The Boy Behind The Mirror
I published a book that wrote itself. I also had a stroke and too many regrets.
Who am I?
I never liked this question.
I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing here yet.
But I’m someone who survived a stroke - and before that, survived years of regret, self-chastising, self-belittling, and self-hate dressed up as perfectionism and self-discipline. Then I woke up, literally and figuratively, post-stroke, with the right side of my face frozen and my brain fogged over, and I started writing. Mostly because I didn’t know what else to do. Also because my occupational therapist said it might help.
Notes from the Landan Underground wasn’t meant to be a book. And truthfully, I still don’t believe it is. It’s fragments. Thoughts. Memories. Randomness and coincidence grabbing coffee before hitting a couple of lines of cocaine. Language trying to claw its way out of a broken mind. I stitched the pieces together because I needed to feel like I could still finish something.
It’s messy. It’s honest. It’s mine.
And so here I am, at theboybehindthemirror.com, continuing that mess - publicly this time.
Why this Substack, and why now?
Because something cracked open after the stroke, even when my basilar artery is still completely blocked.
Because I’ve spent years watching from the margins - politics, identity, religion, family, community, psychology, science, sophistry - and never felt like there was a space where all those pieces could breathe at once.
But if I’m being honest - and I’m trying to be - I didn’t just “watch from the margins.” I was grinding. Desperately chasing the As:
Acceptance. Appreciation. Admiration. Approval. Appraisal. Acknowledgment. Applause.
(Any other synonyms that begin with A you can think of, trust me, I wanted those too.)
I stayed in a job I despised because I couldn’t quit.
I couldn’t quit because of the debts I took on.
Debts I took on trying to finish a medical degree I never wanted.
A degree I never wanted, but chased anyway - because I thought it might get me those As.
And I thought those As might finally fix my family.
And I thought fixing my family might finally make me feel whole - the happily ever after delusion.
And I never once asked what I actually wanted.
Because I never learned how to want something just for me - who am I to think of such an arrogant thought?
That’s the truth.
And now?
Now I’m here. Writing. Not to “build a brand.” Just to stay alive.
Because writing is how I breathe.
And Substack feels like one of the last places where people still read.
I didn’t launch this Substack because I had a brand strategy. I launched it because I had a brain that stopped working properly, a pile of unspoken thoughts, and a desperate need to connect to something real.
So I’m here to stay connected: to words, to the world, to some version of myself I might actually like, someday.
What kind of community am I trying to build?
A quiet one. An honest one.
A space for people who are tired of performance — and interested in reflection.
If you’ve ever felt like you were chasing approval instead of living, or stuck in a life you built out of obligation rather than desire, you might feel at home here.
I’m not here to teach you anything. I’m just trying to learn and stay alive.
What to Expect
Honestly? I don’t know yet.
Fragments, probably. Reflections. Random thoughts on recovery, memory, identity, God, capitalism, clutter, dreams, shame, survival.
Some of it might make sense. Some of it might not.
I’ll figure it out as I go. That’s the whole point.
How often?
Once a week, maybe.
More if I’m on a roll.
Less if I’m under a blanket.
There’s no schedule. No funnel. No clickbait.
Just me, trying to show up.
Want to Support?
Everything here will be free. Always.
But if anything I write ever makes you feel something — and you’ve got the means — you can become a paid subscriber.
Not for “exclusive content.”
More like helping me pay off the sins of my former selves.
Or just buying me a coffee while I keep trying to make sense of this mess.
Free subscribers will get everything. All this nonsense for free.
Paid subscribers won’t get “exclusive content” — just the chance to support this space, my writing, my rants, and maybe help me dig out of the financial mess I made while trying to fix my family by finishing a medical degree I never wanted, because I was chasing a list of As: Acceptance. Admiration. Approval. Applause. Acknowledgment.
(And other lies.)
This isn’t a brand.
This is just me: recovering, remembering, and writing.
Thank you for reading this.
The Boy Behind The Mirror @ Sunday - March 30 2025
💎 [Become a paid subscriber] if you want to buy me a coffee or cancel a little debt — spiritual or otherwise
https://linktr.ee/boybehindmirror