“All the Black Is Really White, If You Believe It”

The ways in which my diet has drastically changed in the last 5 months still astounds me, after smaller changes in the last 2 years. I used to have an ice cream shake every day. Sometimes (often) more than one. This is understandable, given that my stomach is partially paralyzed (and has been since August 13, 2001) and, well, that kind of cold, sweet desert, is helpful in such situations for all kinds of reasons that I don’t need to go into here. But I really don’t miss it at all. The smoothies I have instead, even though they’re quite basic compared to most people’s (I suspect), are packed with servings of fruit and vegetables. They’re also delicious and depending on my mood, often feature coffee. This morning I had a smoothie which contained cherries and zucchini. A short while later I snacked on a slice of Dave’s Killer Thin Sliced Good Seed bread (buttered and sprinkled with chia seeds), half a kiwi, a few pumpkin seeds, 3 or 4 plantain chips, a small sampling of nuts (peanuts, pecans, almonds, pistachios & cashews), roasted seaweed snacks (Seaweed, Sunflower Oil, Sea Salt), some green olives + 2 or 3 blue corn chips. That last item, which is very rare for me these days, would have been a main course in the past when I basically survived on chips, chocolate / candy and Boost protein drinks – oh, and lots of pizza. This morning, I drank water with these snacks. I liked fruit and veggies before, but I’ve never eaten them in such abundance or so consistently.

Also, my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is heavily tied to food, or the lack thereof. When I was a kid, I suffered horrible experiences and I stopped eating. I never again sat at the kitchen table with my family and had a meal with them. I was 4 or 5. When my step-father married my mother, not knowing what I had suffered, he insisted I eat with them and I refused. He told me I would eat with them or not at all. 3 weeks later he took me to McDonalds and I gladly wolfed down my fries there. My not eating was a silent cry for help, which nobody ever answered. And now I’m answering the call, for myself, for the child I was then, who is still very much alive inside of me. I’m doing much better at that now, but it is something I’ve been struggling to do for 20 years, realizing that I could feed him back in 2006, I did my best but there were a lot of failures along the way. I keep him in my thoughts and touch base with him, almost like he’s another person, because when I don’t, and that broken circuit connects at random, it can be so overwhelming. I used to black out and wake up other places, not knowing how I got there. I had a lot of memory loss. I used to self harm as a coping strategy, which I have mostly gotten rid of. I say mostly because the urge still sometimes returns, though I don’t actually remember the last time I cut myself. It used to be daily. When I moved to New York, the first goal I designated for myself with my new therapist was that I wanted to find other ways to cope. I’ve never liked the idea of removing cutting from the list of coping skills that I’ve acquired – because as damaging as it obviously is, it has also been effective at keeping me alive – but my goal was to find new ways to deal, so that cutting wasn’t my go-to-strategy. I wanted options. And I worked at it. And I found them. And those new skills became a kind of muscle memory that I do without even thinking about it most times. And the urge to cut is now so low on the list of things I can do that it seldom even enters my brain, for which I’m grateful. I’m proud of the work I’ve done on that over the years, and like the change in eating, it feels like something I’ve earned, so it’s very satisfying to see these changes bearing fruit – that I would probably put in a smoothie these days! lol

So after writing all that I wrote a new poem, which can hardly be a surprise. Which is actually a really good example of how I touch base with and assure Little Jason.

I worked on what will eventually be a Doctor Whoniverse order (featuring the various spin-offs and the Big Finish audios) but it’s got a long way to go, and I’m starting to yawn a lot, so I think I’m going to try to get that extra sleep in now.

This morning’s journal entry title song quote is from “In This Twilight” by Nine Inch Nails from the 2007 concept album “Year Zero”. I used to have lyrics from the song, which I found comforting and inspiring, on my bedroom ceiling.







IN MY EYES

LOOK IN MY EYES
AND KNOW YOURSELF.

YOU SHOOK THE SKIES
WITH WHAT YOU FELT.

FOR YOU ARE ALIVE
AND YOU BELONG.

YOU SURVIVED
BECAUSE YOU’RE STRONG.

AND YOU SUBVERT
WHAT CAME BEFORE.

SO HE CAN’T HURT
YOU ANYMORE.

Written by Jason Wright
August 18, 2026


For Katie and for Little Jason.

“My Superstitious Games”

What happened this week? Well, I got outside a few times but stayed in a lot as well, mostly because we keep getting alerts that our air quality is poor and on some days there have been alerts that it could be dangerous for anyone to go outside. Nightmarish stuff.

Wednesday I watched the new X-Men ’97 episode (S02E05 “Weapon X, Lies, and DVDs”) and another of the original animated series (S03E19 “Love in Vain”) – which means I have 2 seasons left of the original show and 4 more of the current season of the newer program. Later that night I had a bit of a freakout about food. I wanted to cut for the first time in a long time, and many the things I would normally do to ride that wave out weren’t possible. It was incredibly hot outside. Our water was being worked on so I couldn’t take a shower. And I couldn’t actually tackle food because the water line is in the kitchen, so there was a guy in there working on it, and the counters were covered with his tools. It was tricky, but I was able to communicate with Aaron, who was wonderful.

Once I’d calmed down, we started watching Season 3 of Heartstopper with Aaron. I watched the initial season in a single sitting before getting Aaron onto it. We binged Season 2 together the day it was released but I’ve put off watching Season 3 because I knew it had a major storyline about disordered eating – and I was worried that could be triggering (which it was) – but the film that wraps up the whole series was released today so now’s the time to watch it all.

The thing is, at a certain point, the character in question speaks to his parents about it, having written down his thoughts in advance and asks for help. I did that too, 30 years ago, in late May of 1996. The character also says that he feels like something horrible will happen if he eats. That was jarring. That’s what happens with me. And I’ve never heard anyone else describe it that way. I told my therapist about this on Thursday and she said she’d also never heard anyone describe it like that. The reason is, the character also has OCD (which I don’t), so he has all these rules in place about how and when he can eat. But that’s where we are different. My disordered eating is the result of trauma, related to food, but the food part is essentially a symptom of my PTSD. Still, it was very similar. And hearing it outloud on a TV show I was crying. And Aaron, who has heard me all this time, he was crying. And we were also both crying because the character’s boyfriend is in a similar position to what Aaron has had to learn and struggle with due to my condition. It really resonated. Due to the ongoing story we watched the season in bursts, rather than in one go, so I can make sure I’m okay. But we finished the last episode a bit ago (On Friday, July 17, 2026) and we’ll watch the movie tomorrow. The season has been rough, but very good and I’m hoping the movie wraps the stories up nicely.

As mentioned already, I saw my therapist (in person) on Thursday. I wore a Catherine Wheel shirt. I’ve really enjoyed getting dressed up and going out lately. Maybe it’s because I’ve lost some weight? Or maybe it’s because I’ve come to the conclusion that wearing sunblock, which I’ve always hated but needed due to my vitiligo, is probably why I look so much younger than basically everyone I grew up with – so I look forward to wearing it now. My appointment went well. I had a lot to talk about with the TV story and how I’d dedicated the black iced tea to my mom the week before. She was surprised that it has been 5 years since my mother died. We’d had 2 or 3 weeks off from each other when I told her originally, and I will always remember her shock that my mother had passed, and how I was dealing with it, and all the things that came with that.

I went to bed early last night. I didn’t really sleep well though, doing my old split shift routine, where I sleep for 4 hours, get up for a few, then lay back down for another couple of hours. It’s fine. I felt rested. And I ate well today. A lot of fruit, veggies, water, smoothies, nuts and seeds. I just ordered some more varieties to try in the coming days. I’m very tired but wanting to finish this before I sleep. I did several collages for my photos section. I wrote a new poem the other day, though I’m not sure I like it. I need to start posing more poetry again soon, and movie reviews. I was doing so well at first but it’s become a bit intimidating; I don’t like trying to find where I left off – I’m so disorganized!

Today’s journal entry title music quote is from “Crank” by Catherine Wheel, from their 1993 album “Chrome”. I didn’t discover the band until 1993, but I found them by randomly picking up their first CD – and they became my favorite group. I also didn’t learn that the second album existed until 1995 when they used to play this song at City Club in Detroit. I was so associated with the song that one of my friends (Steve) came rushing to tell me that my song was being played. I’ve probably shared this song here before and likely will again. Love this band. Love this track. Love this album.

Things Coming Back Up

I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD, which is mostly tied into food; how I think about food and how I react to food is far from normal. I find this humiliating and embarrassing. The trauma occurred when I was very young. I know most of what happened but some of that isn’t really my story to tell, which has left me in a conundrum. I talk about my history. I talk about my experiences. It’s one of the reasons I have such a high success rate with therapists. I’m introspective by nature and I have very few boundaries which I won’t cross in any given conversation if others are open to such things. And yet this piece of me that most people never actually see is something I can’t often discuss openly. I had to tell the judge who ruled on my case who almost immediately granted me disability, and I had to tell the eating disorder specialist who had to evaluate me to confirm that I wasn’t suffering from an eating disorder as part of a surgical prep. These interviews were very thorough and very painful. Yet I know that talking about these things often robs them of their power, even if they can make me feel worse in the short term. But I’m limited in what I can say here. I can’t tell you why I am this way, because, again, this isn’t only my story and the other half of this equation must never be rushed or confronted; that person was a victim too and it would be wrong for them to be treated poorly because I wanted or needed to share. So I’ll skip all of that. It’s enough that my partner and my care team knows.

Today there was a meal on the calendar; a meeting of friends at a local pub. I was invited but told I didn’t have to attend; they could meet me afterwards. I was grateful for the care of the invitation, and I tried to not let any of its implications trigger me.

Triggers. I’ve hated the concept of “trigger warnings” in media ever since I first encountered the term, yet I’m grateful for the trigger warnings that those in my life send to me. For those who don’t follow such things, triggers are simply situations which are likely to cause an episode of intense stress, which can cause negative outcomes for those that are triggered – the results and circumstances vary from person to person. In the last month or so my triggers have been far more intense, because I’m actively seeking to treat my PTSD, which means revisiting all sorts of things which happened in the past. I understand why people avoid such things, and I’ve done so myself, but I’ve never truly escaped my past; clearly it’s very near, if not dear to me. The last time I was this close to tapping into these issues I had a nervous breakdown. I stopped eating. I called my mom and I texted Aaron, telling them I couldn’t do it anymore. There were emergency therapy sessions; suicide prevention measures. I didn’t eat any solid food for over a month. I was removed from my job. That was in September 2014. Just over 4 years ago. But that time I was unprepared for this madness; I went in expecting something completely different and I hit a wall. The wall is still there but I hope to bring that wall down. I’m not picking at a scab; I’m fighting to heal myself from wounds that have been slowly killing me.

For the last 4 years I’ve struggled to learn skills which might help prevent this situation from happening again – the breakdown part I mean. These skills, these tools to help are clearly in effect, though they continue to evolve. Again, last time I was here, in this kind of internalized warzone, I couldn’t eat and often cut myself open, though usually to help ground me to reality rather than out of any attempt to kill or severely wound myself; my wounds were internal and decades old; I was just admitting that they were there. This time there’s been almost none of that. Eating is tricky; everything about food right now is a landmine. I can barely eat when others are near me. I freak out at the slightest smells, hints of food. But I’ve not done any cutting. I’ve been tempted a couple of times but I’ve found healthier alternatives so far. I write. I breathe. I ground. I fuck; sex can often ground me better than anything else. And I communicate with Aaron and with Anna (my therapist). Aaron and I light scented candles when there’s food around. There are foods or places with food that don’t trigger me at all and I keep a map of these places in my head at all times.

This complex reaction to food is something that’s been with me most of my life. I survived on snack foods through most of my upbringing. When my mother bought our groceries it was the norm for me to get only potato chips and sodapop. I remember avoiding any situation where this behavior would be recognized. I went to camp once and the nurse flagged me as having an eating disorder very quickly; she discovered that I liked apples and provided them to me every day that I was there and I never returned to that camp. Occasionally I’d have a babysitter; an older cousin or a family friend – and both fought to get me to eat. One got me to take a bite of a sandwich with the promise of candy. I didn’t have another sandwich until 1994, after a one night stand took me to Zingerman’s. The other sitter found out I liked peanut butter and would make sure there was a jar handy. In High School eating in the cafeteria was optional and so I never went there. I entered the cafeteria twice on a single day, in June 1996, before and after my graduation ceremony – and this was 4 years after the majority of my peers had graduated.

My PTSD has been complicated by a physical condition, which may or may not have been caused by my PTSD. It’s physical; it’s been proven scientifically, demonstrably, with various tests but there’s a school of thought that suggests that my PTSD might have caused this condition and I’m open to that – I’ve come at this problem from every angle – physical therapy, cognitive therapy, psychology, psychiatry, surgery, prayer, good vibes, meditation, oils…they don’t know what’s caused this. My stomach is partially paralyzed; it’s called gastroparesis. I’m physically ill almost every time that I eat. When I eat, my stomach doesn’t contract so the food that I consume doesn’t leave my stomach as quickly as it should. In fact, most of it comes back up – which is gross and off putting and humiliating. This often leaves me exhausted and / or dehydrated. Foods that are often recommended to people as healthy are foods that can harm or possibly kill me. This complicates everything. It also calls attention to something that I’d much rather not have to talk about. My condition is idiopathic, which just means they don’t know why I have it. Most people that have my condition are diabetic, but I’m not; I’ve been tested repeatedly. However, a working theory is that I’m genetically predisposed to the condition because diabetes does run in my family, and on some level, at some point my PTSD likely triggered that genetic switch…and here I am. Basically, I believe that I’m here because I didn’t face this stuff before. Not facing it now could lead to still more negative side effects. Which is why ignoring it isn’t really an option for me.

The Jasons

I smell his impulse
from a half day away.

The hint of a riddle
in the half light of pain.

The soft siren song
that tempts me with silence.

The voice of the child
bereft of my guidance.

I see what is hidden
as I feel what he fears.

We share the forbidden
truth shed in our tears.

We are each other
in flesh father carved.

This child is me
and I won’t let him starve.

Written by Jason Wright
July 29, 2018

Disconnect

There’s a space between me
and all that I’ve wanted…

Like my lust is a ghost
that has left my life haunted…

Devoid of the spark
that connects me to revery…

Like the life I am living
is only a memory…

A personal history
grown cold and impersonal…

A vacuous dream that had
once seemed so purposeful…

But I know I am there
buried under the sadness…

Married between her pain
and his madness…

They have stolen from me
what we were to ourselves…

My senses can’t deal
because they’re overwhelmed…

And part of me wants
to take time to sort out…

But mostly I want
to rip time inside out!

I want to take all
that has tied me to her…

Be it blood on my hands
or my unspoken words…

Or the things unremembered
that left me to die…

Want to shred that
and shed tears of goodbye…

As all of the pain
that trapped us in slaughter…

Travels back to the past
and then rescues our father.

Written by Jason Wright
April 10, 2018

Walking Away

Some days are harder than others.

Some days his voice is so loud
that I can’t hear or feel anything else
without turning myself inside out.

It never lasts for more than an hour or two
(often times less than that)
but in that time he makes sure
that I have his undivided attention.

This can be problematic
and disorienting
when I’m in public.

Our communication can never last for long
because I don’t have the reserves.
It’s too all consuming to sustain itself.

He doesn’t like to be ignored
and I don’t do it on purpose
but it takes a lot of energy
and skills that I’ve not yet completely developed.

And paying attention to him can be dangerous,
but so can ignoring him. Clearly.

Sometimes he wants me to throw all of my food away.
He’s jealous, I think.

Some weekends, everything I plan on
falls apart because of him.

The way that I’m falling apart,
but seldom admit.

Every day that I don’t cut is a victory.
I know this.
But it doesn’t feel like the truth.
It feels like cowardice.

If I could just cut him out of me…
I’d be dead.

That’s the problem.

I think I’m beginning to hate him.
Hate myself.
Because he’s keeping me prisoner.
I missed the party on Friday,
the opera on Saturday,
the walk in the park today
because of his need…
and my aversion.

These feel like failures or defeats,
but is it a failure if it keeps you alive?

I try to talk myself through it
but my feelings are complicated
and often contradictory.

I don’t think anyone around me understands
and why should they?
It hurts being so alone though.

It’s just him and me.
Like when she abandoned me. Us.

There are people that love me,
which is incredible really,
because there’s a big piece of myself that’s missing.

He’s completely disconnected from me
and when that connection is made
the spark of that moment is blinding…
but nobody gets to see it but me.

Or maybe I’m wrong and people do see him,
or the absence of him?

Maybe people love me because of him.

I don’t really know.

All I know is that he’s closer to me today
than he usually is
and I’m alone
and I don’t think that’s a good idea.

Time to go for a walk.

Written by Jason Wright
March 29, 2015

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