#I’m a bit concerned that if I tell the psychiatrist I think I have autism he’ll say I need to get a diagnosis through Kaiser first

[autistic-earth-genasi]

Okay update on the therapy situation. I emailed my psychiatrist at Kaiser like the therapist recommended and he responded super fast and said he’d already sent a referral which is awesome. However, I got the follow up info today and apparently the referral is for an online therapy thing called Path Mental Health. It’s basically an online portal where you can search for a therapist which is fine but unfortunately it’s only for in network therapists and so the therapist I want isn’t on it. I do plan to give it a decent try and look through the therapists on there but a cursory look told me there are very few or none that specialize in autism and lgbtq issues which are two of the main things I want. Also the therapist I found is overall a much better match than anyone I’ve seen on Path so far. I might be willing to try someone else but it is only online sessions, no in person and I’ve done therapy on zoom before and I hated it. I don’t feel as much of a connection with the therapist and I find it really distracting to be able to see myself on camera.

So basically I’m starting to formulate how I’m going to push back. Like I said I will give it a serious try over the weekend when I’ve hopefully calmed down (I almost had a meltdown when I got the email and saw everything). But I know there is a good chance I won’t find anyone (after literal months of searching different therapy sites I found my list of maybe 4 therapists I was interested in contacting so chances are slim) so I need to figure out my arguments for why they should cover the specific therapist I found instead of any of the ones on that site. I know this is a thing they do because at my consultation, the therapist said one of his other patients was able to get them to cover it, you just have to fight. So far here’s what I have:

They only offer online services which I’ve tried before and found it difficult to really connect with a therapist. Also I don’t have the best internet connection and I live with a roommate so I am not guaranteed to have a private place to have my sessions (the last part is not entirely true bc I have my own room but I do have to be careful how loud I talk bc she can hear me and also past experiences have taught me that people are very afraid of confidentiality laws).

I cannot find someone who specializes in autism, anxiety, trauma, lgbtq+ issues, and family issues who matches my availability (it sucks a little bit because I have not talked to the psychiatrist or anyone at Kaiser about autism and I’m really not looking forward to it but needing specialized care is one of the strongest arguments I have).

Also if they push back would it be a bad idea to 1. Say I’ve already had a consultation with this therapist and 2. Say that he told me he has another patient that got Kaiser to cover therapy with him (in the case that they say they can’t cover it/there’s nothing they can do bc I know that’s bullshit)? Or would that make things worse?

Any suggestions or tips are appreciated! I really need this to work!

[duchessofostergotlands]

Hi, jess! A couple of months ago I sent you an ask about a reality tv show (the farm) and a participant who has bpd (she didn’t win the 1 million price, btw - but she was so happy when she found out that a good portion of the public supported her, specially women ❤️ she’s famous because of only fans and most of her followers on social media, before her participation on the show, were men. So she said she was happy to see so many women supporting and following her now). Anyway while watching the show, I realized many of her behaviors were so similar to mine. Then my mom and sister, who live with me, told me they noticed that too. I decided to ask my psychiatrist and psychologist (I’ve been dealing with depression for the past 10 years), but both didn’t give it much credit. At the time I agreed with them - they said I probably don’t have bpd because the behaviors I was describing only happens when I’m home, with people I trust. I’m very “controlled” when I’m with other people, including my dad (who hasn’t lived with me since I was a kid). The point is, I’m ALWAYS making a huge effort trying to control myself in public - it’s exhausting and I believe it’s one of the reasons I tend to isolate myself. I think I’ve actually learned to camouflage my feelings and to avoid things that trigger me. I used to be more “uncontrolled” as a kid, before I created this deep rooted fear that people’d leave me because of these behaviors and reactions. Do you think it’s possible to camouflage some of bpd’s symptoms? And, if so, do you have any tips on how I could talk to my psychiatrist and psychologist about it? —— I didn’t want to make this ask any longer than it already is, but one of my childhood friends was recently diagnosed with autism. We don’t talk much nowadays, but she messaged me last month to tell me about her diagnosis and to ask if I felt I had some of the same treats - thinking retrospectively, we were very alike. It made a lot of sense and I remembered you said sth about bpd and autism sharing some similarities in some aspects of how the brain works. She also told me about recent studies showing the underreported diagnosis in women. My psychiatrist and psychologist also dismissed it, because I don’t avoid eye contact and have friends. I’m really confused right now, but it’s also kinda relieving to get to know myself a bit more and to think that the struggle I’ve felt my whole life is real. (Sorry for the long text!)

Hey :) Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you. Just like to be able to dedicate a bit of time to longer messages like this and I rarely have the attention span for it! But of course I remember the conversation, it was really interesting to hear about what the contestant went through. 

So yes, BPD and autism are often misdiagnosed as each other as there are similar traits that are often found. Usually around attractions to patterns and structure and also around empathy. Like I don’t generally feel empathy for people in the same way most people do. I’d say unless you’re a close friend or family member - or maybe if you’re a child - I probably wouldn’t feel empathy towards you. I generally make decisions about moral standpoints and such based on what logically makes sense to me rather than any kind of emotional connection because I just don’t really feel that. I think the reasons autistic people may sometimes struggle with empathy are different but to an external person would seem very similar so can often be confused. 

To address your two points that made you unsure about the diagnoses, BPD is definitely highly interpersonal so it can change drastically depending on who you’re with. I can be friends with someone for quite a while and they have no idea but if I’m in a romantic or physical relationship with someone they’ll know within a few days. Romantic relationships are my personal trigger so they’re where I struggle the most. Then in terms of autism, lack of eye contact doesn’t really mean anything. I think that’s a common misconception people have but two of my cousins are autistic and they were both very outgoing and friendly, they were incredibly tactile, I didn’t notice them not looking me in the eye but I probably don’t look people in the eye much because that feels weird haha. Women in particular are not well studied when it comes to autism as you kind of mentioned. They are generally better at “masking” and so are often misdiagnosed or their condition isn’t picked up until well into adulthood. So even if you have friends and can look people in the eye it wouldn’t necessarily mean you wouldn’t fit the criteria. 

I wouldn’t want to diagnose you with anything myself as I’m not a professional and I don’t know you personally. The DSM outlines the criteria for being diagnosed with BPD. You have to demonstrate at least five of the following and as with all mental illnesses they have to cause a significant impact on your ability to carry out your responsibilities and go through daily life:

Chronic feelings of emptiness

Emotional instability in reaction to day-to-day events (e.g., intense episodic sadness, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)

Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment

Identity disturbance with markedly or persistently unstable self-image or sense of self

Impulsive behavior in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating)

Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights)

Pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by extremes between idealization and devaluation (also known as "splitting")

Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-harming behavior

Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms.

Those are the criteria that would most likely be used to assess you. In the UK we can be diagnosed with depression and anxiety by a GP but have to go to a psychiatrist or psychologist to get a PD diagnosis. It sounds like you’ve already been in contact with them. I’m not too sure how it works where you are. Can you get a second opinion? Are there other doctors you could make an appointment with? Could you go private? I’m very aware of the fact that having the NHS in the UK means that my experiences are not applicable to everyone’s circumstances but for me when I first went to get help I was given meds and a depression and anxiety diagnosis and sent on my way. When that didn’t help I went back and got a higher dosage. And then it still didn’t help and finally I was kind of at rock bottom (or I thought so at the time) and needed help and so what I did on that occasion was have a friend accompany me into the room. They had created a list of things they’d seen me do or heard about me doing that were concerning to them and gave them to the doctor, and they kind of backed me up and gave me moral support. It shouldn’t have taken someone else being in the room for me to be taken seriously but having someone there who could express what I might have been too shy or self conscious to say was really helpful. In the end I got referred for treatment and it wasn’t right for me ultimately as my problems were more complex but it helped for a bit. I don’t know if there’s anyone in your life you trust to be able to be there to support you but I think it can be really intimidating to push back with doctors and professionals and having someone there who knows you and cares about you can be the thing that gives you that extra bit of courage you need. 

I’m not sure how helpful that is but I’m available if you want to ask me any questions about BPD or any explanations of how I experience the symptoms or anything like that :) 

[sleepyskjolle]

PHARMA (Michael Myers x OC) // Chapter 01

A/N: So, I'm VERY new to writing fanfiction (although I've done a decent amount of RP-ing), so please be gentle with me - u -

I also wanted to make a point to not add any specific physical descriptors to our protagonist, June, so that she can be whatever you want her to be! So I suppose the story is kind of a mix between self-insert, original character, and x reader! Please feel free to tell me what you think! o u o

Summary: For June, any job was better than fast food. That of course included being hired as the specialized aide for Haddonfield's most prolific serial killer.

Set Pre-Halloween (2018)

November 21, 2017 Smith's Grove Sanitarium. Warren County, IL.

The walls of the office June sat in were just as stained and grungy as they were the first time she entered almost two weeks prior. She waited once again to see the head psychiatrist of this institution. The same institution that had loomed on the edges of her suburban hometown since the early 20th century.

Her fingers rubbed against each other in a simple pattern as she tried to calm the nervousness that was lapping at the edges of her consciousness. The ticking of the clock served as a melody for her fidgeting and it was starting to feel like she'd been waiting there an hour, although she knew that wasn't the case.

When the door finally did open, June turned to greet the doctor, a smile only crafted by years of customer service flashing.

"Good morning, Dr. Sartain, I'm sorry I'm a little early. I hope it's not a problem or anything." Apologizing for literally anything was another trait that had been beaten into the girl during her early years of employment.

The doctor just smiled back and physically waved her apology away. "There is no need for that, Ms. Jones. Promptness is a sign of a dedicated worker, and you are going to need dedication for the position you've been hired for." The small man makes his way around the desk and lowers into the well-used chair, immediately leaning onto his elbows to look at her more closely. His eyes are still kind, but his demeanor turns very serious very quickly. "You read the entire packet I gave you, correct? And the files?"

"Yes sir. I read over both pretty thoroughly, but I don't think I have any serious questions." Her fingers itched to fiddle again so she decided to clutch at the seam of her straight-out-of-the-package scrub top to quell the urge.

Dr. Sartain gave her a slightly incredulous look, pausing for a tense moment before speaking again. "And you are absolutely positive, Ms. Jones, that you want to take this job?"

June understood why he felt the need to ask. In retrospect, this was a dangerous thing, what she had signed up for. She didn't quite realize that when she signed the contracts that make it so the institute isn't liable if you get hurt. It became pretty clear though, when she had to go through a week of training and was told enough stories and shown enough scars to scare most anybody away. She learned a lot of ways to be safe though, and multiple ways to get away, as nobody was allowed to even detain the residents except for the guards, who usually sat half a compound away in their station. You weren't allowed to hurt a resident, even to protect yourself.

"Yes sir. I... I'm not afraid."

The doctor's intense demeanor switched off like a light and suddenly he was smiling warmly at her again and leaning back in his seat. "Good. You came at a good time too... He's been without an aide for a few weeks now at this point. Not that he necessarily NEEDS an aid, but most everyone that works here refuses to give him even decent care. At least in my professional opinion...” The doctor’s face betrays a slight bit of disdain for a split second “And, as I've explained to you previously, your position is sort of a last ditch effort to rehabilitate Michael."

Sartain coughs into his hand then begins to rise back up, using the desk for assistance.

"Come. It's time to introduce you to the nurses. Afterwards, we will let you meet your charge."

June follows the doctor without a word, nervous and a little bit excited, which always comes with a new job. She hoped the other orderlies liked her, naturally, but she was more worried about Michael. The doctor, and even the ones in charge of training, explained extensively just how many aides Michael had already gone through. Many either quitting suddenly and unexpectedly and the others being fired after a month or more of Mr. Myers showing no significant change. Apparently, Sartain had realized that he wouldn't be able to get through to Michael due to his distrust in doctors, or at least he assumed that was why. He petitioned to have this position made in an effort to find someone Michael could trust. So far, no luck.

Would she be any different?

The trek to the nurse's station was mostly uneventful, other than the intense security check they had to go through just past the doctor's office, at the entrance to the ward. Sartain assured her it would be swifter once she was given her clearance card but June knew that it was important that the residents weren't given access to anything that they could use to harm themselves or others. At Smith's Grove, careful was an understatement.

Most of the nurses were older and gave the girl just a side glance before returning to their work. The ones closer to her age, and a male guard that was chatting and flirting with a younger employee, greeted her with big smiles. There were too many names to remember immediately but the nametags would help.

One CNA, a younger guy named Nate, shook her hand and wished her luck. After that, it was like everyone remembered just why she was there. She mumbled a quick "thank you" as Sartain began to lead her further down the hall, watching the concerned eyes follow her until she was out of sight.

Dr. Sartain pulled her back from the distraction with his thick accent, "Michael should be in the cafeteria by this point, eating breakfast. This will be a good time to introduce you, while there are guards watching. Just in case, you see."

The ward was sort of maze-like, but there were signs indicating the cafeteria was close. The rusty looking red doors came into view and Sartain asked if she had the itinerary on hand. June's fingers slipped into her pocket in search of the folded paper, just to make sure.

"Yeah. Yeah, I've got it." They pause just outside the doors and he points through the rectangular window at an old man sitting alone in the middle of the large room. There were plenty of other residents already up and scarfing down their breakfasts but there was a wide berth around the one they were watching. The man, who had to be Michael, was staring out the nearest window. His breakfast sandwich sat half-eaten in his grip.

June's gaze breaks to look for some bit of affirmation on the doctor's face, her arms crossed to prevent her fingers from worrying her scrubs into oblivion. "Do you think he'll like me?"

"Hm... Well, judging by past trials, it's likely he won't take to anyone. But... it's possible, Ms. Jones. No one really knows what's going on in that grey head of his. No one ever has." His eyes turn back to Michael before hers. "Look. He knows."

Her attention snaps back to the old man in the cafeteria and he is glaring at her. From this angle, she can see the dead eye and the scars around it, just like she read in the file. The look he is giving her is curious and intense and it takes a moment before June comes to her senses and flashes a smile, raising a hand to wave at him. His head cocks to the side slightly before he turns back to his sandwich.

"That's a good sign, Ms. Jones. You haven't sparked his ire yet, at least. Let's test the waters..."

The door doesn't make much noise but as soon as they step in the room, all eyes are on the two of them. All except for Michael, who is suddenly engrossed in the last few bites of sandwich he's holding.

They have to skirt around a few of the guys that are sitting in the aisle but there is barely any movement going on in the room so it was easy enough. The two finally halt just in front of the table Michael is sitting at. Moments pass and he still isn't giving any sign that he even knows they are there. And she knows he does.

There is no change, even as Dr. Sartain begins to address him. "Good morning, Michael. There is someone I would very much like to introduce you to. Do you think perhaps you could take a break to meet her?"

Silence. The scrape of a plastic spork against cheap foam and a bite of apple makes its way to the old man's mouth. Soon it feels a little bit like his chewing is the only sound in the room.

June glances around and catches the guards looking their way. They must be used to this.. The silence swiftly becomes deafening and she feels like she needs to break it.

"My name's Juniper."

The strong jaw that was making easy work of that apple stops in place. She can see the muscles and tendons tense beneath the skin. Even Sartain is watching her now. "I usually go by June, though..."

She throws her foot over the bench and slides into the seat in front of him. There was no going back now. June is a foot away from the deadliest serial killer to ever grace the beautiful state of Illinois and her biggest worry is if he'll like her. Probably another product of employment in the fast food industry.

"I'm your new aide and I would really appreciate if you could maybe write down the things that you do and don't want me to do. I have ADHD and sometimes its really hard for me to remember things if I don't have a list. My uh… my little brother has autism too and sometimes he doesn't like being touched and sometimes he does. So if there is anything like that for you, I want to know. It's really nice to finally meet you, y'know!"

His head doesn't move even a millimeter but slowly his eyes rove over to the girl, although only one of them displayed any awareness. She's having problems deciphering how he feels about her just through his gaze, but June continues to smile at him, awaiting a response. Or anything really.

Eventually it comes. Although it arrives in the form of Michael standing and picking up his trash before turning on his heel and walking to the exit, throwing away the garbage, and leaving without a word.

When he's out the door, every bated breath in the cafeteria releases at once and suddenly it's as if nothing ever happened. She takes a moment to scan the room in awe before turning to face the doctor again. He's looking at her in a similar manner to how she was purveying the room, like something out of the ordinary just happened. June wonders if that was the wrong thing to do and she fucked up her chances at keeping this job but her worries melt away when his visage of confusion shifts to one of approval.

"Very good, Ms. Jones. You know, you may just be the right person for the job. Let's go fetch your clearance card and nametag and then we'll throw you back into the ring after lunch.”

“C-cool!” She knew how unprofessional the word was even as it slipped past her lips and the girl mentally berated herself for it as she unwove her legs from the bench. This wasn’t fast food anymore. This was the big leagues. Like, the “$20,000 more a year” leagues.

Her new employer simply gave a small chuckle, setting her at ease again.

“Yes, Ms. Jones. VERY cool.”

_________________________

June was allowed to watch the hustle and bustle of the residents during the period between breakfast and lunch from the nurse’s station. Nate, when not checking on his assigned residents, sat close to her and made small talk.

They were near the same age and she had remembered seeing him in passing during her junior and senior years. They bonded over making fun of old classmates and teachers. Even as they chatted, her eyes were always on the lookout for HER resident. She hadn’t caught sight of him since their meeting in the cafeteria and she wondered if he was avoiding her on purpose. Nate seemed to pick up on this and their talk shifted.

“He’s always like this at first, so don’t worry too much about it.” It was nice that he was trying to reassure her, at least.

She notices that her fingers are fidgety again and wonders just how long they’d been doing that. It takes a few seconds for her to debate whether she should voice what she’s really thinking.

“Is he really all that bad? I mean… I know about the babysitter murders. Trick-or-treating has been basically illegal in Haddonfield until just a few years ago. We ALL heard the stories about the boogeyman growing up. But since then?”

Another pause while Nate parses out his response. “Well… I haven’t ever seen him like that. But some of his previous aides got really freaked out and quit all of a sudden. And Nettie,” he nods his head towards an older nurse doing paperwork in the small office across the hall, “she’s told us all some pretty crazy stories from back in the day. Said he used to be really dangerous. But I’ve never even seen a resident give him a mean look. They simply don’t mess with him. It’s kind of crazy, really…”

June isn’t sure how to respond. Dr. Sartain had assured her that Michael hadn’t hurt anyone in “quite a while”. He said they had even brought in cats to spend the night with him a few times and every single kitty came out of the room in the morning just as it had been the evening before. Before she musters up another query, Nate stands up from his chair and scoots it back under the desk.

“Hey, I gotta go real quick. It’s lunchtime and they’ll get rowdy if we don’t start rounding em up.” He turns to another employee that had been reading on the other side of the station. “Cass. Hey Cass. It’s time for lunch.”

The other girl, Cass, rolls her eyes as she slides her bookmark back into the tacky romance novel she was halfway through. She grumbles an audible, “this’ll be fun,” before picking up a clipboard and pen and pushing past June on her way out of the nurse’s station. Nate shoots her an apologetic look before grabbing his clipboard and leaving her there alone.

She can hear them shouting “LUNCHTIME” down the halls and all of a sudden, doors are slammed open and then the passageways are stampeded with the footfalls of eager, hungry men. Many of them take the time to ogle the new blood a bit on their way but it’s obvious that most of them are more focused on their bellies because none of them bother for too long.

June herself is pulling out the package of tuna and crackers she had brought for her own lunch as the last stragglers file through. Her thumb gets caught on the lip of the plastic as she tries to open it and the ensuing cut is little, but a drop of blood begins to form from the slit. Out of instinct, she mumbles “shit” and brings it to her mouth. Her tongue is putting pressure on the little wound and the sharp pain is starting to fade when something tall looms just in her peripheral.

Her eyes jolt upwards to see him standing still as death in the hallway, still facing towards the route to the dining hall. His head is ever so slightly tilted in her direction, his good eye flickering between her own eyes and the finger still suckled in her mouth.

Within a millisecond June’s thumb is retracted and she gives Michael a smile and a nervous wave with her other hand.

“H-hey! I hope you have a good lunch!” She begins to explain herself, “I just, uh… I cut my finger on accident and I…”

He doesn’t let the girl finish her rambling, turning his head back and continuing on his trek towards his lunch like she wasn’t talking at all.

He gets to the end of the hall and turns the corner before her mind finds itself again. “Uh, okay… rude…” Maybe he just needed time to warm up to her, just like Nate said.

June’s eye catches the offending tuna package once more and then her attention is turned back to how hungry she is. And Lord knows with her new “friend”, she may need the strength in the coming hours.

_________________________

After lunch, Dr. Sartain fetches her again, to ferry her to Michael for the last time. After this, she would be on her own. June doesn’t bring up what happened at the nurse’s station.

She waits just beside the doctor as they walk up to him in the common room. He’s standing and looking out one of the many large windows that line one wall of the decently large room.

“Michael, June is here to see you again. She’ll be with you the rest of the afternoon, so you must be on your best behavior so you don’t scare her off.” The old man continues to stare out the window and gives no indication that he’s even heard the doctor speak. Sartain turns to her and whispers “good luck” before making his exit.

It takes a couple of minutes for June to make her way up to the window, near Michael, but far enough away as to not make him uncomfortable. She sneaks a few glances at the tall man and also tries to pinpoint just what it is he’s watching. They are on the third floor and the view spans a pretty wide area, even overlooking the parking lot. A few people are coming and going, mostly what looks like employees and the others most likely visitors. His eye follows one and then moves on to the next person. And then the next. ‘Ah. So he’s peoplewatching,’ June thinks to herself.

A few minutes of watching with him and she notices just how quiet the man is. Barely exuding a sound besides the rhythmic breaths that accompanies most humans. He really is a mystery.

Not really knowing what to say, she lets almost half an hour pass in silence before her legs begin to ache from standing still for so long. June moves to sit in the chair just on the other side of Michael and she grabs a magazine from a nearby side table to flip through. She doesn’t want to push Michael too much and is sure just letting him get used to her presence is the correct way to go about it, at least for the first day or so. Some of the other men in the room begin to whisper to each other. After awhile, she peeks over the top of the Good Housekeeping in her hands to see a few younger looking guys watching her and talking amongst themselves. Within ten minutes, they are standing close enough to speak to her but still not incredibly close. She sees them nervously eyeing Michael, who hasn’t moved a centimeter.

Maybe she should say hi? That’s polite, right?

“Hey, what’s up? You guys need something? I can go get a CNA...”

One of the boys, the one that seems to be the leader, steps just a tiny bit closer, eyes moving from her to Michael. Then from Michael to her.

“Nah, we’re good, miss. We just wanted to meet you. My name’s Russ. We just don’t get many new people around h-here.”

One of the other two men, who looks to be a bit older, is flashing her a weird smile. He nudges his way up so he’s standing beside Russ instead of behind. “We definitely don’t get many pretty girls like you.”

Russ jabs his elbow into the other man’s side and June isn’t really sure how to respond. “Oh, um… Thank you?”

Russ opens his mouth to say something else but the younger guy cowering behind him gets his attention and points behind her. June turns to look as well and it seems Michael has turned his head in their direction and is glaring at the boys. The flirty guy curses under his breath and Russ, who looks absolutely terrified, starts backing up. “S-sorry for bothering you… sorry…”

They abscond without another word and huddle around a small table in the opposite corner of the room, looking back at her direction every now and then. She moves to glance back at her charge and their eyes meet.

Silence. Then he’s looking out the window again, ignoring that she’s even there.

So she goes back to reading the interview with Jaime Lee Curtis she was engrossed in when they were approached. She couldn’t help but to sing that digestive yogurt jingle in her head.

A couple of hours pass by uneventfully and by 3 o’clock she’s read every article in every magazine in a five foot radius. June’s eyes are a little sore from the reading and she wonders just how Michael can stand in the same spot like that for that long. When she stands, one of her hands moves to settle against his shoulder. Just a small gesture to get his attention. The muscles beneath her hand tense just slightly at the touch.

“The doc told me to leave at 3 today, so I guess I’ll be on my way. It was nice meeting you though. I hope I didn’t annoy you too much...” Her hand falls back to her side. “Have a good rest of your day, okay?” She waits for a response but it never comes, so June makes her way back to the nurse’s station to gather her things, yawning along the way. Sitting around doing nothing had really taken a toll on her today.

Nate is packing up when she gets there so they head out together, chatting about what they are going to eat for supper that night all the way up until they have to split up to get to their cars.

June opens the driver side door but gets a shiver down her spine before she can climb in. Realization dawns and then her eyes are looking back up at the massive, decrepit building, searching the windows. It doesn’t take long to find him and when she does, he’s looking back at her. It’s the same spot he was in when she left him but this time his gaze stays on her, instead of flickering to and fro. There are more than a few people leaving right now but he’s just watching her.

‘Maybe that’s a good sign…’

She waves once more but as she suspected, he doesn’t return it. The wind is chilly though, and she doesn’t wait for long.

‘It wasn’t a BAD day,’ June reminds herself on the drive home.

“Beats McDonald’s ANY day…”

[agirldying]

Before I start venting, I would just like to say thank you so much for always listening to me and everyone else. I’ve come here a few different times and I really appreciate all the support, I hope you take care of yourself as well.

I feel so different, I don’t feel normal and sometimes it feels like I’m not even a human. I know I am but in my head, I can see all the ways that I snuggle to act how I’m supposed to, all the things that are hard for me that aren’t hard for most people, and how everyone gets along with one another but I don’t and I just wonder am I even a human. I don’t fit in. That quote that goes,“i see everyone laughing and smiling, and it makes me sad like I’m looking at them through a dirty window.” Is exactly how I feel. I have a lot of troubles making and keeping friends, friendship is just like a lot of work for me. It’s difficult and I prefer to be on my own so much so that my parents get concerned with the fact that I don’t have friends my age, or not that many people I hangout with. My dad even said I should talk to people at work more and I can’t compernhed why I would do that even though he explained it to me. I feel more attachment towards animals and mental health professionals than other people. People don’t really notice this but I do snuggle with picking up social cues, it’s gotten worse lately (which I’ll get into a bit later.) today, I didn’t even really realize someone was talking to me at work. I know some of the social stuff has to do with anxiety, I do have social anxiety which I developed from my trauma so I’m always feeling extremely nervous around others. But that doesn’t explain why I have troubles picking up social cues. It’s frustrating. I struggle with learning but I know that’s because I’m dyslexic and calexic. I tend to get very absorbed in things I’m interested in, like tv shows and anything to do with animals that sometimes I forget where I am for a few seconds or it almost physically hurts when a show that I really like ends. For example I’ve been watching the show she-ra on Netflix and I got so infested in it that I forgot what time it was and now that it’s over I’m left feeling empty and bored, I would get so happy when it was on. It’s the same with animals, I’m always thinking about animals and I get really excited if I see one. I never really talk about it cause I can tell people get bored/want me to stop talking about it. I also have troubles communicating sometimes. I noticed these things have been getting worse since a few days ago when I got discharged from seeing my psychiatrist and going into adult care which I feel very upset about. I don’t like this big change, I want it to stay the same and I keep seeing her. Right now I don’t have any extra supports and I really need it. Work on its own is so hard for me because of what I just said and the less support I have I’m noticing the more I feel so much weirder than everyone else and it’s a really lonely feeling, having my routine and cheak ins helped this ig. Plus I’m just really gonna miss her a ton. My parents insisted that I don’t have autism but sometimes I wonder. I mean there are lots of things that point to me not having autism, like despit me snruggling with social cues I can still tell if someone is upset, i’m good at brief encounters with others, I don’t really stim or anything like that, and I’ve never gotten over stimulated as far as I know. Plus my mom works with autistic kids so I feel like she would know, but than again she works with kids that can’t talk and need to be watch 20/47 which hasn’t ever really been me. I always find myself relating to autism community and seeing that I snuggle with the same stuff but I don’t know. All I know is I’m not normal and I don’t fit in and I need my support and it’s gone now and I hate it. My anxiety is hard enough on it’s own, let alone dealing with this and the worry of me falling into a depressive episode. It’s all so hard. I don’t really know if anything I said even made any sense but I just wanted to get this off my chest cause I’ve been having a hard time letting go of my pyscharist and with work I’ve been noticing that I don’t really fit into soceity more and more so I needed to tell someone.



Hi anon,

Thank you for the compliments and well wishes, I really appreciate it.

While I would imagine your parents know you much more than me, what you mentioned does align with several characteristics of autism (I myself was diagnosed at 12). I also just want to say that autism looks different for everyone, so not every autistic stims, is bothered by certain sensory overstimulation, etc.

So one of the things you mentioned that is characteristic of autism is not feeling human. My therapist previously worked with ND children and said that my experience of feeling like an alien or a robot (otherwise not human) growing up is a very common experience for autistics. It makes sense to me because at least in my experience I felt like I was plopped onto a random planet and had to learn all the customs and social cues and body language and all this completely confusing stuff. It just felt extremely obvious to me that I was desperately copying others more than I was just naturally blending in so I was completely isolated and excluded until middle school (when a school guidance counselor literally came out to recess with me and initiated conversations with kids for me to make friends with).

Another thing that is characteristic of autism that you mentioned is what I would consider a hyperfixation or special interest, being the Netflix show and animals. Additionally when you said "I never really talk about it cause I can tell people get bored/want me to stop talking about it." this sounds like the autistic experience of infodumping, where we gush about our special interests ad nauseum.

I only briefly looked over this article but this is the CDC's coverage of the DSM-5 diagnostic criteria for ASD. While I do encourage you to look into a professional diagnosis if that's practical, to my understanding all psychiatrists/proctors really do is go down the line of diagnostic criteria and say "if you meet x criteria you have enough to be diagnosed" so you can use this to see the outcome if you got formally diagnosed.

Honestly I just wanna say that although it may prove rewarding to make a few friends, you should know that despite what everyone is saying, it's not at all mandatory. It's okay to be independent and introverted. It's okay to not want company or conversation. Especially as an autistic, I can say that I often need to take at least several hours (maybe even days) of alone time after even just a few hours of socializing.

I do hope that you're able to get the support and acceptance you need. I'm here for you if you need anything in the meantime.

[ladyautie]

Okay, so I finally, finally, finished to watch Atypical and it was not a pleasure. Anyway, I’m going to start with its qualities, because, well, it’s going to be shorter than starting with its flaws.

1) They are accurate about autism. Sometimes. Not often. 

There are a few moments I legitimately related with Sam, the main character, like when he’s trying to fill his dating profile and doesn’t exactly know how to do so or when he’s laughing by himself or the short moment when he said he remembered that his girlfriend’s father’s name is Mario because of Super Mario (I’m awful with names and I’m using this kind of tips to remember them).

2) The sister is mostly endearing. Mostly, yeah. Her character and backstory are really lacking of originality, but I still found myself getting attached to her and some of her scenes with Sam (like when she tells him that if he doesn’t have anyone to eat with, she’s here and he can come with her. That’s sweet). 

The actress is pretty good for what I think is her first gig. She’s doing with what the script is giving to her and she’s okay. The character is okay. Mostly, I insist. I’ll get back to it later.

3) Paige. PAIGE. Sam’s love interest. You know that this tv show has an issue when the supposed Neurotypical character makes a better autistic character than the one we have officially. The show could have been AMAZING if it has been centered on her and if she were officially autistic. 

She’s the type of “extrovert autistic person” we don’t get to see AT ALL in media (the only one I can think of is Mary from “All about Steve” and she’s not even officially autistic either). 

She’s lively, she’s stimming (jumping up and down, mostly), she has troubles with boundaries, but can learn from her mistakes, she’s very talkative and doesn’t always know when she’s talking too much or she’s bothering people, but she can understand social cues here and there. 

She’s highly sensitive and you can even argue that she has a meltdown onscreen (after Sam has broken up with her).

Paige is LIFE. With a few changes here and there and better writers, Paige could be an amazing autistic heroine. But no, we have Sam instead. Anyway, let’s move on to the flaws.

1) The ableism. So, so much ableism. I can’t even tell you everything because there’s too much. From the language policing (”No, no, we’re not saying “autistic”, we’re saying “person with autism”, we have to put the person first”), to the infantilization (the mother treats her 18 years old son like a six years old kid, it’s awful to witness), it’s a mess.

You don’t have one episode without someone saying how hard it is to live with an autistic person, how much they have to sacrifice, how much it has changed their lives. 

The parents are viewed as heros and martyrs at the same time and I felt really awful hearing them talking about their son, and what they missed, and how it affected their relationship and so on.

When you make a show about a topic so sensitive, you can’t just spit on the people that are directly concerned by it. You can’t just tell us like that that we’re a burden to you. It’s unfair. It’s awful. Do you really think that none of us will watch this show ? Do you ?

This tv show caters way too much to his neurotypical audience, so much that, as an autistic person, I feel excluded. I can’t laugh because they’re laughing about us. 

I can’t relate because they never bothered to talk with autistic people and they’re just doing what they feel is accurate about autism. I can’t feel happy watching this because the show is literally telling me that I’m making life harder for everyone else.

2) The characters. Dear god, the characters. It’s a mess. I’m supposed to feel empathy for a mother that is downright abusive (she’s reading her daughter’s texts, she doesn’t let her close her door when she has a boy with her, she’s almost refusing to her son to buy his own clothes and so on and so on. 

I’m supposed to like a mother that is selfish, that wants to be seen as a tragical figure because she “sacrificed everything” for her autistic son. 

I’m supposed to like her, even though she’s accusing everyone of her own mistakes. She’s one of the worst characters I’ve ever seen in a sitcom and I watched the A word with its awful mother. The one from Atypical is far worse.

The father is not better. He’s just a cliché. And he likes to complain too, and he’s ableist, and he’s mimicking his son’s behavior to not say the r-word (which isn’t better). 

By the end, I still kinda let myself get attached to him a bit, just a little bit, because he has to put up with being with his wife and that’s the worst thing I can imagine for someone else.

The sister is mostly good, but she’s also a bully sometimes. And she has an entire scene where she literally says that, when she was little, she thought the word “NT”, that Sam and her mother used, meant “empty”. 

And that it made sense to her because Sam was taking up so much space that everyone else around him was empty. This is even worse in french because they decided that it sounded like “haunted” and that being around Sam made people feel like they were “haunted”.

I... I’ve never seen a scene so ableist, especially in a recent tv show like that. I really, really felt hurt by what she said. And this is from a show that is supposed to highlight autism ? To make it seem “normal” ? Because they sure as hell are pathologizing it during the show.

As Sam, he’s just a textbook of symptoms. No, even worse, the way they’ve written him, he feels like a creepy asshole. 

He’s always saying awful stuff to everyone, including telling to his girlfriend in front of her whole family that he doesn’t love her and leaving her like it, he’s violent (he pulled a girl’s ponytail because it gets in his face.

Dude, you can just... move. Sit down on another place. That’s terrible), he’s always talking about sex (sometimes, I felt like I was watching American Pie, seriously...) and so on. 

He’s not a good character. And he’s not a good autistic representation. At all.

As for the psychiatrist, she’s awful at her job. Seriously, she doesn’t even notice that her patient, not subtle at all, is in love with her and then, she’s yelling at him and blaming him when he’s confessing to her. Like... wow. 

3) The humor. It’s not funny. Not funny at all. I didn’t expect to laugh out loud like I did while watching Speechless, but wow. They really failed on this point. The delivery is awful, the humor is either childish (like “Ha ha, he said boobs”) or downright sexist/racist. 

Between the hooker that is flashing Sam like it’s an American Pie movie and Sam’s best friend, who is Indian, talking about a woman who called him “brown sugar” while they were having sex, I’m like.. wow. 

And I didn’t even mention the guy that Casey met to have her interview for her future college. He’s black and, obviously, he feels the need to mention that immediately by saying “I’m black, so they put me on the cover of their presentation”. 

The delivery is so forced, it really feels “whitey”. I’m not going to talk much more about it, because it’s not my place as a white woman, but I really felt uneased.

Even in the autism subject, they missed so much opportunities. Sam experiencing echolalia and repeating a word in its head again and again and again until he can’t handle it and has to shout it ? It could be hilarious. 

Make the word a very random thing and the situation during which he’s shouting it even more random. I don’t know, like “Falcon” and he’s shouting it in the middle of the night or something, waking up everyone.

But no. The word has to be “twat” and he has to yell it at a random girl. It’s... It’s not funny. At best, it’s childish, at worst, it’s offensive. And it’s always like that. They’re always laughing at us and they aren’t even doing it properly.

This tv show is a mess. Watching it was painful, so much that I literally had a nosebleed just after finishing it. I don’t have the spoons to make this review longer, but... don’t watch it. It’s not worth it. Not even as a “bad tv show” that you think you could mock. It’s not funny that way either. It’s just... bad.

[stimtoybox]

Hey. I realized lately I show traits of autism and it'd make so much sense . My mom refuses to consider it. What do you recommend I do?

Hey, anon! It’s not easy when you’ve happened across something that makes sense of who you are and how you are in the world only for others to disregard it. It’s harder still when you need a parent or parents to play a role in exploring that further. Fear of having a neurodiverse child or ableist assumptions that we should just get over it make it very hard for us to get the support we need. It’s not right, but it’s sadly something too many of us have to face.

Please note that this is more suggestion than outlined plan: I’m not in your situation and I cannot give you a firm answer. (As a matter of fact, there is no simple answer, no checklist that will result in your mom changing her mind. We all want one, but those lists don’t exist.) The best I can do is give you things to think about on your way to deciding how you might tackle this challenge.

I think it comes down to this: what do you need, anon?

Do you need accommodations in school or work? Do you need teachers or coaches to better support you as an autistic? Do you need a diagnosis with the weight of a professional behind it for people in your life to take your needs, behaviours and experiences more seriously? If the answer to any of these is yes, anon, then you’re in the unenviable situation of likely having to approach your mom.

(Note: it isn’t right that we need professionals, many of whom aren’t all that expert in autism, to validate us. I don’t want to pretend that situation is right, for all that I often direct people towards medical professionals. It isn’t. Sadly, though, we live in a world where many if not most teachers and bosses only consider valid the diagnosis made by a professional, and for those of us who need to deal and negotiate with these people, it’s often something we need. I’ve been at school with disability accommodations - for chronic pain, as this was before my autism assessment - and I needed all those forms signed and approved by my GP before I could get the support I needed. Things like use of my netbook so I could type instead of handwriting, assignment extensions, longer time on tests, a notetaker in lectures, the provision of recording technology by the school, teachers who understood that I am disabled. They made a big difference to my ability to study, and for this reason it might be well worth the difficulty of seeking a diagnosis from a professional.)

If the answer to all of these is no, that an autism diagnosis is illuminating to you in making sense of who you are but isn’t a requirement in how you go about your life, you don’t have to do anything. Most autistics are for self-diagnosis because we know that folks who are not white cis boys struggle to be assessed, that assessment takes time and money, that a proper assessment isn’t always accessible, that few psychiatrists assess autism in adults, that parents can hinder said assessment, that an autism diagnosis on your medical record might open you up to ongoing ableism … many reasons, anon. If you think autism makes sense of who you are and you don’t want to seek a formal diagnosis (be it right now or ever), then you’re autistic until you say otherwise. Even if you decide later that diagnosis isn’t quite right, well, you were supported by the autistic community in the meantime, which is far better than struggling alone! We’d rather have a few people in the community who decide later they’re not autistic than a few autistics not getting support from the community because their self-diagnosis might be wrong.

But if you pursue this, from need or want, here’s what I’d look at doing:

- First, list your autistic traits. Check out the list of atypical autism traits and see how well they meet your experience. You also might like to try this checklist (based on the DSM-5) which is a more conventional diagnostic approach. Have a good basis for telling others why you think autism makes sense. You can show this to your mom; you can also show this to your doctor and assessing clinician. Write down anything you think supports your position so you’ve got it as a reference when you actually have the conversation. Remembering to say everything is hard; written references really do help. Don’t be afraid to list everything you struggle with, especially if it’s something for which you want help and support.

- Second, get someone in your corner. Do you have a teacher, coach, relative, counselor, therapist, psychologist or mentor in which you can confide? Someone who knows you and your situation, someone with whom you can talk, show them your lists, talk out your fears and concerns, advise you? A friend gives you somewhere to talk this out, but an adult can actually help you have this conversation with your mom, because they are more likely to be listened to. (This isn’t right, either.) Even a friend’s parent with whom you’re close!

- Third, practice what it is you want to say to your mom. Write out a script, rehearse it with any of the aforementioned people, a friend, a plush animal, the mirror. Other people are better for this, as they can advise you, but any practice is better than none at all. Practice referring to your evidence as you do this.

(You can also do this script for talking to your support person as well, if that makes it easier for you. If you need to work your way up - practice with a friend, then move to a support person, then to a relative, then to your mom, that’s absolutely fine!)

- Fourth, talk. Think about when - when you both have time, for example, and neither is rushing. If you plan to talk on a day when something went wrong for either of you (especially if it’s just you and your mom) change it for another time. Both of you need to be as relaxed as possible and open, and it’s hard to do that when you’re hungry or tired or have had it up to here with a coworker or next door’s barking dog. If a teacher or therapist is helping you, and you’ve scheduled the meeting, it’s a bit different, but if it’s a family discussion, flexibility is important. It is not avoidance or cowardice to put off the conversation for later if your mom is in a bad mood.

I don’t know your situation; I don’t know what your mom is like. Honestly, to do anything more in advising for this is beyond what is reasonable for me to do, as a random not-a-psychologist internet stranger. Generally, try to be as succinct as possible - another mention on the Seriously Unfair list, I know. Try not to cry or get visibly upset, since that seems to instantly make people dismiss us. (Also unfair.) Try not to be angry or frustrated at your mom, no matter how much she might deserve it, for that is less like to make her want to listen. You want her on side as much as possible, as hard as that is.

I think the best way to get people onside in terms of doing what you want is to present your want as the solution to a problem. People like solving problems; they like it even better if you give them the solution so they don’t have to think about it. If you’re struggling in some way and can connect this to autism, do so. For example, you can’t concentrate on classwork without a stim toy, so pursuing a diagnosis means you can have access to toys in the classroom, solving your problem of poor concentration. If you can make it sound as though getting you a diagnosis will help you function better in ways parents like (grades, household chores, relationships with other people), you’ve got a better chance of getting your mom on board.

(And if your support person can validate this improvement, that will help as well.)

I’ll note, sadly, that none of this may work. Your mom just might flat out refuse to believe you; she might insist that all the problems you’ve laid out are fixable if only you pull yourself together. People who do this are wrong, so wrong, and it’s not right or fair, but some folks are beyond reason. As heartbreaking as it is, you might end up in a situation where you can’t do anything much but wait until you can see a doctor and arrange a referral for an assessment on your own. I don’t want to put you off; I just want to say that, sadly, you can do everything right in this and still end up with an awful result. This is not your fault or your doing.

I wish you all the best, anon, and that you get the support you need. Please remember, too, that if you self-dx right now as autistic, or you’re not sure and just want support and advice and connection from autistics while you explore, the autistic and neurodiverse communities are yours!

- Mod K.A.

[realtransfacts]

Hi, I have a question about T. I've heard really scary stories of binary trans people being gatekept from medical transition because they're not "feminine enough" (in the case of trans women) or "masculine enough" (in the case of trans men). As an nb person who possibly wants to start T one day, I just wanted to know how difficult it was for you to start HRT. It's okay if you don't want to answer though!

The whole process went very smoothly for me tbh? I got my first meeting in January and I am now (in April) on T, so it went much faster than I expected. (Honestly, I didn’t expect to be allowed to start hrt until like autumn/winter.)

But then again, there’s a lot of factors that probably helped me:

I went to a gender evaluation team in Stockholm (ANOVA) who kinda specializes in treating nonbinary people.

I exaggerated my masculine-ness a bit in my meetings with the psychiatrist and outright lied by saying my gender was male-aligned.

I had extensively studied the effects of the treatments I wanted to get and was able to prove this in my meetings, which I think was a very good thing because the psych was clearly pleased with the fact that I knew what I was talking about / knew what I was getting myself into.

I am an adult. I’m 22. So by telling them that I’ve identified as trans since I was 14 (which is, kind of true? it’s complicated) I was able to make it very clear to them that it was Not A Phase or whatever. And I think that helped them take me more seriously.

I had already changed my legal name. So, again, that probably helped with the Being Taken Seriously thing.

I didn’t have any mental issues (aside from my autism) on paper, so I was able to lie and claim to be mostly-neurotypical-except-autistic. Which was probably a good thing, as being mentally ill is often (although not always) something that they will use against you.

Your concerns are definitely valid though. And the stories you’ve heard are most likely true. There is an awful lot of gatekeeping happening when it comes to hrt and I was very lucky to be able to get it as quickly and as easily as I did.

If you’re not going to see someone who is known to be supportive of nonbianry people, I would honestly recommend lying and claiming you’re a bianry trans guy. As well as trying to live up to their expectations of how masculine you’re “supposed” to be.

It sucks. But in a lot of places, that’s what needs to be done in order to get the treatments that you need. And it’s better to play it safe when you can.

[exsanguisdraconis]

Can we please stop diagnosing characters with disorders? PLEASE?!

Like, if you write a character with a mental or physical disorder and you’ve done a shit ton of research and you understand it incredibly well that’s one thing, I don’t like it, but I’ll accept it. 

But we need to stop diagnosing characters with mental disorders just because you think they act some way. 

Number one, the one I see more than mother fucking anything is bipolar disorder, and as a person with bipolar disorder, I’m going to say it’s really fucking offensive to listen to people do this. The process of diagnosing someone is long and complicated a last I checked you needed a medical degree to do so. 

FYI, 100 percent of characters that I’ve seen stamped with that particular disorder are villains. 

“But that helps us understand and sympathize with these characters.” No it doesn’t. Not unless you have, or know a lot about it. If I’ve got a character that behaves poorly and I tell you that they have autism, given how 99 percent of the general population has almost no experience dealing with people with autism or even any accurate information on autism, it isn’t going to help them understand. But do you know what they will do? “Awwww poor *insert character here* has to deal with autism*” and the pity train fires up and leaves the station.

I don’t care what you saddle a character with, if they haven’t said it in canon, you shut your fucking mouth. Because I’m tired of characters that do awful, terrible things being associated with bipolar disorder. We are actual, real fucking people, and other actual, real fucking people, think we’re nuts because the media inaccurately portrays a chemical imbalance that we have to juggle every day of our lives.

It’s even happened to me on tumblr, being accused of being crazy and out of control, but it happens more subtly in real life. People give you this look. You can see that you’d gained a little bit of pity and lost a little bit of trust. And it’s not entirely their fault that they’re ignorant.

The most recent character I’ve seen categorized as “bipolar” is none other than Lestat de Lioncourt. And apparently this is a very, very common belief in the fandom, which deeply disturbs me.

First off, as someone who has bipolar disorder, I honestly do not see it. The way he narrates shit illustrates a level of emotional control and purposeful manipulation that makes me think “douche” more than bipolar.

Secondly, I don’t care if he displays all the classic signs of bipolar disorder, it has not been said, and therefore will never be addressed in canon. Why does that matter? Because that means all his shitty behavior falls under the category of “shit bipolar people do” and there is no resolution, no him trying to deal with it, no proper representation of how people live with this disorder. Do you know how hard I have to work just to be happy? Between medication and coping strategies just to control rage, anxiety, and manage my extreme highs and lows? It’s not a cake walk, and people with bipolar disorder don’t just blunder through the world as victims of their disorder. We work at it, we struggle with it. 

And you want to smack that label on a character than is an EXPLICIT rapist? A murderer? A man that takes advantage and walks all over his companions concerned with only his own well being? This is canon shit guys. In Tale of the Body Thief he rapes two people. 

Are you starting to see how demeaning it is to slap that label on characters when it isn’t part of the story? When you did a quick google search and determined “oh this is bipolar disorder and it’s similar to some of this behavior”. No. If we’re going to say a character has a mental disability or disorder, it needs to be something the writer acknowledges both in and out of the story, and that is dealt with, rather than blundered through.

How you’re represented in media matters. Please remember that people with mental disabilities and disorders are people. Real people that have to deal with real problems, some of which are caused by misrepresentation of the media. Do you know what I did when I heard I had bipolar disorder? Because all that I knew about it was that it was serious and that you were crazy if you had it (as television had so wonderfully informed me) I started sobbing right there in front of my psychiatrist. 

I don’t care what need it satisfies in you. Putting these labels on characters when it isn’t a direct part of the story line done by people who are highly knowledgeable on the subject is hurtful and wrong. I’m begging you, please kill this trend, and kill this headcanon, because a murderous rapist with a god complex really isn’t what I want people associating with my bipolar disorder.

[imalloutofoptions]

The Beginning of My Suicide Blog

My name is Z, I am 23, Female and live in Canada. In March of 2020, I plan on dying. I haven’t gotten all the logistics worked out but I’m working on it. I have recently moved from my home town to a new city in September of 2019. This was a mistake and has thus lunged me down the familiar path I’m on. But that’s another posts worth of story. For now lets start at the beginning. 

I was born to an absent black father and my white mother in a small town of less than 40,000 people in rural Canada. I was raised by said mother (L), not by my father (V). My mother was a waitress and 35 years of age at my birth, my father about 50 and worked for the US military. I have a brother and a sister from my mother and another man, and two sisters and a brother from my father and other women. I know none of these siblings particularly well. My mother shortly after my birth separated from my father who was a bit of a fling after finding out about his cheating on her, creating my half brother. My sibling closest in age is my brother J, who was 15 years my senior. Soon after my arriving in the world, my sister became pregnant as a teenager and my brother started doing drugs, both leaving home before 19. Because of this I was mostly raised as an only child. My mother obsessed over me in an unhealthy way, as I was the only child that could not leave.

My father requested continuous visits to see me as I got older, wanted me to visit him and his new wife (C). This was fine as my own step father (F) was abusive to my mother and it frightened me. When I was 6 my father set up for me to go to stay with him in the southern United States with him and his wife over the summer holidays. It would be quite the plane ride but my mother allowed me to go. While there my father worked nearly every day, as well C, so I spent most of my days in summer camp. While there an older boy who was 13 continuously molested me, day after day for two weeks. At one point in the car when C was dropping me off for camp in the morning, I told her what was going on. C looked very frightened and said “Let’s not tell you father, lets keep this between us”. I knew then that was I was doing was wrong. What I didn't understand was that the real reason for C’s request was because my mother would be so angry at my father for allowing that to happen to me that it would disrupt C’s wonderful married life. The abuse continued until I was allowed to go home. My mother claimed I was never the same again. Where once I was cheerful and social, I became withdrawn and anxious. This has lasted my whole life. 

Since then my mother and I had fallen into poverty. I received many an IOU for xmas. Constantly moving, struggling to make friends at new schools due to yet undiagnosed Autism, the years of 6-13 were particularly hard on me. I was bullied, I was lonely and I was unhappy. I remember very little of this time, it all blends together. Much of it was yelling from my mother, fighting between her and her new boyfriend. He called me lazy, and he hated me. My mothers hair grew grey, her teeth started falling out. I became embarrassed to bring her to school. 

At 12 I faked a broken leg at track and field day for attention and an ambulance was nearly called. When my mother arrived to find me running around the field just fine, I was grounded, suspended from school and forced to attend child therapy. Promptly was I diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome. The psychiatrist at the time refused to put it on paper as “there is no treatment and a child this age needs less labels to bind them”. I was ignored. I didn’t cry for attention any longer. I couldn't make my mother upset. My existence already made her life hard. At 12 again I was diagnosed by a school counselor with dyscalculia, giving reason for my struggle with mathematics. 

I made some friends by 13 and life started looking up. Still anxious and depressed but better. Still could not look my self in the mirror without being physically nauseous, still could not have a shirt that showed any cleavage lest I become nauseous, cannot look a grown man in the eyes lest I hyperventilate and become nauseous. I grew hugely obese.

By high school things were different. There were things I was good at, like drama and horticulture. I made several new friends, two of these that last till today. Finally I was good at something. I still failed math twice, and got barely passing marks in everything else but I had made a plan to kill myself at 18 so it didn't matter. I had told my mom one night as a 14 year old that I didn't think I’d ever be able to make it as an adult and how I’d thought long and hard how I’d commit suicide at 18 so I wouldn't ever have to grow up. She said to me that, if that’s what I wanted to do then she would support me all the way. I kept this sentiment with me for a very long time. 

At 16, my mother had a psychotic break just before Christmas. She began experiencing psychosis based visions. I came home from school one day and her and a family friend were in the living room around the “Christmas” tree, a branch sawed from a willow in the back yard erected in a cat litter tub, and my mother was crying profusely while the friend looked frightened. My mother claimed that by cutting down the branch she had take away the “fairies” home and she could see them jumping ship and dying. The friend looked worried at me but said nothing. I went to my room and closed my door.

It became worse. My mother started smoking marijuana in the house as well as cigarettes even though it hurt my lungs. She was up all hours of the night screaming and slamming doors. If i complained she would just tell me to stop being a baby. She became paranoid that I was going to abandon her when I went to a friends house one night when there was a power outage in our side of the city. The neighbours, her friends looked concerned and said nothing. My family knew what was going on and as usual, I was the black sheep, so they said nothing. During this time I restarted therapy as I had finally remembered my childhood camp trauma and was handling it poorly. I cried during class often, my grades failed more. I was left there for a year as her condition deteriorated. I still cannot stand slamming doors. Eventually she said that as we were being evicted, she had found herself a nice cabin in a near by port town and I was to find a place to live myself. And thus I was abandoned. At 17 I moved into my sisters basement. 

18 came and gone, my first job, my second. I wasn’t supposed to make it this far. My third job I stayed at for nearly 5 years. I saved religiously to leave the backwater town I’d been born in. Full of hate, I couldn't stand it. As I had recently come out as gay, dating was nearly impossible when in our town but 21 if you haven't left you’re either pregnant or addicted to meth. I dreamed of leaving, I saved and saved and saved. I attended therapy, tried 3 medications, lost weight, gained weight. Finally I had enough saved to move. 

Unfortunately since moving, I’ve broken my bicycle, needed a new mattresses and bed frame, my roommate moved her 3 person family in with their 6 year old, totaling 7 people in the house which means I have no kitchen access and few moments of shower access, and my job is run by the most awful business man possible. My rent is 800CAD for a room, and this was the cheapest I could find. Even if I could move, I have no more money, my hours have just been cut, my coworkers have banded together to tell me they don’t like me, my mother is homeless, I’m alone and my friends back home are tired of hearing me whine.

I’ve called the suicide hotline, like I’m supposed to.

I went to the hospital, like I’m supposed to.

I tried religion, like I’m supposed to.

I tried meds, like I’m supposed to.

I kept trying and trying, like I’m supposed to.

I’m so tired. I’ve suffered for 23 years. I have no money for further education, and I certainly am not smart enough. I just want to rest. I want to go home to my ‘parents’. I want parents. I want a mom. I want a family. I want to be ok. I’m so tired of paddling. I feel like only now have I realized there is no shore. There is nowhere to go. It does not get better. I have wasted my time. March, I will go home to my home town, re-home my cats, give away the last of my savings, see the gullies and the forests I played in as a child, and die. I’m all done. Life wins. It won. I’m so tired. 

How long does a person have to continuously suffer before suicide is viewed as ok? Because at this point friends and family must be expecting it. Everyone knew better than I. They were right, I was wrong. I cant play poker with an empty hand. I wasn’t meant to thrive. My death would benefit everyone but me. A few more months and then I don’t have to be afraid anymore. I can rest. I can finally relax. Finally have that vacation I always wanted, just me forever.

[gaiatheorist]

“Oh, but you HAVE to!”

There are few phrases in the English language more guaranteed to spike my ‘No’ reflex than that one. Obviously, being me, if someone tells me I can’t do something, I’ll do it twice, and take a photo to prove it.

The relatively recent Autistic Spectrum Disorder diagnosis has provided a fairly constant stream of ‘Oh, yeah, that makes sense now.’ moments. I genuinely thought, for all my life, that my difficulties, intolerance, and social issues were a ‘normal’ thing, and that everyone else was just better at dealing with them than I was. That’s a double-edged blade, because I was also really quite intolerant of people who couldn’t do things I could. The brain injuries taught me a lesson in humility, I had been rude and sarcastic about my work-predecessor’s inability to retain skills and information, about her working hours, about her wittering away while she was working, but screwing up her face if I had conversations with colleagues in our shared office. She’d also had a brain haemorrhage, and I did send her an apology after I had mine. 

Lesson learned, to be more tolerant of others after my brain surgery, I completely absorbed and internalised all of the ‘new’ sensory overload issues, for about the first 3 months or so, I was chanting an internal mantra “This is my problem.” Colleagues slurping their tea, or making a noise like a blancmange being thrown into a wood-chipper when they ate? My problem. Colleagues coming into the shared office, and having a screechy conversation about last night’s TV, while I was on the phone to police, or social care? My problem. (One of the days I properly lost it, I’d come to the office to ask a colleague for a phone number, and they’d flapped their hand, and signalled me to ‘shush’ because they were on the phone to their dog’s vet. My problem, I found the number myself, and text-messaged the person I needed, from my own phone, so I could keep the student in sight.) I did ask my manager if I could be moved into a different office, he said that there weren’t any. My problem. Obviously, in hindsight, I could have taken the request further, under ‘reasonable adjustments’ employment law, I didn’t that WAS my problem. 

The noise, and the smells, and the lights, and the constant flow of people milling in and out of the office were very difficult to cope with, I just assumed I’d ‘get better’, but that’s not what happens when you add a significant brain injury to an already ‘complex presentation’. Get me, remembering phrases from the Consultant Psychiatrist’s report and referral on me. That’s one of my Autistic ‘things’, if I’ve read something more than a couple of times, or hand-written it, it sticks in my weird brain, OK, I know it doesn’t really ‘push out’ other bits of information, that my brain is not a game of Tetris, and stacking that awkward ‘L’ shaped one doesn’t dislodge what I went to the supermarket for, or why I’m in the kitchen. I’ve read the Psychiatrist’s report a couple of times as I was photocopying it for PIP/DWP. Three times, because DWP is so fragmented. I’ve photocopied and sent in the same 35 pages three times since October. Slight detour, there, and I won’t mount my soapbox on the ‘new’ Universal Credit system saving money because the claimant is expected to do all of their own admin. I’m OK at admin, between about 3 and 9am, anything after that is sketchy, which is BRILLIANT, because most places I need to communicate with don’t open until 9am.

Christmas has always been difficult for me, Pete Wharmby on Twitter has drawn up a brilliant thread on slight changes that can make it more bearable for people with Autism. We’re all different, there’s no one-size-fits-all approach to Autism. Broadly speaking, though, ‘Unusual’ routines, sensory overload, and expectations regarding socialisation catch most of it. I’ve had a lifetime of being the moody one, the mardy-arse, the one who’d better enjoy it whether she likes it or not. I don’t remember many Christmases, especially childhood ones, one year I had a Raleigh ‘Princess’ bicycle (Which was stolen from the back garden, and never replaced.) one year I had a knock-off Polly Pocket doll’s house, which my dad had assembled, and stuck some of the wallpaper on wonky. Apart from the year my brother and I found and peeked at some of our presents, there are no stand-out memories. Whiskey-stinking family members sitting on the end of my bed, and shouting “He’s BEEN!”, then, what was essentially just a big Sunday Lunch, eaten off plates on our laps. 

The first Christmas the ex and I had together was the best one. Cheap frozen pizzas, and microwave chips for Christmas lunch. After that, every year except one we went to his parents. I can’t pinpoint the year I stopped going, some time between 2012 and 2014. I’d explained repeatedly to the ex that it was too hot, too crowded, too noisy, that the smells and the noises made me feel ill even before we were crushed around the table which gradually deteriorated into a game of Hungry Hippos. (I might also have mentioned that it was very difficult not to stab his sister with my fork, when she did the “Are you not eating that?” and snaffled something off our son’s plate. He’s ALWAYS saved the bit he likes best until last.)

“Oh, but you HAVE TO come, it’s Christmas!” I don’t have to... This warped into him attempting the assumed-compliance coercive tricks, emotional blackmail, “They think they’ve done something to upset you.” “Sister/Uncle/long-lost auntie Mary from deepest darkest Peru want to see you.” Why, I haven’t grown an extra head or anything. The thing is, that I’d been putting up with his “You have to!” every year, and, when we got to his parents’ house, there was even more “You have to!” nonsense. Every year, except 1997, when I was six months pregnant, I’d spend as much time ‘watching the dogs’ on the garden, or smoking in the garage. 1997 was the no-smoking-because-pregnant year, I took my ‘allowed’ seat on the sofa, and pretended to be asleep, so nobody would speak to me. At first, the in-laws were concerned that I didn’t see ‘my’ side of the family at Christmas, “Oh, you HAVE TO!” and “You only get one Mum and Dad!” At some point, the ex sat down with them, and asked them to stop doing that, on account of the relationship having been traumatic and dysfunctional. That didn’t entirely go to plan, because, accepting that I effectively had no-parents, they doubled-up their efforts with the cloying, clinging, overly affectionate behaviours. (I’d thought, at the time, that it was just the shock of the behaviours being new-to-me that made me want to run a mile every time they tried to hug/kiss/pat me. Big old Autism-klaxon,) His older sister was just as bad, “You have to phone me, we’re sisters now” No, we’re not. “You have to have some professional photos taken, you’re beautiful, do it before your looks fade!” Piss off. “You have to come and see us more often.” No, I don’t. Then, you HAVE TO wear the cracker-hat, and give everyone a hug and a kiss, and you HAVE TO put more food on your plate than that, and you HAVE TO have a pudding, and then some chocolate, and a glass of Bailey’s BECAUSE IT’S CHRISTMAS. 

I’m not certain whether the panic attack was at Christmas, or just an ordinary Sunday lunch, they all blend into one. I suddenly knew that if I spent another second at their dining table, I would either vomit, scream, or just die. I said ‘Excuse me.’, like grown-ups are supposed to do, and squeezed my way out, and into the garage. (Fun fact, no matter how many family members were in attendance, I was always seated in the position furthest from the door, being ‘trapped’ makes me incredibly anxious.) The ex followed me after a couple of minutes, “Are you OK? What’s wrong?” “I’m having a panic attack, I’m not OK now, but I will be.” “Well what’s brought that on, there’s nothing to panic about!” *Face Palm.*

I’m out of that loop now. It’s Christmas Day 2019, and I’m cooking for my son and I, one of the herd of sisters is cooking for the in-laws, and I don’t know, or care what the ex is doing. We’re not having turkey, because neither of us like it. I have a £6.99 cooked lobster from Tesco, and 0.814kg of brisket (See, if I’ve read something more than once, I remember it, I was looking up cooking times for the beef yesterday.) I’ll cook some veg, and make some salad, and we’ll have a couple of days of lazily picking at the leftovers. I probably ought to clear space on the table for the spouts. You have to have sprouts at Christmas, don’t you?