#if I end up getting the autism diagnosis i am so scared of him finding out

[guessimabasicnerdgirlnow]

Personal dump below

Cw for health issues, fatphobia, ed

I never talked about this to anyone openly and I don’t feel like anyone I have in my life rn would understand it, and I think writing this down may help me cope with it

As you all know, I am autistic and I have food issues that just… it’s bad. Actually when I first read about arfid, I felt for the first time like I was not the only defective human made like this. I’m not sure if what I have is arfid, because I’m 99% it’s an effect of my sensory issues, and idk if it enters the criteria or not. But naming aside, I have a hard time when it comes to food because most of it looks or smells disgusting to me, or just gives me a bad reaction. Used to gag and even throw up just from being forced to sit at a dinner table. I didn’t get an autism diagnosis until a couple years ago so growing up, I got a lot of shit from about everyone I know. No one really gets it, and I didn’t get it either, so I used to believe I deserved it. I will probably forever be unable to look at the faces of some people and not remember the stuff they said to me, or about me, or about my parents who didn’t force me to eat

Really, this is a huge deal for me. It’s a big part of who I am, a part I hated so much for so long and never could change, and that I want to learn to accept. I know now that there’s probably something about my body or my brain that makes stuff not feel the same way as most people and thinking like this makes it feel silly that it was such a big trouble but I used to avoid going to parties and stuff, it together with other stuff made my parents not let me visit my friends and stuff as a kid, and I already have other issues when it comes to creating relationships and it didn’t help at all. I used to believe I could never get married because any husband would want me to cook for him (loool) and that I shouldn’t have children because I couldn’t teach them how to eat healthly, and that I could not pursue my dreams of living abroad because I would be unable to find anything to eat there (I can happily say I got to spend a year in my dream land, and yes, eating was an issue but no, I didn’t starve to death there)

But things can’t be as simple as just me having to learn to accept myself as I am. No. You see, I can only eat a few types of food, mostly breakfast food. Cheese, bread. I eat so many variations of cheese and bread. No meat. No greens. Not much fruit, but then there are other factors here as I can eat some, I just end up not eating much. Whatever you know of Brazilian cuisine is probably a nope for me, which is what makes so many parties very unpleasant for me. I know I don’t eat healthly. Adults told me all the time when I was younger, in an attempt to make me change how I eat. I have never been thin and PE was a nightmare. But as a kid, magically I never had any big health issues. I passed all my blood tests. Doctors hated me /jk

Now that I’m adult things started catching up. This last couple of years studying from home didn’t help, as I stoped walking longer distances than from my bed to the couch. It’s not as bad as it could be, I know, I could be deficient in so many nutrients. I haven’t even had a kidney stone in years. But it scares me. Because the still minor, but unlikely to go away on their own, issues I’m having are all usually related to being overweight, I’m sure my doctor will tell me to diet and exercise and lose weight. I can exercise, I hate it but I can do it, but changing my diet is much more difficult, I just can’t eat a lot of stuff that would be good for me, and because I don’t have many options left I can’t stop eating some stuff that is bed for me. I’m mentally preparing to say it to her because I want her to give me all the options I have, and I don’t want any more thinking that something I didn’t choose and can’t change is my fault, laziness, or me being spoiled, or all those other things I grew up hearing

But what if I’m wrong? What if I can change, and I just read some pieces online and clung to the idea that I can’t because it’s easier? I can’t stop thinking about it, doubting myself

And none of it is the worst. I’m no expert on anything but I think my personal relationship with food entered a new, terrifying chapter. I mentioned living abroad, right? That was my first time away from my parents, who despite their flaws haven’t pressured me into changing for years. I wasn’t fluent in the language, so at first I tagged along some girls from my dorm, and predictably they didn’t understand this stuff and I didn’t understand it enough to explain myself and so every day it was like. They picked a restaurant. There was nothing I ate there. I said I was fine, drank something, bought some snacks somewhere. After a week I was feeling dizzy and realized that couldn’t go on. I managed to prioritize my well being after that but it set a terrible precedent. Once in a while I would buy something new to try and if I couldn’t eat it, I just gave up and stayed hungry. Or I skipped meals because I wanted to save money, or because executive disfunction didn’t let me leave my bed, or I didn’t find anything I could eat. I lost a lot of weight, I have never been thinner (though that was partially due to having no car and walking/taking trains everywhere, which is a good thing that I miss). And I don’t think I was any healthier, because I ate sweets for lunch and bought as sort of snacks as rewards to myself. I think I ate worse, but less and did exercise, and just one of these is a good thing.

Skipping meals has become a thing I go back to sometimes since then. Since I live with my parents, my mother seems to have noticed, so she makes sure to ask me what I ate, or even leave food ready for me. I have lied before. Or not corrected her when she assumes I ate. Last week she jokingly asked to see a picture. I have also pretended to be sick to skip meals. I’m not sure why all this. Sometimes it’s executive disfunction I guess. I do eat more when she leaves stuff ready for me than when I have to prepare it myself. Sometimes nothing seems good. I have had body image issues at some points of my life, of course, and I would be lying if I said I am happy about my body rn (it bothers me a lot when clothes don’t fit anymore) but I don’t think a lot about my appearance because. You know it’s not like I look at myself often. My relationship with my appearance *is* another can of worms, so I just try not to think about it. And tbh sometimes I eat stuff that I don’t even like, but that I’m glad that is at least edible (compared to most things) so I just suck it up and eat. My “yes” list is very small and my “nope” list is huge, so when something falls on “maybe” I treat it like a yes. But I don’t like the stuff, and I think sometimes I want to avoid eating it so I don’t eat anything. I still didn’t figure out if I may be doing it sometimes to hurt myself somehow.

I’m afraid of getting worse because I found out the issue in the exam I did today, and I felt guilty about eating anything after learning it

I’m afraid of doing nothing and those health issues getting worse, and I’m afraid of taking the wrong approach and ending up with some eating disorder. I am afraid into turning this into something about being fat or thin and mixing it with the issues I already have with my appearance. I am afraid of the fact that I can’t eat healthly, I may be able to do better than what I’m doing but I don’t think it will ever be good, and I hate it so much that I’m afraid it will turn into me hating myself (more than I usually do for other reasons). I am currently treating my depression and I am doing better than when I started but I am afraid of all this shit sending me into a downward spiral. I have had days in which I thought about suicide, it never escalated to more than just thoughts, but even just that is something I don’t want to face again

Wow, that’s a lot. If anyone read it so far, thank you for your time and care. Don’t feel obligated to reach out to me. I wrote this as a way of figuring my own feelings and to try and make it easier to bring my concerns to my doctor, my therapist, and maybe my mother. Like I said I am treating my depression and rationally I know that even if it gets worse, there’s no reason to believe we can’t make it better again. Also, my parents, and everyone really, even those who used to say mean stuff to and about me, everyone is much more supportive now that I have an autism diagnosis. They didn’t know any better when they said those things, and neither did I. Yes, it still hurt, it still does hurt, but I sincerely believe their views on me changed with the diagnosis and that they realized things they didn’t know. And with the knowledge I have now, I can educate them on it too. You know, I used to be so ashamed of touching this subject and look at me now, posting on my blog. I can make jokes about my restricted diet and my sensory issues and it doesn’t hurt anymore because I know that I am not a defective human.

(This last paragraph was so important to write. To remind me that no matter how scared I am, I am not alone and I am not helpless. I think I am doing well in learning the therapy mindset 🧐)

[againstshame]

A small interview with autistic author Sarah Kurchak

She’s celebrating the release of her memoir, I Overcame My Autism and All I Got Was This Lousy Anxiety Disorder, this week (actually a while ago but has anything this year happened on schedule? Better late than never, right?) I offered to interview her for this blog, and she agreed!

I wanted to talk about her book on this blog because one of the big topics this book deals with is the self-annihilating impulse that we talked about in this post, the shame-related desire to remake yourself into a fundamentally different (non-disabled) person. Kurchak describes her book as a cautionary tale about how harmful putting on an act like that can be.

[ID: cover of the book, a photo of Sarah Kurchak, with pink-dyed hair and a black shirt.]

Please give a brief summary of the book.

I Overcame My Autism And All I Got Was This Lousy Anxiety Disorder is a collection of moderately connected essays that use moments from my life as a minimally successful late diagnosed autistic person to highlight bigger issues that face many autistic people. Basically, I didn’t want to write my own story and leave it at that. Nor did I think my life was interesting enough to merit an entire book. But I seem to have a facility for writing about autism in a way that intrigues non-autistic people, so I wanted to see if I could use that talent for the greater good in book form.

My basic and slightly muddied thesis is that my life is decent enough, but it hasn’t been without hardships, and that some of those hardships could have been remedied with better services for autistic people, and greater acceptance and understanding. And if someone like me, who has had a number of advantages in life, is struggling as much as I am, how much harder is it for so many other autistic people? And how much more are we currently failing them?

What's this book's origin story? How did you end up writing this memoir rather than some other book, and how did you find your publisher?

“It’s in the book!” feels like such a dick answer to me. But if anyone is interested in a longer (or, arguably, too long) explanation for how I wound up getting an agent, writing this book, and finding a publisher for it, you can find it in the introduction. Along with references to Cronenberg’s The Brood and Balloon Okada.

The short version is that an agent liked a story that I’d published in a literary outlet, and asked if I wanted to write a book. I tried to talk her into repping a novella about slash fiction and pro wrestling that I wrote in my early twenties. Somehow that did not put her off and she gently guided me toward non-fiction ideas. I’d had the title in mind for years at that point, so I threw that out. Then I started to flesh out what kind of book I’d put under it. I still don’t think it’s a proper memoir, but that word’s on the cover, so I guess it is?

(I realize how lucky I am to have found myself in this unlikely situation. But I always feel the need to point out that it took me 18 years of professional writing to find this “overnight” “success.”)

What's one thing you wish you had known about or had access to when you were younger and undiagnosed?

I wish that I could have grown up with a more wholistic idea of myself. When I excelled in school but struggled on the playground, a lot of well-meaning adults who were just trying to help a suffering child get through the day started to tell me that the other kids were jealous of me because I was smart, and that’s why I was being bullied and couldn’t make friends. And that’s a very easy narrative to cling to when you’re a scared and lonely child who is desperate for any sense of self-worth.

It helped me survive school, but I don’t think it benefitted me at all in the long run. It took me a long time to come to terms with how ableist and racist the very concept of intelligence is. I’d grown up thinking it was the only thing I had going for me! I didn’t want to give it up! I wish I could have figured out how harmful the concept was much earlier in life and established a sense of self that was more aware of — and cool with — my strengths and weakness. And more rooted in the idea that my worth came from the fact that I was a human being, and not because I was ostensibly “special” in some way.

A while ago I did an event on this blog where people sent in examples of fiction that helped them feel better about being neurodivergent or disabled, stories that showed them what their future could look like or made them feel less alone. Was there a story that did that for you?

Community premiered a few months after I was diagnosed and I can’t even begin to put into words how much Abed helped me during those early years. And how meaningful Abed and Troy’s friendship was.

Strangely, even though there is nothing at all autistic coded about her, and not a lot I’d consider neurodivergent about her, George in Dead Like Me really spoke to me, too. I think I was just really into the idea of someone getting a late start in life where they could make up for what they hadn’t done before, even if they could never really go back to what their original life was. (This is the only way in which I’d ever view my diagnosis as analogous to death, by the way. It was really quite a positive and helpful experience!)

And a bonus special interest question: Was there a specific match, storyline, or wrestler that made you into a wrestling fan instead of a casual viewer? What was it that caught your attention?

It was Chris Jericho.

In late 2000, I decided to try watching wrestling. I had always hated it, but my new boyfriend (now my husband) was really into it. And he seemed to have good taste otherwise, so I figured I should at least try to understand what the hell had gone wrong with him on this one thing. So I tuned into Raw, and there was this little lippy Canadian causing all sorts of shit. And that was it! All I wanted to do was watch this bratty asshole with a sharp tongue and a hair trigger crying reflex antagonize his opponents and then get flustered if and when things didn’t work out properly. And that’s exactly what I did for about 18 years. Even when I lost interest in wrestling in general, I still loved Jericho.

But it ended as suddenly as it began. Jericho attacked Tetsuya Naito in New Japan in 2018. Other members of LIJ jumped in to protect him. There was a split second where I thought Jericho was going to hit Hiromu Takahashi. And I involuntarily squealed “DON’T YOU TOUCH HIM” at my laptop screen. Friendship ended with Jericho. Hiromu Takahashi is my best wrestler now. (Well, one of the best, at least. Tetsuya Endo forever.)

[rebelscum-2187]

So after nearly 22 years of life on this planet, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am high functioning autistic. I believe I fell through the cracks of an early diagnosis for the following reasons:

1.) I am Female (I learned how to mask myself very early on)

2.) I have a gifted IQ (above 130) and was classified as such in 4th grade so no one considered that I could be both ASD and intellectually gifted.

I am in the beginning stages of unmasking and am currently seeking an official diagnosis. Right now, I’m trying to write down everything I know about my neurodivergent experience so here’s a list of things I’ve experienced and believe to be relevant. If you can relate or you understand please comment and share! I’m new to this community and it feels so good to finally meet people who understand and can relate. Ok, Here we go.

“So the general population doesn’t memorize scripts to movies or watch the same one every day for a year?”

“People think it’s weird that I prefer to have subtitles on when I watch stuff, even though I don’t have damaged hearing”

“I watch movies with subtitles because I won’t understand what’s said if I don’t read it. I have no hearing issues.”

“I cannot hear/understand someone if I have one ear bud in and one out. Too much sensory input at once.”

“I thought I had a hearing deficit because I literally could not understand people at church or parties or other places with a lot of background noise, and I was so confused when they told me my hearing was normal.”

“I love star wars. Not just love but I could tell you what planet each character is from and what kind of ship they use, what model droid that one is and I will gladly talk about it all day if you let me. Everyone now gets me Star Wars stuff for my birthday and holidays”

“Eye contact is so uncomfortable for me that sometimes it ‘burns’ to maintain it, but then I overcompensate and stare too intensely. Over the years, being female, I’ve forced myself to make eye contact for a certain number of seconds and then look away a certain number of seconds but I’m concentrating so hard on that, that I don’t remember anything that was said to me.”

“Giving me verbal directions is a special kind of hell. I need it written down.”

“I can memorize pictures of things and exactly where every kid sat in my 10th grade US history class as well as my 9th grade geometry class.”

“I never fit in anywhere, in my childhood, most of my adolescence, except the swim team and my new church.”

“Team sports are the worst. I can’t communicate fast enough, I’m bad with hand eye coordination and keeping track of a ball. I excelled in individual sports and fell in love with swimming.”

“I often found it much easier to make friends with older kids because I could have intelligent conversations with them and their good social skills could make up for my lack of social skills.”

“But, I had a few friends that were considerably younger who I could still play imaginatively with dolls when I was 13 and one particular friend was 9. I had a lot of trouble getting a long with her sister who was the same age as me.”

“It physically pains me to hear someone mispronounce a word, spell something wrong, or make a grammatical mistake. I corrected my cousin A LOT when we were kids, she frequently got mad and I couldn’t understand why. My grandma would tell me to stop because correcting people is rude.”

“One of my special interests as a kid was dolphins. I was 5-6 years old and I remember being so excited when my mom let me check out like 10 books from the library and I read them quickly and multiple times.”

“I corrected a teacher one time about dolphins. She said dolphins weren’t whales and I knew FOR A FACT that ‘dolphins were a type of small whale’ because I read it in one of my books. She laughed at me and so did the rest of the class and I felt stupid even though I was right. This led to me suppressing my knowledge and real self and ultimately more masking.”

“As per that last one, my memory is impeccable.”

“I had another special interest in dogs when I got a bit older. My mom bought me a book with every kind of breed of dog, where they came from, their temperament, their size, everything. I can still, to this day, tell you the breed of dog just by looking at it.”

“I always wanted a best friend but never had one. I had groups of friends but never someone who would call me their best friend. When I got a boyfriend in high school, I was so excited because he called me his best friend and he was mine and I finally had that feeling reciprocated. He also had a gifted IQ and dyslexia, ADHD and a few other things so we understood each other quite well.”

“I can’t tell if someone is flirting with me because I can’t read between the lines. I also don’t know how to flirt because if I like a guy too much I get soooo nervous and I stumble over my words and it’s a disaster.”

“When I liked this guy (last year, 2019) I would freeze up so bad when I talked to him that I rehearsed every conversation I wanted to have with him so I wouldn’t mess it up. I would write topics in the notes section of my phone before hanging out with him so I’d remember what to ask him. It made for very awkward and forced conversations and probably drove him away.”

“Sarcasm and jokes almost always go over my head. The boyfriend I had in high school was very funny and outgoing but used a lot of sarcasm and it always caused disagreements because I took him seriously when he was being sarcastic.”

“I talk slowly and very monotone.”

“I have no difficulty reading in my head and can read/comprehend it well, but reading aloud is difficult and I often stumble over words and mess up.”

“I need directions repeated multiple times before I understand.”

“I went to the beach to hang out with some church friends yesterday. They all play spike ball and are so confused as to why I sit there and don’t play. I’ve tried playing spike ball but it involves way too much hand eye coordination and I’m so bad at it that it’s embarrassing. So I don’t play.”

“That same night, a group of them said ‘let’s play uno!’ And I was so happy to play something familiar that didn’t involve a lot of coordination. Then they said ‘we’re playing SPICY uno, right?’ And immediately my heart sank because I knew they were playing a different way that I wasn’t familiar with. Again, receiving verbal directions was hell and I didn’t understand it. I was so bad at it and wasn’t getting it, and in the middle of the game I had the urge to cry. I wanted to cry because I couldn’t even get this right. I suppressed the urge, of course, so they wouldn’t think I was even more weird than the already suspected. Another group of people that I wouldn’t fit in with.”

“Making friends has always been so difficult. Once I make a good friend I hang on to them for as long as possible even if they’re not very nice because I’m scared I’ll have to make a new one if I lose them. And we all know how hard making new friends is for me.”

“I’m a perfectionist. Especially with my art projects. When I took a painting class I realized I do it the wrong way. You’re supposed to paint layer by layer over the entire canvas and focus on small details at the very end. I work on one small area at a time and do small details too soon. I often spend way too much time on small details before I realize that the larger shape of the object isn’t proportionate and then it’s too late.”

“I won’t even attempt tasks if I know I can’t do them perfectly.”

“I have perfect pitch. I don’t know if that has anything to do with autism or that I just started music lessons when I was young. I can tune instruments perfectly without a tuner or reference note and I never understood why my orchestra teacher had me play the A key on the piano over and over again while she walked around and tuned everyone’s instruments when I could do it without any reference. I can hear it in my head.”

“When my parents got me a keyboard at age 7-8, they were impressed because I could sit down, without listening to any song and find the notes of a song I liked by ear. I still do that today but my piano is very out of tune and it bothers me.”

“Autistic boys tend to isolate and not care about concealing their stims or weird behavior but girls don’t. I am a ‘loner’ and always have been but I want so badly to belong and have friends and socialize, but I’ve always been so bad at it that I strike out every time. I often drink at social gatherings because it helps me loosen up and talk more freely. I guess it helps me lose the mask for a while.”

“I HATE people touching me. I’ve always hated it and still hate it to this day unless it’s someone I’m super comfortable with. I’ve been told I have the ‘dead fish hand shake’ and I’m an awkward hugger. My friend picked me up from behind and carried me for a few seconds because we were all goofing off and having fun but afterwards I was so mad at him I got really quiet and didn’t talk for a while. I told him later on the ride home that if he did that again I would slap him. “

“Everyone thinks it’s weird that I don’t like touching people, and some of my friends who also don’t like touching people were abused and I always thought, ‘there had to be a reason, maybe I was abused as a kid and repressed it.’ It’s been so long and I’ve finally realized that maybe it’s just because I have Aspergers or ASD. “

“When I make sarcastic remarks or jokes I often have to clarify because I say them in such a monotone way that people think I’m serious.”

“I’ve always joked that I’m just really clumsy and uncoordinated, and chalked it up to being tall and lanky. That’s why swimming was the perfect sport for me. Little to no risk of injury and not much hand eye coordination needed to be good at it. Just hours of practice, technique and endurance.”

“I also injure myself quite a lot because I’m ‘a klutz.’”

“Stims: I scratch my head and then smell my fingers and I will do this for hours if I am able (I know that one is weird so I only do it at home) popping my knuckles a ridiculous amount of times when I feel uncomfortable and don’t know what to do with my hands. I twirl my hair constantly (that one is pretty socially acceptable so I do it in class nonstop). I tap my foot or bounce my leg, I make weird facial expressions and forget to hide those. People notice but they often think it’s funny because I’ll make a face if someone says something dumb and make an expression that people seem to relate to. I scrunch my nose if I’m uncomfortable or just whenever.”

Special interests: Star Wars, Disney (I know every word to every Disney song and I watch animated Disney movies over and over again, like literally every night) dolphins, the ocean, dogs, theology/the Bible.

“With my art work, and other things, I will get so focused on a painting that I will work non stop for 8-9 hours (all day basically) and not eat because I’m so focused that I forget to eat.”

“I think I slur my words a lot and sometimes my friends will laugh and be like ‘did you just say ____.?!?!’And I’ll clarify and they will continue laughing and say ‘oh it sounded like you said this.’ I hate when that happens.”

“Loud noises really bother me. I jump if I hear an unexpected loud noise and I hate people yelling, even if it’s not directed at me, it makes me want to cry. “

“I loved the color blue so much as a kid (I still do) but my entire wardrobe was basically different shades of blue t-shirts. I also only ever wore baggy t-shirts and baggy cargo shorts (I kinda dressed like a boy) because it was comfortable and I didn’t like getting comments if I looked “cute today”. I hated the attention. I also never ever wore my hair down to school. It always had to be up in a tight pony tail. I still don’t like my hair being in my face to this day and wear it up almost every day.”

“The other day, I was hanging out with a friend and she was trying to tell a story but I kept getting distracted and interrupting her. She said, ‘Emily, you kind of interrupt people a lot.’ At first I was hurt, but then I realized it’s not entirely my fault and it’s an autistic thing.”

“I mask so much that I have rehearsed responses to social interactions and will often get so nervous or start speaking from the script before I realize I’ve said the wrong response. Of course I’ll think about it all day after that and think of ‘well great, so and so thinks I’m weird now.’”

[calpalirwin]

Papa’s Job

Summary: Mason gets introduced to Ashton’s line of work.

A/N: Smushed a few ideas together. Also this piece delves deeper into Mason’s special needs diagnosis/lack thereof. And while I’ve done a fair amount of research both over the years for various reasons, and while writing this, I am by no means an expert, and my research is no substitute for personal experience. So please, feel free to offer constructive and KIND feedback in ways I can better write Mason. Happy reading!

Word Count: ~2k

And away, and away we go!

__

It seemed to Vanessa like wherever she turned, Mason was underfoot. “Fuckin’ hell!” she swore as she turned and almost tripped over the little boy.

Mason’s bottom lip trembled as he clapped his hands over his ears at her outburst.

She sighed and crouched down in front of the almost three year old, keeping a careful hold on Bailey who had been particularly fussy since her first round of shots the day before. “Sweet boy, you’re too close. I have the baby, we have to be careful.”

“Baie,” he nodded, reaching for his sister.

“You wanna hold her?”

Another nod.

“Okay, sweet boy. Let’s go sit, and you can hold Bai.”

Mason sprinted to the living room, flinging himself onto the couch. He grabbed the boppy and put it on his lap. “Momma. Baie.”

“Yes, Mase.” Vanessa said a silent prayer that Bailey wouldn’t kick up a fuss about not being in her arms as she placed the two month old on the boppy.

Bailey twisted her mouth to start crying, but Mason was quick to place his hand by her, her little fingers grasping around his slightly bigger index finger. “Baie, Baie, Baie,” he sang softly to her as she settled down.

“Bailey, Bailey, Bailey,” Vanessa sang with him, sitting down next to her son.

Mason continued to sing nonsense sounds at his sister, who slowly drifted off to sleep. Once Vanessa was sure she could move Bailey from Mason and upstairs to her crib to continue sleeping, she reached for her daughter. Mason whined low in his throat, placing his hands gently over Bailey. “Momma,” he warned in a low whisper.

“I know. I’m gonna go put her in her bed, sweet boy,” she answered back, her voice just as low.

Mason’s whine got more pronounced.

Vanessa pressed a finger to her lips. “I know you love her and want to hold her. You’re a great big brother, Mase. But sissy went night-night. You can hold her when she wakes up, okay?”

He pouted, but moved his hands away so Vanessa could take the sleeping infant. But clearly he wasn’t too thrilled at his sister being taken away because as soon as Bailey was in Vanessa’s arms, he chucked the boppy to the floor. “Mason Nicholas!” Vanessa hissed through her teeth as the toddler took off.

She held back the sigh, focusing on getting Bailey into her crib without more fuss.

Mason, in his quest to hide so he could continue to pout in peace, ended up at the top of the staircase leading to the basement. “Hey, Mase,” Ashton smiled when the little boy came stumbling down. He gripped the cymbal of his drum set between his index finger and thumb to silence it, setting his drumsticks aside. “Where’s Momma and Bailey?”

Mason jutted out his lower lip and pointed up the stairs.

“Aw, did Momma put Bailey down for a nap?”

Mason nodded. “Baie, Papa,” he whimpered.

“Aw,” Ashton chuckled, patting his lap. “Wanna come sit with me?”

He wiped at his face, walking over to Ashton and crawling into his lap. “Baie, Papa,” he repeated in a hiccuped sob.

Ashton wrapped the boy into him. “I know you’re sad. But Bailey needs to sleep. When she’s awake you can hold her some more.”

“Momma,” Mason mumbled.

“Yeah, I’m sure Momma did tell you the same thing. But it’s okay. You can still be sad about it.”

Mason let out a shuddery breath of acceptance before pushing at Ashton’s chest. Ashton opened his arms, expecting the boy to climb down from his lap. But to his surprise, Mason reached forward to tap his hands against the various drums, liking the sounds he produced. “Papa!” he beamed.

Ashton lit up like a Christmas tree. “Yeah? You wanna play the drums with me?” Ashton grabbed the drumsticks. “Look, bud,” he said, striking at the drums.

Mason laughed with glee at the sound, clutching on to Ashton’s wrists.

“Here, you try,” Ashton said, handing Mason one of the drumsticks.

Mason looked at it in uncertainty and back at Ashton.

“Like this,” Ashton demonstrated again.

Mason copied what Ashton had done as best he could.

“There ya go! Just like that!” Ashton encouraged, shifting Mason so that the boy was on one his knees, freeing up his other leg to kick up a steady beat against the bass drum.

“Mason?!” Vanessa’s frantic voice called down the stairs. “Ash, is he down there with you?”

“Yeah, we’re down here, baby.”

She came flying down the staircase, halting at the bottom, eyes wild as they landed on Mason sitting happily on Ashton’s lap playing with the drum kit. “You scared the crap out of me!”

Ashton’s own eyes went wide. “Me? What did I do?”

“Not you, him!” She pointed a finger at Mason. “He got mad that I put Bailey down so he took off to hide. I thought he went to hide in his room. Fuckin’ damn near tore the house apart looking for him.”

“Whoa,” Ashton eased, standing up and adjusting Mason on his hip. “Take a minute. He’s been with me. He’s fine.”

“Yeah, I can see that… Here, I’ll take him back upstairs.”

Ashton waved her off as Mason squirmed in his hold to reach for the drums. “Nah, I got him, it’s fine. We’re having fun, aren’t we, bud?”

Mason smacked on the cymbal with his stick, giggling at the sound.

Vanessa’s heart melted. “Alright. But, you, mister Mason,” she said, wagging a finger at the boy. “We do not throw things when we are upset.”

“Uh-oh,” Ashton tsked, looking down at the boy in his arms. “Momma’s right, Mase. Throwing things isn’t nice. What do we say after we do something that’s not nice?”

“Momma!” Mason grinned, blowing Vanessa a sloppy toddler kiss.

She crossed over to her boys, kissing Mason’s cheek. “I forgive you, sweet boy. So what are you and Papa doing?”

“Teaching him how to play drums. He seems to really like it,” Ashton told her, sitting back down with Mason so they could go back to playing.

“Yeah, they say music’s really good for him.”

“Who’s they?”

“They. The doctors. The research. Something about the repetitive nature helping with his speech. I dunno, a lot of the scientific mumbo jumbo goes over my head.”

“Well, why don’t we get him in like a class, or something. They have those, right?”

“Yeah. And I’ve been meaning to. But every time I think to look into it, something else comes up. And without a formal diagnosis, it’s hard to find the right class for him.”

“He doesn’t have a formal diagnosis? What does that mean?”

“It means they, the doctors, just have a lot of really good guesses but not any real answers because he’s still so young. It’s currently a toss up between aphasia and autism.”

“Okay, I know what autism is more or less. But what the fuck is that other word?”

“Fancy talk for speech disorder.”

“That is so fuckin stupid… they can’t tell if he has a speech disorder? He’s damn near three years old and only says 4 fuckin words. I may not know a whole hell of a lot about child development or whatever the fuck, but pretty sure three olds are supposed to say a lot more than 4 bloody words.”

Vanessa stifled her laughter as Ashton vented his frustration. She wondered how many times you had raved the exact same thing to Finn, almost verbatim. “They can tell he has a speech disorder, love. They just can’t tell if it’s just it’s own thing, or if there’s more to it than that. Autism and speech disorders tend to overlap.”

“Yeah, and I bet you had to pay out your fuckin ears for all those doctor visits, and specialists, and shit. God, your healthcare here sucks.”

This time, she did laugh. “Yeah, but Finn and I both have pretty good insurance plans so it wasn’t too bad.”

“Yeah, and we can always just do this,” he told her, jerking his chin about the room. “Do our own music therapy here in the basement.”

“Now, that’s not a bad idea.”

“Man, I can’t wait to start touring again. I mean, I’m gonna miss you guys like fuckin’ crazy. But god, I can’t wait to show you guys around when we do our gig here. You’re gonna fuckin’ love it, baby.”

“It might just be me coming to see you, babe. I don’t know how Mase will handle all the noise, even with headphones.”

“Shit you’re right… well maybe you guys should come to a rehearsal then. Give the headphones a proper test.”

“A private concert all our own, huh? I think that sounds perfect.”

~~~

Mason gasped in excitement as they walked into the rehearsal space and he saw all the instruments. “Momma!”

“Yeah, I see, sweet boy. Are you excited to watch Papa and Uncles?”

“Momma,” he nodded.

“Go say hi to everybody, and then we’ll sit and listen, okay?”

Mason dashed off to press his forehead against Calum, Luke, and Michael who all murmured their own hellos to the boy while Ashton helped Vanessa get settled down with Bailey. “Ikey!” Mason screeched when he got to Michael, reaching up to touch the man’s fringe that poked out of his hat.

“Yes!” Michael whooped in victory. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” Michael said pointing at Calum, Luke, and then back at Calum with each “fuck you.”

Calum rolled his eyes while Luke pouted, “How is ‘Mikey’ easier to say than ‘Luke’? How does he like your hair better? I have curls!”

“Oh, just let him have the win, Luke,” Ashton said, straightening up to his feet. “You guys ready or what?”

After making sure Bailey and Mason had their ears protected, the men all situated themselves with their instruments and started playing.

Mason managed to sit quietly through about two and a half songs before he got up and went over to Ashton, resting his small hand against the man’s leg. Ashton nodded for them to keep going when Calum, Luke, and Michael turned to look at him in a silent question. Between beats, Ashton scooped Mason up into his lap and finished the song. “Whatcha think?” Ashton asked both everybody and nobody as he pushed sweaty locks of hair back away from his face.

“Transitions sounded better this time,” Michael commented.

“Sounded better than better. Sounded tour ready,” Luke corrected.

“Could do without audience participation,” Calum teased with a playful look at Mason on Ashton’s lap.

“Just because you missed a beat, doesn’t mean you have to be bitter, Cal,” Ashton teased back. “And speaking of audience participation. What’d ya think?”

With all four men watching her, Vanessa shrugged her shoulders. “I’m no music expert, but I’m with Luke and Mike. Sounded really good.”

Mason, displeased that the music had stopped, reached across Ashton’s lap to strike at the cymbal with his hands. “Here,” Ashton told him, handing Mason the drumsticks. “With these.”

Mason tried again, shrieking with excitement at the sounds he produced from hitting the different parts of the drum set. Much like how he had done in the basement a week ago, Ashton shifted so Mason was fully seated on one leg so he would work the bass drum with his free leg without jostling the boy too much in the process. “Atta boy, Mase!” Ashton praised.

Rehearsal was quickly disbanded in favor of giving Mason a turn at all the other instruments in the room, letting him choose his favorite. Mason sat with Michael the longest, happily swiping a guitar pick against the strings. “Well, now we know what to get him for his birthday,” Michael grinned, sticking his tongue out at Calum and Luke.

Calum grumbled that this was barely a win for Michael because all this proved was that Mason definitely liked guitars, making it a win for everyone except Ashton, while Luke pouted more about how unfair it was Mason liked Michael more than him because “We play the same bloody instruments! I have CURLS!”

Ashton laughed at his friends, letting Michael gloat in his little victories a little bit longer before getting Mason’s attention. “Mase? Drums?” He drummed a quick and small beat that had Mason launching himself off of Michael and across the room to Ashton’s lap.

“Ha!” Calum smirked, flipping off Michael. “Now who’s Mase’s favorite?”

“Bailey,” everyone answered without needing to think about it.

__

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[raederle-phoenix]

Mom sent me a video called “Could it be Aspergers?”

Raederle: I've been learning a lot about autism recently. Btw, It's no longer trendy to call anything on the spectrum Asperger's, apparently.

Mom: It may not be trendy, but while I'm comfortable saying, “I have Asperger's,” I am not comfortable saying I have mild Autism.

Raederle: Many people have the opposite feeling because of the guy Asperger's was named after.

I'm watching the video now. It's good thus far. I was the “Italian driver” as a kid, as he put it. I didn't read the signs in social situations. lol

Lytenian has noooo tolerance for people shouting. (9 minutes into the video now.) 

Lytenian also can't wear a mask without having a panic attack. Every time we go grocery shopping I have to pause and hug him regularly while he hyperventilates.

Accountants are shown to be really likely to have aspy kids, lol. (Looking at you.) [Mom has always had a passion for accounting.]

He tells the story around minute fourteen of the kid who ends up studying psychology . . . And points out he has been studying people since he was three because it was the only way to cope. Man do I relate to that. And so does Dad, I'm sure. [Dad studied psychology in college and went on to continue to study it for life. He’s the one who introduced me to transactional analysis and NLP.]

OMG. Minute 20. Aspy girl observes the popular girl. “What does she wear? Pink. I'll wear pink-pink-pink. What does she like? Barbies. I'll get 100 Barbies!” I don't recall deciding to do that due to any particular girls I knew, but perhaps I used TV as a model.

OMG #2. Minute 22. Sometimes the aspy girl can't find acceptance so she gives up copying the others and turns to things like promiscuity, so at least she can get acceptance that way.

Did Dad watch this with you? LOL. 

Yoga and meditation. “Tell aspies to do it because it makes them smarter. Explain that being upset makes their IQ drop 30 points. Yes, it will drop into the normal range.” LOL. 

Wow. He even mentioned narcissism toward the end.

Mom: The video is SO on point – for you, me, Dale, Carlos – I didn't know about Lytenian.

Raederle: Ah, of course Carlos. And obviously Michael. [My nephew.] I think our family is actually a magnet for aspy people. [I named other friends of the family.]  

[The next day] Raederle: I'm now questioning whether Greg has a touch of it after all. The man in the video did say that a percentage of people were subclinical . . . I really want to know all about the genetics of it. How many different genes are we dealing with? Three? Fifteen?

Mom: Good question.  And I also wonder about that. But I don't think that genetics has the final say about it. I think a lot of it is things like mercury poisoning. Early trauma that affects the brain.

Raederle: I used to think it was more about things like mercury poisoning, but after learning about how the dynamics of HSPs [Highly Sensitive People] work, and that hundreds of other species have HSPs, and that they serve an important role in society, I now think aspy people serve a nature-intended role. 

I think the enhanced awareness and diagnosis of people with autism could actually be due to our society becoming more dysfunctional. When the diet everyone ate was healthy, and when communities were more supportive and close-knit, aspy people would have had a strong support system that accepted them as they were. The healthy food and healthy relationships would keep their anxiety down and their strengths would shine through. 

With the way society is structured now, it is too hard to cope as an aspy, so the ones in the latest generation are becoming spokespeople.

Mom: Certainly a valid argument.  And certainly aspies serve valid functions, just as do homosexuality and other 'aberrations'. 

But I think the trigger is always early trauma.

Consider that the very things that cause violence and narcissism are violence and narcissism.

And in societies where those are rampant, they are considered good traits.

Raederle: Hmm. But violence and narcissism are behavioral patterns. Autism impacts the neural pathway structure itself, and even how many hormones are released in conjunction to certain stimuli . . . Then again, I suppose behavior works that way too. Our brains develop neural superhighways based on whatever we do a child while we are using dendrites rapidly in our brain to make connections.

I still think there is something different going on with things like autism and being an HSP, however. When someone does a lot of shadow work, they can find themselves increasingly healed from a need to have a narcissistic relational style, but their brain set-up (being good at pattern recognition, or being more focused on incoming sensory stimuli, as examples) actually gets better at what it was already doing; it doesn't change to suddenly become neuro-typical if it wasn't previously.

Mom: Also good points, but the premise, logic, and brain power are getting beyond me. My brain doesn't do things it used to. [Mom is over seventy now. She had me when she was forty-two, and I’m thirty-one now.]

Raederle: *sad*

Mom: Yeah I know.  Such is life.

Raederle: I brag to people all the time that in college you had a 4.0 in calculus. :)

Mom: I brag to myself about it.  But I went back once to audit a class, and couldn’t follow it.

Raederle: I've started re-learning all the math I knew in high school from Greg. And he's going to teach me calculus after I'm caught up. From there, Scott might teach me more.

Mom: That would be cool! Bear in mind that my first calculus teacher (they taught it over three semesters) was extremely good.

Raederle: I'm sure. It helps that I get to have one-on-one tutoring. While I learn a lot from books now, I still learn a board game better from a good teacher than from a manual. The idea of learning math from a book scares the daylights out of me. I never learned a thing about math from a book.

It seems more natural to learn about people and psychology from books, and yet learn about math from people.

Okay, that is a weird thing . . . lol.

[brodymeetsworld]

This Christmas.

When I was a little girl, Christmas was my favorite holiday of the year. My grandmother would cook for days in preparation for the entire family( 6 grown children, 10 plus grandchildren) to gather around the table together (or the infamous kids table.) It was one of the only times of the year I was able see my extended family, and I soaked up every second of the time we had together. I have so many memories from learning how to cook with my Grandma, Aunts, and my oldest cousin Erin. To watching football in the living room with everyone including Granddaddy snoozing in “his chair”, to secretly learning how to play the card game “bullshit” (at a very young age I might add lol) with all of the cousins on the back enclosed porch. We would always end our evening the same way, after dinner we would sing the “Happy Birthday” song to Jesus, and because my little brother and I were the babies of the family, we usually got to blow out the candles on the cake. Afterwards, most of us would attend Christmas eve candlelight service at the Monterey Methodist Church. I didn’t get to go to Church very often, so these services were so special and beautiful to me. Those memories are some of the best memories of my childhood. 

After my grandparents passed away, the glue that held our extended family together dissolved. Everyone decided to host their own families for the holidays, and no longer wanted the financial or time burden to feed and host twenty-thirty family members. It saddens my soul to never see my aunts, uncles, or cousins anymore. The only way we see each other and communicate now is through social media or phone calls. One big portion of our family even moved half way across the country to Missouri, so the chances of seeing them anytime soon are slim. I truly haven’t felt the magic of Christmas since Christmas in Monterey, and that was 15 years ago.

After I met and married my husband, and when I became a mom, at the age of 26 and again at 27, I thought that magic would suddenly just appear again! Wrong, if anything, Christmas was harder all around. Not only did my two babies want nothing to do with Santa Clause, or the presents my husband and I worked so hard to buy, wrap, put together, but they were determined to destroy all of our decorations, including 3 separate artificial trees. I was completely emotionally and physically drained the first two Christmas’s with our children. I always just threw it off as of well this is life with two under two, or two under three. It never occurred to me, that one of my children may have special needs.

Fast forward to today, this will be my 30th Christmas. This will be my boys 4th and 5th Christmas. This year they have finally left our beautiful tree alone, and most of the presents underneath it as well. They both love to sing Christmas songs, and watch the snow fall on the ground. Our favorite thing to do right now is make Christmas crafts, and go searching for Christmas lights at night in the car. The proof of them growing and learning is obvious this year, and it brings so much joy to my heart. We also started going to church this year. What brought us to church was learning about our oldest son, Brody, diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder over Easter weekend this past year. 

You see, my husband and I always knew Brody was special, but we had no idea how special he really was. We were first time parents, and when Bentley came along just 14 months after his brother, we entered survival mode and did our very best. Looking back, I think Brody started showing signs of Autism shortly after his brother came into the world, around 16 months old. I was in denial for a long time, as well as my husband. I can remember looking back and thinking how hard it was in the beginning with both boys, and I never thought of the hard times as Brody being “abnormal”. I always blamed myself for “not being a good enough parent”, and that’s why he is crying all the time. Or “I’m not a good cook, that's why he won’t eat any of the meals I make for him”. And the one I really truly believed, “I guess I don’t talk to him enough and that's why he won’t speak”. All of these things would torment me every day, and all I could do was vent to my husband or his pediatrician. I even took him to see a ENT doctor determined because he had so many ear infections as a baby, maybe he had a hearing problem. It wasn’t until a close family member kept Brody over night that Autism even crossed our radar. Bless her heart too, she tried to tell me, but instead of accepting help, I was angry with her. The first time I reached out for help with our children and my biggest fear was being confirmed.(crazy when I think back, I really was scared of this diagnosis) I was so deep in denial there was nothing she could have done at that time that wouldn't have upset me. It took a toll on our relationship, and I regret the time we lost together over it.

Before we even received Brody’s diagnosis, we enrolled him into the special needs pre school in our county. He qualified right away, and he started right after his third birthday. He went from speaking one word sentences, to three to four word sentences in a year and half time so far, and most importantly he can communicate his needs and wants. His eating has improved, and we have a list of foods he will eat as oppose to 4 things total. Brody will dance with us down the hallway, and sing silly songs for us. He knows how to say please and thank you, I’ve been told by his teachers he is showing empathy to his classmates, and he can finally say “I love you, mommy” or “I love you, daddy” without signing them to us at the same time. All of these things are so bittersweet for us, because there was a time not too long ago we weren’t sure they were even a possibility. 

Easter 2019 comes, we receive our sons test results in the mail. If you’ve never read ADOS results before, they can be a bit confusing. My husband and I read the results, googled our sons comparison score of “4″, and thought he was on the severe end of the spectrum. It wasn’t until the next day did we find out we were wrong, Brody is in fact on the mild end of the spectrum. But the night before was rough, we both cried and cried. Why did we cry? I really don't know the answer to that question. When you receive a diagnosis for your child, no matter the diagnosis, a part of you inside just breaks into a million pieces. I can’t speak for my husband on this, but I know for myself, as a mom, I blamed myself for a long time. I spent so much time trying to think back through out my pregnancy with Brody what I could have done wrong. I think back through out his infancy what could have went wrong, “what did I do, what did I do that made him different.” The end of the school year was coming, and we have a yearly IEP meeting with all of Brody’s team members. In that meeting, the school psychologist who tested Brody, told us it was imperative for Brody to constantly be put into small social circles. She recommended t-ball, soccer, church, birthday parties, etc. So that is exactly what we did. Brody wasn’t old enough to enroll into sports in our county yet, so we accepted every single birthday party invite, and focused on finding a Church family.

We had several invites to different churches in our community, but because I myself hadn’t been to church in over 15 years, I was a nervous wreck deciding which church to attend. Going anywhere, by yourself (my husband works A LOT), with two rowdy boys is hard. It’s 10x harder when you have a child with Autism. I knew I had to get over my fears of my sons meltdowns, and do this not only for my sons social interaction sake, but also so our children could learn about our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I always wanted to learn about the Lord when I was growing up, but no body ever wanted to wake up sunday morning to attend a church service with me. In fact, the only times I ever attended church was during Christmas or if I stayed the night with one of my friends whose family attended. Now its my turn, it’s my duty as a mother, and as a daughter of the King, to teach my children his word and of his sacrifice for all of us. 

I choose our church family, Redeeming Grace Outreach Worship Center. The boys and I go almost every sunday. Both boys wake up excited to go to church, and really enjoy singing and dancing for the Lord. After a bit of a transitioning period in the beginning, Brody will finally go to the nursery without mama having to be there too. I am finally able to read the bible and worship God and take something away from each and every service, and that truly has been a game changer in our life as a family. 

So for my 30th Christmas this year, this will be by far my best Christmas yet. Its been a year of ups and downs, a year of believing in miracles (Ezekiel Rhett), a year of building our faith, and a year of learning acceptance. Our son is exactly who he is supposed to be, and he was made in the eyes of our father. Through him, I’m learning exactly who I’m supposed to be too. God has a purpose for each and everyone of us, and our mighty King makes no mistakes. This Christmas will be magical because we made it that way.

#autismawareness #autismacceptance  

[arabellaflynn]

The Eccentric has started a non-profit. It is not going well. He has hired me as one of two "operations managers", but won't let either of us handle any of the actual operations. Which is unfortunate, because it turns out that he is rubbish at small business administration. His main issue is that he has no relationship of any kind with the linear flow of time, and consequently no useful time management skills. He has no idea how long anything will realistically take, and, per the famous equation, no idea how much it's going to cost. This is bad under most circumstances, but ruinous when running on a shoestring budget. He is going to flame out spectacularly. It will be very sad. He has resisted every piece of advice everyone has ever given him about how to avoid this, so there is nothing I can do. I have resolved to let him pay me an hourly wage to watch the desk of his beloved debacle until our current engagement ends or I find a better job, whichever comes first. The two of us are friends for unconnected, mainly bachata-related reasons, so I'm not worried on that front; it is going to hit him very hard, though, and I'm well aware that I'm now part of the support system that will have to help him pick up the pieces. A lot of people who have known him for a very long time have come out to give him moral support, which is a good sign for the aftermath. One of them hugged me and told me I was "doing God's work" babysitting him and the project until it imploded. Ah, well. More interesting, and considerably less depressing, is the other ops manager the Eccentric scared up when the job was originally slated to be full time, and I said I could not do 40+ hours a week by myself. I keep wanting to call him the "new kid", which is really unfair of me. He is an adult, albeit a young one -- old enough to buy liquor, not old enough to rent a car. The Novyi is a newly-minted film school grad who turns out to have a number of quirks in common with the Eccentric, although mercifully he is far more laid-back in conversation, and seems to have a mailing address on Planet Earth. He also turns out to have an Asperger's Syndrome tag from before that diagnosis was revised out of existence. I've been giving him the tl;dr guide to Dealing With The Eccentric, which is mostly down to 'I love him to bits but he is not neurotypical, best be as blunt as possible when talking to him, and here is a handy quick-translation phrasebook'. A lot of the things I have brought up that other people find difficult to deal with are things the Novyi sees in himself, although in much milder form. This bodes well for the Novyi being part of the interface layer between the Eccentric and the outside world, assuming the Eccentric ever stop hoarding all the contact info for everybody and actually lets us do that. One of the most surprising ones was when I mentioned that the Eccentric had a friend radius of about five inches, and the Novyi basically just nodded and went 'yah, it me'. That got me curious. I had a hunch while I was stuck on the train home that night and typed 'autism spectrum disorders personal space' into Google, and holy smokes, I did not know that was a thing. Interpersonal distance is an important social signalling channel. It stands to reason that if one of your symptoms is a difficulty deciphering social signals, you'd be irregular in your handling of personal space. I had no idea that the skew was that consistent, though. There's one particularly striking study where the relative differences between comfortable distances for various conditions were almost identical between variable-matched autistic and non-autistic participants, but the absolute distances reported for the autistic participants were universally much closer. It's marked in the trials where the experimenter walked toward the participants, but even more so in the trials where the participants controlled the distance between themselves and the experimenter. The data for one autistic participant were discarded as an outlier when they literally got nose-to-nose with the experimenter without reporting any discomfort, which is a little bit yikes. [Similar results have been reported for trials measuring comfortable clearances around inanimate objects like coat racks. The experimenters spin that into a hypothesis about miscalibration in the amygdala-controlled 'let's maybe don't run into things' warning system, but that honestly just sounds like they're slapping around for a plausible guess. The results are interesting enough without the ass-pulls. Also not doing anything to dismantle my argument that the Eccentric has a really solid case of Weird Brains.] This may never come up with the Novyi again, outside of random chit-chat. It's only been a couple of weeks, and I've no idea how much friending he is interested in doing with a co-worker who is 15+ years his senior. On the other hand, I've already been asked point-blank whether we were at 'handshake' or 'hug'. If he does work substantially like the Eccentric here, he will give at most 2% of a shit about social convention, and the other 98% will be given over to figuring out where he wants to be standing vs. where I have given him permission to stand. I am inclined to think it is probably okay, question mark? I find the idea of an environment where people hug me and are glad that I show up to be quite pleasant, which automatically makes me suspicious, on the grounds that nothing I want could possibly be a good idea. It seems to work out all right with the Eccentric. Hanging on him like a fashionable scarf has never stopped me from saying no when he's being unreasonable, and I can honestly say that my 'no' has never prompted him to withhold affection. It may be an odd dynamic, but seems to be functional. The Novyi has seen me do it, so he knows I do have platonic friends who get clearance. I feel like I'm supposed to be skeptical of the Novyi's ability to know what he's about on the grounds of his youth. That seems unfair as well, especially inasmuch as he's got a good grasp on the 'ask first' part. He got a handshake the first time, which passed without note. The next time I saw him I reconsidered and decided hug was fine; I found out later, and then only in response to a comment I made about it, that he's pretty much always on the side of 'hug', to the point where it is a running joke among his friends. The implied universality of that is reassuring. It seems to be a class feature rather than a targeted thing. I gather from what he's said that it's not that he wants to loll on specific people so much as he kind of wants to do it to everyone in the 'friend' category. The ones who are actually subject to it are just the ones who have given him permission. People who zero in on me make me nervous, especially if they ask over and over and are obviously disappointed when I decline. So far the Novyi is on solid ground. I'm sure I'm overthinking this times a million, but the Eccentric took me by surprise, and to be honest, these are things of great significance to me. Affection was not really a thing my family got into, and I had to learn it from scratch as a teenager when I finally made some decent friends. I have a special sympathy for the idea of someone going through life knowing that standing on someone else's shoes is what feels like friendship, and also knowing that they can't ever do that, or their friends will feel crowded and run. It sounds like a special kind of hell. No wonder I got the Eccentric's attention so quickly when I decided to quit standing so far away. from Blogger https://ift.tt/2Vac7P9 via IFTTT -------------------- Enjoy my writing? Consider becoming a Patron, subscribing via Kindle, or just toss a little something in my tip jar. Thanks!

[starbell622-blog]

First Day of School

It’s the first day of school.  DS is starting 2nd grade.  2 years of fighting with the school over a diagnosis and help for DS, and end of first grade, we found out he’s on the spectrum.  Where, we do not know yet, because of course life happens, Dad’s job changed and we got thrown into the 3rd health insurance, and wouldn’t you know that insurance will not cover Autism testing.  No words.

We are going by the school’s diagnosis.  2 years after they put DS on multiple different medicines because of his “ADHD” and “ODD.”  He hits, he curses, he “lacks empathy,” lacks eye contact, sometimes doesn’t make sense.  But he is smart as anything and can do school work a few grade levels above the grade he is in.  He can do math in his head, spell big words, understands them.  This is orally, of course.  When he sits down in a classroom, anxiety, including some separation anxiety from us, his parents.  I’m sure we will get into that more later about him, but for now that’s where we are.  

I just started a new job less than a week ago, last Tuesday.  DH and I trying to do what’s best for our son, help him and allow him to learn with every other child, like he deserves to.  This weekend he was more than excited to start school, could not wait to go.  This morning, he woke up, “Mom, is it time for school yet?” -”No, buddy,” I said, “it’s time for us to eat some breakfast and get ready.”  Smooth sailing.  DD made her brother Toaster Strudels for breakfast, normally they do not get along, but today, everything was great.  Bus stop with DD and he behaved, no hitting his sister (which is more than other siblings fight), but not today.  He did develop what we think is a sort of “tick” for him, he has started blowing on his hands very gently, we have asked why, and when he does answer, he is “cooling his hands.”  This is something that came up over the summer that is new for him.  Around 10:30 am, school was feverishly calling.  I could not answer as I just started a new job, they called my old work and I got a message from a coworker, then they called my husband (DH).  I messaged my husband to find out what was going on already (It’s only the FIRST DAY and he was fine this morning!).  School said that he was having a “rough day” and someone needed to come and get him “immediately.”  

I don’t know about you all, but we are not in the financial position, never have been, to just leave a job for the day.  Not only that, DD just started with his new position right before Christmas last year, and I haven’t even gotten a full work week in at my new job.  They know how he is, they know he is on the Spectrum, and this year have extra help, in forms of special education and therapy classes that he can take a few times a week, paid for by the state.  Ofcourse we both love DS, but we also need to be able to provide for him, and we cannot do when we are missing non paid days from work, also risking being let go due to lack of availability to perform and be at work.  How do we be great parents and help DS, but work fulltime to be able to do better for our family and get us in a better financial situation?

I am still new to this.  Still Googling articles on Autism and other children experiencing the issues that we are dealing with, especially now that we ahve a diagnosis.  Trying to somehow make more hours in the day to try to get him into a STEM school, but also touch base and speak with someone at the STEM school to let them know issues and about this awesome kid we have, that needs help and someone to work with us.  Still trying to take care of myself, so I am healthy and able to fully care for him.  That isn’t happening.

Today started off so well, he was happy, DD was having a good morning, and although we know not everyone is so thrilled to start school, it was progress from him being upset and having rough mornings any other time.  Not even 2 full hours in school and they already could not handle him.  Stress set in and worry for him, that he is safe in his surroundings and isn’t scared not being able to understand all of this and why it’s happening, and I got physically ill.  DH had to go get DS, where he was sitting in the nurses office, no one was there for DH to speak to, as he was told they weren’t fully staffed today.

Holding on trying not to pass out from holding in and trying not to show that my insides feel like they’re dying, I hold out until the end of the day.  DH was home with DS and I knew that he was safe, though the situation still had me ill.  Come home and DS apologizes, he is sorry for not having a good day and cries.  I gave him a giant hug while he was apologizing, and I quickly pointed out, “I’m sorry you had a bad day, buddy.  I love you.” DS feels it’s his own fault this is happening, and it’s not, it’s the fact that many disabilities people are still judgemental for and not able to fully understand or help.  I am unable to fully understand, but I am admitting it, and with DS, it is always patience, as hostility makes it worse.  He senses tones, harshness, he knows and remembers those who have made him feel uneasy in the past, and most of the time, they are the ones still making him feel uneasy in the present.  Yes, and sadly, this includes grandparents and most family members, as they don’t want to accept this reality, that he is just a “bad kid,” “doesn’t listen” and we are in so many words to blame for not raising him correctly.

I sit and search the internet for articles to add to read, to better educate myself, and be able to help him, and he is standing in front of my desk at home, watching T.V. and is very close.  He already wears very thick glasses, he’s a -8.00 prescription.  He gets a little uneasy, but he listens.  Now he takes his shirt, swinging it around his body, stretching it out and pulling it up around his arms.  “Buddy, please don’t do that to your shirt.”  Immediately starts the “hand cooling” and blowing gently on his fingers/hands.  My heart immediately breaks.  I was told today that i have to stay overnight a few days next week in a different city next week, and this is happening.  I was already ill, now I just stare at DS and wonder what is going on in his head and how I wish I could just help him.

I have decided to blog about it, as I can document everything, hopefully to help not only DS, but myself in the process.  And if someone stumbles across this blog, hopefully it can help them in some way as well.

[admirable-mairon]

Update on my life and whatnot

Some of you have asked/wondered what happened in my life and just....... How I’m holding up. 

Something that’s always worked for me is to simply write everything down in a long rant post, and so that is what I will do. Both for those who are curious, but also so that I will be able to put this down without having to worry about it bombarding me in every waking moment of every day. 

There will be few happy things under the cut. TW for abuse (physical and verbal), trauma, threats of self-harm and suicide, mental illness, insults and harsh language.  Despite all that, I promise that the post ends on a good note

Alright so where do I begin.......

Back in April I started going on Tinder and Her - Two dating apps. Not because I was looking, per se, but because I wanted to push myself out of my comfort zone and hopefully gain some form of confidence. I just wanted to try this whole ‘dating app’ thing out. 

And well, it went........ It went better than I had expected. I met a person that I fell in fast love with, something that was ENTIERLY new for me. Sure, when I was together with my ex I loved him - and I still do - but I had never felt this intense... I don’t know. I had never felt anything this intense before. I both jot this down to this being my first ever girlfriend, AND the fact that I had gotten my diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder earlier the same year (a really short and simplified description of that would be a lack of intuitive nuance.Emotions are either really bad or really good - not in between on a spectrum). 

Fast forward and as the end of 2018 was creeping closer I had moved in with them, I had gotten myself a dog (whom I love very much still), we had a bigger apartment than before, I only have one year left at uni, they started talking about marriage, etc.....

And then, on the 28th of December 2018, my life completely shattered.  They threatened to hit me and physically forced me to not leave their presence. 

For clarification, my ex, and abuser, is a gender-fluid lesbian whose prefered pronouns are They, which is what I will refer to them as. 

So how the hell did it all come about?

Well - My grandpa died last summer, my grandma lives in a home now, and so my mother is cleaning out their old house. Naturally, she asked me and my brother whether there were any things, furniture etc, that we wanted to keep. I said “I’m interested in at least one of those” and left it at that. 

As I told them when they woke though, around noon, they immideately grew..... Intimidating. Scary. Turns I wasn’t allowed to keep that piece of furniture, and the fact that it had belonged to my grandfather “didn’t matter”. I refused to take that kind of talk, especially first thing in the morning, and told them that the discussion was over. I didn’t want to talk about it. 

Once again, I was not allowed to say no. They kept going, and seeing as they ignored my verbal ‘no’, I took up my phone to scroll around and show them physically that I wouldn’t keep talking about it.... At which point they reached forward to take my phone from me. 

My rapist used to do that - my latest abuser - and I reacted on instinct, and took it back. Seeing as my nails are long I accidentally scratched them, which they used against me even as I tried to apologize. 

“You’re lucky I’m not like you, or I would have broken up with you now, because you hurt me physically”

“I know - I’m sorry! I panicked when you tried to take my phone!”

“Well that doesn’t matter. I didn’t try to take it, I tried to push it down. I COULD have just taken it and thrown it to the other side of the room and into a wall”

Aka I should be happy that it wasn’t worse. 

Feeling REALLY unsettled now I tried to leave the bedroom, but I wasn’t allowed to. They PHYSICALLY placed themself in front of me and blocked my path, towering over me and refusing to let me leave. They physically blocked the doorway, but seeing as I’m stronger and heavier I managed to push myself out through a surge of adrenaline, and I ran to the bathroom so I could lock myself in until it was safe. 

That didn’t happen. They ran after me and forced the door open, not letting me tug it closed no matter what I did. At this point I was desperate and screaming at them to leave me alone, but they refused. I didn’t get a choice in the matter. So finally I screamed what had been echoing subtly at the back of my head for weeks:

“It doesn’t feel like you want a girlfriend - It feels like you just want a servant!”

And that is when they raised their hand in a clear threat to hit me. They did so twice, and I was deadly afraid at this point. I screeched at them to leave me alone and all they did was keep repeating the phrase:

“What’s wrong with you? Why do you always exaggerate?”

They also physically tried to shut me up by pushing a finger onto my mouth, and I was desperate and pumped with adrenaline at that point. But I wasn’t just scared - I was also angry. Beyond angry - I was blindingly furious. 

I don’t remember why atm, but they suddenly started crying about the whole ordeal, and I quite frankly said that I didn’t feel sorry for them. I was furious, and THEY threatened me, not the other way around. 

Things escalated further then. They ran into the bathroom and started tearing out every single box and cupboard and shelf - all in search for razors so they could cut themself. Realizing this, of course, I threw myself after them and used all my strength to pull them back. When they didn’t find the razors (and because I held on) - They ran into the kitchen and struggled to get to our kitchen knives. Yup - I’m talking about meat knives, vegetable knives, bread knives, etc.

I managed to pull them back into the living room at which point they calmed down somewhat. I said I would call the doctor - and they promised me dearly that they would jump from the balcony if I did.  They later admitted that they deliberately struggled to force me to hurt them when I restrained them, aka they used my body as a tool to self-harm.

At that point I was just......... Exhausted. Empty. Drained. And so unbelievably hurt and betrayed. But our dog needed a walk, so I took him out and called my best friend meanwhile - telling her about the situation. 

I want you to understand why I didn’t leave right at that moment - I had nowhere to go. Where WOULD I go?! Gothenburg is a hellscape when it comes to finding apartments or homes, I had already paid the rent for that apartment, etc. The only reason I didn’t leave then and there was because there were too many loose strings. There were couches I could sleep on, sure - but what about an apartment? What about my own room? Where would I live safetly?

During all this time, I also updated my chosen family in Denmark about what happened, to which the response was “We will get you down here. You’re in danger. We support you in everything you do”. 

I decided to stay one more day at least. I planned on writing two lists - One with pros of staying and one with cons. That, and I needed to think...... AND we were going to see the Hunchback of Notre-Dame the day after. I had waited to see that show for FIVE YEARS and I was not going to miss it because my partner decided to be an asshole. 

Fast forward to the evening of the 29th. The day had gone on...... Fine. But I knew from experience that I wasn’t actually feeling it. I had no romantic feelings, no love - no affection for the human next to me other than the barest form of compassion that is “I would really like you to not die”. 

I wrote the list, I read it to them, because parts of it also came down to their reaction to being told what not to do. 

Well - I wouldn’t be writing this if they had realized their mistakes, would I?

The immideate response to everything was to throw blame on everyone else, on me for making them mad, for provoking them, on their mother, on their illnesses and their autism, which I shut down immideately. I have mental illnesses as well as BPD, but that doesn’t give me the right to blame ABUSE on it and refuse to correct my behaviour.

I broke up with them then, though it was in..... more careful terms than I would have wished. I wish I had just said it outright, but it’s hard to dump someone you know? I am a compassionate person - I didn’t want to crush them further, especially cause they had threatened with suicide the day before. They begged me to stay, naturally, and said they would do anything to have me stay. However, when I brought up that I would like for her to go to the doctor, while I went down to my family in Denmark, they once again refused. They wanted me to simply sit at home, because she saw it as punishment. 

After a lot of going back and forth I managed to convince them to go to one of our neighbours, their best friend, while I made some calls and sorted out my brain. 

I called my best friend, to sort my thoughts out, I called the doctor to get advice and information on how their routines work, and then I called my ex’s father to explain the situation. He had the right to know that his child was heavily suicidal and that I wouldn’t be there to take care of it. Furthermore, I needed him to watch our dog just for a couple of days. Not forever, but just until I was in a safe place, and had made quite a lot of calls just in case we would have to sell him on. 

I also packed my stuff that night, and bought my ticket for Denmark. But what does one pack when one is running for one’s life? I packed necessities, naturally, but also valuables I didn’t need, because they had proven to be violent so I had no way of knowing they WOULDN’T destroy my things while I was gone. 

They soon realized what I was doing however, as I kept in contact with both the friend and their dad, and I was ORDERED not to go to Denmark, at which point I’m honestly proud of my reply. 

“If you leave for Denmark, we are over” “Great. Then the relationship is over at 10.55 tomorrow morning”

All night I also had to watch over our puppy of course - The last night I would ever spend with him, and this is the part where I usually break into tears. Even now. I can tell the rest of it with a certain cold hate - I do not mourn my relationship, but I......... I mourn my little baby boy. 

He had no idea that that was the last time he would ever get to see his favourite mommy. He had no idea that he would never get to sleep on my chest again, that I would never kiss his little head or nose again, that this time Mommy would never again come back once mommy left. I’m crying now that I write this. Only now, because I miss my baby boy so much - I love him....! But I can’t take care of a dog, I barely have a home, I don’t have the time because of my studies, and while my ex doesn’t have a lot of money, they have resources. And if they can’t take care of him, I contacted his previous owner to make sure that there was a safe place he could go. 

I miss my Hanzo so much that my heart breaks, and seeing little dogs downtown actually physically hurt nowadays, because I know that somewhere there’s a darling boy who will never know where his Mommy went. He will never know how much I love him. 

I had to leave though, and leave I did. I called my internship and explained the situation, I contacted Hanzo’s first owner, AND surprisingly, I called my mother. I guess no matter how much anger and disappointment I have towards her - When my life shattered I really really just wanted my mom.  And for the first time she actually supported me in the way I needed. She was THERE for me! I wasn’t scolded for what I had done, I wasn’t blamed for my own abuse - She actually behaved like I’ve heard mothers are supposed to. 

I healed rather quick after that, or rather I put myself together thanks to my family in Denmark. There was disney, and food, and DnD and just so much love and freedom. I wasn’t even SAD that I had left - I was just so relieved and happy and free! Like I could breathe again, even though I couldn’t pinpoint when I had stopped, you know? All through it my parents and friends back home did everything they could to help me solve the issue of the fact that I was now homeless. I am so privileged and happy to have them in my life - I had help and support where many might not have. Some might not have had the opportunity I did. Some might not have been able to run away, and honestly I can imagine few things that are worse than being stuck in that kind of prison. 

Remember my earlier note about being seen as a servant? Yea - that was very confirmed. The Ex tried to contact me and give me orders all through that week - talking to me like I wasn’t even a human being. There were demands and orders and things I HAD to do, things I HAD to pay, etc etc. I was insulted, compared to abusers (ironically), and overall treated like I was a mere object and possession. I called them out on it and politely told them to stop using such a derogatory tone and treat me with some form of basic human respect. The excuse for that attitude was that “Well you don’t understand simple commands unless I say them in this way. Grow up. Respect is earned”

There was still the problem of moving my things out of the apartment, but through many calls, texts and the effort of both my friends and my family, I had help both economically and physically to move all my stuff out.  We had been promised that the apartment would be clean and ready to be packed and moved, so to speak, as she was going to “switch back” to the smaller apartment. 

However when we arrived it was......... I don’t even know how to describe how nasty it was. Unwashed dishes (MY dishes), rotten food and trash, dirty floors, dirty laundry and it was damn near impossible to move around in there.  Luckily they weren’t there when we arrived, but I had my key, AND we had been in contact with the couple we had switched apartments with, who were now supposed to move into that... mountain of garbage. They had apparently also been lied to and used while I was away in Denmark. 

When They - the ex - finally came, they threw a fit, and I literally nearly attacked them. Not because they were there, per se, but because they threatened my mother. They treated my mom just like they had that day, they were threatening and downgrading and kept telling my own mother that I was “A worthless excuse for a human being, and I honestly can’t imagine anything more nasty than your daughter”

This is where my mother grew in my eyes. If I ever doubted that my mother loves me, or is proud of me, it changed in that very moment.  Because I got to see my mother - my daint little ladylike mother - stand up to my abuser and command the entire fucking room. 

“You can think whatever you want, but there is nothing in this world I’m more proud of than my daughter, so take that attitude, stick it somewhere, and get out of my face so we can pack our stuff and finally get you out of our lives”

Let me tell you, those hours of packing were long. All the while, we had my abuser going around and at every possible moment they insulted me. Thanks to mom’s outburst earlier however, my hate for Them simmered down to a cool form of disgust, so I didn’t take any form of provocation from them. Not even when they sat next to me and just spewed insult after insult. 

“What’s wrong with you?” “Dunno” “Like seriously - what’s wrong with you” “Dunno” “There has to be something cause you’re so pathetic that I almost feel pity for you” “Mhm. So this box of things is mine right?”

It pissed them off quite a lot. There was also a real threat from our side that if they escalated things or kept being threatening, we WOULD call the police. Let me tell you, there were some close calls - Especially when they dropped a box full of stuff on my mom’s back. 

But then we could leave. We were done. I blocked them on my phone and I will never look back. 

---

That................. Became a longer post than even I expected honestly. 

But after all that - How am I doing now?

So. Much. Better. 

Not only has my relationship with my mother improved, not only am I free to live my life and by my own rules, but I have also come to the genuine realization that I’m not single because I am not worthy of love, but because I’m WORTH waiting for something good. Until that comes along however, if it ever does, I’m WORTH being happy and living my life for ME! 

I live in a room in my aunt’s place, and honestly it’s so damn cozy? It’s cheap and worth it, I feel safe, there are cats, my cousins are here sometimes and honestly my aunt and I get along great! 

The only remaining issue is that of Hanzo, which I’m looking into more properly, ergo “Will I need a lawyer? Is my case strong enough?” - Not to have him live with me, but to have him live with someone who can afford bringing him to the vet, buy him food, and NOT having him live in a filthy home with rotting trash and food everywhere. 

Overall I like to look at this experience like a REALLY nasty bout of having to clean out the shower drain. 

Cleaning the shower drain is nasty, and it doesn’t matter how many layers of protection you wear - It’s still gross. It smells, and the filth can be hard to get rid of, especially if it’s sewage that’s been stuck for a bit and had time to grow.  Even when the procedure is done and the clog has been flushed down the toilet, one feels rather nasty and grimy and as though one will never be clean.  But ALAS!  After a shower, or twelve, that nasty feeling is gone and now that the drain has been cleaned, the water flows freely - clean - and natural. And everything feels so much better. 

My abuser is that clog, but they have been flushed away - Cleaned up, the water flows freely, and I feel like a new person. 

I haven’t even taken my anti-depressants for a couple of days and felt NOTHING!

---

TL;DR: Even though this was my second abusive relationship, I’m safe and happy now. I love living - I love breathing - I love studying! 

Even though flashbacks might occassionally haunt me - Even though words will occassionally come back to sting - I will not let them stop me in my life.

Thank you for reading <3 I’m done now <3 I promise

[lacrimosathedark]

Help, please

I know I have 2 posts like this but I just need to elaborate why I need monetary assistance and why I keep asking. I feel you have the right to know, to some limited extent, what you’re paying for. I also kind of need the vent...

I have major depressive disorder, multiple overlapping anxiety disorders including generalized, social, and PTSD, body/gender dysphoria, and an attention deficit and/or autism spectrum disorder. I may have more or my official diagnosis may have shifted so I may edit this part, but last I talked to my therapist about it that was my diagnosis.

I’m going through medications that don’t work. Or they don’t seem to. I also can’t keep taking them at a consistent schedule because my sleep schedule is incredibly out of whack, I’m incredibly forgetful, and even when I have a decent schedule, I get thrown off when my body starts “bloodletting”, because I try to sleep through it, stay in bed as long as possible so I don’t have to think about blood leaking because gravity, and then for at least the first day I’m curled up in pain desperately trying to sleep through it.

I currently don’t have the mental or emotional capacity for a full-time job and am not on assistance so I have no income. I want to do commissions, but I’m not certain I’m capable of doing anything or completing big projects. I can’t even complete my own projects.

Despite this, I pay for my own phone every month which is about $40, and with no income that’s terrifying because I end up begging for work or a loan from a family member.

I owe my father just short of a thousand dollars (he bought my laptop, which is faulty out of the box and I’ve been too anxious to return it and I was gonna pay for it with my financial aid that never came in) and I owe my mother over two thousand (for rent). And because I owe my father, I can’t bitch at him to replace the window he broke in my room. 

I have no means of transportation. I have been trying to be taught to drive for 5+ years and I am still without a licence cuz no one has taught me. The person who usually helps me get places is now too busy to do so and will be having surgery soon so she won’t be able to drive at all. I’ll hopefully be in a program soon to learn to drive, but I haven’t heard back yet. I also don’t have access to a car.

I have no friends so I have no reason to leave the house, and nowhere to go should I be able to leave. My therapist is not happy with me staying at home all the time and neither am I.

Last year I put in an application for group housing/assisted housing. Find out this past week my application had never been processed. That’s fixed but the waitlist is long and I don’t know when I’ll be able to get out of here.

A month or so ago I put in an application for food stamps/SNAP. Last week I got a call saying they didn’t have an application for me. My case manager still doesn’t know what’s going on.

My brother is abusive. He constantly makes an annoyance of himself. He stays up late and watches TV even when he knows I have a hearing sensitivity and sound outside of my room at night makes my skin crawl and I can’t sleep. He gripes on the fact that I’m an adult and I do less chores than him (I’m disabled as previously stated and he thinks he’s neurotypical, and he doesn’t even do the chores he’s assigned), that I can’t drive (no one will teach me I try so hard), and that I’m living at home (even though that’s not unusual anymore). He bitches about me living at home constantly. He calls me stupid, dumbass, retarded, idiot, slow, dumb, and many other things when I say something he finds odd or annoying. He has also called me bitch, whore, and cunt, amongst other things (whore doesn’t even make sense, he’s aware I’m not sexually active) (he has also jokingly called me a faggot in the past). He never leaves me alone even when I’m having a full meltdown and screaming. He laughs at me when I cry. He brushes me off whenever I try to explain things to him. He repeatedly tells me he doesn’t care. If I get bitchy enough and upset him beyond laughing at me, he will physically hurt me. I’ve had red marks and bruises. He’s ripped buttons off my clothes, that’s why I haven’t worn my cat hoodie in months. My bedroom doesn’t have a lock, so he can come into my room whenever, I can’t feel safe there, in my own space. He has and does openly mock my gender identity, recently he commented on my chest which is where I experience dysphoria most. He has no respect for anyone else’s things and I get in trouble when he eats mom’s food.

My mother is overworked. She works all day and most nights and she barely makes enough for us to get by. Because she’s so stressed, if I ever ask for anything, help, food, anything, she gets bitchy. I try to make helpful suggestions for the household and she turns it around like I’m the problem. She’s never around to do anything about her son and she gets mad when I call or text her at work for help because he’s upsetting or even scaring me. She tries to respect my gender identity but she gets frustrated when she realizes she messes up and she gets angry when I correct her and looks at me like I’m a bug on her shoe when I try to make suggestions to make it easier. When she’s extremely mad, she’ll use my issues against me, ex. yelling when I can’t look at her or when I glance away at a sudden movement, or screaming in my face despite my sensitive hearing. This is her at her worst, but her best is very rare because she’s under far too much pressure.

I haven’t bought clothes in months, maybe years. I don’t have anything that really matches my fashion sense, or anything I could wear for something like a job interview. Most of my clothes are hand-me-downs, and/or I’ve had since middle school.

I need to save up for surgery for a double mastectomy, or at the very least a reduction, both for my dysphoria and my health, because my chest is too large for my frame and it hurts my back and posture and I often have trouble breathing.

I’m having an increasing number of health problems and no understanding of how insurance works and with this political climate I should know this stuff, if something is really wrong I can’t afford to fix it.

I don’t want to be alone when I move out, I’d like to take one of the dogs or cats with me when I move out if I’m allowed, so I need to be able to support them too. I can’t be alone. It’d also be great to get them trained to help with anxiety/panic attacks, but that’s so hella expensive.

Sometimes to soothe my depression/anxiety I like to buy small treats or presents for myself, like candy or ice cream or coffee or soda (recently I’ve been buying raspberry Crofter’s), and I can’t afford to do that. I also like to bake when I’m stressed, and it makes me feel good to share what I make and have others enjoy it, but I can’t afford ingredients to make anything. 

This isn’t even listing things I want. This is all needs. If I started listing wants this would be much longer. But as you can see, I need a lot of help. Some people have already been ridiculously generous (I’ve gotten donations of $30 how??? and thank you!!!!) , but I feel like you should know why.

[againstshame]

Asking my mom to get me a diagnosis

(submitted by @squishydari)

When I was about 13 (19 now) I started reading a lot about autism. I had always felt different from other kids my age when it came to social clues and interactions and liking what I was supposed to like as I much preferred to focus on my special interests instead of sports or whatever, I had a lot of sensory issues with foods, noises and bright lights, I experienced hyperempathy with my toys, blankets or other objects, never being able to throw them or not put them down gently because otherwise I would feel bad for them, I had already gone almost mute for a whole year after changing schools with very little notice, I had stims like fidgeting with my fingers and toes, bouncing my leg, biting the inside of my mouth in stressful situations, I disliked looking at people in the eyes even though I could force myself to do it and I very rarely hugged people or kissed them in the cheek (Latin American countries greet this way).

Everything made me think that I was autistic but I wanted to be sure, so I told my mom what I thought, waiting for something, I wasn’t even sure of what but just something that validated my thoughts from the last months during which I had spent hours upon hours researching autistic traits.

As soon as I was done talking, she just chuckled. She chuckled in disbelief and told me that she didn’t think I could be autistic. I insisted though and she agreed to arrange an appointment with her cousin’s psychiatrist/psychologist (still not sure what he was) to see if I had autism. I saw this as I sign of hope.

Fast forward a week and there I am sitting in front of the psychologist who was asking me if I had trouble making friends, and I said no because I considered hanging around people who eventually accepted me in their groups even if I felt uncomfortable and didn’t relate at all to them as making friends, I was really try harding to look at him in the eyes because that’s what I had always done and I was too nervous to even think of stimming, so out go those traits as well. He asked if I had trouble understanding topics at school, well no I understood everything easily, I just couldn’t manage to do homework because of my executive dysfunction, but i didn’t tell him the second part, because he didn’t ask if I was doing well in school, he asked if I understood. A couple questions later and we’re done.

Barely a few minutes had passed, and he said that *fortunately* he didn’t think I had autism and that I didn’t have to worry about it.

My mom picked me up and he told her the results, I didn’t have autism, hooray. As soon as she started driving she said, “I told you so! you don’t have autism”. I kept quiet the rest of the way and forgot about the whole thing. Maybe I wasn’t really autistic, right?

Now I’m 19, I started reading about autism again. I’m going to a great therapist that doesn’t dismiss my self diagnosis but isn’t able to diagnose me on her own. So now comes the time to ask my mom for a diagnosis again, after 6 years. It’s not like she doesn’t notice my autistic traits, she’s always been aware of my sensitive hearing, my low tolerance for bright lights, my hyper focusing on a certain topic that even she has encouraged me to pursuit, my parents are aware I’m not very physically affectionate, it’s a running joke in my family that I don’t eat anything because I’m such a “picky eater” (they mostly bring it up when there’s cake around, which I don’t eat). So why doesn’t my mom want to believe I’m autistic? I’m sure it’s misinformation, not wanting to believe her eldest son, the “responsible” one, the “smart” guy in the family could be in any way disabled, she prouds herself in all her children being abled and smart, maybe she just doesn’t know all sides of autism. But that doesn’t matter. I’m too scared of asking for a diagnosis for a second time. I know she wouldn’t react with anger, but I still don’t want to ask her and be rejected again. Maybe I’ll go get one without anyone in my family ever finding out, maybe I will end up telling her. I want to get it before I’m 20, it’s been six years overdue.

[lowsodiumlevels]

As an autistic person, I don’t think you’ve said anything wrong. If you think you might have autism feel free to say so without feeling guilty. Also it took me 16 years to get an official diagnosis, so just cause you don’t have one yet doesn’t mean you’re not autistic.

Ah. Well ok. But still I just- it makes me worry.

I'm still not gonna say that I do until it's confirmed or not by my doctor. Once I get the chance to tell him.

Because I'd rather not self-diagnose.

Not saying that people who do self-diagnose aren't valid. They are. I believe they are.

But I just wanna find out ya,know. For sure.

I need to write down my behaviors and "stims" I guess. Not sure if it's ok to call them that.

But it really is like just a rush of energy that makes you wanna get up and for me it's like running around and wanting to skip around. Or...pfft- air guitars like from Bill and Ted!!

But then again it's music that really makes me feel like that. So...maybe it's that.

And then I find myself walking in a circle through my living room and kitchen.

And I notice if I get really frustrated I'll start crying. But I think that's an "all people do it" sorta thing idk.

Anywho sorry for rambling ;w;

This really makes me feel a bit better and not so guilty.

And then I worry if I do go and get tested and turns out I'm not then...well atleast I know I'm not- then I'll feel more ashamed.

And if I am then I'll get scared people will think I'm too weird or not normal or just not like me anymore. Idk why.

So either way it's...idk it worries me when it really shouldn't. Because it's not the end of the world. It's not like everyone will leave me for being born like this. Or how I behave. Right?

Aaaaand the paranoia is setting it.

[growingupautie]

Anti-NT or Misanthropy part 3.

Q: Dear Nathan. Your last response has given me a bit of perspective on my own personal story and made me realize the extent to which, particularly in the crucial years of High School, I have been extremely fortunate.

I moved to Italy from the US when I was 12. To say I stuck out like a sore thumb would be an understatement. I was one of the few foreigners living in the town, I was (whether or not everyone had heard of the diagnosis) evidently non-neurotypical and dressed in a way that was borderline acceptable in the US but totally out of place in fashion conscious Italy. Most of the younger population of the town knew who I was.

I was most definitely a minority of one.

Slowly but surely, throughout the course of seven years, I moved towards a deeper and deeper form of acceptance, until I finally felt free. I recognize that I had some pretty rare catalysts to help me achieve that.

My parents made sure to get to know teachers and make sure the ones they trusted knew of my diagnosis. I’m sure my parents played an eloquent case on my behalf. Teachers tend to prefer intellectually inclined, interested students who respond well to clearly structured activities and have no trouble with rote learning over unmotivated students. I was generally treated very well by the teaching body. Their support was important in keeping me with a sense of self-worth and acceptance. For a while, I wanted to be a teacher. I benefited from both my social class, domestic stability and academic ability. Though this shouldn’t negate the amount of work and energy I invested and how hard things often were for me, these are things I was born with.

Also, the way the Italian school system is structured is (unintentionally) very autism-friendly. In fact, it was one of the reasons we moved in the first place. The school system keeps classes together for many years so small groups of students (25 per class) get to know each other almost as a second family. You tend to stay in the same classroom all day and everyone takes the same classes, week in week out. In a way, I was treated as an awkward cousin from a distant part of the family. Also, the high school system is vocational, grouping people with similar interests and academic abilities into separate schools, reducing potential tensions between ‘geeks’ and ‘jocks’. By high school, I was in a class of very studious people, with little or no contact with the more violent students I had encountered in middle school.

Most importantly, without which all the above wouldn’t have been enough, I benefited from the moral integrity, empathy and strength of character of a few classmates that saw beyond my awkward behaviors to the human behind them. I owe much of my happiness to them.

I survived middle school thanks in part to a very popular and empathetic student who didn’t allow jokes on my behalf to get too far out of hand. I was rejected often (sometimes very painfully) but rarely deceived. Though there was widespread violence at the school, there wasn’t any concentrated effort on people’s part to violently suppress me. I was deeply unhappy. But I wasn’t scared.

In High School, one of the defining moments for me was joining a band. I had been playing the bass 2 weeks and decided I wanted to be part of a band. I went to one of the many political gatherings at my school, thinking it was probably the best place to find musicians, and walked up to some random guy and asked him if he would be in my band. He could have said no. He could have laughed in my face. He could have forgotten about it. He could have used my naivety for a prank. Not only did he say yes, he also matched me up with a drummer friend of his who was looking for a bassist at the time. Being part of a band made an enormous difference to my social life in High School. We didn’t last long, but we lasted enough. I picked up social skills and norms like a sponge. By the end of two years, I had kept some and dropped the rest. I like to think it was like learning a new instrument; I had started with scales and progressed to symphonies.

There were many moments in which things could have gone horrifically wrong. I could have been lured into an abusive situation instead of band practice. I could have been beaten to a pulp on the concrete outside the metro station for reasons I could never have understood. I could have been taken advantage of and blamed for a crime I never committed.

I had watchful angels.

Perhaps what the main obstacle for a lot of people trying to befriend someone on the spectrum is the fear that their boundaries won’t be respected if they do. That they’ll be followed around. That their friends will make fun of them.

My classmates, besides being wonderful people, knew that I was going to be part of the classroom family for five years, so we had time to bond in a way we wouldn’t have had I seen them for a class a week. The structures I was in favored long term investment in people over short term ‘make your friends laugh about the weird kid’ mentality.

A final word on the diagnosis question:

It didn’t take long for that doctor to diagnose me. I was a clear case of autism, exhibiting most of the typical behaviours of an Aspie. It probably took him about 30 seconds to get the gist of the case. I re-read the diagnosis which he emailed back to me when I got in touch with him last year. I was described as a clear-cut case of Asperger’s syndrome. In his office in Boston that morning 12 years later, the question lingering in the air was not whether the diagnosis was accurate. I’ve acquired significant social and coping skills, but my basic traits haven’t changed that far. The question was whether it was meaningful. At the end of our appointment, he told me that ours was more a conversation between old friends than between doctor and patient and didn’t charge me. I loved him for that.

What I was rejecting was not so much my identity – being a ‘self-hating’ autistic person as you say – as the clammy feeling of the hospital still lingering on my body. The demeaning ritual of special ed “speech and language therapy” classes, grouped with pupils with severe learning difficulties. Seeing myself as the observed in a science experiment. Perhaps I threw the baby out with the bath water. I think in hindsight I see the value of diagnosis.

The summer before going to University, I had opened up completely about my diagnosis and my history to the guys I keep closest to me. We spent the summer with a running joke. They would insult my special ed. Teacher in the US every time I made a clumsy move like missing a volleyball or spilling something, calling him a useless pile of junk and a failure as an educator. In my heart of hearts I whispered “I win.”

I guess I didn’t really reject autism. It’s just that in my high school years I never was forced to wear a neurotypical mask. I went from being begrudgingly tolerated but isolated at middle school to being so completely accepted by the last year of High School that the distinction between myself – because as far as autism is concerned, I had always conceived of myself as a minority of one – and the others, ceased to be meaningful. I knew them down to their most intimate frailties and up to their utmost strengths. I praised them and they praised me. We were free to be individuals. The label ceased to be meaningful because they saw leagues beyond it. The autism toolbox remained in the shed. I thought I didn’t need it anymore.

As I write to you, I am in my last year of University the week before spring term starts.

Moving to the UK for University, I came up head to head with problems that I hadn’t faced before. The rigid routine of Italian high school faded away and the support of family and friends became more distant as I moved away and my friends began University in Italy. I didn’t come face to face with abuse or misunderstanding or oppression. I came face to face with entropy. All at once, I had to build my own social circle from scratch, dictate my own times, do my own cooking. It was a kind of pain I had never encountered before.

It was the first time I really, really doubted my ability to cope and make good decisions for my own well-being. I was very offended when my mother suggested I request extra time on my University Exams for ‘my autism.’ In retrospect, some autism support, not so much on academics but on life skills would have been useful.

I suppose part of my reason I burnt those documents in my first year of University was that I was rejecting the idea that I needed extra support ‘for disabled students’.

As it stands, I’m much better off than I was then, but the doubts haven’t gone away and building up a stable social life in a universe of fleeting encounters and pleasant but sometimes distant acquaintances still isn’t easy. My cooking has improved vastly but is still a chore.

What I wrote to you at the beginning of ‘wanting to take myself off the centre of the Universe’ needs to be explained a bit better. What I really realized being in the UK was the importance of contributing to something much bigger than myself in order to find happiness and meaning.

I meant, in my engagement with this page, to deepen my understanding of how the autistic community perceives itself. The oppositional imagery NT/autistic was a surprise for me since, considering I am still am the only autistic person I know personally in Italy and I knew my class well, I never thought of myself as ‘neurodiverse’ in opposition to ‘NTs’. Also, I had never heard of or encountered Autism Speaks until last year and it had no impact whatsoever on my years in Italy. It seems to be one of the main factors creating the opposition in the first place.

At the moment of writing to you, I am preparing a speculative application to Specialisterne, an organization that specializes in helping people on the Spectrum into employment by offering training and a link to corporate partners. I’d like to write posts for them, since they do not have much of a media outlet, particularly on google and that would help their outreach. Perhaps ‘autism toolbox’ (great concept from one of the comments) would be a good place to start. Any other advice from you or others is much appreciated

Peace

A: Our lives mirror each other quite a bit minus the traveling. I've had some pretty bad culture shock at times when it came to switching schools. I originally went to a kindergarten close to my home where I was isolated from the rest of the kids. They felt like something was up with me from the getgo and made sure I never got too close. When I was ripped away from there to a new school, it was a small Christian school where I managed to befriend a few people, possibly through the prodding of teachers and the principal.

After a few years though, my friends left the school and I was left with people who didn't care for me, and people who bullied me.

After a few year at that school, I was taken out for a public school for financial reasons, and that barely lasted a week for two. I was bullied by almost every kid I met. One kid grabbed me by my backpack and pushed me in the circle of the hall and into my class because he was "helping me" understand the one direction only rule they had in the hallway. After a week or so of this, and me drawing on my notes in class, a teacher grabbed me by the shirt and drug me into another classroom where there were several other mocked me, and tore up my artwork, telling me it was a waste of time, and I would never amount to anything. I was back in my Christian school by the next week.

Back in the Christian school, I continue being bullied until I joined the basketball team, and through showing some skill and oddly enough becoming somewhat "volatile" (when needed) towards bullying I became more accepted. But as usual, once I found acceptance through hard work and perseverance I was taken from that comfort and put into a completely new place. Middle school at a "Magnet School" where you could specialize in Engineering, Arts, or the Performing Arts. I went into music as I have been a musician for years at that point.

The school was a hodgepodge of races and a "cliques" none of which I was welcomed into. I made myself known as the "goody-two-shoes" on day one and that really wasn't the best move in the world. Over time, I was bullied so mercilessly that the assistant principal gave me permission to stand up for myself and fight back. I learned martial arts and took up skateboarding. Started getting into shape, and literally became even more volatile (when needed) people started to leave me alone.

I switched to the arts program after a while and found some acceptance with the artist's kids who were musicians, and artists like myself. They started a band and added me because I was one of the only ones who could actually play, and I helped teach them some things as well. A few of them actually skateboarded, so we did that together. Though looking back there was so much micro-bullying and mockery I'm not sure how I can put too much of a positive spin on that. Honestly, I was never even invited to eat lunch with them so it was a little like I was just kept around for usefulness.

By high school, they had "disbanded" the band, and put a new band together without specifically me. I created a new group of friends which were basically other outcasts. Earned my respect in this new school with many of the groups and even managed to become king of prom by the end of it despite maintaining my outsider status. Like you though when I went to college (from home) the lack of structure was my Achilles heel. There were so many new rules, almost all of them were illogical. Very few students and teachers who wanted to help me.

I struggled to get anything done but managed to keep a passing grade the majority of the time. I managed to get my degree even after my life fell completely apart and my group of high school friends who had followed me to the same college had, for the most part, turned against me and (longer story there.) The point being, that diagnosed or undiagnosed, we Autistic people go through some very similar issues. A lot of times our parents struggle and often fail to recognize what it would really take for us to succeed and flourish.

You and I both were young Autistics at a time where it was not as understood as it is now. We are not out of the dark ages just yet, but we certainly know more than we did then about who and what we are, what we need, and what we should do about it. Parents are just starting to catch up to it as well hence the need to fight off groups like Autism Speaks, dangerous "cures," and ABA techniques which often involving torturous methods. Fighting against these people as hard as we often do can certainly make it seem like we are against the entire NT population which is why I try to show some positivity in my comics as well.

I certainly didn't mean to imply that you were a "self-hating" Autistic, but that there were many out there. I sensed your story was similar to the one you eventually gave me. We are all at a different place in understanding at any given point in time and that's alright. I would definitely be in support of an Autism Toolbox thought I myself don't have the time to create or maintain one. (At the moment.) You have probably noticed the Autism community as a whole is quite divided in several ways. The want for a "cure" vs fighting against one. The acceptance of ABA and Autism Speaks vs fighting against them. We all need to do a better job of getting to the truth through facts and coming together for the greater goal of acceptance.

If you are going to write on our behalf, I would focus on the positives and negative, and also on the explaining actions, and needs, all in a way Neurotypical people will understand. A good piece of advice I always give is to scroll the Autism Boards on Facebook and look for common issues with your own life to write about. That way it's relevant to everyone and personal at the same time. And treat everyone as if they are where they are in life understanding that they may not have come in contact with the same information you have, and may not have come to the same conclusions you have. I think you are inquisitive enough, and understanding enough to find common ground and write from a good perspective.

I hope that helps. Commentors, any advice?

-Nathan

[tumblunni]

I have a question that I hope is ok. I have had a suspicion that I might have some form of autism for quite a while now and when you reblog posts that say something along the line of just autism things like the one you just did I have to do a double take because I do all of those things + have them happen to me and am shocked when I see I'm not the only one who does these things especially the really abstract. I don't ever bring it up though in fear that people get upset that I'm "faking"

Oh man, mystery person, that’s pretty heavy!! I know the feeling, it took me a LONG time of self-examination to work out whether I might have autism, and I actually did have to deal with a less-than-optimal response when I tried to talk to someone about it. My doctor outright said ‘but you seem too smart for that’, like.. what the fuck?? So seriously, you need to be prepared to be PERSISTANT. Don’t lose confidence in your decision! Make sure you get to see an actual diagnosis, don’t let them lock you out of it based on dumb stereotypes. Cos seriously, general practitioners going ‘hey this person probably doesnt have this thing that’s completely out of my division, and I wont even let them talk to that division’.. thats just.. GOD I really get frustrated and scared thinking how much more messed up my life would be right now if I’d listened to him and not ever got help for my condition!

So my advice is basically.. even if you don’t want to ‘self-diagnose’, please do ‘self-diagnose’.You need to be abnormally prepared for this, you need to have a list of all your symptoms, you need to learn the terms and have reference to point to in the event of them denying you the ability to talk to an actual psychologist. And you need to be prepared for them even treating you like you cant be autistic if you were capable of doing this!You need to hand-hold your general practitioner through explaining what autism even is, and do whatever the fuck you can so you can get transferred over to someone who actually knows who they’re talking about.Oh and common ‘self-diagnosis’ type stuff can also help a lot in the meantime, because doing research on the subject can lead you to finding new coping methods, finding other people to ask about the subject, and just generally tiding you over until you’re able to get a professional diagnosis and (hopefully) access to things like therapy and local autism community groups.Also, just, in some countries medical care is way less accessable, so I know not eveyrone is even able to get a professional diagnosis at all.

Oh, and an important thing is that autism is a spectrum and there are many different symptoms you can have. it can even be hard to discover your own symptoms, you might find that they manifest in a weird way because you’ve been subconciously trying to hide them or using some form of unhealthy coping method for years. Going undiagnosed into your adult years is really like.. one of the primary causes for autism being REALLY disabling! Dear god my stage of treatment right now is just learning to untangle a bunch of bullshit I’ve done to myself over the years, and re-learn basic life skills and self confidence. I think if i’d been born into an environment with people who actually would have recognised it and cared about getting me help as a kid, i could have grown up without most of my anxiety issues!Another important fact is that adult autism is often co-morbid with anxiety issues, due to the circumstances of being left completely alone to deal with this thing for your entire life with no support. There’s also just a lot of ways certain anxiety disorders (as well as ADHD) can have overlapping symptoms with autism spectrum disorders. A lot of the ‘that feel when’ meme stuff can be relateable to all three of these otherwise quite different disorders. So I’d reccommend looking up info on ADHD, PTSD, generalized anxiety disorder, and related conditions too, and maybe seeing which disorder seems most similar to what you’re experiencing. And don’t be scared if it seems like you might have multiple of them! In real life being ‘all the tokens at once’ is VERY MUCH not ‘unrealistic’, man I really hate those people who’re like ‘hwaaa someone who’s black AND gay AND in a wheelchair? political correctness gone maaaad!’ Seriously, its very VERY possible to have more than one mental illness, especially ones that might have a knock-on effect causing another one. Going undiagnosed and untreated for ANYTHING can lead to developing anxiety and depression, but going undiagnosed for a social disability makes it especially likely to get specifically social anxiety.oh, and randomly for an example I happen to also have prosopagnosia, which means I can’t tell the difference between people’s faces. I literally cannot recognise my best friend if she changes her hairstyle or glasses. This is kinda Double Hell combined with autism, cos its already a challenge for me to judge people’s emotions, lol!

Oh man I’m kinda going offtopic and just rambling every damn fact I know, but I’m just hoping maybe something will be helpful??I really am not an expert on autism, I dont even know any good informative blogs to link you to. I’m just a regular person who happens to have the condition, and I don’t know how to give good advice when i’m still quite often suffering from denial and self hate myself...But I dunno, I just hope it could help to hear my personal experience, and know that you’re not alone.Though now I’m worrying maybe this post is a little intimidating so it might make you feel worse?? Seriously, this is just a worst case scenario thing, hopefully your doctor won’t be as casually gatekeepy as mine was. And I mean, he seemed like a good man who wasnt exactly rude about it and wasnt doing it on purpose. If anything that worries me more, tho, cos he was just politely saying ‘haha no you’re wrong’ to a patient, about a subject he wasnt remotely qualified in, and wouldnt have ever considered reccommending me to a professional if i hadnt kept nagging him about it and come back with a bunch of research and stuff. It felt SO damn cathartic to get that ‘YES, AUTISM’ in the end! Shame I couldnt show it to him and I probably would have had my entire healthcare cut forever if I boasted XDAlso, I was lucky that I had my charity support worker to help me through the stress of the assessment interviews. I hope you have at least one person who’d be able to be there for you and believe you, in times like these. Or, even if you’re like me and you dont’ have any family and stuff, I hope you end up meeting a surprisingly awesome governent worker lady who wears a cool hat and helps you out. Seriously, Amber, you’re a godsend!

So umm.. yeah.. i am REALLY sleep deprived and I am not good at words but i hope some of this helped?? I hope you’re okay, anon!And honestly, reading ‘lol relateable jokes’ type posts on people’s blogs was how I first started suspecting I was autistic, too. I’d grown up buried in so many stereotypes of mentally ill people, I never thought I was one of them until I actually got to read blogs from their perspective. Joke posts obviously aren’t a substitute for a diagnosis, but I think they kinda serve a valuable role in the self acceptance process, yknow? Thank you, joke posts!

[thatstoomuchinformationyo]

Oh. Man.

Being a writer and comedian gives you a little bit of freedom in that you’ve been given the balls to get out there and share some of your life’s disasterings in a way that maybe someone else is very much able to relate to and then they maybe feel like less of an outcast, or “bad” person.

Maybe they have shame surrounding some aspect of who they are (for whatever reason), which is totally normal, although just so unnecessary.

My wish is for everyone to enter the “no shame zone” and party there with me but then that would require me to stop being such a judgemental asshole and that’s just not going to happen but I can at least attempt to try.

It’s been my experience that differences should be celebrated and also everyone should come to the understanding that differences are what make you unique and then also your differences are probably a lot more common than you think.

Are you a dude into dudes or a chick into chicks? You’re basically one of the coolest people on the planet right now. Own that about yourself. Don’t back down, don’t be ashamed.

Do you think that homosexuality, while certainly adorable and dare I say hot in some cases (if you’re not watching gay porn, I don’t know what to tell you) is just simply a personality disorder? Well welcome to Unpopular Opinionville!

Are you ready to be shunned?

Do you realize your unpopular opinion really does suck, so you do your best to ignore it and then in the meantime do you pretend to be gay when needed and/or to be cool depending on the situation? I don’t see the harm in that. Some actually gay people might get pissed at you, although hopefully they just think it’s funny.

They actually are cooler than you.

Have you ever rejected a guy because either his looks or personality just were not going to work with you so then he told everyone you were gay versus even attempt to accept the fact that maybe he was just a little abrasive or just too much of an asshole or alcoholic for you to look past? Maybe you shouldn’t be so superficial but then also, shit. happens. Just go with it, it’s easier! I told some friends I was into lesbian porn in high school (I was!), the rumor will spread itself.

Have you ever really cared about a guy but a way more commanding gal was into him and, like, who are you to stand in the way of love? So you just get the fuck out of the way as best and quickly as you can because first of all you’re probably(?) dodging some kind of bullet but then now you’re obviously a lesbian because that just keeps happening over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over until there are just zero guys left?

TBH it’s much less of a hassle to just wander off alone than attempt to fight someone for another person. That seems very fucked up to me. People aren’t property. Also, don’t let people just use you to get out of their own bullshit relationships because you just end up getting your feelings hurt and still alone. It is a stupid waste of everyone’s time but mostly yours.

I think really the only issue with just saying you’re gay because it’s just easier is that if you are pretending to be a certain sexuality to pander, or to just go with something, or to try and get something for free, or because everyone just thinks that about you so you just don’t even care anymore, or to get out of having to deal with someone or something (I mean the list of reasons goes on and on), is that if someone takes you a little too seriously and they come at you and then you gotta fucking cut a bitch.

“Uh, whoa. That’s a little aggressive I think you need to bring it down a notch.”

I know, you’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

“Oh, I do, but I’m not quite sure you’re ready to hear it.”

I can take it.

“I think you might be a Republi...”

Republican. Yeah. I know.

Anyway, speaking of, mental illness is also a huge thing that people are sometimes ashamed of when they shouldn’t be. If you don’t yet have a mental illness of your own, just give it some time.

You will develop one or you just don’t realize yours yet.

It’s a badge of honor and you’re courageous as fuck.

“Well what’s your mental illness?”

That is a completely valid question to ask me because, as I mentioned earlier, I am a comedian and writer and I am going to loudly proclaim to you my flaws, experiences, and mental illnesses on my neverending quest for a punchline so do secure your safety restraints.

Just a suggestion when dealing with people who do not have the desire to immerse themselves in the performance arts: Although mental illness is in no way something to be ashamed of or feared, try your best not to force someone to come clean to you with a diagnosis just in regular daily life because, again, there are actually people out there who do not have an interest in the performance arts who may wish to keep their private and personal medical history private and personal.

That’s totally a thing. That’s why HIPPA laws exist.

So, back to me:

I have body dysmorphia. Autism has also been placed on the table however I’m not fully ready to accept that. Also, just to be clear, Autism isn’t a mental illness, but it can be just as frustrating to deal with.

Body dysmorphia is pretty out there. I don’t really know what to say. Some people with this disorder get tons and tons of plastic surgery in an effort to someday be comfortable in their own skin.

Some people with this disorder actually take the time and effort to learn the ins and outs of the human body so they can physically take thier body to certain limits with diet, exercise, or drugs/medication in either an attempt at suicide or to try to find a way to be content with their appearance.

Do you personally relate? I have a tip for you: Do not get your weight loss amphetamines from online Mexican or Canadian pharmacies because you will fuck up your brain either temporarily or permanently and that is a waste of your time.

I will say I do have a few select friends and family members who were “gracious” enough to see that I got mental health treatment about a decade ago so I could get a diagnosis (the wrong one) and get “life-saving” medication (the wrong one) which definitely exacerbated my actual concern pretty exponentially there for a few years however I’m back on track. My medical knowledge has only grown so I could not be more preoccupied with what direction I want to take my body next but at least people can be assured that I’ll live through it.

Quick Note: A lot of people with body dysmorphia spend time with various eating disorders. Some eating disorders mimic other mental illnesses almost exactly depending on the severity and if drug use is involved.

What fucking insanity would you come up with getting down to just a few hundred calories a day coupled with endurance workouts that should cause heart failure while dabbling in herb-based relaxation techniques?

You’d be, like, the surprisedest!

What I’m saying here is that we are all in this together and we should be embracing each other versus ostracizing. I swear to christ the FBI can come raid my apartment for amphetamines right now I am fresh out.

Have I used this knowledge to relentlessly make fun of an uncountable number of mental illnesses? I have. I apologize to those I have offended. I only did that because I understand what you’re going through. I genuinely do. I’ve seen/heard/thought it.

The very first time I tried starving myself for as long as I could, just to see how long I could stand it, one of my stuffed animals winked at me. That’s fucking scary, ya’ll! Scary enough to scare you into not doing that again versus attempt to be rail thin? Hey, the jury’s still out and I understand that’s not good.

Have I feigned or highlighted the symptoms of a specific mental illness or issue (trauma response) to try and navigate a complicated or threatening professional or social situation? Yes. Have I completely neglected to deal whatsoever with several significant actual previous traumas? Oh, yep, that too.

That makes me a dramatic cunt who refuses to deal with things sometimes.

There’s unfortunately no cure for that.

In all honesty if you’re fortunate enough to have people in your life that care about you to the extent that they simply must discover what your problem is be sure to tell them that you remember your first beer too and then just blog it publicly.

Also, if you have a friend just really going through it, I understand that you might want to share your drugs with them or help them find shelter or even provide shelter if they can’t even right now.

Believe me I understand.

Here’s the deal though: Your friend may or may not be a walking Merck Manual and sometimes when you’re helping you’re actually inadvertently hurting and/or making worse what could be better. Also, sometimes you can have all the best intentions in the world in helping a friend in need and then you end up putting yourself in dire straits because you gave up too much of your own shit to deal with someone else’s shit.

In conclusion: If you survive into adulthood things get more and more complicated. That’s ok! You got this. Everyone else is just as terrorized as you are.

[i-am-very-very-tired]

Do you remember those Cathy comic strips your mom used to have tacked to her cubicle wall or office board? The one’s her and her co-workers would share and cackle and point at while nodding their heads in agreement and uttering ‘Yup, so true’? You’d look at those comics as a little girl with a blank stare, confused as to why so many of your mom’s female co-workers related to this neurotic, cat owning, chubby white lady who spent the majority of the comic complaining about dieting,exercising, yogurt, work and dating. Now I ask you, do you remember the day you realized you BECAME Cathy? For me it was when I was around 30, I was on the phone in the grocery store with my friend discussing this new wellness challenge I saw on IG, where you cut out all refined sugars for 30 days, and there was some hashtag involved. I looked in my basket and saw one bottle of white wine, a container of sugar free Greek yogurt, and cat food. Somehow, I had morphed into the Millennial (am I a Millennial? I was born in 85’ idk) Colored Cathy. This wasn’t a moment of panic, but definitely a random moment of self realization. This was 30, and I was doing the things black women in their 30s do. Maybe its an American thing, but a large part of adulthood in our culture heralds “self-improvement.” We must always be striving to be fitter, richer, healthier, better educated, more skilled, glow-upier versions of ourselves. This is especially true for women and hell, I was, I am no different. To be content with who you are in the present is seen as resigning oneself to mediocrity. It’s lethargic, and un-ambitious. Cardinal sins in our current “Rise and Grind”–everyone’s a personal brand-social media reach quantifying ass world. Fast forward several months where I’m 31, and miraculously still had not managed to 30 Day Challenge myself into a better me. I had hit a wall. Well, a couple of walls and I hadn’t the faintest idea why. I couldn’t concentrate on this “great” new job I just got, I was more reclusive than usual and couldn’t even find enjoyment in the little pleasures I’d typically turn to during my more gloomy spells. Sure I’ve always struggled with self-discipline but that’s always a part of myself that I attributed to being ‘artsy’ kind of. However, the list of goals I wished to accomplish but never followed through on grew exponentially. My personal life was about as uneventful as a Chris Christie’s political future, my friendships were suffering, I was more irritable than usual and I was even becoming withdrawn with my son at home. It wasn’t until I had a late night discussion with a close friend where he tearfully revealed he’d seen a therapist and had been diagnosed with depression, that I entertained perhaps seeking professional help for my mental well being. Of course I didn’t think that I was as sick as my friend, when he asked if his diagnosis surprised me I responded in typical “Of course I knew, nigga I’m glad you caught up” Danielle fashion. “Oh yeah, of course not, I had always said you would benefit from therapy, with what you’ve been through? Of course a diagnosis of depression makes sense. I’m proud of you for finally taking care of yourself”. After hanging up the phone, my own words I used to reassure my panicked best friend echoed in my head. “With what you’ve been through..of course it makes sense. I’m proud of you for finally taking care of yourself.” My friend, like a lot of Black men who grew up in Chicago ,has experienced a lot of trauma, especially in his childhood, but damn so did I. I soon realized that I was guilty of the same mental health neglect I audaciously and frequently lectured him about when we’d discuss his failed relationships and stalled professional life. I had a lot of Black ass nerve, here I had pretty much spent the latter half of my life having gone through the mental trauma equivalent of several car accidents and not once thought to cart my ass to a physician to see if there was any internal bruising. So soon thereafter, I started researching therapists in my local area and booked my appointment. My therapist is a Black woman in her early 60s. She looks young for her age, she has a short ceasar hair cut, and wears Uggs. She’s short and busty, and her face always looks as if she’s empathizing with you. Her office is very small and quiet. She has one of those faux waterfall things meant to provide calming serenity. It’s kind of annoying and looks really cheesy but I try to ignore it. Our first session, she told me that I was at the age where most women seek therapy. “You’re…31. Yeah this is where most women hit a wall, your jar is full and you can’t keep putting your head down and pushing forward, now you’re having problems functioning and have to compensate for years of self-neglect, this is normal, it’s what women in their 30’s do.” During our one hour session she asked me the questions I suppose all therapists ask, about my current life, my childhood, my love life, my past, and what I want for my future. I was pretty candid, and had no problems going into full detail about everything. I casually rattled off the instances of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse I’d experienced from childhood into adulthood that I was sure was norm for women my age. My divorce, my son, the death of my father, my close, but dramatic and at times confrontational relationship with my mother, my job hopping (four in one year I think), my chronic insomnia, etc. And even when I casually looked up to her slightly raised brows while she scribbled notes on her notepad, I wasn’t sure how serious I was taking it, but it was cathartic to talk to someone unfamiliar with my story. It wasn’t until the end when she said she needed to tell me something that she usually waits some time to disclose to her patients that I knew what was at stake. “Danielle…you’re sick. I don’t think you realize how sick you are because this is the only way you’ve known how to function for the majority of your life..but honey…now you need meds and you need help, I hope you’ll let me help you.” This was actually unexpected, I was so sure she would have praised me for my perseverance, my resilience in having withstood what I had gone through while somehow still managing to become an arguably productive and functioning adult. It hadn’t dawned on me that maybe all this time, I really wasn’t “functioning” at as high a level I thought I was, that my “normal” was abnormal that my “fine” wasn’t fine. Maybe I had been giving myself entirely too much credit? I left her office that day with a couple of diagnosis: Clinical depression, anxiety, PTSD, and some other acronym that I always forget. Ultimately she told me that before we could even hope to engage in successful therapy sessions, I needed to discuss anti-depressant meds with my doctor. “You mean I’m so fucked up I need medication to be eligible for therapy?” I laughed. The laughter was not returned. Shit got real. I promised to contact my PCP right away to discuss my options and gingerly paid for my session. When I got home, I laid on my couch and catatonically stared at the ceiling till sunrise. I don’t even remember blinking. For the first time in my life, I was the one with the diagnosis. This wasn’t about my friend’s depression, my ex-husbands sickle cell, my mom’s heart condition, or my son’s autism. It was me. For the first time I was the patient that I needed to take care of. I was used to being the calm, analytical, reassuring caretaker, who helped my loved ones research therapies, and medication options. But now, I was the one who was sick, and for the first time in a long time; I didn’t have the answers, and I was scared. Currently I’m still scared but I’m discussing med options with my physician. I’ve since had a few more sessions with my therapist and I’m getting more and more comfortable with the idea of both needing and accepting help, and my needing therapy and help not being an admission of my own inadequacy. I like my therapist a lot, and my friends and family are supportive. I accidentally sent her a dirty text message meant for some dude once but she laughed it off-she cool as hell. I still do my little challenges, in fact I signed up for some 28 Day fitness jumpstart just the other day. Like a lot of black women in their 30s I’m also starting to find myself entertained by things like numerology and astrology. Especially ironic coming from me of all people a consummate cynic, but I get the appeal. People like being told who they are, it’s less legwork. To think there’s a universe out there as invested in my self actualization as I am is an attractive ideal. I’m scheduling myself a tarot card reading as we speak. I’m even looking into life coaches, because shit, why the hell not? There’s a Sartre quote where he says: “As far as men go, it’s not who they are that interests me – but what they can become.” It speaks to the notion that the “self” is constant and ever changing and it’s something I think about when I fall into this possibly futile albeit earnest cycle of self improvement. Humans are tasked with the burdensome freedom of deciding who we are, and then embarking on the journey in becoming that actualized person. When I told my mom I had decided to start going to therapy, she cheered. She said it was long overdue, and exclaimed relief that I finally decided it was time. She had been in therapy over the past three years and found it helpful. My mom, like a lot of black women her age unfortunately, has experienced a lot of trauma, but she’s seeking help and scaling her own walls — and damn so am I. Maybe that’s enough. 30 day challenges, black women, cathy, comic strips, turning 30 Danielle Butler