#bc me being me and having adhd

[sfsolstice]

exurb1a, from "Mum" in Poems for the Lost Because I'm Lost Too

[b4kuch1n]

simulated earth (it does not matter)

transcript

[adhdandcomics]

perhaps the most important question i’ve ever asked:

does anyone have tips for people trying to stop being chronically late to everything in the world that aren’t weirdly judgmental and aggressive or flat out lies

[jasperthejester]

me: finally accepting theres a good chance im autistic and starting to work up the courage to ask my parents to see if i could get a diagnoses but being scared to

my mom: do you ever think you have adhd? if you want to do a screening for add next time your at the doctors you can

me:

[emborami]

Kayne on the brain

[infiniteorangethethird]

ik the common agreement in neurodivergent circles seems to be that we all function better at night but here's to the ones who are on the opposite end of the spectrum. To the early birds who wake at 7 and can't stay up past 10pm. To the ones who are left out of almost every social event bc everything seems to be happening after 8 but you're normally in bed by that point. To the ones who are made fun of bc "only little kids go to bed that early". To the ones who, even if they wanted to, can never seem to find their place among others bc of society's expectation that the real fun only begins after midnight. I see you, I feel you, and I wish you a very same

[lemon-tea-leaves]

If you're gonna go around talking about how invalid self-diagnosis is and how you should ALWAYS just go to a doctor because they're the experts, consider doing the following instead:

Reminding yourself that no doctor is infallible, and unfortunately there are shitty and VERY misinformed doctors out there

Advocate for the spreading of accurate information about the neurodivergence or illness or disorder or etc.

In that same vein, dispel myths and misconceptions about said Brain And Body Things™

Advocate for easier access to evaluation and diagnosis

Support people who have been medically gaslit in the past and just want to know what's going on with themselves

Support people who have had their life affected by their symptoms (despite not knowing what was causing them) and just want to know what's going on with themselves

Support people who just Feel something Wrong and just want to know what's going on with themselves

Just fucking support people and stop tearing others down because you're white knighting

There are people intentionally making a mockery of things like DID or being autistic, among other things. And there are people who mis-self-diagnose (usually due to research that isn't deep enough) and are fed misinformation which leads to them misrepresenting the disorder.

But there are also people who have the symptoms, looked into the symptoms, found something that matched the symptoms, and maybe FINALLY felt they had an answer when they couldn't find one because they didn't have the means or whatever the reason.

And you're telling them that they're making a mockery of a disorder because they wanted to find a reason. And it's because you associate them with the people on TikTok that you roll your eyes at. And it's fucking annoying.

TL;DR:

Maybe instead of being a dick about self-diagnosis, you could help set a path towards making it so people don't have to in the fucking first place.

(Also, as for my opinion on self-dx, self-dx with a good amount of research from verified accurate sources = A-OK. I'm saying this as a professionally diagnosed person who has had to self-dx in the past. I've been wrong about some things and right about others, and professionals have been right about some and wrong about others. But it helped to set me down the right path. I wouldn't be where I am if I hadn't.)

[ruegarding]

bonus! frank's dyspraxia coding (6):

[faunandfloraas]

you can make fun of felix for sounding dumb when he speaks, he does say some very funny and questionable, somewhat bizarre things at times, but there's a certain point where I am going to judge you for it a little bit <3

[officially-other]

My first attempt at writing that's vaguely like poetry: from a dragon

I am not what you think.

I walk around, awkward limbs and flighty mannerisms, and you think I’m strange. You have no idea how strange you would think I am if you only saw what was underneath.

Underneath, I am a creature of the ocean. Something that could never pass as human, and no longer wants to. Saltwater rushes through my veins in secret, silent to everyone but me. To me, it’s a roaring sound of the waves that I have never seen except for within my soul. It yearns to dissolve into the ocean like it could long ago, but for now those days are over and I am hidden underneath skin and muscle.

Underneath, there are wings; fins; antlers. They ache to tear from my back, through my skull. Nonetheless, they stay hidden for me, safe in the silence. Protected like I protected my kin in a lifetime so close to the surface and yet unreachable. Wrapped in a form that no longer coils around them like a serpent, but keeps them hidden from predators well enough I suppose.

I suppose.

I accept my form reluctantly and do what I can to make it mine. I shape it to feel better when I discover my gender, and when I can’t shape it to fit my true self I cover it in things that feel a little more like home. A little more draconic. A little more like the ocean that I never have seen, but feel homesick for anyway.

I do find joy in being in this body, at least. Out there, there are others. Angels working minimum wage, dragons sitting on a park bench, wolves buying groceries. We hide, but we do so to be free. We walk through crowds, and no one notices our scales and fur and feathers. But we do. We see each other, even if from miles away, and we see what’s underneath.

And underneath, none of us are what you think.

(Tags for side commentary/context)

[devilsskettle]

i think everybody should think about how much of a privilege driving is before they judge people who don’t drive for being immature or whatever. like do you not realize that not everyone had a high school with driver’s ed or parents/older relatives who could teach them, not everyone had time to learn when they were younger, not everyone can afford a car and car insurance and any repairs that a car might need, not everyone lives in a place that is drivable anyway, and not everyone has good vision or a healthy enough brain and/or body to drive. and nobody needs to explain to you why they don’t drive! all you need to know is that the can’t, don’t want to, or it doesn’t make sense for them at this current time in their lives. fuck off!!!!! the response to inadequate public transportation isn’t that everyone should drive instead!!!!!! also everybody complains about bad drivers but people are incentivized to drive regardless of their actual driving ability because it’s shameful not to drive even if it’s a personal choice. and like maybe some people are just not self aware about their own driving abilities but some people just don’t understand that they are in control of a large machine that is dangerous if they don’t operate it properly and they have to be more responsible for the people they’re putting at risk because they don’t care enough to pay attention or follow the rules of the road or keep their tempers under control while they’re behind the wheel. anyway not everyone can or should drive, that’s all

[lucielovekj]

I love how Nimona portrays Ballister’s curiosity as not inherently bad, and that when he’s respectful and gentle and acknowledges the sensitivity of the question Nimona is completely willing to explain and to show him. Because no matter what you use that as an allegory for it’s so often the case irl, if a stranger asks something invasive disrespectfully that’s completely different from a supportive loved one asking out of concern or a desire to understand you better, and that in close personal relationships asking questions, even if there’s a risk of stepping out of line or saying something insensitive, is usually good and healthy so long as it’s done properly.

Most of us (just like Nimona) are actively excited to talk about this stuff with those we care about, are happy for people we love to want to know us better, but it’s (obviously) stigmatised by strangers doing so rudely making people think they can’t ask any questions ever, which only increases the ignorance and stigma surrounding whatever the topic is. If someone knows they can tell you when a question is too much, when they trust you and understand what you’re intentions are, it’s good and natural to be inquisitive.

[biblically-accurate-dca]

these are all kind of Bad but this was the best of the bunch so i am posting it :p

i've been trying to draw vanessa more... she is so important to me... sun is here too i guess

[ghosttotheparty]

also on ao3

(cw: tics, bullying)

Eddie started shivering in seventh grade.

Even when it was hot, even when he was sweating and desperately wanted a non-rattly fan or a better air conditioner. They weren't normal shivers. He wasn't cold. But his shoulders would jerk or shake, or he would tremble for a second, and he didn't know what else it could have been. Others didn't question it for a while, because it started in October. Everyone was shivering. But by March, it hadn't stopped, and he had to explain himself when people gave him questioning looks or asked if he was okay. (Back when people cared.)

'S just a shiver, I'm fine.

He wasn't fine. It got worse over time. He got used to it, to the weird feeling that took over his body for a few seconds, got used to telling people he was cold, joking that he must be low on vitamins or iron, joking that in the future, someone is walking over his grave. But other people didn't get used to it. They thought he was weird. That was fine with him. Wayne realised something was wrong before Eddie started the tenth grade, because he wasn't just shivering anymore. His whole body was jerking sharply, suddenly, his shoulders drawing up, fists clenching. Eddie didn't question it. Wayne did.

It wasn't normal. But nothing about Eddie was normal. Wayne took him to see a doctor. The doctor make him do things, walk in a line, hold his arms out and push the doctor's hands away as hard as he could, follow a flashlight with his eyes without moving his head. It was all weird. It kind of scared Eddie. The doctor kept writing things in a notebook, and Eddie couldn't tell if he was doing well or not. But Wayne was there, watching and listening intently.

The doctor said he had tics. It sounded funny to Eddie, but then it wasn't funny, because the doctor didn't give him anything for it. He just said there wasn't anything really wrong with him. His brain just worked a little differently. (Which Eddie was already used to hearing.) That his tics could get better or go away as he got older, or they could get worse.

They got worse.

By the end of that summer, his arms were moving, flying over his head suddenly, randomly, and his head was jerking back so sharply it hurt. Wayne was worried about him getting whiplash. Eddie was worried about going to school.

That year, he became the freak.

At first, he tried to explain it to people. The movements were involuntary, he couldn't control them. Wayne contacted all his teachers, who mostly got it, but still preferred to make him sit in the hallway so he didn't distract the class. But the other students thought he was possessed, faking it for attention, and everything in between. They'd throw things at him, and complain to the teachers that he was distracting even when he wasn't moving, just to get him out of the room. They would mimic him, make fun of him, and by September, he learned that the tics get worse when he's upset. He could hear them all snickering and giggling as he shoved his hands under his legs and tucked his chin to his chest or held his shirt over his face, as he held his limbs tense so they wouldn't move, so tense he was exhausted and sore all the time, and then he'd go home and cry because he couldn't control his own body.

He'd have to sit on the sofa so when his head threw itself back, it would hit the back of the sofa instead of the wall, and Wayne would just wait, watching with that fucking sadness in his eyes that made Eddie ache even more. When it finally stopped, sometimes after a few minutes, sometimes after an hour or two, he was so exhausted he'd fall asleep right there on the sofa. He couldn't do his homework. His grades dropped even more, but he managed to keep himself afloat. He did the best he could, doing his homework early in the morning before school or in detention. (Some of his teachers thought he was faking. Mr Peterson was in charge of detention, and he was nice. Considerate. Eddie counted him as one of his few blessings.)

His tics got worse.

In December of his junior year, he started making noises. Short screams, grunts, quiet vocalizations. It scared him. He didn't want to go back to school, but he did. The laughter around him got louder, and he was sent out to the hallways more. He started skipping classes. He knew he'd be forced to leave anyway. So he'd sit in the boys' room, on top of a lidded toiler, his feet up on the stall door, and he'd leave cigarette burns on the walls.

Not everyone was awful. Some kids were just curious about him, asked why he acted the way he did, and he did his best to calmly explain it all. I can't help it, actually. It's just my brain works different. That turned into Eddie's brain's fucked. It's broken. He's a fucking--

So he used it. Eddie the Freak. Attention-seeking, desperate for people to notice him. So he started making devil horns, yelling from tabletops, making himself The Freak so no one could use it against him.

No one, not even Wayne, saw him cry at night, because the attention he got was never the attention he wanted. Because he was tired. So fucking tired. His limbs were sore and his voice was rough, and his neck hurt, and he was sick of being laughed at. But that was all he got.

He kept counting his blessings. Mr Peterson, who never minded Eddie's noises or the way his fists would bang against the table loudly in the silent room, who scolded the other detention-goers when they tried to tease. The Hellfire guys, who got used to his tics fairly quickly, and knew when to pause whatever they were doing if Eddie couldn't hear them over a scream or was distracted by his own body. That nice girl, Chrissy Cunningham, who would slip notes from the classes he missed or skipped into his locker or backpack with sweet smiles. (If Eddie wasn't gay, he would have fallen in love with her.) The other few students that ignored him when his tics acted up, just glancing and moving on. Wayne, bless his soul, who would come to the school to confront Eddie's teachers and complain to the principal about Eddie being mistreated by the staff.

And, oddly enough, Steve Harrington.

Eddie never saw it coming. It was a particularly bad day. He was at his locker, trying to line his books up, but a tic threw his hands up, and some books fell from his locker to the floor. He watched helplessly as papers scattered across the floor, as most students stepped around them, ignoring them, as some jocks trampled over them, over Chrissy's neat handwriting, his fists clenched at his sides. When they passed, he kneeled, picking up the books, and when he looked up, Steve Harrington was kneeling too, gathering the crumpled papers and carefully straightening them out.

He gave them to Eddie with a smile, and Eddie thought he might be dying, in some weird, upside-down dimension where Steve Harrington smiles at Eddie Munson. Eddie took them hesitantly, said thank you, and then he hit him.

He was mortified, almost dropping the papers again, jumping back as his whole body flushed with heat, staring at Steve's shoulder where his hand had just landed heavily, and he burst with a Fuck, I'm so sorry, oh my god--

But Steve had just laughed. Amazingly, it was a kind laugh, with sparkling eyes, and soft cheeks, and he said It's okay.

And then he was gone. Down the hall, after his friends, and Eddie realised his hands were trembling.

Steve kept smiling at him. Even when his friends were making fun of Eddie's Satanic cult, and of the way he couldn't keep still, and of his sad, broken brain. Even when Eddie's brain made him flip Steve off across the cafeteria, Steve saw how Eddie pulled his hand down sharply, and Steve just... laughed. Eddie fell in love with his laugh. It was kind, and it made Eddie feel better, even when he wanted to cry.

Steve graduated the next year. But he didn't leave Eddie alone. Eddie couldn't stop thinking about him, and his kind laugh, and his pretty eyes, and then the sheep Eddie adopted told him all about how cool and brave Steve was, and Eddie fell harder without even seeing him.

The world went to shit. But Eddie got to see Steve again.

Steve was still kind, even though the world was ending, and even during serious discussions, plan-making, how-to-save-the-world conversations, Eddie's tics kept going. His body jerked and shivered, and his head threw back, and his fists hit his own chest and shoulders, and he had to sit down. And Eddie found out that there are more kind people than he thought. When his tics slowed, Nancy wordlessly got him an ice pack to hold to his chest, and when he flung it across the room, Robin caught it with a casual oops, and brought it back to him. No one questioned him, or stared, or laughed, even though he knew how annoying he was.

When he woke up in the hospital, he hurt so badly he couldn't move. He just cried. Steve sat by his bed and held onto his hand. He was crying too. When Eddie stopped crying, Steve carefully slid his rings, clean of blood, onto his fingers.

This one goes here, right?

Yeah.

On the second day, his brain didn't care that he hurt. As Steve was telling him about what was going on with the others (Max was staying with the Sinclairs, Dustin's leg was almost healed), Eddie's hand smacked him across the face sharply, the sting of his rings bringing tears to his eyes before he even processed what happened. Steve wordlessly crawled onto the bed, carefully pulled Eddie against himself, and set a pillow over Eddie's lap for when his fists started hitting his legs. He'd just murmured those words, the first words he'd said to Eddie years ago.

It's okay. It's okay.

And he waited until Eddie's body fell lax against him before he carefully found Eddie's hand, laced their fingers, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Eddie was released from the hospital a few weeks later. He stayed in the Wheelers' basement for a few days until Steve's parents left town, for good this time, and then he moved into the Harrington house.

He likes it there. Steve is still kind. Always. He lets Eddie lay his head in his lap when his body hurts or won't stop moving, and he drags his fingers through his hair or holds a joint to his lips for him, and he smiles. (Eddie would go through the end of the world all over again for that smile.) When Eddie's head hits the wall while they're in the waiting room of the hospital for a checkup, Steve just shifts to face him and holds a hand up to the back of his head so his hand hits the wall instead, saying quietly that Eddie isn't allowed to beat his record number of concussions. He drives Eddie to Wayne's even though Eddie doesn't tic when he drives except for a few facial or vocal ones.

When Eddie whistles one night, Steve just smiles at him and says Was that a tic or are you hitting on me? and Eddie freezes, his face burning. Which would you prefer, pretty boy?

Steve kisses him.

And then Steve starts holding his hand even when he isn't having tics, even when they're with the Party. Eddie moves into Steve's room. (They always slept better when they accidentally fell asleep on the sofa together anyway.) Steve holds him when his tics are bad, and Eddie holds him during his migraines, pressing kisses as softly as he can to his forehead and his temples. Steve takes his hand when it moves to hit Eddie's face or chest. Eddie stands steady and holds Steve's hand to himself when he gets dizzy. Steve keeps ready-made ice packs in the freezer to hold to Eddie's chest and legs when they bruise from his fists. Eddie keeps his handwriting as neat as possible when he writes notes in case Steve forgets anything. When they wake up at night, breathless and sweaty and crying, the other is there, arms open, lips waiting.

One night Eddie says very softly, You know, they used to say my brain was broken.

Steve just says, Mine too.

[nattousan]

when

whe you, when You were just trying to put i n some extra effort to try adn improve yoursel f and it got misinterpreted as malicious n u get yell ed at

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID: a coloured and shaded digital sketch of Luz and Lilith from the owl house. They're depicted with their designs from For the Future. Luz is tackle-hugging Lilith, ugly crying and exclaiming "I missed you so much". Lilith braces for the hug and smiles with tears also in her eyes. The background is a pale yellow colour and previous versions of the sketch can be seen at low opacity behind the full drawing. End ID]

When you see your cool aunt (actually a loser but you love her) for the first time in months and she has a badass apocalypse makeover but still somehow looks like a librarian