Who Speaks for Us?

 David Cameron Staples (Catsidhe) sents us Who Speaks For Us? on Dreamwidth

Trigger Warning for mentions of the Judge Rotenburg Center, Autism Speaks, and related policies.

It is the second of November as I write this, because of course it is. So... I apologise for not leaving myself time to make this shorter.

Or to the point, whatever that point is. (Edit: I've figure out what the point is, and removed a half-dozen side tracks. For future reference, they included

• How closely do ADHD and Autism overlap? How many of the understood common symptoms of one are actually symptoms of the other? Can a symptom be common, but show up in different ways depending? Can one have both versions? Oh wow, I'm almost writing that essay just in the asking of the questions.
  
• What does "Neurodiverse" mean anyway, and who is included within it?
  
• Are there Neurodivergent conditions which aren't inherently disabling? (I'm thinking especially of Synesthesia.)
  
• What does "Disability" even mean?

So. Anyway. Incipit:

Who speaks for us?

In the beginning there was Autism.

Then Asperger's Syndrome was discovered, and it was technically a different thing.

And that's the first complication, because that division created a barrier between autists.

Autistic for Life

 Christiana J. MacLeod writes Autistic for Life on The Autyssey

Trigger warning for mentions of bullying, police brutality, and suicide

“YOU’RE NOTHING LIKE MY CHILD!”
…is an all-too-common response from a parent when an autistic adult shares their journey on social media. Can sometimes include such indictments as “you’re not SEVERELY autistic, you can use social media, you can speak, you’re not autistic at all” ad nauseam.

Well… no, quite right, I’m not like your child. I will quote no Nazi eugenicists and call no kettles black, but no two autistic people, child or adult, are exactly alike. So what if #ActuallyAutistic adults aren’t like #autistic kids? We’re still autistic, years be damned, but we have different challenges in adulthood than we do in childhood. And if we’re gonna be totally honest… among those challenges is just staying alive while the rest of the world continues to pick on us. And make no mistake — it IS a challenge.

Read More Here

Autistic Speaking Day:AAC, Paganism, faith and communication access

 Saoirse posts Autistic Speaking Day:AAC, Paganism, faith and communication access

 Trigger warning/caution notice, this post discusses religion, ancestors, food, pagan and holidays

It is just after Halloween, and for many people this is a one day holiday, for me those who don't know I am pagan and for me Halloween more of a day I mark in or as part of my Samhain, which is a larger Holiday period? festival? I'm not sure the right word for it,  Samhain (pronounce sow-in)  is one the the 4 fire festivals in Irish paganism, I am not going to give a long i depth lesson on Samhain or a history lesson, I highly recommend learning about it from actual Irish people, aka people from and living in Ireland who are part of the living culture there.  I would also recommend looking at things like blog posts and videos by native sources, I would recommend checking out writings and videos  by Lora O'brien as a starting off point or as well as out dúchas.ie, and for Irish paganism specifically there is the Irish Pagan Scool. These are all good native sources I recomend for starting your own research into Samhain and Irish paganism.links provided below.

Petition Autism Bavaria

Ilona Mennerich posts Petition Autism Bavaria

Trigger Warnings: politics, mention of pathologizing language, political discrimination

Petition on the Autism Strategy Bavaria

1. In the recommendations for action on the Bavarian autism strategy, the AWMF-S3 guideline for the therapy of autistic disorders from 2021 is laid down as the basis. Many autistics and autism associations oppose the content of this guideline and do not approve it. 

Autistics Speaking

Content Warning – Talk of abuse

 Jay from Jay's World writes

Autistics Speaking

I be ask why I believe should have all autistic voice hear.

I can only tell about me.

In: A Look Into The World Of Autism

Content warning: First Person Language, medical model and generalization, Autism Speaks.

Sam Passer presents In: A Look Into The World Of Autism

Growing Up Autistic Without a Diagnosis, and the Importance of Community

Christina-Marie "The Gonzo Mama" Wright posts Growing Up Autistic Without a Diagnosis, and the Importance of Community on The Gonzo Mama CN: mention of suicidal ideation

On Autistics Speaking Day, it seems appropriate to reflect upon the importance of community, but in doing so, I couldn't help but think about what life was like, before I found it.

I was not a child who was indistinguishable from my peers.

Instead, I was a child who stood out for various reasons:

My mom says when I was a toddler, I didn't point out things that were readily apparent to others. That is to say, when we were in the car and drove past a herd of cows, I didn't point, and say, "Cows!" because obviously, there were cows. Why point it out? Everyone can see them, so what's the purpose of exclaiming the obvious?

When I did speak at that age, people thought I was older, because I spoke like an adult. And that "tiny grown up" perception followed me throughout my childhood and youth, and a lot of times, it stood in the way of making friends, because kids my age thought I was arrogant, or weird, based on the way I spoke and tried to engage.

When I started school, I interrupted and corrected teachers and other students, and never understood why that was viewed as rude, disruptive, or inappropriate -- and certainly never understood why I was reprimanded or disciplined for it.

Read More Here 

A Letter to Jeanafer

Leo Jones posts A Letter to Jeanafer on Neurologic

Disclaimer: This piece does not apply to all parents nor all my friends. If you're worried it might, you can e-mail me at neurologicpodcast@gmail.com; I welcome such conversation, and the willingness to examine one's self after reading this letter is a significant sign that such worries are misplaced.

I've wanted to write this for at least five years, possibly more. It has harbored a place in my mind, changing shape but inherently being the same message. Even now it took over four months to finalize, and I'm still aching to tweak it.

Unfortunately it's hard to articulate that message in a way that is listened to, accepted, understood. I know the reaction will be so insecure, so angry, so emotional, that before it's processed, it gets rejected.

But I have to get this out. I have to document this, expunge it from my system, at least once.

Jeanafer, I do like you. I think you're a quality human being whose heart is in the right place; you work way harder than what is expected, and often are not paid more than lip service for it. You care deeply for your family, and you put them first. I have learned from working with you, and despite what I write here, I would be willing to do it again.

But I need to set some things straight first.

You and I keep hitting the same repeated arguments when it comes to autism - more specifically, autistic civil rights, neurotypical parents of autistics, neurotypical-led autism charities, and the issues that surround these topics. While we don't always agree, I keep on thinking that if I explain it well enough, describe it well enough, parse it down enough, that somehow that will be..well, enough to have you understand. On some topics this has changed - but mostly, it ends up devolving to an online screaming match, and I end up walking away feeling worse, feeling like I have failed both you and the autistic community.

What sticks with me is not the issues themselves, but what you've said and written.

“I wish my kids could be as expressive as you are and do half the things you can do, but at this point in their life they cannot.”

“I think some parents wish their kids were like you and it is hard for them because they are not at where you are at.”

You've told me why you left Autism $peaks - not because of their terrible, bigoted stereotyping of autistics, not because there was no one autistic on their board of directors, not even for some of the more callous, abysmal and exaggerated propaganda pieces (I Am Autism, Autism Every Day, etc) - but because they centralized all funds raised by local chapters instead of keeping the money local. And while you've gone on to state that you definitely do not agree with them based upon the above, I cannot be sure where you would stand today if the funds raised local had stayed local.

But I bring up these two specific quotes not only because of their emotional impact, but because they are commonly repeated to me by other parents - often used in conjunction with words like ‘inspiration/inspiring', ‘well-spoken’, ‘put-together’, or some semblance of not being able to ‘tell’ that I'm autistic.

When someone says ‘I wish my kids were like you’, does this make you feel good? Are you complimented, does it come across as flattering?

I’m seriously asking because for me...it never, ever feels that way.

I know that the intentions may be good by the person stating this; it's why I work to avoid responding in a negative or hostile fashion, eke out a smile, and either ask them ‘why?’ or redirect the conversation elsewhere. It has never felt like anything but a punch in the gut for me. It makes my stomach drop, as though I were standing on the edge of a bottomless pit with no railing or safety.

And then comes the realization that the person I'm talking to clearly doesn't know me at all - and instead of wanting to, has decided that they have me figured out; that they ‘get’ me. No matter what is discussed afterward, this thought stays prescient in my mind. It's not that they don't WANT to know more, it's just they have seen enough, and anything beyond that doesn't apply or fit their personal narrative of the individual they view in front of them.

Worse yet is when I think of their kid, and how they're being compared to an adult. What child would be able to rise to such impossible standards? Does the child even know they're being judged by a clearly faulty comparison?

Unfortunately, instead of coming correct and chewing the parent out for this pseudo-compliment that demeans their child, I end up not saying anything. What good would it do?, I think. Should I tell them about the struggles I had growing up, how they mirror their own child's issues, and how - even as an adult - I still have difficulties in daily life?

That last question is an easy one to answer - absolutely not.

It's bad enough to get treated as some sort of ‘miracle’ autistic, as the idyllic autistic offspring the parent wishes they had - but can you imagine how I'd be treated if that mask dropped?

Well, I know. And it would be silence. Massive amounts of silence. And not the soothing silence of one's home or headphones - no, the uncomfortable silence that comes from an abrupt end to communication, socialization, inclusion. No longer given responsibility for significant or important tasks, not taken seriously when expressing an idea, thought, or opinion, and relegated to a shallow acquaintanceship that never establishes bonds of legitimate trust.

But Jeanafer, I'm exhausted. I'm tired of just sitting or standing there and taking this gut-wrenching, so-called compliment. And though I maintain a job, pay my bills, cook my food, save money, have lasting friendships with people who truly care for me as much as I do them - referred to in common slang as ‘adulting’ - I still face difficulties as an autistic adult.

And even though you have an autistic child, the fact that you compare them to me truly reinforces the fact that you don't know what my life is like.

You don't know the days I've taken away from work because I just don't have the spoons to leave the apartment.

Or when I'm so unable to function I can't even put on a fucking sock - not a pair, just one goddamn sock.

Or the days that I'm so depressed I consider suicide.

You don't know the days where I spend hours thinking that I don't truly have friends, but people that merely tolerate me.

Or the days where I can't remember anything, especially people's names or dates or events, etc.

Or the days I have literal trouble speaking and socializing, coming across as silent when I don't want to be.

You don't know the days where I have the overwhelming urge to clean everything, draining me of spoons to where I can't do anything for days afterward.

Or the days where my adrenaline levels are so high I can barely string words together in a coherent fashion, trying to come across as calm and factual, while my brain speeds on, my hands and my body shaking as it courses through my veins.

Or the days when I physically stim because I'm incredibly happy and pleased with something, especially an accomplishment - even when it's something minor, like successfully trying a new recipe or getting all the tasks on my to-do list done in a day, or just enjoying something fully and in the moment.

And you don't know every single day, wearing my mask so much that I honestly am unsure as to who I really am or what I would be like without it.

Honestly, I'm afraid all you've ever seen of me is that mask.

I know you've heard of masking, and I want you to know it is a seriously real thing. I knew about it before I heard the term; taking each social situation and conversation and piecing together the unwritten rules, guidelines, taboos, norms, rituals and embedding them through practice and application. Years of this created a much more accepted person based on the restrictive society, at the cost of my own mental health.

As a child, I was desperate to be accepted, to have friends, to be included - because to do otherwise meant isolation. I forced myself to learn to behave like others behaved. Early on this resulted in a lot of trial and error - more error, because imitation and replication come across as mockery, and some people's behavior only works for them. It was hard, tedious and at times I never thought I'd figure it all out, at least not to the level I'm at today. I spent my college years getting an education in social relationships this way; and despite taking twice as long to earn a two-year degree, I'm glad I was able to learn how to make friends.

But it comes at a mental cost. Do I let my autistic tendencies out? Do I even know, truly, what they are? Will they be accepted/accommodated in all areas of my life?

What I do know is this: you do not know me. At least, not nearly as well as you think you do. And the fact that you refuse to acknowledge the person behind the mask - beyond your assumptions, beyond even the passive jealousy you have regarding my independence and advocacy - is increasingly eroding our once respectful and platonic relationship.

You admire and cherish the mask rather than the autistic behind it, and I'm weary of wearing it.

So I'm not going to, at least not around you, anymore. Maybe one day you will learn to accept me at face value; but considering the reality of masking that autistics deal with on a daily basis, I don't have much hope.

Unmasked regards,

Leo Jones

But I don't feel disabled

Catsidhe (David Cameron Staples) posts But I don't feel disabled



(Self-)Advocacy is hard, because it doesn't feel, most of the time, like a disability.

That needs unpacking.

The advocacy work I'm trying to do has a lot of overlap with advocacy for wider disability inclusion and accessibility. If I'm successful, it's not just for the neurodiverse, it's for the vision impaired, the mobility impaired, the hearing impaired, everyone. It requires making common cause with them, and at least at the start, advocating on their collective behalf (because somebody has to, and if anyone else is, no-one seems to know about it). But I don't feel like I belong in the same category as they do.

Because what is "disability"? It seems that every attempt at defining it comes out different, and the only commonality is that it's like "obscenity": you know it when you see it.

At the core, it's a condition which results in a more or less permanent impairment in function. But that carries its own definitional problems. A family with achondroplasic dwarfism, in their own specially designed environment, might not notice any particular issue. Until they step outside into a world designed for "normal" people. Or, as the terminology is preferred, "typical" people, because we're talking about mathematical norms over populations. So the first battle is to define your population. If you had a modern environment designed for Maasai, and a !Kung family moved in, would they count as disabled because of their physical difficulties? Or vice versa?

Let's take it further: Dwarfism isn't just caused by achondroplasia, and there are so many possible causes, including just because, that the definition for dwarfism as regards being a disability is being 4'10" or less as a fully grown adult. But it's possible for treatments of conditions like achondroplasia mean that growth can be given a kick along. It's entirely possible to be a 5'5" dwarf. Are they still disabled?

Then there's where the line is drawn regarding severity: someone with a C5 spinal cord break is quadriplegic, and everyone would agree that they're disabled. Someone with an L4 break is paraplegic and also definitely disabled. Someone with a below the knee amputation is definitely disabled, even if, like Adam Hills, you wouldn't usually even know unless they told you. I just discovered that I have a slight congenital deformity of the talus bone in my ankle, which results in a twist in the foot, which results in chronic tendonitis and achilles tendon pain, and I've just got orthotics to address. Does that count as a disability?

Then there's where the line is drawn regarding permanence. The flu is clearly not a disability, no matter how much medical care you might need to live until it passes. The paralysis which results from polio clearly is a disability, as is the results of post-polio syndrome decades after any recovery. A broken leg is an injury, not a disability. The results of many broken bones can add up to a disability, such as for someone with osteogenesis imperfecta.

Where am I going with this? Executive summary: the concept of "disability" isn't that easy to define.

And I don't feel disabled. Usually.

How I am is how I've always been. In the normal course of events I am just how I am.

Normally.

And then a tradesman comes out for an emergency visit, and it turns out I have absolutely no idea how to even ask how to pay him, or how much. Or when the conversations around my corner of the open plan office all talking over the top of each other penetrates even the music playing through noise cancelling headphones and I have to grit my teeth and fight the urge to stand up and scream at them to shut up.

But still, I have been diagnosed as on the Autism Spectrum. And the fact of that diagnosis means that, by definition, my symptoms add up to clinically significant impairments. I am, by definition, disabled. But putting myself into the same company as someone who uses a wheelchair or is blind, feels like a form of fraud.

And that's the same wedge that some Autism parents use to divide "high functioning" and "low functioning" autists. "You're not disabled, not like my child. You'll never understand what it's like for my child. Don't you dare to try to speak for my child."

Never mind that if you child can't tell you what it's like from their point of view, maybe people like me can. Never mind that there is no dividing line between "high" and "low" functioning, and that it's a grossly oversimplistic binary division of a complex and continually varying context dependent spread of capabilities and deficits. How about you let me advocate for me, and for people like me. How about you stop cutting my legs out from under me by shouting out my own private doubts, as if I hadn't been obsessing over them to an extent which practically of itself proves them false, as if I hadn't thought of any of them, as if the answer was as simply and easily expressed as the question.

Advocacy is by its definition the act of asking for help. Help for yourself and for others. (And that latter part means that there's more than my own wellbeing at stake if I stop.) And part of the very definition of the condition I'm asking for help with is that I don't know how to ask for help. Certainly not from the people I need to convince to provide it.

Christ, I can't even get some of them to answer my emails.

But I'm sure as hell not going to stop. Because, as I keep reminding myself, I'm doing this because I can, so that the next poor bastard doesn't have to.

It's just that I don't feel like I belong in the group for whom I'm doing it.

Being autistic... in September

Joelle Marie posts Being autistic... in September. on Thoughtistic


Content Warning for discussion of autistic vulnerability to suicide; no graphic detail, focus on outreach, prevention, and support

Being autistic... in September

September is for Suicide Prevention but also…?

How do you see me?

Nora writes How do you see me? on Nora W - The Self Aware Autistic

Content Warning for Anxiety and Overthinking

- Now That You Know -

Now that you know I’m autistic,
how do you see me?

Do you just see my anxiety and awkwardness?
Do you judge my miscommunications and lack of social awareness by normative standards?

My facial expressions mismatched to my heart.
My volume not modulated properly.

Am I made up of more than
my reactions?
my emotions?
my inability to communicate without wearing my heart on my sleeve?

Am I valued?

Am I worth more than just
my talents?
my abilities?
my dependability?
my loyalty?

Do you see me
paralyzed by social anxiety?
unable to reach out
to initiate conversation?
longing to be included?

I try.

It takes everything within me to speak.
to find the words.
to take a chance on being seen.
to stay.
to not run away and hide,
out of sight.

I still fail.
I try.
I fail.
I try again.
I still fail.

I just want to sit here
and stop trying so hard,
but I don’t have it in me to quit.
God won’t let me.

I want to turtle up
but I can’t go back in that old shell.

Everything I’ve done
has been to get me
further away from where I started.

Am I still unnoticed
except when I melt down?
Am I still unwanted
except when I have something to offer?

Can I just be seen
Can I just be liked
Can I just be wanted
Can I just be accepted
Can I just be included
for being me?

(C) Nora W - The Self Aware Autistic

Dry Eyes Album

Fiona, Dry Eyes

Content Warning: Punk/grunge music; not all songs have been reviewed for specific content warnings

Fiona writes:

This is my band from when I was in high school. I'm autistic and my bandmates had disorders as well. It was extremely fun and a great way to be a part of my local community and meet new people without feeling out of control or out of place.

I'm so fucking tired

 Content Warning for swearing

I'm so fucking tired
by Seven C.

The Joys of Autistic Life

Devin S. Turk, The Joys of Autistic Life on The Autistic Void

The Joys of Autistic Life

Let’s say there’s a dial control that determines how intensely each person experiences the world at any given time. Think of a pain scale at a doctor’s office, or maybe a knob on a car radio.  If most neurotypical or allistic (non-autistic) people’s dials can turn from one to ten, then mine goes beyond ten- mine can turn to eleven or thirteen or maybe even fifteen.  My dial and the ability for it to point past ten is a very integral part of what it’s like for me to live my life on the autism spectrum.  It means that I have the tendency to feel things very intensely: both the good and not-so-good.  This dial affects each facet of my life.  It affects my physical senses, like hearing and taste.  My ability to empathize with others.  All of my emotional states.  Everything about my perceptions and my responses to everyday life can turn past the number ten.

It’s certainly not always easy being autistic. Whether it’s coping with sensory overload, emotional burnout, or feeling like an outsider in a world that’s not built for people like me in mind, I have plenty of not-so-great days.  But being a human isn’t always easy either, and to me, being autistic is as simple and as complex as this: it’s a way of being human. I decided to write this essay about the joys of being autistic after I recently came across the twitter hashtag #AutisticJoy, in which autistic people tweet about things they love about their lives on the spectrum.  We all have good days, bad days, and days in between.  We also all have activities or objects or people that bring us comfort and joy.  In today’s post, I’m going to tell you about a few of my favorite things that make the bad days better and the good days the best as an autistic person.  These are my joys of being autistic, which for me, are also the joys of simply being.

1. Stimming

Stimming (or self-stimulatory behavior) is something many autistic people do to regulate and express ourselves.  It can be a way to try and turn the dial back down to a more manageable number if we want, or a way to communicate an internal state.  Classic examples of stimming include repetitive motions like flapping one’s hands or rocking back and forth, but each autistic person stims differently.  When I get suddenly excited or happy about something, I often jump up and down and flap my hands in a wild frenzy, which is an action I and other autistic people call “happy flapping.”  This is as natural and as instinctive to me as the urge to laugh at something that’s funny, and I love doing it.  Some say that laughter is the best medicine, but I say it’s happy flapping.

2. Special interests

Sure, everyone has hobbies and passions.  But an autistic person’s special interest is next-level.  The common stereotype is an extreme love of trains, and I will admit that even I went through a train phase for a while as a young teenager.  But special interests can be anything.  They can be specific animals, plants, or places.  They can be activities, like different sports or types of games:  Baseball. Ultimate frisbee.  Scrabble.  They can be TV shows.  Movies. Academic subjects.  Video games.  Special interests can be can even be objects!  Computers.  Lampposts. Skateboards.  Icebergs…I think you get the idea.  You name it, it’s probably somebody’s special interest.  Special interests provide a kind of security, a safe haven in this loud, unfriendly, allistic world.  At the end of a long day around people who I feel like don’t understand me, I’ll always have my special interests to come home to.

3. The online autistic community

Autistic people are everywhere.  We attend your schools.  Work in your favorite coffee shops.  We might be in front of you in line Post Office. We are your neighbors, your friends, your family.  You might recognize that we’re autistic, or you might not…but we’re here regardless.  Due to my tendency to engage in social masking, most people I interact with likely have little to no idea that I’m on the spectrum unless I choose to disclose to them. It’s tiring, to say the least. But there’s one communal space that doesn’t pressure me to conform to neurotypical standards of behavior: online. For myself, it started with YouTube when I was about thirteen.  Typing the words “Asperger’s Syndrome” into the search bar was like opening a door to an entirely different universe.  I was met with page after page of search results, a never-ending list of videos by people vlogging about their lives on the spectrum.  Thirteen-year-old me had discovered the autistic community, and it was all at my fingertips.

Today, I’m a part of about two dozen or so Facebook groups, Twitter chats, and special hashtags created to unite autistic people on the web.  The online autistic community, (the autistic self-advocacy and disability rights community in particular) has truly transformed my thinking around what it means to be a part of a marginalized group.  We post jokes and memes about autistic life, strategies for managing tough situations, realizations about living in our society as neurodiverse individuals, etc.  And most importantly, there is support.  Just a click away, there are people I know I can connect with because they experience struggles and triumphs through the lens of the autism spectrum, just like I do.

Whether I’m happy-flapping, doing research about my latest special interest, or participating in an online discussion with like-minded folks, there are some pretty great things about being autistic.  (And I’ve only listed three!)  Being reminded of the positive things helps the bad days ache a little less.  Sure, there are plenty of not-so-great things about living as a person on the spectrum. Most of the items on that list, however, are not necessarily because of autism itself.  Autistic people are navigating our way through a society that has a long way to go, especially when it comes to accessibility for and acceptance of those whose bodies and /or brains operate in ways that deviate from the current norm…But that’s a post for another day.

There is a common narrative in our society which tells us, in subtle and explicit ways, that disability is inherently tragic, that difference is wrong, and that autism is some kind of ailment that is to be prevented and cured.  In my opinion and lived experience, that couldn’t be further from the truth.  I think that in discussing and amplifying the wonderful parts of autistic life, we can all chip away at that toxic narrative, and hopefully build a better one that finally has the best interests of autistic people everywhere at heart.

Eh, Who Needs A Brain Anyway?

Cat Daly, Eh, Who Needs A Brain Anyway? on YouTube


Tagged as both Trigger Warning and Trigger Free due to animation and subjective nature of film.

Without Apology

Carolina Rutz, Without Apology on An Aspie in Kentukia

Content warnings for Misogyny, depersonalisation, ableism, as well as for religion (Christianity). 

Without Apology

To the Tattooed Bald Feminist on Facebook: Thank you.

I do not know who are you and where you are, but I figured that an open letter might reach you eventually in hopes that you read this with a open heart and with the hope that you are doing well.

I am an openly Autistic woman who have been deeply religious for over 30 years. I am a widow of a Lutheran pastor and I hold a consistent pro-life ethic that seeks solutions to the deeper problems of the human lifespan. We are different as day and night.

Yet… we have several things in common. First, we both have shaved heads and tattoos on our bodies. Second, we speak our minds. But most of all, we value self-expression. The right to express and present our personae as we see fit.

Life on the Spectrum

Sean Callaghan has submitted his blog Life on the Spectrum.

Sean has requested trigger warnings.

All materials on following the link has not been reviewed, so reader discretion is advised. At the very least, content warnings are in place for life story events.

From Life on the Spectrum, Chapter 4:  

At some point that summer I found out about the fact that I had been diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome, suddenly all the pills and all the bizarre classroom and school switches began to make sense. This would become a liability in the coming year. I started Middle School around the first week of September 2001. We were the only class in session since the School District that the Intermediate Unit was leasing a school room from was on strike. But the IU staff was not on strike and so we had class, giving us a rather bizarre beginning to Middle School because most of the district kids were not there.  That was good on some level, since I did not initially have the problems I expected, having for some time been scared of Middle School and teenagers (I was a strong believer in the line “oh the hideous stench of teenagers,” as was heard in the first Power Rangers film).  You might think this odd since I was very close to being a teenager myself. Plus I had other issues; the teachers were brand new and had no more clue to what they were getting into than I did.

Read More Here 

The supermarket

tahrab writes The supermarket at lucalunablog.

Trigger warnings at the post:  swearing (arsehole, crap, damn, fuck, goddamn, motherfucker, shit),  sensory integration issues

Trigger warnings here:  swearing (damn, fuck)


The supermarket

I’m heading to the supermarket. Either one. I only use the third player for its salmon and those damn rice cracker packs my kids inhale. And even then I exit with a random middle aisle purchase or seven…you know the ones. The beach towel. The craft pack. The soap dispenser (seriously?). The bamboo chopping board and bag of tennis balls. So…focus.

 I’ve pulled in to park. My silver SUV blends with the other silver SUVs except for its side scrapes on both sides. Starting to rust. The maneuvering just to get the car in or out of our garage does my head in. I can spend the next 15 minutes of the drive ruminating over the “stupidity and greed of developers”. I cannot understand at a deep cellular – seriously at a visceral level – why anyone would choose to squash us all in. Why not allow a little wriggle room for those days when my hands ache and my sense of spatial awareness isn’t the best? For fuck’s sake. But I digress.

Read the full post here.

Does the happy autist have a history?

Adelaide Dupont submits Does the happy autist have a history? from Halfway up Rysy Peak

Trigger Warnings for genitalia mutilations, child marriages, historical mention of cure, historical mention of research, emotional labour, gangs, bullying behaviour, happiness as tool of social control, denialism, oppression, medical mismanagement, pseudoscience, florescent street lighting, and human intentional betrayal

We have no past 

We won't reach back

Keep with me
forward all through the night [Lauper 1980ish].

And there is a chance under these white street lamps and with the maps which got us through to the street.

My question is Does the happy autist have a history?

When I was with you all at #31for21 it was as a guest and with the courtesies observed that would be proper and expected of a guest.

Who do I mean by the happy autist? Of course I mean each individual autist and their happinesses whether or not I know them/you.

I also mean something reified - something abstract. Something you might well have seen in the media and tried to reach.

You might say as you read this, "I am a happy autist. I have a history."

Or: "My happiness and my history was lost, stolen or mislaid at some point or another".

How the Victorian Public Service discriminates against autistic graduates

Spekkio has sent in an essay on How the Victorian Public Service discriminates against autistic graduates

How the Victorian Public Service indirectly discriminates against autistic graduates

Trigger warnings for linked essay: unemployment, depression, discrimination, ableism, swearing (bullshit, piss, crap).

Trigger warnings for here: unemployment, discrimination, ableism, swearing (hell).

In honour of Autistics Speaking Day, I’m sharing my complaint about how the Victorian Public Service mishandled my application for their Graduate Recruitment and Development Scheme. The complaint takes the form of a long-winded essay posted on a popular graduate forum. If you ignore the swearing and some of the pompous phrases, which the forum won’t let me edit out, it’s probably the best thing I’ve written all year.