October 24, 2024

This is a correction to my last post, Unfinished Requiem, and some further explanation for anyone unfamiliar with my story.

I suffer from a condition called prosopagnosia, or face blindness.  Basically, the brain separates faces from other patterns for the purpose of recognition.  For most people, it takes only .2 seconds to identify someone they know.  With prosopagnosia, however, faces are treated like any other pattern. It’s as if that field in the database of people is blank.  So, I depend on things like voice, hair, location, and so on. This is also why I’m bad with names.  Most of the time, this condition is severe and it’s usually seen in stroke patients.  In my case, it may have been caused by a pretty significant electrocution I experienced decades ago, or it may be the result of a small undiagnosed stroke.  I do display other stroke associated symptoms, especially when I’m tired.  Whatever the case, my symptoms are mild but it’s not a condition that gets better with age. I have lived with this condition throughout my adult life, though I don’t usually talk about it. For the most part, I just wing it and go on instinct. And some people are easier to recognize than others.

Enter the shapeshifters. Prosopagnosia comes in two varieties, under recognizers and over recognizers. A patient who has had a severe stroke may not be able to recognize friends or family members in the under recognizer version. I’m an over recognizer, prone to thinking I know someone just because they look similar enough to someone I’ve met. The most common time for me to confuse people is when they work at the same place and I won’t realize they’re two different people until I see them together. In general, men are usually easier to recognize because women’s bodies, hair, and personal style change more. But some people are downright shapeshifters – they’re different every time I see them, so they’re the easiest to confuse. Add to that, those people who intentionally try to disguise themselves and along with personal variables… well, it takes me more than a fraction of a second to connect with someone, and I like name tags.

I get along just fine without a service animal (which would have to be a parrot), but stress and tiredness make people more difficult. Alcohol was the worst for this condition. And combined with love and lust? I could confuse people of different heights and hair colors in the same hour. That is how the saga of Leticia began 23 years ago. The first time I saw her was standing at a farmer’s market in California, but I retreated from a lack of confidence – then, she showed up where I was staying, came around the corner and just threw her arms around me and introduced herself, and I continued to see her there for a few months. Recognition was never challenged. But, I had never really made eye contact with her until one evening we met where she was staying and had shared some mushroom tea. I had quit drinking and wanted a vision quest. I recognized her intrinsically, then. And three days later I went to see her leave on a bus going to the East Coast… I lost my mind for weeks. That Fall was when 9/11 happened and she was staying in the D.C. area at the time. So, I went there. We had several arranged meetings but it was clear that I was out of my element, and she wanted someone else. I went back to the West Coast and settled into dreaming and making do with who I could. I had gone back to drinking, too. In retrospect, I knew things could have been different had I not… while I struggled to quit again, I knew she was coming back to California.

Skip ahead to my being sober for almost eight months, though I still had one foot in the ring of alcoholism, and I got drugged. Probably the most terrifying experience of my life, I was handed a pot pipe loaded with PCP. They call it getting dusted on the street and it’s done to take someone out. It was given to me by a hypnotist who then tried to keep me there but I got away. And that night, I think I saw her. I raged. I protested against God, the Government, and anyone who would come between us. And I got so sick I almost died from a walking pneumonia. She moved back later that year in a relationship, and I was living in a van, still protesting, and drinking again. This is how the game of passing messages began. Apparently, her status or mine kept us from being together, but nobody could stop the freedom of creative expression. Chalk arrows, notes, t-shirts, bumper stickers, radio, anything that worked – she even once left a message in one of my journals while I was gone. And I would see her… everywhere. That is how so many other people got involved.

There’s a long version to this story, and some covered in the archives of this site, but I’m trying to bring the focus to the current state of affairs. After a few more years of protest, I burned out. So, I came back to Oregon. I still don’t understand why we can’t be together, if she ever wanted me. And if she didn’t want me, why spend all those years acting like a jealous wife and trying to get me to chase after her? It’s true that I’ve missed more than a few opportunities for one reason or another. The first two that come to mind have to do with a black wreath on the door of a pink lit apartment, and a yellow boat in the fog. And I know she went to great lengths to be with me beyond those. I know she’s still monitoring me, too, but I don’t know why she can’t just call me on the phone or knock on the door like a normal person. The game of chase became more like me being stalked. And my expressions are so closely monitored it constitutes an invasion of privacy. I never woke up to the sunrise in her eyes or had her arms around me again. In fact, we never even kissed. And so it is, there are a lot of unresolved issues.

Now back in Oregon where I’m from, the game followed me here 18 years ago. I’ve learned it was not the government that kept us apart, nor some local special interest group, but the jehovah’s witnesses who have been opposed to my success since long before I met Leticia. This was not clear until recent years, though looking back there are numerous examples of their intentionally disrupting my plans and interfering in my relationships – this has been the subject of many letters and recent legal actions that are not in the scope of this writing, except to clarify that I live in a mobile home on a property they control and that they continue to be my number one adversary for more than a dozen years of sobriety. I will certainly write more about this later. In the years that have passed, so much has happened in my personal life and hers, and so many other people have become involved. There are numerous people in this town from Humboldt, many of Leticia’s friends, and other people from my past, even relatives. But nobody talks to me. There have been numerous missed connections and way too many contrived situations, but the murmur of messages being passed has not stopped. Plus, there is more than one Leticia. It’s frustrating enough that I cope with prosopagnosia, but when I have published posts about my yearning there seem to be about half a dozen women in this area who think they may be her.

There was a situation like this recently when I had a delivery to make to a hospice. At the desk right inside the door sat a woman with dark hair, wearing a mask and talking on the phone – and her name tag said Leticia, but she ignored me. I snapped a picture of the food and continued with my job. It bothered me this may be her for many reasons, but one of them is that I’ve had this fear that I could end up being one of those elderly people in a home waiting for someone who was never going to come, and that on my dying day it would just be part of her job. Then, as luck would have it, I had another delivery to take and she was standing there without a mask… my eyes fixated on her name tag, a hyphenated name that didn’t include her maiden? A quick look simply didn’t give that sense of deep recognition. I think it’s not her, and I continue on with my job. But then, I doubt myself and I wonder if I’m in denial because she doesn’t want me. I wonder how many times she’s been married if it is her, and how hyphenation works if a woman has been married several times. Days pass and nobody is at the desk the next times I leave food, which is usually the case. I keep questioning myself, but I realize that if anyone wanted me they could be here.

This is where the sigh of relief comes in. I often write to vent my thoughts and feelings, even if there is no intended audience. It began with journaling, and these days I write an occasional blog post which I don’t always publish. That was the case yesterday when I posted about the hospice and the other Leticias… then, as luck would have it, I got a delivery going there – and there she was, just standing there with a completely blank name tag. Gorgeous. But I think she doesn’t know me. The Leticia I first fell for is from Bolivia, born in April, and I think she has a PsyD from a school in San Diego. I also came across old contact information from a job she had with the Parks Dept., if I recall. I don’t know what she’s doing here but I have reason to believe she lived in Santa Clara for awhile, and I think she travels back and forth between here and California for her job. Is this the same person I’ve seen in Mexico on a few occasions? Or here with my mother in southwestern print? Showing up late for the King Tide? The one who’s stalked me in my social interactions but won’t talk to me? I want the woman who was willing to go to Hermosillo, the one in Nevada, who played games at the border in Tijuana – that is who I left chalk arrows for when following them led nowhere. In every one of these situations, I have failed. I am no longer worried that I might have to wait until the end of my life, but the message is the same. Here I am. Game over.

My email doesn’t seem to be working these days, although I only ever got Russian spam, anyway. Comments are working. And however it happens, people seem able to find me whenever they want. Part of that is because I’ve made myself so conspicuous. I am available for anyone who wants to get to know me, or make plans with me. It is still my wish for the holidays, like every year, that I won’t get left out. I’m not under the impression that anyone wants me, but I am still seeking closure. There are way too many unresolved issues from past years involving money and family, and way too many other people have been involved in what should have been a personal relationship. I’m owed some explanations, at least. So, I am back on the public stage today where most of my social life resides, transient as it is, making deliveries and paying off debt. Piloting Old Rickety, the Cash Cow (which is my Jeep), is like being in a one-float parade… I always feel like I should throw candy at people. I will publish a page on the Jeep soon. I am pretty easy to find. And for those who prefer, I have a phone number.

Indigo (458) 309 1308