Meghanhood

 I've never been officially diagnosed with autism, but it's pretty clear to anyone who has spent more than a moment with me that I am neurodivergent. One of the ways my brain works is that I am very literal. Many times in my life, my literal thinking has led me to some funny conclusions. For example, in grade 12, a teacher told us we were going to "talk about a cool cat named Maslow." For years, I tried to understand how a cat came up with a pyramid of needs. No harm came from that, and eventually, I realized it was just a funny story. But that hasn’t always been the case. They told me Santa took back the doll I really wanted because he saw me being naughty My parents went hard in on the whole "Santa's elves can see you ALL the time" thing. And I believed them. My life became about being performatively good. I got really self-conscious, especially about "bathroom stuff." This deeply shaped aspects of my core personality—the people-pleasing, ...

There’s an ache in my leg that isn’t just pain—it’s an absence and a presence at the same time. It feels like muscle withering at the core of my being, like something that should be there is slipping away. Not just pain, but a hollowing. It’s not sharp, not sudden. It’s a roaring ocean getting sucked into a singularity, a force collapsing inward while still somehow pushing against me. It’s an ache wrapped in emptiness, a paradox of feeling too much and not enough. I’ve searched for ways to explain this—turns out, others with nerve damage, muscle atrophy, and degenerative conditions describe something similar: 💥 “Negative space pain” – like the ghost of something that once was. ⚡ “Static electricity in reverse” – a charge leaving instead of building. 🌌 “A star collapsing in on itself” – a force losing its own shape, but not its intensity. Medical terms call it neuropathic pain, denervation atrophy, dystrophic pain… but words like that don’t capture the existential ache of f...

Hi, my name is Meghan, my bum bleeds when I am stressed out! WAIT?! WHAT?!  WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY?! OH MY GOD!! Becky, she's talking about her butt. I’m going to break it down for you, don’t worry, I will actually keep the butt stuff pretty light.  I have what would generously be called a serious anxiety disorder. I know, it’s so hard to tell right?  One of the ways that this anxiety manifests physically is that I am a picker. Do you know what that is? Someone who picks at their skin. Okay, that might be selling it a bit short someone who compulsively picks at their skin, sometimes to the point of causing injury, and is often associated with dermatillomania. I have a friend whose nail beds look like raw meat when she is stressed out. I don't remember when this started for me, however I will pick ANYTHING, but the parts of my body that gets “activated” can and do change.  Picking is an act of self soothing, something we all do, often without being aware of it. ...

I n our lives we have many births and many deaths. I am a collector of those moments in my life. I grip them dearly to use as touch stones to map out my life. Holding on to the shards of myself even though they make me bleed.  On March 8th, 1988 I died and was born… yet again. The Soundtrack of the Day If my radio was on, you would have likely heard Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up —a song that, decades later, would find an unexpected second life as an internet meme. Michael Jackson’s Man in the Mirror was climbing the charts, and George Michael’s Father Figure was on repeat. Sweet Child o’ Mine by Guns N’ Roses and Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard were guaranteed to make an appearance.  Evening TV and MuchMusic Marathons After dinner the night before, I was probably flipping through the channels. Degrassi Junior High was giving me, as a Canadian teen, a dose of real-life drama, while Street Legal brought courtroom intrigue. The Beachcombers was still a belov...