I learned this morning that i talk in my sleep according to my gf angel
she said that right after I fell asleep, I said "yeah man" like I was agreeing with someone and throughout the night I was saying "what"
besides that, I also said random phrases that she could make out that wasnt me just mumbling
this is the first time someone has told me I talked in my sleep so I texted my mom asking her if this was a thing I do, and she confirmed it saying I did but so did my half sister and herself
I'm still flabbergasted because I've slept in campers, tents, and have had sleepovers with my pals and nobody has ever brought that up to me lmaoo
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Like really, I was just sitting there, being weird all by myself. In my warmest fake sheep jacket, trembling in the cold wind, thinking, this is it, I am OUT of the house, I'll fight this motherfucker AvPD, and my ADHD will NOT stop me!
Seeing people in their bikes and people walking their dogs (why is your dog unleashed, lady?) and people being weird by themselves (that guy was 100% smoking weed, good for him) and then, from the wild, it appears a lady.
I might tell you, it was 9PM, it is fucking windy and cold.
And this lady, she's carrying a bag, and she's shy approaching "hi, can I take a moment of your time? Do you mind? Can I sit here?" I'm literally on the floor, so I smile and nod and do all the correct things.
She tells me this story, of how she's selling bread with her brother, to make ends meet, and that her brother is sick so she told him to stay home, but she needs to sell these two last pieces before she can go home, and she gets all flustered, "not that they're bad because they're the last or anything!" And I'm like, it's fine, I get it.
And then, obviously, she offers me the bread.
I won't lie to you, I do get her. But I'm also broke as fuck, have unpaid bills and am sitting on the floor of the park watching a lake because I had to make myself get out of the house (because uh, AvPD), so in all honesty, I did not want her bread.
I already have bread at home, bread that'll go uneaten because I have a hard time making myself eat anything at all, so it felt wrong to buy more bread, bread that'll go on the bread shelf to stay there for the rest of existence because I wont eat it.
I also did not know how to tell her I did not want her bread, and since I was very scared of hurting her feelings, my mind scrambled a million light years in that second.
Searching for a way to tell her no without telling her no, because I have AvPD, I cannot say no, and I am also brazilian.
So I told her that I had a gluten allergy, then bid her good luck and good night.
Fuck, I wish she finds rich people to buy her bread.
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man I wish people understood how much it sucks ass to be neurodivergent and trying to find the middle ground where people like/tolerate you. like, I'm either "boring" (trying to wait my turn in conversations, holding space for other people, taking a back seat to let others get some spotlight) or "too much" (too loud/talking too much, getting excited to share, trying to participate in group conversations/activities). No one really talks about how much of being neurodivergent is just sort of trying to make yourself palatable.
I feel like so much of my life has been spent trying to find this effortless sort of middle ground everyone else seems to automatically already know, and I'm always swinging too far one way or the other. I'm lucky to have neurodivergent friends who grok me, but goddamn I wish that I could just like, exist without the constant background script in my brain that's like "you're being too loud. You're not talking enough. you're being self-centered. you're being boring. you're wrong, you're wrong, you're wrong." I feel like I'm back in high school trying to make friends but stuck as the eternal "weird kid"
it's just... lonely and sucks bad.
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[images ID: three images of a comic titled "one must imagine sisyphus happy" by druid-for-hire. it is a visual narrative beginning with someone with wrist pain (depicted by bright orange nerves) working at a drafting table. the reader is shown the same wrist as the person uses it for many everyday tasks such as carrying a grocery basket, pushing elevator buttons, typing, and doing dishes, until the pain dissolves all the panels into chaos. the person then performs several physical therapy exercises until the pain subsides. they sit back down at a desk with their laptop, sigh, and begin typing. a small spark of pain reappears. end id]
a fun little piece i made during the semester and submitted into our school comic anthology! (which you can buy at the Static Fish table at MoCCAFest in NYC ;] ). it's about artists and injury
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"Name a hobby outside of MEDIA CONSUMPTION" is the worst kind of post. It's squarely in that ever-growing genre of post where the point on its face is ideologically meaningless and entirely reliant on an audience's biased negative reaction to a certain popular online buzzword (in this case, "consuming media"). Define "media". Define "consumption". Are reading books, watching movies, and playing video games all inherently inferior hobbies for dumb babies? What about going to an art gallery? What about going to see a play? What makes those "different", if you instinctually answer "Noooo that's not the same!"? Where does creating art, or "media", fall into this equation? Why does your insistence on feeling in some way intellectually and/or morally superior than the peons who use TikTok always fall back on the idea that the only worthwhile, "real" hobbies require a certain level of physical, mental, and/or social ability and reinforce the glorification of manual labor? Why will we never Fucking be free?
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