Hi, I’m Thirteen 👋
Yes, my name is legally Thirteen Nebula.

Before I was born, my mother had contracted rubella. Doctors warned her there would likely be complications… developmental issues, health problems, things that would show up early. But when I was born breathing and without obvious physical symptoms, all of that concern disappeared. I was declared “normal.” So that’s what everyone did next… they trained me to be a normal kid. Mostly because nobody knew what autism fully was or looked like.

Any autistic traits I had were corrected, redirected, or masked away before anyone had language for what they were seeing. I was born left handed, but because it wasn't socially acceptable at the time, I was trained to be right handed. Instead of support, I learned compliance. Instead of understanding myself, I learned how to perform and act.

What showed through wasn’t distress in the beginning, but ability. I could walk early, read early, memorize instantly, and even recognize patterns faster than most adults around me. I had hyperlexia so my reading comprehension was far beyond any of my peers. I solved puzzles fast and intuitively. I counted... everything. School labeled me “gifted.”

But, I never felt gifted. I felt like an alien.

I didn’t understand how to be a person. I didn’t understand friends, social rules, or why everything felt so loud, bright, itchy, wrong. The bullying in school never really stopped, so I adapted. I became very good at masking… hiding, shape-shifting, surviving.

Academically, I was so far ahead of my peers that the school wanted to advance me multiple grades. My parents declined. They wanted me to stay with kids my age. So I stayed… performing well on paper while feeling completely out of sync with the rest of the world around me.

Then everything just kept changing.

We moved from the Outer Banks of North Carolina to busy Southern California. My routines evaporated overnight. The environment was louder, faster, more crowded. I changed elementary schools four more times. Each move meant relearning the rules, the hierarchy, the way to blend in just enough to avoid attention.

My dad served in the military from before I was born through the Gulf War. He also had a natural passion for the outdoors, and I was lucky enough to have gone on a few trips to the National Parks and some other wilderness adventures. When he retired, I was around ten and just finishing elementary school. We moved again… this time to Asheville, North Carolina. Another new school. Another reset. Another attempt to try and fit in.

By then, I’d already given up on school emotionally. I knew I wasn’t learning anything about life there. But I played the part. What Asheville did give me, though, was the outdoors. Mountains. Camping. Snowboarding. Space and solitude. The woods became the first place I could actually breathe. Out there, I didn’t have to explain myself or put on a show. I could exist without being watched or perceived.

The summer before high school, one trip would change my life forever.

I was in a devastating rollover accident. The truck I was in rolled onto its side and slammed into a tree, crushing my spine. I spent the entire summer in a back brace, going through physical therapy, trying to put myself back together. When school started, I was already exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Then, even though I was still in a lot of pain and going though physical therapy, my doctor suddenly released me, 100% going to be fine. Spoiler: It has never been fine and I'm still always in pain.

A couple years later, I'd meet a girl who I thought was different. We built a life fast. Kids. Marriage. Responsibility. Just before our first was born, I dropped out of school. Not because I wasn’t smart… but because I was done. Teachers constantly told me I was wasting my potential. Peers were a constant source of stress. Masking undiagnosed autism and ADHD full time was beginning to take a serious toll. I just wanted my GED, a decent job, and to start a life already.

I got my GED within 2 weeks of dropping out and went to straight to work.

I struggled at every job. Landscaping. Fast food. Photography. Paramedic work. Warehouse labor. Dozens of roles across more than forty companies, some even my own companies. Every struggle came back to the same thing… my brain. Sensory overload. Authority structures. Inconsistent expectations. Relationship issues. Burnout. I didn’t know why yet, I just knew I was exhausted all the time.

After my divorce in my mid-20s, I fell quickly into a deeply toxic relationship. One day about 6 months in, she took everything I had. She emptied the entire apartment, and just disappeared. With nothing left and nowhere to go, I moved to Orlando, Florida in my 00 Chevy Suburban "Duburban".

Everything got louder there. Brighter. More crowded. More demanding. I failed at jobs. Attempts at relationships collapsed. I was making terrible financial decisions. The pressure never let up. While working as a photographer at Discovery Cove one day, I was literally struck by lightning. It was less than a year after that, my body started to change.

Tremors. Uncontrollable shaking. Tics that somehow always felt "natural" but that I couldn’t suppress or hold back anymore.

Years of stress, anxiety, and constant masking finally broke something open. My body started forcing out everything I had been holding back. Stims I had suppressed my entire life erupted outward. I went into full burnout. Full tic mode. Little control. It took years to stabilize and understand how to control everything.

That’s when I started researching obsessively. I knew I couldn't be the only one struggling the way I was. What I finally had discovered was Autism. Then ADHD. Then Tourette’s. And suddenly… everything clicked. My entire life, even going back to my childhood, suddenly made sense. It wasn’t failure. It wasn’t weakness. It was 24/7 survival mode without a manual in a world that wasn't built for my brain.

I held it together a little longer, living out of multiple vehicles and cars including a 2017 Chevy Malibu. Not glamorously. Not in a curated vanlife way. Just… practically. I had a power station, a small fridge, basic storage, and a place to sleep. Parked among countless other cars, tucked along edges of roads, trailheads, and quiet pull-offs, I learned how to exist invisibly. How to blend in without masking myself.

After everything started unraveling in Florida, I realized I couldn’t survive in constant noise anymore. Orlando was too bright, too crowded, too fast. Every street felt like a sensory assault. But I didn’t have the means to disappear into the wilderness yet. I needed a buffer… somewhere close enough to work, but far enough to breathe.

That’s when I found Ocala National Forest.

Not deep wilderness. Not pristine solitude. Just enough trees, enough dirt roads, enough distance from concrete and neon to let my nervous system calm down. I’d work in the city on the weekends, then drive out toward the forest as everyone else was beginning to work. The farther I got from traffic, the quieter my body became. It was like slowly turning down a volume knob I didn’t know how to reach before. I worked when I could. But I knew I needed space again. Real space. Deeper woods. Quieter places.

That stretch of time taught me something important. I didn’t need luxury. I didn’t need a house. I needed space, autonomy, and quiet. I needed control over my environment. Living that close to the edge of the city showed me what was possible… and what wasn’t enough. The more time I spent out there, the more I realized I wanted to go deeper. The Malibu was reliable, but it had limits. I couldn’t push farther down rough roads. I couldn’t disappear for long. I was still tethered. Still limited.

That’s when the memory of my old Suburban came back. How capable it was. How much room it had. How it could carry not just my stuff, but my life. I didn’t want a rooftop tent, diesel heater, or a flashy build. I wanted something that felt safe. Stealthy. Quiet. Warm. A nice big bed inside and enough power to run electric heat. A peaceful place I could retreat into when the world got too much.

Ocala was where I tested the idea. Where I proved to myself I could live simply and still function. It wasn’t the destination… it was the rehearsal. The soft launch of a different life.

In December 2023, I bought Horizon… my black 2004 Suburban Z71. Nothing flashy, in fact just the opposite. Just a solid SUV, a cozy bed in the back, and enough power to stay warm electrically. I built it slowly… storage under the bed, walls and shelves, and tires that could take me anywhere.

In April 2024, I quit my job and hit the road.

I dumped everything in the trash that I couldn’t sell or give away. Passing through Asheville again, I revisited the Pisgah and Nantahala National Forests that once captured my heart and imagination. After a couple weeks, I headed north to the Black Hills of South Dakota. It was beautiful and felt close… but not quite right to call home. Then I turned southwest and entered Colorado.

Crossing the northern border and western slope changed everything. The silence. The colors. The incredible mountains. I camped off-grid in the San Juan Mountains for two weeks, completely alone. When I reached Durango, I knew that this was home. If not with people… then with the land.

Now I roam, build, and create. Websites. Music. Digital art. Tools. Content for other neurodivergent weirdos like me. I collect memories, projects, special interests like rocks, and lots of plushies. I help where I can and when I have the ability to. I speak from the places most people hide.

For the first time in a long time… I’m not chasing normal. I’m chasing peace and sustainability.

If you've made it all this way… you're an amazing human and I appreciate you taking your valuable time to read up on my story. I only wish in this lifetime to make a positive impact on someone elses life so that they can do the same for someone else. I wouldn't be where I'm at today if it weren't for all the kind and generous people that have come in my life. Let's keep it going.