Remembering Mr. (Terry) Neisler

When I was 35, I was diagnosed with a condition called adjustment disorder, which I had never heard of. According to Wikipedia, “An adjustment disorder (AjD) occurs when an individual has significant difficulty adjusting to or coping with a significant psychosocial stressor.” Looking back over my life, I should have been diagnosed with this disorder much earlier.

As a kid, I did not adjust well to change. I would get anxious at the end of every school year, and summers were the worst because I knew that a full-on anxiety attack could (and would) strike at any time. I liked the routine of going to school and being distracted from my obsessive musings on mortality. During the school year, I also had new episodes of The Simpson, 90210, or Friends to calm, distract, and soothe my anxious mind. But all of that routine and structure was gone in the summertime.

I was the most anxious when I was leaving one school and starting another. The summer between elementary school and middle school was horrendous. The summer between middle school and high school was crippling. But every fall, I ended-up adjusting to my new school and my new routine. I loved going back to school. 

When I started high school, I took “Theater Arts” as an elective. My teacher was a funny, hefty man in his 30’s named Mr. Neisler (full name, Terrance "Terry" Neisler, in case anyone is Googling him). I loved his class immediately. We learned about theater history, movement, sound, make-up, stage combat, you name it.

We had to memorize a monologue from any Shakespeare play, and I selected a speech from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which is still my favorite play to this day. I would use that monologue when auditioning for plays for many years after that. My love of Shakespeare definitely came from Mr. Neisler. 

Mr. Neisler was also the director of my first high school play, The Taming of the Shrew. He was my first mentor. He encouraged me and believed in me. He was the first adult who treated me like an equal. He treated me like a friend. He got me. He saw me. He made me feel seen (which is all we really want). 

In the spring, he cast me in the Varsity One-Act Play, where I had even more lines than in the previous show. 

Another theater teacher at my high school was in charge of the Freshman One-Act Play. Since I had been in two other plays my freshman year, I felt confident that I would be cast in a play with only freshmen. But she didn’t cast me in the play. At all. And I was devastated. I cried...a lot.  

But Mr. Neisler was there to comfort me and assure me that there would be other plays. He  told me the other director was crazy to not cast me. But then something funny happened. The lead male actor had to quit the play because he was failing a class. So the director asked me if I would be willing to play the male lead. I didn’t know how I was going to memorize all of those lines (I had never been the LEAD in anything in my life), but I said yes and agreed to play the male lead.

The next school year, I took choir instead of theater as my elective, but I knew that I would still get to see and talk to Mr. Neisler during the fall production, which I was looking forward to auditioning for. I was cast in that play, and in the next spring, I was again cast in the Varsity One-Act Play. And our friendship only grew stronger.  

Mr. Neisler told me that he might be moving. He said that the school principal wanted the other theater teacher to direct the Varsity One-Act Play next year. Mr. Neisler said that he was already starting to look for theater teaching jobs in Houston, where his wife’s family was from. Apparently his wife was unhappy in McAllen and wanted to move to Houston to be closer to her family. 

By the end of my sophomore year, the news was official that Mr. Neisler would not come back in the fall. I was going to lose to my favorite teacher, my mentor, and my best friend. I was heart-broken. 

But before he moved, we did one more play together. Mr. Neisler and I both auditioned for the McAllen Shakespeare-In-The-Park production of The Tempest, and the play would be directed by Mr. Gelber, the theater teacher from another high school in McAllen. Mr. Gelber and Mr. Neisler were best friends. All of Mr. Gelber’s theater students were going to audition for this play, as were Mr. Neisler’s theater students. 

This play gave me something to focus on as another school year came to an end. I didn’t have time to be sad about Mr. Neisler leaving because I got to see him at rehearsal. And the show was a huge success. And then Mr. Neisler moved to Houston. 

I didn’t do very well that summer, after he moved. I was anxious a lot. I was weepy a lot. I had problems falling asleep at night. I didn’t have a normal routine. I probably drank a lot. 

I hung out at Mr. and Mrs. Gelbers’ house A LOT - as a lifeline to Mr. Neisler. We all watched movies together (like the Kenneth Branagh Hamlet and the 10th Anniversary Concert of Les Misérables). I also hung out with the Gelbers' oldest son, Devon, and I babysat for the younger boys, Alex and Jamie. 

The next summer, Mr. Neisler took his Houston theater students to New York City to see Broadway shows, and he invited me to come with them. Mrs. Gelber was originally going to go on this trip, but she injured herself and needed surgery. So she let me take her place on this trip. I had a wonderful time with Mr. Neisler and his new students. It was clear that his new students loved him as much as we did.  

One year later, I graduated from high school and moved to Indiana to go to college. Early in the school year, I was on AOL Instant Messenger with a friend from McAllen. He told me, through Instant Messenger, that Mr. Neisler had cancer.

My brain (my heart, my stomach) couldn’t handle this news. I couldn’t process it. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I just logged off of Instant Messenger and tried to push all of my emotions deep down, as far as they could go. I didn’t try to contact Mr. Neisler. I just wanted to forget everything. 

All of these years later, I still don’t know exactly when he died. I never asked about a funeral. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t get to tell him what a huge role he played in my life. I don’t know where his wife and kids are living or how they’re doing. Do they know how much he was loved? 

However, I recently reconnected with Mr. Gelber, who is now teaching theater at Texas Tech University in Lubbock. I found him on Facebook, then found his Texas Tech email address and sent him an email. I told him how much I regretted not being there for Mr. Neisler at the end of his life, and I told him how much Mr. Neisler meant to me. 

Mr. Gelber wrote back the next day and said, “You mustn’t worry about not being there for him. He knew how you felt.” 

I Found My Purpose

Dear friends,

I know what I have to do. For the sake of my health. For the sake of my sobriety. I can no longer hide behind a desk and play it small. I have to do what I was born to do. And here it is:

I need to speak to people about my struggles with 

depression, anxiety, trauma, and addiction. 

That it what I was born to do. That is my purpose. 

And it's not because I have a savior-complex (even though a less-than-supportive person in my world said that to me a couple of days ago, but I will forgive her and move on).

I have to speak to people about my struggles with depression, anxiety, trauma, and addiction, because if I don't, I will go back to abusing alcohol, food, and Klonopin, just to get through the day.

I need a career where I can honestly express myself. I need a career where I can be my authentic self. I need a career where I am building relationships and helping the world.

When I was a kid, I didn't realize that I had mental health struggles. I just thought I was dumb, or slow, or over-sensitive. But it was so much more than that. I was a young girl suffering from early on-set anxiety and depression. I believe that my first anxiety attack (at the age of 7!) left me with years of PTSD. And every anxiety attack after that left me with more PTSD.

I didn't have the vocabulary to talk about my emotions. I was too terrified to talk about my emotions. I was terrified OF my emotions!

That's why my calling is to speak to groups about my experiences, throughout my lifetime, and share with them the lessons that I have learned along the way. I want to speak to elementary school children. I want to speak to middle school and high school students. I certainly want to speak to college students (and be honest with them about the mistakes I made because I didn't know how to handle my emotions). I want to talk to them about my reliance on alcohol, drugs, and boys to feel sane. One day, I would also like to speak with businesses about mental health in the workplace.

These are the topics I care about, and these are the gifts I want to share.

To all of the doubters out there - I will be good at this! I will be very good at this! And I will help people so that they don't have to struggle the way I struggled.

When I was 16 years old, a tall, blond, beautiful, Polish girl lived in my home as an exchange student. I was always so jealous of her. I was short, frumpy, and had frizzy brown hair. I wanted to look like her so badly!

Then one day, she gave me the most profound compliment that I had ever received. This tall, blond, beautiful girl told me that SHE was jealous of ME! I immediately refused her compliment and said that she was insane. What would she have to be jealous of? She said, "When you talk, everyone listens. No one listens to me. But everyone in the room stops and listens to you."

As an insecure 16 year-old, I didn't think that was such a great compliment. I just wanted to be tall, blond, and beautiful like her. I thought that I had to be tall, blond, and beautiful to be happy. I thought that all of my problems were based on the fact that I was short and frumpy with huge, frizzy hair.

But 22 years later, I'm just now remembering that compliment. And it scares me. It scares me because it reveals my purpose. And my purpose is to speak to people about the very things that hurt and scared me most in life - depression, anxiety, trauma, and addiction. That it's. That's why I'm here.

Now where I go from here remains to be seen. I will start this new endeavor one step at a time. But I will certainly keep you posted!

Lots of love,
Leila

Connection Is The Opposite of Addiction

Dear friends, 

Today sucks. One of my best friends in the universe is hurting. His father died yesterday, unexpectedly. I learned about it via a random person's Facebook post - which is its own level of suckness. My friend and I spoke on the phone yesterday for an hour, speaking through tears. His father's death is creating news, as he was an important figure in the history of American rock 'n roll. But I just want to be there for my friend. Maybe he wants me to fly down to be with him at this hard time. Maybe he would rather I not bother him right now. I'm not sure. I'm only sure of one thing - this hurts. 

So instead of buying the first first flight to Austin, I'm sitting here at the Rockville Library, writing about my feelings instead of acting on my feelings.

But my lovely Eric G. sits beside me, reading some "Batman Detective Comics" that he found in the fiction section. He doesn't mind sitting by my side while I cry. So that's nice. 

A lot has been happening since the last time I wrote here. I've been sober for over 6 months, and I'm still going to AA meetings and meeting with my sponsor. I'm even getting to know other people in my Saturday morning meeting. A few days ago, I got coffee with another woman from my AA home group, and she is fantastic! She's smart, she's funny, and she's kind. I'm meeting the best people in the world in my Saturday morning AA group. 

I cried during my "share" at this morning's meeting. I talked about my friend's dad dying, and how much this hurts, and how something like this REALLY makes me want to have a drink.

I know how much better I would feel if I had a drink. I know it would just take the edge off and bring a smile to my face, even if just for a little while. But today I choose not to take a drink. I'm just going to sit here, in pain, and write about it. 

My stomach hurts with sadness. My eyes are puffy from crying. And I just want to close my eyes and sleep through the next few days. If I can't drink through it, can I at least sleep through it? 

At the same time, there is so much good in my life. So much love. I have the the most loving, brilliant, and kind friends in the world. I am grateful for all of them. I just want to feel connected to ALL of them. In my recovery, I've learned that what I long for, more than anything (more than any drink, more than any food), is connection.

I want my friends and family to know how much I love them. I want them to know that my heart aches with love for them. I feel nothing but love and gratitude for everyone who has ever walked with me at any point, during this life's journey. I am grateful for the ones that brought joy, and I am grateful for the ones that brought pain. They have all made me a better, stronger person.

I recently ran into one of these characters from my past. An ex-boyfriend. Someone who brought me so much joy, but also brought me pain. I saw him on the platform of a Metro Station on Wednesday. I knew it was him because of his black and orange Baltimore Orioles baseball cap, which he still wears year-round, even 10 years later. 

Even though I felt embarrassed and self-conscious, I walked over to him. We made eye contact, and I waved. As I got closer, I said, "I would hug you, but my hair is soaking wet." He said he didn't care and hugged me anyway. We each asked each other how the other was doing. I'm pretty sure we both said fine. He was heading in the opposite direction as me, but I decided to get on the train with him (in the wrong direction) to catch-up a little more. He said he was on his way to the courthouse to sort out of some legal stuff with his property management company. I said I was on my way to work.

Within a couple of minutes, we were at the next stop, and I got off to catch the train in the opposite direction. We hugged goodbye, and I said, "I'll hopefully see you on the Metro again," and waved goodbye. 

I realize how lucky I was to run into him. He's one of the only characters from my past who I'm not currently connected with, in any way. He's not on social media. We don't have any mutual friends. I've hated not knowing how he's been or what he's been up to for the past decade. But I want to know these things. Just because we didn't work out as a couple doesn't mean that I don't want him in my life as a friend. He's a hugely important part of my life story. I want to reminisce with him about old times and funny memories. Yes, it was a (slow) painful break-up, but that's just one part of the story of our time together. I want to be his friend. I want to know about his wife and daughter. I want to know what his life is like now. I want him to know Eric, and I want Eric to know him. I want to go with Eric to this guy's rock shows (he's in a pretty successful local band). I hope this guy and I can have that kind of relationship one day. 

What else? 

I have a health coach. She is lovely. She has come into my life at exactly the time I've needed her most. She has helped me get rid of the Lean Cuisines and microwavable breakfast burritos in my life. She's got me chopping, rinsing, and cooking my own food.

And I feel in control of the food I put into my body for the first time in a long time. She has also inspired me beyond my dinner plate. She wants me to focus on ALL aspects of life and being an interconnected human. She wants me to have a career that inspires me. She wants me to lead the life that I was born to experience. 

I don't want to settle for an office job. I don't want to settle for living small. I want to connect with people and help them through the hard times. I want to speak with high school and college students about my experiences with depression, anxiety, addiction, and recovery. I want to help young people express their emotions. I didn't have the words to describe my emotions as a kid - I didn't know what "anxiety" or "depression" meant. I only knew that life seemed harder for me than for my peers. I seemed to have more "break-downs" and "freak-outs" than anyone else around me. I seemed to be the only one staying up all night, every night, trying to finish history papers and physics lab reports. Life was hard! 

But drinking made life easier for me. Drinking built community. Drinking helped create great memories.

But I don't need alcohol anymore. I don't need it to build community. And I don't need it to create great memories. I can now do all of that without drinking. 

But today is hard. My friend's dad died unexpectedly, and I know he hurts. And I hurt. But I'm not going to drink today. Thanks for letting me rant.

Lots of love, 

Leila