a marriage that’s gotten stronger through it all.
Autobiography Post 8
“I don’t have you on the schedule today.”
We both stood there in the office to finalize our house purchase, perplexed. It was a busy area, with staff on the phones and crossing between rooms.
“We’re not on the schedule?” Dorian echoed slowly, not fully understanding. “We got a message from Branon, our loan officer. He said to come here on this date and at this time.”
The woman across the desk frowned. “That’s odd. Can I see the message?”
As Dorian passed over the phone to show the text, my mind raced. How could we not be scheduled? We’d been given this date two weeks ago and had planned around it. The contract with apartment was ending. We had everything packed in boxes. We’d taken off work for the next week. None of it made sense.
The woman stood up. “Okay. Let me go check with my manager.” She vanished through the door.
Dorian and I looked at each other nervously. Nearly a year ago, we’d signed a contract with a custom home builder to build our first house. We’d watched it through all phases of construction. We’d talked a handful of times to our usually unresponsive home builder. We’d hand-selected all the paint, the brick, the appliances, and more. At the time, we thought it was our perfect house on a corner acre lot. Our home builder wanted us to use his brother, Branon, for the loan. Our first meeting with Branon had gone well, but he rarely returned calls, emails, or texts which had been frustrating. We were ready to get the process over with and move in.
The woman came back with two other employees. “I am sorry, but we were never told you were coming. We have nothing prepared. You cannot close today. I have no idea why Branon would have sent you that message.”
We were baffled. We explained that everything was packed, what were we supposed to do? We called our home builder who didn’t pick up, so we left him a message. We obviously tried to call Branon with no result.
Our home builder texted back. “Wow! I had no idea Branon didn’t finish things up. Even though he’s my brother, he’ll get a stern talking to lol! We’ll get this rescheduled.”
When we returned home, we were furious. Our whole lives were in boxes around us. As I started unpacking the basics to get by, Dorian finally got a hold of our builder on the phone. A tense conversation was followed by our builder threatening to cancel everything and leave us with no house if we didn’t just accept this and wait for a new date.
What choice did we have?
Two weeks later we finally got to sign the documents and close on our house. It was a wonderful time! We loved our new place. There were still some things that our builder had to send contractors to do. The garage was never cleaned out of construction equipment. The hot water tank wasn’t turned on. And the attic still didn’t have insulation in it. But over the course of a month, it all got fixed.
Still, we had to know if this happened to other people. When we got the chance, we asked other people in this new neighborhood.
“Oh, yeah, he’s awful to work with!”
“He lied to me the entire time.”
“You can’t trust that guy.”
The story was the same over and over. And yet, this custom home builder was winning business-to-business awards and being honored by his church. It was enough to make me laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.
Three years later, we noticed a house that was in the process of being built seemed to just burn down overnight. We never knew what happened until older neighbors that had been there for over a decade told us an interesting story. As we stood on the street, in the middle of a spring sunset walk, we got an inside scoop.
“Our friend is a firefighter,” the couple told us. “He was sent to investigate what happened. It happened over night and got put out without anyone knowing. He said it wasn’t an accident. It’s clear someone deliberately burned it down.”
“Why would the builder do that?” we asked, intrigued.
“The house was built on land he didn’t own. He didn’t get the proper permits, but built it anyway. He got in trouble and has been barred from building houses in Collinsville now.”
Well, at least karma finally catches up to some people.
This is an autobiographical post. The names of people and places may be changed.
We decided to write autobiographical posts about the colorful life we have lived. There will be tales of sleeping in a campervan on the beach, of defending a bird’s nest from a snake, and of running away from wolves while sick with bronchitis. There will be tales of diagnosis with PTSD and ADHD and how it changed our lives, of meeting biological family, and of job loss. It’s a tale of overcoming challenges, of finding out who we are, of love, hope, cats, and of a marriage that’s gotten stronger through it all.
Autobiography Post 7
When We Knew We’d Get Married
We knew we’d get married a few months before we actually got engaged. It would mostly be small comments like “When we get married, we’ll…” and “Our honeymoon will be a huge party…”, etc.
In 2014 we decided to book a cruise. Dorian had been on cruises before growing up, but I never had and thought it seemed so exciting. We were young and didn’t have a lot of money, so we looked for an affordable cruise about 14 months in the future so we’d have plenty of time to pay it off.
As we were deciding between two cruises, I said, “You know, a cruise to the Caribbean would make an amazing honeymoon.”
Dorian perked up. “Well, if it’s going to be our honeymoon, then we’re choosing the 7-night cruise.”
And so we booked it. We had a date for the honeymoon. Which meant our wedding date was already decided. It would be two days before the cruise, giving us one day to drive from Oklahoma to New Orleans and spend the night there before boarding the ship the next day. It would be November 27th, 2015.
The Proposal
Dorian popped the question during the night we watched the Golden Globes. He had the fun idea to dress up in a suit and dress like we were at the event. We were also eating pizza which made everything fun haha. Throughout the show he started giving his own awards for various things that had happened in our relationship. It was super cute, and I started to suspect this might be the time.
With the last question he asked he was down on one knee with a ring in his hand. He’d secretly propped up his phone to record the whole thing, and I thought it was perfect. He knew I didn’t like big crowds or public displays, so an intimate moment between the two of us was special. The station he worked for at the time put up a picture of us, and we still have the screenshot to this day.
Planning the Weddding
We had 10 months to plan the wedding. If you want to hear about wedding drama you will be disappointed haha. We are both easy going people. It was an easy planning process, and we didn’t spend much money at all because we used friend discounts for services. For example, we were friends with a photographer, and friends with a DJ who threw in lights for free, etc. We paid for 90% of it ourselves and I can say with certainty that everything turned out exactly as we wanted it to. We planned every item together, and had a blast doing it.
I will entertain you with the only incident of drama that happened. I made a seating chart and I wanted to get approval from both sides of the family before the layout was finalized. I ran it by my adoptive mother who said it was perfect. Then I ran it by my mother-in-law.
“You are the bride!” she exclaimed. “It’s not for me to make changes. Whatever you say goes. It’s your wedding.”
The day we actually did the setup for the wedding, it seemed like those conversations never happened. Immediately my mother-in-law came up to me complaining about the seating and saying things had to be changed.
“It’s no problem,” I said. “You can move people if you think they should be closer.”
Not only did she move her own family, but she moved mine, as well. Which caused my adoptive mother to come to me.
“Our family is now sitting all in the back. Can I move the seats around?”
I refused to get involved in this drama. “Go ahead,” I answered. “Do what you need to.”
I was subjected to an hour of both of them “secretly” coming to me behind each other’s backs asking permission to move seats around, undoing what one another had just done. I pretended not to know what was happening. I wasn’t going to get drawn into their drama. And now that I’m older and wiser, I will say I think it’s ridiculous two middle-aged women couldn’t talk it out and come to an agreement between the two of them instead of acting like children.
The Wedding
Our wedding took place in the evening. Our theme was “starry night”. It was a magical experience. Leading up to the wedding, plenty of people warned us we’d have no time to eat, and everything would just be a blur.
But that wasn’t our experience. We got to eat our full meal and the cake. And I remember everything quite clearly. I remember the way all the mini lights reflected in Dorian’s eyes as we said our vows. I remember dancing to different songs. I remember posing in various photos, and going around and chatting with everyone. I remember taking time to look around at how beautiful it all was.
If any of you are curious about your own future wedding, I can say for certainty that I felt it. While saying my vows, while putting on the rings, while signing the wedding certificate, I felt it. I felt the importance of the moment, I knew my life was changing. It sunk in immediately and I was so happy.
The Cruise
We spent our wedding night at a hotel in the city. That next morning we did the long drive through Oklahoma, Texas, and into Louisiana. It rained most of the drive, so we got into town way later than we thought and crashed on the bed in exhaustion. The next morning we boarded the cruise ship. It was a confusing process. And the luggage examiner people weren’t happy about our sex toys and had us throw them away. When we finally boarded the ship, though, I was taken in by the grandeur of it all.
It was a trip around the Caribbean, stopping in Jamaica, Cayman Islands, and Mexico. We ate too much food and spent many hours lounging on the decks and watching the ocean. We did trivia night a few times and gambled at the casino. Once we got lost on the outside decks and ended up at the front of the ship where the wind was so violent it tore the sunglasses off my face and threw them down into a stairwell! Dorian rescued them and we quickly got inside with no idea what part of the ship we were on. We laughed the entire time.
Once we had room service delivered. The waiter took in all the decorations in the room and asked, “What are we celebrating?”
We smiled. “It’s our honeymoon.”
His eyes popped wide and he exclaimed. “HAPPY HONEYMOON!”
Of all the excurions, the jeep tour of Jamaica was our favorite. Our guides were amazing, and we saw so much of the island. It was the first other country I’d ever been to.
Seasickness
There was only one downside to the entire cruise. I discovered I get seasick. I was fine until about halfway through the cruise. When we were supposed to go to Cayman Islands, we had to take a small boat there because the ship couldn’t get close enough. The waves were massive, and shortly after getting on that boat I quickly got back off. I couldn’t do it. It was making me sick.
The last two nights I really started feeling it. We’d hit rough waters. The upper decks were closed and shows were cancelled for safety.
“I’ve never felt rocking this bad before,” an older couple on the ship told us. “I don’t think this ship has good stabilizers.”
When we returned to land, it kept feeling like the ground was moving. This lasted for a week afterward. I had to bring prescription nausea medicine to work to cope with it.
As much fun as I had on the cruise, I would never get on one again.
Ever After
As I write this it’s been 8 years since our wedding, 10 since we started dating. It was an incredible time and a truly special memory. We wanted to celebrate us and our love, and that’s what we got to do. And each year has been more special the one before it.
This is an autobiographical post. The names of people and places may be changed.
We decided to write autobiographical posts about the colorful life we have lived. There will be tales of sleeping in a campervan on the beach, of defending a bird’s nest from a snake, and of running away from wolves while sick with bronchitis. There will be tales of diagnosis with PTSD and ADHD and how it changed our lives, of meeting biological family, and of job loss. It’s a tale of overcoming challenges, of finding out who we are, of love, hope, cats, and of a marriage that’s gotten stronger through it all.
Autobiography Post 6
Redirection
Dorian graduated high school a year before me, before either of us knew each other. We both had the same goals, however. We wanted to apply for colleges outside of our state focused on the creative arts. Ones that would help us on our journeys as writers and creators, and get us networked with the right people and organizations.
But our families had other ideas. They chose the colleges for us, saying that is where they wanted us to go even though the right degree programs weren’t available. My family said they would die if I ever left the state. Dorian’s family simply said it was out of the question without an explanation.
I remember a specific conversation with my adoptive father.
“You need to go here and become a teacher,” he said.
“But I don’t want to be a teacher,” I protested. “I hate speaking in front of other people.”
“It doesn’t matter if you like it or not. It’s a dependable job, and that’s all that matters.”
I won that argument, at least. Even though it wasn’t my ideal college for my career goals, I got to major instead in psychology.
College Days – Talia
I went to two different colleges. The first was a community college where I got my associate’s degree in psychology. I loved psychology classes, and I enjoyed being on my own. I finally got time and space to myself away from my helicopter family. I will admit with a laugh I got so caught up in my own freedom I skipped classes and browsed shops. I didn’t have money to buy anything, I just liked finally being out for once. I’d never been allowed to go out on my own unless it was for school purposes.
Money was tight. I was only allowed to work a few hours a week at a local pizza place. I would split up the $70 paycheck across the two weeks to pay for gas, and I would divide it to spend $3 a day on my lunch. But it was my own money, and that made me happy.
After my associate’s I went to a new college to complete my bachelor’s in psychology. I went to many classes with the same people, and enjoyed their company. There wasn’t anything around this campus, so I spent my free time walking around the buildings and getting exercise.
I should note that neither of these colleges had dorms. I was encouraged by my adoptive parents to stay at home and help out with the family. The idea of living with strangers also made me feel very anxious. I didn’t know it at the time, but I had CPTSD, and one of its hallmarks is high social anxiety.
I was very proud of myself for graduating with a 3.5 GPA, and still am proud of my degrees even though I am still paying off the loans.
College Days – Dorian
Dorian went to another local college and did not stay at a dorm, either. He chose broadcast journalism for his major, which was as close as he was going to get to a degree in television and game production. His parents forced him to go to school full time and work full time at the local news station simultaneously. Needless to say, he was exhausted constantly and often fell asleep at the college’s library or on the roof hangout areas.
A high point of his college experience was helping out with its local radio station. He got to be involved creatively, planning and recording promotions.
“You have a talent for this,” his manager told him. “You’re really good.”
School was never Dorian’s strong point. He’s exceptionally creative, innovative, and intelligent. But at the time he didn’t realize he had ADHD. And it made the traditional school format of long lectures and memorization-based exams very difficult. But none of that was the reason that, despite completing a full four years, he didn’t graduate with his bachelor’s.
When it came time to graduate, he was told by the registrar he hadn’t taken all the required classes. He would still need to stay another year.
“I don’t understand,” Dorian protested. “I took every class my advisor told me I needed to take.”
Upon examining the classes, Dorian discovered that his advisor that was supposed to help him graduate simply had him enroll in all of his own classes. Not the classes he actually needed.
Tired of the long hours, and already promoted to Associate Producer at his job, Dorian left the college.
Aftermath
I think most would agree the American education system doesn’t work right. Some of the best jobs we both have gotten in our career didn’t ask about our college at all, and were more interested in our 10+ years of experience and skillsets. But that isn’t always the case.
Even though I’ve been writing professionally for years, and have won awards for my work, I’ll still have employers tell me they want someone with a journalism or creative writing degree. If my colleges had offered it, I certainly would have done so.
“I see you majored in psychology,” one interviewer said to me. “How did you overcome that challenge to make a career shift and get where you are?”
“It’s a misconception that psychology is just therapy,” I answered. “All of my courses were focused on communications, media, and consumerism. I feel that has made me a better writer.”
Even though, years later, Dorian did get an associate’s degree in psychology, and even though he’s an executive producer for television, the lack of a bachelor’s is still an uphill battle for him.
Let’s hope there’s an easier future for those that didn’t have the best options, or any options, when it comes to college. My heart goes out to those that never even got the chance to take classes due to money or family obligations.
This is an autobiographical post. The names of people and places may be changed.
We decided to write autobiographical posts about the colorful life we have lived. There will be tales of sleeping in a campervan on the beach, of defending a bird’s nest from a snake, and of running away from wolves while sick with bronchitis. There will be tales of diagnosis with PTSD and ADHD and how it changed our lives, of meeting biological family, and of job loss. It’s a tale of overcoming challenges, of finding out who we are, of love, hope, cats, and of a marriage that’s gotten stronger through it all.
Autobiography Post 5
The Desire
As a child, I always liked pixie cuts.
As a child, I always had long hair.
My adoptive mother loved long hair. She kept mine down to my hips. My hair has always been very thick, and it took absolutely forever to wash, comb, and dry every single day. I have naturally oily hair, and if I don’t wash it every day it becomes a terrible mess.
When I became a preteen, I started to realize I could choose how I wanted my hair. I was becoming more independent, starting to learn who I was.
So when the family would go to the hair stylist we always used, I would ask her, “Can I have it really short?”
Her response would always be the same. “Not this time. Why would you want to cut off your beautiful hair?”
Every time I left with hair that wasn’t what I wanted. It wasn’t who I am. It was a frustrating and powerless experience. When I turned 16, I finally convinced the stylist to cut it off as short as I had ever had it before: a bob! I loved it. It was so light, it was so free! I felt so cute in it. The drastic change definitely got a lot of attention at the high school, all of it positive.
The Rebellion
When I turned 18, it was my senior year of high school. My adoptive mother left to run errands while I got my hair cut. I showed the stylist a picture of what I wanted.
“My mother will hate it,” I warned her. “But it’s what I’ve always wanted.”
The stylist gave me my first pixie cut. Granted, it was actually much shorter than the picture. Throughout the process she kept saying, “I’m really nervous. I’ve never done this before.” But I loved it anyway!
My adoptive mother was furious. On the drive home she yelled and cried.
“Why would you do this to me?” she asked. “Do you want to punish me? Do you actually want to be a boy?”
The punishment continued all through the months my hair grew back out. She kept referring to me as “her son” meaning it as a form of bullying. However, I didn’t think it was insulting to be a boy, so I didn’t care what gender I was called.
The whole situation, however, was still very upsetting. After that I always kept it at a bob or just at shoulder’s length. I didn’t want to go through that again with her. Even when I reached my 20’s, got married, and lived on my own, I was too afraid. I knew when I saw her, she’d make a big deal and I wouldn’t hear the end of it. I also had gained a lot of weight during the time Dorian and I were laid off, and I worried short hair would show how round my face had become.
The Self-Love
In 2022, I considered cutting my hair once more. At this point I had lost a lot of weight and had cut off ties with my adoptive family. I was learning who I was, exploring who I wanted to be, free from judgement.
Dorian also had a drastic change he wanted to make. “I’m balding,” he admitted with a sigh. “I’m becoming my father. I think I’m ready to just shave it off.”
One afternoon we both dropped into a nearby salon. We told them what we wanted.
The stylist looked at me with a smile. “Once I do this there’s no going back. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Let’s do this.”
She gave me the best haircut I ever received in my 32 years of life. When I looked into the mirror I was moved. I loved myself. I loved how I looked. I felt confident. I felt in control.
Now, a year later, I still have my beloved pixie cut. I cut it myself now. And Dorian has stayed bald, which we both love. I think he looks rugged with no hair and just a beard. When I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of how I fought for so many years for this. To others, it might just be a unique haircut for a woman, someone they pass a glance at while in the store. But to me, it means so much more.
This is an autobiographical post. The names of people and places may be changed.
We decided to write autobiographical posts about the colorful life we have lived. There will be tales of sleeping in a campervan on the beach, of defending a bird’s nest from a snake, and of running away from wolves while sick with bronchitis. There will be tales of diagnosis with PTSD and ADHD and how it changed our lives, of meeting biological family, and of job loss. It’s a tale of overcoming challenges, of finding out who we are, of love, hope, cats, and of a marriage that’s gotten stronger through it all.
Autobiography Post 4
The year was 2018. We began the new year in the typical cold midwest fashion. I had my first remote job as a sourcer, and Dorian was in his (at the time) favorite job as a promotions producer in the city. We had no idea that by the end of April, we’d both be in the worst position we had yet to find ourselves in. We had no idea that we’d both lose our jobs.
The Incident(s)
Dorian’s was first. The company was going through a series of layoffs, and he got told very suddenly. Before he left, he overhead that management, in an effort to cheer the remaining employees up, was throwing a big food truck party. It rubbed salt in the wound, wondering how they couldn’t afford to keep people in their jobs, but could afford workplace parties.
“Management told me now I have to do your job, too,” Dorian’s boss complained. “I don’t know where they think I’m going to get the time. What they are doing is ridiculous.”
It would of course be only a couple weeks after Dorian lost his workplace benefits that I would have to be rushed to the emergency room thinking I was having a heart attack, but actually was having a strange reaction to an allergy medicine my mother-in-law advised me to take. Due to having no insurance, the hospital dropped the bill from $8,000 to $2,000.
Only a couple of weeks after that, my boss did an audio-only virtual meeting with me, saying he was laying me off due to budget constraints. I couldn’t help it, I burst in tears. I told him this was very difficult to hear given that I just got saddled with a large hospital bill right after my husband lost his job (which my boss already knew about because I’d taken a couple days off to recover). What made it all even more emotional was that Dorian had popped into the room to grab something during the meeting, and he put his arms around me as I was received the news.
We couldn’t believe it. We both lost our jobs. What were we going to do?
The McHabits
Filing for unemployment kept us afloat during our job search. But we didn’t know what to occupy our days with. While we enjoyed being at home together for the first time, there was also an undertone of depression and desperation. And that led to some bad habits.
We spent a lot of time watching tv, a lot of time playing video games, and a lot of time sitting down. We got absolutely hooked on McDonald’s, which was the closest restaurant to our rural house. We ate there all the time. Sometimes twice in one day, with a big tin of cookies.
This led to inevitable weight gain. It only worsened how we felt about everything in general. We took less pictures of ourselves. We didn’t dress up as much. Fast food is designed to make you addicted, and the thought of giving it up, especially during such a stressful time, was daunting. So, we didn’t.
Almost Californians
As we applied and interviewed for various jobs, we suddenly had a new option ahead of us. We could get jobs in a new state. We could sell our house and move somewhere way more exciting than Oklahoma. And so, given that we are creative, our initial thought was jobs in California.
We applied and interviewed for a handful. And we came very, very close. I interviewed for a recruiter job in Burbank. It paid well, although I should have seen it as a red flag that the interview happened at 7pm and I could still hear a massively busy office over the phone. They were interested in hiring me. But I had to hold off on accepting.
Because Dorian had an interview to be a producer for a video game company in Irvine.
“We’d love to have you on!” the recruiter told him. “You’d be a perfect fit for this role! Let me chat with my manager and we’ll see about moving you forward in the process.”
We were delighted! What an exciting opportunity! However, Burbank and Irvine were a two-hour drive from one another. That wouldn’t work. We could only take one job or the other.
“You take yours,” I told Dorian. “That’s a much more exciting opportunity than mine.”
We waited. But when the video game company got back with Dorian, the recruiter said, “Actually, we aren’t hiring at the moment. We were just seeing if any candidates were interested. I’ll get back to you if the position truly opens up.”
We were crushed. It made no sense to us. Why post a job and interview people if you aren’t actually hiring? I reached back out to the place I had interviewed with, telling them I was available. I got only one response back.
“There’s no availability at this time.”
I was surprised. It had only been a week. And given that my impression was I had everything short of a signed job offer, I expected some more friendliness and explanation.
And so, we didn’t move.
The Looming Deadline
Unemployment told us we had six months before all our payments would stop. The deadline was close, and we were nervous. What would we do if we couldn’t find work?
Towards the end Dorian was called into the unemployment office to check on his status. Which was strange, because I was never called.
Dorian told the lady assigned to him, “It’s been hard. I’m a producer for entertainment. There’s not a lot of opportunity in Oklahoma.”
“But it’s growing!” she said optimistically. “It’s really booming around here for opportunities!”
Right.
Finally, Dorian got hired on first at a news station. About a month later I got hired on as a regional recruiter for a bank. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a job. That was all that mattered at the time.
What we didn’t know was that we were about to stay at our jobs for only a few months due to highly toxic workplaces. Dorian had to endure a fit-throwing boss who had extremely high employee turnover from his bad attitude. And I was about to work for a crazy lady who readily admitted that she watched me though the cameras (from her office two hours away) to see how long my bathroom breaks were.
Something had to change. Something in our lives had to get better.
And we were about to make the best decision that changed the course of our lives forever.
This is an autobiographical post. The names of people and places may be changed.
We decided to write autobiographical posts about the colorful life we have lived. There will be tales of sleeping in a campervan on the beach, of defending a bird’s nest from a snake, and of running away from wolves while sick with bronchitis. There will be tales of diagnosis with PTSD and ADHD and how it changed our lives, of meeting biological family, and of job loss. It’s a tale of overcoming challenges, of finding out who we are, of love, hope, cats, and of a marriage that’s gotten stronger through it all.
Autobiography Post 3
Dorian knew Cameron since they were both babies. Literally. There is a photo somewhere of the two of them, less than a year old, sitting in a driveway together. Their families were friends, and so they grew up as brothers.
Many days, nights, and weekends were spent together, mostly playing video games. They were both in band, and both had ADHD though Dorian didn’t know he had it at the time. They both ended up working at the same news station as young men. The two of them were inseparable, the best of friends, making each other’s lives better.
I knew Cameron from high school. He was in my grade, and we sat by each other during a few classes. We went to senior prom together as, well, something. Not really dating, but more than friends. We dated later that year, but only briefly.
Cameron is the one that introduced the two of us to each other, and for that we will always be grateful. It began with a “You should meet my best friend, Dorian, you’ll like him!” We hung out in group gatherings, and it led to us dating.
We began dating in 2013. I remember only a couple times that the two of us also spent time with Cameron and his then-girlfriend. I’m sad we didn’t spend more time together. Because in December of that year he was killed by a reckless driver on his way to college. He was 24 years old.
I still remember Dorian calling me and telling me what happened. He said, “Cameron’s dead.” My mind couldn’t process it. Dead? Just that? It should have been preceded by “injured” or “sick” or “in the hospital”. It was the longest, most confusing, most painful day.
That night I decided to go over Dorian’s family’s house to support him. My adoptive parents protested, saying they needed me here, but I knew I had to be with Dorian.
I spent a week at the house, staying in the same room with him, being his rock, helping communicate with friends and family. Everyone wanted Dorian to make big decisions on the funeral and other memorial events, but he was so emotional that the last thing he wanted was to speak to anyone.
We both attended multiple events together across the course of a couple of weeks. Dinner at Cameron’s family’s home, services, the funeral. And in the years that followed we attended court hearings for the woman that had hit him, who eventually ended up in psychiatric care.
Cameron was supposed to be the best man in his brother’s wedding in 2014. Dorian was asked to go in his stead. The wedding was in Hawaii, our first major trip together.
It’s been almost ten years now. We still get emotional about it sometimes. About what life for us would have been like if Cameron was alive. How intertwined our lives would be. When you endure abuse from friends and family, it stings much more knowing that one person who only ever treated you with kindness is no longer there to provide it.
But his memory is alive in our relationship. And we know that if not for him, there would be no us.
This is an autobiographical post. The names of people and places may be changed.
We decided to write autobiographical posts about the colorful life we have lived. There will be tales of sleeping in a campervan on the beach, of defending a bird’s nest from a snake, and of running away from wolves while sick with bronchitis. There will be tales of diagnosis with PTSD and ADHD and how it changed our lives, of meeting biological family, and of job loss. It’s a tale of overcoming challenges, of finding out who we are, of love, hope, cats, and of a marriage that’s gotten stronger through it all.
Autobiography Post 2
The Prom Introduction
It was time for senior prom. I was going with a young man from my math class named Cameron. There is not enough room here to talk about the impact he had on both of our lives, so the next post will be dedicated to his memory.
When it got closer to prom time, Cameron told me his friend that had graduated a year before would be returning for prom, going with a family friend.
“I can’t wait for you to meet him,” Cameron told me. “He’s been my best friend forever. You’ll like him.”
Prom was a chaos of music, dancing, and flashing lights. It took place in an aquarium, making for interesting scenery. I remember being on the center of the dance floor when a young man came up. He was wearing all white. Our introductions were brief, caught up in the adrenaline of the moment and chatting with our friends. I do remember one thing in particular.
“You did actually wear all white!” Cameron exclaimed.
“Yes, I did!” Dorian returned with equal enthusiasm.
Oh boy, this guy is really extroverted, I thought with a sigh from my introverted self.
The Renaissance Festival
It was only a month after prom that school was out. And for me, it was officially done. I had graduated, and in August I would be going to college. May was an exciting time, for it was when the annual Renaissance Festival came to the city for a month. As a lover of all things fantasy, I always spent way too much money there.
Cameron texted me with an invitation to go together. “You could also bring your best friend, Katy,” he had said. “And I’ll bring Dorian. You remember him? The guy you met at prom.”
I didn’t realize it then, but Cameron was crushing on Katy and wanted to date her. If I had known, I would have set them up! Cameron and I were only friends at the time, though we did date a couple years later.
It was nearly an hour drive to the Renaissance Festival, the four of us chatting in the car. I thought I was the strange one in my adoptive family, as the rest of them didn’t share the same enthusiasm I did for the festival. It was 12 years later, when I met my biological family, that I learned my grandparents regularly attended these types of festivals and often volunteered as the king and queen, making their own outfits. I knew I got it from somewhere!
As we browsed the festival, bought items, and had fun, we went to one minigame in particular. The type where you had to hit a hammer on a pedal and try to make a weight go up as high as it could. Cameron and Katy went first, both impressive in their strength. Especially Katy who is an eternal string bean.
It was my turn. I had done martial arts, so I felt somewhat confident in my strength. I swung the hammer down . . . and missed entirely.
I was embarrassed.
Dorian stepped up. He lined up, lifted the hammer, and brought it quickly down. And missed entirely.
I should have known then we’d get married.
Reaching Out
A couple of years passed, and I hadn’t seen Dorian since. Cameron and I had dated and lost touch. Katy had gotten engaged with someone later discovered to be abusive, but at the time she simply stopped talking to me. I was doing well in college, pursuing psychology. I was a senior and would soon be graduating. I wanted to get a full-time job so I could get my first apartment. The problem was, my adoptive parents kept having excuses for why I wasn’t allowed to work.
“You need to babysit your sister.” “You need to drive me to and from work.” “Why would you want to work when you could be home with me?”
I was getting restless. I wanted my own life. I was able to land an interview with a marketing agency that was looking for a good writer for an entry-level assistant position. It was a cold winter day when my adoptive father, Dee, drove me to the interview. It went well, and the next day I got a job offer. But the night before my first day of work, Dee came to me in my room.
“I don’t want you to work,” he said in his usual cold, emotionless tone. “You’re not going tomorrow.”
It was hard to keep my emotions in control when I had to call my would-be employer and tell them I couldn’t start. I barricaded myself in my room the next day (it had no lock), spending my time crying on the bed. The family ignored me, going about their day and going out to eat together.
I was young and needed an outlet. So of course, I turned to Facebook. That was very much in style back then. I posted “I’ve never been this sad before.”
I got a message in my inbox from Dorian. “I know we don’t really know each other, but I know what it’s like to be sad. I’m ready to talk if you need anything.”
We messaged for a bit, and then exchanged numbers and started to text. I told him of my pain. He told me of his. A woman he was supposed to get married to had cheated on him, and he was depressed after breaking things off months ago.
As the days passed our conversation turned from our pain to our interests. Our likes. Our hobbies. Our goals.
We decided we needed to hang out in person.
The First Hang Out
One Saturday we met for lunch at Taco Bell. This was merely the start of a problematic Taco Bell addiction we won’t get into now. We chatted and planned on heading to the local arcade since we both enjoyed video games. Our hometown was small, and most of the games didn’t even work. I gave Dorian some good-natured teasing about his velvet purple coin purse he brought game money in. I actually admired it, though. I was so used to feeling embarrassed about anything and everything. Everything about me always seemed wrong. But here he was, carrying around a princely coin purse that was bigger than his hand, unconcerned.
Normally after spending a few hours with someone, even a boyfriend, I’m ready to recharge in my room alone. But after we were done at the arcade, I found myself wanting to still hang out. We discussed, and decided to head into Tulsa and browse the stores, too broke to actually shop.
He drove me in his car. It was a flashy Camaro, which would have impressed me except back then I didn’t know the species of cars.
We spent hours more simply walking through stores and talking about our goals, our dreams, and our memories.
The First Date
We started dating only a month after we first talked on Facebook. He picked me up to go to dinner at Applebee’s, which was considered quite fancy in our small town. There was an air of nervousness to both of us. We’d dressed up. We talked.
This is an autobiographical post. The names of people and places may be changed.
We decided to write autobiographical posts about the colorful life we have lived. There will be tales of sleeping in a campervan on the beach, of defending a bird’s nest from a snake, and of running away from wolves while sick with bronchitis. There will be tales of diagnosis with PTSD and ADHD and how it changed our lives, of meeting biological family, and of job loss. It’s a tale of overcoming challenges, of finding out who we are, of love, hope, cats, and of a marriage that’s gotten stronger through it all.
Autobiography Post 1
The House
When we both lost our jobs at the same time, we knew we needed to move somewhere cheaper. It had simply been a matter of coincidence that a few weeks before, Dorian’s mother had called asking for a favor. That was the only reason she ever called, holidays included. This time it was to babysit the house of an elderly relative. The husband had died months before, and the wife had to be taken to memory care. Neither of them were friendly people. The house was left empty, and they wanted someone to take care of it in the interim. We knew it would be in the middle of nowhere, not ideal for city folk like us. But, maybe we could get reacquainted with our rural roots? Ultimately, we needed cheaper rent, and they were proposing only $500 a month.
We agreed.
It was a long drive away from the cities and further and further down dark country roads. We didn’t bring much with us. Ourselves, our two cats, what we could fit in the campervan, and some furniture items a moving company took for us.
When we arrived, the state of the house was shocking.
“This is definitely an old person’s house,” I told Dorian.
It was dark, the windows covered with heavy lace curtains. Wallpaper crept around every corner of the home, faded with age. It was a massive house, but it felt cramped and tiny. That was accredited to the ungodly amount of furniture, statues, dolls, crystals, and more that were slotted into every room like some kind of materialistic jigsaw puzzle. Some cabinets looked like they hadn’t been opened in decades.
And there were mirrors. So many mirrors. Mirrors that reflected other mirrors and within them was the reflection of even more mirrors. Mirrors that peeked at each other around corners, that lined halls, and that reflected your image hundreds of times over.
We got settled in.
The Shadow Man
It was only a month into our stay when things started to happen. We didn’t say anything to each other at first. While we have open minds to unexplained things, we also have a healthy critical judgment.
The shadow man was visible outside the house no matter if it was day or night. We would see him crossing the front porch, standing in the driveway, or standing in the backyard. He was in the shape of man, just all shadow. Being skeptical of our own experience, and not wanting to scare each other, we didn’t say anything for a long time. We didn’t realize both of us were seeing the same thing on a regular basis.
Eventually I had to say something. “I don’t want to scare you, but . . . a few times I think I’ve seen . . . well . . .”
“The thing outside,” Dorian completed with confidence.
“Yes!”
“I’ve seen it, too. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to scare you.”
I considered for a moment. “Well, I haven’t really felt threatened. I think we’re safe.”
“Yeah, it just . . .” he glanced out the window, “watches.”
The Nightmare
It was within this first month that I had a nightmare. I’m an imaginative person, a creator, and my dreams reflect that. Fantasy, magic, monsters, and even scary nightmares. But there’s only been two times in my life that I dreamed about a place I was currently living in being haunted.
This was the second time.
In my dream, the shadow man was standing in the hall. It was a hall in the house that we hated. It was long and dark, and it always felt like someone was standing in it and watching us. Across our stay it would be the spot of many minor occurrences. The sound of footsteps, that feeling of someone behind you, and even a place that scared our two cats. This was its first occurrence of scaring us.
The shadow man stood right where the thermostat was, leaning against the wall. His head was down, and a hat obscured his face. I was frightened. It took me awhile the next day to tell Dorian. I wasn’t sure if it was something I should worry about or not. But the fact that in my nightmare I was certain it was not a person, but a demon, made me feel like some precautionary measures should be taken.
We prayed over the house and burned sage, especially in the area where I’d seen my nightmare “demon”.
The Dining Room Visitor
It was lunch one day, a few months into our stay. We were in the kitchen making lunch. Our tabby cat Danaerys was seated at the threshold of the connecting hall. Suddenly she jumped and spun around, staring down that same long, dark hall. It was as if something had touched her.
We didn’t think too much of it. Dany has a reputation for being easily scared. Not like our tuxedo cat, Gamora, who is fearless. We comforted her and carried on cooking.
Dany moved on and Gamora came and sat down in the same spot. Just a couple minutes afterward she did the exact same thing. She jumped, spun around, went into an arch, and stared down the hall. We got a bit freaked out after that.
That afternoon I sat down at the dining table to do some work. I had moved my laptop there because we would be playing a TTPRG later, and we liked the larger table for dice rolling and miniatures. As I worked, I felt this presence come over me. It was heavy and it was angry. I felt it pressing down. It was like I had sat down in someone’s seat, and they were trying to sit on top of me and force me out. I started to feel very frustrated, the mood coming from nowhere. I knew I had to get up.
I stood and walked off, making it seem like I needed to stretch my legs and take a bathroom break. The effect was immediate. I felt much better. That never happened again in the dining room, but we couldn’t help but notice that three incidents occurred in the same area on the same day. It’s as if there was something angry prowling around, preparing to host a dinner.
The Scream
Dorian burst into the bedroom just as I left the bathroom, the toilet still flushing and my hands still damp.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, out of breath.
I stared. “What do you mean?”
“You screamed. I thought there was a spider.”
While I do scream at spiders, I hadn’t seen any this time. And this house was known for gigantic, hairy spiders on a weekly basis. “I didn’t scream. I just went to the bathroom.”
“Oh.” He frowned, standing up straight. “Who made that noise, then?”
“I didn’t hear anything . . .”
We stared at each other.
A flush came over Dorian’s face. “No, no. Don’t say that. I heard a scream. I know I did. Right from in here.”
A nervous laugh came over us both. I replied, “I believe you. But I didn’t hear anything.”
Dorian was on edge for a few hours after that, doubting his own sanity. While this was the first time that happened, it wasn’t the last. There were two more times he came into another room where I was, convinced I had shouted for him. But I never heard anything.
The Man at the Front Door
This was the pinnacle of our scary occurrences in this house. There are many smaller things that happened across the seven months we lived there, and this blog isn’t big enough to list them. Strange reflections, sounds, feelings, shadows, etc. But in the middle of our time in the house, this was what altered our thinking from “something might be haunting this place”, to “this place is definitely haunted”.
We were sitting at our work desks playing our TTPRG, not the dining room this time. It was night. From my vantage point I could see the front door. The double doors had glass on them, making it easy to see when someone came up. After a few jump scares from delivery people, we learned the way it looked through the fogged glass when someone stepped up. The cats had lost interest in the door as well, even Danaerys.
As we played, I saw a figure of a man step up to the door. I turned to look. So did Gamora. She was lounging on the sofa and she looked over to watch the man.
“There’s a delivery guy,” I informed my husband.
The man leaned forward and cupped his hands around his eyes, as if trying to see inside. A feeling of dread twisted my stomach. That was not normal behavior. I gawked at the door.
“What’s wrong?” Dorian asked, trying to lean around to see.
The man suddenly vanished. I waited, expecting it to be a trick of the light and being able to watch him walk away, as I had with every person who delivered something to the house. But he didn’t reappear.
I stood up. “There’s someone outside.”
We both hurried to investigate. We looked out the windows. We called “hello” to try and get a response. We hit the panic button on our car to see if it scared anyone out of hiding. At that point, we were convinced someone wanted to rob the house. I realized what we could do to track them. It had snowed a few days ago, and it was still fresh all over the yard, even the front porch. We could track their footprints in the snow.
But when we opened the door to see where they’d gone, there were no footprints.
As we stepped back inside the house and closed the front door, an emotion I never felt came over me. It was a fear. Not a fear of people, or heights, or spiders, or taking shelter during a tornado. This was a deep, primal fear of something that couldn’t be faced.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, not knowing what to do.
“Are you alright?” Dorian asked.
“No. I’m scared. I don’t know what that was.”
We hung up a curtain over the door windows that night.
