autispec-hours
ets mentaw heawf innit
if i post abt stuff that don't have to do with neurodivergence, it probably has to do with a special interest or hyperfixation of mine | he/him they/them or it/its | go follow my art account @corvidsart !!
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I notice when intrusive thoughts are discussed on here, they're always presented in the form of a voice giving commands. That doesn't fit my experience, which is of unwanted images, or my wife's, which is of feeling compelled to repeatedly think through issues that cause them guilt/shame.
#mine r often disturbing scenes or bodily sensations or ideas . my most common are itchiness & brain saying bugs are on me#looking @ smthn gross & my brain approximating a flavor & texture of it#& when i'm alone 4 a long time i start 2 think ' what if the apocalypse happened & i didn't notice '#& th@s not even 2 mention trauma specific stuff#about intrusive thoughts#intrusive thoughts cw#intrusive thoughts
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Shoutout to people who are noticeably autistic!
As someone who is visibly autistic, I get treated weird by a lot of people. I assume other autistic people have the same problem. It’s not fun!
Just because we are weird or different, does not mean we don’t deserve respect!
You don’t have to baby talk us or treat us like children. You don’t have to point and stare. You don’t have to call us names or slurs.
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Adults: Following rules is good, not following rules is bad
Little me: Okay :] *follows a rule*
Adults: Oh my god look at this loser. He doesn't know that this rule is Secretly Okay To Not Follow. Dumbass. Let's all laugh at him
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i honestly forget that autism mums say 'autism won today' to mean like their kid had a meltdown and that they are ableist. like nooo autism win means something like i found something cool out about my special interest or i managed to avoid a meltdown or i got to infodump!!!!! autism win is good!!!!!!
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don’t know what parent of an autistic child needs to hear this but as long as they’re not harming anyone your kid’s stimming is not a “problem behaviour”
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I grew up in the 90s where I constantly was told to "Be Weird!" Apparently I was supposed to be neurotypical weird, not autistic weird.
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We need to stop devaluing non-speaking communication.
I honestly believe that sign language should be taught in school. Non-speaking people aren't the only ones who benefit from it. Making the world a more accessible place helps all of us.
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Is Autism Speaks really as bad as people say it is?
Having been forced to deal with them and organizations like them, I can safely say “No.”
It is obscenely worse.
You see, any idiot can look at things like “we need a cure” and their anti-vaccination advocacy and realize how ridiculously stupid that it.
But that’s not what they sell to children’s hospitals. Instead, they push extremely unconventional medications to “help” autistic children (usually by sedating them into a catatonic state). I mentioned earlier that Risperidol eases overstimulation, but Autism Speaks doesn’t like Risperidol because it’s not controlling enough.
Autism Speaks absolutely loves “treatments” and “counselling” based around controlling everything autistic children do. Stimming, self-coping mechanisms, even strange and oddball quirks like kids who wear gloves everywhere, all of these are taken from them and doled out as privileges. It’s all about turning anything an autistic child likes into something they can control.
They treat these children like fucking animals and really enjoy forced isolation as a punishment. The IWK has several “Secure Isolation Rooms” that they will place autistic children in their care into for hours at a time unsupervised when they start acting out. And not “having a meltdown and might accidentally hurt someone” kind of acting out, even just mouthing off or getting lippy with a nurse.
I am personally convinced that the whole “cure” motto is a sham, because studies into Autism long ago disproved the theory that it was something that needed curing. Autism Speaks behaves more like a eugenics organization. And they are slippery bastards about it too.
I’ve had the displeasure of having to interact with them directly because they have such a stranglehold on Nova Scotia’s youth mental health that any counseling group inevitably gets calls from them. Speaking to them and hearing the tone with which they spoke about these poor kids made my fucking skin crawl.
If you’re an autistic child and they’re talking to your parents or counselor about you, they won’t even use your name. The Child, The Patient, and The Boy/Girl are all common ways to refer to these kids. On several occasions they’ve referred to some kid as “it.”
I’ve said before that Tumblr especially doesn’t quit know what Autism Speaks is, and that’s because their public persona is very carefully crafted. Their reputation is so cartoonish that doctors who don’t know better won’t believe it, and so they swoop in with a lot of pretty language and faux-politeness. The skeezy, contemptuous way they behave when they think they’re doing business is enough to make you fucking vomit.
You quickly learn why so many hospitals willingly work with them. They are very good at getting their claws into health care organizations because they have this almost sinister “Friendliness” to them, and when you combine this with the fact that a lot of child psychologists have absolutely no concern for the actual well-being of children (just making the parents happy so they continue footing the bill) you have a recipe for a truly horrifying experience.
I can’t fully articulate just how sickening they are. Take however bad you THINK they are, multiply it by a hundred, and then think about how Quentin Tarantino would inflate that to make a movie out of it.
That’s how fucking gross and vile they really are when they think nobody is watching.
~Lily
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I hate bitches who judge a stranger's morality based on their looks so much it's unreal
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Here’s a story about changelings:
Mary was a beautiful baby, sweet and affectionate, but by the time she’s three she’s turned difficult and strange, with fey moods and a stubborn mouth that screams and bites but never says mama. But her mother’s well-used to hard work with little thanks, and when the village gossips wag their tongues she just shrugs, and pulls her difficult child away from their precious, perfect blossoms, before the bites draw blood. Mary’s mother doesn’t drown her in a bucket of saltwater, and she doesn’t take up the silver knife the wife of the village priest leaves out for her one Sunday brunch.
She gives her daughter yarn, instead, and instead of a rowan stake through her inhuman heart she gives her a child’s first loom, oak and ash. She lets her vicious, uncooperative fairy daughter entertain herself with games of her own devising, in as much peace and comfort as either of them can manage.
Mary grows up strangely, as a strange child would, learning everything in all the wrong order, and biting a great deal more than she should. But she also learns to weave, and takes to it with a grand passion. Soon enough she knows more than her mother–which isn’t all that much–and is striking out into unknown territory, turning out odd new knots and weaves, patterns as complex as spiderwebs and spellrings.
“Aren’t you clever,” her mother says, of her work, and leaves her to her wool and flax and whatnot. Mary’s not biting anymore, and she smiles more than she frowns, and that’s about as much, her mother figures, as anyone should hope for from their child.
Mary still cries sometimes, when the other girls reject her for her strange graces, her odd slow way of talking, her restless reaching fluttering hands that have learned to spin but never to settle. The other girls call her freak, witchblood, hobgoblin.
“I don’t remember girls being quite so stupid when I was that age,” her mother says, brushing Mary’s hair smooth and steady like they’ve both learned to enjoy, smooth as a skein of silk. “Time was, you knew not to insult anyone you might need to flatter later. ‘Specially when you don’t know if they’re going to grow wings or horns or whatnot. Serve ‘em all right if you ever figure out curses.”
“I want to go back,” Mary says. “I want to go home, to where I came from, where there’s people like me. If I’m a fairy’s child I should be in fairyland, and no one would call me a freak.”
“Aye, well, I’d miss you though,” her mother says. “And I expect there’s stupid folk everywhere, even in fairyland. Cruel folk, too. You just have to make the best of things where you are, being my child instead.”
Mary learns to read well enough, in between the weaving, especially when her mother tracks down the traveling booktraders and comes home with slim, precious manuals on dyes and stains and mordants, on pigments and patterns, diagrams too arcane for her own eyes but which make her daughter’s eyes shine.
“We need an herb garden,” her daughter says, hands busy, flipping from page to page, pulling on her hair, twisting in her skirt, itching for a project. “Yarrow, and madder, and woad and weld…”
“Well, start digging,” her mother says. “Won’t do you a harm to get out of the house now’n then.”
Mary doesn’t like dirt but she’s learned determination well enough from her mother. She digs and digs, and plants what she’s given, and the first year doesn’t turn out so well but the second’s better, and by the third a cauldron’s always simmering something over the fire, and Mary’s taking in orders from girls five years older or more, turning out vivid bolts and spools and skeins of red and gold and blue, restless fingers dancing like they’ve summoned down the rainbow. Her mother figures she probably has.
“Just as well you never got the hang of curses,” she says, admiring her bright new skirts. “I like this sort of trick a lot better.”
Mary smiles, rocking back and forth on her heels, fingers already fluttering to find the next project.
She finally grows up tall and fair, if a bit stooped and squinty, and time and age seem to calm her unhappy mouth about as well as it does for human children. Word gets around she never lies or breaks a bargain, and if the first seems odd for a fairy’s child then the second one seems fit enough. The undyed stacks of taken orders grow taller, the dyed lots of filled orders grow brighter, the loom in the corner for Mary’s own creations grows stranger and more complex. Mary’s hands callus just like her mother’s, become as strong and tough and smooth as the oak and ash of her needles and frames, though they never fall still.
“Do you ever wonder what your real daughter would be like?” the priest’s wife asks, once.
Mary’s mother snorts. “She wouldn’t be worth a damn at weaving,” she says. “Lord knows I never was. No, I’ll keep what I’ve been given and thank the givers kindly. It was a fair enough trade for me. Good day, ma’am.”
Mary brings her mother sweet chamomile tea, that night, and a warm shawl in all the colors of a garden, and a hairbrush. In the morning, the priest’s son comes round, with payment for his mother’s pretty new dress and a shy smile just for Mary. He thinks her hair is nice, and her hands are even nicer, vibrant in their strength and skill and endless motion.
They all live happily ever after.
*
Here’s another story:
Keep reading
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how many times do we have to say "acting like an autistic character wouldnt know about sex is weird" until it actually sinks in and people stop saying autistic characters wouldnt know about sex
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Your parents are not "narcissists". They're typical authoritarian assholes who treat you like their property because society allows them to.
Your ex boyfriend is not a "narcissist". He's a typical misogynistic douchebag who treats women like shit because society allows him to.
Your boss is not a "narcissist". They're a typical classist dipshit who thinks workers' entire purpose in life is to generate profit because society allows them to.
And even if they happen to be a "narcissist", that's not what gave them the power to get away with abuse.
So stop blaming mental illness and start blaming society's normalization of abuse. Stop acting like someone has to have a mental illness in order to do something cruel when ordinary people have been doing atrocious things since forever.
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"All autistics have low empathy" - This statement is wrong.
"Autistics having low empathy is a MYTH, we actually have HIGH empathy!" - This statement is ALSO wrong.
Autistics can have low empathy, they can have high empathy, they can have learned empathy. The myth would be that all autistics only experience one end of the empathy spectrum.
In spreading around misinformation that autistics actually have high empathy, you are disregarding the autistics who do have low empathy. And vice versa.
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I love you people who show kindness because "it's what you're supposed to do". I love you people who show kindess because they like being thanked. I love you people who show kindness because it makes them feel good. I love you people who show kindness because they were shown kindness first. I love you people who show kindness for "selfish" reasons. I love you people who show kindness for the "wrong" reasons. I love you people who show kindness in a body that rejects the very notion. Your kindness is not any lesser because of its motivations. The good you added to the world is just as valuable as someone doing it for the "right" reasons. Your effort is seen. Your effort is valued.
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dear npd people with manipulative tendencies that theyre working on, i love you
dear npd people with manipulative tendencies that they can't work on, i love you
dear npd people with intrusive thoughts, i love you
dear npd people with a billion different blogs for all the possible attention, i love you
dear npd people with low or no empathy who dont try to mask it, i love you
dear npd people with low or no empathy who DO try to mask it, i love you
dear npd people who have been told they're wrong their whole lives, i love you
dear npd people, i love you
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