#AUTISTIC RANT OVER. proceed with normal conversation.

[animatedtext]

[riverthebooknerd]

what i mean by this via lots of examples (deep dive into my specific flavor of autism, does not apply to everyone)

(by the way, i use the word "them" as a loose, general term for anyone in my life that i know who's said these things to me. it's not one specific person. family, friends, coworkers, classmates. lots of people, really)

(also also some mentions of ableism and autistic meltdowns just a heads up)

me: i'm autistic

them: really?? are you sure??? you don't Look/Act Like It

me:

me: if you say so

AUTISM: VERBAL COMMUNICATION

them: hey river, i just [insert thing here]

me: mm

them: [continues talking]

me: cool. ah. hm. (only responding with one or two words/vague noises) (difficulty with showing emotion through tone)

them: are you okay??

me: yes. why?

them: you sound upset. you're talking weird

me: i'm. semiverbal

them: wha. but you were talking fine earlier!!

me: mm. ye. it's hard sometimes

them: why???

me: *i dunno noise* (cannot articulate at the moment)

them: *asks me about topic i'm hyperfixating on and/or a special interest*

me: [huge rant, talking very excitedly with lots of emotion, interrupting others when they try to chime in, making big gestures and stimming a lot]

stranger: hello, how are you?

me: i'm good! how are you doing?

-proceeds to have a normal conversation-

stranger: have a great rest of your day!

me: you too! *waving as they leave*

friend: *staring, jaw dropped*

me: ..what

them: what the fuck was that

me: ???

them: that didn't even fucking sound like you

them: like. you NEVER talk like that

them: and you weren't even stimming or anything. and . like. tf

me: that's what the mask is. that's what the point of the mask is

me: *stuttering, stumbling over words, getting frustrated and making random noises*

me: and i was talking to them and like i was- er- i was like- mm

me: and it was so- so- agh, fuck, um- what's that one word- *snapping fingers, waving hands* it was-

them: [talking about something] and it's fucking lit

me: *softly* fucking lit

them: are you.. making fun of me?

me: no

(echolalia)

me (at random moments- feat echolalia!)

"that's rough buddy"

*humming songs*

*movie/tv quotes*

*echoing other people*

"neat! cool! sick! awesome! wow! really? hm? ah" (other general exclamations that can easily be applied to convos)

*says "cool" ten times in a row* (it gets worse on days when i'm feeling less verbal)

them: *talking to someone*

me: *accidentally interrupts, not sure when is appropriate to join conversation, wants to add something*

me, out of the blue: did you know that [insert interesting topic here]

AUTISM: SENSORY ISSUES

me: *touches unpleasant texture*

me: *nose scrunch* *quickly pulls away, either wiping my hand or washing it if possible*

me: ah. hmm. euck. did not like that. nope nope nope (usually starts shaking hands- shake off the bad feeling)

them: ahaha you're so funny river!

me: ...?

me: um. thank you? (stiff and awkward. not sure if i'm being made fun of)

them: why aren't you eating [specific food with bad texture]

me: ah, um, i'm full (lie)

me: *eats same food for a week, gets bored of it but it sounds physically painful to eat anything else*

them: haha, that's so unhealthy!

them: [general comments about how i'm ungrateful for the food they made me] (my brain decided that the food they made me was Bad and i Cannot Eat)

me: *clothing shopping*

me: ooh, that shirt looks cool! *picks it up, immediately drops it* never mind

me: do you have a pencil i can borrow?

them: yeah! *hands me wooden pencil* here you go! :)

me:

me: thank you

me: *waits until they're not looking, sets pencil down, curls and uncurls hands* (wood is Bad Texture. do not like to touch wood)

me: *carries headphones everywhere*

them: why do you have those?

me: ...i like to listen to music! :> (not entirely a lie)

me: [at school assembly, everyone is talking, hundreds of voices and it's extremely overwhelming]

me: *zoning out, barely registering anything anymore*

friend: hey, river? assembly's over

me: *nodding, realizing i can't talk*

me, thinking: that's probably not good

[we go outside, get to a quieter place. i literally fucking collapse against the wall, start having a fucking meltdown/panic attack?? can't fucking breathe, i keep repeating the words "i'm okay, i'm okay" over and over]

them: *randomly yells*

me: *flinches, going to cover my ears*

them: ha! did i scare you, river? lol

me: nah haha you just startled me a little bit :] (fucking lie, loud noises are extremely painful for me)

bonus: human touch!! yay or nay? answer:

yay, only from people i know, only when i am expecting it. hate people coming up behind me and touching me. hate strangers touching me.

(also don't like touch under certain circumstances, like when i'm overwhelmed. always best to ask an autistic person if you can touch them)

AUTISM: STIMMING

me: *carries fidget toys in my pockets*

them: can i see those?

me: ye :) (genuinely doesn't mind, pleased that they asked for permission and seems interested in the fidgets)

me: *always wears beaded bracelets. rubs the beads, takes them off and fidgets with them, has to be wearing them at all times besides bed, likes the sounds they make*

me: *wears the same necklace every day, fidgets with it, likes how the metal charms sound when they clink/jingle*

vocal stims-

echolalia

humming/singing

clicking tongue

"augh!" /pos

yelling (when i'm home alone)

"eeeeeeee"

"hmmmmmmm"

physical stims-

cracking knuckles

flappy hand thing

chewing lip/nails/knuckles

scrunching nose

tapping fingers

clapping

tugging hair

braiding

picking at things

tearing up wrapper after eating food (ex: shredding chip bag)

me: *stims absently, without realizing*

me: *looking down whilst sitting at the table to realize that i tore my paper towel to shreds* (my mom hated it when i did that)

me: *at the movie theater, marvel movie just ended, super exciting end credits scene* (marvel is one of my special interests)

me: (stimming, flapping hands, ranting to brother excitedly)

parents: *laughing at me, pointing*

sister: woah, river you need to calm down!! *physically reaches over to grab my arms*

me: ??? *pulls away* i am calm?

sister: no you're not! you're doing- this weird thing! *imitates hand flappy*

me: that's. just a thing i do! it doesn't mean i'm not calm! and it's not weird, you brat

sister: yes it is! (note: she's young. doesn't know better)

them: why do you keep doing that? (referring to stim)

them: it looks like you're broken haha lol

me: *stops* yeah haha just thought i saw a bug (no bug.)

STOPPING IT HERE BC IT'S SUPER LATE AND I'M TIRED BUT LMK IF YOU WANT A PART TWO CUZ I HAVE SO MUCH MORE

i feel like ranting but what shall i rant about. it is quite the conundrum indeed

[somethingnurseywoulddo]

 reasons he can’t explain. also on AO3

When he was a newborn, just a tiny little thing, his papa placed a hockey puck on top of his butt. With wide eyes and chubby limbs, he simply wiggled his behind back and forth, slowly scootching forward. Jack’s little brain didn’t comprehend the joy he felt in that moment, for he was a baby, but Jack would grow up, continuing to be a little bit odd like that.

As he aged, Jack found habits and sensations that made him feel oddly satisfied. For example, when he was three, Jack found the best thing on the planet: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The sticky peanut butter, the sweet jam (that balanced out the salt of peanuts well), and the thick bread all mashed together made for the perfect combination. When no other food could settle on his sensitive palate, a classic pb&j always calmed his senses.

It didn’t end there, however. Because a few years later, his grandmother bought Jack the softest, warmest (and heaviest) blanket Jack had ever felt. After a full day of errands, a stressful practice, or whatever life threw at him, Jack would race up the stairs (on all fours, like a horse, no less), flop into bed, and then proceed to wrap himself (like a burrito) within the blanket. For reasons Jack couldn’t explain, he would settle down underneath the weight. Even though physically he was under pressure, his mental worries would drift far away, and he’d be able to relax again. Jack would lay there for hours, sometimes until his mother would knock on his door, alerting him that dinner was ready.

When Jack mentions his adoration for routine to his teammates, or his favorite activity (outside of hockey) being wrapped up in his blanket (maybe with earbuds in, listening to a history podcast), they all laugh it off. It’s like none of them enjoy anything like that. (He tries not to let it bother him, but it still digs a hole into his chest).

_________

At thirteen years old, Jack knows his father’s legacy. He knows that he too, is going to have to live up to that standard. Even at this early stage of life, Jack is forced into high class social situations and interactions (due to his parent’s status’). 

Every single situation he’s forced to go to is literal hell for Jack. He’ll do close to anything in an excuse to escape the get togethers. Having to make eye contact with people he hardly knows, and also create small talk is stressful enough to make Jack shut down; it drains the energy out of him like running a marathon. In one evening alone, Jack has to take at least five trips to the bathroom in order to calm himself down, focus back on reality, and place back on an extroverted facade. 

Not only does Jack have to make eye contact and engage in conversation, but he’s forced to listen to twenty plus more conversations and the general party sounds that come with socializing. He clenches his fists, cracks his knuckles, and squeezes his hands to try and calm down. Hopefully, no one notices his pale face, stiff hands, and run offs to the restroom; Jack thinks at least his mother has noticed.

These nights, Jack doesn’t even bother listening to history podcasts, he simply cuddles up underneath his blanket, and falls asleep without saying a word. It happens often. The no-speak aspect, not just the parties, where he becomes so overloaded, he doesn’t even have the energy to speak. He thinks clearly, but he can push no more than a word or two past his lips.

On the occasional, blessed nights where there is no party or practice, Jack’s favorite thing to do is sit on the living room couch, watching a history document. Hours upon hours, he’ll sit there, snapping his fingers, shaking his feet, and hum along to facts he finds interesting within the document. Thankfully, his parents don’t seem to mind, and they let him continue to relax in his own way.

_________

At fifteen, when life and hockey become a little too stressful (with the Q’s arrival and his family hosting another Q player. His name is Kent Parson), he begins to freak out even more than he typically does. His mother suggests seeing a doctor to get tested for anxiety (because he has been showing symptoms for years); the diagnosis comes back positive, and he’s given medicine that’s supposed to help ease his anxiety.

It seems to do its job, the medicine that is, at reducing his irrational thoughts and do-it-all-to-the-point-of-failure ideals, but besides that, it doesn’t even help him get rid of his hatred for bad textures, or the obscenely loud noises, or unfairly awkward social interactions. Brushing aside the annoyance of still having those hinderances, Jack does his best to put everything into hockey. Even his (very complex) relationship with Kenny revolves around hockey.

At first, Kenny had been a distraction from the hectic schedule hockey entailed. They could sit in bed, making out, letting off steam, for hours on end, however, after (almost) two years of a relationship with Kenny, it’s become one of his sources of anxiety.

(for starters, he and Kent are constantly at odds with one another. Kent starts up useless drama to fluster (frustrate) Jack, then kiss him to shut Jack up. He and Kent were up against each other for the number one pick, and it made things stressful. When Jack would want to curl under his blanket and clench his fists, Kent would grab his hands and sweet talk Jack into something more than lying in bed. To add on top of everything, being gay in the NHL is an instant career ender, and with the way he and Kent are going, things wouldn’t end well).

Eventually, the stress of it all became too much to handle. When one pill failed to calm his nerves, he took another, and another, and another. Next thing Jack knows, he’s lying in a hospital bed, his mother holding his hand, and his father the other.

_________

In the time that follows Jack’s accident (cause it was an accident, he just wanted to settle down), he coaches a peewee hockey team. It’s exactly what Jack needs. Where the Q had sucked the joy out of hockey, his peewee team replaced with a rekindled adoration for the sport. And what’s not to love about hockey? Even the sound of the puck is soothing, and the feel of flying over ice is healing. 

Jack tries not to pick favorite students within his team, but there is a little boy who snags Jack’s attention. He’s awkward, struggles to socialize with the other teammates, and can’t look Jack in the eye. It feels familiar to him. He realizes, it’s because he sees himself within the boy. When the kid gets a goal, he flaps his arms, spins in circles, and squeals. Jack in turn, cheers the kid on by pumping his fists, and jumping up in down. It feels nice, that even this kid is more than half his age, he can connect so well with the boy. (even to this day, they stay in contact. The kid just signed, too!).

However, Jack realizes he’s ready to start playing hockey himself. Jack decides college is a good place to pick up life again. He applies to Samwell University and gets accepted. 

At first, it’s slightly awkward, playing on a team again that is, but Jack thinks this is the place for him. One of the other freshman Jack met instantly latched onto him. Not just emotionally, but literally in a physical manner. The dude, Knight, loves to hug, cuddle, and fist bump Jack any chance he gets. During the first few months, Jack finds it weird, but eventually he begins to notice the comfort brought on by his new best friend (a best friend he’s never had one before). The weight of another person snuggling up next to Jack reminds him of his heavy blanket, so he begins to welcome the hugs with open arms (haha no pun intended). So after a long day, instead of curling up with his blanket and a podcast, he instead is wrapped in his best friends arms, listening to him rant about his latest drama or classes.

In his latest class, which is some kind of psychology study, (while they snuggle) he begins to rant about the ableist culture autistic people face. Normally, Jack isn’t one to engage his ears in actually listening, but what he’s hearing sounds…. Familiar. 

“Yeah, and so many autistic people grow up without even realizing they���re autistic! Doctors typically misdiagnose and say it’s anxiety because they don’t care about autism. And while yeah, you can have anxiety and autism, doctors still don’t like to admit a patient might have autism.”

Jack sits there, dumbfounded. He himself has been to several doctors who’ve said he has anxiety, but could there be more to this? 

He’s zoning out hard time, he knows this, but thinking about all the possibilities is nerve wracking. If there is anybody on the planet Jack can be open with, it’s with his best friend. Taking a few calculating breaths, he squeezes his hands together, then begins to speak. 

“Hey- uh, about the, uh, autism thing. Do you know how people can get fully diagnosed?”

“Yeah man! I know a guy! Why you ask?”

“Oh. Well, I think that I also may have autism. The things you said about it applies to everything I’ve gone through.”

“Dude! That makes so much sense! If you want I can go with you?”

He considers it for a moment “I’d love that, actually. Thank you.”

_________

Together, they go to the doctors. Despite doubts Jack had about really being autistic, he’s officially diagnosed with autism. The doctor explains it’s the reason Jack is picky with foods and sounds, why looking people in the eye and making small talk is so draining, how being under heavy weights or messing with his hands and jumping (also known as stimming) makes him feel better. It just makes sense. How Jack is in his twenties and only just now being diagnosed, will never make sense. However, he’s thankful to finally have answers for his questions.

It takes a while for Jack to learn the insides and outs of his condition, to accept this is apart of who he is. But eventually, as the days get longer, life gets sweeter, and friends closer, Jack begins to share this part of himself. Becoming so open about autism ended up helping another teammate too (chowder). 

While life is a hard fought battle, Jack finds it’s safe to say he’s at a point of loving, and embracing himself. All of himself.

[veradragonjedi]

@chiffchaffinch

[hatreds-og-imagedescriptions]

[ID: animated top/bottom text gif says "autistic rant over. / proceed with normal conversation." Both texts are 3d and red, and have a white stroke. The top text is in all caps and spinning to the right, while the bottom text is in all lowercase and spinning to the left. End of ID.]