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mrknucklesmcchucklehead-blog · 7 years

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I was 35 when I discovered I'm on the autism spectrum. Here's how it changed my life. by Zack Smith on January 29, 2016

"Do you hate crowds, especially at supermarkets and restaurants?" I avoided eye contact, which I knew I wasn't supposed to do. "Yes." If Dr. P. noticed, she was too busy looking at the questionnaire to let on. "Do you tend to repeat heard words, parts of words, or TV commercials?" I immediately flashed back to middle school, randomly repeating such phrases from TV as, "I don't think so, Tim," from Home Improvement. I was tempted to respond that way this time. Instead, I just replied with another, "Yes." "Do you have trouble sustaining conversations?" "Yes." "Is your voice often louder than the situation requires?" "Yes." "Do you find yourself resistant to change?" "Yes." "Do you have restricted interests, like watching the same video over and over?" "Yes." "Did you start reading and/or memorizing books at an early age?" Eye contact suddenly became much, much easier. "Wait — isn't that a good thing?" "It is. But did you do that?" I went back to boring a hole in the carpet with my eyes. "Yes." "Have you ever picked up and smelled random objects, like toys when you were younger?" "That's a sign?" "Sometimes. Did you do that?" "...yes." I wanted to puke. After a few more questions, she did some totaling. "Well," she finally said, "it's likely you have ADHD and social anxiety disorder, and you're on the autism spectrum." I slumped back into the overstuffed chair. "Great," I said. "Triple threat." I was 35 years old. There are, according to the Autism Society of America, 3.5 million Americans with autism spectrum disorder, approximately one in every 68 births. Based on reports compiled by the Society, the prevalence of autism has increased 119.4 percent just from 2010 to 2014. Courtesy of Lydia Brown and the Autism Self-Advocacy Network We’ve called autism a disease for decades. We were wrong. The research linking autism to vaccines is even more bogus than you think The errors — and revelations — in two major new books about autism It's not that more autistic people were suddenly being born. It's that doctors knew what to look for. A Danish study published in January 2015 suggests that diagnoses of autism are more frequent because of a broadening of diagnostic criteria over the years, meaning there could be generations of people with autism spectrum disorder who were never diagnosed. I knew, on some level, that I was autistic by the time I was in fifth grade. It wasn't because of Oscar winner and box office sensation Rain Man, which I was too young for; it was, of all things, a Baby-Sitters Club book called Kristy and the Secret of Susan, where one of the babysitters tends to an autistic girl. I don't recall all the details, but I do remember reading the book and asking my mom if I was like this, if it was why I needed "curriculum assistance" classes or why I'd been pulled from preschool and sent to "Project Enlightenment," an ultra-structured children's program downtown. Mom assured me I was not like that. Susan never spoke, and that wasn't me, was it? I moved on. I was already neurotic about reading "girls' books." By the time I reached college in the late 1990s, a new term had become a buzzword: Asperger's syndrome. I wondered if that was what I had. It explained so much — the obsessive memorizing of TV show trivia, the absolute discomfort at bars, clubs, and parties, the way I'd tune out most classes or social situations. Again, I was assured by my parents and friends who knew people with autism — that wasn't me. I had empathy! And I was doing well in school, I just needed to relax a little. In retrospect, they seemed more worried about how worked up I was over this than the possibility of an actual diagnosis. There's a stigma attached to autism that leads many families to avoid a diagnosis. But in attempting to diagnose yourself, it can feel like the things that make you unique are aspects of some sort of affliction, one that is permanent and incurable. A few years later, a good friend of mine was diagnosed with Asperger's. Then he told me he thought I exhibited some symptoms as well. I freaked. I had finally started to feel "normal." I had a job, I was finally comfortable with things like driving and calling up strangers for interviews — I was just a "late bloomer!" I broke down and told him I still cared about him, that I didn't see him differently, but that I didn't have what he had! I was finally growing up, I said. I didn't have some incurable disorder that separated me from everyone else. But I worried. Friends didn't quite know what to say when I brought up the possibility, often in tears and just short of hysterics. "You're just you," they'd say. Mom and Dad were practical: "Well, what if you are? What good does it do you to put a label on yourself?" They weren't being mean. They reminded me, over and over, that I was "doing well." They'd already seen me fall into periods of depression and nonproductivity when I was out of school and out of work, and didn't want me to return to that place. I'd pulled myself out of those spirals before they became too serious. But if a doctor told me I'd never be "normal," that my strangeness was something pathological, would that be the excuse I needed to turn into a complete lump? I was just one of those people who did "better" when I was busy, when I had structure. I just needed motivation. That was all. Eight more years passed. Asperger's became a fear, a phantom, and most of all an excuse. The idea that I might have this "condition" lurked in my mind. It was why I messed up, the nuclear option. If someone got upset with me because I didn't understand something or missed some hints they were trying to give me, I had, "Uh, I might have Asperger's" ready. It broke up at least one relationship. It prevented several more from happening. I was in a strange place. By that time, I'd made good connections — even friendships — with a wide variety of creative people. But other parts of my life felt paralyzed. My creative work was stalling. Setting and keeping any kind of schedule for myself resulted in overstuffed calendars and quick burnout. There were all the times I'd walk away from an encounter with someone new with the overwhelming feeling I'd done something wrong and had no idea what it was. If someone did get mad at me, I'd obsess over it, frozen in a moment of shame and self-hatred long after the other person had let it go. If I could succeed without the pills, that was proof that I'd "won"I considered therapy. But good cognitive therapists were expensive, and it seemed wasteful to potentially drain what little money I'd saved trying to quell what I told myself were such minor neuroses. Surely I could just power through my own problems. In the past, times like these usually ended when I had enough work — school, employment, personal projects — to keep my mind busy, unable to obsess over small things and let myself get "nibbled to death by ducks," as one editor put it. Ultimately, I persuaded my doctor to prescribe me some generic Zoloft. My parents were terrified I was going to have the miscellaneous "suicidal thoughts" the prescription warned about. I didn't, but it was a mixed bag. On the one hand, I felt a bit calmer and had more luck with work and dating. On the other hand, I still faced problems with depression, falling asleep in the middle of the day, keeping an irregular schedule. I'd been dieting for the past year and change, but now I had trouble taking and keeping weight off. Worst of all was that I couldn't feel excited on almost any level — I'd sit through TV shows and movies like a stone. I rarely felt attracted to girls. When I kissed one, it was like kissing my own hand. There was no sensation, just motions. Zoloft, it seemed, could get me a second date but didn't make me a lot of fun on the third. I started skipping pills or going off my prescription for a while entirely, saving a month's refill so I could use it if I knew I had a stressful period coming up. Inside my brain, the relief at not having to face "judgment" was twisted up with self-hatred and fear, along with a perverse sense of defiance. If I could succeed without the pills, that was proof that I'd "won." When I went off the stuff, it felt like second puberty — I'd go from clean-shaven to Wolfman Jack in a week. I felt excited again. I also felt like I was on a toboggan, headed down a snowy hill, accelerating faster and faster toward a brick wall. And I couldn't get off, because I liked the feel of the rush. Cleaning out my email folder, or seeing old social media posts on Timehop, it's amazing how many times I made the same complaint over and over: I needed to get something finished, or I needed a new project. I needed to get out of the house more, to spend more time around people, to stop being so hard on myself. Something needed to change in my life, or I needed to change in some way. I said so over and over, but I didn't know how. 10 things I want to teach my autistic son before he goes to college In January 2015, I started what I knew was going to be a stressful period. I was teaching a volunteer course for retirees once a week, taking a graduate course twice a week, and taking shifts at a used toy shop other days of the week, on top of my freelance writing and creative work. It was a lot, but I knew I could handle it. It took exactly two weeks for it all to collapse. Exactly one year ago today, I showed up for a shift at the used toy shop and was promptly fired. I'd been there two years, I was told, and still had no sense of what to do when they didn't explicitly tell me. I had all these other gigs writing and teaching, they said, and this clearly wasn't a priority. Worst of all, customers had complained: They preferred not to come in when I was behind the counter, ready to chat their heads off. Fridays, when I worked, used to guarantee the company a few hundred dollars of retail at least, and now there were records of multiple Fridays with no sales at all. I was costing my boss money because people didn't want to be around me. I'd failed at what was a fairly easy job because I was me. Because I wasn't fit to be around other people. My parents were due to arrive for a visit in two hours. I went home and felt all the symptoms that had hit me in the past take over: crying jags, nausea, coughing fits. I knew I wasn't sick; these symptoms were all in my head. But I didn't know how to turn them off. When my mom and dad arrived, they were understanding. But I told them I couldn't go on like this. I needed to get therapy and get on medication again, this time prescribed by a mental health professional. Research was done. Dr. P. was recommended as a specialist in the area, good at diagnosing spectrum disorders and helping people organize their lives. A few weeks later, I was answering questions about whether I picked up and smelled toys as a child. Decades after I'd begun diagnosing myself, it was official. But somehow I didn't feel "labeled." That sense that I was "wrong," that I was somehow deficient, wasn't there anymore. Instead, I finally understood the areas where I had problems, and why I had those problems. Now I could work on them. The psychiatrist Dr. P. sent me to said that we could try Strattera, the ADD medication I'd attempted in college, in conjunction with Prozac. Tony Soprano and "Here comes the Pro-Zack" jokes flashed through my head. The insurance company rejected Strattera, but they told the psychiatrist I could do Adderall and see if it worked. "If you have a bad reaction, we can apply for Strattera again!" the psychiatrist said, cheerful. It was a lovely thing to know I was taking a medication with the expectation that I would have a bad reaction to it, but it turned out I didn't. I could listen without feeling an absolute, overwhelming need to blurt something outThe first month was rough. I'd wake up throughout the night, an odd change from wanting to sleep all day. Instead of eating whenever I got stressed or anxious, I wasn't hungry, something I wouldn't realize until early afternoon, when the dizzy spells kicked in. For the first time in who knows how long, I found myself doing things like getting up at the same time every day and eating breakfast. Weird. Other things stuck around. The nervous coughing fits I developed with my firing continued, but a friend noted that they seemed to vanish when something held my attention. When they happened again, I'd find something to focus on, like a song or a TV show or something to read. Eventually they vanished, and when I would cough nervously about something I found I could overcome it right away. Little things became easier, too. Arguments with other people didn't stay in my head months after the issue had been resolved, reminders that I could push other people away. I started dating more, and if it didn't work out, I was able to move on with some new understanding. Errands were done. Garbage got taken out. Annoying forms were filled out, instead of lingering on my desk for months. If I had a weekend with some downtime, I felt an actual compulsion to leave the house or call a friend, instead of simply sitting around. Within a few months, I realized that while I still didn't feel the excitement I could with no medication, I could still enjoy things. I could follow the plots of movies and TV more easily, and when other people spoke, I could listen without feeling an absolute, overwhelming need to blurt something out. I asked Dr. P. what this feeling was. She said I was "content." I kind of liked that. The strangest part of all this has been that being honest about my autism has left other people unfazed. It'd come up, probably because I found some excuse in the conversation to mention it ("Oh, I know what you mean about hating small talk. I'm a little on the spectrum, so..."), and there'd barely be a reaction. I'd watch people's faces. No surprise. No discomfort. And the conversation would go on. Admitting that there were things I didn't understand somehow created a new common ground. No one fully understands everyone else, or the world around them. Many people try to do what I did and "power through" this with false confidence and assertiveness. Sometimes it works. But to know you have a weakness, to acknowledge it, and to treat it as a "what the hell" thing —that's almost more powerful. For most of my life, I'd been afraid discovering I was on the spectrum meant I was cut off from being able to maintain friendships, professional contacts, a romantic connection. It was the wall I was always afraid I was headed toward. But the real wall was my fear, of facing not what I was but who I was. And my parents had been right — I was doing well before. I just needed to find a way to let myself enjoy my successes and build upon them, instead of feeling like defeat was inevitable. In the end, 2015 was perhaps the best year of my life. It wasn't the major stuff — the new job I got teaching, getting accepted full time into the graduate program — it was just that I was able to feel a sense of momentum, of moving forward. Part of me wishes I'd had this happen a decade before. But the experiences I had without therapy and medication helped prepare me for the setbacks I faced, and granted me the maturity to face them. My story isn't typical. The autism spectrum is a broad and constantly redefined place, a frontier of the mind that's still mostly wilderness. The revised definitions of it in the DSM-5just a few years ago are still controversial — it's both easier to diagnose aspects of the spectrum in people and more difficult to determine if a formal diagnosis is necessary, if it's even a "problem." In my experiences I had the benefit of privilege, and of personal choice. No one forced me to get diagnosed or to take medication. I simply reached a point in my life where I felt like I could become a better version of myself if I confronted the areas of my life that seemed to hold me back. I can't say that my life is perfect. I have a great deal I need to accomplish in terms of better dieting, regular exercise, and being more productive in my writing. Some anxieties still hijack my brain, and dating and relationships remain, as they do for most single people, confusing. But I feel like I've learned. And I'm still learning. Learning is all about realizing possibilities in the world around you, and right now those possibilities seem extraordinary. In August 2015, Dr. P explained, slowly and with caution, that she was moving out of state to join a new practice and to be closer to family, so I'd need to change therapists, and that she'd help with the transition. She was relieved when my main reaction was to tell her I understood and congratulate her on the new opportunity. She called me a "success story." "A few months ago, you might have felt ... destroyed by upheaval," she said. "Things change," I replied, and I meant it.

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automatismoateo · 7 years

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I (an atheist) just erupted at my very-Christian family over abortion and I don't know how to feel about it or where to talk about it so I'm posting here. The reason I exploded was because my daughter died 1 year ago and they keep posting this shit and I could not take it anymore. via /r/atheism

Submitted January 05, 2017 at 06:37AM by I_See_With_Sound (Via reddit http://ift.tt/2jcxEog) I (an atheist) just erupted at my very-Christian family over abortion and I don't know how to feel about it or where to talk about it so I'm posting here. The reason I exploded was because my daughter died 1 year ago and they keep posting this shit and I could not take it anymore.

So, some background. I have a 6 week old daughter now, but 1 year ago my wife and I watched as our first pregnancy ended with our daughter dying from Turner's Syndrome complicated by a cystic hygroma. She choked to death on her own lympathic fluid and then had her head explode like a water balloon (which I witnessed).

My family are ultra-right-wing Christians and they love to post their opinions all over social media, and they frequently rail about abortion despite knowing full well what my wife and I went through and that both of us wish we had aborted our daughter rather than waiting 6 months until she suffered and died.

I've never responded to their anti-abortion militancy, although my wife has a few times and she has literally begged them to have compassion for people in situations that they have not been through. Instead, they still feel the need to throw these very cruel, judgmental, and hurtful little videos and stories all over the place with no concern for anyone's feelings, just wanting to be holier-than-thou in every way possible. When my wife asked my sister to have some thought for parents put in a position where their child will suffer horrendously and die, my sister's exact response was "Well maybe suffering isn't a good enough excuse to kill a child." Still I kept myself in check, for family's sake...

Until my sister posted this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RDmwPGrZkYs

And I just lost my fucking mind. Like, I really lost it. If they had been in the house with me I'd have hit someone, I'm still shaking with rage. I cried from how hurtful it is to see shit like that.

But I also think I went too far, but I don't know. It breaks my heart to hate someone I love, but I swear every time someone posts something like this I lose my shit and I do hate them. My heart fills with so much hate every time someone tries to shove this garbage into my face. I don't think I have any less empathy or any more hatred for anyone on this planet than for the "prolife" movement. And I used to be one of them (which fills me with immense shame).

I have no idea how to think or feel about what I said or how this all went down, I'm still shaking, I'm still enraged. I'll include what I wrote. I'm not looking for affirmation for what I said, I just need people who can understand why I am so angry, and (yes) tell me I need therapy. But mostly I just need people who can understand my absolute, blinding-red rage. Because I could not be angrier than I am right now.

Ben's welcome to come tell the mother of a child with anencephaly that she must carry the baby to term until its brains melt out of its skull and flop onto the floor of a hospital in a pile of slop as the amniotic fluid spends nine months chewing away at its body while it is dissolved alive. Sure would be nice if the mother could choose to not put its child through that, oh well, not in Ben's world, fuck those women and their children I guess.

You know how many abortions happen in the third trimester in America every year? It's 100. That's it. And ALL of them are from severe abnormalities, chromosomal defects, and 100% fatally dead children. All of them. ALL of them. The same happy fun place I was in one year ago today.

You know what would have been nice? Not having my daughter's skull explode like an overripe melon in front of my eyes. That was a bit unpleasant. Sure could have done without that image until the day I died. OH WELL, at least Ben fucking Shapiro approves of my daughter's head exploding naturally and not from saving her from suffering until she died, so I can live with THAT comfort can't I?

And while that was a bad day, watching her choke to death on her own lymphatic fluids for six months was a bit harder to deal with. Just a wee fucking bit. Ending her suffering before she had a functional nervous system would have been the kind thing to do. I, selfishly, and cruelly, chose to pretend that she wasn't going to die and instead forced her to choke to death and die in agony. I wish I could do that over again, but not in Ben's world, nope, fuck me for wanting to not force my daughter to gag to death on her own plasma and piss. You know what I wonder whenever someone shoves this shit down my throat? How they would react watching their child suffer and die for six months? How the FUCK they would react watching their infant's head go POP and leak out on the hospital floor? It was oodles of fun, maybe I should've made a video so you could share in the joy.

Maybe people like Ben can tell me how they would deal with having a profession where it's your job to give this SAME NEWS to parents every day. That's my job. I go "HEY! my daughter's head exploded like an overripe melon and splattered the doctor in the face like a waterballoon, that's what you're in for! WHEEEE". Maybe Ben could then tell them they can't do anything but let the fetus suffer because Ben fucking Shapiro said they don't get to choose how their terminal child dies: in agony or instantly. Good thing Ben fucking Shapiro is the moral arbiter of the universe and the judge of other people's medical decisions.

Maybe someone can explain to me why it's better to force someone to birth a child with a cystic hygroma and no chance of survival? Anyone? Anyone care to tell me what a good boy I am for making my daughter's head pop like a melon? Or what about mothers with fetuses with iniencephaly? (Google images it). How about hydaditiform moles? (Google it) How about ectopic pregnancies? (Google it) How about trisomy 13? (Google it) How about Bowen Conradi Syndrome? (Google it) How about anencephaly? (Google it) How about Alobar Holoprosencephaly? (Google it) How about an acardiac/acephalic twin that has no heart or head and if you don't abort it they both die. Maybe Ben has a medically informed explanation for them? Or maybe an ounce of fucking empathy...? Oh, no, they're just stupid evil whores for not wanting to force their children to liquify in the womb. Of course. Ben's got it all figured out with his bachelor of arts in political science. I wonder if Ben could tell me what a single chromosomal abnormality is off the top of his head? What do you think the odds are...? I'm betting it's a touch low.

Maybe Ben would like to tell the mother of this child she didn't have a choice but to let it die in agony and pain in an inevitable death as its critically malformed brain turned to soup. What an evil bitch right? Good thing we have Ben to spit in her face and call her an evil whore for having a child with a chromosomal abnormality. She's obviously responsible for her own genetics, right? http://ift.tt/2j6FprU...

And maybe Ben can explain to me why 45% of all pregnancies end in dead fetuses and grieving parents? For every person on this planet there's one that didn't get past the womb because its guts were turned into a tumorous soup, or its brain never existed at all. Maybe Ben in his infinite medically-uniformed wisdom would like to take it up with his fucking god and not spit on people who WANT children and have to choose between instant death or 10 months of suffering and turning into fetal soup.

But I guess that'd require something a bit harder than telling grieving parents how evil they are.

#reddit

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traumxrei-archive · 2 years

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1) YEAAAAAHHHHHH LEONA WOOOOOO Love all of your leona fics, they are so, so good!!! Silly lion man, love him. you write him super well too!!!!! (also tumblr how dare you not give me a notif. /lh) Honestly your leona fics are what got me to actually like his character in the first place- i mean i liked him in book 2 (just not as much as i do now-) but idk they way some of the fandom portrays him- y e a h. Love him lots now so thank you for that! /srs

2) Enstars. ive had “come on baby america” stuck im my head for around 5 days now (thanks to my friends on discord- thanks a lot roblox hq.) To be completely honest ive never really been a big fan of rhythm games- at least before twst (i know it’s technically not a rhythm game but like. come on. its 1/3 rhythm game) But i’ve gotten slightly better at rhythm like things thanks to twst so looking forward to enstars!!! also cant wait to get attached to the characters, i know like literally nothing about them-

3) Yes okay thanks for pointing out the crossed out demon on Yu’s intro sheet!! Both of his parents are demons, (mother((Emiriko)) is a water demon, basically demons specifically adapted to living both on water and on land. father((Luka)) is a fire demon, adapted to living in lava and extremely hot places.) so it doesn’t really make sense for him not to be one. Instead, he uses potions (specifically made to not leave a magic scent/residue on the user) To hide his demon appearance, mainly his horns and tail, since its harder to hide those, however said potions do hide the rest of his demon features really well! (fangs, ears((which are normally like small elf ears and tipped in dark gray and black.)), etc.) i could talk all day about my boy, but for now im just gonna leave you with this.

Have a great day!!

-🍓

(leona fic goes brr)

1 - I'M GLAD YOU ENJOYED THE LEONA FIC !! it was also such a blast for me to write >:DD and that's...that's actually really touching :')) i'm kinda surprised that you fell for leona because of my fics and ahh saying that makes it sound unreal again-

but i can understand why some ppl choose to portray leona as someone who's just plain mean and lazy. bc that's exactly how he comes off. even after his overblot, he doesn't quite get the same wake up call that the others got. he didn't get the scolding like riddle, he didn't get the fact that his friends would always be there like azul did, and he most certainly didn't get the same emotional release that jamil. chapter 2's writing isn't the best twst writing out there, so it's easy to dismiss his character as just what he appears as. his flashback does give us some background on why he puts up such a mean and lazy front despite having potential, but well...some creators might prefer for him just to be that. i'm not here to critique them on how they portray him but it does make me kinda :') when i see that ppl don't like leona as much bc of stuff they've read around the fandom or bc they judge him too quick. n e ways enough abt leona we alr know how whipped i am for him-

2 - I'M SO SORRY FOR YOU BUT ME TOO- c'mon baby america syndrome is real everyone !! stay safe and don't watch cover song 1 crazy:b x undead usa which you can find at this link no matter what !!! /j it made me cringe so hard i had to take a break from watching it but it's so damn catchy TT^TT also you knowing literally nothing abt them was me 40-ish days ago. don't you worry !! you'll get to know them slowly hehe and if you wanna get to know them quickly you could read previous stories or their wiki pages ofc (you could dm me for resources if you'd like :D)

3 - and ooh !! yu lore drop !! how was he able to keep this all a secret from the rest of the ppl at nrc btw ? or does crowley + the staff know, but they keep it a secret from the rest of the student body ? and idk if this is a weird question to ask but did he have any problems like...making the potions ? since he's in twisted wonderland now and not his original homeworld, did the ingredients differ or was it mostly the same ? idk if that makes sense, anyway, i just like asking abt ppl's characters bc it's so interesting to see how many details you have abt him <333

hope that you're having a good day / night wherever you are, strawberry anon !!

#/trau replies #/🍓 anon #ok sorry for the lengthy ramble abt leona #BUT I'M GLAD THAT YOU LIKE HIM BC OF THE FICS *SOBS*#THANKS FOR GIVING HIM A SECOND CHANCE !!!#and yes enstars #in 3 days sobs #abt to start a fresh wave of mental illness in me sjfdkf #also yes i find ocs interesting #bc i'm trying to make my own #it's working kinda but i am still developing them !! currently

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