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wayward-styxxx · 5 years

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Autism/ADHD/Anxiety things from my childhood

- I was quite sensory seeking (I loved car rides, rolling down hills, jumping off my dresser onto my bed, spinning in chairs, staring at sparkly things, etc). I was probably more sensory seeking than sensory avoidant.

- I toe walked and never grew out of that.

- I developed trichotillomania and trichophagia in 3rd grade. I went from having eyebrows to not having eyebrows. Kids thought I shaved my eyebrows.

- I had a habit of running away in stressful situations.

- I was pretty decent in school. I got awards for being nice(it’s not hard to be nice) and for excelling in reading. I read at my grade level and beyond(adult books)

- I loved to read and I actually got in trouble often for reading in class instead of listening to the lesson

- I was pretty crap at subjects that were not language arts.

- My mom said that I got along with kids and played with anyone willing to play with me, but I was shy around adults. She thought that was interesting since I was an only child. She said that she couldn’t keep me from playing.

- That’s pretty true. I loved to play especially if I got my way.

- Even though I played with others I had like one actual best friend(I think) that I was always attached to and through her I had other friends. I considered me and this girl best friends even though our friendship pretty much stayed at school(like most of my friendships).

- The thing is that even though I considered this girl my best friend, I’m not so sure she totally considered me her best friend. She had other friends and when she would want to play with them I was basically like “well who do I have then?” I would insert myself into their little friendship even if they kinda wanted their own thing.

- I never actually had any friends over to my place.I only had cousins (1 cousin really) over to my place.

- I don’t have any photos with friends outside of a school setting and the photos that I do have with friends in a school setting are class photos.

- My birthday parties (that my mom planned) only had my cousins and no friends. I don’t think I ever actually invited any of my friends. I do know that I only had cousins and their parents there. I pretty much just liked getting gifts and having my parents wish me happy birthday. That was enough for me.

- I think I was only ever invited to one birthday party in elementary school. No, it was not my best friend’s birthday party lol

- I think in all of my years of elementary school I’ve called like one friend and it wasn’t the girl who was my best friend. I called this girl one time and never again. I never liked talking on the phone.It was like pulling teeth. My parents always had to remind me to call my grandparents or whoever.

- Years later when I would notice friends that I went to elementary school with, I would remember them, but they would either not remember me or they would just keep it to “hey, cool bye”. This even happened with my best friend from elementary school when I saw her outside of my high school. So sometimes I feel like maybe I didn’t actually have friends in elementary school. I was most likely just tolerated because I was nice lol 😂

- In elementary school I was called “mean” by other kids and even my friends before for having an opinion or for saying “no”. I never understood this, but I do know that I was so desperate for folks to like me and be my friend that I just ended up giving in or changing my opinion.

- I was very talkative. The teacher would tell the class to be quiet and I would still be trying to have conversations about my favorite book or something. I would literally be the only one still talking so I got in trouble for that quite often. Even though people were ignoring me because they were supposed to be quiet, I was still talking to them. Literally everyone got the cue except me.

- I talked to myself a lot especially when I was at home. I had whole conversations with myself and my mom would always ask who I was talking to. I would respond with “nobody” to not seem super weird. Sometimes I was honest and would say “myself”.

- I never had imaginary friends though because they just didn’t make sense to me. I always knew I was talking to myself and not a invisible friend.

- In elementary school some of my special interests gave me anxiety. For example, I got into tornadoes and hurricanes so I was constantly on the look out for signs of them. Those tornado watch alerts literally made my heart race. I also had a safety plan for if a tornado were to ever touch down. I read every book in my library on tornadoes and extreme weather.

- I was always sensitive to certain smells and foods and they would make me gag. I remember when I did a children’s summer program the smell of the food made me so sick and light headed that often times I decided to just go hungry. It was like a smell that nobody else could smell.

- I think I can remember everything that I ate as a kid because I pretty much ate the same thing.

- I was also very particular about how my food was prepared and the ratios. I always had to have the correct amount of peanut butter to jelly on my sandwich or the correct amount of skin to chicken with my chicken tenders. My parents don’t know this but if the foods were not the correct ratios or textures or if they made me sick then I would wrap them in toilet paper/paper towel and throw them in the trash can. I got that idea from a tv show.

- As you can see I kept a lot of things from my mom and grandma.

- I also watched the same tv shows/movies over and over again in the same sitting for hours. I remember I couldn’t find my incredibles movie dvd, but I had the behind the scenes dvd, so I spent hours going through every option on that behind the scenes disk. None of my tapes/DVDs play all the way through because I have rewound them so much.

- When blockbuster still existed I rented the same 4 sailor moon tapes and justice league movie every time.

- I learned a lot from tv and took the story lines quite seriously and tried to mesh them with everyday life. That didn’t always work out and sometimes got me in trouble with students/friends.

- I imitated characters. I am most likely an amalgamation of every character I’ve ever watched.

- I have this stim where I smell and rub my face across my arm. I’ve had that one since forever.

-I have a lot of tactile/vestibular/olfactory stims.

- I don’t think I’ve ever had a real sense of danger because my mom has complained that I’ve put myself in dangerous situations and was completely oblivious to them.

- Inappropriate giggling/smiling

- I’ve always had sort of a hard time seeing things from others perspectives.

- I cried a lot especially when I was away from my mom and grandma. I cried when I went to pre-school which is fine because it’s a new environment, but I also cried when I was left with family members as well. I would literally cry until my body just gave out.

- My mom said that I was very observant and at 5 years old I asked her why all of my toys were made in China. I also asked if most things we had were made in China. I examined my toys a lot.

-I loved the way my toys looked and felt

- I didn’t have the best tone control. I was always told to speak up. The funny thing is I could also be extremely loud especially when excited. I would scream if I was excited or even spooked(?) and I was so loud that teachers would literally come to the area and be like “yo who is that screaming ? I can hear this person all the way down the hall”

- I constantly ruined my clothes and things at school( not on purpose) and my mom would be upset but I could never see why she was upset even after she explained to me why she was upset. I also could never remember how my clothes ended up so dirty or how I lost jackets because there was just so much going on and the day moved so fast.

- I constantly misheard things as a child. I could be at a movie or have my tv all the way up and I could hear what people were saying but not comprehend it. It sounded like another language sometimes. I hated when people would whisper from the across the room so I would say “I can’t understand what you’re saying”. I think I was shouting that because I would get weird looks or people would just say “nevermind”.

- My mom brought me expensive gold lockets, but I broke every last one because I couldn’t stop myself from chewing on the chain and the actual locket. I pretty much wanted the locket because tigger had one in the tigger movie lol

- I chewed on my erasers and pen grips.

- I loved collecting things like rocks(geodes) and stationary and so I was kind of a pack rat lol

- My mom was happy to have a girl because that meant we could go shopping. Unfortunately I was not that interested in shopping for clothes when I was younger. When my mom would get excited about shopping for clothes for the both of us I would be like “can I buy books?” The only times I really cared about clothes and purses was if I saw the main character in a movie I was currently cared about clothes and purses. My mom enjoyed dressing me while she could though.

- When I was in elementary school I was going to a wedding and my mom said that I needed to dress up. I wanted to wear my new comfortable tracksuit so that’s what I wore. I was comfortable but extremely underdressed. I had a good time but felt out of place lol

- When I played with dolls I pretty much just set up scenes with very little dialogue. I did play teacher and I used my moms lottery tickets as scantron sheets. Sometimes I played teacher with my dolls, but dolls can’t write so i usually ended up being the teacher and the student.

-I was always hard on myself in elementary school. I started having negative thoughts starting in like 4th or 5th grade.

- I remember in 4th(?) grade being obsessed with ophelias suicide that was in a Shakespeare poem book. I didn’t have the most normal interests. My mom was always confused as to why I was into such dark themed subjects as a kid.

- I hated when my clothes would bunch up under my arms from too many layers and I still can’t stand that.

- my skin also seemed to be super sensitive and it’s almost like I could feel it moving which caused me to itch and I had to scratch myself extremely hard to get the itch to go away. I still have this problem today.

- I was and still am violently ticklish.

- I have never had good handwriting and a lot of my papers had words scribbled out and arrow marks where words should be. My written papers did and still do look horrible. Either you want me to write fast and have my paper be a complete mess or give me enough time to write slow and have a semi-neat paper. Thank god for computers.

- my mom tried her best to get me to learn cursive. I tried at school, my mom got me a cursive book and she tried to practice with me. I never learned proper cursive and I never completed that cursive book which frustrated my mom when I was younger. I would literally just sit there sometimes and stare at the book.

- I hated learning time on a analog clock, that was tough. It really took me a while to totally get it and I’m so glad my grandma always had a digital clock when I was younger. I relied on other kids who got it to help me. Still to this day I have to remind myself which hand is which and I’m 21. At 21 years old I’m still like “okay the small hand is the hour hand and it’s on the 3, the big hand is the minute hand and it’s on the 9”. Lol

- I would daydream and doodle especially in math class and so I got in trouble for not paying attention.

-I am happy that my mom and grandma were very hands on with me because if she wasn’t, I don’t think I would’ve gotten anything done tbh lol

#actually autistic #actuallyadhd #actuallyautistic #autistic women #autism spectrum disorder #autism in women #autism #autism symptoms #adhdlife #adhd problems #anxiety #poc #autistic poc #autistic children

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tessatechaitea · 4 years

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Dark Knight Returns: The Golden Child

Darkseid pees out of his eyes.

"It's 2020 and Frank Miller is still doing 'Not' jokes" is the only review of this comic book you probably need.

The Joker and Darkseid are cumming in their pants over the engagement in the election cycle. I guess people who want to stop terrible politicians from making the country a living hell for a vast number of the population are simply falling into their trap! Stupid people who want a better world! Can't they see that the only way to defeat The Joker and Darkseid is to disengage from the circus of election cycles and simply live their own life without any concern for others? Doesn't the electorate know the best life to live is the life that leads to Ayn Randian defenses of their own selfish needs? Just shut up and take what they give you, you dumb fucks. I should probably finish reading this story before I continue to jump from conclusion to conclusion about Frank Miller's point. His ultimate point might simply be that the children will save us all! Or that it doesn't matter if the children change the world or not because the adults will all be dead by then so who fucking cares? Supergirl Lara confronts Darkseid by blasting him with her heat vision. He dies multiple times or something but doesn't somehow. He applauds her rage the way bad guys always do and then calmly sits down to tell all of the children a story. He's going to be sensible and rational which means it will be the truth, I think. Obviously if you have any emotional attachment to your beliefs, they're garbage beliefs. Until you can squeeze all of the humanity out of yourself, the things you believe won't hold up in rational debate! So divest yourself of your rage, children! It will only make you more logical and intellectually stronger! But also divest yourself of your joy and your despair and your other emotions I can't think of! There must be more, right? While Darkseid is distracted regaling everybody with his tale of the anti-life equation, Superboy sneaks up behind him and takes over his Omega Effect. He turns it back on Darkseid and Darkseid disintegrates into non-existence. Unless he was transported back in time. I don't really know how his eyeball lasers work. Darkseid doesn't stay dead for long. He returns as the Omega God, as the end of everything, as the final death of everything on Earth.

But maybe later, I guess?

Batwoman beats up some Jokers and shuts down Trump's ability to broadcast to Gotham. It makes Darkseid angry enough to return for some reason. Probably a metaphorical reason. Or an analogical reason. I think maybe my attention span is seriously slipping! And right when I'm getting to the part that's probably going to explain what the fuck is going on in this comic book. Superboy destroys Darkseid by calling him an old fart. Also maybe a little bit by blasting him with a new super power: neutron vision! Darkseid has now had his powers stripped so far back that a human bouncing a rock off of his head makes him bleed. But still he thinks, "I will manipulate these fools with my lofty words!" But then Greta Thunberg clenches her fist at him and Batwoman says, "You have no power here! We're thinking for ourselves now!" And then that's the end somehow. Dark Knight Returns: The Golden Child Rating: I can't comprehend what I just read. Maybe the point was that we shouldn't comprehend what other people want us to comprehend? Maybe it was an anti-propaganda story? Maybe it was just terrible writing pretending to be art? It's so hard to tell because it's trying so hard to be complex! Is it's complexity real or a facade? I can't tell! Maybe I should stick to easier things to understand, like James Joyce's Finnegans Wake or Alan Moore's 1300 page novel, Jerusalem, which I finished. Maybe that's Frank Miller's problem. Maybe he just didn't have enough pages to really get to the point he was trying to make. But then if he did have more pages, how many would he waste by simply repeating the same things over and over again? For those of you who haven't read this (or Superman: Year One), he does that a lot. Not in the good way that Tom King and Gertrude Stein repeat themselves. Just in a way that makes you think, "I got it! Superboy is right in Darkseid's brain." Maybe that's a poor example from this comic book because repeating that over and over works to show how painful Superboy's presence in Darkseid's brain is. But I assure you there were many other examples that I can't make excuses for. I just can't be bothered to dig back through the comic book to find them.

#Dark Knight Returns #The Golden Child #Frank Miller #Rafael Grampa

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littlefranklino-blog · 7 years

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My Story.

It’s largely assumed and taken as a given that, when anyone goes through any form of trauma, you’re ‘allowed’ a few months, maybe a year, of being a wreck. Emotionally, psychologically, even physically. You get a year’s free pass before the empathy and even the sympathy wears off, and you need to start to ‘help yourself’ or just get over it.

It’s not that people don’t care, it’s more that they either don’t fully understand the form of pain you’re in, or that they have their own lives and their own traumas that make it hard to be a constant support system. And it’s okay, because everyone has struggles and everyone goes through some form of inexplicably painful event at some point in their lives. So we don’t talk about it, and we try to carry on.

It’s because of my long and continuing journey to being me again that I feel the need to share my story and experience. So please bear with me, because this is hard.

I was 14 when I met him. I lost my virginity while partially unconscious in his bed at his 15th birthday party. At the time, I was so anxious to get my first time out of the way that I didn’t even think about what had really happened until a long time after. My friends were all really jealous that I had done it before them, and I was such a particularly insecure girl that I found a form of misguided pride in what I had “achieved”. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I looked back on that night and realised what had happened to me, and the events that took place for almost 4 years afterwards, that I have been able to truly come to terms with it.

After I lost my virginity to him, we didn’t really talk or see each other until one night, several months later, when he asked if I wanted to meet up. I was 15, and had engaged in sexual intercourse with someone else since losing my virginity, and would now be what is considered ‘sexually active’. We met up that night and he was charming and sweet and kind and funny, and I genuinely felt like he was perfect.

It’s worth mentioning that from the age of about 9 or 10, I was a deeply depressed and emotionally unstable person. I referred to myself as broken even as a child, and can remember crying myself to sleep every night for what felt like years. I was lonely and depressed and desperately trying to fill this emptiness that I had inside me. And then I met him, and I felt like everything would be okay.

We were in love. Everything was great. We were children, yes, but when you’re 15 you don’t see yourself as a child. We were convinced that we were going to be together forever. And then it started to change.

It was small things at first. When we went to a party I wasn’t allowed to drink any alcohol as I “couldn’t handle it”, and any time I was seen with any form of alcoholic drink, it descended into a very heated argument about my morals and my commitment to him. The fact that I wasn’t doing very well in school meant that I was a failure. I was told I didn’t try hard enough with my appearance. I was told that my family didn’t treat me well enough, so I distanced myself from them. I was told that he didn’t like my friends, so I distanced myself from them too, and instead only socialised with his friends. If we ever went on a date or a day out, I wasn’t trusted to choose the activity because I always got it wrong. He would tell me that he was taking me out, and then, after dictating what we did, would regularly make me pay. Often, he would leave midway through because I had done something to offend him or that he didn’t see as acceptable, and I would have to pay and then find a way home.

These small changes, when combined into one paragraph, make it painfully obvious that I was in an unhealthy and controlling relationship. When these things happen slowly over a period of time, at the same time, your self worth and self belief is also being destroyed by someone you’re in love with. You’re blinded. The worst part is that this was just the beginning. This is just a list of a few of the things he did that I can remember happening before it got a lot scarier and darker and even more lonely.

While the controlling continued, every single day was an attack on my personality and looks. I was nothing. I would be punished for behaving badly by being made to sleep on the floor, like a dog. I felt so worthless.

He cheated on me. I was told by a mutual friend and he denied it. I knew he was lying, but I was too scared to be without him, so I pretended I believed him. Later on in our relationship, he admitted it, gloated and told me it was because she was more attractive, better in bed and that I wasn’t having sex with him enough. He openly admitted that they regularly met up. It was my fault. And I genuinely felt like it was my fault. I wasn’t good enough for him. So I tried as hard as I could to be perfect, so he would stay with me.

We had been together for a year when he started to rape me. I think this is the part that I still struggle so much with. For most of my life, I believed that rape was when someone violently attacked a woman – usually down an alleyway. That is how it is depicted in school and on TV. Now, as an adult, and especially as a feminist, I feel almost ashamed that I didn’t know I was being raped, or try to stop it. I was old enough to fully comprehend rape and I was more than capable of knowing that it’s wrong to make someone have sex if they don’t want to, but I was also convinced that he was the only thing I had, and the only thing that could make me happy. I was under the illusion that I was lucky to have someone like that love me. I had gotten to the point where I didn’t know what I wanted or didn’t want, unless he told me first. So he told me I had to have sex with him. So I did.

Once this had started, so did the beatings. For the small things that would have originally ended with a heated argument and me apologising profusely for whatever I had done wrong, they now ended with a slap round the face or being physically held down and screamed at. On a few occasions I was punched in the face. The worst physical violence I endured was when he pushed me so hard that I fell over and split my head open on the corner of a radiator. The last thing I remember is seeing the blood, and then looking up to see him laughing. I woke up in hospital and apparently, according to the nurse, I had hurt my head by dancing on the bed and then falling off. I went along with it because he was sorry.

I was only physically forced into having sex with him once. I still can’t quite find it in myself to talk about that part, and it took a very long time for me to even be able to say it out loud. But it happened, he did it. And I got pregnant.

This was not part of the plan. He was destined for university and a career. This was something he couldn’t control. Well, this was something I thought he couldn’t control. Being someone that hadn’t ever really felt loved or worthy of love, I was suddenly faced with the prospect of becoming a mother. I was 16. I told him that I was pregnant, and I’m not really sure what I expected, but it was probably not what happened next. I was told to either have an abortion or I would be pushed down the stairs and dealt with. These weren’t the words of a scared 17 year old boy who didn’t know what to do; these were the words of someone who knew exactly how to handle a situation that had gone past being controlled. To this day I still hate myself for what I did. I know I did nothing wrong, and I aborted a child (that was the product of rape) out of fear for its safety, as well as mine. But I still can’t help hating myself, especially because now I am faced with the prospect that I may never have children.

Shortly after having the termination, I got a blood infection in one of my ovaries. It filled with cysts and caused irreparable damage that has left me with only one working ovary**. I’m not infertile, but I’m half as likely to ever hold my baby in my arms. I’m half as likely to ever be a mother. And it hurts so much because it is all because of what I did.

The rape and the violence started up again about a month later. I would spend about 4 or 5 nights a week at his house because of the strained relationship I had with my family. Even though I had my own home that I could go to and feel safe, I didn’t. I felt trapped between a home in which I felt unloved and lonely, and a home where I would be beaten and forced to have sex.

It wasn’t constant abuse. We would have some really good times. It was such a yo-yo type of relationship that I eventually didn’t know which version of him I was going to get or at what point he would turn, or if he would turn at all. It was exhausting.

One day, he suffered a family tragedy. He was broken. This big masculine terrifying person was suddenly so small and vulnerable. He needed me. I was there for him and I wanted to help make it better. I was there for months; everything he needed or wanted, I was there. One day he turned to me and said ‘you’re all I have left now. You are never allowed to leave me’. I don’t know why it happened at that moment, but suddenly the penny dropped. I wasn’t with him through choice. I wasn’t with him because I loved him. I was with him because he demanded it. I was with him because I was his possession.

So I left him. I broke up with him and I didn’t look back. He was vulnerable and had suffered a great loss and maybe it was insensitive to do so at that moment, but it’s what I did.

He was fine. He quickly got into another relationship with the girl he was cheating on me with. For months they mocked me over how weak and insignificant I was to them. Then, a year later she texted me apologising for what she had said and done, and sent me pictures of the black eye he gave her.

As I previously mentioned, it wasn’t until I was an adult and I looked back on my experience that I realised I wasn’t just heartbroken, I was BROKEN. Every part of my heart and soul had been picked apart and violated, and it took me a long time to comprehend the damage. And I’m still healing, but it’s okay. It’s okay to not be okay.

Years have passed since this happened to me. I’m now engaged with a good job and a great network of friends. People assume that its been so long since what happened that I must be fine now. My life looks perfect, so I must be fine.

I have PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), which is triggered by sex or having my arm or leg movement restricted. I can barely bring myself to make love to my fiancé, because when I do, I have to fight off flashbacks of being raped. I have an anxiety disorder where I constantly worry about everything and have a feeling of dread with me all the time. I have OCD. I have a panic disorder and suffer from panic attacks regularly. I sometimes become convinced I’m being chased or followed. These are the lifelong consequences I carry from being abused. I’m a strong woman. I refuse to be mistreated by anyone again in my life, but I’m still recovering.

I don’t like the label ‘survivor of domestic abuse’. I don’t think that just because I didn’t die, that I survived at all. Parts of me that were once great are now gone. The person that I was no longer exists. The person I could have been will never exist. They say that you wouldn’t be who you are today without the things that happen to you, good or bad. The saddest part of that is that I agree, I just know I’m not the person I was supposed to be anymore.

I can’t stress enough how easy it is to find yourself in an abusive relationship, especially as a young girl who may not see the beauty and individual brilliance in themselves. It took me a long time to realise that I was in an abusive relationship, and then make the scary decision to walk away and say no, this isn’t right. I refuse to be damaged forever, and so should you. It shouldn’t be shameful or embarrassing to tell your story. I don’t know statistics, I don’t have facts and figures, but I know that too many women have and still will die because of domestic abuse.

If we stand together, tell our stories, face our fears and stop this issue from being so taboo, maybe we could save some lives. Maybe we can save someone from lifelong mental illness. Maybe we can save someone from aborting a child out of fear for their own life. Maybe we can save someone from rape. Maybe we can save someone from hating themselves. Maybe we can help rebuild someone that lives each day feeling broken.

#domesticviolencesurvivor #abuse #physicalabuse #rape #i am strong #i am here #hear my story #survivor #i will survive #abortion #fear #anxiety #ptsd recovery

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