#sitting a in a room with neurodivergents as we do our own things on our phones is healing

[thebookishwallflower]

sitting in a room with neurotypicals as we all do our thing on our phones. it’s inflicting constant psychic damage.

[bratzforchris]

Jake Webber x adhd reader 😭🙏🏼

Our Own Love

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ

Jake said in the Zach Sang interview that he is auDHD, so here are some headcanons about life as a neurodivergent couple! Also, he looks so cute here I just want to squeeze him <3 Reader is gender neutral here!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ

☆ meal prepping services. because both of you have adhd, cooking and grocery shopping is really difficult, and takeout is quite expensive, so you order from a meal prepping service to help that

☆ fidgets everywhere

☆ when one of you has a task to get done, the other will sit in the same room and do their own things as "body doubling"

☆ your house is quite filled with oddities and random shit both of you bought for dopamine, but it makes for funny stories at parties

☆ you're lucky enough to have a spare room, so you and Jake turn it into a "neurodivergent" room with a sensory swing, fidgets, and all kinds of things that help both of you regulate after a long day

☆ always doing youtube challenges where you try new foods because it gives you a dopamine rush

☆ "jake, where's the remote?"

"I don't know. where'd we leave it?"

☆ you both have oral fixations as a way to stim, so you vow to quit cigarettes and vapes together

☆ accompanying each other through things like therapy, new meds, etc. all the "not so cute and quirky" parts of adhd

☆ advocating for each other for managers/family/etc who give you a hard time

☆ it helps to have someone else who understands your struggles and can relate <3

☆ reminding each other to eat/drink water/use the restroom

tags ♡: @aemrsy @jake-and-johnnies-slut @melguilbert @oobleoob @idek3000hi

note ♡: if you'd like to be added to my taglist, click here<3

[neurospicy]

I honestly resent the “adhd and autism are superpowers and only struggle because of capitalism” narrative, and I find it deeply flawed and lacking in nuance to the point of being harmful.

Adhd and autism both exist on a spectrum. They are each their own cluster of traits/symptoms, and those exist in varying degrees based on the individual. Are there aspects to adhd and autism that are advantageous? Absolutely, but we can’t pretend that they exist in an advantageous way in all of us. Some people do have the “right” traits, dialed up to the “right” intensity, and that might allow them to take advantage of their neurodivergence in a way that helps them succeed.

That isn’t to say that they don’t also have struggles due to living in a neurotypical world as an adhd’er or autistic, but they might be able to overcome it. Another person may have all the adhd or autistic traits dialed up to 100, to the point that it’s too debilitating for them to take advantage of any positives that might exist. There are high support needs autistics, for one example, who regardless of whether they had to work to afford to live or not, would still need help with living. Help cooking, cleaning, bathing.

I have “severe” adhd and while I don’t have an official autism diagnosis, I know I am autistic. I never related to the energetic, social, novelty-seeking picture that is painted of people who have adhd. My autistic traits cancel out the “positives” of having adhd, while my adhd traits cancel out the “positives” of being autistic. I’m too burnt out and exhausted all of the time to put forth much mental energy. I freak out when things aren’t predictable. I can’t function if the room is too cold. I can’t eat if my food is too cold, too squishy, too chewy, doesn’t have the right sauce available, doesn’t have the drink I like with that particular food, etc. My interests are very narrow so I don’t have the typical adhd love of variety. Yet I also can’t stay organized or follow a routine. I can’t recall information properly when I need to. I’m not patient. I forget things that just happened 30 seconds ago. I can’t plan to save my life.

This also ignores that some people have no comorbidities or they only have one or two. Some have several to contend with. Some of us have learning disabilities. We aren’t all former gifted kids that just can’t follow traditional structures or sit still in class or at the office. Some of us are legitimately debilitated in all aspects of life. Some of us aren’t just struggling with going to a 9-5…some of us can’t even keep a 9-5 because of our symptoms.

Does capitalism make things significantly harder? Absolutely. But if capitalism were to vanish tomorrow, I still wouldn’t have the executive functioning to keep my space clean, to make myself food, or to stay consistent on my own chosen projects. I would still struggle with arfid. I would still have a delayed circadian rhythm. I would still struggle to make appointments and make phone calls for myself. And I would still struggle to connect with others or make friends with people who might help me with these things.

[xmo-rmon]

To ensure I was not recognized as I raided the church for books, I picked a building I had never been to before, a couple of cities away from the one I was raised in. As far as the floor plan went, I was confident that I knew my way around as soon as I stepped through the door. As I pretended to be on my phone to discourage people from talking to me, I muttered, “Yep, there’s the basketball court” as I passed the “cultural hall”, which was actually echoing with the thuds of basketballs at the time.

What I did not remember, and realistically could not have recognized before, was the oppressive atmosphere that was built into the very structure of the building.

Granted, the building was at least a few decades old, and I spent the last few years of my membership in a brand new building. But it was not far off from the one I spent most of my time in before that. Brick walls painted shiny white, blue heather carpets, black name plates with bronze text by every amber door. But the walls were so close, the ceilings so low, the lighting so sparse and sickly. Even the chapel, when I stepped in to grab a hymnal, was so strangely dark. The certainty that all the doors to the outside were unlocked was the only thing keeping it all from feeling like some horrible prison. Literally.

My wife and I like to watch ghost hunting shows, even if we don’t take them seriously. Whenever a prison is being investigated, we say, “Of course you feel bad in there, it was literally built to be unpleasant to be in. Look how low the ceilings are, look at all the tiny rooms, think about how horribly dark and quiet it must have been in those remote, solitary cells.”

Granted, things that are scary to one person can be comforting to another; places are made holy by the significance that humans give them. A prison cell could be used for nothing but tea parties and puppy cuddles and someone not acclimated to the space would still be uncomfortable. As a twitchy, feral little neurodivergent kid, I hated going to church and having to sit still, but sometimes it would be my family’s turn to clean the church, and I did not get the “liminal space” chills in the empty church the way I would today. I just liked running around in a space I had to be “reverent” in otherwise. And as a young teen, starved for affection and contact, it was comforting to huddle up with people I felt I could trust. But humans have a natural fear or discomfort for cramped, oppressive spaces, and the church could not train me out of such an innate thing. In my later years, I started having more and more panic attacks just from being in the building. But the church, of course, did train me to interpret that fear in a way that kept me subservient.

And, reflecting on that, I feel a little sick about the level of control they had.

Fear is so important. Understanding those fears, even more so. It’s our natural alarm that alerts us to danger, and while we need to manage our anxiety, we must be allowed to be afraid. But the church reaches down into our very foundations as human animals and claims it all as their own. As a mormon you’ve been gifted the wisest form of fear in the world, the holy ghost, and you’re told that wisdom will always lead you closer to the church. The fear you feel in a cell and the fear you fear in a church could be the very same, but if you recognize both as the holy ghost, then the holy ghost could not possibly make you feel bad in a church, so you must be feeling good things, actually. You must be feeling the spirit.

Doing baptisms for the dead, I was too short for the water level. Every time I went under, my feet would slip out from under me, and I’d have to struggle to resurface. Afterward, I’d sit in the seats in the dead silence, shaken down to the core. The best I would feel was relief that it was finally over, but I attributed it all to the spirit moving me. I was not a teenage girl who very very much did not want to let a strange man low key drown me, but had been manipulated to believe I’d be a sinner if I didn’t. I wasn’t a teenage girl who had been groomed to believe her consent did not matter where the church was involved. How could any of that disturb me when the holy ghost only made me disturbed about sins? When the holy ghost had a huge hand in me feeling like saying no would be a sin?

Anger is a sin, so you can never object to the way the church treats you. If you want to satisfy your innate biological desire for human intimacy, getting married in the temple is the only way. Fear is only real if it has nothing to do with the church, and if it does, you’re being given an opportunity to show how good and faithful you are for disregarding it.

There is no room. The ceilings are low, the walls are close, the lights are dim. But the doors are unlocked; you’re not trapped. You don’t even have to go and check.

The holy ghost warned you not to.

[multiphandommess]

Good Morning To You

Reader wakes up next to their two girlfriends.

Mia POV

The sunlight peeked through the slit in the curtains of my girlfriends’ and my room. I opened my eyes to reveal beautiful sage skin. I nuzzled my face into her arm, so she put her arm over my chin. To my right, faded pink and blue hair was splayed out my chest, a pale arm around my waist. Harls was in the middle of me and Ives. Both of my girlfriends were still asleep; they looked peaceful like we were the only people in this world. I traced Harley’s tattoos on her thighs, arms, and chest; the tattoos that I knew by heart. She was only wearing a bra and panties, Ivy wearing similar attire. Harley and I had a special love of tattoos that we shared. Whenever either one of us has a particularly bad day, we go with the other as support for the new ink. However, that doesn’t mean that Ivy doesn’t love our tattoos either. Pam loves the tattoos on the back of my neck and behind my ears. She can often be found kissing or tracing the moth on my neck or the flowers hiding behind my ears. She just doesn’t like getting them as much, she likes to keep her skin more clear. Harley, however, prefers the sword and snake between my breasts and the roses on the side of my ribs. I love the diamonds that lay all over her skin. The large repeating shapes have always appealed to me, though I don’t know why. Ivy doesn’t have any big tattoos besides a singular rose on her left ankle. That one is courtesy of Pamela Isly while she was still in college, though it’s typically hidden by socks or pants. I turn to look back and my girlfriends’ faces to find stunning emerald eyes staring back at me. She offers me a sleepy smile and a yawn. I must look like a goof smiling at my girl yawning, but love makes you do strange things I suppose. Ivy and I whisper for a few minutes before I decide to get up. I carefully roll over and gently put my feet on the cold floor; it feels like a slightly cruel, wake-up call. Ivy watches as I stand up, I’m in an oversized ‘Silence Of The Lambs’ shirt that rises as I turn and stretch. I wink at Pam, who’s still staring, and walk into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee for me and Harley and the kettle for Ivy, she prefers tea to coffee sometimes so whoever wakes up always puts it on for her. As the coffee is done and the water is hot, I pour myself a cup and sit in a chair that looks out the window with a book. I moved in with Harley and Ivy, who still lived in what was once Ivy’s apartment, so there were lots of windows, and one day, I just dragged the chair over so I could look at the city and read. They sat there sometimes as well, but this was my spot. On my days off, I will often just sit here the whole day. Though, I do sometimes move to the couch to watch movies. As a neurodivergent introvert, it was important to all of us that I have my own space to call my own. Harley sometimes sits on my lap and Ivy even once, but they always ask before doing so. Despite what they do for work, they are some of the kindest and most respectful people. We were a little concerned at the beginning of our relationship about how others would react. None of us had been in a poly relationship before and we were just a little anxious, but now, 10 months in, most of that anxiety is gone. My girls joined me in the living room soon after. Harley had added fuzzy socks to her outfit to fight off the chilly weather. Outside, you could see the changing colors of the leaves. Fall is the season that all 3 of us love the most. We love Halloween and horror movies, cold weather and warm snuggles, hot drinks and cold cheeks. What’s not to love? Harley put on one of her few calm music playlists for some background noise as Ivy sat on the couch and Harley plopped onto her lap. Harls was also the first to break the silence. 

“So, are you gonna sit over there, all alone and cold? Or are you gonna come over here and get cuddled while we watch that Halloween baking show you love?” She asked, smiling. I smiled back.

“I think I’ll join you cuties,” I joked slightly, getting up and sitting on the couch next to Ives, allowing Harley to drape her legs over my lap and Ivy to put her hand on my exposed thigh under the blanket we were all sharing. The blanket was yellow, orange, and red and reminded me of the leaves falling outside our window. Gotham didn’t have too many trees that still looked good, but any fall leaves are better than none I suppose. Bud and Lou, those lazy boys, were still lying in their beds in our room and my cats were lying in their tree and on one of their various shelves around our living room. The boys were a bit confused when I brought my girls, Starling and Salem, to live with us and while they were well-behaved, they had made the hyena uncomfortable for a little bit. But now, they are like good friends, and often, you can find them lying together on our bed. The room was captured in a comfortable silence, the only thing making a sound was the TV and Starling, who had jumped up on my lap, purring. As we watched our show, Bud and Lou had trotted out to greet us and lay next to our feet on the ground. This morning had been calm and serene. Not every morning is, and I don’t know where our lives are going to take us, but I do know that there’s no one else I would rather be with. In chaos and in health, good morning to you.

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Re. Autism meltdown

I wasn’t diagnosed until my late 30s. Meltdowns were always perceived as negative or indulgent behaviour, and therefore punishable. Had no choice but to train myself not to demonstrate them in an outward fashion, if that makes sense. What I do however, when I’m feeling utterly overwhelmed, is more like a complete shut down. I’ll just become catatonic for hours… locked away somewhere deep inside my subconscious. Somebody knock the lights off and dump a weighted blanket on me for the love of Christ! Entirely non verbal, typically I’ll sit on my hands to prevent stimming. Feels like I’m imploding in excruciating slow motion - rage in part, but mostly shame - unfortunately I cannot project the feeling outside of myself. Even though I am not actively doing anything, I emerge from these “shut downs” exhausted and tearful… often desperate to go pee, as I’ve held it for hours. I am not reprimanded for these episodes, but neither am I commended for sparing people the “observer discomfort” that an outward meltdown would. Honestly, I feel as though I might enjoy a good scream and maybe launching a stuffed toy across the room… I just have no idea how to go about it.

Hi there,

I’ll do my best to help. I found an article going over shutdowns. It gives some tips that might help:

Sleep, sleep, sleep. A long rest is preferred but any bit of sleep helps.

As you’re coming out of the shutdown, you might experience an “emotional hangover.” In this case go easy on yourself and do recharging things like watching a movie or playing your favorite game.

Lean into the shutdown, it won’t last forever and you’ll feel better once it’s done

Watch out for what Samantha Craft, an Autistic blogger, refers to as “Implosive Thoughts” before and after the shutdown. It is similar to the shame spiral described in our Meltdown article.

Get to a safe space where you can lay down, preferably a sensory friendly place where you can be alone or with a person you trust.

Take the time you need before re-engaging. Practice some Neurodivergent affirming self care.

For Partners, Friends, Family, Bosses, Teachers, etc.

Leave the Autistic person alone. If you’re worried about them, check in gently every once in a while. Bring them food and water.

Give them time. After a shutdown, Autistics will probably need a lot of time and space to recover. It can take up to a few days. It’s nothing personal.

Understand why the shutdown happened and try to reduce any triggers you may be responsible for.

Do not push them to “snap out of it.” Doing so may harm them.

Don’t touch the person unless they give their express permission. Ask before touching.

Educate yourself on Autistic processes and traits. Understand the signs of Autistic shutdowns and meltdowns.

I’ll leave the article below in case you’d like to read through it.

I also found an personal article a person wrote about their own experience:

“We don’t talk about shutdowns as often, I think, because they are often a bit more invisible than a meltdown would be, because it’s not so much of an inconvenience on other people.

I am sitting very, still sitting, very quiet, not speaking, probably staring at the floor, at something, or out a window, and I’m just going to freeze up for a while, and I won’t be bothering anybody. Depending on the situation, or the circumstance, an Autistic shutdown could potentially go completely unnoticed.

The other thing about shutdowns is, because they often, for me, will happen when I am in very intense, emotional situations, me just shutting down and going blank all of a sudden… something I have very little control over, is sometimes taken as intentionally “shutting down a conversation” or “stonewalling” or “refusing to engage”.

“That’s because people who don’t shut down don’t understand what it’s like to suddenly become locked in on yourself like that.”

This will also be below if you want to read more:

I hope these sources can help. I’ll also tag @autistic-af and @krisrisk to see if they can provide more information/advice.

Thank you for the inbox. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ❤️

[some-triangles]

It's Portland's annual new year blizzard/ice storm, which we are unprepared for every year, because this never used to happen. It barely snowed here when I was a kid! I was a kid 30 years ago, mind you, and this has been happening pretty consistently for the last 20, but institutions are slow to change. We have been spending our money on other things.

So here I am, sitting in my own living room (my own in the sense that I rent it), in my long johns and thermals and two pairs of socks, heat on, still gradually losing feeling in my toes. This seems like a good day to write the politics post.

I belong to the category of person who expresses political and moral beliefs mostly through jokes, and only then when my personal frustration has reached a point where I can no longer make myself be quiet. The jokes are there to make the pain less raw, but lately the jokes themselves are getting dark enough that it's upsetting people. So let's proceed without the jokes.

Where to begin? In the 90s, I guess. I was brought up liberal but cynical, which is already kind of a tense balance, and I was by inclination a person who wanted things to make sense and follow understandable rules. (The answer is as always neurodivergence.) I figured out that religion wasn't real by looking at a map and realizing that the world was too big for any one group of people to be right about things. Despite this, I still thought American democracy was the correct answer, the least bad option, and that the world as a whole was heading towards where I was, a kind of tolerant, reasonable middle class existence.

In my defense, this was a belief broadly shared by my parents' generation, and I hadn't been taught a lot of the stuff that argued against it. Francis Fukuyama got up in front of people and declared the world a solved problem and nobody important even laughed at him. I bought into this to the extent that I suffered from a kind of wistful sadness that all the important battles had already been fought. In short, I was a child, and not a particularly bright one, despite what people told me. I did, however, form a belief that stays with me to this day:

I AM NOT SPECIAL. I, personally, do not deserve any more or any less than any human being. And since I think I should be safe and well fed, every other human being should also be safe and well fed. The fact that I am better off than some others is an accident which should be rectified.

This came about because I was aware that a lot of the people in the world were poor and miserable and I wasn't, and I had to decide whether luck or virtue was responsible for my safety. I went with luck. I didn't realize it at the time, but this choice put me at odds with a lot of the logic underlying the society I live in - because if I'm not special, you better believe nobody else is either, and that means no elect, no chosen, none blessed by god, none elevated by blood. I was 10, I hadn't even had a chance to fuck up my life yet, and yet there were all these other 10-year-olds worse off than me. Did they deserve that? And what about those kids who had it better?

And so, decades later, we end up with the joke about how it's a good deal to trade your life away to take out a rich person. It's the same impulse, just with a lot of broken promises and bitterness stacked on top. I work full time at a job that's officially essential (no stoppage during the pandemic), strenuous, and physically dangerous - I get paid the 1993 equivalent of a little less than $30k a year - I will never be able to afford a home in the city I grew up in. This job has to be done. I am not special, I do not "deserve" a better job. I, as a working person, watch people who do jobs that do not need to be done or who don't work at all get paid more because they are members of an invisible elect. I conclude that they must believe they are worth more than me, that they are better than me, because how else could they justify their lives? And I think if I subscribed to that worldview, it would be a net win for me to blow both of us up. Thus, the joke.

I also watch the rest of the world. My belief in liberal democracy is a pretty aerated Jenga tower by this point. Learning about America's imperial history took out a bunch of pieces, but I could still believe all that was behind us. Then we went back to war, which I could initially write off as a traumatic reaction, but as years turned into decades it became obvious that peace had been the exception, and that even that peace hadn't been that peaceful, had it? At that point it was still possible to believe that at least all of our bombing and killing had been in the interest of some kind of moral good, if you really tried. I think Gaza killed the very last part of me that could believe that. There is no atrocity we will not enable to pursue our own ends. Does it matter that much what kind of system we use to choose our leaders if this is what our leaders do?

The last thing keeping my tower standing is the need to protect the outgroups I and my friends belong to, which doesn't really rise to the level of a moral imperative. It's a moment by moment strategic thing, where you support institutions if they protect you and oppose them if they attack you, like any interest group. Right now HR culture and capitalism are trending pro-trans, so we support Disney against Florida. We will do voter suppression if the alternative is Trump. It doesn't go well with rule number one up there, but neither does the fact that I care about my friends more than I care about people I don't know.

At the end of the day it's all a joke. Moral imperatives give way to political reality one hundred percent of the time. It doesn't matter what I call myself. I hate tech culture, so why not be a Luddite? I'll smash steam looms in my mind while continuing to pay for my groceries. Just let me have my jokes. Trashfuture did a great riff about Butlerian Jihad the other day where they imagined a butler named Ian Jihad. "I've oriented sir's slippers towards Mecca, sir." That's the kind of political commentary I want, and the kind I will refrain from posting here unless my toes are really, really cold.

[paperboy-pb]

"Willful Ignorance" [Life Story]

[Written in August, 2023]

A parent reminded me why I make PB the other night.

For those of you who don't know, I'm a very young creator. 20 in October. And I had one of my co-writers for a different comic ("Weirder Than Usual") over at my place for the weekend. And being the youngest of a hispanic family, my parents have no plans to let me move out anytime soon. When I do leave, it will likely be without their blessing.

I let one parent drive my co-writer back home for the night. I knew I wouldn't be much fun to have in the car that late (I fall asleep pretty early,) and that we wouldn't be free to discuss creative affairs with that parent there, anyway.

I don't like to be myself with this parent around. We are distant. And I keep that distance for a reason.

And despite my absence, this parent reminded me why. Because guess what my cowriter texted me not too long after!

Some hours later, I can't help but think to myself... it's so funny how she stresses my late speech so much. Because now that it's here, it's as if my words don't matter at all.

I will admit my family doesn't know everything that our Special Ed program put me & other children through. But I will ALSO say that that's their own fault. Because as I grew up, I used to tell them every awful thing that I found important. And it was their lack of response that made me stop.

The driver of that car is clueless. She's "forgotten" about the violence that surrounded me in there. Desks crashing to the ground after an adult's angriest shove. Sweaters stretched out and destroyed from middle school fights that nobody broke up.

She's "forgotten" about every time I told her that we weren't learning what we needed to know, insisting that every class must've been doing 3rd grade worksheets in 7th if we were.

She's "forgotten" her 11-year-old asking if he was on the spectrum; how she put on the confused performance of a lifetime as she told me no. But miraculously, she remembers sitting somewhere in the spring of 2005, being told so by professionals.

And she "doesn't remember" us yelling on the phone in 2022. How I spent 80 dollars on an Uber just so we wouldn't share state grounds. And how I screamed for the millionth time, in no uncertain terms, "I AM NOT MAD AT YOU FOR PUTTING ME IN A PROGRAM THAT PROMISED US HELP. You believed them! I know you believed them, they promised you I'd be okay! The problem is that THEY BROKE THAT PROMISE! And every time they did, you just looked the other way!"

Whether she is or isn't being truthful doesn't matter. It's bad on her either way.

Because I know she remembers my dentist reporting bruxism to her when I still had loose teeth. How they would ask her about my environment, or if she knew whether or not anything was stressing me out. And that she chose to question nothing as it continued nightly into my teens. Damaging my adult teeth and concerning all who would sleep in the same room as me. They could hear me all the time. Sometimes my sister would even wake me up.

I know she remembers marking her little one's height against the wall, and seeing the space under his eyes grow darker and darker across the 6th grade.

I know she remembers making leave Autism themed group chats, because to her, my name & that word should never be in the same sentence.

I know she remembers going through his journals and sketchbooks, finding concept art for our Matthew B. And how just one look was enough to make her enroll me to therapy when I was 13.

And she knows that I remember how she hates that boy. Matthew Boston, I mean. And at least one part of her hates everything that he is; disabled, creative, expressive, and headstrong.

I know because she hates those traits in me as well.

Since I spend a lot of time in disability spaces, I try not to assume somebody isn't trying to understand. Comprehension doesn't come easy to everyone. And I especially suspect that she's neurodivergent as well.

But I've tried everything with this one, and I'm truly at the end of my rope. I've tried visuals. I've tried keeping it short and sweet and simple. I've tried having complex and mature conversations where I don't skip a single detail.

I've even tried therapy with her in the room.

Nothing works. And unless this is the convenient work of an undiagnosed memory condition, there's no reason for that.

My Autistic voice matters so little to her that she insists on prying information out of my friends when I'm not in the room; asking the allistic all these questions I've answered myself one thousand times.

She doesn't want to understand. She doesn't want to question her own ableism. Or work past it. And that's why I don't show her "PAPERBOY" at all, and likely won't until years and years from now.

Because PAPERBOY is for the people who do understand. For people who do understand, and everyone who wants to.

[crowtrobotx]

I need to rant about my FIL again.

This man stated multiple times that he “just needed a place to crash at night” and that we “wouldn’t even know” he was here because he was going to be out all day and would only reappear to basically go to bed. We told him that we had a lot going on this weekend both individually and together (which is true!) and wouldn’t be available to hang out/entertain him etc. which he indicated he understood and wasn’t bothered by.

Yesterday I (a morning person, regrettably) woke up and went downstairs at about 7 to relax and have breakfast and just enjoy some quiet time before having to go and set up and teach my class. This motherfucker came downstairs literal SECONDS after he heard me get up and followed me around as I’m trying to get dressed/put on makeup etc. asking me the most boring, asinine questions about “oh so how did you get into crochet” “my grandma used to crochet” “how many students do you have” “you know one time I did cross stitch in elementary school” HOOOLY SHIT. I ended up leaving without breakfast about an hour earlier than I needed to (my workplace/teaching spot is 5 min from my house) because I couldn’t deal with him on top of all the usual pre-class anxiety.

Taught class, came home ready to enjoy some lunch and relaxation time and go to a local event with my partner…. I see this man’s car still parked in front of my house. It is 12:30pm at this point. I come in and he’s just sitting on our desktop computer doing god knows what while my partner is sitting there looking like he wants to die.

Partner follows me upstairs and proceeds to tell me FIL “doesn’t really have plans” today and keeps implying he wants to come with us on our outing we had planned weeks ago. Fuck. No.

We got my brother in law to invite the guy out for lunch elsewhere to buy us some time but he still just sat around the house until after 2pm before actually leaving. We went out but he was back a couple of hours later and just SAT in our living room doing nothing but impeding us until he went to bed. Did I mention he nonstop guilt trips my partner about how he’s “gonna die soon” (this has been going on for years and nothing is wrong with him that we’re aware of. He’s not even 70.) and is totally hyper fixated on the most morbid shit??? My partner apparently tried to assuage him by inviting him to go out to dinner, just the two of them, and FIL was just like “nah.” 😵‍💫

Y’all. He doesn’t leave until Tuesday.

Today we have an honest to god thing we have to go to out of town so he’s gotta be gone by 11 or so and we will not be back until the evening but I still want to scream. I am so thankful I can leave for work Monday and Tuesday and have time away from this guy trying to insert himself into our plans and just generally making it impossible to relax in my own house.

I just. I’m not stupid. I know this is some cry for attention from his son and maybe me to some extent. But instead of flat out asking and PLANNING something, he shows up to our house from Idaho with zero notice and tries to squirm into our schedule. My partner is neurodivergent to some extent (he is functional and doesn’t care for a dx which I support if that’s what he wants) and is admittedly pretty bad at socializing and maintaining relationships long term if the person isn’t physically present in his life all the time and he really could do a better job of dealing with him but I also can’t blame him for not wanting to have this dude talking to him all the damn time! FIL’s wife left him explicitly because he never did anything or went anywhere, never had relationships outside of her, and was so flat and emotionless that it made her insane. And holy shit do I get it! This is agony!

I’m just… so tired. I’ve had so much going on and my anxiety has been a real bitch lately. The last thing I needed was someone invading my privacy and limited free time like this.

Again, this is a man who moved across the country with zero notice and then was mad everyone didn’t fly out to visit him. It’s manipulative at worst and straight up stupid at best. I already told my partner we are not doing this shit again and hosting him in the future, which maybe sounds insane considering he hasn’t “done” anything aside from being annoying but this is purely the latest in a long line of obnoxious behaviors that I am too old to deal with anymore.

[giantkillerjack]

Hi there, I just wanted to stop by to say thank you for making your recent post about ‘getting dependent on mobility aids’ — I was tempted to comment on the post itself, but since replies have been shut off (which I’m assuming is because people were missing the point?), I figured anonymity would make it easier for me to share this😅 I think it’s important that you know it’s helping not only able bodied people look at it from a different perspective, but other ‘disabled’ people as well.

I’m 23, and have a whole host of health conditions, only a handful of which have actually been diagnosed, the others are still a mystery, and struggle a lot with feeling guilty about taking up space in the community, and the fact that I’m considering getting a mobility aid, because of all of those same reasons people around me have been telling me since I got sick. Reading this post helps make me feel a little bit better about the whole thing, and I just want to thank you for that❤️

— 🥀✨ Anon

[Anon is referring to this satire post I made]

Hey, this is the sweetest most rewarding goddamn message, and I'm incredibly grateful to you for it!! 💖💖💖💖

Also, it validates that everything I write about disability is ultimately written with the hope of making disabled people's lives better, and comments like this mean I am making worthwhile writing/art!!!

Also,

I want to make one thing very very clear:

There IS space for you here.

Obviously I don't speak for the entire disabled community, but I know I am not the only one who sees someone struggling to accept a disabled identity and has the thought, "Hey. Impostor syndrome is basically universal in the newly-disabled. Dont sweat it. You are welcome here."

So... You are welcome here. Says who? Says me. You are allowed to take up space in this community. You have more than permission, you have an invitation. You never needed one to take pride in your identity, but you have it now, in case that helps.

(Learning to undo our own internalized ableism is literally a lifelong process, but it is a worthwhile one.)

The best chances we have at survival and at thriving are by holding onto each other like a goddamn gundam made of cripples and neurodivergents, with no one being left behind.

Therefore, your presence (if you are respectful and kind, which seem to be your vibe) actually ADDS to our collective strength, rather than taking from it.

The actual "limited resources" that we're told disabled people must compete over are a result of systems that enforce a false idea of scarcity and trap us in isolation, poverty, and sickness.

Often, disabled people are the primary lifeline to other disabled people, actually. In my own personal experience (as disability is a huge category and no experience is universal among us except ableism), I've seen VERY little IRL competition among disabled people, but many instances of disabled people working together to demand a better conditions, plus countless instances of disabled people taking care of each other in everyday life.

The "prove you are disabled beyond a shadow of a doubt" mentality also supports these deadly ableist systems because it allows those in power to deny aid to those who cannot meet a ludicrously high burden of proof.

- Fuck that. Fuck that. I believe you. You have a condition that limits your ability? You can't do one or more vital tasks without constant pain?? That's a disability. You're disabled. And there's room for you to sit with us. Welcome.

I know that some people have internalized ableism, and occasionally this community does deal with the issue of gatekeeping. But I really believe those people are a vocal minority of the community as a whole - Most of us are just glad to have another comrade and co-conspirator!

There IS enough for all of us, and historically the only way these systems have actually changed is through a whole lot of disabled people banding together and helping to keep each other alive in the meantime.

And it's okay if what you need to do is just focus on keeping yourself alive. Like I said, you're a vital member of the team now, and the core of disability advocacy is someone should never be left behind. - It is morally and socially right for you to take care of yourself both on a collective and individual level, and that includes experimenting with mobility aids!

BUT ALSO - and this is VITAL - even if you go your WHOLE LIFE using more resources than you are able to provide, even if you can "only" contribute the extensive labor of keeping yourself alive for your entire life, you'd still DESERVE COMFORT, RESPECT, ACCOMMODATION, AND CARE. You would still be a valued part of this team because people who need a lot of help are not "drains", they are ENTIRE PEOPLE.

YOU are an entire person!

And if we as disabled people only measure value by how much a person can DO, then we become no better than the ableist systems that terrorize our lives whether we have accepted disability as an identity or not!

You are worth the effort of caring for you because you are ALIVE and a PERSON.

And while I don't believe in laziness as a concept, this would include you even if you were "lazy". Even if you were mean. I probably wouldn't want to invite a mean person to stuff - but like I said, you don't need an invitation to be in this community. You don't need permission to care for yourself or to have the rights of a full person!

Sacrifice for no reason is just self-harm!

You deserve accommodation because it is a HUMAN RIGHT to reduce pain and improve your quality of life without hurting anyone!!! You are wanted here even if you cannot fight or advocate or produce!!! It is not selfish to care for yourself with the tenderness you would show to a little puppy in pain! Or if it is, then maybe selfishness can be beautiful sometimes! - That is the core tenet of cripple punk and of disability liberation. ALL of us matter. Period. End of sentence. Full stop.

... All this to say, I think getting a mobility aid is a great idea!! And it makes me so so happy to rep how amazing it is to have the accommodations you need!

Just yesterday, I went out with my new rollator for the first time (now that I finally live somewhere without stairs!), and I felt so happy and free that even though I just went to a grocery store pharmacy, I had the BEST TIME. I can't run on my own, but with the rollator? I can really move!! I was beaming the whole time!

I even crossed paths with an older woman in my building who was complaining about how embarrassing it was to be the only person with the walker on the floor, and the way that her expression changed when she saw me and when I said how happy I was to have my new walker is something that will stick with me forever! (Her aid worker actually hugged me - it was a magical pharmacy trip, y'all - and my joints feel AMAZING getting exercise I couldn't do without the walker!)

For years now, every time I stand or walk somewhere, being upright has been a matter of calculating how much pain I can take before it is unbearable - mapping out stoops to sit on, places on the ground less likely to be wet from rain, store floors to collapse on - but with my rollator (which I have named Blue Gator the Rollator)??? I SIT THE SECOND I NEED TO, AND WITH THIS POWER I WALKED FURTHER THAN I HAVE IN YEARS.

It brings me immense joy to let people know how important that is, how important their comfort is. To get people to question how much pain and isolation must actually be cultivated and sacrificed on the altar of "move like an abled person"!!

What a badass act of rebellion to say "fuck you I'm getting that goddamn cane and I might get a walker while I'm at it!!!", "fuck you I don't deserve to be in unnecessary pain!!!", "fuck you i don't deserve to be doing constant damage to my joints and nervous system by standing in pain all the time!!!"

Plus, I keep a water bottle and a folding cane (and a phone charger and a notebook) in the little pouch under the rollator seat! (and this time I actually read the safety manual, which everyone should do!)

Okay this got really long (and at some point half the draft got deleted and had to be re-written from memory), but tbh I'm not sorry. I don't know you, but I'm terribly proud of you. Like, the pride fills my chest with warm expanding light when i think of someone coming closer to getting the things they need to thrive.

I hope you get all the accommodations you need and then some more on top of that! You deserve less pain! You deserve to take up space! You deserve to sit with us if you want to! Welcome welcome welcome welcome welcome. ❤

P.S. I actually didn't get any nasty replies to the post itself - I had to change the reply settings on my account because of an unrelated post in which I criticized the queerbaiting in a popular piece of media, and thus was suffering a Deluge of people sliding into the replies to defend the queerbaiting like they were Sherlock/Supernatural fans in the year 2010. 😅 but I am very happy you reached out anyway!!! Thank you again! You made my day!! 🥰🥰🥰

[adhbabey]

I think its important to discuss and talk about personal experiences with other neurodivergent people. Cause like, we've all had personal experiences that don't necessarily align with how we view a whole group of people. And I've tried to avoid talking about personal experiences, so I won't bring unnecessary hate, if I had a bad personal experience. (And not that it would, but people tend to generalize online, yknow?)

But like its important to talk about things that don't work out or line up. Cause like, people don't talk about it in good faith, and people don't acknowledge their own faults in these situations.

So let me say some things and talk about my own personal experiences. To preface, I've been having a really hard time talking to people in my life who are autistic, and I have ADHD. Usually, it works out fine, because yknow, people who are nd get along better than those who are nd and nt. But I've been struggling with the fact that they need space, and get overstimulated easily. While I need reassurance and attention, lest I am understimulated and depressed.

And I'm sitting here listening to the same song over and over, while writing this, watching the music video on the side. Right after I ended a call with my boyfriend (he's autistic) and its really hard to hang up, when his presence often gives me so much dopamine. I love being around him. But he needed time to be alone, so I'm here coping with the fact that I won't talk to him again until tomorrow. And more so than that, there are other people that I struggle to talk to because they need an extended amount of alone time and space. And it's really hard to accept that hey, they don't hate you, but they need room. The RSD sucks. The emotional dysregulation sucks.

And I get the immediate knee jerk reaction, that it's not fair. But it is fair, my second reaction goes, you are given space too. And I know that, I get very socially drained so easily. So, its a fight in my brain. Either be responsible and considerate, or be impulsive and self sabotage relationships for my own benefit. It's not easy being compassionate and considerate, when that is not your first thought, when you're also mentally ill and exhausted.

So like, here it is. I am here to talk about interacting with other neurodivergent people, where our personal experiences are not sanitized or always positive. So, I'm here to start a conversation. Reblog with your own personal experiences, or relate to mine. I think we should be more open to talking about negative interactions, being neurodivergent isn't an inherently good or bad thing, it's just we're different and interact with the world in a different way.

I don't hate the other people in my life, nor do I wish harm upon them. But I struggle with them, just like I struggle with anything else. Share your thoughts and feelings, and your own personal experiences. I'd love to hear them.

[aprillikesthings]

So, speaking of competing accommodations....

Everyone in this house is at least one flavor of neurodivergent. We all want to spend a lot of time doing parallel play (aka sitting around in the same/neighboring rooms but on our own devices/doing our own hobbies).

The problem is our needs are not the same. (And in some cases change from one day to the next.) For instance:

Bright lights, all the time! vs Why the HELL would you turn on the overhead light (poor Daci is wearing sunglasses around the house these days, as I am no longer the only person in the house who, as I joke, photosynthesizes and therefore needs all the lights on/blinds open lest I waste away)

I need all the noise to focus vs If I hear another sound I will have a meltdown

This room is so cluttered I can't do anything before cleaning it vs You messed with my piles and now I will be asking "where is my [item]" for the next two months

I got the cleaning bug and I need to obey it THIS INSTANT WOO I'M CLEANING THINGS vs I get anxious when people clean around me :( vs I need an hour's notice, minimum, to help clean anything

(related) I want to play a board game. Who wants to play a board game? vs I need an hour's notice to play a board game

I sleep all day vs I sleep all night

I am doing the grocery shopping online to be delivered vs I cannot shop for groceries without physically walking through the store

What so much of it comes down to just this, ad nauseam:

I need X to stay calm and focused vs Being around X makes me anxious and distracted

[eroticcannibal]

We hear people are talking about horror stories? May we share one?

We do not trust people who praise IEPs and nothing else, which is maybe like 99% of the Disabled and Neurodivergent communities.

This is no particular "teacher" but moreso the entirety of [REDACTED] school district, actually. Nobody ever stood up for us when it was Very Clear that our IEP was committing ableist double standards since our same-age peers were allowed to say "fuck" three times down the hallways and we couldn't even say "crap" our three years in high school.

Oh, and we weren't even allowed to cry for a dead cat, OUR dead cat, because it would be interrupting and would be another "negative" "behavior" mark on said IEP.

We will burn down [REDACTED] with our own two hands and a shitton of gasoline we stg — and that is exactly why we graduated early and moved the fuck out about an hour to three hours away from there, because we do not trust ourselves to mot hurt ppl if we lived down there longer-term.

But sure, Janice, go right on ahead and sing praises for USian IEPs. Whatever.

Oh and we uhhh have a lot more than that on horror stories, that was just the first thing we could think of. We can share more if you'd like but they're all pretty horrific, especially the seclusion room ones. The ones the know about 100% and still came to the conclusion we're endogenic and that sysmeds like gaslight us about, as if we weren't literally gaslit in SI rooms. :)

---

Listen I am in like ALL of the good autism groups and I fucking agree, FUCK IEPs. Every, EVERY SINGLE. FUCKING. DAY. I see schools using an IEP not for its intended purpose, but as basically a sneaky ABA tool. Its all fucking behaviourism and forced compliance and breaking down a child and then! AND THEN! BECAUSE THE US IS A NIGHTMARE. PARENTS NEED A FUCKING LAWYER TO FIGHT THIS SHIT. FOR A FUCKING IEP.

And thats just the parents who see through the waffle and bullshit and see what they are actually trying to do with the IEP. Most parents will naturally defer to the "experts".

Like the extent to which these children are micromanaged and controlled through IEPs. I've known of kids having litteral medical emergencies, in unimaginable pain, and they sit there and they don't say a word because "child will stop displaying inappropriate emotional responses" is on the fucking IEP and everyone has decided "innapropriate" in this case means "I dont want a crybaby in my classroom". Some kids are not allowed to even glance away from the teachers eyes for a SECOND when the teacher is talking if its on their IEP. Can't fidget like the other kids, can't be bored like the other kids, can't run round like the other kids. Cant even chose what words to say when saying hello to their friends in the morning. Just. Cant be a kid.

And feel free to share anything u want to. This is always, first and foremost, a space where ppl with school trauma are free to share that without judgement.

[oak1985]

Stede Bonnet: reassurance for the clueless amongst us

I have read lots of great, thoughtful meta about why Stede is in fact more aware of his romantic and/or sexual feelings for Ed than popular perception (and David Jenkins) might suggest.  They point to Stede’s acceptance of Lucius’ use of boyfriend to describe Ed, Stede’s response to Calico Jack asking if they’re buggering, Stede’s turning back to Ed after the moonlight almost kiss, and other moments.  How could he use this language, do these things, and not know? These posts use close textual reading of both words and body language to point out moments that suggest that Stede knows that he loves Ed or knows that he is attracted to Ed or knows that he is in a relationship with Ed.  This post does not do that.  Instead, I use my own experience of falling in love as a clueless queer person to show that, if nothing else, it is entirely possible to give as many signs of self-aware love or desire as Stede does without actually knowing it yourself.  Please travel back in time with me to fall of 2004 and prepare to be astounded at how oblivious a neurodivergent queer who hasn’t figured out they’re queer can be...

Rather exquisite cashmere: I met my partner E the first day of freshman orientation.  As an incredibly socially anxious person, I had promised myself not to take a book out of the dorm room until I had people to talk to.  I chose to sit next to E on a bench because, and I kid you not, I thought: “She has long hair and she’s reading a book, she’s probably safe.”  Since E is also pretty socially awkward, my attempts at making conversation about her reading material fell completely flat (she thinks she was gregarious.  She is mistaken) and I subsided into silence, watching the campus green.  I started laughing at some squirrels’ shenanigans and when she asked what I was laughing at and I said the squirrels and she didn’t get up and walk away from me, like “you weirdo,” I though to myself, “Ok, I’m keeping this one.”

Immediately, we started going to every meal together and working in the library or each other’s dorm rooms every evening.  We also pretty much hung out just by ourselves.

Co-captains: By my birthday in early October, a month later, I told my mom on the phone that E was going to be my “Judy L,” a reference to a lifelong friend of my mom’s.  She and this college friend were incredibly close, speaking on the phone every week even though they lived in different states, and were each other’s main emotional support, since they were both divorced, single women at the time.  Basically, I was saying that E was going to be in my life forever and was going to be my closest emotional partner.  But my mom and Judy L were just friends (I found out later that Judy had flirted with lesbianism during the early feminist movement and my mom had gone with her to a Daughters of Bilitis dance but didn’t feel attraction for women.  But that’s their story.). As long as we were talking friendship, the deeper emotional resonance of the commitment I was envisioning could be obscured.  

Marmalade: For my birthday, the two of us (just the two of us) went to an Indian restaurant for dinner.  Yes, this was the restaurant we later went to our first date on, why do you ask?  When we got back to the dorms, my mom had sent a chocolate cake, which we proceeded to eat together.  Beforehand, E and my mom kept asking why I wasn’t going out with a group of friends. “I only want to hang out with E.”  It wasn’t that I didn’t have other friends by that point, I just wasn’t as interested in spending time with them and I wanted E all to myself for my birthday (ok, and a little bit was that I wanted the chocolate cake just for us as well).

Calico Jack: On the way down to the restaurant, we shared our entire (and by entire I mean minuscule) dating history up to that point.  I told her about both of my boyfriends and my many male crushes from middle and high school.  I remember her being sort of impressed/intimidated and asking lots of questions about them.  She hadn’t had any boyfriends or girlfriends, just a male friend who had wanted to be her boyfriend but she didn’t want that.  “Gee, wouldn’t it be exciting to be her first boyfriend,” I thought to myself.  No, I did not recognize what this meant.  No, I did not follow this train of thought any further.  I wasn’t even freaked out by it yet, because I had no sphere of reference into which to put it, no way to make sense of it, given that I’d (almost) always been attracted to guys before.  I didn’t think bisexuality was real, so instead of creating a new understanding of my sexuality, I just smooshed these feelings and thoughts into existing schema (you’re a caring friend, you have strong emotions, you are always horny about everything).  

Fine things: Sometime in the late fall but before snow had fallen in Minnesota, we were walking down to Whole Foods when I casually told E that I loved her.  While this was heartfelt, it also didn’t feel like a big deal to me.  I had grown up in a family who were very free with “I love you”s and I have always taken love to encompass anyone about whom I care deeply: friends, family, even teachers and (now) students.  It’s important but it’s not sacrosanct and I don’t believe love is cheapened by expressing it more often.  So I was not prepared to E to stop walking, let alone to stop breathing.  But I immediately started worrying about being misinterpreted: “Are you ok?  I didn’t mean to upset you!  I just meant that I care about you!  Are you ok?  Are you angry?  Can you breathe?”  Eventually she was able to tell me that no one had ever said that to her before, not even in her family.  Which was my cue (I thought at the time) to loudly and emphatically discourse on the importance of expressing your love freely, explaining to E how I had grown up with very loving parents who were both verbally and physically expressive about it and that I had said I love to both my middle and high school boyfriends much to the chagrin of my more socially-adept peers and that if it was ok with her, I was going to tell her I love her any time it came to mind now.  Which I did.  With no awareness that it might be a different kind of love than I thought.  

A missed kiss: On another walk later that winter, E took my hand in hers.  I thought long and hard about what I was going to ask her because I was worried she would misunderstand me, but by that point I was too close with her to do anything other than say what was on my mind.  “I want to ask you something but I really am just asking because I’m curious, I don’t mean anything hidden by it.  In Hungary, do girls hold hands in public?  Because in the US, it would read as gay, so most girls don’t and I just wondered if Hungary is less aware of homosexuality so it’s safer to do this.”  [E was an immigrant who’d come from Hungary to the US for college].  E blushed tomato red and dropped my hand like a hot coal as she started apologizing.  Eventually I convinced her of the truth: that I really didn’t mind, wasn’t embarrassed or uncomfortable, and didn’t think she meant it as a come on (I don’t think I used those words).  I really was just curious.  We talked about the perception of homosexuality in Hungary and in my US girls’ school and how different forms of homophobia shaped our respective same-sex friendships growing up.  If I remember correctly, we held hands the rest of the way to the store, but not again after that.  And we still didn’t realize we were queer.  

The auxiliary closet: At the end of first semester, we were able to swap roommates and I moved in with E to her dorm room.  From this point, we spent every waking minute except for classes together, from brushing our teeth in the communal bathroom to tucking each other in at night.  (The number of black-and-white photos E took of different parts of my body--my neck, my shoulder dimple, my ear, my ankle--during this period is, frankly, ridiculous.  But that’s about her cluelessness and I’m trying to stay focused on mine).  We were not just cohabiting, we were partners, we simply didn’t know it yet.  

Buggery: One night, E asked me if I thought romantic relationships were possible without sex.  I said no, immediately and vehemently.  (At the time, asexuality was not on my radar.  Nowadays, I would answer differently; that it’s possible for some people but not for me).  E was distraught and kept asking me again and again in different ways and I kept explaining that sex and sexual desire were an integral part of romance for me.  We stayed up past midnight debating this.  Neither one of us had a clue why it felt so important to convince the other.  

The beach kiss: Even our mutual realization that was we were feeling was queer desire took for-fucking-ever to resolve.  In late February, just after my mom had left after a visit, I was feeling really sad and lonely and was struggling with the worst depressive episode of my life.  Again, I hesitated a while before asking for what I wanted because I was so worried it would be misread (the number of times I worried about being misread when I was the missing what I was actually feeling is both hilarious and fucking tragic).  But eventually, and with many caveats that “You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable,” I asked E if she would cuddle me in bed.  The only furniture in our room was one tiny armchair with wooden arms, our two single bunk beds and our desks underneath them, so she couldn’t really have held me anywhere else.  But let’s be clear: I asked if she would cuddle me in bed and I didn’t know I was attracted to her or in love with her.  Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.  She said she would and was holding me and stroking my hair and a while after I had stopped crying, I looked at her face and thought, “I wonder what it would be like to kiss her.  I’d like to kiss her” and I felt a wave of arousal.  And then.  And then!  I handwaved this dismissively in my head because I’d had that thought/feeling about two female friends earlier in my life, once in 8th grade and once in 9th and hadn’t acted on it or thought it meant anything.  I knew I was (very) attracted to boys, so I just figured horny teenagers sometimes wanted to kiss their same-sex friends without it meaning anything about your sexual orientation.  I literally thought, “Well, you’ve felt this before so it doesn’t mean anything.”  Whaaat?!  So I was pushing the arousal down and preparing to ignore it until it went away.  Then I noticed that E had gone rigid, her breathing had quickened, and she looked panicky.  

This was the turning point for me, the moment when I realized that my feelings were real and really queer.  It wasn’t until I had reason to suspect that she wanted me back that I was able to allow myself to take my own desires seriously.  I needed permission to love queerly before I could even think the possibility.  But I still wasn’t confident enough to risk our friendship by saying what was going on with me without confirming what E was feeling.  When I turned to ask if she was ok, she squeaked and literally leaped out of the bunk bed and halfway across the room into the armchair, where she sat in a ball with her arms wrapped around her knees and on the verge of hyperventilating.  Eventually, her staunch refusal to tell me what had happened and her clear turmoil convinced me that she also wanted me.  After hours of pressing her for an answer (I knew I was being a bully but I didn’t mean to be as cruel as I probably was), I felt sure enough of what was going on to say “Just before you left the bed, I wanted to kiss you.  Is that what you felt, too?”  And then she burst into tears.  And then, like the mentally ill, neurodivergent wlw that we are, we talked for six weeks about our feelings and what it might mean for each of us to be queer and what it might do to our friendship if we entered into a relationship.  So we didn’t even get a kiss in our beach scene.  We were just fucking miserable until April 3.

(Btw, if you want to know how season 2 will go, we broke up after less than two weeks of being together and were “not in a relationship” [scare quotes] for a year before getting back together.  If people want, I can tell that saga, too!  And our season 3 was navigating the external obstacles, with US immigration playing the role of British Empire.)

I wrote this because a. I think we’re adorable and more people should know our story and b. I saw some eerie parallels between my oblivion and Stede’s that I wanted to explore.  It is so hard to know your own desires when you’re queer and neurodivergent and when people around you have told you that you’re undesirable your whole life.  When there isn’t a place for you in your society, of course you can’t imagine one. Why would a kiss and “I reckon what makes Ed happy is you” mean romantic/sexual love?  Why not just literally that Stede makes Ed happy?  After all, Stede’s not sure about that before this moment, as we can see with the treasure hunt and with Calico Jack - just the fact that Ed enjoys his company is news to him.  Of course Stede didn’t know he was in love until Mary gave him the words for it.  It’s entirely possible to be aware of, even to articulate to others your own feelings, without having the foggiest fucking clue what they actually mean.

[eirian]

genuinely miss being in an anime club. like, a physical one. online anime groups just arent the same as being able to physically go sit with a bunch of other anime fans in a small room and do stuff like watch anime or draw ocs or talk about anime with each other

not to make it like. deep or anything. but when i was in school (at least from what ive observed) the ppl in the anime club i was in were pretty similar, including myself. we were all the misfit outcasts of the school, weird in our own ways but also in similar ways. we shared a common interest that nobody else around us shared, and we were all creative. pretty sure 90% of the anime club i was in was neurodivergent in some way. when i remember those "anime club commercials" i used to see on youtube i think the same thing--these ppl are weird like me, and they were weird in their schools too just like i was, and they found a group they could belong to and relate to and feel comfortable around. those videos arent cringe to me anymore tbh they just remind me of when i was young and looking for a community that i could call home

thats why i love going to anime cons so much. i feel at home there. everyone there is a weirdo in some way, some more than others of course, but we're all sharing a common ground and enjoying it around each other

i feel like i kinda got a little off the rails w this post but yeah i miss being around other weirdo kids like that. i dunno. honestly this is a little off topic but this is why im so in love with ruby and so happy to be with her--she makes me feel so comfortable like i can be my absolute truest, weirdest, unhinged self around her. she makes me feel at home and whole and genuine and i love her for that. im glad she can give me that feeling too because i really do miss it from stuff like anime club

[runawaymun]

Idk why people think public school is just sitting in a class for 8 hours

Cause my school does a lot.

In my one class we had a scavenger hunt where me and my group ran all over the school to find the clues

Me and some others are going to our state's capital to see the elective officials work

My history teacher from last year invited me to go on a field trip with his class to the holocaust museum.

And my public school is in no way rich. I go to a very poor public schoo.

To be fair every public school is different. I’m basing my opinion on friends who went to public school & children I’ve tutored who went to public school and my own experiences when I went to brick and mortar school. Maybe it’s a state thing?

I’m not discounting the fact that students go on field trips & go outside and stuff. What I mean to get at is in a home environment you’re afforded a lot of freedom of movement which just isn’t possible in a classroom in any school environment, public or otherwise. Like many of my friends and siblings could run laps or wiggle or dance while doing their math problems, or just dick around painting, listening to music, fidgeting, standing on our head (I’m not exaggerating), stretching, doing jumping jacks etc etc while listening to read-alouds or lectures. Regular classroom activities can be taken outside while kids play in the sandbox or at the lake. It’s just very beneficial for kinetic learners and anyone who is neurodivergent and finds it helpful to have extra stimuli or stim. That’s what I mean by being stuck in a classroom for 8 hours Vs the comparative freedom of the kind of stuff you can do at home if you have one on one attention and an understanding parent.

There’s also a higher threshold/understanding that students don’t age out of these things. Elementary students in a brick and mortar school are expected to have the wiggles(tm), but as you age this gets less and less acceptable and you’re expected to grow out of it.

I did both, and when I went to an actual school in 7th grade I was absolutely miserable and began falling behind because I couldn’t pay attention in lectures because teachers didn’t understand that doodling and fidgeting helped me listen better and learn. I got in huge trouble for doodling or trying to work on art pieces in class. And I found it extremely difficult and distracting to be stuck in a room like that, having to get a hall pass to go to the bathroom, eat in class, and not being able to just run outside if I had the adhd wiggles.

Also schools are better now. I’m old and I went to school in the 90s-2000s when adhd and neurodivergence wasn’t well understood or even considered. Wiggly students were just Bad Kids.