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aspiedistra · 7 years

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There are days...

There are days when I feel so much more autistic than others.

There are days when the feelings in my body get completely lost on the way to my mind, and all that comes out when I try to transfer them to my tongue is a confused tangle of empty words that sound convincing but mean little.

There are days when I cannot stop the words from pouring out of me. When I have spoken for an hour and it feels like only a few minutes. When I have written six pages and said nothing within them. When I can feel the attentiveness of those around me slipping, but I do not notice the glazed eyes, the one word answers, and I just keep talking anyway, because I do not know how to stop.

There are days when being out in public for a few hours is enough to send my heart racing, and sweat trickling down my spine, as the panic rises within me. I do not want to be here. I do not want to be here. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I just want to go home. Please let me go home. Please let me go home.

There are days when even the thought of leaving the safety of my nest, my small, warm, familiar room is petrifying. It paralyses me. The thought of the people. The thought of the lights, the sounds, the smells, the touches, the closeness, the people, the world that presses in against my window. And it close it. And I wrap myself in blankets. And I shut it out. Because I cannot deal with it. Because it is too much. I am not even out in it, and it is too much, too much, too much. I can feel my heart pounding, I can feel myself shaking, and I cannot do it. I feel weak. I feel guilty. I feel pathetic. But I cannot do it.

And no-one ever understands how truly terrifying and painful it can be some days to open the door and let the world in.

There are days when the sounds that bother me infuriate me. When my frustration peaks, and the line between shaking my head, and putting my headphones in and drowning it out vs screaming, and crying, and rocking back and forth as I beg it to stop seems so thin it may as well not be there.

There are days when that line feels like the distance between our planet and the sun. And there are days when that line feels like a strand of hair caught in a hurricane, so fine, so fragile, so easily torn away.

There are days when the people just don’t make sense. Even those I’m closest to, the ones I know and understand the best, sometimes I’m left confused by every other word, second guessing every sentence, feeling lost and isolated in the middle of a crowd.

There are days when it feels harder than ever to connect to people. When the bubble around me feels like a wall of glass a mile thick. I can see the people beyond it, I can hear them speak to me, but I cannot reach them, cannot touch them in the way that I want to, in the way that I long to, in the way that I know they can reach each other.

There are days when I feel everything so intensely I might burst from it. When I wonder how most people manage to live lives that are untouched by special interests and stimming, and the bright bursts of life that accompany those things. When I remember that there are people who don’t feel music the way I do, who don’t love things the way I do, who aren’t as raw and exposed to this world as I am, and I wonder what the world would be like from their perspective. Is it dull, and bland, and lifeless, compared to what I experience?

There are days when I am much more autistic. And I am slowly coming to realise that those are the days when I am so much more me.

There are days when I begin to emerge from the shell of passing that I have cowered inside for more than two decades.

There are days when I am allowed to be myself.

And I am allowed to have those days. I am allowed to embrace those days. I am allowed to be overwhelmed, and even frightened by those days sometimes. But I am allowed to remind myself that those days are who i truly am. I am allowed to discover myself, and I am allowed to revel in that experience.

Because those are the days when I finally know what it is to be free.

#actually autistic #actuallyautistic #autism #undiagnosed autistic feels #undiagnosed autism #idk what this is i just...wanted to write it #so i wrote it #and now here we are #tetx post tag #personal #about the owl #autistic writer #autistic writing #long post

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brightlotusmoon · 7 years

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A little more Spirit And Oxygen

Here’s another sneak peak at my TMNT fic, “Spirit And Oxygen: Across The Universe” which is part of my “Mikey The Lifegiver” fic series. It chronicles Mikey’s adventures in major depression, brain damage, and being the actual heart and soul and light of the team. http://archiveofourown.org/series/599863 This will probably be the final story, which means it might as well be a chapter fic, which means that this is officially Chapter One. Yes. I feel good about this. Stuff that is my heacanon here: 1) Shinigami is in a polyamorous relationship with Karai and Michelangelo, and the ladies have their own bedroom in the lair. 2) Raph has taken a shine to Shini and her attitudes on life and is so proud his little brother has such an awesome loveperson who is also banging his awesome sister. 3) April has finally decided to try dating both Donnie and Casey, although she’s spent more time with Don, and Casey doesn’t mind. 4) Splinter and Shredder are dead. Shredder killed Splinter and then the boys teamed up with Karai to kill Shredder, and Leo decapitated Shredder after Karai punched Shredder in the heart after Mikey knocked out Shredder with a kick to the face. Shredder’s henchmen have teamed up with Purple Dragons and other gangs, and have recreated robot Foot ninjas. Splinter appears as a spirit to the Hamato family. 5) The Mighty Mutanimals are very involved in the turtles’ lives. Mondo has learned first aid from Dr Rockwell and engineering from Don. 6) Leo and Karai have been duel sensei-ing and still argue over who gets to be Actual Sensei. 7) Abandoned military bases are turned into hide-outs for the more vicious, feral, and angry mutants in every borough. Mikey, Mondo, and Shini like to try and find them to befriend the tamer, friendlier ones. Karai and Raph wind up getting angry out of love and fear. 8) Mikey is Donnie’s assistant in the lab and is a field medic who uses his emotional empathic reach to comfort the injured; he can be telepathic when he tries hard, but it gives him migraines. 9) Mikey has developed epilepsy following a brain injury, but it also boosts his spiritual powers. He and Raph share an empathic connection. ...I really got attached to Deanna Troi and Jean Grey when I was a teenager, okay? Also, I am happy to discuss where the rest of the story might go and how and why. I’ll often switch to several perspectives in one chapter, like April (Storm) or Karai (Iron) or Ghost Of Splinter (Wind) or Shinigami (Magic). Mostly I’m just in love with writing Donnie talking about Mikey. (PS, Mikey is Oxygen, duh. Don is Earth, Raph is Fire, Leo is Water. The Tumblr post for Mikey The Lifegiver is the second most popular blog post I’ve written so far. The first one is me waxing pagan about winter gods) Also, for my regular readers: You knew this sort of thing was gonna happen again. It’s all I write. Apparently, though, since 1999, I’ve had the most wonderful contemporaries and competition. You hardcore Mikey fans, you’re the best, I love you all.

Donnie’s dreaming hard again, and he cherishes it. Usually is dreams are soft and quick, minnows in a stream, full of chrome and rust and the scent of oil, and there are tiny things in his hands, beeping and whirring, and there are giant things in front of him, clicking and rumbling; and the scars all over his hands reminds him that these are his, he made them, and they make sounds at him as though they are praising him.

Almost a year ago, shortly after Splinter died and Shredder died and Karai moved in, things began happening that challenged every science imaginable, but Donnie learned to be completely fine with it. Aside from Leo and Karai in a constant subtle battle over who would be sensei, Raph mellowed out and Mikey stopped pranking. Donnie was the only one who recognized Mikey as the catalyst: after enduring a series of traumas that they wouldn’t wish on their enemies, Mikey had become quieter, softer. His odd hyperfocusing moments turned on books without pictures and science documentaries and Donnie spent three weeks spying on him; it was no surprise when Mikey caught him each time, because Mikey had changed the most. Donnie and April ran every single test, and Mikey endured them with a strange fidgeting patience, but Rockwell in the end explained that Mikey’s Dimension X brain had finally caught up with him. He was almost like April. Don stopped being surprised when a beaker full of An Unusual Chemical dropped from his hands and floated back up to the table, despite it only being him and Mikey. Mikey, who folded his arms and grinned cheekily, and that was the day Donnie went to the closet and handed him a lab coat with his name on it.

Between their rotating autistic traits and interests, Donnie with engineering and physical science and Mikey with social sciences and cultural studies, they managed to create Things that made the lair easier to live in. With Mikey around, it was easier to navigate the entire city and study humans’ patterns, so certain stores, warehouses, junkyards, and clinics would stay their “borrowing” targets. With Donnie around, they had vehicles and cloaking devices to move further and deeper in.

So Donnie dreams heavily, about jumping from roof to roof in Staten Island, looking for that one military facility that up until now always had staff. Mikey is right behind him, ready with both kusarigama and grappling hook. Donnie stops and signals, and Mikey presses right against his carapace, wrapping one arm around his waist, extending the other to aim the grappling gun. Don signals again, and Mikey pushes off and practically flies – scratch that, he literally glides – and Donnie feels perfectly utterly safe as he casually throws an arm around his little brother’s shoulders. Mikey wouldn’t let them drop; they’d only hover. That’s how good he’s gotten. The grappling hook keeps catching on roof edges and Mikey lets it hover and glide to the next and the next, and they keep going.

They’re on the roof of the facility, over a mile from where they started, and Donnie pries open the secret door and they move in, and their flashlights roam. They remove their backpacks when he finds the correct room, and collect the items he’s already listed on his T-Phone. It’s silent, it’s swift, and the only thing that warns him is Mikey’s hiss and his voice in Donnie’s head: Donnie, get DOWN—

And Donnie flattens himself on the floor and the creature grazes him with a long metal toe as it leaps over him, and his right shoulder and bicep both rip open wide and his body spills blood rapidly. But it’s not the pain that makes him scream. It’s the strangled screeching gasp, full of pure agony and horror, that Mikey makes from somewhere behind him. No living creature should be making a sound like that unless it’s about to die...

There is precious seconds of heavy silence, and he hears Mikey make that familiar, inhuman growl that all the turtles make when enraged, when their human sides shrink and their literal reptilian brains take over with crushing power. The creature howls in pain and shock, and Mikey lets out a roar that contains Donnie’s name scrawled into it, and then there is crashing, there is stabbing, punching, shrieking, snarling, bones cracking and flesh squelching and liquid spurting and other noises that Donnie will hear in his post-traumatic nightmares. Donnie crawls forward, collapses on his back, turns around and forces himself to stand.

The creature has Mikey pinned to the ground, and shadowed blood is pooling everywhere. And then Mikey kicks and flips the creature over with a furious shriek, and through the darkness Donnie sees his teeth flash in a savage grin, you do not want to see that kind of smile on Mikey’s face, and Donnie sees him coated in shadows, launching again at the creature, smacking his nunchaku again and again…and then the creature stops moving, stops making noise; and Donnie hears his own harsh, pained breathing, and his brother’s harsh, pained breathing, and he manages to call out, “Mikey, are you okay?”

There’s a pause. “I’m always okay, Dee,” comes a breezy reply, but it is thin and strained. “Hey, Dee, what’s hurt on you?”

“My right shoulder and upper arm, but I can patch it up. You?”

A longer pause, much much longer.

“Can I take a raincheck on answering that?”

Donnie feels his gut turn to ice. “Mikey?”

He sees the dark figure of his brother hold up a finger. “Just…gimme…a sec.”

Within that second, Mikey falls to his knees. Donnie feels himself lurch forward. His eyes strain. The shadows on his brother are not shadows. They are too shiny. He’s covered in it.

No. No. Please, no, not again, I can’t handle this again.

It’s not the blood loss making Donnie feel so dizzy. He struggles to move, and watches, in slow motion, as Mikey falls over completely, smacking the floor, and it is a wet smack, and liquid is still pooling around him. And Don starts to hyperventilate, because he’s not sure where the light switch might be in this room and where the first aid kits are, and suddenly the darkness is too dark and the floor opens up and he is being swallowed, and he cannot reach Mikey, and then he falls, and as he falls his T-Phone rings, and something presses its energy button, and it’s blaring in his ears, louder and louder, calling MIkey’s name.

Donatello bolts up screaming, and it is too dark and he can’t see. A door crashes open. A body launches at him, and before he can take another breath, a pair of arms are wrapped around him and a plastron is pressed against his, and his chin is on a broad muscley shoulder, and the scent he breathes in is pure Raphael.

“Raph,” he squeaks out. “Hey--”

“Sshhh, Donnie, easy,” the hoarse voice murmurs. “It was a dream. You’re okay.”

He finds himself awkwardly patting his older brother’s upper carapace, trying to politely pull away. “Raph…Raph, I realize that…can I breathe? Please?”

Raph pulls away, green eyes serpentine in the darkness of his bedroom. The way his head tilts, too.

“I’m fine, Raph. I promise. I know it’s a nightmare.”

Those eyes and that head tilt remain fixed on him.

“Donnie, this is your fourth nightmare. Do you realize that?”

Really?

“Um. No?” He’s been so busy between his lab and the sectioned-off infirmary that Rockwell and Slash and Casey helped build that he sometimes doesn’t remember going to bed.

“Well, it is. And I’ll bet it’s the exact same one. Yours are weird.” Raph sits back, agura style, and Donnie draws his knees up to make room. “They’re like clockwork. Once a week. And, y’know, this is the fourth week since--”

“I know. And you guys dragged me to my own bed when you knew I wouldn’t stay here.”

“You did this time,” Raph points out.

“True. Wait, I did?”

“Congratulations on a full twelve hours of sleep, bro. It’s ten in the morning.”

Donnie feels his eyes grow wide. He throws the covers off and jumps off his bed. “I’m missing work, I--”

Raph’s strong hand slaps against his chest. “Remember what we all agreed on? Until your shoulder and arm is fully functional, you don’t do anything complex without someone helping you. I hope you were planning on asking someone.”

Donnie narrows his eyes. “Do you know how to handle the complex alien chemicals I need to work on? Plus the newer components of the retromutagen?”

“If not me, you have April. Or Rockwell. Or Shini.”

Donnie sighs, looks at his immobilized arm, and sighs again.

“You’re a stubborn bastard, Hamato Donatello.”

“You’re worse.”

“I am a paragon of complacency, little brother.”

And Donnie winces. “Try not to call me that?”

“Oh. Right. I forgot. You’re right. Sorry, Don.”

Donnie sighs and gets dressed.

“Um.” Raph rubs the back of his head. “So, nothing’s changed this morning. That’s…like, good, right? Kinda?”

“Kinda,” Donnie says. “It means that Mikey is continuing to heal. Which is the best we can hope for in this situation.”

As he heads out of his room and toward the lab doors, Raph catches up. “You should eat something first.”

“I need to check his vitals and change his IV bags.”

“Karai did that.”

“Even the GI tube?”

“Yeah, that one too.”

Donnie pauses. “I just need to see…”

“Donnie.” Raph is impossibly firm, and very soft. “Donnie, everything you could do has been done. We’ve watched you and learned from you for a whole month. It’s a routine. And part of the routine is that those of us who aren’t doing the routine help ourselves first. It’s your turn.”

Donnie is very silent as Raph steers him toward the kitchen. Leo is finishing up a plate of eggs, toast, and tea. Shinigami is making two more plates.

“Oh, you got him up! Good morning, Donatello. Did your nightmare complete itself?” The witch’s smile is knowing and polite, and he has gotten used to her specific brand of sass. She is, after all his little brother’s girlfriend and his sister’s girlfriend.

He mumbles “yes” because shrugging his shoulders still hurts. He eats mechanically, even as he is poked at to make conversation. Raph has started giving him daily protein shakes. There is one next to his plate. He drinks it and crushes the bottle, casually proving how fine he is. Sometimes the others forget how strong he is.

He misses having Mikey around to defend him.

“I’ll be in the infirmary,” Shinigami says, and Donnie startles. When he looks at her, he sees dark, deep circles under her eyes. Her fair complexion is blotchy and even paler than usual. And he wants to slap himself. She loves him. She has so much love, she loves Mikey and Karai so much. And Karai, to see her baby brother like this. Abruptly, he stands up, wraps his arms around Shini, and grips her like one of Mikey’s famous octopus hugs.

She simply buries her face in his neck and holds him tight.

* * * *

Donnie is at his computer. As he’s reading and copying notes, he can’t help but hear her from the infirmary corner, and after a while he gives up trying to ignore it. He stretches his neck to catch a glimpse.

Shinigami has been sitting by Mikey’s bedside for fifteen minutes, and she only started speaking a couple of minutes ago. Don sees her hand tighten around Mikey’s as she talks.

“…keeps insisting nothing hurts, of course, but I refuse to believe her. Even when she shifted back and forth to her snake form, I could tell her arm was giving her trouble. Even the snake looked sad!” A small laugh, humorless. “Oh, sweet Mikey, you should see the looks she gives me when I point out her pain. She thinks I don’t see it. I see everything about her.” A pause. “I see everything about you too, you know. I see the subtle shifts in your facial muscles when you slip one of your behavior masks on. You know what I mean. When you fake smile, or your laugh is not real? I see it. You should not ever be sad, my Mikey. I told Karai I would do anything to protect her. Now that promise extends to you. Therefore, you must recover from this. You must hold me again so I can tell you I love you. You must hold me tightly, like an octopus, and laugh into my hair, and spin me around, and talk about your comics and your television shows. Tell me about Hamato Yoshi and how he adored you. Tell me about your brothers and your adoration of each of them, how they are your heroes. You and Donatello are very close. I know you wish to have so much knowledge and skill the way does.”

Donnie bites his lip and blushes a little. He almost feels like a sensei, in a way, the way Mikey looks at him while he works or while he is showing Mikey a project. He pictures the last lesson they’d had. April was there. She and Mikey were side by side, chins in their hands, looking at him lovingly, freckled faces and blue eyes alight, looking like mischievous twins.

He wants Mikey to wake up and look like that again.

He doesn’t know when Mikey will wake up. That hurts him most of all. This coma is different, deep and frightening. Mikey lost a lot of blood, and the mutant hit him in the neck, and Donnie knows how bad that can be. Concussion. Oxygen loss. Brain function compromised. Brain damage. Mikey already has enough. Donnie is worried.

Shini’s voice startles him.

“We miss you, Michelangelo. I miss you. I…need you. You must come back soon. Please.” And Donnie watches as Shinigami leans forward and presses her lips to Mikey’s, and smiles. She squeezes his limp, broken hand again. She stands up and begins to walk toward the door, then changes course, coming toward the lab. Donnie blinks at her.

She smiles at him. “What you working on?”

“Oh, um…” he glances down. “Taking notes on neurobiological function in humans and reptiles. I believe our brains are almost fully human, but we probably have neuronal and hormonal responses similar to diamondback turtles, too.”

“Mikey will sometimes make little noises,” Shini offers. “They’re not human.”

Donnie nods. “Yes. Chirping. Cooing. Growling. A kind of purring growl, like churring. Hissing.”

He shifted through the pages, wrote down some more notes.

“You aren’t going to do that all day, are you?”

Donnie glances up. Shini has leaned her hip against the table and is smirking. “Leo wants everyone in the dojo for training. Is this very important?”

He bites his lip, looks at his screen. “I guess it can wait until later.” He saves the file. Shinigami takes him by the elbow and steers him out of the lab. Interestingly, Raph is waiting there, arms crossed. He smirks and nods. “Good. Good Donnie.” Shinigami giggles, as if the two had planned it.

“How’s Mikey?” Raph asks, automatically.

Shini just shrugs. “The same. Karai wonders if I can use my witchcraft to find him in the astral plane. It is a thought.”

Raph raises an eyeridge. “Damn straight, it’s a thought. He’s been healing pretty well. Maybe it’s time to try reaching out to him instead of waiting for him to wake up.”

Donatello sits up straight and snaps his fingers. “It can be a family effort!” That seems to light a fire in Raphael, and he joyfully reaches out to fistbump Shinigami, who has a wide smirk on her face and a glint in her eye. Donnie feels stronger and happier than he’s felt in weeks.

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