#Which at one point we called dog and cat autism | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sleepyissotired · 2 years

Text

Where do I even begin

As my mind is currently exploding with things I need to get off my chest and out into the void, I should probably at least make an introduction.

I'm sleepy, you can call me Sleepy. I'm in my 30s, I make art, play games, I can code kinda. I have PTSD, autism, BPD, extreme depression and anxiety. (I'm still trying to figure myself out) Last year I recovered from conversion disorder in which I lost use of my legs and was stuck in a wheelchair for almost three years. I live with my dog and my cat… and my childhood abusers.

I'm in this position because when I lost my legs I couldn't take care of myself and I had no one else to fall back on.

My mother is both the villain and the victim of the "Drama Cycle". Her husband used to abuse me and my brother. Verbally and physically.

I didn't always live here. I used to have my own apartment for a few years. I felt like the "Adult Police" were gonna show up at my doorstep and tell me "Okay, the jig's up. Only adults can have an apartment and pay bills." because imposter syndrome was so heavy in my mind.

But I think I did okay until it all went wrong.

I should probably start at the very beginning and say that when I was really little- like- toddler little, my mom had another child. Before this I was her whole world-- because I was her doll.

Dressed me up, did my hair, showed me off to her friends, entered me in local "prettiest baby" contests. Would constantly snuggle with me, shower me with gifts, talk to and spend time with me.

But then my brother came along.

Kids are gonna be jealous- but 30yo me sees what really happened through all of this.

My mother was obsessed with babies.

Flash forward to the current age- she's literally making reborn dolls after getting through a phase of constantly trying to afford to buy them.

Back to little me- little me didn't understand what was going on exactly. So forever little me felt broken. Like I had done something wrong.

Why did mom keep pushing me away? Why was she only always paying attention to my little brother? Why wont she play with me or do my hair anymore? Why don't we do anything together anymore? Go anywhere?

She married a good few times. Not that it's not normal-- but she never stopped her husbands from treating me like an alien.. and eventually hurting me.

My real father was nowhere in this picture until my teens when I was going through the worst of my abuse- the abuse that caused the worst of my PTSD.

I cried to him and told him how terrible the abuse was. I went to live with him and was happy in school, I had friends for the first time- my grades were doing well. But I didn't know he was on drugs.

His girlfriend left him. A night or two after he tried to have his way with me.

I wont get into that even though it's still a vivid memory and a fresh opened wound that I never healed from.

When my mother came to get me from school and take me away from him I told her in front of the counselor and meant it that "I'd rather be r*ped every day than go back with you!"

As intensely fucked up as both scenarios were.. I did mean it… I didn't know my father. But at one point my mother was my world. Her hurting me was too much in comparison.

But I had to go back.. and the abuse only got worse.

At this point I'm showing signs of PTSD. My mother starts sending me to boot camp because she refuses to understand why I am the way I am. (hi, it's me 20+ years from then- it's because I'm autistic)

She and her husband would dump a whole pitcher of freezing ice water on me and my whole bed to wake me up at 3am almost every Friday morning. Almost.

Imagine the fear that you go through every weekend of not knowing if you're going to go somewhere that's going to terrorize you-- imagine no one caring either way.

They'd throw me in the car and drive me out of town to this awful place where people would scream at me and invalidate what I was going through. No one would listen or care. You just had to run and exercise until you threw up.

Why was I there? Because I didn't get along with my mother's husband-- you know, the one beating me and my brother, I had all F's in school even though I was smart because my home life was a disaster and slept all day in class because that's the only place I felt safe and was exhausted in every which way possible- oh and of course I was a "trouble maker" because people didn't understand me.

When I was 17 I ran away from all of it. Into more abuse-- but that's another story for another time.

Eventually I ran away from that. At some point I found myself with my bestfriend at the time. We were tired of being hurt and just wanted to settle down with a family so we got married and pregnant.

We didn't realize it would go so badly. We both were depressed and my PTSD was full flare. I was terrified to even open the door outside. We didn't know what was wrong with me- he got tired of taking care of both me and the baby but couldn't tell me. So instead he just stopped helping me.

I couldn't work, couldn't drive- I was getting to the point where I wasn't even taking care of myself-- so I gave him a month in advance ultimatum. I told him that if he kept ignoring our problems, not helping me when I desperately needed him to- I was going to have to leave.

I didn't expect him to not try at all for the entire month.

Leaving my child. That wound is still fresh and I'm not ready to talk about it yet. But it's absolutely a trauma.

After I moved back in with my abusers until I could get my apartment I met someone online.

We got along perfectly until we didn't. They lived overseas. They could visit me but I couldn't visit them because of my own issues. I wanted to but I needed someone to hold my hand through them.. something I couldn't get.

I felt too much pressure from not being able to. They'd have depressed episodes where the guilt I had would grow every single time.

And my heart just couldn't take it anymore. My body decided that it was time to start shutting some things off because I'm probably dying due to these amounts of stress and anxiety. So my legs went.. and the fainting started.

Fainted at everything. Fainted at needles, fainted at heat, fainted at bathing, fainted waking up from nightmares, fainted from standing too long- even had a seizure a few times. I've never had a seizure until then.

I spent years seeing doctors and fighting to understand what was wrong with me. It wasn't until one day it clicked with me that sometimes when people jump out of airplanes- their brain processes that they're about to die so they shut things off.

I'm now heavily medicated, walking and for the most part taking care of myself again- but I'm still struggling with some things.

Any type of heat still makes me feel faint. Including bathing. Going out. Exercise. I'm still trying to understand why that's still happening. Maybe it's part of the conversion disorder?

While I try to understand myself, figure out what's going on with my brain and body and find a way out-- I want to post here to remind myself. Good and bad.

Some days are hard, some days are less.

As for my abusers. They don't physically abuse me anymore. However the things they say and don't say, the things they do still trigger my PTSD.

But I'll talk about that some other time.

#ptsd #trauma #introduction #diary

1 note · View note

esrah-rah-rasputin · 2 years

Text

April 4th: Talk about humor. Do you feel that your autism affects your sense of humor in any way? Are there any inside jokes in the autism community that you really like?

[ID: a thin gold line divider with a shiny gold infinity symbol in the middle. /End ID] (divider from here)

Oh definitely! In lots of ways, so pardon the long post I’m about to write.

I had the usual experience of being the butt of the joke growing up, because I didn’t understand references to things, innuendo and metaphors if they hadn’t already been explained to me (the key part is: being explained), and hard to detect humor like sarcasm and hyperbolic humor. I also never got mean spirited humor, but then again, I still don’t. I just don’t think it’s that funny, and I can’t stand romcoms that hinge on embarrassment.

However, it was more an issue of “figuring out though trial and error the meanings of jokes, categories of jokes, and generally how to do humor,” and not that it was impossible for me to understand. It’s like learning a language, but no one around you is bilingual, and if they can translate, they refuse to.

So instead, I loved wordplay growing up, and jokes which revolved around my special interests. Like, here’s an example of a joke I made up, which I told over and over again when I was around 13: What do you call a small time traveling dog which goes back in time to meet itself? A para-daschund! Puns were pretty easy to get, all things considered.

Sometime around 10th grade, after I made different friends and tried catching up on well known media, I realized I wasn’t always the butt of the joke anymore, and sometimes, I was actually funny. Especially with dry humor and sarcasm, which ironically, I’m pretty good at these days. I still don’t like really mean spirited humor, and humor that’s really just disguised bigotry. It’s just not funny to me.

Later, when I figured out I was the host of a system, I realized there was also other types of humor we could do that just wasn’t in my individual wheelhouse. Like, there’s this one guy in this system who would make a great comedian. He’s got a sharp and quick tongue, he connects things easily and on the spot, and he makes people laugh easily. There’s another person who’s great with wordplay, and loves to make up alliterative word sequences in conversation as a form of humor. And then there’s our cohost, who practically thrives on sarcasm, dry wit, and mock conflict. We all like the idea of trying out doing comedy at some point, formally or informally, just because making people laugh is so fun.

Edit: I forgot this part, but I love the inside jokes in the autistic community. Especially the “flipping the script on allistics and talking about them the way they talk about us” forms of satire, that��s fantastic, I remember laughing my ass off and looking up as much of that as I could find when I learned about it. That, and all cats being autistic! I’ve actually warmed up a lot to cats after I saw some stuff about how cats and autistic people’s way of interaction is similar.

The main thing that understanding and replicating humor relies on though, at least with me, is that the joke follows a certain formula, or I’ve spent enough time around the person to where I can tell what communicative formulas they use when they’re joking. If they don’t follow that formula very obviously (like with hyperbole and sarcasm), it’s hard to detect when it’s happening, and it takes longer to learn. Funny enough, explaining the joke does in fact make it funnier ;)

#30daysofautismacceptance #actuallyautistic #Esrah talks

2 notes · View notes

spectrumed · 3 years

Text

3. sadness

Don’t be like that. Be like this, or be that other thing. Be unique, but don’t be too unique. Fit in, but try to be a rebel. Be a renegade, but don’t rock the boat. Don’t know what you are supposed to be? What? Do you have imposter syndrome or something? Just be yourself, but, y’know, sand down the edges a little bit. Be friendlier. Be the kind of person everyone likes. Be the life of the party! Don’t be some shut-in, some crazy cat-lady with absolutely zero social life. Don’t be sad. Don’t burden others with your sadness. Work to maximise the total happiness of your community. A smile goes a long way. Can’t smile? You really can’t help but being a sourpuss all the time? Well, I guess maybe that if you can’t help but stay in a perpetual bad mood bringing everyone else down… then maybe you should just stay isolated? Better stay alone, away from others. You’re toxic. You’re just so damned sad. You really must be quarantined.

I am sad, a lot of the time. Are you? But, no, you can’t just admit that you are sad. Don’t be a buzzkill, try to inject a little humour into the things you say. You can admit you’re depressed, if you do so with a joke. Don’t let others know you’re being sincere. Ironic jokes work the best, don’t they? They let you confess your secret gloom to everyone around, but they’ll never know just how serious you’re being. With a wink of the eye, any candid expression of your inner turmoil can become a hilarious post-modern gag. Are they or are they not telling the truth? Oh, I’ll never tell! And it will all work out excellent, up until the day you commit suicide. But every comedian’s time in the limelight has to end at some point, right?

This blog is supposed to be about autism spectrum disorder, why am I suddenly discussing depression? Well, I suppose that it is time we bring to the table this little thing called comorbidity. Psychology is messy. Some would argue that it is barely even a real scientific field (I tend to think that it is the best thing we have, but I acknowledge that in places, psychology is fundamentally flawed.) You may have thought that you’d get just one diagnosis. One simple label that you can work through and overcome. You’re bipolar, now go deal with it! But instead, you find yourself with a whole fistful of diagnoses. What to hear my proud list of diagnoses? Oh, please, don’t think because I am listing them this one certain way, I put them in order of relevancy to me. I love all of my diagnoses equally.

My diagnoses are:

Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD)

Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD)

Agoraphobia

Possible Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

Asperger syndrome (AS)

No, I was never officially diagnosed with depression, but largely because, at the time I received these diagnoses, my depression was so blatant that it felt as if I was walking around with a cloud of miasma surrounding at all times. Imagine me as Pig-Pen from Peanuts, but instead of being covered in dirt, I was covered in the funk of melancholy. And whatever treatment I would eventually go on to receive (and still am receiving to this day,) would go about treating my anxiety first, and hopefully, the depression would give in alongside the anxiety. It has, for the most part, though, I still feel the presence of that black dog from time to time. I also got only a half-hearted potential diagnosis of OCD, but later, during a trial of an antidepressant that had a freakishly negative impact on my psyche, it blossomed into a fully-grown attention-craving condition. Turns out that OCD can be a real hog for the spotlight, really not allowing any of the other diagnoses to take their turn on stage. Thankfully, when I got off that particular antidepressant, those symptoms stopped, but it has led me to be far more aware of my internal obsessive-compulsive thought patterns. For me, OCD largely lacks physical compulsions, but my mind is ablaze with intrusive thoughts, and I will routinely force myself to repeat certain phrases in my head to make them go away. The funny thing is, I never realised that wasn’t normal.

Diagnoses are an attempt to map out a spiders’ web of problems. Things come hand in hand. While I’m no psychologist, I can speak from the perspective of someone who has been through the psychiatric process, which I suppose, lends me a certain kind of expertise, doesn’t it? Maybe it really doesn’t. Maybe I’m just throwing words out there, thinking that I could serve a good purpose, but instead all I am doing is contributing to this great onslaught of digital disinformation we’re all suffering under. But I’m probably just too doubtful of myself. I am speaking about myself, after all. I’ve got first-hand experience in being myself. I know exactly what it feels like to own this skin, these bones, this heart, and this mushy brain of mine. I’m not claiming to know everything. I’m just claiming to know about this one sad individual writing this hoping it might allow someone to reblog my posts with the hashtag “relatable” one day.

Anxiety runs in my family. The neurosis demon gets passed down from generation to generation, only occasionally skipping a beat. My mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, though, she has for the most part of her life not had it to quite the excessive degree that I have it. I really took that genetic predisposition for anxiety and ran with it. And while I’m the only person in my family to have gotten diagnosed as being “on the spectrum,” there are a few members that I kinda sort of in a way actually quite seriously suspect might also be here somewhere on the spectrum. Still, as always goes with diagnosing, there’s no point in doing it unless the person is in need of some kind of treatment. I wholeheartedly believe that most people on the planet belong to one spectrum, be it an autism spectrum, a bipolar spectrum, a narcissism spectrum, even a schizophrenic spectrum, but diagnoses should be exclusively reserved for those who need psychiatric care. The world is a spectrum, and it’s worth noting that the terms “sane” and “insane” do not alone capture the complexity of the human psyche. A person can appear perfectly sensible, yet at some point in their life, they may have been a real silly little bugger who thought that their pet hamster was the reincarnation of the Buddha. Just as with physical health, one can struggle with one's mental health for one period in their life, only to later on in life feel utterly and entirely mentally healthy. Or, well, sadly in a lot of cases, people who were perfectly mentally healthy may suddenly become diagnosed with dementia. But that’s really sad, so let’s not talk about that.

Is it all genetic? Well, no. Or well, maybe? In regards to autism, I am pretty sure that, yes, it is genetic. While, yes, I do admit that I’m just a dummy on the internet, so what do I really know? And the brain is such a complex bit of mushy meat, so I could always be proven wrong. Though, I tend towards thinking that there most likely is principally a genetic factor to conditions like autism, or attention deficit disorder (and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder,) or things like bipolar disorder. But with anxiety, quite frankly, I can’t say how much of it is nurture and how much of it is nature. I mentioned that my mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, so that would imply that there is something in one's genes that can make some more prone to anxiety than others, but my mother does not struggle with agoraphobia, nor does she seem to have any obsessive-compulsive tendencies. In fact, in my family, even those that exhibit some element of heightened anxiety, they don’t seem to show any milder symptoms of this kind. I can’t help but feel as if these conditions I gained through that tortuous period of every boy’s and girl’s (and boy-girl’s) life is called puberty. I hate to conform to stereotypes but I did indeed hate being a teenager. Believe it or not, I wasn’t a jock, and no, I didn’t go to parties. I mostly spent my time crying.

The question that no doubt plagues every movie psychiatrist to no end is what kind of trauma must a person undergo to make them go mad? Abusive parents? Abusive uncles? Abusive teachers? Abusive dogs? Honestly, to be an adult raising a child must be rough, considering how any mistake you make might suddenly turn your little babe into a future serial killer. Now, there’s no doubt that there are some seriously terrible parents out there, and that a lot of people have mental woes that definitely came about due to their parents and their abysmal lack of parental care. But generally, how much can you actually blame on your parents? We know the cliché, let’s go sit down on the sofa and complain to our Freudian hack-shrink all about those times as a kid our dad missed the big game, or that time our mother embarrassed us in front of all of our friends. I have plenty of things to complain about my parents, like I believe we all have. Our parents are flawed, messy human beings, of course they occasionally made mistakes throughout our upbringings. But is that nearly enough to turn a person mentally ill? Putting up with an at times really embarrassing mom? No, I don’t think so. And of course, there are some real awful parents out there, I’m not doubting that. Trust me, I’m a fan of true crime, so I’ve heard some real grizzly stories of what some kids are forced to grow up with. But I am thinking that those instances are more rare than they are common. Most people with mental illnesses can most likely not blame their parents.

How ‘bout bullies? Yes, them bullies. Them awful mean bullies that made all of our lives so painful. It’s funny, it seems like every school had their own fair share of bullies, and yet no-one as an adult ever comes forward to admit that they themselves were the bullies. It’s almost like as if no-one ever thinks of themselves as being a bully, even when they are throwing rocks at that weird chubby kid with blonde hair who happens to be named Fredrik and who just wants to be left alone. Was I bullied? Well… yes. But I can’t say I got the brunt of it. I got bullied, but overall I’d say I only ever had it slightly worse than most people. I was still quite tall, typically taller than my classmates growing up, and for the most part I could roll with the punches. If you really want to talk about a kid I knew growing up that got bullied, let me tell you about this kid who knew all the right dances for all the right Britney Spears songs. He was gay, I think. Not quite old enough to have come out, I suspect, but, well... He liked all the female pop stars, but not in that way of wanting to kiss them and fondle their boobies, but in the “I want to sound just like them when I grow up” sort of way. I don’t know what happened to him (or them, or her, depending on how they identify now,) but that was real bullying. Like most folks, I found myself stuck in that limbo of seeing others get bullied far worse than me and being too cowardly to intervene, in fears that I’d end up taking their place. Yes, isn’t school just a marvellous place? It’s a wonder any of us turn out okay.

No, I think that, fundamentally, the problems I have arose with myself. This, blaming myself, is not something that I am unused to doing. I have a long history of blaming myself, that’s really the problem. As a teenager I knew that I was different, and I was frightened and scared of being exposed. I didn’t even really know what it was that was different about me, I just knew that I didn’t fit in. I felt as if I didn’t deserve to fit in. The older I got, the more intense these feelings got. And I started taking it out on myself. I started hating myself. And I really mean furiously hating myself. It wasn’t some casual self-loathing, it was searing self-hatred. I did not physically hurt myself, but I did engage with self-harm. I kept repeating the mantras of “I hate myself,” and “I am pathetic,” over and over again, with the ultimate goal of making myself cry. For a period, I couldn’t go to bed without making myself cry first. I began taking days off from school, pretending to be sick. Well, I suppose I was ill, but not physically. I began failing most of my classes, I only ended up doing well in art. I stayed away from school for whole weeks at the time. Once, when I shame-facedly returned to school some of the meaner boys came up to me and said that they were surprised to learn that I was still alive. They were surprised, but also a little disappointed.

This was a time in my life when I really needed psychiatric care. This became increasingly obvious to my parents, and my teachers. I was clearly suffering from depression. Not just some teenaged angst, but full-blown, wholly insidious, depression. But, well, I didn’t get the care that I needed. Oh, I did go to see a psychologist a couple of times, but she saw no reason for me to continue seeing her. I don’t know why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help, frankly, I can’t fathom why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help. I suppose I avoided telling her the truth of what went on inside of my head, but I feel like as if any good psychologist would have been able to tell that the kid sitting across from them was clearly suffering from something a tad more intense than just some common concerns about puberty. At most I was able to confess was that I was feeling ashamed over myself for getting so fat, but it should have been clear to anybody that I was only using that as a hook to hang my self-hatred on. There very clearly was some underlying condition that I had that should have gotten addressed. But it went ignored.

At most I can think to explain this is the fact that I wasn’t “problematic.” Not in the way some kids are, when they’re struggling with their mental health. I did not act out, I did not take drugs, and I was certainly not violent. Even to this day, though I have at many times suffered from suicidal ideation, I am a real low-risk for actual suicide considering my intense fear of dying (yes, that’s an odd combo to have.) So, I’ve come to realise that the only way I am getting treatment is if I actually seek out treatment. And back then, I was just as placid as I had previously always been. I was quiet and introverted, just desperate to get back home so I could go and hide in my room. Many teenagers are like that. And it is easy to ignore them, because they want to be ignored. They just don’t want to exist. When you are desperate to be left alone, eventually people will leave you alone. I would go on to receive psychiatric care later on my life, but only after several years passed. I did have a better time living in my later teenage years, but like with a bone that heals wrong, I needed someone to come in and sort me out. I was sad as a teenager, but I would become really sad as a twenty-something. Hopefully my thirties will be jolly.

#neurodiversity #neurodivergent #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health

7 notes · View notes

luminarii · 3 years

Text

I need fellow Autistics opinion on something, if you're willing to share your thoughts about it.

I have a younger brother (24 years old) who just got diagnosed with Autism. I myself got diagnosed with Autism when I was 22 years old (I'm now 28), and I have another younger brother (27) who got the diagnosis when he was 18. We have two other siblings, but they're neurotypical.

My 24 year old brother's name starts with an 'N', and my 27 year old brother's name starts with an 'S', so I'll call them that for short. Me and S both have many of the "stereotypical" Autism traits, and while S has been showing his Autism since his infancy, I didn't show any signs of Autism until I was about 5 or 6 years old. But now that we're "adults", we both need to live in assisted homes for Autistic adults.

Now, I told you N had recently gotten his own Autism diagnosis as well, but he doesn't show ANY signs of Autism at ALL, and never has. Me, S and our mother (neurotypical) all agree that while he has some difficulties, he is very non-Autistic in many ways. I can give you a list of his difficulties/advantages/past diagnoses: !!!WARNING!!!: SOME OF THIS INFORMATION CAN BE TRIGGERING AND VERY VIOLENT FOR SOME READERS. THOSE POINTS WILL BE MARKED WITH A (!TW!) SIGN.

- He has always been excellent at making friends as, atleast when he was a kid and teenager, was talkative, adventurous, confident, and knows how to read people's face/body/emotions. The last one is still true today. - He still has the majority of his childhood friends to this day. - He was never teased, bullied or otherwise wronged in school as a kid, and was actually one of the more popular kids as he was pretty 'normal'. ('normal' as in he very rarely did anything 'peculiar' or 'weird' that others didn't understand) - As he is the youngest of 5 children, he was the most spoiled of me and our siblings, and could sometimes lose his temper if he didn't get what he wanted, when he wanted it. I know that that can also be an Autism trait, but I am literally 100% sure he was like that simply because he was spoiled by our parents. - He learned everything at the appropriate ages: talking, walking, playing with other kids, sharing toys/other objects, reading, counting, telling time, tying his own shoes, and the list goes on, while me and S learned all of those things much later than the 'norm'. - Even to this day, N is very in tune with other people's emotions, and can easily put himself in other peoples' shoes. He has always been like that, and even as a child, was very good at cheering up others and calming people down if needed. - Our parents separated when I was five years old, back in 1998/1999. Our father got a new girlfriend, let's name her 'D', and D was the one who spoiled N rotten from when he was only 1 year old, and to some extent still spoils him to this day. Ever since our parents separation, D has been more of a 'mother' to N than our maternal mother, since D came into our lives when N was basically still a baby, and has been spoiled by her since day one, basically. Our father died in 2012, and our mother mother died this March, 2020. - As I have already said, N is still very spoiled today, even though he's 24, and can lose his temper quickly if he doesn't get what he wants, when he wants it. When he was a child and teenager, he just got angry and/or sad when he didn't get his way. Now, as an adult, he gets violent when he doesn't get his way. - N has been seeing several psychiatrists over the years, and even been admitted to psychiatric hospitals, sometimes on his own accord, sometimes forced. There, he's gotten a few diagnoses, such as: acute psychosis, Tourrette's Syndrome, and ADHD. I think he got another one, but I don't remember which one. But not even a month ago, 'Autism' was added to his list of diagnoses. - (!TW!) As an adult, whenever he wasn't admitted to a psychiatric hospital/institution, he started to wreck havoc whenever he didn't get his way, and in the most brutal of ways. He has hit and kicked people, even women, almost completely destroyed our stepmother's, D, entire house; the only thing that was intact was the kitchen and bathroom. He even destroyed all the windows in her house, and (presumably, according to D) kicked her cat. - (!TW!) He has admitted to physically abuse D's old dog by kicking her, punching her head with a brick in his hand, and I hope with every part of my soul that I am wrong on this, but I have a feeling he has also sexually abused the dog. - (!TW!) He has killed multiple animals; D's pet bunny, a newborn kitten, and an aquarium full of fish (about 8-10 fish). None of the animals were his own, not that it makes a difference. - (!TW!) This summer, our neurotypical brother ('A') and N were playing a video game on their computers while talking over the phone. N lost to A, and N lost his temper. N threatened to not just kill A and his girlfriend, but to kill A's girlfriend's entire family, cutting off A's skin and using it as a costume to 'start a new and better life'. A understandably has cut off contact to N since. - N is also still doing semi-harmful things to people on almost a daily basis, including, but not limited to: spitting on/after people at the psychiatric hospital, yelling and screaming at them, threatening them, and other forms of verbal abuse.

There are two reasons I'm making this post. 1; N is not Autistic. He has problems, yes, and they're escalating quickly, but he is not Autistic. He has never acted Autistic in any way, and no matter how many 'professionals' give him the Autism diagnosis, I refuse to believe it. 2; the psychiatric hospital he's currently admitted to are planning to send him to an assisted home for Autistic adults, like the ones me and our brother S are living in. This could prove to be extremely dangerous for the personel working there as well as the other residents, especially the latter as we Autistic people won't be able to cope with someone as extreme as N.

I am asking for as many (Actually Autistic people only!!!) people as possible to tell me your take on this. I know that each individual Autistic person is different, and that we all share a lot of the same difficulties and advantages, but are still completely different from eachother in many ways. But N is not Autistic, and again, no amount of 'professional' NT diagnostics doctors can convince me otherwise. What I need is opinions, preferably as many as possible, from other Autistic people like myself.

N is a danger to himself and others, but he is my brother and I love him with all my heart, and I just want to see him get better. But people are about to send him off to a home he doesn't belong, with people that won't be able to handle him. Please, send me your thoughts on this; you might be able to help me being able to help my brother.

#not astrology #autism #autistic #actually autistic #wrong diagnosis #wrong autism diagnosis #I'm desperate #I need your help

16 notes · View notes

crimeronan · 4 years

Note

i wanna hear more about your headcanon of declan as autistic (no pressure! only if u want to)

oh ariana we’re really in it now

not all of these bullet points are specifically related to autism bc this just turned into a post about how fond i am of declan. however. autistic declan lynch rights here we go

speech

declanisms

really, keeping a list of action-based conversation starters to meet your goals that all sound like something a caricature of a high-level business executive would say... honey

memorizing clever turns of phrase and the cadence of storytelling

and refusing to ever use this love of language in public lest it make him vulnerable or ruin anything he’s built

having practiced regulating his vocal tone and inflection to make them both as normal and as free of personality as possible

being unable to modulate his vocal tone and inflection when he’s Not actively concentrating on regulating them - speaking impulsively from a place of upset, getting excited about things, etc

physicality

having also practiced his physicality to appear as unthreatening and unobtrusive as possible

mirroring strangers, casual acquaintances, criminal associates

actively schooling himself not to talk with his hands; natural storytelling comes with gesturing and physical involvement

having pleasant conversations and being pleasant to exist around while managing to have absolutely no friends

anxious stomachaches

nervous tics

refusing to allow himself comfortable clothing or a comfortable living space despite seeming to want these things

deciding he can have nice shoes, as a treat (doesn’t have anything to do with neurodivergence i just think it’s cute)

internal emotions

Everything Is Horrible, All The Time, But That’s Fine Because That’s Just How Life Is For Me And I’ve Accepted It

deeply unhappy, deeply bored, deeply exhausted, deeply terrified

given up on dreams and ambitions because they will never be accessible to someone like him (one of those things that in-narrative isn’t autism-related, but sure can be a hashtag relatable feel)

happiness, excitement, joy, any positive emotions are all “dangerous” because they represent a loss of control

zero to one hundred IMMEDIATELY in terms of anger, manic excitement, terror, misery, self-flagellation

constantly self-regulating, compartmentalizing, putting aside, and refusing to act on emotions despite feeling Incredibly Deeply

anxiety

obsessing, catastrophizing, making contingency plans, exploring bad outcomes, regretting past actions literally every single second of every day

aforementioned physical anxiety manifestations

resigned to ronan and matthew’s eventual deaths even when things are Mostly Okay

convinced that if and when something happens to ronan or matthew, it will be his fault

none of these things are autism-related specifically, there’s just something in his repetitive thoughts / methods of self-soothing / ways of internalizing trauma that's..... a feeling

child development

one of those kids who would have been called “precocious”

had developed a system for watching/protecting ronan and trying to convince ronan not to dream things by age five

specific interests in things deemed uninteresting or unimportant

didn’t engage in the same play behavior most kids his age would

got overwhelmed and cried over liking a gift too much

consciously aware of niall’s disdain for him, aurora’s ephemeral nature, and ronan’s dangerousness to himself at age five

some of these things are definitely exacerbated or fully caused by a childhood of emotional neglect and endangerment; autism reading integrates with this rather than replacing it. i strongly feel declan would still have been a “precocious” child with a healthy happy parental upbringing as well

sense of responsibility

extremely stressed by any situation he can’t control

will attempt to control situations beyond his jurisdiction to minimize this

studies so many parenting books after technically becoming ronan and matthew’s caretaker because he has no frame of reference for parenting and does not trust his instincts

“if you want something done right, do it yourself” a life motto by declan lynch

“everything is my fault, all the time” a life motto by declan lynch

“except when it’s dad’s or ronan’s fault” a pretty fair addendum by declan lynch

mental stimulation

so unbelievably bored with his life situation

THRILLED any time he gets to play games or engage in clever conversation - seen a little in his “crime makes me feel alive” vibes, his back-and-forth banter with jordan

won’t let himself get engaged in things because passion feels unsafe

enjoys himself for about one hour of one single night and then immediately starts cracking to pieces about how living in a constant state of mental dissatisfaction is killing him slowly

somehow manages to be surprised by this turn of events

interests

he hides art he loves in a murder attic like a feral cat who refuses to eat in front of people. i don’t even need to get into this

absolutely immediately enchanted to the point of self-labeled stupidity by watching jordan paint

infodumping about art history

trading art interests with jordan bc he’s legitimately interested and excited by what she knows and feels passionate about

this entire post should just be the murder attic. declan oh my fucking god

aforementioned collecting of language he likes

the whole tyrian purple thing. again. declan oh my fucking god

emotional intimacy

craves emotional intimacy but is TERRIFIED of being known and/or being rejected

is convinced he can never and will never have emotional intimacy in his life

has all the stamina of a wet tissue in terms of keeping his emotional secrets when jordan cottons onto them

gets annoyed by relationships with people who want emotional connection but continues playacting through the motions of said relationships in the hopes of being less lonely

comforting people / expressing genuine care

declan attempted to dispense comfort. “everybody dies, matthew”

i have to put attempted to dispense comfort on the list again. oh my god. to declan’s brain, emotional comfort is a vending machine that’s eaten ten dollars in a row and is now falling on him after he made the mistake of shaking it

declan regretted saying anything. [immediately says the worst thing possible]

write your routine, ronan. now. now. write it. write it down. (because i’m worried you’re going to kill yourself but have no idea how to say that so i have to focus on concrete action.)

every time he’s tried to say “i’m worried about you” and instead gone “why are you inconveniencing me this way.” king

having no sense of how to communicate feelings or solve emotional conflicts through talking despite attempting to do these things frequently, AFTER STUDYING OUT OF BOOKS, to his detriment

preferring to take care of people silently and subtly through protecting them and making things easier for them, extremely similarly to how ronan does

irritability

constantly in a low level fugue state of annoyance

runs on caffeine and fumes

very thin patience for anyone else’s inability to stick to plans, manage time, regulate emotion, do their jobs, follow through on commitments, etc

the unceasing “i’m not unhappy. i’m not unhappy. i’m not unhappy” while at work screams of “i am in sensory/emotional hell all the time and checking slightly out of this plane to deal”

loses control all at once, when he does lose control

drains energy like a broken cellphone battery from the effort of combating misery, anxiety, mental overload, boredom, masking all thoughts and feelings

bonus content: parents

the actual in-universe reasons for these things aren’t related to neurodivergence as far as we know, but

growing up as the unfavored child whose interests are constantly ignored or shut down

seeing your siblings get preferential treatment for no reason

being silenced or punished every time you express dissatisfaction or unhappiness or anger

being considered disposable

internalizing the idea that you’re a burden unless you’re worth something to others

that’s a real common lived realty for autistic ppl

bonus content: brothers

i read all three lynch brothers as being on the spectrum and all having different experiences with it

i read matthew as having had the inverse experience of declan, in which he flaps and stims and chews loudly and talks a mile a minute and expresses himself with excitement and passion and bouncing

& he has Not been punished for it or made to feel like it should be hidden

declan’s ferocious protectiveness of matthew is in many ways bc he wants to keep matthew from suffering the same way he has

differing autism spectrum experiences fit neatly into that

ronan and declan’s experiences are in some ways wildly different

in other ways, though

going zero to one hundred on the emotional spectrum, defaulting to anger to avoid fully feeling internal chaos, being unable to understand the other’s feelings or thought processes / making wildly incorrect conclusions about them, preferring to show feelings through action rather than words, struggling to translate genuine emotion into expression without coming across as a dick

they are Very Similar

declan and ronan do a lot of “dog growls at its own reflection” about this because neither of them is more furious than when they see their own perceived shortcomings in the other

i’m positive i’ve forgotten some things and also positive i have not communicated all of these thoughts as effectively as i would like but i have been typing this post for a thousand years. here you go

#trc #cdth #declan lynch #i love my idiot son #suicide m #ableism -#Anonymous

98 notes · View notes

bomberqueen17 · 4 years

Text

babey cat

So I scooted home to Buffalo yesterday as homeschooling ended. Sunny drive home, reunited with my babey cat, went over to Dude’s mom’s house for hot dogs (or, as he and his mother call them in a parody of one of the local accents which is more them being goofy than anything else but uh don’t underestimate those wacky Great Lakes vowels guys: Hat Dags). We had pleasant conversation, and then went and raided the games cabinet in search of fun games Dude had played as a tiny child. Alas, the Little Kid games had gotten cleaned out at some point, and I came away only with a super-vintage copy of Twister, with the Twister board printed on vinyl canvas of startlingly high quality. I’ll try that one with the Chaos Gnomes later.

I asked her for ideas on how to keep the kids occupied and she said “I just always told people dark closets do wonders” and Dude and his sister would always make serious faces and nod in fake fearfulness. But then Dude talked about how they used to spend a bunch of time exploring the crawlspace that used to exist in the house, and his mom talked about how she used to do the same as a kid-- she grew up in that house too-- and so there was a grain of truth to it. (MAYBE we need to make the kids a fort or playhouse somewhere within the house. But they’ll fight over it. I must contemplate this.)

The problem is nobody can think of something for MM’s kids to do that doesn’t either require super-intense supervision OR a massive amount of cleanup afterwards. They just can’t find anything to amuse themselves that doesn’t destroy the house. And it’s been oh they’re too little all this time, but, Boy is seven years old. A seven-year-old should be able to entertain himself without actively destroying things? He’s super-young for his age in many ways but part of that is that he’s treated young, y’know?? He surprises me sometimes-- I was grousing at him for doing his homework carelessly, and after I stopped talking he quietly said “Thank you for the advice,” and proceeded to do all the things I’d suggested to improve. So he CAN act his age, but nobody expects it of him, and I’ve fallen into that trap too.

I think he’d be more capable of self-amusement if it weren’t for the fact that his sister gets petulant and wants to change activities and wants to be in charge and so on. But-- she’s five, not two. She also should be able to amuse herself for at least a double-digit set of minutes, anxiety problems or no. So what can I come up with for them that is reasonably self-contained and involves their attention without constant direct supervision but doesn’t completely trash multiple rooms of the house??? (Yesterday, their mom went to the grocery store, leaving them in front of the TV. But after half an hour, they were screaming and throwing the cushions around, so I stopped the TV and brought them into the kitchen and, at Boy’s request, let them use the whiteboard markers-- which require constant supervision because they stain clothing and if left unattended with them they “accidentally” draw on themselves, the curtains, the walls, etc. For which behavior they’re too old! But! IDK. So I just had to sit there, and yeah I could read a book concurrently but I had to be constantly aware of whether they were getting along or not. Which isn’t that bad, for me, but MM is, well-- I’ve speculated in the past that she might be on the autism spectrum, because among many other things it is torture to her to switch her attention from task to task, and if she’s absorbed in something she cannot surface in time to easily prevent her kids from, say, drawing on one another with whiteboard markers. I get mildly annoyed at having to switch attention, and over the long-term I could see that it would upset me more and more, but her baseline is that this is unendurable so you can see how seven years of it has not helped her mental health at all. And if you’re not quick on that sort of thing, it goes from “nuh uh!” *crisis averted* to *thirty seconds of solid inattention during which something irreversible happens* “oh what the fuck”.)

ANYHOW I am doing laundry and getting some personal groceries and sorting out my taxes and several assorted similar things today, and it’s sunny so my shit’s on the line but it’s gonna rain so I gotta stay alert and take it in, and my cat slept almost the whole night on my face except for the times I was enjoying being in my own bed with my dude, so that’s all pretty good but I’m feeling mildly guilty at enjoying this free time so much.

Also I am thinking about the farm and how much I miss them and i really sort of just want to go straight there now and help out until chicken day BUT they have enough staff and don’t need me AND if I went I’d probably have to self-isolate afterward and I don’t want to do that so I should really make up my mind and discuss that with MM and look at the infection stats in Rensselaer Co etc but really I just want to sit here and look at my computer and not have to pay attention to any other humans for a lil bit.

#thonking #about the author #that quarantine life

19 notes · View notes

kimyoonmiauthor · 4 years

Text

Myka and James Stauffer rehoming a disabled child--What more can you do?

I wrote this once, but then it wouldn’t post. So this is a second time, excuse it if it’s not as eloquent as it should be. I’m an international adoptee, so we’re more affected by this case than most because according to Reuters 2013 more of us are “rehomed” than others. Because of this, I’ve also been following the case since 2010. So all of the people “shocked” by this terminology needs to listen to adoptees. Over the last 10 years or so, I’ve been collecting resources and things YOU as non-adoptees can do to help. This has included listening to Birth Parents, Adoptees, Adoptive Parents, Former Foster Youth, and basically using my Anthropology training to collect a list. I have to remind you that going after the Stauffers alone isn’t enough. We have to go after the systems that enabled them to do this in the first place so this does not happen to another child. I get it. Vigilante justice feels good. It’s short, sweet and you get results and to see the face of the individual. A system doesn’t have a face you can gloat over. But if you really do care, you’d go after prevention and long term change, otherwise your outrage--and I’m including all of those youtubers I had to sort through (which was painful at best, but so goes advocacy), is empty. You only care about your own self-satisfaction rather than the long term cause or the people involved themselves. (My anti-Cancel Crew objections are along this line of thought.) Since I’ve been asked what this looks like and re-pasting it over and over is a pain, I decided to centralize the post with the levels of justification for the action. I get this post is longish, but take the part you need to make that change you want to advocate for.

If you want to take parts of this post, you can take the links without credit, but not the specific words. And don’t take credit for work you didn’t do.

What is Rehoming?

The often legal, but immoral act of placing a child without oversight of the state or government by placing them on the internet or doing backyard deals. We adoptees have been battling facebook pages for years to shut it down. I am not naming them, because I don’t want to encourage the behavior.

This is separate from dissolution of adoption. This is done with home study and legal oversight.

Why is this a Problem?

Adoptive parents go through a long, long process call home study this can take anywhere from a few months to a year. This has evolved over the years. Since this specific case involves international adoption, I’ll do a run down of the evolution of how home study has evolved in the International adoption community. I know it’s dry and boring, but it’s important to understand why the Stauffer case is egregious and why I am holding Holt responsible.

Home study used to be, “Are you Christian?” as done by the Holts. To be clear, social workers and his translator at the time objected to this. His reasoning? He thought all Christians are good people. (Though if you check the qualifiers for genocide by the UN, this is loosely on the list.) Adoptees were lucky to even get half a page.

This resulted in children being put into sex trafficking rings and child slavery. Social workers and Adoptees legislated against the Holts and the restrictions went up. (The whole list of immoral, yet not illegal crimes the organization has done as a whole, is a whole other story. I know it backwards and forwards as an adoptee with dates and countries since I’ve been in the adoptee community since roughly 1999.) This took 20 years from the first children in 1940′s and 1950′s. The home study in the 1970′s was still thin, but the amount of abuse cases went down. By the 1980′s, there was pressure to actually care about the children, so ESWS (one of the Korean agencies) and the other agencies in Korea started pushing for more extensive home studies (at the behest of Adoptees). The packet and requirements were thin. This included things like checking the financials of the family in question. Giving the parents language lessons, and then a packet usually about an inch thick. They would also get family statements and recommendations. A social worker would come and check the safety of the home. By about the 1990′s the packet has increased, and psychological evaluations started to be put into place. There were lists of books added to the list. (I asked Adoptive Parents to help me with this.) These were “suggestions” but no one tested if the prospective parents read them. So the packets given were about 6 inches deep, with the books about a foot. The in-class studies, several honest Adoptive Parents called “laughable” there was no race training at all and most of it was hanging out.

By the early 2000′s, they started to finally let parents of color adopt in larger numbers. (I know) The rehoming had gotten far more decent. The psych evaluations got deeper. They started to exclude criminal activity, do background checks on the parents, and do deeper psych evaluations, requiring deeper studies. But the Adoptive Parents I talked to said they were not getting the support they needed. The agencies weren’t listening on what they needed to parent their child. This is about the time I started collecting a wishlist and sending it to agencies. As far as I’m connected, nothing has really changed since then. The problem with rehoming is that it sets us back to 1950′s rules. All of this progress that Adoptees, Social workers, and well-meaning Adoptive Parents have fought hard for is done in an instant. There is no home study and the former parents get away with it because Adoptees and Foster Kids are not protected by the same laws that children from birth are.

What does this have to do with the Stauffers?

The Stauffers, a few years ago, decided to adopt a kid from China. They are social influencers. So they asked to fund their child’s adoption. They opted to have a child with special needs and by reports “checked 99% of them.” They paid zero for the adoption, and then used him to boost one of their channels and Instagram follower’s accounts. Their channel boosted by a ton of money, such that they could move into a mansion, their “dream home”, go on several large family vacations, made off of publicizing his story for their own “disability savior” points. Some of the videos, however, were problematic.

He was later said to have autism, and was in speech therapy, by Myka who wanted to “save” money on him by bringing him to a cheaper therapist. Despite this, the channel grew.

Then suddenly the boy disappeared from the channel. After months of pressuring her, they released a video saying they had “rehomed” him. The internet was enraged by this and went after her and James Stauffer. They tried to push Myka to receive all the blame to protect James Stauffer’s channel. All of the videos of this little boy were still up and monetized. They came up with a petition to force all of the videos down. The monetized videos came down and a new petition started: https://www.change.org/p/youtube-shut-down-myka-stauffer-s-youtube-account?signed=true

I also started a letter writing campaign to the governor to make sure it was getting investigated. Everyone else posting about it was trying to go after Myka Stauffer, but I wanted legal change. With me and my network, we worked three days straight to finally get an answer and make sure that the boy they had adopted and “rehomed” was safe.

Is Rehoming New?

Internet Amnesia is real. No. It’s been happening to public knowledge since 2010.

There was the NYC case which got turned into a Law and Order Special Victims Unit episode: https://www.huffpost.com/entry/svu-shines-a-light-on-the_b_4735153

There was the Justin Harris case.

There was the Hart case. (They rehomed once and were able to adopt two more times.)

And if you didn’t think it was covered before then there is also:

https://www.today.com/parents/it-takes-more-love-what-happens-when-adoption-fails-918076

https://www.theatlantic.com/family/archive/2018/11/children-who-have-second-adoptions/575902/

https://mljadoptions.com/blog/adoption-rehoming-disruption-dissolution-20140520

I’ve been riding my own state to institute laws against rehoming, and they finally did it, after the Governor vetoed it once, and I chased him about it. You could be a person that does this too.

So What Can I Do to be a Part of the Change? Here is a PDF of the current anti-rehoming laws. Press for the ones in your state to be cleaned up/invented. https://www.childwelfare.gov/pubPDFs/custody_transfers.pdf Here's contacts for the city where they live if you want to make sure they get justice for him. http://www.delawareohio.net/agendas-motions-summaries-meeting-recordings/meet-city-council-2/ You can contact Governor Mike DeWine and ask him to do something similar to this law https://www.writing.ucsb.edu/sites/secure.lsit.ucsb.edu.writ.d7/files/sitefiles/publications/2010_Sho.pdf which would give Huxley 90% of the earnings in a trust fund and protect the other Stauffer kids: https://governor.ohio.gov/wps/portal/gov/governor/contact The petition to take down their videos is here (They shifted their channels, but still have Huxley's content up.): https://www.change.org/p/youtube-demand-the-stauffers-remove-all-monetized-content-ft-huxley-from-their-youtube-channel?recruiter=1095019618

There is a more strict petition here: https://www.change.org/p/youtube-shut-down-myka-stauffer-s-youtube-account?signed=true There is a federal law that's been in the works since about 2015, when the Justin Harris case broke. Langevin has been trying to get it passed. It has bipartisan support. https://langevin.house.gov/press-release/bipartisan-bill-will-protect-adopted-children-rehoming He is the one that said that cats and dogs have more protections than adoptees or foster care youth have.

https://willbrownsberger.com/rehoming-of-adopted-children/

Send them love and support for working on this for so long. I think if people really, really did care, they'd call their Senators and make sure they are supporting this bill (It has bipartisan support): https://www.senate.gov/senators/How_to_correspond_senators.htm

Why and How to Hold Holt Responsible

Holt wasn’t responsible for the placement of this young boy. However, he is still their charge. When they absorbed the other agency, they should have checked on their charges and made sure they were doing well. But they didn’t.

This seems like a mild crime in most people’s eyes, but case after case, their failure to give Adoptive Parents support and check on them has resulted in a huge list of them saying, “This is unfortunate.”, but then not changing their contracts and trying to clean up the system they perpetuate. Since they are the largest of the International Adoption agencies, they also could set an example, by say, not enabling people to adopt on repeat from them if they’ve rehomed a child. (Shouldn’t their records show that?) and creating a network of adoption agencies to prevent abuse and rehoming so the Hart case doesn’t repeat.

https://www.nytimes.com/2011/09/18/nyregion/chinas-adoption-scandal-sends-chills-through-families-in-united-states.html https://books.google.com/books?id=ABEoAAAAMAAJ&pg=PA224&lpg=PA224&dq=Holt+International+abuse&source=bl&ots=3tvNla8X2x&sig=ACfU3U00GO4BzWMLUnU9dnI_EYqy1VwilA&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwi546nirOvpAhV3HzQIHWTwCow4ChDoATAFegQIDBAB#v=onepage&q=Holt%20International%20abuse&f=false And this is the complete list: http://poundpuplegacy.org/node/6194

Their contact:

https://www.holtinternational.org/contactus.php

But what do I ask for?

I compiled this list with the help of Adoptive Parents who have dealt with Holt before.

- Psych evaluations to take out the Narcissistic people (though stop selling it as a Savior Project would also help.) - Check their parenting styles--some styles do and some styles don't work for adoptees because of the initial trauma. - Minimum Foster Care training.

Many adopters go the rehoming route because they believe the Foster Care system is broken and listen to the news. It is, but they should work with Social Workers because Backyard deals are less than that. Obama (no matter how you feel about him) suggested Foster Care training for all Adoptive Parents which is more rigorous than home study for most states (though this also needs revision). - Make them learn the language of the adoptee they are adopting for at least one year (where it applies and they would have to pass with a C or better.) This is mostly so they learn the cultural standards of the country and it helps cement ideas about socialization as well that is hard to describe otherwise. - Holt specifically forbids Adoptive Parents from contacting Foster Parents after placement--reverse that. Adoptive Parents had to work around them and those that did had better outcomes for their child. Often the Foster Parents were eager to help. - Adoption agencies would be required with any international adoption to give a run down from the foster parents of some basics of socialization (for the country), and maybe some basic training. This would be interactive. (as supposed to the next item)

- Give a basic rundown sheet of things to help the child transition from standard socialization practices. How to comfort the child? What specific foods was the child eating? Is there a brand of detergent that was used in their original home? Where does the child sleep? What are their sleeping hours? What type of clothes do they wear? Things people take for granted and think are universal. Anthropologists and Foster Parents could help with this. - For parents taking on disabilities, they should be required prior to encounter the disability and meet more seasoned parents currently dealing with the disability in question--especially adoptive parents. So they can ask questions, network and really, really see if they can handle it. Don't take their word for it. - Adoptees, PoC, etc and any other diversity labels involved with the child should be required to be in close contact with them. i.e. not the internet. Basic race, etc training should apply and they have to pass a test.

-Check on the Adoptee after placement.

After Adoption care. Several APs said they would have really liked this, but then they were left in the dark. In fact their agencies gave them zero support. And the baby would cry and cry and they were totally lost on what to do. They were lost on which experts to ask, and who they could contact. This is unacceptable. Dogs and cats get more checks and aftercare than human children.

On the consequences end,

Child trafficking and Abandonment--Holt should press for those laws. APs that care are for this. They said, why aren’t there these laws?

Also any adopters that rehome would be banned from adopting again, and they would be added to a general blacklist and spread that information to other agencies.

Through this dissolution of adoption should be the key.

If they break the contract, you can sue.

Lastly, don’t believe you are alone. Your anger can make change. At least let your anger last long enough to make this change to the laws so we adoptees don’t have to hear next year how people are shocked yet again by another rehoming case. Be the change the world needs. You aren’t helpless.

#adoption #rehoming #myka stauffer #james stauffer #rehoming should be illegal #international adoption

8 notes · View notes

ihavealotofquestion · 4 years

Text

Is it just me or-

If everyone acted and said what they wanted the world would be complete chaos, even if you just said how you truly feel all the time it would be more than enough to break down civilization. Or at the very least for someone to never think of you the same way again, actually there are alot of very leasts but if I listed all of them it would be 10 pages long and I would get bored.

Here is a simple example: You are tired and had a long day and you are at a party. You are feeling really tired and call your mom to come pick you up a little early. She comes but then talks with other people for over an hour and by the time you get home you're even more tired and don’t shower. The next morning your mom says that you stink and is mad at you for not taking a shower. At this point you are pretty angry, after all it kind of was her fault and getting yelled at makes you feel sad and defensive as well as angry.

At this point you could A. Let your mom yell and you and apologize and say you were wrong which is the safest option cause you're only getting yelled at. You could B. comply explain to your mom that you had called her to pick you up early because you were tired and knew you still needed to shower but because she had made you stay so long by the time you got home you were too tired. From here your mom might say that A. that’s no excuse B. understand and apologize for yelling and nicely tell you to go take a shower, C. say defensively that you should've asked her to stop talking, which you know if you did she would of told you, that you were being rude and would've gotten chewed out on the car ride home even though she claims know that she wouldn’t have.

You can tell her this and almost 90% of time she is going to get defensive and yell at you or tell you that you are being rude. Then there's C. where you angrily let out our emotions and yell at her telling her it was her fault and explaining why and you are know in trouble for yelling, you the A. apologize so the punishment isn’t as worse as it could be, or B. try and stick it out to show her how you really feel and to prove that you are right you keep arguing until you are sent to your room.

If you choose the C.B sequence you are now in your room and are A. feeling guilty, B. sucking up your pride even though you know you are right and are planning a fake apology, or C. Feeling bad for yourself. The problem is C. is dangerous because you can start to ask yourself what's the point? Why do I even try? What if I did something drastic to show I mean what I said.

C. sometimes can also just happen out of the blue for no reason, and that's the worse because then you not only start asking these questions but you don’t know why. Then you wonder, am I depressed? Am I doing this because I want attention? I don’t have the right to feel this way, other people have it so much worse than I do.

When C. starts happening a lot for no reason you not only are feeling sad and thinking all of this but you start to wonder if something is wrong with you. You could tell someone how you feel but they could A. just brush it off, B. think your over reacting C. think you need immediate help and overwhelm you, and start asking questions you don’t know how to answer, start putting you on medicine and all of this just makes you feel so much worse. All you wanted was them to hear and acknowledge what you have to say. Be there to listen and to maybe change some things they don’t know bothers you because there's so much you have hidden after all of this time and throughout your entire life to make other people happy.

Except maybe that's not all you want, because at this point you have no idea what you want at this point, you sometimes feel sad, because somehow in a really weird way it makes you feel better. Maybe because it’s stability in a hectic life, and then while you want help you also don’t want it.

You can also feel C. by not doing the sequence because you're letting all of these emotions bottled up inside you, in the end no matter what there is no way to win and it stinks.

Then maybe your parents are calmy helping you in just the way you think you need to be and you see a therapist and these feelings go away so now you have nothing to talk about and when they come back a month later you kind of feel relieved. Maybe because you began to think it was all in your head or something else.

When these feelings come back you get all of these questions back in your head all at once you start thinking of hurting yourself even though you know you would never do it and aren’t suicidal but just because it makes you feel something and then you can’t stop the tears but your smiling? For some reason you are smiling this deep sadness is so deep that it makes you happy. It’s the first time this happened before you only felt sadness but now it’s something more and it's the best feeling ever, you feel relieved there are tears of both sadness and joy and you can’t stop smiling. Then some comes near you and you have to hide it.

You think in your head should I tell my therapist this or should I keep this to myself, I finally have something to talk about, but even though I know it’s her job I feel like she won't understand like nobody does. Because no matter what people say nobody feels the exact same why. They are going through something similar but everyone interprets and feels things differently so it’s not exactly the same.

Then you imagine telling someone this and you can picture the conversation taking place and it makes you angry and upset because there trying to understand what your saying to try and help you but even though you may not know it what you need is not for them to understand, or just listen or to tell you its okay and it’s natural because you don't know what you want. You think about all of this with all the questions flying back to your head and maybe you're still feeling this amazing feeling, or feeling really sad again, or maybe you just feel numb.

This is why I’m writing because this is sometimes what I think about and usually it comes up randomly and I notice I usually tend to think these thoughts when I’m around people, or right before I fall asleep, and that makes me think maybe it has something to do with being in public but I just don’t know. I don’t know if this is an okay answer, because sometimes you don’t have an answer but sometimes people don’t understand that you may be feeling this but you have no way to describe this or why.

I also notice that I crave phrases, I want people to phrase me for something I did, not for the way I look or for getting good grades but for actually doing something. I wonder if that makes me needy, or if it’s bad that I crave phrases.

My name is -----and I am 15 years old and I have high functioning autism, I have gone to speech since I was a toddler and I have a hard time pronouncing my r’s and people can’t understand me when I talk fast or am excited. I’m really bad at spelling and sometimes take things too literal. I have really bad sensory issues and it's hard for me to wear clothes. I don’t have a good attention span and sometimes it’s clear I have autism and sometimes it looks like I’m just a regular person, or that I just have behavior issues.

Sometimes I fidget and I get really antsy, and sometimes I have these thoughts that go through my head. Tonight is the first night I’m writing this and I’ll probably write more, earlier today I felt sad and then really happy for the first time for no reason. I know I’m different but it’s not because I have autism it’s because everyone is different.

--------------------

I like hugs,I also like writing songs and books and singing. I like drawing and watching tv and playing with my dogs. I don’t like yelling and I don’t like being made fun of. I don’t like it when people draw conclusions with hearing the full story and that seems to happen a lot. I also don’t like my cat. I call him a fat cat because he is fat. He always opens my door somehow and is really loud and he bites to. I sometimes let him in my bedroom and he falls asleep and snores. I don’t like snoring because it keeps me up at night. I used to hate the color green. I’m not sure why I d=just didn’t like it but now that I’m older I don’t mind it.

I don’t like alot of food, I’m a picky eater. I don’t eat eggs or anything with cheese except pizza, if it has touched cheese or egg I won’t eat it unless the egg has been mixed in like in cake. I don't like the clothes there tight but I have to wear them. I get that you have to wear clothes to keep warm but I don’t understand why people get so worked up about people seeing your body. We all have the same parts so why do they have to be private? Why do you have to make such a big deal out of this? I mean people shouldn’t like it’s a crime to wear a bra. I hate bras. I also hate shoes.

It’s kind of funny apparently most people with autism don’t like being touched but I like holding hands and hugs, the only place I don’t like getting touched is my hair. I hate getting my haircut I don’t know why but I hate it, I like your cutting off a part of me. I can’t help but cry. I had short hair when I was little but I didn’t know that much yet so that’s okay.

Another thing I don’t like is needles. I'm okay with blood that doesn't bother me. It's the actual needle part but a lot of people feel that way so it's okay.

I think what I hate most though is change. I hate when my parents get a new car because it feels different. I am fine riding in different people's cars but when my parents get a new one it feels really weird and I don’t like it. Once when I was younger my dad moved the position of my bed with these sliding things to make it a bit easier to move and I cried for a long time before pushing it back into place.

I’ve gotten better with a lot of things as I’ve gotten older, I can get used to a new car faster and don’t cry as much, and I can speak better too. I’ve never had a lot of friends but unlike a lot of people that have autism I don’t mind people like meeting new people, though sometimes I do need my personal space.

One thing that has become worse as I have gotten older is noises, I sometimes make random noises or repeats words over and over because it makes me feel better, sometimes I don’t even know I am, and it makes me sad when I'm told to stop or that I’m acting like a idiot and I don’t like that.

I really like music though when I’m sad or clothes are bothering me it can help to listen to music. I also listen to music to fall asleep. I think music is a big part of me and that's good because music makes me happy and music is a good thing.

#autistic life #autism #feelings #life #growingup

3 notes · View notes

batskulldrag · 4 years

Text

Phoenix by Fallout Boy

chapter thirteen is here. this one contains Romile, and plenty of fluff

Chapter Thirteen: Out of Hell by Skillet

Virgil fluttered nervously past Roman for the third time. Roman watched as his nephew peered out each window and retreated back to the couch. Virgil drummed his fingers against his laptop and chewed the band aid on his stationary hand.

“You ok Billie Stylish?” Roman asked, sitting down beside him.

“Sure. I’m fine.” Virgil didn’t look up.

“It’s going to be ok.” Roman put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Payton has laughed his last laugh. And he will spend the rest of his days being beaten up in prison.”

“But what if Payton accuses you guys of being child rapists or something? Then he’s going to win because everyone always believes him, and he’ll have ruined your lives. Or he’ll lose anyway, but still manage to ruin the three of you, and I have to live with the constant guilt that this is all my fault for getting you into this. And Uncle Patton and Uncle Logan are going to be quiet about the whole thing while silent resentment grows, because everything was fine until I showed up. Or worse, they’re not, and they’re just gonna forgive me for bringing this plague down on them.”

“That’s quite the soliloquy.” Roman patted him on the head. “And that’s not going to happen. Payton can accuse us of whatever he likes, but I know a secret.”

“You can blackmail him?” Virgil jolted up.

“No, it’s like this. You remember how the bastard always told you that people always side with the adult?”

“Yes, that’s why I’m worried.”

“Well, first of all it’s a fallacy. Secondly, what is true is that people tend to side against the man who is in prison for trying to murder a child.”

“He wasn’t trying to kill me.” Virgil’s heart audibly sank. “Was he?”

Roman leaned back in surprise. Payton probably hated Virgil, at the very least he didn’t love him. And the viper had put him in the hospital more than once. Yet, Virgil was still hurt to think that Payton wanted him dead. Why should he care what Payton wanted?

“I don’t know.” Roman hugged him. “He trapped you in a burning building. If he wasn’t trying to kill you, then it just means he’s not a murderer per say. But at the very least, it means that he didn’t care if you died. And that’s not your fault. That’s on him.”

“I’m sick of being upset about this.” Virgil made a sound halfway between a scream and a sob. “I know he doesn’t care about me. Why is it still a gut punch? Why do I even still care at all?”

“Humans feel.” Roman rubbed his back softly. “And feelings never make sense.”

“I hate it.”

“Come on, let’s go do something to take your mind off things.” Roman patted him on the shoulders. “It’s about time you got to be a kid.”

# # #

Virgil chewed on his hoodie strings as the crowd gathered around the tour guide.

“Sacred of ghosts, Sweeny toddler?” Roman teased, ruffling his hair.

“I ain’t afraid of no ghost.” Virgil sneered.

“No, but I bet they’re terrified of you. We might not even see any with you around.”

Virgil laughed softly. Two hundred uncle points. Roman put his arm around him and they walked up to the guide.

“Two spots in your tour please.” Roman said as he produced the fairs with a great flourish.

“Oh, you again.” The guide exhaled. “And you have a kid with you. Great.”

The guide took the money and Roman contentedly fell into step with Virgil in tow.

“He doesn’t like you.” Virgil taunted. “Did you steal his boyfriend?”

“Virgil, a man does not steal a life partner, nor does he win one. He woos one.”

“Woo. Woo.” Virgil added with a straight face and a straighter voice.

“And the tour guide simply doesn’t appreciate me practicing my improv while I’m on his tours.” Roman explained. “Although, he is a very nice fellow. We both work as nude models at the portraiture class. He’s straight, so I had no chances.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” Virgil mimicked.

“You’ve been watching a lot of sit-coms?”

“I can’t sleep some nights, so I just YouTube deep dive. And now I know how to make a life like moose out of old newspaper.”

“Chamomile tea. Try some before bed, or warm milk.”

“You make it sound like conspiracy theories aren’t good for me.” Virgil grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Did you know that there was this one lady who made her victims into soap, and she used the soap. But the worst part was she also turned them into cake, and she ate the cake.”

“Remind me to get you some video games, something less… horrible.”

“I thought video games cause violence.” Virgil smirked.

“Sure, and vaccines cause autism. Pencils cause bad handwriting, spoons cause fat people and gays in media cause gay people.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna murder a bunch of people because I’m playing Pokémon.” Virgil sneered, damn he was good at it. “It has nothing to do with the school system that does nothing to stop bulling, or the extremely abusive dad y’all sent me home to every day. It was the video games, Linda.”

“What kind of Pokémon did you have?” Roman changed the subject away from Payton.

“I had a Mew, a Haunter and a Psyduck. And a psychic type Evee.” Virgil sighed. “I went with the mind powered ones and all the ghost types.”

“That sounds fun.” Roman beamed, finally one nice thing in this little boy’s life.

“My dad broke my computer, and any other device that had my game on it.” Virgil looked at the ground. “I think they starved to death.”

Why is it that whenever something good happens you show up to ruin it? You snake in the machine, I hate you. Roman silently scripted a call out letter to Payton.

“Hey, it’s Dr. Picani.” Virgil derailed his train of thought.

Roman looked over and spotted the familiar blond-haired doctor now wearing a brown T-shirt that displayed the Scooby Doo gang and khaki cargo shorts. More importantly though was the fact that his now exposed arms showed off an array of tattoos. Roman rubbed his eyes, no way. No way did this man, this doctor have tattoos. No, it was far more likely that he had a twin brother, and that was who they saw now.

“He’s got ink.” Virgil squeaked in awe. “Let’s go say hi to him.”

Virgil grabbed his hand and darted towards the doctor. He was alarmingly strong for a kid who only weighed a hundred pounds.

“Virge, wait.” Roman said in a hushed voice, pulling the emo back. “I’m not sure we should.”

“Are you a-scared of the doctor?” Virgil laughed.

“No, he was in my still life class last week…”

“OOOOOO, you’re embarrassed to talk to a guy who has nudes of you.” He was incorrigible. “Maybe if you ask nice, he’ll give the pictures back. Or are you afraid he’ll post it on social media?”

“I’m not embarrassed for me, he ended up getting really upset and I consoled him afterwards.” Roman explained. “I’m worried if I talk to him it’ll put him in an awkward position.”

“SUUUREEEE.” Virgil rolled his eyes. “Cause the dude who strips down and poses isn’t the guy in the awkward position.”

“Why do you suddenly turn into a kid now?”

“What’s the problem?” Virgil shrugged. “So he got upset, big deal. I cried in front of him a few times and I’m not embarrassed to talk to him. If you refused to talk to anyone who’s seen you naked or who’s gotten frustrated with painting, you’d have to be a hermit. Just like if I avoided everyone who has seen me crying about something, I wouldn’t be able to leave my room.”

“You’re stunningly sharp.”

“Hey! Dr. Picani!” Virgil yelled, which Roman didn’t think he could do, as he waved over to the doctor.

Picani waved back and approached them. His legion of tattoos becoming clearer. Unsurprisingly, if anything about this could be considered unsurprising, most of his tattoos were from cartoons. The one that struck Roman in particular was the image of Lady Rainacorn wrapped around his left arm from shoulder to wrist. His right arm displayed a group portrait of Clifford, Courage, Scooby Doo, Blue, some green dog that looked like a stuffed toy who he didn’t recognize and Goddard.[1]

“Hey Virgil.” Emile greeted happily. “Hi Roman.”

“Awkward indeed.” Virgil looked over at Roman with raised eyebrows.

“Good evening Emile.” Roman added cordially. “Are you out ghost hunting as well?”

“Yeah, I figured I should get out. And this sounded like a nifty idea. What brings you to this haunted cul-de-sac?”

“We live here.” Virgil said smoothly with an air of villainy. “Well, lived here. We’re the ghosts that haunt these streets.”

“Aren’t you the cutest thing?” Emile ruffled Virgil’s hair. “It’s nice to see you so excited.”

Virgil scowled at the sidewalk as his face turned red. The tour guide started walking and they followed him in quite precession. Roman rubbed his hands in anticipation of their first stop. Now he had two people to impress.

“I didn’t know you had ink.” Virgil pressed Emile. “And I really didn’t know you had that much.”

“Yeah,” Emile looked at his arms. “I’ve got a couple of books worth of it. Lady Rainacorn is new. I think it’s healing up nicely.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Not as bad as my first one did.”

“What was the first one?”

“It was actually Clifford,” Emile showed them the portrait. “I got it to cover up a dog bite.”

“Really?” Virgil leaned back in surprise.

“Yeah, he was old and sore, and I tried to pet him. Still got me good.”

“That’s awful.” Roman added.

“It’s ok.” Emile shrugged. “He was a good boy, he just got old.”

“Alright our first stop.” The guide had everyone gather around. “This building stands abandoned due to the ghosts that torment anyone who dares try to live in it. The house was built atop an Indian burial ground. The spirits buried here cannot rest because of the desecration to their sacred place.”

“That is wholly inaccurate.” Roman added loudly. “The tormentors of the building are remnants of the poor souls who died their when it was used as an unlicensed hospital in the eighties. The proprietors mismanaged their facility horridly and would even go so far as to steal supplies from the actual hospital. They would go on to receive more unwelcomed visitors from beyond in the form of men and women who died as a result of their theft. Malpractice insurance really didn’t cover that one.”

“Really?” The guide looked bored. “Who are you tonight Roman?”

“Dr. Roman Brown. Paranormal expert.” Roman put his arm around Virgil. “I’m here with my ward.”

“How’d you get a kid?” The guide expressed genuine confusion and revulsion.

“I’ve had Virgil for a time now, I caught him trying to pick my pocket. Poor creature lived on the streets.”

“Really?”

“Yes really.” Virgil retorted. “I was abandoned as a baby on the steps of a Catholic church. But they believed that I had demon’s blood in my veins and sent me out into the streets to fend for myself when I was four.”

“You’re half demon?”

“Maybe.” Virgil shrugged. “Who’s to say? All I know is that there are a lot of things that keep trying to pull me into hell.”

“Really?” The guide scoffed.

“Just last month a hand shot up out of the dirt and grabbed my ankle.” Virgil continued flawlessly. “I fought it as it tried to drag me under and broke my foot in the process.”

Virgil pointed at his walking boot. The crowd murmured in astonishment. Roman’s heart swelled with pride.

Defeated, the guide took them to the next stop.

“Virgil, that was beautiful.” Roman said quietly. “The way you flawlessly wove your cast into the narrative as proof was inspired. I’m so proud of you, I may weep.”

“I got good at lying.” Virgil looked at his feet. “I learned from the best.”

“Never mind Payton.” Emile patted him on the shoulder. “You can just have fun making up stories tonight. Be a kid.”

“Are those doctor’s orders?” Virgil looked up at him.

“They are now.” Emile stood up straight.

Roman noticed an indent in Emile’s shirt. It looked like a stud in his navel. Did he have piercings as well? Who was this man?

“Here we have the next stop, it may not look like much, but Kim and Jim’s Bar and Grill was built on top of the remains of the old mortuary and is plagued with strange events to this day.” The guide explained, you could tell he hated this job.

“Yes,” Emile chimed in. “There was a gruesome series of experiments in the mortuary and now the woods are inhabited with the results. Terrifying amalgamations made of severed limbs. Hands attached to feet, heinous arm-leg monsters and every other combination that doesn’t include a face. Stripped of their identities they roam around helplessly.”

“And at night, when the drunks go home,” Roman added. “You can hear them crying. They’re in so much pain.”

The audience and guide looked at them, baffled.

“Of course.” Virgil suddenly said, gesturing towards Emile. “Dr. Emile Vankmen. Parapsychologist. A true credit to his field.”

There were many nods. The tourists didn’t really care for a believable story, they wanted a good story. And by the sniped snakes of a gorgon salon, that is what they were going to get.

They went through the stops, trumping the guide’s every tale with a gruesome murder, demonic happening or cartoon plot line. The crowd was eating it up and Virgil was teaming with energy. He seemed to be absorbing it and converting it into power.

“Virgil is having fun.” Emile laughed.

“I know,” Roman beamed. “We uncles know how to let one become a kid.”

“Are you related to the other two?”

“No, we’re just especially close.” Roman recalled fondly. “I cheated for Patton for a month while he was dealing with his mother’s death. Of course, without him knowing.”

“How did you do that?” Emile looked confused and slightly impressed.

“I wrote a few essays in character as him.” Roman brushed it off as if it were nothing. “I’m always up for a chance to practice my vocation.”

“Virgil, don’t let him cheat for you.” Emile looked down at where Virgil was.

Emphasis on was, because he was gone. Roman felt instant panic. He had lost Virgil! He had lost a traumatized child with anxiety! Virgil was probably terrified! What if he was hurt?!

“Where did he go!!??” Roman yelped. “He was just here? Virgil!?”

“Ok, ok.” Emile held up a shaking hand. “Maybe he walked to the front of the group.”

Through their panic they heard Virgil scream, then the tour guide and a few tourists scream.

The worst had happened! Roman ran to the front of the line and saw Virgil on the ground laughing while the guide stared at him irately.

“Virgil!” Roman grabbed him. “Don’t do that again! I thought I lost you!”

“Sorry.” Virgil relented rather easily. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I, I hadn’t considered that you’d notice I was gone.”

“Well, I did.” Roman walked back to their place in the group, holding Virgil’s hand. “I want you to stay where I can see you. It’s dark and you don’t know the neighborhood, something might have happened to you.”

Virgil was quiet as he looked at the sidewalk in confusion. He was probably wondering why no one was hitting him. In fact, he was probably wondering why Roman cared what happened to him. Roman sighed, he didn’t know how to un-traumatize a kid, all he really had to go off was how Logan had been after everything came out. And Virgil and Logan were drastically different characters with very different abusers. So, that wasn’t much of a comparison.

“Virgil.” Roman put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I yelled. But you really scared me, and I don’t want you wandering around where I can’t see you.”

“You call that yelling?” Virgil looked confused. “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m sorry.”

“Ok. Let’s continue our tour.” Roman wrapped his arm around him. “But now you have to hold my hand.”

“Whatever.” Virgil rolled his eyes and smiled.

“And to this day, no one knows the cause of the building’s collapse.” The guide pointed at a vacant spot where a house had once been.

“Actually, that one was us.” Emile interrupted, feigning embarrassment. “It was how we found out about Virgil’s powers.”

“He has powers now?” The guide raised an eyebrow.

“Yep,” Virgil picked up. “Demonic powers made the whole building implode. I can control them much better now.”

“He had a nightmare that manifested itself into physical form and started haunting us.” Emile continued. “It picked us off one by one until only Virgil was left. Last thing I remember is just… blackness. No sound, no light. I don’t think I could even feel anything, then next thing I knew, I was just back and there was no more building. Not even rubble, just what you see now, with Virgil standing in the middle of it.”

“Yes, I remember that night.” Roman joined in. “A hideous creature started roaming the halls. It was six feet tall, completely black and had no face. Well, no face on its head. But it’s chest. Right where men have a navel, it had a mouth. And when it opened that horrid maw a vertical slit went up to its pencil thin neck and showed a ribcage. A ribcage broken down the middle that it used as teeth. A long red tongue cleaned saliva and blood off the jagged ribs as it drooled in anticipation of its next meal.”

“And the smell.” Virgil added solemnly. “It reeked of decay. Of maggot filled puss and blackened flesh. Not like cooked blackened, more like dead five times over blackened. And he enveloped his prey in darkness like a spider cocooning its next meal.” Virgil gagged, for real. The little one had just made himself sick.

“And he took the other two.” Virgil looked at the crowd. “I was the only one left, and just when I was sure that I was gonna die alone, with only that, that thing as company, I felt this sensation in my gut. Like a burning. And it went through my whole body and a moment of realization overcame me. This heat was natural, familiar. I realized what I was, who I was. And that thing, well, that thing was gonna pay for what it did. So, I focused my energy, my hatred, my courage on it and the whole building came down around us, and the thing was sucked into the ground, leaving me standing in an empty lot.”

“Let’s just move on.” The guide was even more unimpressed with them.

Virgil made faces behind the guide’s back for the rest of the night. Emile did as well. Roman sent him a few ungentlemanly hand gestures and internally called him a bitch. He had no taste for a good horror story. Heathen. That was an excellent description and a lovely climax.

As the night went on Roman noticed that Virgil was walking differently and always stood on his good foot whenever they stopped. When they were moving, he would either limp very slightly or hop on one foot, which he tried to cover up, but really couldn’t.

“Is your foot hurting?” Roman asked, fairly aware of the answer and the lie that Virgil would tell.

“No.”

“Yes, it is.”

“That’s a neat trick. Can you tell me if my neck hurts next?”

“Alright, come on.” Roman picked him up.

“What are you doing!?”

“I’m going to carry you.”

“Like hell you are!”

“Come on, you really mean to tell me that you don’t want a piggyback ride?”

“I’m an adult.”

“You’re a teenager at best.”

“That’s still too old.”

“But someday you’re gonna be too big to carry.”

“Yeah, yesterday.”

Ignoring him completely, Roman slumped Virgil over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and kept walking.

“Have you been sleeping better lately?” Emile asked, lagging behind slightly so he could see Virgil’s face.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“He,” Roman interrupted. “Has been watching horrific true crime stories on his computer.”

“Oh, sure. Say nothing about the newspaper moose.” Roman assumed that Virgil was sneering.

“Well, they proved that you shouldn’t be on your computer before bed.” Emile offered.

“Uncle Logan told me the same thing.”

“Wikipedia’s sleep routine doesn’t help him sleep though.” Roman accused.

“I’m telling him you called him that.”

“He knows.”

They apprehensively arrived at their last stop.

“This cemetery is a hot spot for paranormal activity.” The guide explained. “It is home to The Tunnleberry Vampire, the bipedal dogs and the ghost of many a deranged Civil War general. The most famous of which resides in that mausoleum over there.” He pointed to a large grey building with carved angels out front. “Legend has it that he was betrayed in battle and rose from the grave to exact his revenge on those who betrayed him. His lieutenant who spear headed the mutiny was found suffocated to death inside the general’s empty casket. The general’s body was never found.”

“I believe the vampire was just the cemetery caretaker in a mask.” Emile interrupted. “He wanted to increase tourism in these parts to drive up the value of this graveyard so they couldn’t sell it.”

“And those bipedal dogs turned out to be a pair of really hairy dudes banging.” Virgil shuddered. “I think it’s scarred onto my retinas.”

“But that mausoleum.” Roman said seriously. “There is definitely something about that place. Something that haunts me. Something that despite all my years of ghost hunting still strikes me as the most unnatural event I have ever been unlucky enough to witness with my own eyes.”

“Of course, there is.” The guide sighed.

“It was back when I was still trying to get my paranormal business off the ground.” Roman dove into the story. “My then partner, and senior ghost hunter, Luigi Verd, was by my side the entire time. True blue he was, I’ll always remember him. We found ourselves in this graveyard investigating a series of disappearances around town. Mostly just troubled teens, alcoholics, and the homeless. But a life is a life, and a mystery is a mystery indeed. So, we set up.”

Roman took a pause to let them get sucked in.

“I was doing most of the lifting, as Luigi was recovering from a head injury. He had healed nicely in the hospital. The only sign of trauma was a stitched-up gash along his forehead. He was excited to have a scar to show off.” Roman looked at the ground sadly. “Or so I thought.”

He could feel their anticipation.

“Just as I had set everything up for our séance, we were hoping to ask the dead for a clue about the living. Anyway, just as I had finished these hooded men burst into the tomb. They were clad in floor length, red robes with their hoods pulled up to block out their faces. Before I could even react, two of them had me by each arm and they forced me onto one of the coffins and started tying down. And Luigi, who was like a brother to me, he just watched. They didn’t even go for him, but he just watched them bind me. I called out to him, and in response. He…” Roman took an exaggerated gasp. “He pulled out the stitch on his forehead. And his skin fell limp, but behind it where I expected flesh to be was more skin. And he pulled his face off as if he were removing a mask. And under the mask, under the face of a man I had known my entire life was this… this stranger! This figure who I didn’t know from Payton, slowly pulling the hide of my friend off his face. Wearing Luigi as a mask! The stranger laughed at me! He laughed at the brutal terror that welled up inside me! And he pulled out a long sharp knife…”

“I was at the cemetery myself that night.” Virgil took up the story. “Following the dudes who were nice enough to not have me arrested for picking their pockets. In my childish mind I had sworn a life debt to them in that moment. But, little did I know that I’d be paying it off that night. Because that was when I heard the screams.”

Mimicking Roman’s style Virgil paused and took a breath.

“Being seven, whenever fight or flight came up in my brain I would normally fly. But that night, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why, I chose to fight. I sprinted towards the source of the screams and found the tomb doors closed to the outside. But did that stop me? No, with whatever strength a half-starved kid possesses I threw myself into the door and just kept slamming into it. I was in a frenzy! I just kept bashing into that door with all my weight. Seventy pounds of skin and bones ramming the door like there was no tomorrow.”

“That’s where I came in.” Emile joined. “I had hit an alligator, literally there was a tiny alligator wrapped around my tire and was trying to fix my tire when I heard both the screaming and the constant thudding. I too ran to the source and saw a small child, bruised and bloody, hammering his fragile body into the concrete doors. The first thing I did was wrestle him away from the door before he killed himself. Then, I forced my tire iron between the crack in the two doors to pry it open like a lever. It budged open an inch, but then the men inside swung it open to see what was going on. I fought them as best as I could, even managing to break one’s arm. But then their leader pulled out this whip, made out of bones, human spinal bones and he snapped my weapon out of my hands while I was still reeling from the shock. Next thing I knew I was being chained to the floor.”

“They took this distraction in their stride.” Roman shuddered. “And with Virgil and Emile dealt with they turned back to me. The knife wielder tore my shirt off in one swipe and drove his knife into my chest. Just when I thought I was done for I realized that he wasn’t about to stab me to death. Instead he slid the knife down towards my stomach, he was skinning me!”

“I did the only thing I knew how to do.” Virgil jumped in. “I played dead. And miracle of miracles, they bought it. The one with the whip bent down to check on me, and I bit him. I sank my teeth into his wrist like it was the most delicious prime rib known to man. He fought me with his free hand, but no number of blows was making me spit that fucker’s arm out. I dug in until I hit bone, I ground my teeth to widen the wound, I sunk in until I was certain that he and I were one…”

“And I took the opportunity to dislocate my thumb.” Emile jumped in on cue. “And slid out of one of my wrist restraints. With my free arm I put Virgil’s new chew toy in a head lock, he didn’t put up too much of a fight, as now he was woozy with blood loss. He collapsed, and Virgil started rooting through his body for the keys. Another robed guy came at me, so I did the worst thing I could think of. I grabbed his groin and I pulled with all my strength. He doubled over and Virgil tossed me the keys.”

“With this madness going on, the leader had stopped trying to skin me and was now running towards the other two.” Roman took the reins once more. “He flew at Emile with the knife and they engaged in battle. Meanwhile, Virgil freed me, and I took the leader from behind. Emile dodged a stab and the leader fell into his own weapon. I took it from him, and Emile took up his tire iron once more. And.” Roman stopped. “Knowing that we couldn’t go to the police for fear of how deep this madness runs, without any other options. We… we finished them off.”

“With that done. We sealed the tomb and vowed never to speak of it again.” Emile added. “And then we took Virgil to a hospital.”

“I had a collapsed lung.” Virgil added happily.

The crowd applauded them and even the guide looked impressed. Emile and Virgil were satisfied, but Roman had one more trick left.

“And,” Roman added, pulling up the hem of his shirt. “Here’s the receipt.”

He pulled his shirt up to display a long scar that went from his sternum to his navel, well past his navel actually. The scar took the place of the more traditional bellybutton. It was still visible in the evening light. The scar itself was horrid looking. It was jagged, narrow in some places and bore the impression of skin grafts in others. It folded in slightly at his stomach giving a clear picture of how deep it was.

The crowd gasped. Virgil squeaked in surprise and Emile looked on baffled (and hopefully impressed to be seeing Roman’s physique a second time.) Roman laughed to himself. This had been an excellent improv session and he had managed to both impress his nephew and a rather charming doctor.

At the end of the tour Roman had done the gentlemanly thing and walked Emile to his car. The three of them laughed about their story telling talents and the tales of terror they wove.

“Well, this is me.” Emile stopped at his car. “Thanks for walking me to my car. I didn’t want the cult to catch me alone.”

“Of course not.” Roman agreed.

“So, stop me if I’m intruding.” Emile started hesitantly. “But how did you get that scar?”

“It’s far worse than the story.” Roman sighed.

“Now you have to tell us.” Virgil bopped his shoulder.

“Ok. I was born a conjoined twin.” Roman sighed. “They had to cut us apart. Remus, that’s my brother, has the same scar. Well, at least a similar one”

“You both made it? That’s amazing.” Emile looked impressed. “Also, your names are Roman and Remus? Like Romulus and Remus?”

“I hate it when people get that reference.”

“Whatever would they have done if you were triplets?” Virgil taunted. “Hey, we all have Italian names.”

The two adults laughed at Virgil’s observation.

“Oh.” Emile started. “Would you two like a ride back home? I think Virgil over did it with the walking.”

“That would be lovely.” Roman lit up slightly.

“Woo.” Virgil said softly to Roman.

“Now Virgil,” Roman said as he buckled his seat belt. “What would you normally do if a stranger offered you a ride home?”

“Fight him to the death.” Virgil said plainly.

“Ok, the correct answer is to say no and run away.” Roman disregarded that comment.

They pulled into the driveway and saw that Patton and Logan were home already.

“Thanks for the ride Dr. Picani.” Virgil said quickly as he darted out of the car.

He was inside in a flash, no doubt to tell his parents everything he had been up to. Good. Roman exited the car with a bit more grace.

“Thank you very much for the ride back, Emile.” Roman said graciously.

“PSHSHHSHH.” Emile swatted the topic out of the air. “It was nothing.”

There was a pause.

“I had a good time hanging out with you.” Emile said timidly.

“I had a good time with you too.” Roman felt himself blush.

“I know there’s still the court case and everything…” Emile blushed as well. “But after that, when there won’t be any conflict of interest… are you single?”

“Completely.” Roman answered.

[1] The dogs are Clifford the Big Red Dog, Courage the Cowardly Dog, Scooby Dooby Doo, Blue from Blue’s Clues, Gir from Invader Zim (Hi Marie Pippins, that one’s for you) and Goddard from Jimmy Neutron

#dr. picani #romansanders #virgilsanders #romile #platonic lamp #lamp+deceit #remus and picani #sanderssideshunamau

6 notes · View notes

thewisekenisme · 5 years

Text

Dear Abuela

Summary: Roman writes a letter to his grandmother talking about his roommates.and how each of them has changed his life for the better

warnings: mentions crying, meltdowns, loud noises, and anxiety

words: 3,188

Series College AU

(sorry, this is shorter than I normally write Guy’s I will make it up to you! I promise also this is just an introduction into the series! so there will be more soon!)

Dear abuela,

I miss you so much! thank you for your latest letter and providing your famous chicken enchilada recipes, Patton wanted me to tell you he will make you proud when he makes it for dinner for us this week! classes are amazing! I am enjoying my theater classes and my history of theater. let me tell you I am learning way more than what Google taught me! like I learned ' that the history of theatre charts the development of theatre over the past 2,500 years. While performative elements are present in every society, it is customary to acknowledge a distinction between theatre as an art form and entertainment and theatrical or performative elements in other activities.'

but I also learned that college is a time where teens become independent, they move away from their families to focus on themselves as well as to their studies to pursue careers that have drawn their interests, but most importantly, college is a place to make some life long friendships, maybe even some relationships. There was one rule that every college student knew and would agree with. It was that being a roommate was hard. when trying to respect each others privacy going through your day to day life as a student, and trying to not get in each other's way, was a very tough and hard thing to do when they were basically with you every night. But when you end up having four other roommates on top of yourself, you tend to be in the way of everyone, more then you want to be. That is what I, Roman Prince has found out the hard way, living with four roommates was probably the hardest thing he has ever done in his life. But if you ask me if I would change it for the world. Nope, I wouldn't change anything about any of my roommates, not a single thing!

Right! My roommates, all four of them. There's Patton (padre because he acts like our dad!) Logan (mama lo, because he worries more then a mother does) Virgil (Emo nightmare, panic at the everywhere, etc.) And finally Dee (Dr. Jekyll and Mr lie, jack the fiber, etc). Oh! How can I forget Spot! ( Logan's service dog) These are the people who have changed my life in just a few short months! And I will tell you why because hopefully they can come to visit sometime during break soon! I know you and papa will love to meet them, and abuela I know how much you love to make sure everyone who comes into the house is feed and is happy, you won't have to worry about them not liking your food, I have been telling them all about you and your cooking, and about papa, everything! And they can't wait to try your cooking and to meet you and papa, that will be an amazing day that I will not forget. Okay so how I am going to tell you about each of them, I will put their first and last name, their ages and what year they are! Okay? Okay! Let's get started!

Patton hart, 21 junior -

Now Patton is basically the dad In our little friend group. He makes sure we have breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Makes sure we have soup and medicine when we are sick, he says puns like they are going out of style! Everything that a parent does, Patton's has done it ten times that! Patton is the kindest person you will ever meet. like if he sees someone he doesn't know struggling to carry their books, he will be by their side willing to carry the books for them. He's also super hyper and cheerful! I think he has ADHD like me, but when I ask he gets nervous and tells me I'm just being silly and he doesn't have that. But I can tell because he's lying because he always bites his lips and giggles a bit when he lies. But I won't push him to tell if he doesn't wish too.

Anyways, he is the oldest in our apartment, he shares a room with his twin brother Logan and Logan's service dog spot. (I'll tell you more about him next, but get this, Logan has a different last name! I know crazy huh! Turns out their parents are divorced and Pat goes from his moms and dads but logan stay's with his mom mostly, okay sorry ill stop gossiping for now) He is going to school to become a veterinarian (even tho he's allergic to cats) he told us it was the perfect job for him because he loves animals and taking care of people. What better way than to take care of both? I mean yes we are all still very worried about him and his allergies, but I believe he can do anything he puts his mind too, and he has! So far he's been aceing all of his classes plus has been keeping up with helping any of us if we need it.

Now I bet you're wondering how I met this wonderful human? Well, I met him just how I explained Patton helps people. I was struggling to carry all my books after my bookbag had just fallen apart, I was also late for class so I was rushing and ended up tripping scattering my books everywhere! I am not ashamed to say I cried, it was the first week of school, I was rushing, I was late, so this was just the icing on the cake! But then out of the blue, an angel appeared in front of me reaching a hand out offering a helping hand. There stood Patton hart with a worried expression and hand out to help me. As I said he is the kindest person you will ever meet! And since that moment we have been friends! So that's good.

Oh, Patton wanted me to let you know that when they visit you will not be allowed to lift a finger. He wants to be able to take care of you because you let all five of us into your home. And yes I told him you would want to do things anyways but he insisted so. Abuela you may have met your match.

Logan Berry, 21 junior -

Logan is actually the mom of the group. he is the opposite of Patton, he makes us study, makes sure we go to bed and wake up at a decent time, eats a healthy diet, no sweets or movie nights on school nights! but all he does is study and stay with Patton, and get this we aren't allowed to be loud if we are excited or want to get our point across! he has all of us on a tight schedule we aren't allowed to do anything fun! he is the second oldest in the house (twenty minutes younger then Patton, but he acts like the oldest, and thinks he can boss us around!) A total killjoy, But mostly he can sometimes be an emotionless robot, which may sound harsh but he kinda acts like one, like he doesn't show much emotion and speaks very monotoned like "I too would appreciate it if you did not speak so loudly, spot and I do not like the noise" that's how he talks to us, all the time, he's just so proper and preppy kinda like a snob who thinks their better then everyone. I mean he is a Science major and is really smart so maybe he thinks he has to act that way towards everyone but I'm not sure.

But then again he has a reason for all of this, At first we all thought he was just a stick in the mud so we decided to make as much noise as possible and try to mess with his schedule, boy did we regret it. You see at the time we didn't know but Logan has Autism and has made this schedule to fit all of our needs including his. so when we (i mean me, Virgil and Dee) decided to break the no being loud rule, we found out why there was a service dog in our apartment. Us ignoring his schedule, messing with his alarm clock and being extremely loud, we ended up causing him to have a really bad meltdown. That was the scariest thing I have ever seen, we saw Spot do his tasking (doing tasks to make sure their owners know they are doing a thing that could be triggered by other things. such as cratching your arm when they are anxious, their service dog will gently jump on their owner and move their hands away.)

Anyways, when both Patton and Spot were able to get Logan to calm down and was able to move him to his room the rest of us was given a long lecture and the worst feeling of guilt any of us has ever felt, Patton explained to us why he has everything on such a tight schedule and stuff, which made us feel a lot worse. So when Logan came out of his room now calm and feeling better we all made sure to apologize for our actions and tell him that we will now follow his schedule and rules, to make him feel comfortable in his own Home, I kid you not he actually smiled! it was totally worth seeing, and we all plan on making sure we can see it again, soon.

Logan also wanted to me to send you a note he was talking and told me to write down everything he says, so this is what he said, (or this is how our entire conversation went. ) 'Mrs. Prince I have made sure to keep Roman on a strict schedule that will allow him to focus on school, theater and still have time to write you letters, (tho I am highly impressed people still write letters, it is an art form that has been lost by many our age, I had no idea anyone has written a letter. I wonder if my mom would appreciate a letter along with our daily text messages, I could stop by the local post office and buy a packet of an assortment of postcards to send to her, maybe I should send some to my dad as well. I would have to ask Patton for his address so I can.) ME: Lo, I'm glad I gave you a great new way to talk to your family but what else would you like me to tell her? hm oh yes, apologize. please do tell her that Patton and I will make sure you are well taken care of that is all I wish to tell her.

so, that's what lo wanted me to tell you, you have no idea how hard it was to not laugh the whole time, it was the cutest thing I have ever seen!

Virgil Peterson, freshmen 19-

Next up, we have Virgil Peterson. (More like emo nightmare, but I shall spare the teasing, and name calling for right now.) the one friend who wears dark eyeshadow, black skinny and a purple jacket my nicknames basically define what he looks and how he acts. He also takes my teasing and name calling as a grain of salt but dishes it back way more then he needs too. But I suppose our playful banter goes both ways more than one. (Do you know how papa and I go back and forth? Well, that is basically how mine and Virgil's friendship is defined. Friendly banter and such) he is basically in the middle child like myself. So it goes Patton, Logan, me. Virgil, and then dee (I will tell you about him next) and boy does he take advantage of this development! He takes up all of Patton's cuddles when we have a movie night, he's allowed to be moody whenever he wants, but god forbid any of the others be moody. (Sorry I'm getting off subject, but still, he is basically a toddler. A toddler who can use stronger language. But thankfully Patton made a swear jar for him, the bad side of the swear jar, we all are forced to use it.) So basically if he is tired and stays up past Logan's bedtime for any reason except for studying. Well normally Logan would get upset with us, but with Virgil, he just sits with him keeping him company until he either goes to bed or the sunrises.

Anyways let's ignore that whole rant and go back to talking about what Virgil actually does. Virgil is a writer and is taking creative writing courses here at the college, what he likes to write I'm not sure what he enjoys writing (he will not share any of it with me!) But whatever it is Logan seems to enjoy it as does Patton and Dee. It seems that the only ones who are not allowed to read his writing are me and spot and Spots a dog! Which I don't understand I'm not very critical about things (yes, I am critical about the live action Disney movies, but hey they better slay or go away. but that's not the point, the point is he won't let me read his writing no matter what I do, beg, grovel, nothing happens I am still kept in the dark about his writing.) But other then that Virgil also works at the theater my class uses for our performances so he's able to sneak all of us in when a new show comes on, thankfully he hasn't got caught yet so we are able to do things like that. ( I saw the cutest middle school Romeo and Juliet performance and ah, it was so cute, and wish they were doing it for another week, but sadly it was only a three day play) even if we do bicker all the time, I guess he is pretty cool not that I would tell him to his face.

Anyways I bet you're wondering how I met Virgil? Well it was through Patton, Virgil and his older Brother Devan (Dee for short) they where looking for a place to live and me Logan and pat had a spare room so we allowed them to move in, that's when we first met, and I wasn't so sure how I felt about him, I still don't but all I know is he is a little anxious at times and has nightmares and such. We found out the hard way, so whenever I wake up in the middle of the night and I see he is in the living room in the dark, I will sit on the couch and put on a Disney movie, I will watch it until he is ready to talk about it or he relaxes enough to fall back asleep. So basically that became out routine whenever he has a bad night and his brother isn't awake or there to help him through the stress, and anxiety of the dream or the day he had.

He also wanted me to tell you that he is also excited to come to visit you mainly because I've talked about how good your food is, but is a little nervous about flying to a new place, he nor his brother have ever been too. Which I replied with your farm is peaceful and the fresh air would be good for him. He agreed he would like to try and come, so we may just do that, but by driving so none of us feel nervous about flying. Which means we will have five people plus a dog in the car for a long time, don't want to think about the hours we will spend in the car, but I will keep my mind on the fact that we will be together, soon!

Devan (Dee) Peterson, senior in highschool 18-

Now I do not know much about Dee, all I know is that he is Virgil's younger brother, he is in design classes to make clothing and such (he makes amazing clothing for Virgil and I am completely jealous of because they look absolutely fabulous), not to mention he has a birthmark that goes over the left side of his face and is also is mute? (it's more of a question because Virgil says he does talk but then he doesn't, Logan said it sounds like he has selective muteness which makes sense. because he is very quiet and uses sign language mostly but we don't want to questions him about it and make him uncomfortable.) He really doesn't like to be around us unless Virgil is around. But even then he sticks to cuddling his sweet little snake Sweetpea finding comfort in her and spot. all and all He's a really quiet kid. (although Virgil warned us that once Dee gets comfortable with us, he will start to become very mischievous and play pranks on us, but for now, he will stay quiet and do his own thing.)

I also only know from Virgil That Dee is very thankful that you are allowing him to bring Sweetpea with us when we come to visit. He told me that his brother was really worried he wouldn't be allowed to bring her. But I told him that you wouldn't mind so your answer in the last letter really took away a lot of anxiety for them. Virgil did want me to tell you that if you feel uncomfortable with him and dee staying in the living room were sweetpea will be sleeping with him, just let him know and they will try and find a better spot for her. which I replied you raised four boys plus me you have seen the worst of things. but I told them I would tell you, so here we are.

well, Abuela, this is all I have to tell you so far in this letter, school is great, my roommates mates are great, life is all in all great, the only thing not great is homesick I am. I miss you and papa so much words can not describe how much I miss both of you. If I'm being honest the way everyone is talking about their families makes me feel blessed for my big happy family. like take Patton and Logan, for example, Patton said this is the first time Logan hasn't been away from From their mom this long since he was little, Pat even said he didn't want to see their dad alone anymore like ever, but he didn't go into details as in why all I know is if we mention it to Logan he won't be happy with any of us. anyways, I hope this letter finds you in good health, please tell papa that I love him, and of course I love you! I shall call you as soon as I can Abuela, I love you and can't wait to see you soon.

sincerely your príncipe valiente Roman

tag list

@figurative-falsehood @today-only-happens-once @chanderefk @whymustibedraggedintofandomhell @combine-the-kitchens @deceitifullies101 @imjustawibba @treasureofpriam @bookwyrminspiration @geronimo-scamander-spd @lightfloofydino @pawtoncake q

#autistic logan #adhd patton #adhd roman #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #deciet sanders #sander sides fanfiction #remy sanders #sander sides #college au #Thomas and Friends #anxious virgil #selectively mute

125 notes · View notes

punkpal · 4 years

Note

burgundy, pomegranate, cherry, wine, persian red, blood, cardinal, maroon, merlot & crimson ❣️

Burgundy: How often do you make your bed? what do your favourite bedsheets look like? I make my bed for one of two reasons. 1. I have finally decided to wash my bed sheets for the first time in 6 months and i have decided to change my ways and start making my bed daily to improve my mood and make me less tempted to nap during the day (this lasts for two days max). Or 2. I have a apartment inspection that i need to clean my house for so as to not let my landlord know i live like a pig. As for what my bed sheets look like, they are a light pink colour made from fake velvet because i am both a classy bitch (who likes soft materials) and a broke bitch (who can’t afford them.)

Pomegranate: Favourite and least favourite fruits? My favourite fruits are cantaloupe, strawberries, watermelon, mango and passion fruit. And my least favourite is the banana for a multitude of reasons namely the taste, smell, texture, shape 🤢🤮and the stringy bits. Also fun fact bananas aren’t actually a fruit but a herb. But i am still listing them as my least favourite fruit because i hate them and i wanted to take this opportunity as an excuse to call them out for being the devils dick of the food world.

Wine: Tell us about your first experience with alcohol. So i would have been about 14, so circa 2011. And i am hormonal, depressed, lonely but mostly just really fucking bored so i help myself to Dads alcohol fridge because why the fuck not. Drink a full cup of straight vodka (because i am dumb, inexperiences and no one can stop me) and then laugh to myself for a while as that shit hits me like a train. Then it wore off and i go back to my normal routine of crying myself to sleep, taking note that i should probably drink it later next time if i wanted to use it to hopefully skip the late night breakdown. And maybe mix it with some juice or something if i didn’t want it to taste like pure fire next time around.

Persian red: Answer with a picture of your dream holiday destination.

Yes i am not joking either. My dream holiday is to India because my best friend lives over there and to name a few other things i love about India and why i want to go is i love the culture, history and man they know whats up when it comes to food (i even had planned and booked a trip there for late 2018 but had to have it canceled because i had my brain surgery re-scheduled for during the time i was supposed to go. I plan to rebook it some day. Just obviously not anytime soon, coronavirus and all.)

And my other dream holiday destination is a tour of Russia and Ukraine. Including a visit to the exclusion zone and Pripyat. (The chernobyl disaster is one of my autism special interests, i just find that shit really interesting okay, don’t @ me.) Also the architecture and history of Russia is really appealing to me. I’d also like to go to Mexico, Italy and all of Africa one day too.

Blood: Which of your family members is your favourite? My lil bro and my cat!!

Cardinal: What is the first song that made you cry? The earliest memory i have of crying to a song was probably me at age 13 crying to Safe And Sound by Taylor Swift. And next was probably Of Mice & Mens ‘Second & Sebring’ and/or ‘Purified’ during my early scene kid/baby metal kid phase.

Merlot: do you have any unusual fears? Other then things i fear because of my ocd and its related intrusive thoughts and associated suspicions i don’t think i really have any fears that are are all too unusual. I am scared shitless of clowns but not to the point i can’t watch a good Clown horror flic, in fact the IT movies are some of my favourite so much so i have a IT themed tattoo. I guess my fear of scappy doo counts as a unusual fear, but we don’t talk about that, lol.

Crimson: If you could have only one photo or poster on your wall, what would it be? Not to get sad and sappy but it would probably a photo of my late dog and best friend Barney. Not that i would ever forget him now that he is gone. But if i could only have one photo up i would like it to be of him as a reminder of what he means to me and all the good memories i have of him that i cherish. Heres a photo of him for reference and to enjoy. He is beautiful and the world deserves to know of him and how he will always be the goodest boy ever.

cherry, maroon have already been answered!!

Thanks for these questions dear anon! I enjoyed answering them and it momentarily cured me of my debilitating boredom.

Give me the opportunity to go off... and send me a shade of red. I am passionate about stuff and bored shitless so it would be greatly appreciated! Thanks :)

1 note · View note

nano-the-robot-blog · 5 years

Text

A Vent

Hello. My name is nano (not really, of course), I’m an art student from rural Britain, and I really need a place to vent right now. I don’t know if anyone will read this, or if any of those people will know me, but at this point I don’t really care.

Since childhood, I’ve lived a very privileged life. My family aren’t well off but we get by, my father has always had a job and my mother has always looked after my brother and I. They have their flaws and we’ve had our arguments, but my parents really are amazing. However, unfortunately, that doesn’t grant me ease of passage through life - especially with the world in the state it’s in right now.

I know that I have it much better than a lot of people, and I have always known that. I tend to get things in halves. I have autism spectrum disorder, but I’m not nonverbal and most people don’t even notice. I have fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome, but I’m not wheelchair-bound. I have depression and anxiety, but I’ve never attempted suicide. I have an atypical eating disorder, not anorexia or bulimia (for those out there who do suffer with any of the things I’ve mentioned, my heart goes out to you. I may never understand your struggle but I will always strive to do the best I can to help, and I hope that you can all get through your respective hardships).

Now, as you can probably tell, I’m a very average person. Average height, average weight, average education and average skill levels. My brother, on the other hand, is a little less conventional. He has moderate to severe autism with learning difficulties which he was diagnosed with at quite a young age, and although he has yet to be diagnosed with it, my mother swears that he has pathological demand avoidance. He is also fairly tall and quite overweight, making him a formidable opponent.

These factors add up - the autistic meltdowns, the avoidance of any helpful behaviour and the refusal of commands and the sheer size of him - to make him an absolutely unbearable person to live with. He frequently attacks my family and I, both physically and verbally and with varying degrees of severity. It gets to the point, fairly often, that the police have to be called. My entire family have had to literally sit on his back in order to restrain him before, and it only gets worse once he is taken into hospital. At one point, he had four fully trained, adult police officers holding him down on a hospital bed. He’s had handcuffs, leg braces, the whole nine yards. It’s hell for everyone else in the family - and not just the humans. We have a menagerie of pets in the house as we are all animal lovers (aside from my father, though he does adore our dogs) and, though my brother doesn’t directly hurt them, the effect on them is clear. Our two dogs, one a huge Labrador/Rottweiler/Springer cross and the other a tiny Jack Russel/Pug mix, are utterly terrified every time he kicks off. They can even feel the tension in the air when we’re “walking on thin ice”, as my mother puts it, or when he’s on the edge of a meltdown. We also have three cats who don’t seem too bothered, although he has held up my cat (the oldest, and the smallest) and threatened to choke her before. I also have four beautiful young budgerigars who experienced his wrath for the very first time today, and it’s safe to say that they weren’t a fan. I’m hoping that they will be okay, though, since wild budgies will suffer much more worrying encounters in Australia.

Today, however, my brother went too far. He directed his anger towards the animals - my animals specifically - and me. My mother spent three days painting a gorgeous high sleeper bed which I only just got. I tried to help out, and I kept her company, but I’m just too sick to do such a physical task. Mom just naturally took over and eventually offered to paint the whole thing - even though she herself is ill. Like I said, my parents are amazing. The bed was a real labour of love for Mom, and she did an amazing job - despite the various hardships faced during the process. It was a real bonding experience for my mother and I, which was sorely needed as my mental health is pretty much non-existent at the moment. I’ll explain this as briefly as I can, just to give an idea of how much this affects me.

Recently, I’ve been suffering hugely with an atypical eating disorder. This possibly started when my ex broke up with me about two years ago, and very slowly built up over the past two years until recently, I stopped eating almost entirely and cut myself down to one small meal per day. The sudden change may or may not have been caused by my final major project in college, which I put my heart and soul into and which ended recently. I got the grade I wanted, but the residual stress left from it certainly took its toll, and my fate was sealed. I became more depressed than ever before and my anxiety, autism and (at the time mild) ED suffered the same way. I isolated myself from all of my friends, even my best friend - our relationship has been recovering slowly but surely from a very rough patch we had last year. I love her more than any other human, but I find it simply impossible to connect with another human being at the moment. My relationship with my parents is also hugely strained since they have to force me to eat now, and though we both know that it’s for the best, it puts a new barrier up between us. Another rather significant contributor is the fact that I have feelings for somebody I can never be with, and I’m quite sure he’s catching feeling for another girl who I’m also friends with, which simply gives me more reasons to distance myself from them. Regardless, back to the current situation.

It started small and simple, like all the worst things do. My mattress is in my parents’ room at the moment, as I can’t risk touching my paint-covered bed. My room also stinks of paint which makes it hard to sleep. My snakes are still in my room, though, as we couldn’t move them. My brother threw a cushion at me through the door. That’s all. I was lying in bed, exhausted and ill, and he threw a pillow at me. I said nothing, threw the pillow onto my parents’ bed, and went back to watching videos. A few minutes later, he threw a doorstop at me. It was heavy, and hit me in the hip, so it hurt a lot more than the cushion did. Again, I said nothing, and texted Mom to tell her what was happening. She came up the stairs pretty quickly, questioning my brother about it in a sympathetic tone. She knows him best, and is the best at diffusing situations like this. Like me, he said nothing. After a short while of her talking to him, though, he shoved past her out of his room and into hers, where I was still lying. I was hesitant to leave the bed, stupidly enough, because I wasn’t wearing trousers. However, my brother soon began threatening (nonverbally, of course) to throw his entire fifteen-pound body onto the mattress and on top of me. I wasn’t about to find out how many of my bones would be broken as I’m fragile enough already, so on request of my mother, I scurried off to the other side of my parents’ bed. He followed. I was hissed at to go into my room, which is what I did. No more than five minutes later, with me now holding a very nervous small dog, I hear a fierce BANG! and my door jumps. I’ve got an old door, one of the originals of our house, and I’ve never seen it budge before. At this point, I realised that he was going to break it down. Another few minutes passed until it happened once more, and once more was all it took. I stuck my legs out, thankfully, and caught the door on my feet, pushing it to the side. Thank goodness it somehow didn’t reach the snake tanks which were mere inches away, as they would have no doubt been shattered. We all knew it now; his anger was directed toward me and me alone. He kept advancing and my mother shooed me out of the room. I grabbed the dogs and hurried them into the utility, turned the light off and crouched down with them in the diffused light from the kitchen. He couldn’t see me, nobody could see me. We were safe. They all came downstairs fairly soon and my dad found me first. He said nothing, simply gave me a stressed look and went back into the kitchen. My mom then came out a few minutes later and informed me that my brother had backed himself onto my sofa, which is currently up against the snake tanks, and had started banging his hands on the glass. Any reptile owners well know that this is an awful situation for any reptile, especially snakes. Even just tapping on their tanks stresses them out to no end. They can stop eating for weeks, and if it’s bad enough, the poor things can even die. I did check the snakes after the whole ordeal and thankfully, they are all still alive and at least one of them is still ready to eat. My brother soon found my hiding place and started advancing again. I had nowhere left to go - my room, the only safe place, was destroyed. I just had to run upstairs and hang around for a while. I could hear him shifting furniture, and the occasional yell from one of my parents as he hit them. I know from experience that his blows are nothing to be scoffed at.

I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but somehow he ended up in my room again, but this time he turned his attention to my bed. Mom was appalled. The face she made was one of sheer horror; she had spent so much time and energy to get it to such a good condition and he had just ruined three days of work. She cried into my shoulder, weeping about the lack of consideration he has for others. I agreed, and we both muttered that we didn’t want him here any more.

That may seem harsh, to you. Who would want their own brother to leave for good? I would have agreed with you, if it weren’t for literal years of constant abuse from this boy, this monster. He’s like Jekyll and Hyde. One minute he can be a perfectly innocent child (he is 15, but his mental state is at the point where he is internally 8 or 9), and then within moments he can switch to some inhuman, unfeeling being of nothing but hate. He cannot be reasoned with, he can only be fought.

He’s gone now, they all are. Mom and him were taken to hospital in an ambulance, and my father followed shortly after. My snakes are alive, my budgies are fine and everything has gone quiet. This will happen again, and it’ll never stop until something is done - but that’s just the thing. What do we do? We’ve jumped through the hoops, we’ve waited years for people to help us and nobody will.

I’m going to be honest, I don’t want to seem like an attention seeker, but I genuinely fear that if this type of thing carries on, I’ll try to kill myself. Tonight put so much strain on my mental state, and each new episode increases that strain so much, that I don’t think it will be too long until I snap.

Sorry that this has been my first post on this blog. It was meant to be an art blog but I’m no longer going to be doing that as I’m completely rebranding myself. This will be a personal blog for me to write about my life - a kind of journal, I suppose.

All the best,

nano

#personal #vent #mental health #autism #aspergers #anxiety #depression #eating disorder #fibromyalgia #chronic fatigue syndrome #journal #negative #violence

2 notes · View notes