#came out to my neurotypical friend as autistic today and she was like “but you don’t act like one” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sundaynightlive · 10 months

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True Blue (Klance)

Live, laugh, stream Boygenius.

Disclaimer: I mention autism in this and that Keith might be on the spectrum. I'm not neurotypical but I don't believe I have autism, so if the way I did it was in any way insensitive, PLEASE lmk so I can rectify this. My roommate (and best friend) is autistic and while I don't necessarily know their experience I have spent a ton of time with them and have had long, in depth discussions about their experience which is why I felt comfortable writing it. It's a little in line with my own experience, which is why I think it might be slightly off? If it rubs you the wrong way, for sure drop a reply. Peace and love, sweetpeas <3

Also, can y'all tell I'm in a secret relationship? That obvious, huh.

It’s when everybody has dispersed back to their rooms, Shiro giving one last worried glance over his shoulder, that Keith finally walks up to the healing pod, pressing his forehead to the glass (or whatever clear, Altean material this thing's made of) and heaving a deep, shaky breath.

“Idiot,” he whispers.

Lance isn’t usually the kind of guy to be in the midst of the action. Keith’s sharpshooter tends to stick around the high ground and well-covered edges, but today has been an exception. The hallway of the ship had been tight, with little cover and little room to move. He found himself right there in it at Keith’s side, and for the most part he’d held his ground—blocking with his gun, tripping enemies, watching Keith’s back.

For a moment, a fleeting moment, Keith had actually felt incredible fighting at his boyfriend’s side.

And then that moment passed, and everything came to a screeching halt.

It’s a deep flesh wound in the meat of the shoulder, a puncture in the right thigh, and a broken rib. Not enough to kill, but enough to send Lance crashing into Keith’s side, out like a light—and more than enough to give Keith an absolute heart attack.

He sighs heavily, and crumples in on himself to the floor. He’s tired, bruised, and worried. Lance is going to be fine, he knows (he does), but that doesn’t stop the ache that crawls up and through his feet and hands and lungs.

He never wants to see Lance unconscious like that again.

A few hours later, Allura peeks in and tells him they’re having dinner. Keith isn’t the slightest bit hungry—actually, he’s rather comfortable, back pressed against the pod, drifting in and out of sleep and distant memory.

“I’m okay.”

She frowns.

“You should come eat, and change,” she says. Keith shakes his head. No way. Absolutely not. He’s not going anywhere until Lance can come with him, and if it gets too dire, there’s a bathroom a few feet away. A shower, even.

That’s good enough for him.

“He’s alright, Keith,” Allura tries, “Just a few days in there and he’ll be—”

“I know,” Keith interrupts. She regards him for a moment, a long look of concern and confusion, and then relents with a heavy sigh.

“Alright. If you need anything—”

“I know,” Keith repeats.

She hesitates a few moments, and then leaves. Keith closes his eyes, and rests his head back against the pod that contains his boyfriend.

8 months earlier Lance McClain had entered Keith’s room, unannounced, and miraculously ducked out of the way of a boot flying towards his head with worrying accuracy.

“If you’re here to gloat, get it over with,” Keith hissed in his direction, a wild, untamed anger alight in his eyes. He’s… frustratingly beautiful, Keith, with his mullet of dark hair, indigo eyes, and lean muscle. He’s half-dressed, the top part of his flight suit hanging from his waist. Lance tries not to look down at his chest, and fails miserably.

He swallowed that away.

“Keith—”

“Actually, you know what?” Keith basically charged at him, which was terrifying for the first few moments. A finger pressed firmly into Lance’s chest, and he took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. He really didnt' want Keith to hit him—that would be a worst case scenario. “Fuck you. Every other mission you’re the fuck up, so I don’t want to hear—”

“I’m not here to gloat,” Lance said, shame and embarrassment burning something fierce in his gut at being called a fuck up. It was difficult, but he swallowed that away, too. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

That's when Keith faltered.

The finger retracted, and so did the boy, stalking over to sit heavily on the edge of his bed, and then burrying his face in his hands. There was a few moments of silence, and then Lance followed, sitting gently down next to him, putting a warm hand on his back.

He wanted, then, to smooth his hand down porcelain skin, but he refrained.

“I… know what it’s like for someone you look up to to chew you out like that,” Lance explained softly, “And Shiro’s not really a big brother to me, or anything, but I know if Marco or Luis were that hard on me… especially for something so stupid—”

“It wasn’t stupid,” Keith argued, rubbing his face and then looking up at him. Lance swallowed again—Keith was so pretty it was fucking with Lance’s head. Damn this stupid crush he had—it was interfering with his ability to be an effective teammate. He wanted this to be more than that.

Which was so not cool, at least not now.

“I fucked up. Big time.”

“That doesn’t mean he should yell at you like that in front of the whole team. Especially when the whole issue was communication.”

“I should’ve known better.”

“How?” Lance deadpanned. Keith’s eyebrows scrunched up, and he turned to study the wall, as if he was really contemplating. Here’s what had happened—

They planned to infiltrate from different points of the ship, and take it quietly so as to not alert any other nearby patrol ships or junkers. Then, with free range of the ship and a hostage situation, Keith and Pidge would be free to search through databases and stockpiles to see what tech or resources the Galra had been laundering through—a fairly simple endeavor.

What they had not accounted for, however, were the Galra mercenaries posted in certain sectors of the ship. When Shiro had gone to warn Keith of this over the comms, Keith had taken that as—the plan has changed, we’re pursuing action against these mercenaries, and upon following that mindset, had landed him and Pidge in the middle of combat they had not been prepared for, and alerted the ship’s staff before Shiro had gained full control of the hull. This made for a spiral of chaos that was swiftly quelled, but apparently got on Shiro’s nerves, even though the mission had been overall successful.

He was always so worried about unnecessary casualties. Fair, Lance supposes, but they are in the middle of literal war.

“I… don’t know,” Keith admitted finally, “I could have… hesitated?”

“And gotten you both killed?” Lance asked. Keith sighed. He flopped back and Lance followed suit, stretching a little bit. Keith was so close Lance could feel the body heat wafting off his torso. He tried not to think about it too much.

Too much was a relative term.

“Whatever, I’m over it. Let’s talk about something else—what are Marco and Luis like?”

And the rest is history.

They spent the next two months connected at the hip, or at least, sneaking into each other’s rooms late at night to talk about everything and nothing. If Keith needed to vent, he went to Lance, and vice versa. If they were bored, they found each other in an empty part of the castle and found something to entertain them. If Hunk or Pidge were being shitty, or Shiro was being too much, or Allura was being especially pushy, they would give each other matching looks, and go giggle about it elsewhere.

It was wildly beneficial, for Lance, at least. He stopped feeling lonely, and he stopped feeling useless. Not only did Keith convince him vocally he was a necessary addition to the team, but just being friends with him made Lance feel like if nothing else, Keith needed him. Keith liked having him around.

And that was more than enough.

Lance was Keith’s first real experience having a friend. He had a dad, he had a brother, but Lance was a friend. He chose.

Keith could never have avoided falling in love with him.

Being with Lance was easy in a way that’s hard to explain if you don’t already know what he means. Like the way breathing is easy. Keith didn’t even have to try to do it, he just did it.

That, for him, was love.

He’d never really been good with people, or at reading people, or at understanding arbitrary social rules and expectations. It just didn’t… click for him. But with Lance, it didn’t have to click.

“That… kind of upsets me,” Lance said.

Keith started. He looked up from where he was sprawled on the floor, perplexed.

“What?”

“What you just said,” Lance explained, “That I’m the “comic relief” or whatever.” Keith furrowed his brow. His first instinct was to defend himself, and explain why it didnt' make sense that Lance was offended by that, but he stopped himself. They’ve talked about that--getting defensive about other people’s feelings instead of listening to them.

Lance was looking at him expectantly.

“I’m… sorry,” Keith said, finally, “Why?” A distant cousin of a smile passed over Lance’s features for a moment, and then he shrugged.

“I don’t know. I guess it makes me feel like… a joke to you guys.” Keith’s eyes widened. That was not even remotely what he’d meant by it. He was fairly certain that’s not what anyone meant by it, but he supposed he can see that side.

Jeez, had Lance thought that the whole time?

“Of course you’re not a joke to me—us,” Keith corrected, feeling a bit of warmth creep into his cheeks, “I’m… sorry.”

“Getting better,” Lance praised, “What did you mean, then?”

“Well,” Keith said slowly, because what did he mean? “I thought we were just saying you’re good at lightening the mood, you know? It would be… really quiet and depressing without you.” Lance nodded, but he didn't look entirely convinced.

“Well… thanks, I guess.”

“I won’t say it again,” Keith said firmly, because how could he? Lance thinking he was a joke was just about the last thing Keith wanted—he felt bad enough about calling him a fuck up a few weeks ago, even worse now. Damn it, had they all been operating under the assumption Lance got that these were all jokes? Less than jokes, even.

Fuck.

“Thanks, man. That means… a lot.” Keith laid back down, flat on his back, staring up at Lance’s ceiling. The glow in the dark star stickers weren't glowing because it wasn't dark, but he still felt a little warmth at seeing them there. Ironic that Lance could just go to the hull and stare at a hundred-billion real ones, but incredibly endearing besides.

His insides twisted up.

Fuck number two.

“Hey, Lance?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Thanks for telling me.”

“Telling you what?”

“That what I said upset you,” Keith explained softly, staring up at those stars, hoping Lance wasn't looking at him. He was pink—very pink. “I don’t really… get when I’ve said something shitty. And most people just get offended and stop talking to me.” Lance laughed a little at that.

“My niece, Nadia, is on the spectrum. You know, autism? She’s just like that—she struggles with social cues, so we walk her through it just like I did with you. It’s really no problem—actually, it’s the least I can do.”

Keith tried to work out what he meant by that, but he couldn't, so he just stared up at the ceiling for a few quiet moments, contemplating. He wanted to live in Lance’s space forever. He wanted to stay in this room with him, silently existing near each other, no words necessary. Nothing necessary.

God, what did that mean?

“Do you think I could be on the spectrum?”

He heard Lance’s shrug against the mattress.

“Maybe.”

And nothing more was said about it.

Lance kissed Keith for the first time two months after that day in his room, and when Keith melted headfirst into it, he nearly broke away to jump for joy. He didn’t read the signs wrong—this was happening. He and Keith were happening.

“I like you,” Lance said when the kiss broke, “I like you so much.”

“Got that,” Keith replied, pressing his forehead into Lance’s. Lance felt giddy and warm and buzzed all over. He felt like he could fly—like he could launch Blue a thousand feet in the air and jump off and soar. He dragged his fingers over Keith’s neck and through his hair and across his cheeks, almost like he was checking to make sure this was real.

It was real.

“Kiss me again,” Keith breathed, and so Lance obliged him. He’d do anything the boy asked. Forever.

“Did I say stop?”

“No, sir.”

Keith stays in the infirmary for the next 72 hours. Shiro worriedly brings him a change of clothes and Hunk drops by with the occasional meal. They keep insisting that he leave, that Lance is fine, that it wasn’t his fault—he knows that. He didn’t stab Lance, that’s obvious.

They don’t understand when he tells them no.

At first, keeping their relationship a secret was just a means of making sure when they did tell everyone, they’d have a few months under their belt as proof that this was serious, and not a terrible, Voltron-ending fling.

Then it became second nature.

Just as their friendship had been, it became familiar and meaningful to keep their personal relationship to themselves. They were each other’s safe space, and as such, it didn’t feel right to go around announcing to the world that they found comfort in each other. Hell, it felt invasive to even think about.

It feels invasive even now. That’s why he doesn’t explain himself—he just let’s the team think he’s gone completely nuts, and makes himself comfortable at the base of the cryopod, occasionally gazing up at his beautiful boyfriend, looking so peaceful.

In the 74th hour, Lance wakes up.

“I seriously think that shit is bad for humans,” is the first thing he grumbles as Keith helps him out and down onto solid ground, “God, it feels like I have the worst hangover.” Keith can’t help but laugh a little, and Lance grins over at him. “Let me guess—you slept in here on the floor like a dumbass.”

Keith’s smile turns sheepish.

“I couldn’t leave you,” he explains softly, and Lance sighs, shaking his head.

“I’m okay. You, on the other hand, should’ve been sleeping in bed.”

“You were really hurt,” Keith argues as long tan arms slip loosely around his waist, “I was worried about you.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” Lance replies. Keith melts. He wraps his arms around his boyfriend and holds him close, careful to keep his face above Lance’s shoulder, no matter how badly he’d like to press his nose in it. Lance’s hands smooth over his back softly, and he almost shudders at how nice it feels. It’s so good to be back in Lance’s arms after the past three days of watching him in that pod, so close and yet impossibly far.

Lance presses a kiss to the side of his head. He feels at home.

They stay like that for a while, safely inside each others’ embrace, breath intermingling, and bodies coming loose—Lance from the stiffness that comes with being inside that stupid tube for many hours, Keith from stress.

“Hey, Lance?”

“Mmm?”

“I love you.”

Lance presses another kiss to the side of Keith’s head. He had said it long before this, absolutely ages ago. Not even two months into their relationship—

I love you. Don’t say it back—I wanna watch you fall.

And here Keith is, at the bottom, resting safely in Lance's arms.

“I know, mi amor. I know.”

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she-waves-at-cats · 1 year

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Ok, I really want to talk about it. I have thoughts that will rot my brain if i don't get them out.

I had a meltdown in karate class. (My entry for the "most autistic sentence ever uttered" contest if someone wants to organise one.)

It was my first experience of public overwhelm since my autistic realisation, so I can now see these events from a new perspective.

The how and the why: Intense day of mostly-positive experiences that included a phonecall (omg) with a job recruiter who was extremely nice to me. Also I forgot to eat lunch. By the time the evening class rolled around, I was in a good mood overall, but my brain had had enough I guess, so it started "shrinking". It was hard to coordinate movements, which stressed me out, so it was hard to recall movement sequences, which stressed me out, then we did an exercise with a partner and I was self-conscious, so I just froze... And then the teacher took notice, so he took time to individually drill me in basics, which was what pushed me over the edge. I know the basics, I'm so good at this stuff actually. I have more theoretical knowledge than any other student in that room, and he knows that, but seeing me fail once made him forget about all that. I cried. He lectured me, publically.

Here's something he thought was appropriate to say: "You're not supposed to be crying, you're supposed to enjoy the class."

Isn't this the most controlling, gaslighting bullshit an authority figure can say? You're not experiencing appropriate emotions, so I will now remind you what emotions you're supposed to experience. And I used to swallow things like that, hook, line and sinker. I used to grab myself by my own nonexistent bootstraps and beat myself into expressing emotions others can comprehend. That's what masking is, not a happy acting exercise, it's violence that you are convinced you have to exert on yourself.

But my real conclusion is that while up to a point, I could've prevented this event if I had read my own clues better (positive stress is still stress, and I was not careful managing my resources because I thought happiness was giving me more resources), OTHER PEOPLE MADE IT WORSE.

The teacher could've just let me do the exercises badly for one day. He could've just given me corrections like normal, without worrying I was not immediately improving. Without making it a whole thing where he pairs me up with another student specifically to watch me and correct me. And it's not like I didn't say "remembering things is hard for me today". He just didn't get that it means "leave me alone today, tomorrow I will remember things again". He did extra work with me that was completely useless.

And when I took my bag and left, the other female student followed me, wanting to know what happened, not taking "just a stressful day" for an explanation, kept asking if I was definitely ok, disparaged the men in the class for not knowing how to take care of a female friend, and then offered me a ride home. I let her drive me - I'd wanted to be her friend and was actually frustrated that she always came late to class and left immediately after, so we never had a chance to connect before. But man, was it hard to think of things to say in that car, when my mind was the size of a pea and my memory behind 3 vault doors.

It took a whole night of processing and then a whole day of being quiet and treating myself gently until I felt like myself again. If people had just left me alone, there would've been nothing special to process and recover from. I would've had a mediocre class, then taken a long walk home and remembered I was basically happy.

Showing that I struggled wasn't WRONG, exactly, but the problem is that if I show struggle, or god forbid a tear, people react in ways that make it impossible for me to calm down. And the worst thing is that none of the people in this story are neurotypical - we're adult karate nerds after all - but neurotypical methods of dealing with emotions are so ingrained in us, we think we will let a friend down if we don't pester them for more emotional work when they are already at their emotional limit.

I used to think that to get the support I want, I needed to communicate better. That day, I communicated. I was so articulate for someone who can barely think and talk. But people did not accept my true words at face value.

What we need is more education about autism before there's acceptance of alternative ways of experiencing stress and processing emotions. We are only taught neurotypical communication, to the point where we hurt each other.

#autism #actuallyautistic #autistic adult #autistic problems #autistic solutions #meltdown #i think i need a new tag for original text posts #lynn's words #that's my name

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icanonlybe-human · 2 years

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Today was great until it was crap.

My parents and I spent the day at the cinema, ended up watching two movies. Dad made me feel bad about making him watch the 1st movie. Mum made me feel bad about info dumping on her about the background of the first movie. The second movie was fine. I got home and started thinking about the relentless death March of time and how I truly despise it. How much I wanted to stay in that sweet moment.

So, I’ve been having the usual shit that comes with staying in The Godforsaken Bed. Like, yes it sucks when I have to deal with the usual shit every night (severe anxiety, clinical depression that is becoming drug resistant, agoraphobia, PTSD as well as the usual problems with having autism and ADHD), but having the PTSD and anxiety on higher alert than usual sucks. But you know what sucks more? When you’ve got all that going on normally only for it to be worsened ten-fold due to the general shitshow of your life.

So, my cousin texted me about the Mother’s Day gift I gave Nan. It was meant to be a lighthearted text but ended with me having a meltdown. The gift we were talking about has a swear word on it and Nan refuses to use it. Everyone laughs about it, but Nan keeps joking about how she wants to take it to the Op Shop. Except, tonight it didn’t feel like a joke when my cousin mentioned it. Because yesterday, when Nan was talking about taking it to the Op Shop in front of me, I said she couldn’t take it to the Op Shop. She said “but I can’t wear them, dahl”. And, I know it sounds stupid, but it sounded so sincere that she really didn’t want my present. So that, paired with a thing that happened last weekend (another thing I accidentally did to upset Nan, surprise surprise) that the family kept teasing me about made me feel like a useless pile of shit covered trash. So I was feeling crap about all of that, started crying in front of my parents and Mum told me that I was overthinking things again and to cut it out. Right, because telling me something I already know is so fucking helpful /sarcasm

Then, I vented on an autistic chat on discord and realised that the only person who has genuinely asked if I was okay this year (we’re now in the 6th month of the year), was a guy I met on the internet. Like, don’t get me wrong, I love them for being there for me even though they don’t really know me (yet knows parts of me no one else could ever understand), and the fact that I have someone like that in my life. But… the fact that I have real life friends and family who say they care about me and yet don’t check in on me even though I check on them… it hurts like fucking hell. The fact that I was openly crying in front of my parents and they couldn’t give a bigger shit - these the people who created me and raised me and literally paid for me to exist and are meant to care the most.

No one ever cares properly until you say you’re going to off yourself. And then it’s “why would you ever do that? You have so many people that love you!” Real love, is giving a shit when someone else is hurting, broken, in pain and literally crying out for help. Love isn’t stating the obvious or asking where thoughts came from when someone has a meltdown. Love is supporting people. I don’t have that, with anyone it seems. Except for some random I met on the internet.

Now tell me, how am I supposed to not be suicidal when this is happening in the lead up to that thought process. When it comes to this stuff, it isn’t “I suddenly want to d*e for no reason. There is a long build up before, and there is an after. And if we choose to live, then we have to deal with the same shit we had to deal with beforehand before people only give a shit for a fleeting moment when you tell them just how sick you are.

It seems in my survival effort to become invisible to neurotypicals, I have become too invisible - even to my parents and family and supposed friends.

You always feel the most alone when you are surrounded by people you know… and they don’t notice or care about you.

I hope this made sense, I’m a bit sleep deprived at the moment. And emotional.

#diary #journal

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notmuchofarolemodel · 3 years

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music- sia’s movie

originally written on jan 24 2021

I can’t believe i’m writing about this. again.

So, if you didn’t already know, Sia directed a movie about an autistic girl, starring Maddie Ziegler. This is problematic for so many reasons, including the fact that Maddie is allistic (not autistic), Sia did next to no research on autism before directing the movie, and after announcing the movie, she took to twitter and attacked autistic people voicing their opinions. But she’s done so many more awful things since. So yay, article by me, the sequel. /s

Sia has done a few interviews over the last while about her movie and has responded to criticism about it. (very badly.)

Despite her claims, Sia was never going to cast an autistic actor in the first place. She said:

“I realized it wasn’t ableism [Casting Maddie]. I mean, it is ableism I guess as well, but it’s actually nepotism because I can’t do a project without her. I don’t want to. I wouldn’t make art if it didn’t include her.”

It was also found that Sia said had written a film for Maddie a long time ago- in 2015- which almost certainly means she never had any intentions of casting an autistic person.

The plot of the movie, and a clip have both been leaked since the release of the trailer in November.

‘Music’ falls back on harmful Hollywood sterotypes again, and again- but yet, after it was no longer fresh news, almost nobody but the autistic community was talking about it. It’s still set to be released soon this year, but stereotypes such as ‘autism = special/savant abilities’ as seen in Rain man, and ‘Autistic people don’t have feelings’ - are ones that lead to underdiagnosis, and biases in the professional world.

“We are particularly alarmed that Sia has said it would be ‘cruel’ to cast a nonspeaking autistic person as an actor. It suggests that she thinks that autistic people don’t understand our own lives and aren’t the people who should be telling our own stories. When people tell stories about autism that cut out an autistic point of view, when storytellers view us as objects to tell inspirational stories about, or when autism is treated as a narrative device rather than as a disability community full of real people, the stories that are told fall flat, don’t speak to our reality, and are often harmful to us.” -Zoe Gross, ASAN

Sia refused to refer to her main character as disabled, and only used the term ‘special abilities’ which just further proves how these sterotypes affect people’s view of autistic people. In today’s society, autism is a disability, and that’s not a bad thing. She also described the film as “Rainman, the musical- but with girls”

There are several meltdown scenes in the movie, and one of them has been leaked in a clip. In this, Music is having a meltdown in a park, and she is then held in prone restraint. Meaning she was jumped on top of and pinned to the ground. This was not only unnecessary, but potentially deadly. This film is going to be big, if it gets released, and it was very much made for a neurotypical audience’s enjoyment. People will likely see this movie, and think that restraining an autistic person is ok. It’s not. This is how people get killed. Recently a story came up about Eric Parsa, a 16 year old autistic boy who was killed at the hands of the police last year, after they used this ‘technique’ on him.

Regarding this scene Sia said, “If they [cinema-goers] watch the movie, it will allow them to touch into their compassion. That scene was so important to me, because of all the people staring. I felt compelled to put it in.”

This is why people need to listen and learn from actual autistic people. There’s so much dangerous misinformation out there, and it’s unacceptable. There is nothing ‘compassionate’ about harming people, and autistic people are people. i.e people who deserve the same rights and dignity as everyone else.

Sia continues to further dehumanize autistic people by constantly talking about ‘levels of functioning’. humans are impossibly complex, and there’s no one way to function. In an interview with Sia, nonspeaking autistic people are compared to ‘inanimate objects, like wigs’.

Sia also said “People functioning at Music’s level can’t get on Twitter and tell me I did a good job either.” This is untrue, firstly because, again- there’s no one way to function, and just because a person can’t speak, doen’t mean they don’t have a right to opinions, and feelings (and it definitely doesn’t mean they should be compared to ‘inanimate objects’), and secondly because many nonspeaking autistic people have taken to twitter and social media to tell her she’s done a bad job, she’s just chosen to ignore and insult them.

This whole thing is so infuriating, and it’s very obvious that Sia does not care about autistic people.

“Sia being ableist AF while claiming she meant well is some serious abled savior bullshit. I can’t believe so many people green-lit this project & the press team approved the ‘special abilities’ language. Disabled people clearly weren’t part of this production team.” -Kristen Parisi via twitter

She also claimed she decided to make the movie because she was inspired by a 16-year-old named Stevie that she met at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. “Stevie used to sit next to me in the front row at my AA meetings. He was low-functioning and on the spectrum with echolalia; he’s the reason I wanted to make this movie,” she said. Autistic people don’t exist simply to be inspiring or make you feel good about yourself. We’re people, who just want to go about our lives, the same as anyone else- we don’t need a cure and we don’t need to fit people’s idea of what autism is, just let us be, please.

Finally, I’m just going to touch on the question ‘Why isn’t any criticism being directed at Maddie?’ This is because she likely didn’t have much say in the film at all. Keep in mind that she was only 13/14 at the start of this project. Sia also said Maddie was worried that people would think she was mocking autistic people. The film is a mockery of autistic people, but Sia is at fault.

“She had researched her role for two years, we watched movies together, and I taught her the nuances and ticks I had observed from [a] friend [with autism],” Sia said. “We did this in the most sensitive and respectful way.”

I can confirm that that is very much not sensitive and respectful- not to mention that Maddie also watched autism meltdowns as a part of her reseach too (filming a meltdown is incredibly dehumanizing) , but the fact that she learned how to ‘act autistic’ from sterotypes, taught to her by a person who just, doesn’t know anything about autism is awful, but also quite absurd. It makes no sense.

No, I do not wish to watch an abled-bodied actor wear my stims like itchy clothes. A caricature of my being.

No, I do not want to see her dance around in skin not her own, profiting from a life not her own.

No, I do not wish to support yet another film that will profit off the lives of disabled bodies without one disabled body involved. -tiffany hammond

I recieved quite a bit of backlash when I posted the first time about why casting a nondisabled actor for a disabled role is bad- from allistic people, so if any of you are reading this as nondisabled people- I literally do not care if you disagree, you don’t get to dictate how autistic people feel. Try a little harder to get out of your own head and see things from another person’s perspective xx

Now, for the love of God, please don’t watch this movie if it comes out in February, and listen to Autistic voices. : Here is a thread of positive autistic representation instead :)

click here for thread!

Sign the Petition

Filming & posting videos of children's autism meltdowns on YouTube is a clear violation of YouTube's community…www.change.org

link

Sign the Petition

Sia has announced she is directing a movie about an autistic woman, and claims she wants to represent the…www.change.org

all other relevant links are linked within the underlined text.

my original article - link

#actuallyautistic #siadoesntspeakforus #siamusic #autism #neurodiversity #nothing about us without us #actually disabled #disabled representation

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sweetandsavageautistic · 3 years

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(CW: Autism Martyr Parent, hell mention, self-harm mention)

So I was searching for if people’d go to hell for being autistic because I was going to a church fall festival (I asked the pastor if I’d go to hell for being autistic and he said no, so there’s that) and I came across this:

https://faithmummy.wordpress.com/2017/10/15/i-dont-want-to-be-an-autism-parent-anymore/

*big-ass inhale of frustration.*

Okay.....let’s take this in bits.

“*Preface: have you ever felt overwhelmed with life? I have. Of course I love my son with all my heart, I should never need to even justify that, but living with a child with severe autism is hard. I do not need threats made to my life or my child’s because I find some days hard. Comments like that will not be approved.

And for the record I don’t always feel like this but I am human and some days this is exactly how it is. *”

Okay, that’s understandable. You’re allowed to voice that it’s difficult. You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed. That’s valid. If the post continued like this, I’d be fine with it, but she calls herself an Autism Parent, so.....brace yourselves.

“The day started far too early. There was no sweet cuddles in bed or a little voice asking for a drink; no I was woken as usual by screaming. I have had day after day, month after month, year after year of being woken by screaming and I don’t want that anymore.“

That’s also valid, but at the same time, he’s trying to communicate with you. He’s trying to communicate his needs. He might not have any other method of communication, whether it’s the only way he knows how to communicate or that he lacks the proper tools to communicate.

“I don’t want to wake up to a smell that would make you want to vomit and bedding that is fit for the bin more than the washing machine, because yet again it is covered in something that ought not to be seen by anyone else. I am so tired of that now.“

That just is how it is sometimes. You gotta deal with that.

“I don’t want to sit on my couch in the middle of the night looking at my child and wondering what I did to have a child who sees no point in sleeping, who at 8 still can’t say ‘mama’ and who still thinks the world revolves around his needs only.”

This is where I get pissed. You’re basically saying that your son is a punishment for you. You’re calling him a burden. But it’s the last bit that boils my blood.

“who still thinks the world revolves around his needs only.”

This is where I say “Fuck. You.” You’re making him sound selfish. Us autistic people generally have trouble communicating our needs because neurotypicals don’t seem to fucking listen. You’re making it sound like he’s arrogant and a narcissist. If you’re looking for that, look in a fucking mirror.

“I love him more than words could ever convey but I don’t want to be an autism mum anymore.”

You love him and yet you just said you wonder what you did to have a child like him? That shit doesn’t add up.

“I want to be a mum who has fun with her child rather than doing therapy with them.

“I want to walk my son to school and talk to his friends instead of sending him in a taxi to a place where I am a stranger to them.

“I want to be able to talk to my child about the fact it is his birthday soon and discuss what he would like to do to mark that day.

“I want to be someone who takes my child to bowling, teaches them to ride a bike or even goes to the movies with them. Instead the only place I ever take him to is hospitals or respite.”

This one’s a double-edged sword. On one hand, yeah, your child having to miss out on those things sucks. On the other hand, the subtext is indicating that this is about YOU, not your child.

“I am tired of missing out on everything. I am tired of never having party invites, knowing nothing about his day at school, having to still dress him, having to take adult nappies and wipes with me wherever I go.“

No, you’re tired of not being able to live vicariously through him, as shown by you saying YOU are tired of missing out on everything.

“I don’t want to be an autism parent anymore.

“I am tired of holding my child as he screams in public again.

“I am tired of the never ending judgement, the stares and the horrid comments.

“I am am tired of carrying around my broken heart as a result of the interventions and therapies having achieved nothing.

“I simply can not bear the thought of my child as an adult knowing what society is like.

“I am tired of meetings.

“I am tired of phone calls from his school.

“I am tired of fighting for everything but then being accused as having an attitude or people thinking I act like I am entitled.”

Have you ever considered WHY he’s screaming in public? Have you ever considered that he’s trying to communicate or that he’s overwhelmed?

“I don’t want my child to have autism anymore. This is not a ‘different way of seeing the world’ that he has, or ‘a wonderful gift’. This is a child about to be 9 years old who can not say ‘mum’ or use a bathroom himself. This is a child almost my height who still can’t put his own clothes on, brush his own teeth or dry himself after a bath. This is a child who can never ever be left alone, who has to have everything the same all the time, who self harms and wanders. This is a child still with the mind of a toddler who will require others to look after him his entire life.“

EXCUSE ME? THE MIND OF A TODDLER? I don’t think he does. You said he needs to have everything the same all the time. He doesn’t have control over most of his life, so having that sense of stability and routine is likely comforting to him. I feel like in the back of his mind, he knows that. Also you can’t wish away his autism.

“Who would want that for their child?

“Who would want that as a parent?

“Today I don’t want to be an autism parent any more.

“The problem is I have no choice.”

MARTYR COMPLEX ALERT! MARTYR COMPLEX ALERT!

“So I strip that bed, bath that child, cook him that breakfast as I always do and let him sit on my knee while he rewinds the same ten seconds of video on you tube he did yesterday and the day before that and the day before that.“

Bath THAT child. “That child” has the same energy as “That thing.”

“Nothing changes much in my house, except my feelings.

“Today I am tired. I don’t want to be an autism parent today the same way any other parent may feel about not wanting to be the mum of a toddler who tantrums daily or a baby who has reflux or the partner to someone with Alzheimer’s. We all have days when we are just down about the life we have.”

Um, no. You don’t want to be an autism parent because it’s hard on you. You’re not thinking about your son. If you don’t want to be around someone because you only focus on how their disability makes things difficult for you and not taking their struggles into consideration, they deserve better.

“Yet we carry on. We dust ourselves down, search for some positives or listen to some music.

“Tomorrow is a new day. It will probably start off with screaming again too., but maybe tomorrow I will be stronger, more hopeful, more upbeat.

“Maybe tomorrow I will want to be the autism parent I need to be.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

So you just spent 90% of the blog post crying about how hard your life is because you see your child as a burden, and then you say “we carry on”? Are you for real?

This blog post is disgusting. It has one and a half valid points: the preface and that double-edged sword I mention. But that only makes up like 10% of the whole post. The other 90% is them creating a sob story to get pity and sympathy. They’re making themself out to be a victim.

Here’s a hot take: if you’re not willing to love your child because of something out of their control, like a disability or their sexual orientation or their gender identity, you shouldn’t become a parent. You can’t go into parenthood expecting the ideal family life. You can feel frustrated about the obstacles you face. That’s valid. But DO NOT demonize your child and/or make them out to be a burden.

#autism parent #autism martyr parent alert #autism #autistic #actually autistic #actuallyautistic #sweet and savage autistic

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emilymaypeck · 2 years

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Final Goodbyes: My Thoughts

Content warning: cancer, bereavement, grief.

So, this post is going to be something quite personal, and the contents of what I’m going to discuss might be upsetting for some of you - as a warning, I will be touching on on the topic of death and bereavement, and just how life has gone the last couple of days.

So today (12th February, 2022) started off quiet nicely - with it being my best friend’s birthday, as I mentioned in today’s earlier post. I got her “A Million Sloths” colouring book by Lulu Mayo, and she really loves it - and hopefully she’ll show me some of her glorious colouring-in in a few days.

But sadly, this isn’t really about her - this post is more focused on my step-mum. I call her step-mum, even though she and my dad aren’t married - they’ve been a couple for nearly 18 years now, so she might as well be my step-mum. Anyways, in October of 2017, we heard the news that she was diagnosed with Stage 3 lung cancer. That basically means that the cancer itself cannot be cured, and that it’s pretty much terminal.

For the past four and a half years, she’s been through chemotherapy, radiotherapy, immunotherapy... She’s had good days, bad days... Terrible days... Absolutely delightful days, such as seeing her beloved Liverpool FC win the Champions League, Super Cup, Club World Cup, Premier League (which was right before her birthday in 2020!) and she’s been lucky enough to see her two great-granddaughters being born, my dad’s first grandchild (my nephew)...

But this past year - second half of 2021, primarily - her condition had gotten worse, so much so, she became bed-bound, and she had to use a commode in order to relieve herself. Christmas came and went... And this last week, her condition has gone further downhill. A caffita was fitted to help her urinate - despite lack of eating and drinking - and pain relief was fitted through an IV tube. Since last night, she has been basically unresponsive. She can’t talk... She can’t drink, eat, urinate, or anything. But she is not in pain - she is serene, and comfortable. She’s there physically, but sadly not mentally. She’s completely out of it, and... We all know that she will be leaving us sooner rather than later.

We’ve had family and friends come down to my dad’s house for the last couple of days - all saying their goodbyes, and how much they love her, and how they’ll never forget her. I have shed some tears - but I know more will come. I’ve been round Thursday night, and this afternoon... And I do plan on seeing her tomorrow morning.

I wanted to get my thoughts out because its only been more recently that I’ve kind of accepted the fact that she will pass away soon, and that there’s nothing I can do. Grief and coping with death is difficult enough for a neurotypical individual, but being autistic, there’s been times in my past where a family member has passed away, and someone will say to me: “Oh, how come you haven’t cried yet?” or “Well you don’t seem upset about it.” That’s because it can take me time to process certain emotions - like, when my step-dad’s mother passed away in June of 2017, I didn’t cry until the day of her funeral when I saw her coffin being carried into the chapel... Which was in JULY of 2017. How I describe it is basically the experience of feeling too much of a certain emotion, and not knowing how to handle it, or how to convey it. Grief, and empathy are the main two I struggle with.

Tomorrow is quite possibly the last day I will ever have with my step-mum.. And that is a very strange feeling. Like, possibly, by this time tomorrow, she will have taken her last breath, and she will be gone. After her death, she’ll be picked up, taken to a crematorium, and be cremated - she’s not having a funeral, she’s made that very clear. But the second she releases her final breath, I will no longer have a step-mum in my life. Part of me is kind of relived that she’s not in pain, and that she’s going to be surrounded by loved ones, and she’ll let go when she’s ready...

But part of me dreads that final moment. I dread saying goodbye for the final time. I dread that final kiss on her cheek and forehead, and telling her “Thank you for being in my life for 18 years,” because... I know I will lose my strength and let it all out when that final breath is taken, and that heart stops beating. Its that final moment of seeing her breathing stop... And that kills me.

As Queen Elizabeth II once said:

“Grief is the price we pay for love.”

EDIT:

My dad just rang me.

8:10pm.

She's gone.

#grief #coping with loss #autism thoughts #cancer loss #coping with grief while being autistic #family #bereavement

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himbohargreeves · 3 years

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The link between diet and autism: a critical analysis of the recent Earth Locker episode and a chance for River to relive her lab report title writing days

Link to the original video

So as I already mentioned I’ve seen a few people talking about the recent episode of the Earth Locker (a podcast by Robert Sheehan, Tom Hopper, and Bryon Knight) where they talk with Tom and his wife Laura about their experiences raising their autistic son. I watched the whole episode and while there were a lot of good points made, there was also some misinformation, statements that were poorly explained and could be misinterpreted, and a couple of pretty harmful ideas put across which I’m gonna go into below.

Disclaimer one: I’m gonna be saying a lot of stuff that I’m not going to be posting sources for. This is because everything I’m saying comes from my experiences as an autistic person, my experiences working as a support worker for adults with autism where I am currently a key worker for two autistic individuals, my work related training on autism, mental health, and diet & nutrition, and my knowledge from my psychology degree in which I also spent a lot of time studying biology and physiology. This is all just stuff that I know, and at some point I might try to add some sources but I’m writing this fresh off watching and making notes on this video so my energy is already running a little low and I’d rather focus on getting my points across instead of having to take time to source every piece of information.

Disclaimer two: The purpose of this post isn’t to attack or defend any of the people involved in the podcast. This is also in no way a criticism of Tom and Laura’s parenting. This is purely a criticism of the discussion that took place on the podcast, not on any of the choices they’ve made for their son.

Disclaimer three: I’m going to be using the phrase “challenging behaviour” a lot while I’m explaining things as this is the term used in most modern research and is what we use at work. This basically describes any behaviour that causes harm to the individual or to other people around them, or behaviour that is detrimental to the individual’s wellbeing.

So the main thing I want to go into with this is the misinformation and misinterpretation of information that was central to the discussion in this podcast, and that was around the connection between diet and autism. Most of the things Tom and Laura said about the effects of diet weren’t incorrect, but it wasn’t explained accurately and missed out on some key points so let’s go:

In terms of whether diet can “cause” autism: no it can’t. There’s absolutely no evidence to suggest it does. It also can’t “worsen” autism because autism isn’t something that can get “worse” or “better”. A person with autism can develop and learn new skills and they can also regress (and diet can influence this, which I’ll go into further on), but an autistic person at a lower stage of development does not have “worse” autism than a person at a higher stage of development.

Poor diet can have an impact on autistic people in the same way as with neurotypical people. If we eat junk, we tend to feel like junk as a result, and when we feel like junk it can be harder to concentrate and carry out our usual day to day tasks. However, autistic people are also significantly more likely to suffer from digestive problems and food intolerances, and so for a lot of autistic people (or parents of autistic children) diet may be something that requires close attention. So saying that an autistic individual’s challenging behaviour could be a result of their diet isn’t necessarily untrue, but it does massively oversimplify the issue. The challenging behaviour is more likely a response to pain or discomfort, (as well as frustration if they are unable to communicate this), which is caused by a diet unsuitable for this specific individual, which is caused by an intolerance or digestive problem, which they were at greater risk of developing due to their autism. It’s worth mentioning that medical professionals still don’t know why this comorbidity exists.

So, referring back to Tom and Laura’s experience with their son, they were explaining that their son’s challenging behaviour spiked while he was on a high-sugar diet. Laura also added that he had been suffering from increasingly frequent infections in his ears and throat while eating these foods, which makes sense because high blood sugar levels can weaken the immune system and make us more susceptible to infections. They then explained that these infections stopped following a tonsillectomy and a change to a sugar-free diet, which then also lead to a complete reduction in their son’s challenging behaviours. Again, implying that the reduction in behaviours is a result of cutting out the sugar is oversimplifying. It’s most likely that their son’s challenging behaviours were a response to the pain the infections were causing, which may or may not have been linked to his sugar intake. Either way, autistic people are all individuals and so while a reduction in sugar intake has benefited their son, by no means does that mean that all autistic people should be following a low-sugar diet or that this would be beneficial for them.

This isn’t entirely on topic but there are two other things I want to address in terms of what Tom and Laura said while talking about their son, the first being when talking about their initial approach to their children's’ diet before they were aware that their son was autistic. Laura essentially said that she wanted their children to be able to try different foods and that the focus would be on education about health and diet rather than cutting “unhealthy” foods out of their diets completely, which I thought was a great way to approach things. However she then added that, had they known about their son’s autism at the time, they may have approached things differently, which I was confused about. I think (and hope) she was just trying to say that if they had known upfront that sugar particularly seemed to be detrimental to their son, they would have reduced that straight away rather than having to use a process of trial and error which makes sense, but just the way it was phrased set off alarm bells because it sounded like she was implying that they would have controlled his diet more strictly if they had known he was autistic. Hopefully this isn’t the case because autistic people don’t need to have their choices limited if there is no detriment to their health or wellbeing.

Another thing I was confused about, and I’m not sure if this was supposed to be more of a weird analogy rather than factual information, was when Tom started talking about “sensory glands” when talking about their son’s hypersensitivity to sounds. I think his exact words were something along the line of saying that the high sugar levels were causing his “sensory glands” to “swell” which was heightening his sensitivity. And like... unless I missed something there is no such thing as a sensory gland and they certainly don’t swell up when we’re over stimulated or when we have a lot of sugar. Sugar triggers high dopamine responses in our brains which then leads to cravings and can cause spikes and crashes in mood, and it can also cause inflammation, all of which can cause discomfort and in turn could lead to an increase in sensitivity, but as far as I know sugar doesn’t have a direct effect on our senses.

Now on to the elephant in the room and the two big, glaring no-no's in this podcast, both of which were said by Tom (these are not direct quotes because I didn’t get a chance to jot them down in time so I’m paraphrasing slightly):

“we cannot ignore the correlation between rising autism rates and the increase in fast food consumption” (spoiler alert: yes we can)

“I really want to get to the cause of autism and see if there’s something that can be done to prevent it”

So, first of all, autism isn’t something that needs to be prevented. Autistic people are not a detriment to society. We don’t have an illness, we just experience the world differently and, in some cases, require additional support to live our lives as fully as possible. Obviously it can’t be ruled out that fast food, or anything else, has a part to play in rising rates, but there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that it does and correlation absolutely does not equal causation. Gay representation in the media has also been steadily rising with rates of autism diagnosis. Does this mean that seeing gay people on TV makes people autistic? No. As Laura briefly mentioned, it is far more likely that the rising rates are actually due to an increase in understanding about autism and the accessibility of diagnosis, especially when you consider how many people are still slipping under the radar even with all the knowledge we have today.

I appreciate that most of this podcast is just a conversation between friends about various topics, but when the goal of this podcast is to “raise awareness”, and with the shared platform the people involved have, casual statements like these are incredibly dangerous. With the general implication that if everyone lived a healthy, clean, and organic lifestyle, we could reduce the number of autistic people in our society, this not only puts the “blame” on parents of autistic people, and on the individuals themselves, but is also dipping into eugenics territory. And while I don’t think the intentions behind either statement were malicious, they were incredibly ignorant, and the fact that they went completely unchallenged was concerning and made me pretty uncomfortable.

There were still a lot of positives in the podcast. I’m really glad Laura was also involved because she definitely came across as being the most educated on the subject of the four of them and did make a point of bringing up issues with diagnosis (particularly among girls with autism), her and Tom’s privilege in terms of being able to work with doctor’s to find out as much as possible about their son’s dietary needs and to then provide him with a tailored diet, and also addressing the issues with “high functioning vs low functioning” when Rob asked about the “severity” of their son’s autism. However there was still an undeniable amount of inaccurate or poorly presented information, as well as some things that were just plain incorrect and offensive. I appreciate that a lot of this was coming from personal experience rather than being generalised information, but I think this could have been communicated a lot more clearly and effectively considering the intention was to spread awareness, and the episode would have massively benefitted from the input of an autistic adult. Rob specifically had a lot of questions about autism in general and I think they would have been much better answered by somebody with autism, rather than a parent giving an outside perspective of their child’s experiences. It’s always a little uncomfortable to watch four neurotypical people discuss autism, regardless of how positive their intentions are, and I don’t think it would have been a great challenge for them to find an autistic person who would have been willing to talk about the topic with them.

#YES it took me two hours to write this NO I won't elaborate #tom hopper #robert sheehan #the earth locker

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vincent-g-writer · 3 years

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The Silver Screen Savant: Thoughts on Hollywood Autism, Pt. 1

When I was a child, I didn’t fit in.

A common statement, many people empathize with. However, to say “I didn’t fit in,” is a gross understatement. I stuck out like a sore thumb, and at times, still do. Now, why was this, you may ask? Well, there are things I could name. A banal little checklist of traits and characteristics would probably do the trick. But I’m not sure that would do it justice. So I’ll tell you what it felt like:

I had trouble reading facial expressions, because people’s face, and hands, and body would say one thing, while their words said another. Smiles that didn’t reach the eyes. Laughs that were a little too hearty, or loud, or hollow. Disingenuous conversations and actions frustrated me. If lying was wrong, why were, as my mother used to call them “little white lies” acceptable? Why did we smile and thank our new neighbors for their homemade casserole dish, before promptly throwing it away when they left? These things, and many others, puzzled me. But the thing that puzzled me the most, was interacting with my peers. I didn’t understand the sensation of a hundred million bees, pricking me with electric anxiety when I went to school, or played with children in the neighborhood. I didn’t understand why they weren’t constantly talking, wondering, asking- about everything. I didn’t understand how their minds worked. Most of all, I didn’t understand why it physically hurt me to look into people’s eyes, child and adult alike. On the other hand, I did notice they didn’t like me very much. “You’re weird,” they would sneer. Or “you talk too much.” And, they were right. I knew they were. Even as I would wax poetic about all sorts of nonsense, like the difference between a cocoon and a chrysalis. I knew. But I couldn’t…I couldn’t shut myself off.

And that’s just one tiny example, of a lifetime.

Back then, if you’d asked what was “wrong” with me, on a good day, I would have shrugged. Other times, when I despised every fiber of my being, I’d parrot back the sentiments of my peers. “Freak,” “loser,” and “r*tard” were words I heard often. And for a long time, I believed them.

Today, I know differently. Not to say the above struggles no longer apply. If anything, some of them are worse. But now, I now longer blame or hate myself for being different. Now, I understand.

The Lightbulb Moment

In 2014, my daughter began speaking. She was four years old. Before then, she could say “dada,” “juice,” “two,” and “go.” The rest was garbled noises, when and if she made a sound. Most of the time, she didn’t. My wife and I were concerned, to say the least. But it wasn’t exactly a new worry. My princess never crawled, never pointed to get people’s attention, or show them things, and did not play with toys. Plus a host of other concerns. So we hopped on Google, and after about, oh, half an hour of research, got in touch with a doctor. Now, I feel like I must add the caveat here that we wanted to have her seen before then. However, many issues (including a bout of homelessness) prevented that. So we were a bit…late, in that regard. No matter. Her doc sent her to a local play therapist, and after about fifteen minutes of interaction, the therapist knew exactly what was going on: Our little Princess was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder.

But wait! There’s more-

Once this became clear, my wife started looking into other things. Her own independent research, as it were. She kept it to herself for a month or three, then avalanched it all into my lap . Our Princess wasn’t the only one, as it turned out. And really, had I ever bothered to look…it was obvious. But I was in denial. I couldn’t possibly be autistic. So, like the stubborn Taurus I am, I dug my heels in. I refused to discuss it, for almost year. But, my beloved wife, who is much smarter and wiser than I am, knew what to do. In the name of “research for Princess,” she had me read a list of common autistic traits/symptoms. And it all came crashing down. I couldn’t deny it anymore. I was, without a doubt, also on the spectrum.

The gift of the Media: Fear, self hatred, stigma…superpowers?

Now, you might be asking, why exactly did I doubt myself? Cultural association, of course. And by “cultural association,” what I really mean is “the media.” Mostly, anyway. See, I’ve noticed a trend. In movies, tv and books, autism is usually presented in one of two ways: The Rainman, or the Idiot Perma-child, who cannot care for themselves. And I’m neither.

On the one hand, I was a straight A student. I could sleep through classes and make 100%. I was reading by the age of three or four, and I graduated highschool at fifteen. On the other, I have been known to go a full forty-eight hours without eating, because I “didn’t think about it.”

But I’m not the autistic person you see on tv. Now, that isn’t to say those people don’t exist. They do. For example, my daughter deals with much more noticable struggles than I ever have, while I have another member of my family (also on the spectrum) who is a certifiable genius. And I’ve known many others who are “obviously” autistic, whereas I pass as allistic* (see footnotes below) easily. Which is a sad discourse altogether, really. One the one hand, an “obviously” autistic person, what one might call “Low Functioning” (I could write a whole other post about why “low/high functioning” labels are harmful, however, for the sake of brevity, there’s some here, here and here) are often boiled down only to their struggles, where as people such as myself are relegated to “Not autistic enough to be my problem” or “well, you don’t look autistic.”

To quote-

“The difference between high-functioning autism and low functioning is that high-functioning means your deficits are ignored, and low-functioning means your assets are ignored.” -Laura Tisoncik

Why is this? As you might have guessed from the title of this post- I put a lot of it on the shoulders of the entertainment we consume. Nevermind certain hate organizations who swath themselves in the cloak of “advocacy” such as Autism Speaks, and Anti-Vaxcers, who think it’s better to have a dead child than an autistic one.*

I could go on. At length. However, I’m going to try and stay on track, just this once. To put it plainly, Hollywood Autism often works exactly like “high” and “low” functioning labels: We’re either uplifted to inhuman portrayals of superpowered savants, or downgraded to an “inspirational” invalid. In these stories, we’re props. The “Magical Disabled person!” as Tv Tropes puts it, there to uplift the neurotypical character from their adversity. After all, if this poor dumb sod (i.e- me) can be happy with their burdensome life, surely the pretty white able-bodied protagonist can! We’re “funny,” “scary,” or “sympathetic,” characters, who lack dimension, and nuance. We’re “inhuman.” We’re the lesser. Or at least, that’s one way it’s written. The other is the hyper intelligent, almost “superhuman,” and definitely super jackass genius, who’s much too smart™, and logical© to ever have feelings, friends or empathy. That’s it folks! That’s the show!

That’s what books, tv and movies told me, anyway. And what I truly believed for a long time. It’s why I cringed away in terror and shame when my spectrum issues were finally noticed. And why it took me so long to come to terms with it.

So, there you have it. Part 1. On the next episode, I’ll give some examples, both good and bad, and maybe even a little “what not to do,” or at least a “please consider real hard before doing this in your own work.”

If you like writing, talking about bad tropes and even worse marginalized representation, you can follow me at wordpress or at my “still has that new car smell” twitter. For now- thanks for reading.

-Your loving Vincent

*allistic= Non autistic.

*Vaccines do NOT cause Autism, however, if they DID, it would still be better to have an autistic child than one who died at the ripe old age of “easily preventable but deadly communicable disease.”

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rebel-by-default · 5 years

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Overload

So I had a go at writing an autistic Peter Parker fic. I often headcanon Pete as autistic, and Tony so very clearly has ADHD it often surprises me it’s not canon (at least in the MCU). Anyway, the characters are probably way off, but I mostly wrote it for my own enjoyment.

Peter should have known things were going to go wrong today, the day had been cursed from the start. Waking up 15 minutes before his train left for school, forgetting his headphones, and apparently losing every single fidget toy he owned. The train had been completely packed and overwhelming, the stench of too many people crammed into a small space, mixing with various breakfast foods and the background stink of New York Public Transport.

With nothing to fiddle with, Peter absentmindedly chewed at his hoodie strings, not realising until it was too late, that he had chewed on them far too aggressively. Holding his severed hoodie string in his hand, he sighed and resigned himself to a Bad Day.

By the time Peter trudged into school, he had given up on any hopes of masking as neurotypical. Hood up, sunglasses on and hands slammed tightly over his head, he knew he looked odd, but there was no way he’d make it to class without his hood up.

“Hey Peter! Excited for the Weekend?”

A hand tapped Peter on the shoulder and he jumped round, curbing his jump to something resembling normal human abilities at the last second. The owner of the hand, Ned, quickly pulled back, and lowered his voice.

“Are you having a Bad Day?”

Peter just nodded mutely.

“Here” Ned whispered, rummaging in his bag, “I’ve got some spare headphones. Figured it was always good to be prepared”.

Peter grimaced, but smiled in thanks, and quickly went to plug his headphones in. He had always been in awe of Ned’s complete understanding of all of his quirky behaviours, it was nice to have a friend who got it, and was completely supportive.

When Peter had decided to first tell Ned, he was terrified. Terrified that Ned, a certified weirdo, would find him just too strange, and no longer want to be his friend. It had happened before. Peter remembered the ‘friends’ before Midtown Tech, sneering when he didn’t get a joke, or laughing when he flung his hands over his ears at the sound of a siren. He had learnt to hate himself, to hate the word written all over his medical reports. Autism.

When he managed to move to Midtown, he thought things would be better, as a scientific school, he had hoped he would meet more like-minded people, but one wrong step had led to Eugene Thompson, Flash, deciding that he was the resident nutter. Although May always encouraged him to be open and proud about a part of himself, Autism became a dirty word. It took Peter an entire year to tell Ned, stood in the parking lot at the end of school, practically vibrating with anxiety. When he finally managed to stutter through an explanation, he stood poised for danger, as if ready to run from his expected mockery, but Ned had simply shrugged and said “huh”, before running straight into a monologue about a new Star Wars Lego Kit.

Since that day, Ned had asked Peter how best he could support him, and often carried around a spare pair of headphones or a fidget cube.

However, today, even the headphones weren’t enough. Feeling his heartbeat rising, Peter consciously tried to push it down, taking deep breaths. Walking to his first lesson of the day, he just hoped his teachers would see his discomfort and leave him alone. Unluckily for him, the chance of an easy time flew right out of the window when an unfamiliar figure walked through the door.

“Good morning Class. My name is Ms Atkinson.”

A middle-aged looking woman with long blonde hair tied into a tight ponytail walked into the room. Even with his headphones on, Peter could easily hear her.

“I’ll be covering for Mr Harrington today. But just because I am not your normal teacher doesn’t mean you will be able to get away with misbehaviour.”

Peter sighed, he knew the inevitable was coming, but basked in the relative comfort of his hood and headphones for a few more seconds.

Ms Atkinson’s rather shrill voice quickly cut through any last minute relaxation.

“Excuse me young man, do you think that is appropriate attire for a lesson?”

Ned was about to protest, but Peter threw him a look saying, “I can deal with it” and slowly removed his hood and headphones, squinting at the sudden brightness of the room. As Mrs Atkinson walked away, Ned surreptitiously handed Peter a stress ball, Peter responding with a brief smile of thanks.

However as the lesson progressed, Peter got more and more agitated, aggressively wiggling his leg under the table and chewing his pen to death. When the bell finally rang, he was sure he would feel a sense of relief, but instead a wave of dread washed over him. He had physics next. Physics with Flash.

Physics started out okay. Mr Richards was surprisingly supportive, and allowed Peter to pull his headphones on once any explanations of the work had been given. The work was simple, and Peter finally began to relax, until he could feel a rhythmic poking behind him. Flash had elected to take up the desk behind him, and decided that the best method of torturing an overstimulated teen was to continually prod him with a pen. Peter kept trying to shift away, but each time Flash poked him with more force. The jabbing in his back was just one sensation too much, and Peter soon felt his body melt down into a puddle of panic.

Everything was too loud, too much. His hoodie itched, and his headphones were no longer a comfortable weight, but a crushing vice against his skull. Distantly, Peter recognised that he was now hyperventilating and aggressively flapping his hands by his face, but all he could feel was overwhelming panic. Desperately trying to calm himself down, peter prayed someone had noticed his distress and would remove him from the room.

Luckily his prayers were answered in the form of MJ. MJ? Oh god, MJ didn’t know, MJ didn’t know about “The Autism”. Peter’s panic increased further, what would she think of him now? She’d never want to be friends with a loser like Peter, especially now she knew he was defective. So blinded by this newfound fear, it wasn’t until he was seated in the Nurses office that he realised he had left the classroom. Pulling his hood over his eyes and clasping his hands to his ears, he curled into a tight ball on the hard, plastic chair. Even through his hands he could here the whispered conversation between MJ and the Nurse, and the faint ringing of a dial tone, meaning the Nurse was ringing May.

Peter knew May wouldn’t pick up. She had headed off this morning to spend a girly weekend in the Berkshires with her friends. Peter couldn’t begrudge her it, even when he so wished to have her calming presence right now. Since Ben’s death she had hardly given herself a chance to relax, and Peter was glad that her finding out about Spider-Man had allowed her to come to trust Tony, and take some time to reconnect with her friends. Right now, though, Peter just wished May was in Queens, and could come and take him back to the apartment. Instead…

Instead, the nurse hung up and began to ring Peter’s second emergency contact. Even through his hyperventilation, and MJ’s murmured reassurances next to him, Peter heard her small chuckle at the name. Of course she didn’t believe him. No one did.

Even so, she rang the number, and quickly began to explain the situation.

“Hello, I believe you are listed as Peter Parker’s second emergency contact?”

“I’m afraid he is having a difficult day and appears to be having a panic attack…”

“Yes, I’ll see you in five minutes, can I just take a name down?... Yes, there is a name next to the number, I just assumed it was a joke.

…

Apologies Mr Stark, I will have someone meet you outside the school in ten minutes”

Peter was momentarily calmed by the prospect of getting out of school, when the realisation struck him. Not only had MJ seen him like this, but now Mr Stark would too. How the hell would Peter ever be able to convince Mr Stark he is Avengers material if it gets out that he’s autistic. Peter just curled tighter into himself, attempting to prepare himself for his impending doom.

Peter was startled from his trance of panic when a large and calloused hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“Come on kid, lets have some breathing. I don’t think May would be impressed if I killed you on the first day of her weekend away.”

Peter took a shuddery breath, and registered the smell of engine oil and coffee. Mr Stark always smelt of oil and coffee, even when he had just showered. It was as if the smells were physically ingrained into his being, probably from overexposure. Miss Potts often jokes that Mr Stark’s blood is probably 70% coffee at this point. The smell was reassuring, and Peter’s breathing finally began to slow

“I think its best if we get you out of here. Do you think you can stand up?” Peter made a small whimpering noise, but nodded slowly and shakily made his way to his feet. Peter felt Mr Stark’s hand on his shoulder, and let him guide them both out of the School and into the back of a running car by the gates.

“Step on it Happy. Oh and put the window tints on, will you?” Tony said, before reaching into the side pocket of the car and pulling out a pair of ear defenders, placing them in Peter’s lap.

“I’d put them on for you, but I don’t want to touch you whilst you’re overloading. Think you can put them on?”

Peter looked at Tony inquisitively, before putting on the ear defenders and shutting his eyes. Finally able to really relax, Peter began to ponder just why Tony had a pair of what appeared to be enhanced ear defenders readily available, but he didn’t think for long before exhaustion hit him, and peter was out like a light.

When Peter woke again, it was to a light tapping on his shoulder, and the sound of a voice muffled by headphones.

“Come on kiddo, I’ll leave you alone again once you’re inside” said tony, handing peter a pair of sunglasses before turning to head towards the tower entrance. Peter slid on the glasses and followed closely behind, passing through the noisy foyer to the private elevator at the back as quickly as possible.

Peter waited for the customary order of “Penthouse please Fri”, but was instead surprised by tony softly requesting the communal floor. The lift rose silently and soon they were stepping out into the open kitchen and lounge. Tony placed his hand on the small of peter’s back, gently pushing him towards a corridor to the left of the lounge, one peter rarely went down. They walked all the way to the end, before Tony opened a door to a cool, dark room.

The room was only lit by a line of warm, low lights on the back wall. Against that wall, peter could see a pile of blankets, as well as a bucket of various fidget toys and stress balls. Why did Tony have all this? Oh god, maybe May told him about “the Autism”. Peter’s breath started to pick up and he could feel his fist beating out a staccato against his thigh. How the hell could he ever look at Mr Stark again? Would Mr Stark ever let him be an avenger?

A voice cut through Peter’s panicked haze.

“you going to go inside? Not much point in a sensory room if you just stand in the doorway hyperventilating kiddo”

Tony was right, as soon as Peter stepped inside, he calmed a little. The room was quiet and still, and Peter felt just comfortable enough to snatch a blanket, that appeared to be weighted, from the pile and throw it around himself. Huddling under his newfound covers, he raised his head, expecting a sneering glance or disappointment from his pseudo father figure.

Instead he just found eyes full of caring, and a question on Tony’s lips.

“Want me to stay?”

Peter nodded, before looking back down into his lap, and slowly rocking back and forth, processing the day’s emotions.

It only took about 45 minutes before Peter was feeling ready to move again. And feeling very hungry. After the third monstrous stomach rumble, he heard Tony chuckle beside him.

“Honestly kid, I’m starting to think you’ve smuggled a dragon into my tower under that hoodie.”

Peter giggled quietly, before braving a response.

“Can we have pancakes?” he asked, voice gravelly from a day of no use.

“Sure”, Tony replied, groaning as he stood up from his place on the floor and began to stretch his legs, “although I haven’t made pancakes since the time Vision wanted to learn how to fry things. There’s still burn marks in the kitchen. So this could be… interesting”

Peter laughed again, before throwing a wry grin up at Tony.

“The good news is Mr Stark, when you get pancakes stuck on the ceiling again, I can get it down before Pepper comes home!”

“You watch that cheek kiddo, or I’ll let Dum-E make your meals from now on.”

Later, with pancakes eaten, Aunt May kept in the loop, and Star Wars playing quietly on the penthouse lounge’s television, Peter’s curiosity finally outweighed his fears.

“Why do you have a sensory room?”

Peter stared intently at Tony, watching him formulate a response, terrified of what he was about to hear. Terrified of Tony saying that May had told him everything, or that he’d read Peter’s medical reports. Terrified that this was the moment where Tony would reveal that he had never intended to let Peter join the team, that he was just too broken to be an Avenger. Peter was expecting many responses, dreading most of them, but he didn’t expect Tony to say it was for himself.

“Do you know what ADHD is Pete? I’m sure you know enough to get an idea.

Anyway, I have ADHD, only got diagnosed about ten years ago when Pep pointed out that it wasn’t normal to spend 36 hours hyper-focused on a project without eating or sleeping, and then be unable to concentrate through a 10-minute presentation that was vital to the running of my company. Add in a plethora of sensory difficulties and complete time blindness, and you get Tony Stark, ADHD”

There was a pause, before Tony continued.

“Anyway, you looked like I do when everything is a bit too much, I thought chances are, the same techniques would make life a little bit easier.”

Peter turned to Tony, taking a deep breath, and beginning his own reveal.

“I have Autism” he said, looking down at his hands, where he was fiddling with the corner of a cushion, “Usually I can handle everything just fine, but its been even harder since the bite. But I promise I can handle being Spider-Man! I promise I can still be a superhero! I’m not useless I swear!” beginning to stress again, peter pulled his knees up to his face and began to rock again, before forcing himself to stop. He hated when he stimmed in public, he felt so weak. Why had he told Mr Stark? He’d sealed his fate now, Mr Stark would just see him as a weirdo like everyone else did! Looking up at Tony expectantly, he expected to see a look of disgust or disappointment, instead Mr Stark just seemed to smile softly.

“Yeah, I thought you might, Clint’s autistic too, and you remind me of him sometimes. You actually picked up his favourite weighted blanket back in the sensory room earlier. He’s nicknamed it Sylvester. God knows why.”

“Wait, Clint is autistic? And he’s allowed to be an Avenger?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, “Of course he is? Did you think the Avengers would turn away a super-spy because he also happens to have Autism? Jesus Christ kid, who’s told you to be embarrassed of who you are?”

Peter shrugged. Aunt May had always told him to be proud of himself, that being different is not a bad thing, and his autism was just a part of him that he should love like every other part of him. Aunt May had always indulged his special interests, and had never stopped him from stimming, but that didn’t stop the people at school from putting him down. After being called a weirdo for most of his school career, it was difficult not to believe it himself. After all, if being autistic wasn’t a bad thing, why had he been endlessly mocked for it?

“Listen kid”, Tony began, once again cutting through the flood of thoughts in Peter’s mind. “Autism isn’t a bad thing. It’s just a thing. Sometimes it gives you benefits, I bet your abilities in chemistry come from years as your special interest, don’t they?”

Peter nodded.

“Sometimes, it can make life a little more difficult, but we find ways forwards. There is nothing wrong with neurodivergence. It’s not bad, it’s not a defect, it just is. It’s a part of who you are, Pete, and it’s a part of you that you should be proud of. Its certainly not something you need to hide. I’ve seen you stuff your stim toys to the bottom of your bag when you come to the tower, you have nothing to hide here.”

Tony wrapped his arm around the teenager’s shoulders reassuringly, and Peter leaned into the embrace, returning his attention to the film on screen. A little while later, as his eyes were beginning to droop, and the exhaustion of the day yet again crept up on him, he smiled a soft smile and whispered “thanks dad” as quietly as he could manage.

Peter thought he had uttered the words so quietly that Tony couldn’t have noticed, but the last thing he heard before drifting off to sleep, was an equally soft “you’re welcome, kid”, and a slight tightening of Tony’s hug around him.

He was safe, he was sound, and… he was asleep.

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blatherkatt · 5 years

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i just started reading your blumenthal kids reunionfic and i LOVE IT! Its so good and so full of potential and angst and I LOVE IT!!!💞💞💞 The way you write Eodwulf is soooo good hes such a mess and so gay help him. and Astrid Omg... I cant wait for more of her i checked out some of your posts on here and shes just great??? You've clearly put a lot of thought into them with the child designs and stuff, did you have any major inspo for the two of them like songs or other characters and stuff???

hey tumblr dont…delete part of my answer what the heck

anyway!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH,,, ed ( @tactfulgrimalkin ) is the one doing the actual writing but we plan everything together and i edit and do artwork so he deserves lots of love for the great writing…i dont remember what else i had here before tumblr deleted it so i hope thats the gist of it

eodwulf is a gay disaster of a bastard man and astrid is SO fun and im SO GLAD UR EXCITED TOO BECAUSE WE SURE ARE

anyway you just opened pandora’s box and i’m very sorry for the length of the rest of this answer but here we go prepare for some cursed content necessary to answer that question ( | ) w ( | ) it was a Wild Ride getting these two characters to where they are boy howdy

so the thing is in order to explain how we created these characters i actually have to get into the origins of the fic on the whole because the two are inextricably linked, and also, the origins of this fic are incredibly cursed and you can send all ur hatemail right here go on blast us we’re ready

but we were talking about caleb and how we’re both excited for whenever astrid and eodwulf turn up, and the thought came up for basically the rough skeleton of that scene in chapter 2:

“hey how messed up would it be if instead of them both hunting him down like we’re expecting…one of them comes in with a huge savior complex and sincerely thinks he’s delusional and should still be in the asylum, how MESSED UP would that be”

…and then shortly after that, this happened

thats the cursed part dont say i didnt warn u but listen you know we’re right

also that pic of caduceus didnt exist back then i went back and got this screenshot just to share the curse with you all

ANYWAY

in classic us format we got carried away and eodwulf got slotted into the role of that scene in chapter two and his character was largely developed around that scene, like, what kind of person would still be clinging to caleb after all this time to that degree to make that happen? and what was come up with was an extremely avoidant person clinging to a fantasy version of things wherein they don’t have to fight

(eodwulf was developed into a Person before astrid, i should note at this point, and ed did most of that developing; i took point on astrid later on)

but around this time i went “screw it im gonna do some concept art we’re both in too deep now” so here’s some of that for u guys

started with them all as teens and did a couple sketches as well as one of baby (well. teen. so baby) caleb/bren/we were calling him felix at the time as some of u probably already know

first draft had astrid with longer hair than eodwulf lmao check this out

flipped the hair length on those two which was for the best because at the time we were imagining eodwulf as a bit more mischevious which is another thing that got reversed over time now astrids the prankster and eodwulfs the overworked mom friend because bren takes astrid’s ideas and makes them SO MUCH WORSE but he still looks better with longer hair and then i played around w/ colors for a while and wound up w/ this

voila, the initial kid concepts, to which subtle yet vital changes were made after time. if any of you are curious about if im frustrated that that’s still the best i’ve ever drawn eodwulf’s nose the answer is yes. yes i am.

astrid’s hair is not messy enough, theres not enough freckles, and she does not look ready to fight the entire world for a dare. 0/10.

anyway then i did adult versions which look WAY OFF NOW LMAO

eodwulf with way too much beard, looking far too messy when he ought to look very clean so that he can hide how much of a disaster he actually is, and also a glimpse into the very boring Ice Queen/Heartless Bitch we vaguely had astrid as to start with. even more out of character tho is the earring, astrid as she is today would absolutely never tolerate an earring unless she absolutely had to, girl’s got sensory issues but she didn’t back then. ALSO STILL NOT ENOUGH FRECKLE

anyWHO a while after this it was decided that eodwulf has ADHD, something both the authors have a whole lot of lmao, and that was the point where ed REALLY took off and developing eodwulf went out of control and we both went Well I Guess We’re Gonna Have To Write This At Some Point Now

and with that happening is when developing astrid took more priority i think, because man, at that point in the game she came way too close to that really annoying trope that shows up in fanfic a lot wherein The Girl is A Bitch who is Getting In The Way Of ~*The Yaois*~ and thats like, thats bad. we knew from the outset we were absolutely not setting this up as a love triangle because we both hate those but even w/ her having no romantic relationship to either of the two, like…she was kind of just There and the one who was most loyal to trent (the only thing of her original characterization that really stuck, honestly) and sooo boring????

so like, and i say this honestly, i managed to COMPLETELY FORGET that “reverse sasuke” cursed comment from the beginning of all this and STILL go “well what if we made her more like caleb’s rival that’d be fun”

and that’s how astrid sorta wound up accidentally morphing into the Scrappy Underdog of this anime trio and calling her a naruto analogue is extremely cursed but also not inaccurate tbh

started out with the concept of her popping into bren’s window because she heard they were doing magic and wanted to learn it too and evolved from there; we decided that she was gonna be neurodivergent too but, hilariously, initially that she was “the best at pretending to be neurotypical” (WE COMPLETELY REVERSED THAT AND IT IS FOR THE BETTER. SHE’S SO MUCH MORE FUN NOW) and made her also autistic because it one meant she could be like SAME HAT at bren really hard which’d make her feel more like part of the group instead of just the odd one out, and two because it fits with the whole rivals thing

branching off of that we made her just. INCREDIBLY direct. like. astrid’s thought process is “how can i accomplish what i want accomplished with the smallest number of steps? what are the consequences of doing it this way? do i give a shit? no? im gonna do that.”

(which is why she climbed a tree to get into bren’s attic instead of using the door because that way she just completely skipped having to convince his mom to let her in)

i cant get into it much here because so many spoilers and we’re gonna explore it all, but like, astrid’s backstory turned into this exploration of the intersection of sexism and ableism especially as applied to a medieval-esque society in which the word “autism” doesn’t even EXIST and in which a convenient double standard exists Right There in the form of bren and like,, its gonna be good guys im excited for it

as far as characters tho she does also have just a touch of Vimes from discworld to her, albeit like, she’s lawful evil to his lawful good, but she’s got the same tendency to stick REALLY FIERCELY to the rules that she thinks are important, even when they inconvenience her, even if it’d be so much easier to bend them just this once

and for songs i cannot link like any astrid songs because they all might accidentally give away so much BUT I CAN LINK AN EODWULF SONG

youtube

this one was HUGE for him

uhhhh i think that’s everything i can think of that we can say right now unfortunately so i’ll end this with a comparison to the current teen designs we have now that are being used in the actual fic, even tho im not fond of how bren came out in this picture, but like, for the sake of comparison

lets see how far we’ve come

I N C R E A S E F R E C K L E

#longpost #SORRY TO PEOPLE ON MOBILE #zemnianghosts #i also got a lot better at drawing them all over time #just like. so much

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ultimatetrashyfanfic · 3 years

Text

Cube here, incoherent ramble time ADHD typing with no editing and a tiny vague Dangan 2 reference somewhere along the lines let's goooo. So I'm a rare specimen, a real curiosity scholars have struggled to understand for millennia; I'm an autistic extrovert.

I don't have a ton of friends, I don't seek friendships (I actually went into my job intending on keeping to myself and not making friends but it didn't work), but I love people, love talking, I've frequently been told to talk less. For years it's just been me and Circle, before that no friends to speak of. So I start this job and quickly become friends with two autistic coworkers, one male and one female. And I've had like no exposure to healthy relationships in my life so I'm like "Circle is it cool of I have friends?" and she's of course like "um what the fuck I don't control who you associate with, you're your own person" but like in a way nicer way than that. So the male friend admitted he had a crush on me but it was pretty clearly in that lonely "wow a member of my preferred gender was nice to me" way and I made it clear that I'm gay and have a girlfriend and he and I will never be more than friends. He came to my house once and we both just sat in silence while we watched dumb shit on TV, he spent the whole time drawing while I was knitting and hardly two words were exchanged between us. 99% of our conversations revolve around art because the basis for our friendship is that we both draw. And some family members are like "you're leading him on!" and when I go "he knows I'm a lesbian AND that I have a girlfriend," this one gross family member is like "that'll just make him eben more interested And like dude not everyone is a sick fuck who gets hard when they remember lesbians exist. And then today my female buddy calls me crying over some personal issues and I spent the whole day freaking out about it, I have hyper-empathy and mix that with my thought process where if I can't fix a problem it haunts me and you've got a recipe for anxiety. So I didn't work today but I popped in to give her a card I made her because I'm bad with words and when someone is sad or I want to show affection my go-to is arts and crafts. So then one family member is like "is she into girls? What if she takes this the wrong way?" And it's like honey calm down not everyone is neurotypical. But seriously what kind of piece of shit would I have to be to use a person's vulnerability to get into their pants? Also she knows I have a girlfriend. And then another family member was like "what if this sends the wrong message" so I said she's not gonna tale it lile that. And he said he's not worried about her, he's worried about other people. And like. Okay? Someone asks of we're dating, I say no. What, are we gonna get hate-crimed for me giving her a card? Not to male light of such a thing but I've been openly gay the entire time I've worked here like what's the big deal.

Are the straights/neurotypicals okay? They do know you can have non-familial platonic relationships ooooooor?? Is gift-giving now inherently romantic? That's news to me. So the logical part of me is saying this is dumb but I've got this nagging worm yelling in my ear abd I'm like "I'M CHEATING ON CIRCLE!!!!?!?!?!?!!?!!?!!"

Anyway this is how Kazuichi thinks: big chunks of text with no transitions between ideas abd some anxiety sprinkled here and there. Okay bye.

#mod cube

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silvaskye · 3 years

Text

Ok, update on the assessment.

I went today. I went at 9AM-ish and I’ve just not got back to my bedroom at 8:20PM. I’ll describe this based off if how I felt at the time, so I’m sorry if this is confusing to read.

I went to the building and they called us into the room. I was terrified. The first thing they said was that they’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not autistic. They then rephrased their statement and said “we went by the book. You show many signs now and in childhood, but you don’t meet our criteria.” My dad questioned what “the book” was, my mum started crying, and I started to question if the last three years of my life had been a lie. “The book” was the diagnosis criteria, and that basically meant that because I seem neurotypical enough, there’s nothing wrong. They’re referring me to someone else, who’s an actual psychologist. The two people who were assigned to my case were a speech and language therapist and an occupational therapist. I was panicking, because as far as I knew, we’d been wrong about everything, and the last three years of my life had been a complete lie. I brought up meltdowns, sensory issues, how I’m not consistently verbal, and several other things and they just said “well we haven’t seen it”. The person they’re referring me to then basically said that their decision isn’t actually final, and I could be autistic, and she’s actually going to help. She was taking notes in the meeting, nodding and acknowledging when we were speaking. The other two had almost reminded me of how the girls in school talked to me, which my dad described as “condescending”.

Anyways, we came home and read the reports they gave off. This is where we realised something was entirely wrong.

The first paragraph, they got a crucial detail of my trauma wrong. When I talk about how my grandad died, I always specify that he was in bed. They said he was in a chair. I brushed it off, everyone makes mistakes. They then went on to say that I didn’t have sensory issues, fake my tics, was a hypochondriac, and that I thought I had DID. All of this is wrong. The sessions were in a quiet room, and they weren’t looking for anything. I can surpress my tics, and do so unconsciously. I mentioned DID when they asked about my special interests and I said that mental health is a SpIn, then mentioned I knew a little about DID. They mixed up lucid dreaming and daydreaming, said Mara was influenced by anime characters (and I only watch one anime?). Keep in mind they talked to me about specific topics for about 5 minutes only before trying to catch me out on faking being trans. Speaking of that, they continuously said I was bisexual. I haven’t used the label since I first came out many months before I started seeing them. They referred to gyneromantic as a gender label. They continuously deadnamed me. They completely brushed over my major trauma and said I was “overreacting to a situation that others found minimal” and “couldn’t see from others perspectives”. They also said I couldn’t be autistic because I can make jokes, answer questions, refuse, and generally hold a conversation. They made it out like I was obsessed with gender dysphoria. They made it all out like I was just lying to them. They missed out so much, contradicted themselves constantly, and completely ignored things I vividly remember telling them. Like, they really fucked everything up. They said I didn’t stim or do repetitive movements, then said I was stimming and doing repetitive movements when they did something that stressed me out. They said so much that could have just put into one sentence, but then that sentence would be against what they wanted. They managaed to describe how I infodump in about five sentences one after the other, then mentioned several symptoms through the report, then just went “nope looks fine to me”. They also said that I’ve never referred to myself as gay, despite the fact that I have on many occasions. They don’t know what masking is. They got everything wrong in so many ways, they just didn’t listen at all.

My parents and I just went through it all and corrected so much. We made more notes in 30 minutes than those people did in one session.

The new doctor, when asked about her service, basically said that their word isn’t final. The two then backtracked and said that it was only in their opinion that I’m not autistic.

But seriously, these two literally think that autistic people are all emotionless and loveless robots and I’ve never been more pissed at someone. In the few hours that my parents were sat with me making notes about their bullshit report, we could point out several symptoms.

And also, my dad said his friend in work, who is autistic and has expressed that she can see herself in me, went through this exact thing. They even tried to make it out that she was dysphoric when she wasn’t at all.

I’ve honestly never heard stories of such incompetent “professionals”.

Anyways, from today, my parents and I will be listing several symptoms and a bunch of questions. I have a session with the new doctor in three weeks, so I’ll talk more about this then. Just know that I’m pissed but also happy because they got so much shit wrong that we can’t even trust their final judgement. Like, seriously, who misses out the major trauma and calls it an overreaction when it’s literally the cause of several problems.

They just so much shit wrong. I’m so sorry to anyone who’s also going through this- oops! Can’t say that! According to them, autistic people can’t have empathy (/j)!

#the diagnosis process #autism #autism diagnosis

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sweetandsavageautistic · 5 years

Text

Okay, so I found an article. Thought you might be interested to see a somewhat live reaction to it.

Let’s start with the title:

Special Needs Children – A Sign from God

This is gonna be fan-fucking-tastic.

Well, I have lots I could post about today. But what is on my heart is my need to accept.

A need to accept my son's autism and what comes with it.

Yeah, autism should be accepted. We should be accepted as people. Not too bad so far.

But then this picture is just below it:

thanks i hate it.

Our son has Asperger's. That means that he has autism that is “high-functioning”.

Damn, she’s letting a kid smoke the good kush?

I have been reminded by mothers at autism support groups that I should be glad that my little one can talk. Yes, that is true and I need to be reminded of that. However, one thing that he does is talk. All the time. His mind, and hence his tongue, rarely ever shut off.

“Little one.” I dunno how old this kid is, so idk if I can say it’s condescension yet.

I will go into more of why I think this is so in a later post, but just suffice it to say that though I like conversation and interacting with my son, constant conversation and repetitive questions can be extremely tiresome.

He is awkward in public, though that has gotten better.

He has high anxiety. That comes and goes.

He has a problem with attention deficit. No official diagnosis there, but believe me, he has it. Whatever it is.

He has questions? WELL NO SHIT! HE’S A FUCKING KID. And later on you say he has attention deficits. So of course the questions can be repetitive.

He has life threatening food allergies, and extreme sensitivity to sugar. Probable issues with gluten. Sensory issues. He has phobias about things like fireworks and feathers.

Oh, but I love him.

Lady, fireworks can get pretty loud, so it’s not irrational for someone who is autistic and likely also has SPD, to be afraid of fireworks. Feathers is an interesting phobia, though, but probably reasonable for him.

He also has an amazing memory.

In 2009, he placed 3rd in a local Bible Bee competition and then in 2010 placed first locally and 27th nationally. He remembers the names of people we met years ago and while I am stumbling over their name, he reminds me.

I mean, yeah, I guess that’s pretty fucking cool for a kid to do. But that’s the thing. There are probably some allistic kids and even neurotypical kids out there with amazing memories as well.

He has such an innocent heart. Very rarely have I known him to try to do anything to hurt anyone.

He’s a kid. Kids are innocent. Why is that something so special?

He has stamina. Little things often shake his world, but he can weather “big things” like a real trooper. Like when he rode 50 miles in a Right To Life Bike-a-Thon — with a fever (we found out about the fever after he came home :-).)

Um, he’s not a “trooper.” That kid’s badass. Riding a bike for 50 miles with a fever would be an impressive feat for almost anyone to accomplish.

Ah, my son.

In any case, today has been a day of real frustration. A day of frustration at him and his idiosyncrasies, but moreso at myself. I was so impatient today.

He argued with me about not wanting to eat certain vegetables. And argued and argued and negotiated…on and on and on.

Uh.............

He had a near tantrum over being late to a hockey practice due to our car getting stuck in the driveway in a snowdrift. It took about 10 reminders for him to unload the silverware in the dishwasher and then it still wasn't done. I could go on but there really is no point.

Meltdown. The word you’re looking for is meltdown. not tantrum. There’s a fucking difference.

I was impatient because–well, because he wasn't doing things on my timetable. His disability gets in my way, takes my time and is an annoyance. And far too often I go against the command of the Bible and show my annoyance at once (Proverbs 12:16).

I need to remember the good and give thanks to the Lord. I need to accept.

“His disability gets in my way.” Well, your warrior parent “pity-me” bullshit gets in MY way, and possibly his as well, so call it even.

A number of years ago, a dear friend gave me a poem about accepting disability. We were on the cusp of getting our son diagnosed, though unwillingly. We just wanted to know what was going on so that we could deal with it better and have some real resources.

Okay, not TOO bad.

This friend had a 20-some year old daughter with autism at the time. She was in full-time Christian work in the US with her husband and I later found out that she was struggling with leukemia. I read a transcript of a conversation she had on a radio broadcast of Family Life during which she mentioned that her child had autism, searched for her on the internet and made a bold phone call.

She called me back and mentored me through the beginning stages of dealing with what we now had in our family; a child with autism.

She called, prayed and shared.

Then this past year, she died.

I had never met Kathy, but her death left a hole in my heart. She also left this poem, from The Clowns of God by Morris West, Hodder and Stoughton, 1981. I hope that it helps you, whatever your lot in life.

Still not too bad.

You Need a Sign

Treasure him…

You need a sign. What better one could I give than to make this little one whole and new? I could do it; but I will not. I am the Lord and not a conjuror.

I game this mite a gift I denied to all of you- eternal innocence. To you he looks imperfect, but to Me he is flawless, like the bud that dies unopened or the fledgling that falls from the nest to be devoured by the ants. He will never pervert or destroy the work of My Father's hands.

He is necessary to you. He will evoke the kindness that will keep you human. His infirmity will prompt you to gratitude for your own good fortune. More!

He will remind you every day that I Am who I Am, that My ways are not yours, and that the smallest dust mote whirled in darkest space does not fall out of My hand.

I have chosen you. You have not chosen me. This little one is my sign to you.

I really hope this poem is just about kids in general and not about just disabled kids.

Treasure him…

I don't know about you, but I sure needed this reminder today.

And that’s where the article ends. I’m gonna see if that poem is about disabled people.

So I found the poem on a blog of a mother with a daughter who has Edwards syndrome aka Trisomy18. This is the comment:

Cathy, Many years ago, I used to become frustrated. I did not understand why God would send a child here to earth with severe disabilities, shorten lifespans, and daily challanges. Then my special needs son came into my life with all the answers.

When God created human life, he did so in his image; loving, accepting, generous, kind and patient. Our children or God's wish for the human race. Uneffected by Satan's trials. They remain ever loving, patient and kind. They are not just a gift to those God entrust them to here on earth. I think they are also a gift he grants to himself. A reminder of what he wanted all along. His own likeness here on earth.

You honor God with the care and love you provide to Annabel. Even more remarkable is that you have rasied Tara to do the same. I love the three of you dearly. God Bless You.

With great admiration Edie

So with that, I think it’s safe to say that the poem IS about disabled people specifically.

fuck.

#nt bullshit #cw nt bullshit #cw religion #autism #autistic #actuallyautistic #actually autistic #sweet and savage autistic

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pixel-glow-blog · 7 years

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But you have mild Autism, right?

So, I just got back from a haircut today. And the conversation I had with the stylist there took an unpleasant turn.

My mother came with me, because I have an issue with going nonverbal under stress, and it made me feel better to have her there in case I couldn’t explain to the stylist what I wanted. My mom explained that I was autistic, and that’s why she was with me. “Oh, my stepson has autism.” Great, the ‘being compared to a friend/relative that also has autism’ line. Bonus points for saying “has autism” instead of “is autistic” But, whatever. People like comparing things, that’s just how society works. She asks me about my day, I attempt to make small talk.

And then the dreaded question: “But you have mild Autism, right?” Almost every autistic gets this question. You might get it as “But you’re high functioning, right?” or as “But you’re not severely autistic, are you?” I have always been uncomfortable with this question, but for the longest time I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why, but today, I think I figured it out. It’s not just because they’re using functioning labels, which everyone who’s listened to the autistic community knows are not only inaccurate and unhelpful, but are almost always used to deny agency or support.

It’s because that’s not what she’s asking. She isn’t asking how much support I need, or what accommodations I use. She isn’t asking what activities I struggle with, or how many ADLs I can perform. No. She’s asking me “But you’re not one of those, right?” “I can still talk shit about autistic people in front of you, right?”

“I didn’t mistake one of those ‘low functioning’ autistics for an actual person, did I?”

The question caught me off guard, and I (unsuccessfully) tried to explain that functioning labels didn’t really work, and my mom added that today was a good day for me. The lady seemed to get that it was a day to day thing, but because I was able to speak, I believe she kept her assumption that I was ‘mild’. Which is always really wild to me because when I was diagnosed by my psychiatrist, I was actually classed as “extremely low functioning” (I don’t agree with functioning labels, but that’s literally what’s on the paperwork). Like, ya, I can speak verbally sometimes, and I’m capable of blogging and stuff, but I can’t drive, make my own food, or even remember to eat on a regular basis. You can’t call me high or low functioning, or say I have mild or severe autism, because Surprise! Humans are more complex than that. Shocker, I know.

And then she started telling me about her stepson. And everything she said about him was negative. She complained about how it was “so hard to explain to people” when he flapped his hands in public because he’s really tall for a kid, so people mistake him for an adult. Implying that only children are allowed to stim, I guess? I flap my hands, and I’m 22. Fuck anyone who tries to tell me that expressing yourself is only for kids. She told me about how he’s “decided he’s not going to drive, he’s not going to get a job, he’s not going to college”. Which, you know what? Fine. If he’s recognizing his limits and thinks he’s not capable of doing any of those things, that’s fine. He’s still a worthwhile human being. If he decides later on that he wants to attempt those things, more power to him, but they’re not necessary. But more than that, apparently this kid is 13. 13. What fucking person knew exactly that they were going to go to college, get a job, and were capable of driving at fucking 13?!?! This is fucking ableist garbage. You’re setting a higher standard for a disabled child, than most people do with their non-disabled children. While also implying that he is wrong for making such decisions. Stay classy.

I told her that I also couldn’t drive because it was unsafe. But she went on about how she “just wants him to try, how hard is it?” How hard is it? You’re driving a fucking one ton hunk of metal, electronics and flammable gas at high speeds, in tight quarters, in highly populated areas. Driving is fucking dangerous, and the consequences of making a mistake are LITERALLY life and death. Just because this is something that almost everyone in our culture can do, doesn’t erase the fact that it’s fucking complicated and dangerous as shit, and it’s fucked up that not being able to drive is so looked down upon.

So I just tried to smile and nod and wait for the haircut to be over so I could get out of there as fast as I could. And at the end of it, she hadn’t said a single positive thing about her stepson. Not. One. And I can’t help but feel sorry for this poor boy, who has to deal with this Autism Mom™ who trash talks her son to strangers. Who likely knows exactly what she thinks of him, even if he doesn’t say it.

Which brings me back to my main point. Why the hell would this woman think talking negatively about her autistic son to me, another autistic person, would be remotely okay? Why the fuck would that even cross her mind?

And it’s because ableism is so ingrained in our society, so widely accepted, that neurotypical and able-bodied people think even disabled and neurodivergent people want to hear about it. The dehumanization of autistic people is considered the norm so much, that it’s assumed everyone wants to participate. Which is why I hate that that question. “But you have mild autism, right?” Because they’re not asking how autism affects you. They’re asking if you’re going to object to how bigoted they are going to be. If you say that your autism is ‘mild’, welcome to the Ableism Club! If you say that your autism is ‘severe’, then they’re likely to talk shit in front of you anyway, because they think you’re not capable of understanding what’s going on around you.

This question makes me uncomfortable because not only is it NEVER asked by people who are actually allies of autistics, but because it’s a warning sign that someone is going to be a shitty person. So forgive me if I’m not wanting to play devil’s advocate here, and pretend that she’s probably actually a great mother who really understands, and she just doesn’t know the correct terminology. If she has a fucking autistic child and cared AT ALL, the barest amount of research could tell her that is not a cool question to ask. The fact that she uses person first language (You know, so she doesn’t forget we’re actual people) and labels autism like it’s a fucking salsa at taco bell, tells me she knows nothing about autism. And if she knows nothing about autism as the parent of an autistic child, she’s a fucking shitty parent.

But anyway, I’m really worked up now. Probably going to go eat a burger and hope that this kid has got SOMEONE is his life that cares about him. All autistic people deserve that.

#actuallyautistic #ableism #autism #autism mom #neurodivergent

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moodsmithmedia · 4 years

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An ‘Atypical’ Piece of Television

Warning! Spoilers for all three seasons of Netflix’s Atypical ahead.

I’m a mixed kid. I don’t mean that I’m bi-racial though. I spent time in both public and private school which is a mix I think is worth reflecting on. I spent half of elementary school at a public school and then the other half of elementary and all of middle school at a private, Catholic school, before returning to the public education system. Before I went to private school I signed up to be in the Boy Scouts and met a young man named Matt. He and I would never become friends, but we’d spend much of the next several years together camping and doing...scouting activities. He’d consistently test the limits of my patience. As it turned out, at that age I didn’t have much patience. They say teenaged girls are mean...boys aren't much different. I suppose we’re just quicker to accept shittiness when it comes from a person with an X and Y chromosome. Matt was a remarkable kid because he was autistic, which made him a fairly difficult person to know. Or at least that’s what I called logic at the time told me. It wasn’t until about 12 years later when a show on Netflix showed me the complexity of the situation I barely understood.

‘Atypical’ is a Netflix Original Series about a high school senior named Sam and how his high functioning autism affects the lives of those around him in profound ways. There are a number of things about this show that stand out. Michael Rapaport turns in a performance I’d have never guessed he was capable of, no disrespect intended. He’s not particularly nuanced, but neither is his character. He’s a simple guy in an exceptionally complicated situation. But some things are simple. Sam is his son and he’s going to have his back no matter what. This is just one example of a multitude of ways that Atypical shows how much heart is at the center of its story.

Just entering its third season, Atypical is far from a perfect show. Or even a particularly well produced one. Jennifer Jason Leigh is profoundly strange in her role as Sam’s mom Elsa. In the third season Sam’s sister, Casey, is revealed to be atypical in her own way as she begins to realize that her sexuality is far more complex than she’d realized. In what I imagine is an effort to reflect the reality of how people actually come to terms with their sexuality that storyline moves slowly. Like...geological timescale slow. And then once it’s clear what’s happening the season briskly wraps up. Sam’s best friend Zahid is a caricature of a caricature. And just when you think they’re going to make him a real boy things get even more ridiculous. Virtually every misgiving though is forgiven because at the center of this story is something genuinely heartwarming.

Atypical portrays Sam in a light that is both pitiable and enviable. I’m happy to live my life without the burden of having emotional outbursts in public. I’m sad for Sam and people like him that this is something he has to deal with. Simultaneously, I deeply envy the ways Sam can be truthful with people. If something is stupid, he says so. If something is wrong, he lets you know. It’s almost as though there’s something wrong with us neurotypicals for behaving in ways that we KNOW are inauthentic. Quick aside, I learned from the show that neurotypical is how you refer to folks who aren’t burdened with autism or some other intellectual disability. The word is neurotypical. Not neuronormal. What even is normal?

The show opens with a bully picking on a young woman and promptly being punched in the face for it. Scene after scene you find characters who are indifferent to the adverse consequences of doing right by the “disadvantaged”. These situations had a pretty profound effect on me because there were situations where I wish someone would’ve had my back. More importantly though, and much more common for me, were situations where I wish I’d had someone’s back. I’ve grown to be much more empathetic than a younger me seemed to have the capacity for, mostly an expression of youth angst and insecurity. Easy to say now that I’m an adult who’s never in as robust a social setting as a high school. The show makes it a point to address insecurity, infidelity, friendship and authenticity through a perspective that I hadn’t experienced in, what feels like a long time: innocence.

Quick aside: I took a break from writing this to go to the grocery to restock my depleted kitchen. I was walking past the butcher section oogling over meat products I mostly don’t eat anymore, but deeply miss. There was a gentleman with a son who was (and I mean nothing untoward when I say this) clearly not neurotypical. At the youngest he was 18. I stepped aside and pulled my cart away so that they could pass by me. The area was a bit congested and I wasn’t in a rush. The father thanked me and walked by first and his son approached me with his hand up to give me a high five. Was he saying thank you? Was he just being nice? Was he doing it to every person he walked by in the store? I don’t know. But look at that. The way the world works these days, before any interaction we subconsciously consider the racial, gender and political identities (among other factors) of the people we come across. This young man was unburdened by the fact that I’m African American, heterosexual, liberal...but felt compelled to connect with me. For all the things we say we value and have learned to value...how can neurotypicals claim to be normal?

In both public and private school I dealt with what we now call bullying through furrowed brows. In private school some of that bullying was delivered by the very people my parent’s tuition money was paying to educate me along with my peers. The remorse and sympathy we feel for the bullied today, while an awesome development in culture, simply wasn’t in stock when I dealt with it. That said, I look back with some resentment, mostly toward myself rather than those who imposed upon me, because I consider myself neurotypical. I should have championed other bullied people. Instead I did something far more cowardly and attempted to replicate my abusers in the hope they’d have me. Shock of the millennium: they didn’t. It took a long time for me to realize how flawed my thinking was, and when I did...I overcompensated for it.

I’ve deserved to have been punched in the face more than I have in my life (once). I was sucker punched at a bar in a college town for sticking up for a friend who was socially awkward. I hated how he was being treated and didn’t want to see him go out like that. Call it karmic retribution for all the times I hadn’t stood up for myself but more importantly for the people who needed it more than I had, like Matt.

When Todd Phillips ‘Joker’ came out earlier this year the backlash was vicious. “It’s an incel instruction manual!” shouted the morons who knew nothing about the minutiae of the film because it hadn’t been released yet. They attempted to boycott, never mind that their ignorance almost certainly helped propel the Warner Bros. film to one of the most historic and profitable runs in the history of cinema. The thing Joker does best that those too closed minded to have seen the film wouldn’t know, is it begs the question: “Do we treat each other in a fashion that encourages evil?” There’s no question that in some instances evil may be a consequence of mental illness or hormonal imbalance of some sort. But sometimes, just the propensity for evil is fertilized by an awful attitude by people who are too self interested to realize the ways they tread on the well being of others. And there’s something necessarily wrong with seeing the intellectually disabled as potential criminals with an excuse for their bad behavior. That young man at the grocery store lead with love in his heart in an interaction with a stranger. And it’s probably far more common than we care to admit that his endearing positivity be rejected on the basis that he’s different. We should all be so lucky to be just a bit atypical.

#atypical #netflix #neurotypical #Joker #Jokermovie #wb #warnerbrothers #identity politics #netflix orignal series

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