#autistically processing grief hours over here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

britt-thats-it · 1 year ago

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Being back on tumblr is so nice. It’s like I never left (except I can’t remember everyone I used to follow/they probs left too).

(feelsies under the cut)

I only left because this couple I almost dated (who took my not dating them very hard) sort of cyber stalked me here. I kept making new accounts and they kept finding them and showing them to everyone in the scene we were all part of and following all the people I was mutuals with and it was… not cool.

Anyway, I’ve been really struggling with grief since quarantine. I had a huge falling out with my sister who I had been living with for the last 4 years. Her lack of recovery was badly interfering with my recovery and I was so deeply triggered by her behavior that I was barely functioning. I was in a constant state of flared up, in so much pain every day, even laying down was uncomfortable. I wasn’t able to eat bc my reflux was going crazy, I was starting to drink too much (something I hadn’t struggled with in years), I wasn’t sleeping. The pressure of being home together all the time took its toll.

Coincidentally, divine timing being what it is, my partner and I were spending hours on the phone every day. Just falling so in love. We’d already been together for almost a year, but her two other relationships falling apart, career change, and my chronic illness and not remembering how to be in a relationship (lol— it had been a LONG time and I was fully down to spend the rest of my life alone) kept us at a bit of a distance. We had been very close friends for a couple years beforehand, so when we took things to a romantic level, the feelings progressed quickly but we just didn’t have much time for each other. Anyway, she invited me to come stay with her. I was only planning on 2 weeks, but I literally never left. Everything just felt so easy and sweet. We handle each other with such care. Over the last 3 years my life has become a kind of stable that I’ve never (I mean NEVER) experienced. I love it and I am so grateful for it.

But I remember from my trauma-filled childhood, the survival mode of the present puts off the feelings for later. It isn’t until you have a calm moment that the feelings about what you just went through hit you.

The last 7 years hit me like an 18 wheeler. Going no contact with my family, living on the road, losing my job and being homeless, moving to nyc on a wing and a prayer, living with my sister and reliving A lot of my childhood through her behaviors, struggling through the capitalist ass New York art scene as an autistic person while also being very poor, working my fucking ass off, *just* about to hit my stride and do this fuckin career thang and boom. Covid.

I made an album, collaborated on a friend’s album, started my podcast and wrote a book. I’m in the middle of making another album. All this while feeling myself really trust someone, really learn what partnership means, really feeling like an adult, but also feeling so so wounded. The grief has been the heaviest thing I’ve ever felt. I lost myself a little bit. Insert bloody goopy chrysalis metaphor here.

I did all this but not joyfully, not really. Something was missing.

I have been trying, in the last few months, to unironically find my bliss again. I lost my sparkle, I lost my drive. I really feel like I experienced my own metaphorical death. I was anxious and raw, I second-guessed every interaction because I felt like I didn’t know how to be a person. I was completely sober!! Just fucking raw dogging life!!! I was scared all the time. I forgot my passions, I forgot my purpose. I still worked on stuff, I still created (a lot that I’m proud of!!) but idk I just wasn’t the same free-spirited confident lil powerhouse I came to know myself to be.

I think I gave too much on other social media. I think I was too vulnerable and too available and it got me into trouble. I think I confused work for life and I soured my own creation process for me. It became too important. Every hobby, every passion became kindling for money making or making “it” or whatever. I forgot how to have fun. I burnt myself out.

I recently started remembering hobbies I had that I never shared with anyone irl. Exercise/weight lifting, which I picked back up again in February, slowly testing the waters to see if my disordered relationship to it would return, it didn’t. Feeling myself getting stronger being exactly what I needed (literally and metaphorically) and all the good stuff that does to my confidence. Playing music just for fun, just sitting down with an instrument and playing 😫 locking myself in a room and flitting around like a mad scientist creating something I love 😫 dancing 😫 meditation 😫 journaling 😫 pulling tarot cards just for me 😫 and finally, longing for connection of some sort; for actual vulnerability and not people just fucking marketing themselves all the time— I remembered how much tumblr helped me. How much it inspired me. How it helped me become the person who made all those scary changes, who learned who I am and learned how to walk away. So much good came from that decade I spent here, so I decided to come back.

It’s exactly what I needed.

#I am finding myself again #life is just a spiral #here we go round again #personal #feelsies

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tenthgrove · 3 years ago

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500 Followers Celebration!!!: Part 1 (La Squadra Backstories)

Hey! Thank you so much for 500 amazing followers! Every single one of you mean so much to me!

Part 1 of this celebration is, as the title suggests, my headcanon backstory for each of La Squadra. As some of you know I was at some point in the process of writing a full multi-chapter fic on this, but since that unfortunately never came to fruition beyond the first couple chapters, here is a shortened version of the stories that were originally planned.

Part 2 is going to be a little something I wrote a while back but never felt brave enough to send to more than a few people. That will be seeing the light of day soon. ;)

Risotto

Risotto Dante Nero was born in a small, poor farming village in Sicily, somewhere in the vicinity of Catania. His parents were a young, dysfunctional couple who weren't ready for a kid in the first place. Seeing their newborn son had 'evil' eyes was the last nail in the coffin for them, and they gave the baby up to his paternal grandmother when he was only days old.

Despite being shunned by his family over the aesthetic defect, Risotto was able to form a close bond with his older cousin, Domenico, who would eventually move in with him and his grandmother after being disowned by the family himself. Domenico helped Risotto find friends, and was the main reason why the next few years were the happiest in the young boys life.

Unfortunately, Domenico was struck and killed at age just 19 by a drunk driver, a millionaire from Milan who on top of his intoxication, was driving incredibly fast. Risotto never recovered from the grief; his personality was altered drastically and he eventually dropped out of school. His grandmother indulged him in his revenge fantasies, believing that he would never seriously carry them out. This proved the biggest mistake of her life.

At age 18 Risotto left home to hunt down Domenico's killer. Despite the years of preparation he was in way over his head and was eventually forced to make a deal with Passione for the resources he would need to break into the mansion and not get caught. But the newly initiated mafioso found that revenge did nothing for his grief. Now, he simply had nothing to work for.

Risotto fell into a deep depression for the next two years, doing his duties as a low-ranking soldato for Passione but feeling utterly empty inside. It became so dire that after becoming injured in a fight with a stand user, he welcomed what looked to be his impending death.

But Risotto did not die that day, being saved by an associate of the gang and rushed to hospital. After hearing word that Risotto had defeated a stand user, Prosciutto became interested and approached Risotto for help with a hit he had been assigned to. Risotto agreed and Prosciutto developed a liking for the young man. A few months later, when Prosciutto was tasked with forming a specialised squad for assassination, he remembered Risotto and requested he become the team’s captain. Risotto was put through at once for receiving a stand, and was seated at the head of the brand new La Squadra di Esecuzione.

Prosciutto

Maiale Crepuscolo was born the daughter of a powerful Don in Naples, and his much neglected wife. Raised in luxury, he came to resent his callous father, especially when the man continued to behave adulterously despite his wife’s failing health. The death of Mrs Crepuscolo was a huge blow to her 16 year old son. It was around this time that Maiale discovered his male identity and chose a new name for himself: Prosciutto.

Mere months after the death of his wife, Don Crepuscolo married his pregnant mistress, a young woman by the name of Loreta. Despite the circumstances, Prosciutto and Loreta got on very well together, and the young man confided in her about his transgender identity, to be met with her full support. Any faith that Prosciutto may have had in his father before was immediately lost when Loreta was thrown out onto the streets by her new husband, along with their infant son Pesci. His sole reason for doing this was that he had become tired of her, and the baby's crying.

Without his father’s knowing, Prosciutto continued to wire Loreta and Pesci money through his hefty allowance, and counted down the days until he could graduate highschool and become eligible for his mother’s inheritance. The very day he gained access to it, he cut his father off for good.

The next few years of Prosciutto’s life were the best. He went to a prestigious university to study politics and afterwards found work as a journalist. With his father no longer an issue, he medically transitioned and upped the money he was giving to his half-brother and former step-mother. Everything was going perfectly.

At age 24, Prosciutto received a visit by members of Passione, who informed him they had annexed his father’s gang and killed him. As much as Prosciutto insisted they had been estranged for years, the men maintained that Prosciutto was still considered a threat, and could only be allowed to live if he joined the gang. Worse, they threatened him with Pesci’s life. Prosciutto knew he had no choice.

Over the next few years, Prosciutto worked his way up. By age 27 he was granted the privilege to develop a stand, and was quickly pushed into the assassination business as a result of its deadly power. At that time, Passione had no designated assassination team, and individuals ordered to carry out hits had to go running around for volunteers if they needed help on a mission. This is why Prosciutto had sought out Risotto.

When the order to form a hitman squad was given, Prosciutto was initially primed to become the captain. However, he was strongly against taking this role, as Loreta was starting to show signs of chronic illness and Prosciutto wanted to make sure he could still take care of Pesci if it became necessary. Tasked with finding an alternative, Prosciutto initially approached his old friends Sorbet and Gelato, who had been part of the squad sent to confront him after the death of his father and had kept in touch out of pity. The pair were cleared to join the team, but were not trusted by the team’s superiors to become captain. And so, Prosciutto turned once more to Risotto.

Sorbet and Gelato

Sorbet and Gelato could not have been born in more different circumstances, the former in absolute poverty, and the latter in comparative privilege.

Sorbet’s mother was by no means a bad woman. It was just the case that through her crippling addictions and mental illnesses, she was in no means equipped to care for her 6 children, forcing Sorbet, the eldest, to pick up the slack. Though he loved his siblings the young Sorbet resented this role and was easily tempted by a street gang at age 12, who offered him escape from his miserable life through drug peddling. Sorbet began to drift from his family more and more. He soon disappeared from school, and became completely estranged from his mother and siblings.

By age 17 Sorbet had developed a reputation in the gang for ruthlessness, and was approached by its leader to carry out a number of assassinations. He soon became the group’s designated hitman, and was paid generously for the role. He was still however, functionally homeless.

Gelato was born to an upper-middle class family in Minsk, Russia. The youngest of four boys, his parents had been hoping for a girl, and their resentment only grew when it became clear the young Gelato was both autistic and ADHD. He suffered from extreme emotional neglect.

When Gelato was 13, the family moved back to Italy where his mother was from. Though he preferred it here, the problems with his family continued and Gelato was eventually kicked out at just 17 years old.

Following the word of a friend, Gelato made his way to Naples and found work running an illegal bar for a street gang in exchange for a room to sleep in. The same gang, incidentally, that Sorbet was working for. The two first exchanged words when Gelato found Sorbet beating up a patron who had been abusive to him, and decided to join in. Within weeks, they were lovers.

One night, while Sorbet and Gelato were asleep upstairs, the police raided the bar. In a panic, Gelato shot two, and Sorbet took out a third. The fourth got away. Knowing they would be hunted, the pair begged refuge from their gang but were denied. They were not a powerful enough syndicate to deal with something of this size. And so, with only each other, Sorbet and Gelato fled Italy.

They were on the run for two years, passing through just about every country in Europe at least once. As a means of surviving, they took on assassination contracts from local gangs and became very skilled, but of course this only turned up the heat to catch them. Eventually, it got too much, and in a final desperate bid to avoid capture, the pair went back to Italy to plead their gang to reconsider.

What they found now in charge of Naples was not their gang, but Passione. A capo by the name of Pericolo listened to their story, and agreed eagerly to dissuade the police from pursuing them in exchange for their loyalty to the new gang. Sorbet and Gelato agreed at once, and developed stands soon after.

Formaggio

A Naples Boy through and through, Formaggio was born in the central city to a large, loving family. Owing to their poverty, all the aunts, grandparents and cousins lived in one house. Although many were part of the mafia, it was always stressed to the children they were under no obligation to choose such a life. Nonetheless, many of them still did.

One night, Formaggio’s eldest brother Miguel sneaked off from the house, telling nobody but Formaggio. His goal was to seek initiation into Passione. The young Formaggio pleaded to come as well, but was told he was not ready yet. Miguel returned a couple of hours later, carrying a metal arrowhead. He told his brother that something unexpected had happened, and he needed to go now, but it was vital Formaggio told nobody of this meeting. He promised it would all be worth it in the end.

Years passed, and Miguel did not return. Then one day- a hastily-written letter, addressed solely to Formaggio. In his final message, Miguel apologised for the absence and announced that he did not expect to survive the next few hours. However, if Formaggio wanted the answers to all that had transpired, all he needed to do was recover the arrowhead that he had last seen Miguel with all those years ago. Most likely, it would have been returned to where he found it, address enclosed. Saddened and eager to understand what had happened to his brother, Formaggio followed the instructions and broke into a heavily guarded warehouse. He found the arrow, just as Miguel had said, but failed to understand how this could solve his problems.

Formaggio looked for a way out of the warehouse, and was suddenly set upon by the guards. He ran for the exit and tripped, impaling himself on the arrow. Little Feet came forth at once, stunning the guards. Not wanting to deal with whatever that was, they called in Risotto and his newly built execution squad, based nearby, to deal with it.

Fortunately, the assassins’ skills were not needed. In spite of the circumstances Formaggio met the assassins with charm and cooperation. Risotto phoned his superiors to see if killing the man was really necessary, and they agreed it wasn’t, provided Formaggio became Risotto’s business. An agreement was reached, and Formaggio was inducted into the hitman squad. It would take two more members for Formaggio to piece together what had happened to his brother.

Ghiaccio

Ghiaccio was dealt an awful hand in life. Poor, and with parents that hated him, he had little respite as a child. He was autistic, but never diagnosed, and had visual impairments that were never addressed. His fondest memory was of a bizarre couple he met as a child, a dark-haired, dour man and his blond lover, who kept him company after his mother walked away from him in anger at a shopping mall. She came back, unfortunately.

When Ghiaccio was 15, a frantic knock sounded at his door while his parents were out. Answering it nervously, an equally frantic man stood on the other side brandishing an arrow-head. He introduced himself exhaustedly as Miguel and begged for shelter- he was being chased.

Before Ghiaccio could answer a squad of men burst onto the porch and attacked Miguel, dragging him out of view. Ghiaccio was thrown to the ground and told in no uncertain terms to speak of none of this to anyone. It wasn’t until later he realised the arrow had accidentally slashed him.

At that time, Ghiaccio’s soul was not fit to manifest a stand, but it was close. And so, Ghiaccio began to suffer the slow, agonising fate that some in his position fall victim to, his half-manifested stand slowly sucking the life from him. His parents didn’t even have the heart to call a doctor.

Two months into this agony, Ghiaccio heard something outside his room. His parents. They were talking about what to do if he died. He’d had enough. He snapped.

And so, Ghiaccio’s soul reached the point where it was strong enough to bare a stand fully, after having already partially manifested one. This unheard of situation created a stand with no physical form, but unspeakable power. A surge of ice broke out around the house without Ghiaccio even meaning it to, killing his parents at once. His sickness gone, Ghiaccio got up from the bed. What the hell had just happened?

Convinced he had lost his mind, Ghiaccio fled, but left a trail of unexplainable events behind him. Realising they were dealing with an unaccounted stand user, Passione had Ghiaccio hunted down and propositioned to join them. Terrified and with no other idea of what to do, he agreed. With a stand like this, there were only 2 options: La Squadra and La Unita. La Unita had no interest in an impulsive teenager, so Ghiaccio was sent at once to La Squadra.

The group was reluctant to house a teenage boy as an assassin, but took him in nonetheless. Formaggio was grateful for the crumbs of information Ghiaccio could give about the fate of his brother. Sorbet and Gelato couldn’t shake the feeling they’d seen the boy before somewhere.

Illuso

He was an only child. There was nothing particularly wrong with his relationship with his parents, but nothing particularly right either. There just… wasn’t a connection. They were a middle class family, well to do but nothing special. An arrogant boy, Illuso struggled to make friends, though he did become somewhat close with a boy in the year below him named Formaggio, for a short time.

When Illuso was 15, his parents came to him with a proposition. A distant relative of theirs was in possession of a large castle, but could not pay for its upkeep any more. The man had asked if Illuso would be interested in becoming a live-in caretaker, to be paid less than industry standards but still a lot by the standards of a 15 year old boy. Illuso agreed at once, and moved out of his parents home in a matter of days.

At the castle, his loneliness only grew. The place was closed to visitors and had no inhabitants apart from his new employer, who even then only lived in the castle 4 days a week. Illuso thought he was okay with this life, but the effect on his psyche was indisputable.

Then one day, the castle had a break-in. Illuso was accosted by a young man named Miguel, who had been squatting in the cellar for days and believed the castle was abandoned. The pair came to an understanding, and Miguel proposed that in exchange for his silence, he would give Illuso something amazing. He pricked him with the arrow.

Thrilled with his new power, Illuso agreed to keep Miguel’s existence a secret and the pair co-existed for many years. Illuso learned that Miguel had stolen the arrow from a gang named Passione, after discovering its power and making the decision to take it on impulse. Passione is still hunting him, hence the need to hide.

But eventually, they found him nonetheless. Illuso and Miguel tried their best to fight but it was an uneven battle. Miguel fled with the arrow, chased by one half of the attacking squad, leaving Illuso to deal with the other half.

But against all odds, Illuso survived, using his stand to eliminate the attackers one by one. Eventually the last attackers gave in and fled, The next people sent to confront Illuso came with a deal: join Passione, and all will be forgiven.

Despite his stand’s power, Illuso’s superiors disliked his attitude. After a few months of being thrown between teams, he was saddled with La Squadra.

Melone

The middle of three children, Melone was born to an upper-working class family in Florence. His parents were eccentric-academic sorts, who encouraged Melone and his sisters to act without regard for social convention. Though intelligent, Melone was never quite top of the class due to his inability to stay on task. Still, he got into a decent university and had plans to become a gynaecologist.

In his second year, Melone was approached by a poor couple seeking antenatal care for their pregnancy. As they explained, they were in a gang and could not go into public care for fear of their identities as criminals being discovered. They pleaded Melone for whatever rudimentary checks he could provide, just so they could have some assurance their baby was okay. Melone agreed, and met with the couple several times.

Over the course of the next year, Melone gave similar services to a couple more women who were recommended to go to him by the first patient. It was only a matter of time before the university discovered what he was doing, especially once he started stealing equipment to improve the quality of his examinations. Melone was expelled and referred to the police, but one of his patients got Passione to bribe away his charges. Unfortunately, this put him in their debt. Melone told his family he was simply going away for a while.

Melone languished around in Passione for a while. Though he did receive a stand, its lethal capabilities weren’t immediately clear, and so he remained in the lower ranks. His main respite was the bar scene, in which he got to mingle with many of Passione’s members from different squads. It was through here that he met Illuso, Formaggio and Ghiaccio of the execution team, and formed a friendship. Through them he even formed links with the group’s leader, Risotto.

The team were eager to help Melone advance to a better position, and aided him in exploring his stand. Eventually, he discovered how lethal baby face could truly be, outshining everyone’s expectations. Risotto was pleased to welcome him into the team.

Pesci

By the time Pesci was 13, it was clear his mother’s illness was terminal. Initially reluctant to involve him around the team, Prosciutto increasingly allowed Pesci to stay with them while his mother was at the hospital, since there was nowhere else for the young boy to go. As much as everyone tried to comfort him, he was terrified.

Two years later, it was clear Loreta was in her final weeks. Pesci dedicated as much time as he could to being with her, sleeping at her bedside more often than not. It was here that he first felt the strange occurrences begin. It would be subtle at first, the peculiar feeling of his mother’s heartbeat in his hands as he drifted off to sleep. It was comforting, then. It assured him his mother was still alive. Then, it got weirder, a long string extending from his fingers and into his mother’s chest. He thought he was just sleep deprived.

When the fateful day came and Loreta’s heart monitor stopped, Pesci felt a surge of panic. Desperate to find some proof this wasn’t really happening, his stand burst forth from his body and shot its hook into Loreta’s chest. Unfortunately, it was all for nothing. Loreta was dead.

As Pesci held the rod in his hands he realised this was far too real to be a hallucination. He could sense everything, the fading metabolism of his mother’s body and the vibrations in the floor. As the nurses confirmed the death, they could not see it. Why couldn’t they see it?

Prosciutto came into the room. With one look, Pesci knew that his brother could see the rod as well. He panicked and ran.

Prosciutto tried desperately over the next couple days to get in touch with Pesci. He knew exactly what had happened- clearly the boy had summoned a stand from the anguish of his mother’s death and had freaked out in confusion. That’s all completely understandable, but if Pesci isn’t informed of what his new power means soon, he could get himself into serious trouble. Especially if Passione found out.

And so, Prosciutto set off with Risotto to hunt Pesci down, eventually finding him at a run down park near his childhood home. Prosciutto comforted him and explained he knew what was happening, but if everything was going to be okay, he had to go with them.

#la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #formaggio #illuso #prosciutto #pesci #melone #ghiaccio #risotto nero #sorbet and gelato

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heraldofzaun · 3 years ago

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what are your thoughts on viktor and being neurodivergent? though like, obligatory disclaimer that if riot ever did come out and say that "hey! viktor is canonically [something]" that would be catastrophic but i think it is a little bit of fun for consideration

Oh! Well I like to think he's autistic, which is partially because I am too. (Of course in canon it would be catastrophic because haha, oh man, look at how they've treated Blitzcrank's biographies ever since they gave him an updated one. There's some coding in there, alright, and I am... not a fan...)

I’ve posted a lot of long posts recently (this is no exception) and this is also on a kind of tricky subject, so I’m readmore’ing it.

So anyways, while I have to admit that some of the reason why (my) Viktor is autistic is because I am - I think that you can make a general semi-convincing argument. Or I'm so wrapped up in my own interpretations that I can, at the least. Anyways, from here on out when I say Viktor I mean my personal take. Your mileage may vary on applying this to other interpretations.

(Also, thoughts on new lore Jayce's being kind of coded to be like, a stereotypical autistic dude? (If you have any I mean.) I don't like that Riot is doing it, of course, but I've seen a few good rehabilitative takes on it in fandom. @hamartio's Jayce springs to mind, because their Jayce has been developed over the years and also written by someone who like. Cares. Anyways, I have my own personal Jayce ideas that rely on his old lore so he's not really an asshole there, at least in those regards, so I don't really have many thoughts on new Jayce. I think new Viktor is... pretty coded as well, but it’s also insanely stereotypical. The whole “always working, always wants certainty, gets into automation not because he (primarily) wants to help those injured by catastrophes in Zaun but because the catastrophes interrupt his work” thing makes me uncomfortable. Maybe I’ll write sometime on why the rewrite of his lore fails, in my opinion, to hit upon the same themes of his first - would that be of interest to folks? Anyways, this parenthetical is too long.)

I think that autistic Viktor is cool and makes sense, somewhat because of the fact that the ways he goes about solving his problems are, er, unorthodox. (Of course I am not saying that the GE is because he’s autistic, because that’s stupid. This is why I’m kind of squirrely about talking so openly about what I think Viktor’s got going on, and why I don’t really trust if a non-autistic person headcanons him as autistic. There’s a lot of room for that headcanon to just reinforce the “autistic people are supergeniuses with no emotions that work based off of Facts and Logic” trope, and I hate that.) Since a lot of autism is about feeling adrift from/at odds with neurotypical society, I think that Viktor’s general solutions and also his idealistic leanings in the face of everything Zaun is tracks for that. Roboticization makes sense as a way to stop suffering and death, because it’s more achievable than individual feats of immortality through magic or whatever. Viktor doesn’t really get why people would be so opposed to it - he’s made it clear that while he dislikes his own emotions and wants them gone, he doesn’t expect others to cast off theirs. (Maybe he expected that when he was in the thick of his emotional pain, mostly because he couldn’t imagine others choosing differently than he at the time, but not in the current day.)

Of course, externally, when the scary cyborg man who admits to cutting off his own limbs says “no, being a robot is cool, you can keep your emotions even”, any Zaunite (or any person) is going to interpret that as “he is definitely lying”. Viktor doesn’t quite make that leap. (I have thoughts on the whole Theory of Mind concept and I don’t mean to say that Viktor can’t empathize - he does, and does too much - with others, but I think that in this instance he just can’t quite understand sometimes why people don’t believe him.) He also doesn’t quite get why people would be so attached to the bodies that they’re currently in, especially if he can make a mechanical replica. Or why people might want to die and pass into non-existence after a life well lived. (To him, personally, there’s always more to do. Also he’s terrified of death but that’s another topic.)

I also think that Viktor’s empathy is of the hyper- rather than hypo- kind, partially because I feel like outside of self-advocacy groups the mere concept of autistic hyperempathy is seen as like... impossible? It’s also because he generally seems to be kind of an emotional guy in canon before Stanwick, what with the lore saying that “almost no trace of the original man remained” in reference to Viktor reemerging as someone without emotions. That, combined with the fact that he was described as having a “hope to better society” before everything went down, kind of makes me believe that he was a naive idealist type. (Again, not that autism makes you naive, but...) But yes, hyperempathy. Hence "no pain, no wars, no suffering, no death” being part of his ideology for the Glorious Evolution. He gets pretty ripped up about people being hurt, and it’s really only gotten worse over the years as he’s grasped the full scope of pain in the world.

Personally, I write pre-Stanwick-incident Viktor as someone who is still somewhat awkward with expressing emotion, but it’s not due to him not having them. It’s due to the fact that the ways in which he naturally expressed them and in which he interacted with the world were just... seen as odd/different/etc. (I don’t think Runeterra has an autism diagnosis or particularly excellent psychology, even in Piltover and Zaun, so he just gets the “you’re a weird dude” treatment for his entire life.) Stimming or smiling a certain way or talking a lot about his interests or, you know, the general autistic existence is weird to most people around him, as it unfortunately is in real life. So he’s more reserved until you actually know him, because he’s just masking all the time. (Fun fact about my Viktor: he’s pretty expressive under that actual mask of his. It helps to not have to micromanage expressions all the time when he isn’t experiencing a bout of flat affect due to [gestures vaguely at everything else going on with his mental state], although he sometimes feels poorly about not being able to manage himself. But that’s his issues, and I think it’s good for him to show emotion.)

Side note - Stanwick was able to do such a number on Viktor due to: a) Stanwick being very charismatic and manipulative, on top of being an actually smart man and scientist - he’s really a great example of a “good Zaunite”, in the sense of being good at being what the culture rewards, b) Viktor actively dealing with the death of his parents and Stanwick being an older adult who’d treated him kindly and had never seemed put-off by Viktor’s oddities, and c) Viktor not realizing that he’d get backstabbed, because yes he knows that that happens in academia but Stanwick’s nice. Whether or not the outcomes would have been the same if Viktor were more competent at being “a good Zaunite”... well, probably not. Viktor ended up where he did because of who he is.

(Secondary side note: Viktor has a very strong and very black-and-white sense of what’s right and wrong, as well as general black-and-white thinking. You can see how that would have... not helped in the situations he was put through.)

This is getting kind of rambling, but I guess the point of this is that Viktor’s wanting to remove his emotions may be cloaked in the language of them being “inefficient” or “unhelpful”, which would feed into autistic stereotypes, but it’s really more of a matter of them being too painful and raw for him to process. He feels too much and hurts too much, and no amount of positive emotions in the world will (in his mind) make up for the pain he’s felt and will feel. So it’s better to not feel anything at all, isn’t it? At least then you aren’t overwhelmed by it all.

Viktor just hasn’t fit in with Zaun for all his life, really. Not as an odd child who can tell you all about science-fiction and techmaturgy, not as an odd and reserved teenager/young adult, not as a bright young doctoral student still dealing with grief but trying to make the best of it, and... not as the Machine Herald. But now he’s given up on trying to fit in, for better or for worse.

(Other miscellaneous and less serious autistic thoughts on him: generally a pretty fixed diet, partially due to being autistic but also due to what’s easily available in Zaun + what agrees with his stomach. A fan of weight and pressure - I like to think that the reason his outfit is like that is that he finds it comforting, and also that he has a weighted blanket or two around. Special interests of general techmaturgy, robotics, and science-fiction. He can talk for hours about any of those, and has. Both his parents were mildly spectrum-y, his mother a little bit moreso, so they just kinda assumed that him being him was out-of-the-ordinary and a bit strange but not something “horribly wrong”. Oh! And his third arm, which is under a little less conscious control than the rest of him, still stims sometimes when he’s working or otherwise not paying attention to it.)

This was very long and jumped around a lot, because I find it hard to give a convincing paragraph-by-paragraph argument about exactly why I think that Viktor is autistic, or rather why I headcanon him as such. But hopefully it was interesting! I just have a lot of thoughts on him, as well as the general state of autistic-coded or perceived-as-autistic-by-individuals (both allistic and autistic) characters in media and so it’s very hard to do anything concise without branching out into discussing other topics.

#anonymous #headcanons | beneath the mask #//preemptive remark that these are my own thoughts on autism which are filtered through the lens of my life experiences #//as well as that of some aspects (emphasis on some) of academic research. baron-cohen can choke with his theories #//also i did not explain some terms here under the assumption that those reading would probably already know them. feel free to ask if not!

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equinoxts2 · 4 years ago

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My mental health is a bit fragile at the moment. Kulo Seeri is semi-playable now, and I’m trying to use this first rotation as therapy. But the urge to post about what I’m going through is getting overwhelming... (problem under the cut, post tagged non-sims for my fellow paranoid neophobes, content warning for descriptions of every kind of bigotry under the sun)

For the past month or so, I’ve been trying a new strategy for dealing with my demons. When one of them comes into my mind saying something that it knows will make me upset or angry, I picture myself giving it a flower (a daisy, always a daisy for some reason) and watching it walk away. Then I feel better and can get back to whatever I was doing. However... it doesn’t work on memories from school. And the demons aren’t completely clueless, which means those memories - and the accompanying flashback panic - are getting much more frequent.

Primary school was bad enough. As if being an autistic girl in the 90s didn’t set me up for enough problems, I was also a fluent reader long before I even started, and probably more intelligent than any of my teachers. In my first few weeks, I’d corrected the headteacher on his spelling and made a lifelong enemy of him in the process. My second year teacher was constantly calling my parents into school to complain that I wasn’t every other kid in the class. (I don’t remember her much, I think I suppressed those particular memories. My mum says one incident involved her taking issue with me giving the robots I was colouring in female names... I wish I’d known the word gynoid in 1997.)

We moved closer to my extended family when I was halfway through my last year of primary. The school I was at for those last six months was a good one, where I wasn’t treated badly as far as I remember, but it was still only six months. After that, things got really bad. My first day at secondary school, I went off feeling really excited and came home crying because the prefects and the other new kids had all been picking on me. I think part of it was that I wasn’t ready to stand around talking instead of playing at break, but I don’t remember much of that either. My parents pulled me out of the school and I had home tutors for a year or so, before being sent to a place for kids who couldn’t cope with mainstream schooling, an hour’s drive from my home. I thought it couldn’t be worse than what I’d left. I was SO WRONG.

Now, I’ve always been a spiritual person, of the Pagan/Buddhist hybrid variety - and this “special needs” school was run by a Christian fundamentalist couple, who had an agreement with my parents to respect my beliefs and not force me to attend their religious study classes or the sermons disguised as assembly. They spent the next four years trampling over that agreement in stompy boots. It was obvious from day one that I wasn’t welcome there - most of the other inmates were boys who hated me because I was a girl, smarter than them, and not into hair and shoes and pop stars; I didn’t hang around with any of the other girls because they were into hair and shoes and pop stars and I never was; even the teachers picked on me (when the others deliberately provoked me, I’d be the one who got in trouble for reacting...) I got constant verbal, mental and sometimes physical abuse, and the principal, an ex-Royal Air Force member who enjoyed bullying vulnerable children, once chased me up the stairs and I cried for a whole hour. I danced out of the door on my last day there, and I hate dancing because they made me take dance lessons for a while when I was there.

After I left, I was terrified of all males for a while. I was scared to come out as asexual, aromantic and nonbinary, because everyone else at that place was homophobic and I got quite enough grief from them when they thought I was heterosexual. I was down in the depths of depression for several years, and when I began to recover, I tried to get back into all the things that they’d tried to beat out of me - my innate love of creativity, diversity and the supernatural - but their attitudes towards all those things leave a bitter taste in my mouth even now. I don’t want their approval - never did - but their hateful comments still mar those passions, and the memories still sting.

I don’t know what made me want to open up about all this. It took me a few sessions before I could even tell my therapists, and I’m well aware that the internet is home to multiple people as nasty as my former classmates and teachers. But I feel like I’ll pop if I don’t tell someone, and I have a lot of good friends here. I hope they will understand.

#vt's personal problems #non sims #not sims #rambly post

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chiisai-fukurou · 4 years ago

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About my hiatus :)

Long time no see... It has been a while since I published an article here...

A lot has happened and I think I cannot look at my blog the same way I did... I’ve been to Japan again last December and it was wonderful. I’ve spent a lot of time helping my friends and a lot of time visiting a neurologist for some troubles I’ve had for as long as I could think. It took a lot of time off of my schedule that I had to work hard to get back.

For a long time I had to fight with that feeling of being alien and not being able to fit in. For as long as I could think a lot of things just went over my head and I couldn’t fathom some things that happened around me. I cannot share a lot of things people around me think and talk about. There has been this suspicion that I’m autistic for a long time now so last year I decided to bite the bullet and get an appointment for a diagnosis.

It took 7 month of waiting for me to get to my first appointment. I chose a reputable neurologist/psychologist because I’m not a fan of “I think I have XX and just need a doctor to sign the diagnosis I made myself.” because if you want to improve your situation an accurate assessment of your current status is kind of paramount. I had several, hours long appointments that were quite costly but to me it was worth the time and money I paid for it. It was a very interesting experience too. There is a lot of testing and there are a lot of questions being asked to make sure it isn't something else causing you these troubles. There are a lot of things that can cause similar symptoms that are not autism. So carefully getting to the bottom of things takes time and multiple appointments to make sure that a bad or a good day didn't impact the diagnosis. I had to get a MRT too to make sure it is not brain damage that is causing the symptoms. I’m happy to declare that my brain is okay :) I’m however impartial to the diagnosis of autism/Aspergers.

I’m very happy I did this. The diagnosis allows me to get adequate help should I need it and it helps me understand my surroundings a lot better. The neurologist had a great analogy for my situation too: Autists have a different operating system running their hardware. Stimuli get processed in a very different way and there is no filter or automation happening that could help you with even simple conversations... Hence the seeming inability of autistic people to do smalltalk... Imagine the hell that human interaction can be, having to think of every sentence you say because you cannot do it casually or automatically, not being able to read the mood, knowing that you disappointed or hurt people without any chance of preventing it in the future... To many people this sounds weird and like I’m not even trying... I’m and the Neurologist told me I’m really well adapted but there are limits to how well one can adjust. Basically “normal” people have a social autopilot that handles a lot of things for them and autistic people don’t. We can never really relax in a social event because we get battered with details that we can't filter out. It’s tiring and yet I wish it wouldn't be tiring... because I wish to share things with friends and people. It took some time to get things sorted and deal with this experience.

I’m fine and in some way I felt liberated and happy I finally know what is up.

I had to weed out some connections that caused me grief and think of many things that happened in the past. A lot of things make sense now :)

I had an accident too this year breaking my left arm (;_;) and some stuff on my bicycle... I had a strained neck too... the surgeon didn't want to believe how quickly my bones healed (°_°;) The crack that ran through 75% of my Ulna wasn't visible or detectable anymore after 3 weeks... The accident happened while I was riding at 40 km/h on my bicycle and touched a curb with the wheels... It happened after a long long day at work right when the whole COVID19 thing started to take off in Germany. I couldn’t get lunch at work and had spend the whole day on water with a empty tummy... I was tired, hungry and worn out. I just wanted to go home and didn't pay enough attention...

Anyway I’m fine now :) My bike is fine again too :)

However because of this a lot of tasks at work were piling up and when I came back I had to do a lot of stuff trying to get on top of things... Because I work at a company that makes medical devices the current situation kind of overwhelmed the company as well... basically we get as many orders per month as we used to get within a year... This is incredibly challenging as our suppliers often can't keep up with the demand but I’m very happy to report that everyone of them is doing their best to keep up and to stay on top of the whole situation :,) I’m happy i can do my small part in saving lives and I think that a company where people stick together and try to do their best in trying times is incredibly valuable :)

Last year, while travelling through Japan, I once again noticed how awful tourist spots have become (-_-) Japan is close to my heart and I like the country and its people a lot. Many tourists behave badly, not out of ill intent but out of ignorance... Japanese value quiet, peaceful and clean behaviour but a lot of tourists seem to be unable to behave this way... They litter, leave toilets behind that are disgusting, are rude, don’t pay attention and seem to think Japan is a theme park. I like this country and I’m saddened that other foreigners tarnish the image of visitors and are taking advantage of incredibly kind people who welcome you as a guest :,( I felt bad that I wrote all those articles that might have inspired this kind of people to go to Japan :,( I want this kind of people to stay at home. You're ruining it for everyone else. My friends cheered me up a lot. Still the sight of drunken tourists puking on Takao-San in Tokyo or yelling loudly in a group at a shrine, throwing their cigarets and garbage on the streets in Kyoto, running through the streets while yelling or necessitating the fencing in of neighbourhood shrines because some dippshit thought it would be fun to put graffiti on them makes me incredibly sad. I’m sorry for the negativity but this has been troubling me a lot.

I received some questionable messages too... I’m a guy but some people seemed to assume that I’m a Japanese girl for some reason...

Anyway I kind of came to terms with things and will start writing again.

I hope people will become more respectful over time :)

I’m sorry for the rant I put in this article m(_ _)m I felt like I had to get it off of my chest because this has been bothering me a lot.

P.S. if you think autism is caused by vaccines, being autistic is better than being dead or to suffer from the consequences of an otherwise preventable disease. You do not “get” autism, one of the conditions that has to be met to get a diagnosis is that you had to have symptoms right from the start. Things that can cause similar symptoms are brain damage, PTSD, ADHD (you are born with that too and cannot get it) and certain medications. These however are different from autism in that they have to be treated differently. Hence the focus during diagnosis on making sure not to diagnose one of the other things as autism. I showed symptoms for as long as I can think back.

I hope you’ll forgive me for my long absence and won't change your attitude towards me :)

I’m still me albeit more confident and accepting of myself since I don't need to pester myself with questions like “why didn't i understand that.”, “Why can't I do that?”, etc. :)

Thank you to everyone who read through all of this :) I wish you a great time with sweet daydreams (^-^)/

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ourimpavidheroine · 5 years ago

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An Anniversary

Five years ago today, the 13th of February, 2015, I published, all in one shot, a piece of fanfiction called Please Excuse My Penmanship.

I hadn’t, at that point, written - never mind published - any fanfiction for over fifteen years. I had written some X-Files fanfic back in the day but I’d lost it; my backup floppies disappeared when I moved to Finland and, like just about everyone else back then, the places I had posted it to online disappeared without warning. (Toss a coin to your Archive, oh valley of plenty.) I’d been pretty torn up about losing my fic that way, which put me off writing. Time went on; I had twins in 2002 and they both turned out to have non-verbal autism and different flavors of ADD/ADHD and my life got very complicated and very difficult for a lot of years there. Writing for pleasure wasn’t even on the table.

By 2015 my life had settled a bit. My wife was disabled and suffering from severe and untreated depression and the kids were in special ed and a lot of therapies but we were managing. I had watched Avatar: The Last Airbender with my kids (on DVD - they were too young for it when it first aired) and had gone on to watch The Legend of Korra with them as well.

I really liked Mako as a character; he was too internal and complex for most of the kids watching, however, and wasn’t well liked. Most fans saw an inflexible jerk who caused and fucked up a love triangle; what I saw was an autistic man who was suffering from pretty severe PTSD. He grabbed my interest. I related.

I really liked his dynamic with Prince Wu, despite the fact that he was a really annoying character. Queer-coded as fuck, although the showrunners were plainly ignoring it. And I started to headcanon who they would be as a couple. How to make Wu less annoying while still making him canon Wu? How to humanize Mako while still acknowledging his autism and PTSD? Headcanon was all it was, though, a way for me keep myself occupied. I’ve been writing stories inside my head as long as I can remember. It’s what I’ve always done.

I read a post on here on Tumblr where the OP stated that there was no such thing as a good Letter Fic; I thought to myself, Bet I could do it. And so in the end of January 2015 I sat down at my PC and started to type up all of my headcanon.

I went back and forth with Wu. What I first started to write was too clumsy, by half; I tried to stick to his endless slang and it was as annoying as it had ever been on the show. I knew if I stuck to that shallow, silly, stupid, canon Wu he wouldn’t be interesting to read. I struggled with it for a time until I remembered something.

My maternal grandmother told me a story once about a girl from Mexico. Claudia was her name; she was a year older than my mother. Her own mother had died when she was born; her father, who was one of my grandfather’s business partners in Mexico, had left her in the care of her grandparents, who were extraordinarily wealthy denizens of Mexico City. At some point the adults involved thought that it would be a great idea to send this girl to stay with my mother’s family to learn English; in return, my mother would then go and stay a summer in Mexico City to learn Spanish. (Which she did; she’s fluent to this day.) Claudia had no English at all but my grandmother had working Spanish and I guess they all figured it would be enough for this poor girl?

The first day Claudia arrived in San Francisco my grandmother kindly showed her into the bathroom and told her to take a shower. My Grams realized about ten minutes or so later that the water hadn’t turned on; she went to check on her and there she was, sitting obediently on the toilet seat, fully dressed, waiting for the maid to come and undress her and turn the water on for her shower.

She had no idea how to do either of those things for herself. She had never, at the age of thirteen, undressed herself or operated a shower. And there it was, the opening of my story. Wu remembers arriving in Republic City on the run from the Red Lotus, checking into the hotel, and having no idea whatsoever what to do next. And I thought to myself...What if he isn’t actually stupid?

And there he was. My Wu. Just like that.

I wrote feverishly for a week, drawn into the story that was sitting in my head, waiting to be told. I didn’t have a Betareader; my wife liked my writing but rather tersely told me that TLOK wasn’t her fandom and she wasn’t interested in reading it, something that hurt me pretty deeply, especially since my X-Files fanfic was how we’d actually connected in the first place.

(She was, at that time, in the process of slowly dying of heart failure, but I didn’t know that then.)

I wasn’t going to publish it. I just wanted to write it, to see if I still had it together after a seventeen year hiatus. Wuko wasn’t at all a popular ship; after the show finale a couple of months prior all the fanfiction being feverishly written and published was Korrasami. (In fact, I checked AO3 at the time and found exactly two Wuko fanfics, both of which were one-shots and not to my particular taste.) I went back and forth with it and then thought, Fuck it. I’ll just do it. And maybe no one will read it but at least I’ll have done it. I read it through one more time and then, on the thirteenth of February, took a deep breath, told myself to stop being a coward, and posted the entire fic at once.

I got my first comment, and I was elated. And then I thought to myself, Well, fuck, you may as well write some of the other stuff in your head. You might learn something about yourself as a writer on the way.

Then, a few months later, on the seventeenth of June, my world fell apart. My wife, staying at our summer cottage with our twelve year old twins, died of a heart attack while the kids were off playing and I was here at home, getting ready to travel down the next day on the train to meet them all for the summer. My daughter was the one to find her; she was long past saving at that point. Family friends brought the children, our pets, and our car the two hours back home as I collapsed on the floor of our flat and rocked myself back and forth, wordlessly keening, my hands trembling uncontrollably.

The next year was unspeakable. I was a widow at forty-six; I was living in a foreign country with two disabled children, with no family or friends nearby and an imprecise grasp of the language. My wife had told me she had life insurance; she lied. I was flat broke. My grief was deep and whole and devastating; my children were traumatized and barely functioning. I had no one to help me, and I’d cook meals at midnight so my sleeping children wouldn’t hear me sobbing in the kitchen.

And I wrote.

I wrote out of desperation; I had to do something to keep me tethered to this world. I wrote of love and families, of a traumatized child from the street that was my daughter’s age, full of bravado and choked fury. I wrote of an autistic boy growing into a man, bullied and shunned, aching to be free, much like my own.

I took my children to more therapists. I took myself to a therapist that turned out to be homophobic; I found another one. I made dinners; I cleaned the house, I walked in circles around my living room, whispering over and over to myself, You’re okay you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay, before making another phone call.

And I wrote.

In August of 2018 my daughter attempted suicide and was hospitalized. I was trying to write I Do Not Ask The Night For Explanations and I had to stop. I had severe panic attacks whenever I tried to work on it. I brought her home and I cut my work hours down to four hours a week so that I could be with her at all times; she wasn’t safe to be left alone. I cared for her. I cared for her twin, who was terrified, unable to sleep, afraid that if he wasn’t watching her she’d try it again. I fought until I got them different therapists. I stopped sleeping. My health suffered.

And I wrote. When I could. It was, without any doubt at all, the only thing that was keeping me going during that time. I would tell myself that I had to keep going, that I still had so much of this story in my head, I needed to get it out. Sometimes I would write while sobbing. Sometimes I would sit here at my desk and nothing would come. I just kept going, though.

It’s better now. She missed most of last year of school and is making it up this year and doing so well. Her brother is at a new school and has, for the first time in his life, made friends. I was able, in December, to actually leave them for three days; the first time I had been away from them since we lost their mother.

They’ll be eighteen this summer and we’re finally able to breathe. We’re moving forward, the three of us. We’re still broken, but we’re making something new out of the pieces instead of trying to put them back together.

My writing is what saved me. It wasn’t about how many hits/comments/kudos I got; I appreciate every single one I get, believe me. But the writing was making me hold myself accountable, making myself get out of bed, get dressed, brush my hair and teeth, sit down and try. Sometimes that was all I could manage; the writing just wasn’t happening. But it gave me a goal when I needed one. And boy, did I need one.

Thank you all for reading. For those of you that have been there since the beginning and those who just started reading now. For those who faded away from the fandom over time or who left because they didn’t like how the story was going; I wish you well and thanks for reading when you did. Thank you for the hits and the kudos and the comments. You may not have known you were helping to save me, but you were. So thank you.

I am not done writing yet. I am not oblivious; I know I am so far in AU territory now that you’re for all intents and purposes reading original fic. That’s okay. It’s the story that was in my head, that is still in my head. Maybe someday I’ll try to publish it and maybe I won’t, and I’m fine with that. I’m not ready at this point to do what’s necessary to take it past fanfic and that’s okay. It has served and is continuing to serve its purpose for me; if you all enjoy it then that’s just biscuits and gravy, as my Great-Aunt Margie used to say.

I wrote us all a little anniversary ficlet; this takes it full circle for me. (And then back I go to Wu and Qi’s wedding!)

Mind the warnings at the bottom if you think you need them.

Chapter 132: 252: Wu

#My fanfiction #five year anniversary #long post #cw:death #cw:suicide #cw:trauma

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moiraineswife · 7 years ago

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Autistic!Kaz Headcanons

Just bc I can. You should all read @barrelrat‘s initial post about this that initially got me thinking this way/that inspired a few of the following. But basically I couldn’t sleep last night so here we are.

-Kaz longing for the quiet, peaceful familiarity of the farm when he first comes to Ketterdam. The city is too big, too loud, too bright, too crowded, too much. Everything overwhelms him for the first few weeks, and he clings to Jordie as the only stable, familiar anchor that he has.

-He picks up magic/sleight of hand quickly/easily because in addition to being a special interest, the constant, repetitive movements he practiced over and over again necessary to let him master the skills are stims. He does this a lot unconsciously. One of his favourites is manipulating small stacks of coins in his hands, or shuffling packs of cards.

-One of the things that makes him so successful with magic, with conning, with life tbh is his Need to know why. (this is canon, and I love it, so it’s not really a hc but see if I care) His plans are so detailed, so meticulous, and generally go so well because of how thoroughly he understands each and every detail of them. It’s not enough to know that, for instance, Wylan’s timed bombs will go off when he says they will, Kaz needs to understand the mechanics behind them. This helps him spot weaknesses, flaws, and patterns, and is one of the things that makes him so successful.

-Kaz being touch averse before Jordie’s death. Only now there are images and grief attached to the aversion. That makes it worse but also, in a twisted kind of way, better. Because at least now there’s a Reason behind it, and he can understand it.

-Kaz plans everything. From breaking into the Ice Court, to basic, every day to-do lists. He can do it all mentally, and keep track of everything that way, but he likes writing it all down. IT’s a way of taking control and it’s grounding/calming. Probably has an old blackboard/some chalk in his office at The Slat. It’s stimmy and it means he can doodle elaborate lists and plans all over it.

-Most of his stims are small things that he can hide. The streets worked out the notable ones from him a long time ago. He strokes the head of his cane, tracing all of the deep lines and groves in it, lingering on patches that are especially smooth. He flexes his hands - the feeling of the leather gloves curling around them is especially Good. Is also prone to leg dancing and finger tapping (especially to music. He picks out the beats of any nearby music and taps along to the them) But they’re all things that he can be discreet about. He used to hum, but when he was abandoned on the streets it was too much of a giveaway and he trained himself to stop.

-Kaz saying he has a headache when he becomes overloaded because he doesn’t know how else to explain that he needs to leave this place now.

-First signs of him heading towards a meltdown is always irritability. He becomes v easily frustrated, snaps sharply if interrupted, becomes frantic if he can’t easily find something, and is agitated and irritated by even small sounds in his vicinity. Will murder you for being too Loud when he’s like this because he just can’t deal with it.

-Never has meltdowns in front of other people. He instinctively suppresses them in public/on a job. This typically causes a massive shutdown afterwards. he locks himself in his room, turns off all the light, and buries himself in his bed where it’s dark and quiet. He refuses to see anyone during that time, and everyone knows not to bother him/to let him recover in peace.

-Has shutdowns more frequently than meltdowns. Becomes nonverbal during them, very withdrawn and unresponsive - typically the only communication anyone gets out of him then is nods/shakes of the head.

-Bad trauma days make his sensory issues much, much worse. Some days he can’t leave his room because the very feel of the air on his skin is too much. He won’t even let Inej see him on those days, he needs to be alone to be able to meltdown/stim and process everything the way he needs to.

-Occassionally becomes utterly Consumed by short but very very intense special interests. Once developed one in baking, it only lasted about a week but it was Intense. He was covered in flour for days and was constantly trying new things, and tweaking old recipes to make them completely perfect. Only Kaz could turn cake-making into a form of science. He experimented with different methods of mixing, different amounts of flour, the order he added the ingredients in etc etc etc. The Dregs were baffled but delighted. Nina swears she has never eaten better waffles in her entire life.

-His cane becomes a comfort object, he gets really angsty if he doesn’t have it close at hand at all times. His gloves are comfort objects too, even if he manages to stop wearing them all the time, he always keeps them on him. Inej brings him back a small, smooth, polished stone she found on her travels - it becomes a comfort object, too. He always has it in his pocket.

-Can recreate maps/building plans he’s studied incredibly accurately....But he has no sense of direction. Frequently gets lost in The Slat. Only manages to navigate the city bc he’s carefully memorised maps/routes/landmarks.

-APD has him threatening to gag Jesper at least twice a week because ‘I can’t process two different speakers/conversations at once, Jesper shut up.’

-Loves listening to Wylan play flute. Will legit sit and listen to him quietly for hours. Wylan starts noticing when Kaz is getting overloaded and, if he’s able, will discreetly play for a little while to help ground him.

-One time Inej changed her perfume an he became so irritated and bothered and he couldn’t understand why which was almost more frustrating. Eventually she realised what was wrong.

-Hates clothes with high/tight collars, they feel like they’re strangling him.

-I’m not entirely sure if this is possible Heartrender wise, or rather, if it was possible pre-parem but, like, humour me okay? He asks Nina to use her abilities to lessen the quality of his hearing/eyesight/touch, just slightly, and only for short periods of time, but it really helps when he’s becoming overloaded.

-Will cut you if you fuck with his routine/his plans in any way. (Always has v precise, detailed plans and no, we can’t go there first, because if we go there first then x, y, z will happen, and we won’t be able to do that, and the world will end no just everybody do as I say I have worked this shit out)

-Absently stroking Inej’s hair = The Best Stim.

-The pickiest of picky eaters.

-Kaz ‘I don’t like new things’ Brekker. Nina despairs over him bc he orders exactly the same thing every single time they go out for anything to eat.

-One time a restaurant took his item off their menu and Kaz Twitched uncomfortably until the owner told him they kept a few of the necessary ingredients on-hand for him so he could still have it. All of Ketterdam relaxed and a shrine was later built to this good woman’s sense.

-Had to carefully teach himself to read each individual person’s tone/expressions/body language etc for each job. He constantly studies people and improves his understanding of them - it’s like watching for tells in a fight/card game, but with everything. Keeps very detailed, very extensive notes. Doesn’t realise that not everyone has to do this until Nina spots his notes on her and is just like ??? Kaz ??? is this necessary ?????

-Dsypraxia!Kaz - performs incredible precise, delicate, deft lock-picking one minute. Bangs into the corner of a desk the next bc it was moved an inch to the right of its usual spot.

-One day, Mathias decides to be ‘helpful’ and sets about fixing up The Slat. Kaz walks in and freezes. ‘No.’ ‘But the floorboards were creaking here so-’ ‘No.’ ‘The roof leaked a little, I thought-’ ‘No.’ ‘The carpets were-’ ‘No.’ ‘The paintwork could use a little freshening u-’ ‘No.’ Kaz threatens to drown him in the fresh tin of paint he has open and ready next to him and methodically undoes all of Mathias’ fixes until the Slat is creaking, whistling, leaking, and tripping people up as it should.

-One time Nina got bored and decided to rearrange the furniture ‘for a change’. This did not go down well.

-Gunshots are sensory hell tbh.

-Views literally everything in terms of business arrangements bc it’s the only way he’s learned to really make sense of social interactions?? People are loyal to him bc he knows their secrets, and bc he’s the most beneficial to their interests than any other gang leader in Ketterdam. People will do favours for him bc he’s done things for them in the past/would do in the future. ‘I will make you waffles today, and you will promise to help me with my sensory shit at a later date when I need you to. The deal is the deal.’ ‘Uh...Kaz...We’re friends?????’ Kaz: *this does not compute* *Nina sighs and just nods and yes, yes, u strange boy, just prepare me my waffles*

-He slowly starts to understand things on a more personal/intimate/informal level when he’s with Inej and they start getting closer. But he still, at the end of the day, rationalises/makes sense of everything via a structure that’s simple, and logical to him, and that’s by viewing it as a job. Inej is patient with him, and pretty understanding...As long as he never gets to the point of, like, ‘I have kissed you three times today, this equates to a ten minute leg massage, I would like to cash this in now, please.’ (He never does. (Except once when he was teasing her about it and she just like ffs, kaz, u had me for a minute there.))

-Has a ‘mutually beneficial relationship’ with a stray cat he insists he hasn’t adopted. He feeds it and gives it somewhere warm to sleep. In return it is an A++++ stim toy. V soft and it’s a great, warm presssure stim when it curls up in his lap which is obviously the only reason he lets it do this. But he has not adopted it, this is strictly a business arrangement- I can see you rolling your eyes at me, Nina. (Its name is ‘Demjin.’)

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caperantagonist · 4 years ago

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thinkin bout my mental

the more i read about adhd from people who have it im like

i know im probably autistic and a lot of stuff crosses over but like. so much stuff for this makes sense to me do i id as adhd now? am i adhd/add? cutting bc im just thought vomiting

i feel like nothing fits me fully, its just most stuff. i have girl autism and a lot of adhd stuff but a lot of it crosses over and getting an actual diagnosis rn is impossible

adhd things i relate too hard to (symptoms according to health line cause I can’t find another comprehensive list)

- hyperfocus - lack of focus (I phase out of conversations all the time) - executive dysfunction (this is a RLY bad thing for me) - task planning (i have to manage everything bit by bit but also all at the same time and it can be very overwhelming. like, i have to do everything on one day or i die bc i dont wanna do things multiple days a week) - forgetfulness (brain go brrrrrrrr) - impulsiveness (i have to do things. like, idk why. i have to or i get in like, physical pain/i can’t do anything else its weird) - mood swings (idk if this is bpd or depression or adhd stuff, but small things like lag on voice/in game makes me SO STRESSED OUT) - poor self image (body dysmorphia hits hard) - anxiety and fidgeting (i stim a lot by holding stuff and folding it or making patterns with it, and I have Anxiety (tm) ) - fatigue (i have chronic fatigue and fibro so like, go figure) - bad health habits (I comfort eat to feel things and if i resist, even if its bc i literally can’t obtain the sweet treats bc of money, i feel like absolute shit. this swings back into impulsiveness) - body clock bad (Im currently sleeping from 6/7am till 4-6pm and its really bad)

but a lot of this stuff crosses with autism... like, the only thing that is deffo autistic the most about me is; - masking - difficulty following basic instructions (I need stuff spelled out for me, or I’ll do something I think is right but is actually wrong even though I thought i was doing it right. “why didnt’ you ask for help if you were confused?” i wasnt confused, bruh) - audio processing (THIS IS RLY BAD FOR ME... I NEED SUBTITLES ALL THE TIME...) theres stuff i do that goes against an adhd diagnosis tho; - i can make lists and break tasks down to make them more manageable and I tend to stick to it if Im doing ok (if not i executive dysfunction too much) - i’m like, super organized. too organized. (I caused my old housemates grief bc i organized everything into neat boxes to the point they couldnt find anything any more bc they couldnt process it, even tho it was clearly labeled to me. don’t even start me on minecraft chests... i do it compulsively, and I get big serotonin when everything around me is in its place) - time management; this one is a complicated one bc time is like an oiled ferret. i have it in my hands some times when im focusing on it rly hard, but then it gets away from me and i have to spend the next 3 hours coaxing it out from under the bed while i stare at my screen willing myself to go to bed before 7am. wait. shit. Im literally doing that now. I thought it was 5am?!!! - I never lose stuff (like, sometimes stuff goes missing but everything has its place and I know where stuff is, so like, I don’t ever lose stuff. sometimes i think i’ve lost something but its bc i didn’t look hard enough in its spot...) - task focusing at work (I hyper focus on tasks at work to the point I can’t task switch easily bc that thing i was doing isnt done yet and what do you mean you need this done now but also a customer needs serving?! make up ur damn mind) - I’m good at waiting my turn (maybe this is just me being from the uk tho. queue culture is life here) - cause i’m chonically tired/ill I’m not active/on the go at all, and i love just sitting in one spot for hours

i did a quiz on it and scored high, and it says i have moderate inattentive adhd/add... but what if its just overlapping symptoms? i was neglected at home/school, so i never had any basis for knowing these things about me when i was a kid...

#caper txt #mental health #adhd #autism #confusion #i'd like peoples thoughts on this if they have adhd/add/autism/all of the above #i don't wanna paint myself in a corner if the corner isnt accurate #yknow?

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firelynxinbloom · 7 years ago

Text

The Closest Thing I have written to a Biography: “My Mind is a Time Machine.”

Here is a short story that I wrote for a university class about a year ago. It is one that centers around time and memory, and it also surround my life as an Autistic woman, and my father’s struggle to accept his Autistic identity. All the characters in the story are based in real friends and family, but all the names have been changed for privacy reasons. This includes mine and my father’s name. I hope you enjoy it :)

...

As I watch the thundering rain falls heavily in a wet drape of blue and green, I am taken back to my childhood, where I sat in a cheap kiddie pool in my Dad’s backyard and looked up at the flashing and booming lightshow that flares above me. The wetness of the pouring rain, and deafening crashes and bangs, and the bright streaks of white and gold sent me into an overload of sensory ecstasy. This wonder is slightly marred by the faint screeching of my father’s worried voice, slowly taking shape into the words; “Talia! Get inside!”

“Talia, dinner’s ready!” The beckoning call of my mother pulls me back into the realm of the present. Reluctantly, I pull myself from my bedroom window and slowly make my way to the kitchen. I sat at the dining room table to eat when I noticed what was on the plate in front of me. It was a piece of grilled flathead fish with vegetables and tartar sauce on the side. I was overwhelmed with disbelief. “How did you afford this?” I asked my mum with eyes wide open. She looked at me with a warm smile. “I’ve been saving up for it. I wanted to spoil you the night before your graduation.” As I tuck into my ridiculously expensive meal, my mind wanders off to one of my winter holiday trips to my father’s rural home....

Every winter, since my parents broke up, my dad would take me to his home in the rural coast. The smell of ocean salt and cocoanut-scented sunscreen is a gateway into series of long road trips and petrol stops that led into a paradise of paternal reconciliation. One day, at the age of nineteen, Dad and I joined his girlfriend Julie and their family on a fishing trip to the Hamilton River. In my pale blue jumper and my rolled up jeans, I waded into the freezing water and let out my fishing line. I bask in the serenity of bright blue sky and the gentle of warm wind that carries the laughter of Dad and Julie and the impatient groaning of my supposedly de-facto step niece. The scent of cigarettes and cologne greets me, and I turn to see Dad standing beside me. I remember that look of pure love and joy on his face, a look of man that did not want to lose contact with his baby girl again. This serenity is broken by the strong tug of my fishing line as a frantic white object splashed about the river on the other end. “Pull it! Pull it! Come on, Talia! You can do it!” Dad cheers me on as I yank a massive flathead fish from the river depths. “I caught a fish! I can’t believe it! I caught a fish!” I shouted joyfully. I took a good look at my prize. It was a white, shiny, and graceful looking thing. It had a flat and wide head with an eye on both sides and what appeared to be thick slimy whiskers of its face. I gently gave it to Julie, and she put it in a large bucket of water. “That fish is a Flathead. They are expensive when you buy them at the shops, so it was a lucky catch for you today.” I remember her taking the fish to her place to prepare it, and Dad and I had it for lunch the next day.

As I finished my dinner, I remember the sense of accomplishment that I felt when I caught that fish. I remember the smile of pride on my Mum’s face when I told her about it. I think that is why she cooked flathead fish for dinner. It is her way of showing me how she is proud of my hard academic work in light of my graduation. My Mum gives me a hug as walk into the lounge room.

“Do you have a dress picked out?”

“Yes. I’m wearing the black one with the peplum.”

“I’m so proud of you. I love you.”

“I love you too. Good night.”

“Good night baby.”

I walk into my room and I climb into my loft bed. As my head touches the pillow, my mind begins to travel. My dreams take me to the events of my past.

The first event that beckons me to an argument my parents had when I was four. It starts with a flurry of chaos. This chaos consists of too much noise, too much light, too much of everyone else’s emotions, but most of all, too much of this burning sensation in mouth by this thing they call tomato sauce. It felt like I was swallowing napalm. As this overload softened, I was able to wake up from my meltdown. I noticed that my parents were yelling at each other. My Dad did not understand what had just happened to me. He keeps arguing the point.

“She was overreacting! It’s just tomato sauce! She knows it gets your attention!”

“She’s not faking it! How is that fake?! She was having a meltdown!”

“Too bad! It’s tomato sauce! She’ll get used to it!”

“She can’t get used to it! She’s autistic! She’s just like you! Do you remember the meltdown you had last week?”

“Don’t get me started on that bullshit!”

The beckoning of another event pulls me away, and I am taken to the day my parents broke up for good. I was twelve at the time. I woke up in the middle of the nigh to hear Mum and Dad arguing again. I heard Dad scream at the top of his lungs, “I’m not autistic, and neither is she!” I made my way to my bedroom door, but my sister Natalie walked in to stop me. She is seventeen at the time. I cried in her loving arms as I heard the front door slam and the screeching of a car driving off. “I know what I am. Why can’t he accept himself for who he is?” I asked between sobs. Through the dim light, I could see Natalie’s blue eyes shine with compassion and worry. “I heard that his family was in denial of him being different in any way. His mother is very stubborn about him being normal. I think Dad feels that if he accepts his Autism, he might somehow be insulting his mother’s memory.” This insight led me to feel a sense of empathy towards my Dad, coupled with a subtle hatred towards my paternal grandmother for emotionally abusing my Dad in this way. Suddenly, I am swept away to the day my Dad came back. I was sixteen, and I was playing fetch with the dog we had at the time, when there was a sudden knock on the front door. My Mum walked to the door and started talking to the person that was there. The conversation seemed slightly tense from what I could see in the backyard. I heard my calling to me, “your father is here.” The initial shock was followed by joy as ran into the house to greet him. He embraced me in his arms where I was reunited with the nostalgic smell of cigarettes and cologne. My mind flashes toward to an hour afterwards. Natalie came over from work and we all started talking about the time that went by. Dad said that he had moved to the rural coast to get away from all the noise of suburbia, and we talked about Natalie moving out, my high school achievements, and Mum’s struggle to raise us on her own. This scene of bittersweet joy began to fade as I woke up to my conscious reality.

As I am getting ready for graduation, my Mum is calling Natalie on the phone to make sure she has not slept in. By the time Mum starts calling Dad, I have slipped into my peplum dress. This sleeveless black pencil dress reaches the top of my knees. It has an elegant peplum flap on each side of my waist. I have paired this with a pair of plain black kitten heels. As I walked into the lounge room to see Mum dressed and ready to go. She was wearing a loose pair of black palazzo pants and a loose black crochet singlet. A rainbow chiffon shawl and a pair of black decorative sandals topped the outfit. She was on the phone to Danielle, my step-grandmother of sorts. Danielle was the de-facto partner of my maternal grandfather. Papa and Dannie, as they were known, were very close to Natalie and me. My Dad is not Natalie’s biological father. Her father abandoned her when she was five, so while my Dad was gone, Papa took the role as our fatherly figure. Natalie was closer to him than I was, so his death was extremely hard for her. I remember being in the hospital waiting room at the time. I was eighteen, and I was talking with Natalie’s partner, Ray. Natalie’s sobs pierced the peace in the room. She ran to Ray in a crying mess, and I stood there, frozen with grief. “Is he.....?” I asked, and she turned her crying red face to me and nodded. I heard the distant sound of Mum wailing in grief. As Natalie cried in Ray’s arms, I became overwhelmed by own emotions. I didn’t know which one to process first. On top of that, I was overloaded with the grief of Natalie and the grief of Mum and Dannie as they walked into the room. My head was crammed full of emotion, and most of it was not my own. I could not process anything. I could not cry. I could not make a sound. I just stood there, frozen.

The front door opened as I came to the present. Natalie came through the door with a big smile on her face. “I’m proud of you,” she beams while holding me in a tight hug. She is wearing a flowing purple blouse with silver trimming and her nicest pair of jeans. She had on a pair of silver sparkly converse shoes that match the polish on her naturally perfect nails. When she released me from her arms, I looked at her face and I saw that she had makeup on. I looked to Mum and she had makeup on too. I touched my bare face and laughed. “Well, I’d better put my face on.” Mum and Natalie laughed. “Take your time. It’s your graduation,” said Mum.

As I was fixing my makeup, I catch a whiff of a familiar perfume. I have not encountered this smell in a long time. I wandered what it was doing in my house. I called out down the hallway; “Where is that sweet smell coming from?” I heard a faint call travel back to me; “It’s this bubble gum flavoured ‘Hello Kitty’ spray that I found at the shops yesterday. I was showing Mum how ridiculous it smells. Why ask?” said Natalie. “It smells like someone I used to know,” I answered.

I associate that smell with my first year in university. This first year was my foundation pathway course because my university acceptance mark was too low. I remember crying at my computer, feeling like my hard work was for nothing when I received that mark. This sadness switched to joy when I got an acceptance letter to a foundation that would get me into university. On my first day of this course, I was sitting in class, waiting for the teacher to arrive. That was when I was greeted by the childish smell. I turned to see where it came from. Sitting next to me, I saw the most unusual looking woman I have ever seen. She had bright red hair done up in fifties rockabilly styles. Her makeup was extreme, with winged eyeliner and a red lip to contrast her porcelain skin. She wore a pink frilly fifties dress, with a pair of red stiletto pumps covering her pink frilly socks. This vintage look seemed quite. However, the brow piercing, the black clawed nails and her many ‘Disney Princess’ tattoos gave her a distinct edge. Her name was Regna, and although I was only an acquaintance to her for only a couple of months, her image made me realise that is was a way to be true to oneself without succumbing to group pressure.

As I was finishing my makeup, I thought that Regna would be a perfect example for Dad to admire. Like Regna, he should accept himself for who he is, without worrying his family. He should not have to be scared. These thought were interrupt by another knock on the door. I walked into the lounge room greet Dannie in her Sunday best glory. She also greeted me with an expression of pride and joy. “Papa would be so proud,” she said. I smiled and I look to the front door to see if anyone else was here. No one was here. Dad was not here. I felt a sinking feeling of sadness. I do not understand. He said he would be here. My mum walked over to comfort me. “It’s okay, Talia. He called to let us know that he was stuck in traffic. I told that if we leave before he arrives, he would meet us at the graduation hall.” I felt a wave of relief. Natalie gave me a knowing look of sympathy. She and I both know how unpredictable he can be. As we all get into Natalie car, I think back to rare conversion I had with Dad.

It was one of my most recent trips to Dad’s home. We had stopped at a petrol station to for a pee break and an early breakfast. Dad stocked up on his fourth cup of coffee, and I stocked up on a litre of orange, four hash browns and a box of ‘Krispy Kreme’ donuts. As we got into the car to continue our rural road drip, Dad and I began to talk about my neurological difference.

“I’m starting to realise that Kylie was right about you being autistic. I notice that you are a little quirky sometimes, but that’s not a bad thing. I should’ve known it wasn’t a bad thing. I guess that’s why I didn’t want to accept it. You’re doing alright for yourself, going to uni and all.” He said with an apologetic smile. This surprised me. This was the first time my Dad admitted to all the hard my Mum did for me. I saw this as a good step in the right direction. I let him speak some more.

“Some of the things you do, like the day dreaming, and the fidgeting, the overloads, and your introverted streak; they’re all the things that I do. It’s weird because the doctor said that those things are what make you autistic. It’s got me feeling a bit unsure.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. I looked at him with a knowing smile.

“You know there’s a good chance my Autism didn’t come out of nowhere? It’s never too late to get the paper work, if you catch my drift.”

A cloud of silence filled the car, and I saw my Dad show an expression of deep thought as he kept driving. He glanced at me with a sense of nervousness.

“I don’t know. Wouldn’t that be a slap to my mum’s face?”

“I don’t think so. I think the only thing she would want is for you to be happy.” His face suddenly brightened.

“You think you’re right. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”

As I was sitting in the audience, waiting for the Dean to call my name, I turn to check the crowd for my Dad’s face. This sense of hope turned to sadness when his face could not be found.

“Talia Steward,”

The Dean calls my name, and I start to make my way to the stage to accept my Bachelor degree. I walk towards the Dean and I take my hard earned reward. I take one last look at the sea of people and a distant waving hand catches my eye. I see my Dad! He made it! I am overwhelmed with joy. He is standing next to where Mum, Natalie, and Dannie are sitting. He is in his best shirt and pants. He waves his phone at me mouths the word “Phone.” I take my phone out of my robe pocket and I am overjoyed by the text that I see. It is from Dad, and it says;

“I got the paper work.”

...

I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know if it needs anymore content warnings :)

#language cw #cw ableism #cw sensory overload #cw character death #cw autism denial #cw internalised ableism #writing #short story #fiction

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booksbroadwaybbc · 6 years ago

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Why the world needs you via /r/selfimprovement

Why the world needs you

"But I am just a nobody..."

How many times have you had those thoughts?

The thoughts that come in right after you have had an audacious goal, an incredible dream, or a world-changing idea that sounds almost too crazy and insane when uttered out loud...

How many times have you stopped yourself from going after what you want, because your fear and doubt tells you that you don't stand a chance?

As an extremely private person by nature, I never had much of an urge to share my stories or experiences.

And until very recently, I didn't think I was ever going to share this story publicly.

But in a world where people are becoming increasingly apathetic to suffering, I feel compelled to share my story, in the hopes that it will inspire you to find the hero within yourself.

I believe that every single one of us, should we choose to, can invoke a powerful spirit within us to transform our lives and help make the world a better place.

So here we go...

Over 4 years ago, while I was traveling in the Netherlands, I met a girl. She was 22 and I was 25.

She was unlike anyone else I had ever met. She had strange, peculiar interests in seemingly-polarizing things.

On one hand, she was deeply fascinated with the occult, she possessed objects like the skulls of animals, a model replica of a human skull, and many other odd symbols of darkness.

On the other hand, she had a strong love for symbols of innocence, such as collecting stuffed toys (rather seriously) and wearing onesies. The many books that she had indicated she loved art, and that she had a very acute visual sense.

She was very gentle and often displayed deep compassion for those who had been marginalized by society.

It soon became clear to me that despite being 3 years younger than me, this girl possessed a deep wisdom about life that I could not yet understand.

Even though she was quiet, reserved, and extremely guarded with her feelings, I was immediately captivated by her mysterious sense of self-expression...

She bluntly rejected me multiple times after I told her I was interested in her romantically.

She listed out all the practical reasons why she wouldn't date me. I was a foreigner (she didn't want any long-distance relationships), I was a regular pot smoker, and I was too much of a "cool guy" (as I would later find out, what she really meant was that I acted too much like a stereotypical douchebag).

It was quite painful the way she rejected me, but still, I wanted to continue seeing her.

So a platonic friendship ensued.

It wasn't long before I noticed the self-inflicted scars on the inside of her arms.

When I did, I held her arm out, ran my fingers over her scars and simply asked, "Why?"

She yanked her arm away and looked away quickly, sharply stating, "I was diagnosed with PTSD."

Sensing her reluctance to reveal anymore, I didn't probe any further.

We continued to meet. Our relationship progressed... We got closer.

One evening, after hours of talking, we slept together.

She continued noting her reluctance to be with me... But she never stopped meeting me.

Pretty soon, I was spending every single day with her in her tiny one bedroom apartment. I extended my stay in the Netherlands to 3 months and for the last 2 months, I stayed at her place.

One day, during a seemingly innocuous conversation, we started talking about the future...

As she started talking about her future, I noticed a deep anxiety setting in...

She started talking about the obstacles in her way and her anxiety started to get even worse. Tears started to form in her eyes as she curled into a ball and hugged herself.

Not knowing what to do, I tried to convince her that her fears were unfounded, but that did nothing.

The expression on her face started to turn into a look of sheer despair. Her eyes gazed past me into the distance as she started crying, her nails digging deep into the side of her arms. She had become so entrenched in a state of absolute fear that nothing I said or did would even get acknowledged.

Desperate to ease her pain but clueless on what to do, I hugged her close and held her tight, repeatedly whispering to her, "It's going to be okay..."

Never had I felt so utterly helpless in my life.

In what felt like years, minutes passed...

She starts getting calmer, and she eventually apologized for "freaking out".

I would later discover pieces of her dark history.

She was originally born in Poland. When she was 3, she was left under the care of her grandfather.

Instead of caring for her and protecting her like he had promised, he sexually abused her for months in secret. He told her that if she told anyone, they would think that it was her fault and hate her for it. Ashamed and afraid, her 3-year-old mind suppressed the memory... Her once bright and exciting world turned dark and frightening.

Her parents divorced several years later, and she was left to live with her father and her sister in Poland.

As her father struggles to cope with the stress of the divorce, he started losing control over himself in fits of rage and would viciously beat her sister. She recounted an incident where she became so afraid he was going to kill her sister that she stepped in to defend her sister during a beating. Fortunately, that act of courage snapped him out of his rage and made him stop. She was 10 at the time.

She eventually leaves with her sister to go live with her mother in the Netherlands.

As the small, strange, foreign and quiet girl who barely speaks the local language, she quickly became an easy target for bullying. School was a nightmare. They threw food at her, called her names, and played pranks on her on a daily basis.

One day, as she was walking home from school, two girls whom she never met pushed her down an escalator and started beating her up. When they eventually left, she picked herself up and went home.

But that incident had made her terrified of going out, and she fell into a state of deep depression. Eventually, she decided that she finally had enough... and attempted to kill herself by slitting her own wrist.

Her attempt failed and her mother admitted her into a mental hospital for rehabilitation.

She was 16. It was during this time in the mental ward where she finally experienced some reprieve. With the help of a psychologist, now 13 years later, memories of her childhood abuse resurfaced and she was finally able to start healing from that wound.

She was also diagnosed as a high-functioning autistic, which helped her understand why she behaved so differently from others. A year later, the mental hospital was forced to release her due to financial constraints.

Not wanting to return home, she got a small job in conjunction with a student loan and rented a tiny room in a shared apartment.

Shortly after, she befriended a man. He was sweet to her at first and they eventually started dating. He took advantage of her vulnerability and gained her trust. But slowly, as their relationship progressed, he became more and more abusive. What started off as emotional manipulation became full-on beatings. He put out cigarettes on her, violated her, and even threatened to stab her while holding a knife.

She would eventually break free from his manipulative grip, but not after suffering emotional and physical scars.

Upon learning of her difficult past, I experienced a powerful mix of grief, anger, and admiration...

As our relationship deepened, I wanted nothing more than to help her see a brighter future. If I could give her hope, that would mean more to me than anything else I had ever done in my life.

The first thing I did was move to the Netherlands to be with her. The process wasn't easy, but I managed to do it in 3 months. We have lived together ever since.

She had always wanted to visit Japan, Disneyland, and a whole bunch of other places, but never had the chance due to her financial circumstances.

At the time when I met her, I was a struggling digital marketer who had just dropped out of college in pursuit of the "internet lifestyle". My income fluctuated tremendously, some months I made a few thousand, some months I made nothing. It was nothing to brag about and definitely not enough to travel and live indiscriminately. So if you have ever been led to believe that particular endeavor is easy... Trust me, it is not.

But, the one thing that it does give you is the freedom and ability to decide just how far you want to take things.

And now I had a powerful reason beyond myself to do whatever is necessary to create a thriving business.

It took a little over a year before things started to take off...

We moved out of our crappy apartment, went to Disneyland in Paris, stayed in Japan for 1 month, and went out on many other adventures.

She had always been fascinated with Chow Chows (a rare dog breed) but she was afraid of dogs because of a biting incident when she was a child.

So together, we tracked the breed down... It took about 18 months and living in Poland for 1 month before we were finally able to get the puppy... But we eventually did and he's part of our little family now.

Slowly but surely, I witnessed how the powerful light of hope transformed her outlook on life... The bouts of despair occurred significantly less frequently... She had less anxiety and she started engaging her interests more actively...

Now, I definitely do not dare claim responsibility for any of that. She was the one who had to go through the fight. And I have not always been supportive... I have made many horrible mistakes, hurt her both intentionally and unintentionally... But having been able to take part in her healing process has meant more to me than anything else.

There's a lot more that I wanted to share, such as how my rage almost destroyed everything and how I met a true warrior who transformed my perspective, but I think this story has gone on for too long...

My point is this...

In a world of ever-increasing apathy, there has never been a time more critical than now that we look inwards upon ourselves to find powerful reasons to do what is right in this world... For there are far too many monsters out there who are looking to exploit the vulnerable.

One of my favorite quotes is from a man named Edmund Burke, who once famously stated, "All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing."

You may not be able to think of yourself as a hero in the grand sense. But everyone has the capacity to be the hero in their own story... For it is not only through a journey of service that we will create a better world, but its also where we will find meaning and transform ourselves into happier, stronger, and more fulfilled individuals.

Shift your focus to those who need you. Be willing to bear the burden of their suffering, so that you may look past your own insecurities in service of a greater good.

When I say the world needs you, I am being sincere and truthful. The world truly does need you.

Submitted October 14, 2018 at 08:58AM by th_danche via reddit https://ift.tt/2IVHcOA

#IFTTT #reddit

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