#the autism. the autism that runs in our family. the autism i literally told you last week not to brush off as hypersensitivity. that autism | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kindness-ricochets · 3 years ago

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I’ve been seeing a lot of thoughts and hc of autistic wylan lately and you seem to also be a fan of the concept. May I ask why? Exactly? I could definitely kinda see it but wanna hear you thoughts you’re always so eloquent

Hey there anon! Sorry for the delay—I’m guessing you already found an answer to this elsewhere while I was off Tumblr for a bit, but just in case, here are my thoughts. This will be heavily personal, but… well, you can’t very well ask an autistic person about autism and expect neutrality!

Autism is different for everyone and can be difficult to pin down, so while Wylan is arguably autistic, he misses several beats that for me would have made him definitively and undeniably autistic. For example, when the bells start to ring, triggering black protocol—I work in a place with a lot of bells and am frequently caught too close to one and normally press my hands over my ears until it’s over because that sound is like shrapnel raking across my insides. All of them. Not just the ear and brain parts. Wylan doesn’t have that sort of visceral reaction, but that may just mean he doesn’t have the same sensitivities that I do, or to the same level. He also never, that I recall, eats meat—as weird as that might sound, eating meat is incredibly complicated with heightened sensitivities to taste and texture. I’m not sure how old I was when I realized it was strange to get up from the table to spit out my food because it viscerally repulsed me. So it might be that Wylan is autistic and has different experiences than I do. Those are things I would include in a story as major indicators of a character being autistic. This might also mean that his father’s way of raising him taught him to hide unusual reactions and stimming behaviors. It’s not that much of a reach to assume a man who tried to abuse the dyslexia out of his son would take the same approach to autism. (More on autism and abuse later.)

So while I’m going to lay out why I read Wylan as autistic, that’s why I think it’s valid to read him as not being autistic as well. Both are valid.

A final caveat, I am well overdue for a reread of the books, so I likely left something out or could have found better examples. Take this as a few of my reasons for a personal headcanon. Anyone who feels differently, that's fine! We can each read things our own way :)

1 - Hyperfixation: The way Wylan loves music

Most of the Crows’ backgrounds color how they see the world: Kaz’s shrewdness, Matthias’s tactical thinking and superstition, Inej’s faith and Suli wisdom, etc. That’s a sign of good character writing. But very little of Wylan’s upbringing seems to have influenced how he sees the world. It comes closest when he thinks about how his father would scorn his new friends, but we never see that scorn from Wylan.

The way a hyperfixation feels, it’s like you’ve always lived in a close parallel world, never fully been a part of the other one where it seems like everyone else lives, but suddenly there’s this bright shining piece of your soul laced through the other world. It lets you connect, it lets you exist in their realm, and you can’t help but filter everything new through that lens because it’s the brightest, most wonderful thing. (I had been between hyperfixations for a while when I started a new job; six months into that work, I read Crooked Kingdom. One of my coworkers thought I had fallen in love, it was that marked a difference.)

So, combining these: Wylan never really acts like he was part of his father’s world, and indeed is in some ways separate from the other Crows, but he parses everything through music, his hyperfixation. He sets words to music to remember them, like he does with the contract. Even his own anxiety is made sense of through music, when in his first narrated chapter, he sets it to music: what am I doing here what am I doing here…. When he’s overwhelmed, his thoughts are “a jangle of misplayed chords”. The Crows have backgrounds that influence how they react to the world, but Wylan’s hyperfixation is his means of experiencing and understanding the world.

2 - Literal thinking: Wylan responds to exact words

In this post, I went into detail on the line where Wylan suggested waking up men to kill them. Wylan is generally unsupportive of killing people—Oomen, Smeet’s clerk, his father… he advocates not-murder in each of these situations. Accepting his aversion to murder, his suggestion to wake men up and kill them seems like a genuine reaction to Jesper saying he doesn’t want to kill unconscious men. Wylan takes things literally.

This happens the most with Jesper, probably because Jesper talks to Wylan the most. Nina and Matthias don’t really register him past how he might be useful, Inej is usually quite direct, and Kaz is very deliberate when he speaks with Wylan. This really interests me because Kaz tends to vary his speech more than the others do, he adapts more to being around other people. He jokes a little with Jesper, spars with Nina, speaks more openly and more sharply with Inej, and he’s precise with Wylan. Kaz may not know what autism is, but he recognizes what’s effective with Wylan.

Another example is when Wylan is sketching the Ice Court plans and Jesper says it looks like a cake. There are plenty of valid responses here: pointing out that concentric circles look like lots of things, that it’s just a sketch, telling Jesper to stop looking over his shoulder. Instead, Wylan says that the Ice Court is sort of like a cake. That… doesn’t sound like something Wylan would normally say. He’s not addressing the whole situation, he’s addressing the specific words Jesper said.

One of the most heartbreaking examples of this (to me, anyway) is with Marya. Wylan does the same thing with his mother, when she asks if he’s there for her money and says she hasn’t got any, and his response is, “I don’t either.” We understand as readers that what Marya is communicating here is that she is so accustomed to being utterly ignored unless she is being used, and if she told Wylan that no one visited but to take advantage and she assumed he was here for the same reason, he would say it wasn’t the case. But he just responds to the immediate statement.

There are a lot of examples of this.

3 — 0% perception, 100% creativity

Wylan can identify things that don’t make sense or that he doesn’t understand, but at the beginning of the series he can’t make leaps, only ask questions. On the Ferolind, he wonders about the source of water at the Ice Court; though Kaz doesn’t say as much, he was clearly wondering, too, because he eventually figured out the underground river. There’s an interesting parallel here where, in the beginning of Crooked Kingdom, Wylan asks a question about how they’ll break into Smeet’s and Kaz tells him to use his eyes instead of running his mouth—at which point Wylan is able to figure it out. I don’t think this is because he never tried before, though, but because no one ever bothered to teach him. Kaz can be harsh but he gives harsh corrections rather than harsh rejections and Wylan learns from him.

It’s hard to understand the world for people with autism. The world is designed and run by and for people whose minds are fundamentally different from ours, whose thoughts and experiences are unlike ours. Imagine trying to learn English or Spanish or Mandarin or any other spoken language if your first language was olfactory. That’s sort of what it’s like for someone with autism to just get dropped into the world and expected to figure this out.

This can be attributed to Wylan’s upbringing, but I disagree with that because none of the others were brought up in the Barrel, either, and Wylan doesn’t understand trade or politics with any special skill. Kaz wasn’t born in the Barrel, but he managed to go from “stealing is wrong” to “wrong isn’t my concern” real quick; Colm Fahey didn’t raise his son on gambling and firefights; the Ghafas never expected their daughter to be away from the family. Only Nina has relevant training—and even that’s precious little, she left school way too early. The others figured it out; Wylan needed a bit more help. He also seems surprised by the way his father conducts business. Wylan takes things on face value—like the time he’s surprised someone would do something, simply because it’s unlawful. This is something he expresses to a group of gangsters. He’s never been taught the way of any world and these things are not intuitive to him.

But Wylan isn’t stupid.

He doesn’t know how to understand the world, but he does understand how things go together. Given a pointy diamond, a handle, and a screw, he cut through Grisha glass. He carries flashbangs and magic napalm, he recreates military hardware—Wylan understands how to make things interact for a specific result. But to me the most telling thing isn’t just that he puts together chemical pieces, it’s that he figured out Jesper controlled bullets. He saw the pieces and put them together.

Wylan can understand when things don’t make sense, but he can’t make sense of them—yet when he understands things at their basic level, he understands them without preconception, for what they are. This is a very autistic way of thinking about things, it goes back to the literalism. He can’t make the leaps of logic other people can, but he also doesn’t make the assumptions they do—“I’ve never heard of a bullet Grisha, so that’s not a thing” vs “Well Jesper’s an almost impossibly good shot and he controls metal and bullets are metal, so why not?”

4 - Broken brain/body connection

Wylan’s great at chemistry and drawing and playing flute or piano—but he’s something of a disaster other times. This is in particular contrast to the other characters, all of whom are physically adept. Meanwhile it’s a challenge for Wylan to climb a rope ladder and he spends a full paragraph trying to figure out what to do with his hands. It’s easy to say, well, he’s used to a sedentary lifestyle, but at this point he’s not. He’s worked in the tannery for months. He’s just physically awkward.

I have less to say on this point only because it’s about something I don’t fully understand myself. I don’t really understand what it would be like to have a body that just… does things? Like normal stuff? Without tics and stims. No idea. Only that Wylan’s discomfort in and seeming lack of mastery of his own body feels very relatable to me.

5 - Abuse

One of the most familiar things about Wylan is how he has been so thoroughly abused and broken down that he’s afraid to do or say much of anything. Again, this is a place his background can be an obscuring factor. Of course Wylan didn’t think to blow up the walls when the first met the parem-juiced jurda and got trapped, he’s a spoiled rich kid! Except, he also startled when Jesper said his name later. Wylan didn’t hesitate because he was spoiled, he hesitated because he had no confidence.

He also thinks Kaz would laugh at him for playing music at his mother’s grave. Now, personally, I can’t see Kaz laughing at Wylan—being indifferent, thinking it’s pointless sentimentality, shaking his head, maybe commenting sharply that they need to go if they don’t have the time. But not laughing. Kaz is a snarky, sharp-edged jerk sometimes, but he doesn’t go out of his way to criticize, he just lets people know when they inconvenience him.

Wylan has been trained to identify attention as negative by an overbearing abusive father who literally saw him as less favorable than a demon. Now, that may have been hyperbole, but Jan criticized everything he could about Wylan—art, music, emotion—and made clear that he was worthless and competent to nothing. (Jan Van Eck can suck a rotten donkey dick but that’s neither here nor there.)

A lot of people with autism experience levels of bullying that have similar impacts. Or as the kids these days are calling it: we go to school. We go to school where we are weird. Where we look weird and move weird and talk about weird things and there’s a whole little bevy of asswipes to makes sure we know it. I got teased more for playing Pokemon and sitting alone reading than the kid who pissed himself onstage at assembly. (This was before Pokemon was cool. I’m old.) And that is not unusual for autistic kids. It’s also not unusual for this to be compounded by relatives or even parents who may be trying to help but don’t understand and can make things even harder.

So we can’t read social cues and we’re taught at a vicious age that everything that comes naturally to us is wrong. Imagine trying to interact in society with that background. There is no guide and most advice from neurotypical people isn’t actually what they mean. It breaks you down.

Wylan’s anxiety isn’t definitive of autism, but isn’t something that was incredibly familiar as someone whose neurodivergent experiences created a strong level of anxiety.

6 — High Compassion, Low Social Competence

Wylan isn’t very good at making friends. In fact, none of the Crows likes him much in the beginning, and only some of them soften toward him by the end. (Matthias and Nina come to respect his skills as a chemist but neither seems to particularly like him.) But you can see throughout the books that Wylan wants to connect with them and be one of them, he just… isn’t. He’s off-beat. He’s weird. He asks questions and mimics behaviors (trying to be cool and tough like Jesper, saying “mission” like Matthias does, imitating Kaz’s scheming face) but he doesn’t quite get how to adapt.

But he still cares about people. Not just them. Everyone. He cares about the people they leave in the ditch outside the prison wagon, he cares about Hanna Smeet, he cares about Alys. He cares about the people who’ll take a hit from Kaz’s sugar caper.

Wylan’s awkward social skills have undeniable big autism energy. I posit his compassion does as well. This is simply who Wylan is, and that means being someone who cares about everyone. I have nothing to back up that this is related to autism. I can say that it’s like me. (Not to brag.) I can’t turn off the part of my brain that says everyone matters. Individuals can opt out of that compassion, but they have it by default. There’s a certain agony in feeling a pull toward and love for just about everyone and yet an inability to develop meaningful connections with them, and that keen loneliness… it just burns.

Again, it’s not definitive of autism, but it’s very similar to an autistic experience.

I said in the beginning that I didn’t think Wylan certainly had autism and I stand by that, but he is a powerfully honest reflection of many people who do. So he can be understood to have autism, and that’s part of the reason some people have that headcanon.

#six of crows #wylan van eck #autism #actually autistic

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casual-eumetazoa · 4 years ago

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on love, the autistic way

my grandfather died last year (very suddenly, from covid) and it has been enough time now that i am able to access my childhood memories of him without feeling overwhelmed with grief and sorrow, and all i find in those memories again and again is an astonishing amount of love

it was more than just the love of a grandparent for their grandchild - it was a special kind of love and care of two autistic people for each other that i don’t know whether neurotypical people can experience

my grandfather was never diagnosed with autism and i was only diagnosed at 18 years old so it’s not like we had labels for it when i was a kid, but it was quite obvious that both of us were distinctly different, and we were different in the same way. my parents both have their own packages of neurodivergent traits but they never operated in the neurotypical world as outsiders, they were never so different that they had a need to carve out a space for themselves because they’ve always felt at home with everyone else

me and my grandfather did not. we both lived and operated in the neurotypical world, but we were just different enough to be acutely aware of it, and we both knew this is a condition we shared. it became a running joke for us back when i was in preschool and my grandfather was the first person to bring up the world “Aspergers” after he read an article online - i was about 11 at the time - and told me, “hey, look, this is you, this is us”. and that fact, that condition of us being different enough, that was a huge source of love. that was a bond stronger than family and bloodties, that was unlike anything i’ve had with any other family members

neurotypical parents of autistic kids talk about their anguish of not having their children express love in the way they want them to, and i almost get it, except i don’t think they realize that it feels like that too for their kids. because autism and not-autism speak different languages, not just in a literal sense, but in a much broader way that covers every aspect of your existence. expressions of love do not look the same in autistic. they don’t always look like words and hugs and drawings. but they can look like:

sharing or just respecting each other’s routines. so many of my happy childhood memories are of detailed, particular routines i’ve had, either shared with or arranged around my grandfather’s routines. in the chaotic world that was not built for us, we carved out our own space that operated on our rules, and we intuitively understood those rules and lived, thrived in them.

when we were spending summers in a tiny cottage far from Moscow, that secluded world was ours, it ticked how we wanted it to, and it was full of love. it was in those repeated actions we shared, in our customs and our order - and when the rest of our family came to visit it was bittersweet, because they came into our order and broke it. we were happy to see them but we were also happy in our own specially constructed universe;

partaking in each other’s passions. my grandfather had a phd in physics and worked as an electrical engineer, he was obsessed with sci-fi, he spent his entire life tinkering with electronics and making crafts and collecting stuff that looked like junk to everyone else. i soaked up his knowledge like a sponge. i grew up with a deep fascination and love for science, technology, and books. he taught me maths and science from preschool all through my undergrad degree and he was the person who gave me my first sci-fi novel

i was obsessed with many things as a child and he nurtured those passions no matter how strange they seemed. just like i would spend hours listening to him explain physics to me, he would spend hours listening to me explain obscure biology to him when i was nine. he is the reason i am a writer and a biologist now. these passions were strange to everyone else but we both understood how much a special interest can mean to you and we bonded tremendously over ours, even when they did not overlap at all;

understanding and respecting each other’s needs, even those that seemed ridiculous to everyone else. my grandfather was deeply preoccupied with order and clean environments. i learned very quickly as a child how things had to be arranged in his house and where they had to be returned every time you used them. he couldn’t stand even looking or smelling certain foods and i always knew what to check for when buying stuff or helping with cooking. he had a very particular way of bagging groceries that i myself still use. so many quirks and habits he had that i was either aware of or actually picked up myself

and he knew my habits and quirks too. he knew my sensory needs and he read my body language like no one else in my family could. he always knew when i was close to meltdown and would get me out of that environment just before it would happen. he meticulously removed tomatoes or mushrooms from my pizza slices and knew the exact right consistency of scrambled eggs that i preferred. all of my ridiculous needs and preferences were not at all ridiculous for him because he knew how it felt and it did not seem unreasonable for him, and i also understood why groceries had to be put into the bag in Just This Way because i needed things ordered too;

spending time together in just the right way. being comfortable with just co-existing around each other without interacting. i love my grandmother too, love her to bits, but being around her often exhausted me because she wanted to talk, she wanted hugs, she wanted to Spend Time Together. but me spending time with my granddad could mean just sitting in the same room and reading and only breaking the silence once in an hour to share a line from the book i liked and continue to co-exist in silence. we did not look each other in the eyes because we did not feel the need to and we understood how much personal space we both needed. it did not upset us or make us feel unloved. the love was in co-existing in harmony even if that meant not talking for an entire day or staying in our own rooms for a whole weekend

all of this was love, and it was special, because it was in defiance of what society was expecting. it was a daily fight to keep and maintain a space for ourselves in the world that did not work for us. it was such a sharp contrast to school for me, where everything about me was weird and wrong and needed fixing. it was the kind of love that told me “you are perfect just the way you are, look, i’m like you and we are both fine just as we are”

i am the spitting image of my grandfather in so many ways, and a big part of that is the habits, the stims, the routines and special interests i have picked up from him. it is all the time i had spent with him, all the happy memories i’ve made. it was the radical acceptance, the total understanding we’ve had between ourselves. and it is the absence of this love that i feel so sharply now that he is gone.

and this is the definition of love that has been imprinted on my brain, and spread out from just familial love to every kind of relationship i have. this is what i am now looking for in everything - friendship, romantic relationship... the love i am seeking everywhere comes from a place of acceptance, of shared routines and respect for each other’s needs and boundaries and bonding over each other’s passions. this is love as i understand it as an autistic person and it is not easy to do in a neurotypical world

i feel for the mothers that want their autistic kids to hug them and say “i love you mummy”. but i feel much stronger for the autistic child who never had someone like my grandfather, a child who wants someone to listen to them talk for hours about their current obsession or wants someone to recognize their patterns and routines and allow them to exist as their brains require them to. i know i will spend the rest of my life searching desperately for this kind of love and i cannot imagine what i would be like if i did not get to experience it

my grandfather is dead, but the love we had for each other is very much alive in me, and still, not a day goes by without me thinking about it

#actuallyautistic #autism #love #long post

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anendoandfriendo · 11 months ago

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[Puts in a plug about systemic oppression, and about how it's similar to not all rectangles are squares, all exploitation is societal abuse but not not all societal abuse is exploitation.]

We maaay have gone on a little too far about our internal processing re: homocial CPTSD thoughts from specific people in our system, navigating that as an endogenic system and cluster of autistics.

The summary was: we were actually very seriously thinking about it, so its a miracle we didn't. Regardless of that fact, EVERY action a victim of abuse takes is an act of self-defense. Yes that includes the violent ones.

"Most abusers aren't intentional" well that wasn't the case for literally this entire town, and the 5D chess we are now able to play we can because it was already natural to us and our environment made it so it was REQUIRED we use that. More specifically it was required we use that capacity to wrestle ourselves into not doing things that would have landed us in prison and removed any chance of escaping:

- The stepcunt hung our dual-enrollment to high school and community college over our head and locked us out of the community college online account when we tried to run away (and then came back because [redacted] has ZERO resources for abused teens).

- We saw the paraprofessional like...ten? fifteen? (we don't remember) years later from second grade and she implied autism makes people broken. Everyone from that McDonald's is fine and they're probably the only people are okay because all five of them, being managers, effectively kicked out that person, her family, and any autism group she has ever ran from visiting that McDonald's ever again for making us cry lol. Get wrekt biiiiiitch and [redacted 'cause of a vile and very triggering phrase]. Or walk into a burning home. Yours preferably but whatever works.

- That so-called "teacher" who retired also told us we were overreacting when we showed him images of a fake-bloody cat toy head on our desk and the words "I will kill your cat" written in fake-blood and told him about the name of the bully who'd been doing this to us for years. When we saw his retirement in the news we told our family with no hesitation he doesn't deserve that, he deserves a bullet to the head. -_-

- [Inserts every time we have ever mentioned an SI room or HFS into this post, since actually doing that would make this post too fuckin' long]

Like, the problem here is LOL we could absolutely wreck people's shit if we truly wanted to. We do not for our own selves-benefit (mostly). But now on top of that, there's also maybe a few people we do care about now and it would be Bad if we did something Stupid and went to the No-No Building forever so there's that too we guess.

So, again, to summarize and make an overgeneralization: anything an abuse victim does is self-defense. Even the violent things, whether they be done in anger or cold blood. The folks who choose to NOT be violent despite their inclinations are like, 10000 times stronger than anyone who clutches their pearls over neurodivergent killer alters and shit ever will be, ever. :v

OP we apologize for adding this wall of text into your post, we thought this might be worth talking about (the "why" some of us don't express anger when it isn't about the abuser themself/itself...a more internal approach. Or if you're like us — how you do/did express anger but it could have been So Much Worse for everyone involved).

no but being told to use your communication coping skills when talking to abusive people is bullshit. abusers do not listen to their victims no matter how reasonable we are.

like. anything that shows we're an individual with thoughts and feelings is going to make an abuser double down. using "i feel" statements isn't going to help if your abuser lashes out at you for showing feelings. speaking calmly isn't going to help if your abuser is threatening you. gently stating what you need isn't going to help if your abuser neglects even your simplest needs.

also so many of us hide our anger and rage. we dont speak our mind, because it's dangerous. it's the most threatening thing to an abuser... but it's also the most empowering for us. anger is the feeling that tells us something is wrong, and we need to embrace it. because our anger is not the danger - our abuser's reaction to it is, and that reaction is not our fault.

#LOL this is the shortened version.#don't even ask us what the long one looked like. you don't want to know and WE don't want to remember.

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ndthrace · 4 years ago

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day 1: 30 days of autism acceptance

April 1st: Introduce yourself. Talk about who you are as a person. Your age, hobbies, special interests, family, etc. Anything you feel comfortable sharing.

First off, I think it's important to disclose that I was diagnosed with autism literally a month ago. It has felt so empowering to step into this identity. (YES, identity. I'm not a fan of the "disorder" label in ASD—it's who I am, not something that's disordered about me. It's just that the world is ordered in such a way that my way of being seems disordered. Big difference. I also honor the fact that "disorder" might be empowering for other autistic folks.)

My autism diagnosis has been empowering because it has explained so much of what I've struggled with all my life—hearing things no one else can hear, squinting in light that doesn't seem to hurt anyone else, losing all of my shit when I've been stuck in loud social situations for too long, feeling so very other and alone when I didn't understand why everyone else seemed to be having fun when I wasn't. It was such a relief to discover that nothing was wrong with me—I'm just wired differently than a lot of people in the world.

I am a 42 year-old woman who works in a helping/spiritual vocation. I am happily married to an NT woman who often serves as my translator and protector in social situations. We often have very different needs—particularly with socializing—and we have learned over the years how to honor those different needs. This often means giving each other space to indulge in activities the other really does not enjoy (like she goes out to loud, crowded restaurants with friends while I stay home alone to watch The Hunger Games movies for the 116th time).

I haven't told my immediate family about my autism, though I suspect that my dad and sibling are both on the spectrum. Looking back, I think I grew up in a pretty autistic household—it was usually quiet, except when we were all enjoying music together, and we all kind of did our own things. I'll probably tell them once I settle more into my own autistic identity.

My special interests include: Christian theology and social justice, f/f fanfic, autism (newly added!), the J.R.R. Tolkien universe (my longest running), the enneagram and other self-awareness tools.

My hobbies include photography, writing Clexa and Raylla fanfic, and devouring sci fi books.

Thanks so much to @autie-j and @lesmiserabby for creating 30 Days of Autism Acceptance!

#30daysofautismacceptance #2021 #actually autistic #autism #autism acceptance

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writingsbychlo · 5 years ago

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heart under construction (05)

word count; 5373

summary; sam gets to take you out on that date, and he almost messes it up, but you manage to find yrou way back to one another again.

notes; I wanna give sarah a huge thanks because she made this gif!! she made it!! i love it, so give her some love too. @dylinski is an angel.

warnings; semi-public sex, unprotected sex, heavy drinking.

Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, Sam pouted as he continued to sit outside of the bar he’d watched you disappear into a good fifteen minutes ago, his brow furrowed. He could totally just storm in there right now, break it up, drag you out, but he really wasn’t sure how you’d react to that.

He had every chance to make a move, he’d spent the day on a date with you, and he hadn't even had the balls to fucking kiss you at the end of it. He rubbed a hand over his face, groaning as he thought back on the moment, his cowardice and the shitty excuse for a few final words he’d given, and he slumped angrily into his seat.

He couldn't see into the bar, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. By now, you were probably curled up in a cosy little booth in the back as you sipped cocktails and let another man kiss you because he’d been too much of a fucking wimp to do it when he had the chance.

The radio hummed lowly, a song he was familiar with from playing earlier in the day beginning to creep out into the car, and he reached over, punching his finger roughly into the button on the dash to turn it off.

“I love this song!” You were practically beaming, bouncing in your seat as the two of you sped down the highway towards Ikea, and Sam reached over, cranking the volume on the music up as you turned to him, giving him a sweet smile before beginning to belt out the lyrics, carefree and happy as you sat in the car beside him.

He couldn’t help himself, but soon he was joining in, the pair of you singing at the top of your lungs to every song that came on the radio as you drove along, the pure joy buzzing around in the air around you both within the car, and the car journey flew by, Sam throwing the car into park as you both stared up at the dark blue building in excitement.

Snatching the keys from the ignition, Sam was out of the car before you had even unclipped your safety belt, and he was holding the door open for you with a cheesy wink, your laugh making it all worth it as you took his outstretched hand, allowing him to help you from the vehicle. Your arm had linked through his as you made your way to the store, the side of your body pressed up to his, and he turned his head, nudging his nose against your temple with affection.

“So, how about some lunch first, yeah?”

“Yes! I love the Ikea café!” He grinned, placing a kiss to your cheek before ushering you into the busy building, watching as you dashed ahead while following the smell of food.

You had shared a tray, letting him carry the food while you balanced the drinks in your arms, the two of you sprawling out along the comfortable leather seats as you ate. Conversation had flowed easily, from one topic to another, never slowing or becoming dull, and Sam realised he could quite literally listen to you talk about anything and not get bored.

You had forced him into people watching, the two of you giggling at people as you watched them pass by, trying to carry ridiculously large boxes of flatpack furniture, or mother's arguing with children about things they weren’t buying that the kids were absolutely insistent that they did need. You made up stories for the weird purchases you saw people buying, and you had started a competition for who could find the worst item combination someone was buying.

He had won, upon spotting someone buying a truly hideous lampshade and a clashing lamp base that he was sure had never been, and would never be, in style.

Once you had finished eating, you had grabbed one of the paper pads from the wall, the box of little pencils sitting beside it, and he had laughed at you as you grabbed a handful. You had one in your hand, one in his, before you had tucked a pencil behind your ear and one behind his, too, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you told him how much you liked to collect the mini-pencils, and he half considered just stealing the entire box for you.

His chest was practically aching from how much he had laughed, and he was sure he hadn't stopped smiling since the moment he’d picked you up, finally knowing which little house belonged to you as he leaned against his car, watching you bounce out of your house in a cute little sundress and dash down the driveway to hug him tightly. He could still feel your arms wrapped around him, the smell of your freshly applied perfume when he’d buried his face in your neck, and the fit of you in his arms when he’d hugged you back with just as much enthusiasm, swaying you from side to side.

You had trekked through the entire store, trying and testing everything from kitchen furniture to sofas. You had a list, front and back, covered in all the product codes of things that would look perfect in the house, and match the beautiful theme that had been crafted. You had lay next to Sam for a while on what you had called your ‘dream bed’, a king-size bed with drawers underneath, reading lamps fastened into the headboard and a plush mattress that he felt he might actually just sink into.

Lying on the display bed that was out, you lay next to him, staring up at the roof as your hair fanned out around you on the bed and he just watched you, admiring how much he enjoyed simply laying with you. He could picture lazy mornings with you just like this, or late nights after work when the both of you were tired. Laying in bed and cuddled up, before you spent the night curled up in his arms to sleep.

He liked this bed, a lot. He did not hesitate to write down the coding for the product so he could find it when he came back one day to pick up furniture.

Reaching out, he took your hand in his, weaving your fingers together, and you paused your aimless rambling, your head falling to the side to look at him, close enough that your breath washed over his lips as he smiled softly, and you only returned the look, squeezing his hand tightly in yours as he stared at you.

When you had been ushered on by another family wanting to look at this bed, your hand had remained locked in his, holding you close to him as you completed your journey. He had been sure to sneakily tuck three of the four small pencils you had stolen into your purse before you’d reached the door, so the member of staff asking for them back couldn’t take them. With a smile, he hadn't over the final pencil, your face burying in his shoulder to quiet your giggles as the two of you walked away across the car park, and his arm dropped to your waist to hold you close.

You had folded the little list neatly, tucking it into the front pocket of his jeans for him as you rambled on about how much you loved the coffee table he had chosen, and how perfect you thought it would look with a blue striped rug underneath it, in the centre of the living room. He wasn’t listening, instead, he grabbed you by both of your hips, pushing you up against the edge of his car as you reached it. His body was almost flush against yours as he looked down at you, your words dying in your throat as you looked up at him.

He was nervous, his heart beating against his chest, but you soon wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers toying with the slightly too-long hairs a the base of his neck as he dipped his head down, his eyes closing as he heard you let out a little gasp at his close proximity. His nose was bumping against yours, his lips so close to you that they brushed when he tilted his head, his tongue catching against your lips when he licked his own, and he felt frozen in this moment of intimacy, your heart pounding just as fast as his, he could feel it, his hands sliding from our hips to your lower back.

Your phone was buzzing absentmindedly in your purse, and he growled slightly under his breath, pulling back and clearing his throat as his nerves got the better of him, tension flooding his body as he stiffened and stepped back. “This was.. really fun. Super fun. We should hang out more often.”

Your jaw dropped at him, and he hated himself instantly.

‘We should hang out more often.’

What the fuck was that about?

You only nodded, your gaze dropping from his with dismay as you reached for the handle to the car, opening the door for yourself and climbing inside, and he watched as you clipped yourself in silently, pulling your phone from your bag to check your notifications. He stared out across the other cars, running a hand over his face and cursing at himself before rounding the car, getting into the driver’s seat and glancing at you as you replied to whatever messages you had received, your fingers flying over the keyboard and he scrambled to try and find a way to fix this, because once again he had ruined the atmosphere around you both.

“You, er, you wanna’ come back to the house? Jake is there.”

You looked up at him, the polite smile that made his gut twist uncomfortably was aimed at him as you shook your head, tucking your hair behind your ear and waving your phone at him a little. “Can’t. One of the dads from the princess prom was hoping I would get drinks, he has some questions about his kid, he has autism and he wanted to know a little more about the teaching methods, so I said yes.”

Sam felt like his skin was crawling, and he twisted the keys to start up the car, his eyes facing forward as he nodded stiffly, jaw clenched. “Right. Of course. I’ll drop you off, I suppose. Where is it?”

You gave him the address, and he tried not to snap the steering wheel. He knew that pub, he’d met some of his tinder hookups there for drinks. It was nice, it had a homey feel, and low lights and private booths. It was a date pub, you didn’t go there unless you were hoping to get some kind of action, and from your innocent smile he assumed you didn’t know that, but he was willing to bet this guy did.

The drive there was tense, and he missed the easy-going bliss that had been the drive you had shared last time. Now, the radio played quietly as he drove in silence, your body facing away from him as you looked out of the window.

If he had just had the guys to kiss you when you were right there, in the moment with him and only him, you wouldn't be going out with another guy right now, and he fucking hated it.

You had got out of the car, checking yourself in his mirrors before smoothing out your dress, and he gave you a tight smile, all while feeling like someone had pushed a hand straight into his chest and torn his heart right out of it.

“You look beautiful. You always do.”

Then, he had watched you leave, flouncing up and into the bar without looking back, mumbling a cheery ‘thanks for a great day, see you later, Sam!’ and you were gone. This hadn't been how he wanted the day to end, and the second you were gone, he threw the car into park, staring at where you had gone, hoping you might come back out, saying you changed your mind, that you wanted to be with him instead and that whoever was waiting inside of you could get lost. But you didn’t, and Sam sniffed, wiping angrily at his eyes and punching at his steering wheel in his rage as he sat in his seat, defeated.

This was exactly why Sam Taylor didn’t do relationships.

As the clock ticked over into twenty minutes, he decided to let his rage cover his drowning grief over the situation as he forced the car back into action, pulling away from the curbside and onto the road, scowling at himself and his life as he headed for his destination. It was another fifteen minutes before he was slamming his car door shut, not even bothering to lock it from the half-assed job he’d done of parking on the driveway before he was storming into the house with the heavy box tucked under his arm, glass bottles jingling with his hurried steps.

Slamming the front door shut behind himself, he heard Jake curse, choosing to ignore it as he stormed up the stairs, straight past his brother who had excitedly come to ask him how it went, and made his way to the top floor. Dropping the box on the balcony floor, he used his keys to tear it open, shoving them deep into his pocket before taking one of the beers from inside, uncapping it quickly and dropping to the floor with a huff. Raising the bottle to his lips, he chugged a good half of the contents of the bottle before he even bothered to kick off his shoes, or take off his jacket.

Once he was finished with the first bottle, he placed it neatly before him, dragging a hand over his face and finally turning to face his brother, who was texting avidly with a concerned look on his face. “You want to tell me what happened?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Jake pressed, standing up from where he was leaning in the doorway and Sam bit down on his bottom lip, before reaching into his crate of beers and pulling out two more bottles, offering one to his brother.

“No.”

Jake accepted it, the two of them sitting in silence for a while, and Sam adjusted himself to stare out at the horizon. Pastel shades decorate the horizon, the sun burning brightly as the last of the shimmering air floating began to settle down, and neither man spoke until long after the sun had sunk below the horizon. Jake was still nursing the same bottle of beer, concernedly watching his brother, who was now on his fifth, and gripping the almost empty bottle in a grip so tight his knuckles were white.

When a cool breeze indicative of the night closing in swept over them both, Sam sighed loudly, swilling the rest of the beer in the bottle around before downing it, turning to face him with tears lining his eyes. “She’s on a date. With another guy. Because I’m a fucking coward.”

“That’s not fair, you’re not a coward!”

Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes and tilting his head back to look at the final fading shades of colour on the horizon as deep blue and black took over, sparkling stars in the clear sky shining out brightly. “I didn’t kiss her. She was right there, it was so clearly a date, and she was letting me kiss her, and I didn’t. I said ‘we should hang out more often’.”

“You’re a fucking moron.”

“I know that, Jake.” He growled his words out, eyes narrowing in a glare as he looked at his brother and Jake shrugged, finishing his beer and adding it to the collection before them. The distant sound of a car door slamming caught both of their attention, the much louder sound of the front door slamming made both of them sit upright, until the hushed giggling of a very familiar void caught their attention.

Turning to look back at the stairs, they glanced through the open glass door to see you hauling yourself up the stairs, a dopey and elated smile on your face as you tripped and stumbled, finally reaching the top and finding the confused faces of both the males looking at you.

“I had a thought!” You announced loudly, making your way toward the open balcony and standing in the doorway, staring at the horizon. “If you swapped the first letters of your names, you would be ‘Sake’ and ‘Jam’. You could use both names in a sentence. Like, for fuck’s sake, where’s the jam?”

You cracked up giggling at yourself, your body swaying slightly and Sam simply stared at you, Jake hopping to his feet as his hands landed on your shoulders. “How much did you drink?”

“A fair amount.” You beamed, tapping at Jake’s nose with the tip of your finger, before your eyes dropped down, widening and filling with joy as though you’d only just remembered that Sam was there. “Sam! Hi! I missed the sunset, but I want to watch the stars. Can we watch the stars?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” His words were slurred and he watched as you dropped yourself down onto the floor beside him, shuffling yourself along the wall to get comfortable and he used his foot to nudge the half-empty box towards you. “Beer?”

“Love one, thanks.”

“Right, well, I’m leaving. Good luck with your hangovers!” Jake sighed, shaking his head fondly at the both of you as he grabbed his jacket, making his way down the stairs and leaving the both of you in silence. Sam waited until he heard the engine of Jake’s truck spark up, pulling out of the driveway and setting off before he finally swallowed down his pride and turned to you.

“You seem happy. Did your date go well?” He could hear the venom in his own voice as he spat out his own words, but he was too drunk to care, and it would seem that you were decidedly drunk too, because you turned to him, practically beaming as you shook your head.

“It was absolutely atrocious.” You shook your head, sipping at the bitter beverage you held before leaning forward, stacking all the empty bottles up into a pyramid, rather content with your creation before you glanced at him over your shoulder. “I don’t think you want to hear about that though, do you?”

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut before plastering a smile on his face and looking at you. “I’m trying to be a supportive friend. You can talk to me, tell me all about your date.”

“Okay, well, he sat way too close to me and was wearing far too much cologne, and he stared at my tits, like, the entire night, and then he tried to kiss me when I was getting in a taxi.”

Sam winced, taking large gulps of his drink. “You’re right, I didn’t want to hear that.”

“Why are you drinking?” You questioned carefully, and he sighed, taking another sip before biting down on his bottom lip.

“Because I didn’t kiss you when I had the chance.” He picked at the label on the bottle, coming away with the slight condensation on the cold glass. “Why did you drink?”

“Because you didn’t kiss me when you had the chance.” Your reply was not what Sam had expected, and he looked at you carefully, watching as you chewed on your lower lip. Reaching over, he took your bottle from your hands, placing it on the cold stone with his own, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, using his thumb to pull your lip from its prison as he ran the pad delicately over it.

“Did you kiss him?”

“No.”

“Good.” With that, he gave up on his hesitations and fears, leaning forward to press his lips to yours in a delicate kiss, a surprised gasp leaving you as his nose bumped against yours. He could sense your surprise, your body stiffening under his hold, before you relaxed, fingers lacing into his hair and holding him tightly to you as you returned the affections and he thought his heart might actually burst from his chest this time. “I’ve been wanting to do that pretty much since I met you.”

His words were mumbled against your lips, and you giggled, nodding in agreement as your foreheads pressed together. “Please do that again.”

“With pleasure.” This time, he was more confident, his lips slanting over yours with force, his hands sliding down from your face to your hips, your fingers tightening in his hair. He was soon nibbling at your lower lip, your lips parting for him as his tongue slipped into your mouth, playing with your own.

It was messy, and sloppy, and a combination of whimpers and moans as the two of you pawed at one another. Your fingers slid down, nails dragging through his scruffy beard and eliciting a growl from him before landing on his chest, curling the material of his shirt up into fists and your hands scrunched up.

The kiss was dominating, and rough, the two of you panting into one another's mouths as your skin burned deliciously from his assault on your mouth and the stubble on his cheeks. The hands on your hips tightened as you shifted, and without pulling away from your mouth, he navigated you, lifting you carefully from your position and all but dragging you into his lap, large palms on your thighs guiding you until you had a leg on either side of his.

Your foot caught on one of the bottles, the glass clinking and fizzing sounding in the air as liquid spilt from the bottle, running in streams towards the edge of the platform and dripping away to the ground so far below. The two of you snapped apart, chests heaving as you giggled at the spilt bottle. “I’m sorry I knocked over your beer.”

“If I ever care about spilt beer more than having you in my lap, I want you to shoot me.” He muttered, trailing kisses along your neck, and your chest shook with silent laughs, soon replaced with moans as he began to leave wet trails along your skin, sucking and nipping at your flesh as he left little red marks dotted along your flesh.

“You say that like I’ll be in your lap often.”

“I sure hope you will. My lap is exactly where you belong. Or by my side. Or under me. As long as you’re with me, I really don’t care.” He groaned as your hand slipped back into his hair, tugging harshly until he left your collarbones, your lips landing back on his and he hummed happily, parting his lips the second he felt you trying to lick your way into his mouth.

His fingers dug into your thighs, so tightly they’d leave marks and his hips bucked up involuntarily into yours, moans falling from both of you at the action and you returned the gesture by rolling his hips down into his. A strangled sound left him, and he could feel your grin against his lips as he sloppily worked his mouth with yours.

You did it again, harder, and he let out a low growl, his hands sliding to your hips to try and still you, and you only pressed down harder into him in return. His cock twitched, hardening rapidly as the sounds you made for him reached his ears, the feeling of you in his lap driving him wild. “Sweetheart, if you don’t stop then I’m going to lose all self-control, and I don’t think you want that.”

His voice was low, scratchy and raw as he tried to suck in desperate breaths between stealing kisses as your nails raked down his chest and over his stomach. “You know what I want? I want to know what it’s like to be fucked on a balcony.”

“Oh, shit..” Sam whimpered, his eyes sliding shut as he tipped his head up to catch your lips in a passionate kiss, swollen lips stinging pleasurably, your fingers playing with his belt buckle as you undid it, his hips lifting up and grinding into your covered core under your skirt as he helped you tug the belt free to be discarded. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured, or forced, or like we’re moving too fast an-”

“Sam, stop being scared. Why are you so worried about being so intimate with me?” Your eyes searched his, and he swallowed thickly.

“Because you’re not like the girls I’m normally with, and I don’t want you to feel like you are.”

“Hell of a line there, Taylor.” You smirked, pecking his lips before trailing kisses along his jaw, your fingers swiftly undoing the button on his jeans as you knelt over him, kissing at his neck and yanking the zipper down far enough to slip your hand into his jeans.

“Not a line, just the truth. You’re special to me.” He panted, his hips rolling up as he thrust into your hand, your fingers tracing his hard cock through his underwear as you squeezed at him, palming and rubbing his member until he couldn’t take it anymore. Taking his hand in your own, you lifted the edge of your dress, taking his fingertips and dragging them along your drenched panties, a deep sound rumbling in his chest as he took control, swirling his fingers around your swollen clit through the material. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re drenched.”

“That’s what you do to me.” You let out a cry as he pushed down on your clit roughly, a sly smirk covering his features, and he used his thumb to drag the sodden material to the side, swiping two fingers through your slick folds to part them, nudging against your clit as you moaned his name loudly for him. Easing a single finger into him, your hand shook from where you were teasing him through his boxers, your nails dragging against him through the material the second he slipped the second digit into you, joint noises of pleasure leaving you both.

He pumped his fingers faster, scissoring them and revelling in the wet sounds he could make with your juices as he fucked his fingers into you quickly. Your hips were rolling down into his hand, your mouth pressed to his in a series of frantic kisses as you whispered each other's names into your connected mouths, your hand tightening around him as he brushed against your g-spot. “Please, sweetheart, this is fucking torture.”

“You’re needy.” You teased, and he scoffed, but the sound came out more like a whine as you finally pulled back your hand.

“I’m only needy for you. Now please, just let me fuck you, honey.”

“Okay.” You looped your fingers into his belt loops, tugging the material of his jeans down until they were low enough to release his cock, a hiss leaving him as the cold air swept over him. Throbbing and red, precum oozed from the slit on his head and you let out a whimper at the sight, a strained chuckle leaving him. Inching forward, you leaned down, your fingers wrapping around him gently to line him up with your dripping core before you were sinking yourself down onto him.

Cries of joy left both of you, your foreheads pressed together and Sam could feel your breath panting over his cheek as your jaw hung slack, until your hips were seated snugly together. “You’re so tight, holy fuck.” He felt like the words were wheezed out of him, and he knew you could feel every throw and pulse of his cock between your walls because he could feel every flutter and squeeze you gave him. “M’ so not gonna’ last long.”

“Me either.” You whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before steadying your hands on his shoulder, his fingers flexing on his hips and he choked back a moan as you adjusted yourself rising up on your hips before slamming back down onto him, your eyes rolling back as his lips parted, a sigh leaving him as he thrust up a little to meet you the second time.

Adjusting yourself, you reached one hand out to grip onto the cold metal of the railing beside you, and your other was digging marks into his shoulder, even through the layers of material covering him. Tugging at the hem of your dress, he pushed it up until he had it bunched around your waist, watching the place where your panties were pushed to the side, his cock sliding into and out of your slick hole, covered in your juices and glistening in the night light.

He licked at the pad of his thumb, dropping it to rub rapid circles onto your clit as you squeaked, hips bucking against his with more force and speed as your body became weak, your walls clenching around him so tightly he could barely thrust up into you. You were shaking above him, crying out his name.

“K-Keep doing that.” You licked over your lips, and he grinned, picking up the speed as you locked your hips down into him, both of you spiralling towards your edges as you moved together in lazy but frantic movements, your bodies slamming together as each thrusted connection rocked you both, your nerves on fire. He could feel it in the pit of his belly, just watching you become unravelled above him, his name spilling from your lips in near screams as you pleased yourself on his cock, and he knew he was close.

“Gonna’ cum for me, honey? C’mon, I can feel how close you are. Let me fill you up, just cum for me, sweetheart.”

You nodded, a scream of his name tearing from your lips as bliss took over your body, your hands shakily finding his jaw. You moaned into his mouth, your tongues tangling together as you came, and he gripped onto you just as tightly, his cock twitching before he was breaking, falling over the edge with you and spattering your walls with streams of hot cum, a cry of your name carrying him over the edge.

You continued to move slowly through your highs, before you finally slumped against his chest, your skin shining with a thin layer of sweat, like his, despite the cool night breeze that was brushing over your both as you pressed together. Your arms were looped around his neck, his around your waist as he nuzzled into your neck, holding you close. “That was fucking incredible.” He mumbled, and you laughed tiredly, pulling back to kiss him softly, your fingers carding through his hair soothingly.

“Yeah, it really was.”

Silence overtook the two of you for a few minutes, nothing but the panting you made as you tried to slow your racing hearts and calm your breathing sounded out, until he groaned lowly, your fingers catching on a piece of hair and tugging a little. His cock, still buried within you, twitched in urgency as his half-hard dick seemed to be springing into action once again, and Sam could feel heat crawling up his cheeks as you giggled at him.

“Already?”

“Can’t help it, I’ve wanted this for a long time.” He mumbled, pouting his lips and growling as you purposefully swivelled your hips, clenching around him as you leaned in to kiss him, your teasing laugh at your actions making it more of a messy exchange of lips and tongues than a passionate kiss.

“How about we see what it’s like when you do me up against the wall inside, then?” You winked down at him, wiggling your eyebrows as his hands slid around under your ass, scooping you up in his arms as he stumbled to his feet, cock still nestled deep within you as you clung to him and laughed.

“Fuck, yes.”

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saltymcsaltything · 1 year ago

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I grew up masking from a very young age because I was very self aware but very naive and I assumed based on shreds of information I picked up by 2nd grade that all of my emotional, health, and sensory problems that nobody outside of my immediate family could understand meant I was 'crazy', and the only thing I knew growing up was that my grandmother was ostracized and died because of her mental illness. Had she been "treated" by the standards of the day it would have been in an institution and it would have either involved massive sedatives or shock therapy.

I didn't know that most of my challenges were because of autism. I'm "gifted" but I struggled a lot with physical issues that went under recognized and unsupported. I hated my body and my emotions, but because I'm 'smart' I thought I just had to constantly watch myself and learn to fit in and then I would be okay.

Thing is, I never felt like I was any good at it. I relied a lot on being able to hide in the crowd, and I drifted away from friends before ghosting was a thing at any sign I was being found out, or at any transition point in life, because that have me a chance to naturally start over and not risk the pain of a relationship imploding when they realized what a fucking mess I am.

And I was *good* at masking, but I have always felt like I was tap dancing on the edge of a razor and one slip would get me fired, ostracized, hated, and locked away. And I still can't fully convince myself that's just a nightmare scenario I've built up in my head to keep myself from slipping and losing autonomy. I controlled myself to keep others from taking total control. And those feelings only got worse when my mom passed, because with both of my parents gone my one lifeline back to safety if it all fell apart was gone. I masked my way into a marriage and I didn't even feel safe letting my wife see how fragile my grip on "normalcy" was.

I got diagnosed after my mom died because I lost all capacity to mask. I could not take care of myself, and my wife watched me fall apart. She told me she thought I could be autistic... because she had suspected she was for years and she was seeing the outward manifestation of things she felt in my unmasked behavior. I eventually realized that she had exactly the same fears that I always had, compounded by other aspects of her identity that made her even more likely to be institutionalized if she dropped her mask.

I know that my nightmare scenario is closer to reality for a lot of people who are more like me than I ever knew. And I feel guilty for having the advantages that have allowed me to hide it. But I grew up thinking "you are crazy, hide this or die" because I saw that message in media. And every time I have started to convince myself that it's just horror movie fiction, I see real reminders of how dehumanizing and dangerous it is to be in a carceral system of any kind in this country. The physical spaces might not always look like a horror movie, but the loss of autonomy even in "Gentle Jail" is still barbaric.

I hated segregated special ed as a kid. 508's existed but only kids with purely physical disabilities got accommodations (poor ones at that). Anybody who presented with intellectual disability, speech or motor disabilities, or recognized learning disorders, as well as any "severe" behavioral problems was completely isolated from all mainstream kids. Special Education classes didn't even come to assemblies, they were literally on the far side of campus in a trailer. I had friends who were in there that I only saw after school in the neighborhood. Their bus might as well have been taking them to another city for as invisible as they were in school.

And I *knew* at 8 yrs old that we weren't really that different, but our lives were on two completely different tracks because I lucked into 'genius' level IQ. But I have always felt like I burn most of my cognitive horsepower running algorithms to keep the rest of my shit from falling apart. And I felt like I had to, because if I didn't, I saw what my kind of issues would get me. I got "extra" counseling after answering too honestly on some psych profile for children at one point, and had to double down on my people pleasing act to convince them I wasn't really a quivering bundle of anxiety and aggression... and it worked because I could play the part when I contain the fact that I was angry, exhausted and upset that someone was prying into my head at all if the things that terrified me.

And after decades of that and the abuse I endured along the way, I have developed mental health issues that make me 'crazy' the way I always feared I was. And now every potential encounter with authority is even more fraught because the feeling that I might get triggered and have a panic attack or a shrieking meltdown is very, very plausible.

So... yeah. Flying under the radar to stay alive and out of jail doesn't seem like such an irrational childhood fear. The reality is that those systems are as awful as my 8 year old brain felt they were, just with better interior design. My actual nightmares were full of outwardly nice child psychologist types who were abusive ableist control freaks and that is real. They tortured kids with electroshock and that is real. They controlled every aspect of every day and that is real. And I fucking hate that I was more right than I could have imagined.

Where are all the "slow" kids, the challenged kids, the burnouts from birth, the burden to have in class? Where are the autists who can't mask, who self harm, who are loud and can't stop stimming? The NDs with processing disorders, brain damage, brain fog? The ones with down syndrome, FAS, and other conditions that people treat like curses or defects. I hardly ever see them past 18 and I know they don't just dissolve once they become adults.

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tbh-entp · 4 years ago

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How you think ASD and ENTP personality correlate with each other? Also, got any tips on generating empathy and speaking to strangers?

This is truly a great question! And really important. I’m quite familiar with ASD actually since my brother has Asperger’s and only went to schools with kiddos with Autism and Asperger’s. Also it runs in my family-- I have cousins and uncles on the spectrum as well.

I’m making a cut because I’m really quite passionate about ASD and I talk a lot.

OK, so first things first, one frustration that I have with the MBTI system is that it doesn’t quite make space for anything other than the average. People without ASD already struggle enough with typing. So people on the scale have a hell of a time. With my brother... I forget his type because it doesn’t... quite... fit. (Also, he’s my brother and maybe too close to type)

But as a result, I dislike combining MBTI stereotypes with the ASD stereotypes because it often doesn’t translate so directly.

To answer your question directly: ENTPs stereotypically tend to struggle with responding to other’s emotions because we don’t consider it as valid or as serious. So emotions often kinda go... unheard. Adding ASD to the mix , I can see a person who is excitable and engaged but maybe doesn’t notice when a conversation changes topic, and so they keep talking about their thing until they notice the conversation has moved. Or they allow others to speak and then bring their topic back up. I can also see an ASD ENTP telling a joke that lands--and since it lands they bring it back up because it worked the first time. ENTPs are already direct, one with ASD would also be very very direct and probably less sarcastic. With my brother, my dad actually would be sarcastic to help him understand-- my bro is still incredibly direct but he recognizes sarcasm quite well-- practice makes perfect!

Regarding tips, if you’re asking about generating empathy, you’re well on your way! That already shows that you care and you’re keeping your eyes open to things that you feel like you naturally miss. Truly though, I think that for anyone, a key to strengthen empathy is exposure to things that you don’t get in your daily life. Watch movies about history and cultures and religion and war. Read books on anything and everything! Cultural education and exposure goes a long long way. Also also, even if you don’t naturally see that you should emotionally react in a certain way, just having a multitude of examples and their consequences will help you pick out from catalogue in a more logical manner! (I actually quite struggle with this when I’m dealing with my really dramatic friends because there’s nothing in my catalogue that matches their drame..)

For speaking to strangers, practice makes perfect. Challenge yourself to do it once a week (or once every other week), whatever you prefer! And gradually it’ll get easier. There are a LOT of people on the spectrum, so you’re not alone. Even if you’re the only one in a room with ASD, you’re still very normal and an important addition to our society. Also, there are people (like me) who feel very comfortable around people with ASD (perhaps more comfortable). They tend to be genuine, direct, and passionate about their things... and I find that to be relaxing because you’re not fake and you don’t do small talk for the hell of it.

I’ll tell you though.... I’m on the awkward side, I hate small talk. And I’ve told strangers some of the wEIRDEST things on first go. Once I asked a guy (who I though was hot) if he heard scratching in his walls and then I told him there were squirrels in there and then I moonwalked (MOONWALKED) out of the doorway. And it was fine. The guy still talked to me after and thought we were friends! So just remember that no one thinks about what you do more than you do, and regardless of if you introduce yourself with a splash or not.... it’s fine and you can even try again! Starting off small though is the key, and then you’ll realize that people who respond poorly to you don’t matter.

Your question is so difficult is because the world’s system isn’t set up for ASD. So a lot of these people who are particularly skilled in their own ways who have ASD don’t have what they need in school. Or they’re belittled for being different. My brother was terribly bullied before he went to the special schools, and he struggled a lot in summer camps as well. His reading skills were very very behind until my parents noticed and put him in a program to help him out in this aspect. Today, he’s a civil engineer and I have no hesitation in calling him a genius. I’m pretty sure his IQ levels are astronomical. But his teachers from his first school wouldn’t have been able to tell you this. The teachers from his special school didn’t expect him (or any other kids in their school) to go to 4-year college. He did, and is doing great.

We always talk about nature vs. nurture making on the type. But people on the spectrum have a different both. They are naturally different and society doesn’t nurture them the same way because it’s created for people around the average. This is actually something I’m so passionate about because we don’t nurture many of our people with literally the mOST potential. So MBTI.... doesn’t work.

So just like to anyone with ASD who may be reading this, while there are good things and important aspects to fitting in, matching emotions etc. Don’t let it guide you. Some of these people I’ve met on the spectrum are the smartest most talented people. And even when they weren’t the brainiest of the brainiest these people loved so deeply and tHOUGHT so deeply.

I’m on a soap box, but while you try to improve empathy and ability to deal with strangers, don’t forget that you bring a lot of importance and worth to the table as well and people should adjust to you a bit as well.

#so sorry for how long this is but like #sO very important to me #my brother has been through so much shit man #and like ASD exists on all ends #you are everywhere so why can't society adjust!?#i hate the phrase neurotypical because of the connotation of typical being right #it's not the case #kk i'm done #asd #entp #mbti #answered #macxas

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transephiroth · 4 years ago

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an important post: abuse from friends, friend abuse. please read and reblog.

TW: abuse ment, bpd ment, ed ment, suicide ment, ptsd, trauma, death ment. gaslighting ment.

i don’t know what exactly what has compelled me to make this post at nearly 1:00 am on a school night just like every other, but i think the importance of advocacy of preventing, spotting, and stopping abusive friendships is to talk about them with the same respect as any other form of abuse.

i’ll give you a small overview of my personal experience with abusive friendships: when i was 16, my father committed suicide. i was not aware he was my biological father at they time and actually found out he was not my half brother, but my biological father. my father, who’s name i will not mention. i won’t even use fake names they’re hard to keep track of. i found out my mother, an abusive drug addict, slept with her husband, my apparent grandfather’s, adult son from a previous marriage consensually. one way or another, my father was forbidden to be involved in my life, and my grandfather raised me as his own. (in case you’re going to ask about inc*st, my father and mother have no relation, she is not his mother.)

the shock of learning this and grieving his death from the few negative interactions he and his mental health had on my family when i was a baby, was intense. i had no friends at school and felt incredibly lost and vulnerable. when i was in this place i met my best friend. we bonded over a shared hatred of my ex boyfriend, who was an abuser, who was dating her ex best friend.

this should have been a red flag, but i ignored it.

i took the first friend i could find after my ex took away all my friends in an effort to isolate me after my assault. this was probably the worst part of my life, and one of my first real suicide attempts was only days before my father died. the first friend i found, the first soul i recognized i clung to.

when me and my friend, who we will call P, were inseparable. but there was a very clear and distinct difference between us. P was a star in the band at school, she had great grades, tons of friends and was quite conventionally attractive. she was involved in a lot of extracurriculars and overall had a very nice demeanor.

this should have been a red flag. as harsh as it might sound, idealizing anyone is unhealthy. if someone appears to you as perfect, it’s not paranoid of you to wonder if it’s hiding something. it’s hard to tell when someone is being genuine, especially for myself with autism. nice words and a smile can pretty much fool anyone.

i, on the other hand of P, dropped out of band and just about every other activity after my assault, and was in and out of intense therapy and psych visits throughout all of high school. i never could go a school year without a visit. to this day i have gone a whole year however :)

I was an autistic shut in who quite honestly, cried a lot, smelled bad, was clearly poor, spoke funny and came to school drunk. we were not the same.

i don’t want to go over every painstaking detail, so i’ll try to summarize as best i can the first two years of our three year relationship.

P was diagnosed with BPD about a month into our friendship. she told me i was her FP/favorite person, and showed me videos to learn about BPD. i remember watching hours and hours of information about BPD to accommodate her the best i could. what i didn’t realize however, was that she was lying. she didn’t have BPD, or at least couldn’t be diagnosed because we were 16.

red flag. i knew this was a lie because i had been in therapy for years. it took me a long time to peace it together but i accepted it and beget told her, until this moment, that i knew.

i fucking knew.

months of friendship included constant easy to see through lies, fabrications, pathological rants, and pretty much changing her “back story” every day. it was draining not to mention it, but the few times i did, she got physical. i have scars on my right forearm from her nails, which were long and broke skin. she would tell me she would pay me back for things and never show. she would make fun of things i told her in secret to our friends, my trauma. my dad.

“dark humor”

over time, she convinced me to drop every single friend i had except for her. she had gotten me literally completely vulnerable and isolated.

when covid hit, my mom, of course, kicked me out. i moved in with P and her family. my time there over quarantine was very monotonous, but i’ll never forget that for basically 8-9 months, she never let me out of her sight. i felt like i had to just do whatever she wanted because her mother let me live there for free.

p knew i wanted to move away from my mother and the chaos of my home life for years.

right before quarantine, P got her first boyfriend. she had never had a boyfriend and had been to scared to get one. i was really happy for her, i encouraged her to ask him out while she was at a weekend school event.

P then began to manipulate not only me, but him. to this day i don’t know what’s become of either of them, but i really couldn’t care less anymore. when trauma heals, you get a sense of apathy.

P would frequently belittle me, mock me, kick, trip and slap me, force me to pay for things for her and her boyfriend on the spot, and steal from my purse.

eventually living with p, third wheeling with her less than charming boyfriend, who i honestly just didn’t mind. we weren’t friends, but i was respectful to him and treated him the same way i would treat a friend from school or something.

p has a family i won’t bring up because it involves minors, but her mother has a psychotic disorder and refuses to be medicated, so the house is full of ripped door hinges, holes in walls, smashed items and more. it’s really unsafe there, and during my time there i found i really began to internalize as a person. i developed an eating disorder and my ptsd and autism felt much more out of control.

i had been diagnosed with autism for nearly two years at that point, and living in that household made me realize just how damaging meltdown after meltdown without anyone understanding can damage your psyche long term.

i wanted to leave. i had saved my money from my jobs and got an apartment. p insisted on coming, saying she didn’t want to live with her mom anymore. i didn’t want her to come, but i agreed. she got a co-sign. i knew it was a bad idea because i heard what they said about best friends living together. i just can’t believe it really happened.

we talked about growing old together, raising our kids together. i was going to name my first daughter after her. we were going to be neighbors. her husband and my wife would be best friends just like us, but that’s not what happened.

we lived together from August 2020-November 2020

to give a quick summary of the inevitable end of this relationship, P and I had two kittens together. i asked her if she could put them away for inspection so they didn’t run out the door while i drove our third roommate, a whole other mountain of a story, to work.

she didn’t do it, instead slacked off to go to her boyfriends house. so i came back and had to put the cats away at record speed and our other roommate was late to work.

even if this was somewhat small, it was the breaking point for me. i grabbed my phone and texted her, DEMANDING she explain why she couldn’t do this one thing for me. i have never been that angry in my life. we had a phone call where i just lost it and unleashed all my anger and all my hurt about everything she had done. i was sobbing and barely making sense but i couldn’t just keep letting my life carry on this way.

i wish i remembered how the phone call ended, but all i remember was telling her “if the cats run and we can’t find them, then we are done being roommates.”

the next morning i woke up and she had blocked me on everything. i drove to the apartment and saw that overnight, according to block times at like, 3am, she had taken all our shared furniture, all my birthday gifts from not two weeks prior, all the gifts i bought her, most of my clothes, one of the apartment keys, my high school diploma, the paperwork for the cats, and not just our two shared kittens, but my third roommates cat as well.

cue search party with my partner and his friends and my other roommate for P and the cats. i found her at her house with her mom and boyfriend. i walked out and she was on the phone with my grandfather, telling him i was threatening suicide. i ask her where the cats are, she says they are at a friends house.

if we flashback in the story, we literally only had each other, so i knew it was a lie.

i managed to argue through to negotiate at least my other roommates cat, but only after P’s mom blocked us in the driveway and called the police saying we threatened her daughter

(reminder people in this group were black and asian ☺️ so she just calls the cops fall 2020)

luckily the cops saw the proof she blocked me so i couldn’t have threatened her, and let us leave.

that’s the end of the friendship. i could bore anyone who has read this far further by explaining the nightmare realm that is the legal troubles with the apartment, but the internet doesn’t need to know everything does it?

as the winter has gone on i’ve had months to basically remake myself as a person. i had to firstly face the damage P had done.

but before i get into that, anyone who is still reading first, ily, but also, if you’ve had ANY relationship that sounds similar to this, THAT IS ABUSE.

Plain and simple. It is abusive. Physically, emotionally, mentally, verbally. nobody deserves that. not P. not you. not me.

friendships can be all someone has. not everyone is born into good families with loving siblings and great parents and tons of cousins who live .3 milliseconds away. families are divided. families, like mine, are divorced. families are broken and families sometimes aren’t even families. humans need relationships, and an idealistic person who we think maybe could save us and fix the world, won’t.

you can be taken advantage of by the person you trust the most just as easily as a stranger.

it’s not wrong to face the abuse they put you through, know it was wrong, and feel valid that it is was wrong.

what i went through with P was horrible. the detachment of my only friend hurt. but i bounced back. i’m still undoing some of the damage, but i have great friends and a wonderful partner. i have two rescue cats who mean the world to me.

life gets better after abuse, but the bad days and the pain aren’t invalid because of this. i have trauma from what P put me through. abandonment like that is traumatic. but it’s not the end. feel what you need to feel to feel better.

if anyone read this far and wants to vent their own experiences, or share more advice on preventing these relationships feel free. it’s almost 1:30 now, i should go to bed.

it feels good to get that off my chest.

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a-woman-apart · 4 years ago

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Watch "I'M BACK! WHY I LEFT YOUTUBE FOR TWO YEARS!" on YouTube

youtube

This scared me so badly, because this is EXACTLY what happened in my life, except it was all in The Reverse.

I graduated with an Associate Degree in Music Performance in 2018, but instead of running TOWARDS my dream/calling I ran hardcore AWAY from it. My pride in graduating only lasted a month before I declared myself Utterly Unmarketable and sought to go after a "real degree" and get a Big Girl career.

Between 2018 and 2020 I had major life changes.

My dad died of stomach cancer

I broke up with my neglectful boyfriend

I turned down a Full Ride to a major college

I hospitalized myself for Suicidal Ideation (Sept 2019)

I quit my job of 5 years

I started working for my best friend and became her Office Manager

I started dating the Love of my Life

I lost my friend group and peer support

I lost my mind and left college due to COVID-19 (but not before making one of my best decisions in taking a Screenwriting class because I WANTED not NEEDED it)

Started distancing myself from the toxic women in my life and definining Womanhood/Adulthood for myself

Visited my brother's grave after over a decade of waiting and got closure

Fully acknowledged my childhood trauma/abuse

Rediscovered my sexuality

Was disowned by who I erroneously thought was a close friend of 17 years over my political views

Joined and exited Unity2020

Turned in my car for repossession

Spent a week in the hospital after having a severe, paranoid psychotic break, but came out completely free of the vice of self-consciousness I was living under

You know what is nuts? I feel in many ways, I have completely reverted to who I was in the summer of 2011. I was off my meds, and it WAS mania, but personality-wise, the tempestuous, gum-chewing, cigarette-puffing, flirtatious, humorous, free-spirited ball of fire that drove all the way to Colorado on a whim wasn't rebellious, SHE WAS ME.

I just wasn't Me around the right people, and it wasn't the Right Time.

My inner Sagittarius moon would remain in a dormant state for almost a full decade. I would spend the next 9 years heavily sedated, sleepwalking through life, only alive at The Sound of Music.

It was Torture to feel so much but be afraid to express myself. I had to Hide while doing a major that demanded that I Command Attention. I am by nature "dramatic", "theatrical", "emotional", "expressive" but that part of me was so suppresed that I was frequently told I sang with excellence but without emotion.

Aside: During my 2011 manic episode, I spoke a lot about Doppelgangers. Without going into excessive detail, this is a German word that means "Double" and it is considered bad luck to encounter yours.

In the past 2 weeks, I have encountered people that look/sound like me (Josephine is Nigerian-Canadian and I am Nigerian-American and I kept thinking about her work even though I initially disagreed with her lot) and a woman with my name (different spelling) who was NOTHING like me and I also think might've had malice in mind for me.

I was DEFINITELY an agnostic atheist when I started this year, but as a result of undergoing so much weird shit I almost certainly believe in God, and yes, "God is a Woman." (More on that later)

Also, I realized that I really DID, as many teenage girls, "lose interest in math and science" but that was because of the terrible, unfactual way it was presented in my homeschool curriculum and by my mom, who was a Math major but whose disinterested detachment made every algebra lesson an excercise in torture.

I have always loved biolology and anatomy and I remember so much more chemistry than I thought. Geology class in community college was amazing and also helped me understand-- even more than the Theory of Evolution-- why young earth creationism was completely impossible.

As for math, I spent 15 years thinking it was my greatest weakness when I have had to use arithmetic in cashiering, my managerial work, and my monthly budget for the last 7 years. Also, as annoying as it was to hear constantly, my mom parroting "What you have to do to one side, you have to do to the other" (but in reverse) gave me the ability to do Algebra quickly and (mostly) effortlessly. I could never get A's, but I got a B in Quantitative Mathematics with no real help aside from occasional teacher input and the "Help me solve this" function of MyMathLab.

Here is where it Gets Weird. I am a Creative. I have been writing stories since I was 6 years old. I have loved Story all my life. My parents were in math and science fields and they completely lacked any creativity. COMPLETELY. It was part of why they were so religiously rigid, authoritarian, and draconian. There was no room for spontaneity or childish imaginativeness.

Looking back, I had major sensory and processing issues. I was likely speech delayed, I learned to read late, and I recently confirmed that when I am stressed my dyscalculia kicks in bad (it IS real). Numbers and symbols get really interchangeable (like an 8 and infinity symbol become kinda the same) which is why I had to recite phone numbers out loud to remember them or write them on colorful backgrounds so I can see them in my head as an image. Also explains my aversion to math but my ease with fractions (1/2 is half a sandwich, etc).

My spatial awareness is also shit when stressed. Before I turned in our car, I had earned the nickname "U-turn" from my boyfriend because on that Floating Death Machine left and right got completely crossed, frequently.

By the way, I struggled with right and left until I WAS EIGHT YEARS OLD. I literally didn't understand the concept of a mirror and 3D space, meaning that the basic understanding that my right is someone else's left didn't come into play until I had an argument with my [now-deceased] brother about it.

What is so weird, is that because of years of correcting for these issues, my sense of direction, ON FOOT is good, if not better than most people. Also, once I realized that, given the opportunity, I very much do whatever I can with my left-hand, and that my hearing is MUCH better than I even thought, I am far less clumsy. Depth perception is still crap, but that is probably also because I was forced to spend years without the glasses I needed (and got earlier this year after living with chronic eye strain)

When I talk about these "issues" it is in line with female autism, but you know what? If really do have adult autism, then I am a Complete Boss because I have pwned that ho.

After being rehospitalized, a kind nurse suggested I may have PTSD and suggested medicine for insomnia and nightmares. It was extremely helpful. I had been looking into C-PTSD for a while, because I didn't think I had "suffered enough" to have "real" PTSD. But that isn't how diagnoses work.

Btw, I still have Bipolar I, Psychotic Features. Another kind nurse told me I don't need anti-psychotics, and no, I don't. I was given Zyprexa by a bitch nurse and it was like getting drunk. I stumbled the halls, almost fell over (possibly did) and woke up with a neon "Fall Risk" bracelet. Anti-psychotics also fucked up my menstrual cycle for years and I have had lingering hormonal isssues. Haha no thanks.

Anyway, I digress. Of course I am fucked up. I lived under family members who questioned my reality, attempted to crush my dreams, threatened me with physical punishment any time I behaved in non-neurotypical ways, violated my rights and interfered with my treatment even though I was a full legal adult, undermined my relationships, tortured and socially isolated me, etc., all under the guise "of knowing best."

In minority cultures, our darkness hides in plain sight, and ESPECIALLY in the Bible Belt, with its supeestition and idolization of familial hierarchy/patriarchy, victims of financial, spiritual, emotional, and physical abuse have no where safe to turn. The Long Arm of the Law is often Short when it comes to "breaking up the family", and women and children are victimized openly with little to no intervention.

On top of doing my Creative Work, I plan to create legislation to make sure that what happened to me and my siblings isn't allowed to go unpunished. We lost my older brother, and I almost died, too, but Enough is Enough.

The Time is Now.

P.S. If Josephine is an Air Nomad I identify as a Water Bender. I basically have no water in my astrological chart, but water signs bring me great comfort in times of need (and make bad romantic partners for me obviously)

Also, this is one Bad Biyatch.

I also found out I am an ISFJ, not INFJ. Yep. Gonna be a Playwright and Director. I want to be a part of the action, not just writing about it.

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