u/seshone

I’ve had a Reddit account for about six years, and until recently I almost never posted anything. A few likes here and there, but mostly I just read. I listened. I learned from other people.

I honestly never thought much about contributing because somewhere along the way I convinced myself that people probably didn’t really care what I had to say.

Then I found this community.

Over the past few weeks, for probably the first time on Reddit, I’ve felt like I actually had a voice. People responded to things I wrote with kindness, understanding, encouragement, and curiosity. It has been really nice. More than nice, actually. It made me feel comfortable enough to start sharing more of myself and some of the things I’ve been working on.

And then, for some reason, I stepped outside this community expecting that experience to continue.

It didn’t.

My RSD is in full bloom today.

I deleted about six posts I had made in other communities. I originally told myself I was going to leave them up and just ignore the negativity, but it kept piling up until I couldn’t anymore.

And the ugly little mental avalanche started:

Why did I think anyone would care?
Why did I share this?
Maybe I should just keep quiet.
Maybe my ideas really are stupid.
Maybe I’m going to fail.
Maybe everyone else can see something wrong with me that I can’t.

Old words came back too. Things people have called me over the years. Failure. Disappointment. Stupid. A “loose chain,” as one manager once called me.

It’s amazing how quickly a few strangers on the internet can accidentally open doors to rooms you thought you had already cleaned out.

I’m not writing this because I want anyone to feel sorry for me. I think I just needed to put it somewhere instead of letting it bounce around inside my head.

My ideas and the things I create have a lot of value to me. And I know, underneath everything I’m feeling today, that this experience is not going to change the trajectory I’m on.

It might hurt for a few days. Maybe a week.

My brain is currently telling me it will hurt forever.

But that’s anxiety talking.

There was a time when something like this could tear my world apart and it might take me months to recover. I don’t want to give rejection that kind of power anymore.

So if somebody else here is going through the same thing, especially if rejection makes your brain suddenly put your entire worth on trial, I just want you to know that I understand.

You don’t have to decide what your life, your ideas, or your value are worth while your nervous system is screaming at you.

Let the storm pass first.

And to this community, thank you.

Thank you for giving me a place where I felt comfortable enough to find my voice for a little while.

I’ll probably lay low for a bit and give myself some distance.

But I’m not disappearing.

-P

https://preview.redd.it/7mh4hp55e9jh1.png?width=1254&format=png&auto=webp&s=8e6699fc72096c5f1832062e377b5354fa11cca8

Hi r/gis — I’m the OSP professional building FiberAtlas, a local-first Windows desktop application for fiber mapping, project organization, documentation, and portable GIS handoffs.

I’m preparing FiberAtlas Beta 1, targeted for release before August 21. The headline addition is explicit, strand-level splicing:

• Cables, closures, trays, fibers, endpoints, and recorded splice relationships
• User-authored connections with known and unknown states preserved
• No inferred optical continuity based only on map proximity
• Portable project, KML/KMZ, reporting, print, and export workflows

I’m opening up to 30 invited beta testers, particularly GIS technicians, OSP designers, fiber planners, drafters, utility-mapping professionals, and QA/QC reviewers.

Useful testing areas include:

• Creating, saving, recovering, and reopening local projects
• Routes, assets, containers, and fiber relationships
• Strand-level splicing in Beta 1
• KML/KMZ interchange, measurements, materials, print, and export
• Windows usability, clarity, reliability, and performance

The Beta Hub includes guided bug reporting for reproducible issues, screenshots, and diagnostic JSON. Testers should use dummy or non-customer data—project files, customer names, coordinates, and confidential records should not be submitted.

This remains beta software, not an engineering approval, construction-certification, or production release. Beta 1 has not shipped yet and still must pass package acceptance.

Applications are reviewed individually, and applying does not guarantee one of the 30 invitations.

Apply here: https://beta.fiberatlas.app/#beta-interest

Project overview: https://fiberatlas.app

Questions, criticism, and workflow suggestions are welcome—I’m especially interested in hearing where existing GIS tools make OSP and fiber documentation harder than it needs to be.

A strange childhood experience I’ve never been able to explain

I’ve only spoken about this with maybe one or two people in my entire life. It has always bewildered me.

It started when I was around three or four years old and continued until I was maybe thirteen or fourteen. At first, it would just happen, usually leaving me frightened and crying. As I got older, I somehow learned to make it happen at will, although I never fully understood what I was doing.

The best way I can explain it is by taking you back to one particular moment.

It’s 1979. I’m a little kid sitting in the back seat of a Buick. We live in the desert. It’s extremely hot and sunny, the air conditioning barely works, and the heat inside the car makes you feel like you could pass out. There are no seatbelts. I’m silently staring out one window while my sister does the same on the other side.

We stop at an intersection.

In the middle of the intersection is a man—or possibly a teenage boy—crouched down with his head between his knees. All I can see is his hair.

Then it happens.

My vision disappears, almost like someone has placed a cover over my head. For a moment, it feels as though I’m no longer sitting in the car. I’m crouched in the same position as the person in the street.

I smell gasoline fumes. I see someone else’s shoes. I feel completely alone, frightened, and helpless.

An overwhelming wave of emotion comes over me, and I begin to cry.

Then my mom suddenly yells in a panic, “What’s wrong?”

Just like that, I snap out of it. I’m back in the car, looking at the person in the intersection and feeling an incredible sadness for him.

I didn’t speak back then, so I never explained what had happened.

Similar experiences kept happening whenever we left home. Sometimes the emotions frightened me because I couldn’t understand them or where they came from. Eventually, I stopped looking out the window and escaped into daydreams instead.

When I was around eight or nine, I started wondering whether I could make it happen intentionally. Somehow, I could. I’m still not sure what I did. It was almost like closing my eyes and compressing my thoughts inward. I remembered the strange pressure I felt whenever it happened, so I tried to recreate that feeling - and it seemed to work.

As I got older, I told a friend about it. He looked at me like I was completely bonkers, so I stopped talking about it. Eventually, I stopped doing it and mostly forgot about it. Life became more complicated, and it didn’t seem important anymore.

Now that I’m much older, remembering those experiences feels almost unreal. But I know they happened.

I once mentioned them to my mom. She said I must have had “special powers - oooohhhhoooo!” and laughed it off.

As I’ve begun understanding more about my neurodivergence, I’ve started wondering about it again. I’m not claiming it was anything supernatural, and I’m not asking Reddit to diagnose me. I just want to know whether anyone else experienced something similar as a child.

What would you call something like this? Is it a known experience?

I can’t be the only one.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my strange but true little story.

Thanks for reading. - Phil

A strange childhood experience I’ve never been able to explain

I’ve only spoken about this with maybe one or two people in my entire life. It has always bewildered me.

It started when I was around three or four years old and continued until I was maybe thirteen or fourteen. At first, it would just happen, usually leaving me frightened and crying. As I got older, I somehow learned to make it happen at will, although I never fully understood what I was doing.

The best way I can explain it is by taking you back to one particular moment.

It’s 1979. I’m a little kid sitting in the back seat of a Buick. We live in the desert. It’s extremely hot and sunny, the air conditioning barely works, and the heat inside the car makes you feel like you could pass out. There are no seatbelts. I’m silently staring out one window while my sister does the same on the other side.

We stop at an intersection.

In the middle of the intersection is a man—or possibly a teenage boy—crouched down with his head between his knees. All I can see is his hair.

Then it happens.

My vision disappears, almost like someone has placed a cover over my head. For a moment, it feels as though I’m no longer sitting in the car. I’m crouched in the same position as the person in the street.

I smell gasoline fumes. I see someone else’s shoes. I feel completely alone, frightened, and helpless.

An overwhelming wave of emotion comes over me, and I begin to cry.

Then my mom suddenly yells in a panic, “What’s wrong?”

Just like that, I snap out of it. I’m back in the car, looking at the person in the intersection and feeling an incredible sadness for him.

I didn’t speak back then, so I never explained what had happened.

Similar experiences kept happening whenever we left home. Sometimes the emotions frightened me because I couldn’t understand them or where they came from. Eventually, I stopped looking out the window and escaped into daydreams instead.

When I was around eight or nine, I started wondering whether I could make it happen intentionally. Somehow, I could. I’m still not sure what I did. It was almost like closing my eyes and compressing my thoughts inward. I remembered the strange pressure I felt whenever it happened, so I tried to recreate that feeling - and it seemed to work.

As I got older, I told a friend about it. He looked at me like I was completely bonkers, so I stopped talking about it. Eventually, I stopped doing it and mostly forgot about it. Life became more complicated, and it didn’t seem important anymore.

Now that I’m much older, remembering those experiences feels almost unreal. But I know they happened.

I once mentioned them to my mom. She said I must have had “special powers - oooohhhhoooo!” and laughed it off.

As I’ve begun understanding more about my neurodivergence, I’ve started wondering about it again. I’m not claiming it was anything supernatural, and I’m not asking Reddit to diagnose me. I just want to know whether anyone else experienced something similar as a child.

What would you call something like this? Is it a known experience?

I can’t be the only one.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my strange but true little story.

Thanks for reading. - Phil

Can anyone in the late-diagnosed crowd relate to this?

I’m 51, and the only times I really feel “old” are when I look in the mirror or when I don’t get carded at a club and the bouncer says, “Nah, bro, you’re good,” with a little chuckle.

Inside, I don’t feel any different from when I was 18. I still skate. I have tons of boards. I still collect random junk because I think it’s cool. I love speakers and collect those too—that started when I was a teenager. I still geek out over completely random things. My interests never really “grew up,” and honestly, neither did the way I feel inside.

Please don’t take offense to this next part. 😂

Last night, I went to a local pub where a band was playing music from my generation. Everyone was screaming, whistling, and having a great time. At first, it seemed cool—then I looked around.

The place looked like it was filled with my parents and all their friends.

Then came the uncomfortable realization: Wait…these are my peers. Apparently.

My brain immediately went, “Uhhhh…hey, Beavis. This place sucks.”

I didn’t bob my head once. I ate my burger and left. LOL. I know.

So, is this just me? Does anyone else look older on the outside but still feel like the exact same person they were decades ago?

And more importantly—is anybody coming with me?

Hi, I’m Phil,

Growing up as a boy in the ’80s, unusual habits or struggles weren’t a call for understanding. Nobody asked about autism, ADHD, OCD, sensory differences, or speech issues. You were called weird, lazy, difficult, or undisciplined—and told to toughen up.

I spent years believing something was wrong with my character. Now I understand that my brain simply works differently.

I’m here to learn, share some experiences, and connect with people who might recognize that story.