#whatever that swirly thing is stim

[zipzapzopzoop]

"Time travel now, questions later."

Wilbur Robinson | Meet the Robinsons (2007)

[perplexingluciddreams]

i wear the blanket 😆

[image description: Ezra with a grey blanket over his head. he holds it together under his chin. he is wearing glasses and biting his lip with concentration. end ID.]

my favourite octopus hoodie with the huge hood is in the wash. i got cold in swing. so i wear the blanket.

i took this picture to send to mum. picture featuring the classic Ezra lip bite stim. i have to really concentrate for taking a photo, especially of myself. and i never really know what my face is doing. but i do lots of stimmy things with my lips and tongue and mouth.

it is so weird to look at what my face stims look like in the camera or mirror!! i don't know how to arrange my face into a nice "picture face". i used to really try. now i realise i just don't have the control and never have. so i give up trying. whatever my face and posture and movements looks like in a photo or video is just what you get! 🤷🏻‍♂️ also i finally realised the logic that people see me this way all the time in real life, so it won't change anything if they see it in a picture or video as well.

i have headphones on under the blanket so that is why it is bulky at my ears. also this is sister's blanket that i borrow for now!

and the lights today were pink with green swirly light projector! i like doing contrasting colours for the lights.

and i am sat in swing, that is what the wooden bar above my head is.

i sent this picture to mum first earlier and she sent this gif back:

[image description: a gif of a small dog with a small blanket. it holds the corner of the blanket in its mouth and does a double roll over to wrap into a doggy blanket burrito. end ID.]

then i sent this one back to mum:

[image description: a person wrapped in a big sheet with it over the head. it covers quite a bit of their face. through the sheet there is the outline of their hands clutched to their chest and holding the sheet tight under the chin. they look to the side, then to the camera, then off to the side again. then they awkwardly step out of frame. end ID.]

also i am watching some Octonauts! also still Horrible Histories and Yonderland. 😄

[mrclairdycat]

☆ MORE WELCOME HOME HEADCANONS CAUSE I'M HYPERFIXATING >:3c

So... It's canon that the neighbours pick Wally up and that he likes to be held. Sometimes randomly, other times because he asks. However, I headcanon that Wally asks to be picked up just by putting his arms up: everyone in the town just knows what this means. Eddie, though, forgets about this. I imagine a moment where Wally sees Eddie walking and puts his arms up. The mailman looks at him, confused, then goes:"Oh!" and gives him two high fives before walking away to deliver the mail and whistling. Wally is left there with his arms up. he watches his hands like "👁v💧👁" and then watches as Eddie walks away.

Wally's swirly hair is bouncy. Barnaby loves to just pat the hair and say "Boing bo-boing." Wally hates when people touch his hair, but he likes to hear Barnaby laugh so he lets him do it.

Speaking about Wally's hair, he loves having a hair morning routine every single day, it's a routine that brings him joy, to him doing his hair means starting his day. He's never seen without his hair done, if he couldn't do it the day would be totally ruined, he would have a meltdown (when he has a meltdown he just goes non verbal and stays home all day. Home probably tries to cheer him up, too.)

Polly is very mother. She takes care of everyone in the town as if they're her children. The neighbours often visit her since she's so pleasant, it's like visting grandma's house! Whenever someone visits her she can't help but start cooking them something. The neighbours always so "Oh, don't bother," or "You don't have to really," but she feels like she has to, it's in her mother instincts!

I have headcanons for the character's music tastes: Wally likes soft love or romantic songs: he listens to them as he draws and moves his feet up and down, he hums aswell. Barnaby likes to listen to jazz because it's improvised, fun and nice to vibe to. Eddie likes rock music: he probably stims to it and definitely pretends to play a guitar every time. Poppy likes to listen to pop songs, especially ones made and sung by female artists. Julie likes them aswell, especially the more upbeat ones. Whenever she comes over they probably sing and dance together. Frank likes classical music, especially while gardening, reading or studying. Home loves lullabies, who Wally sings, Howdy likes to listen to the same songs that play at his store, kind of like elevator music and, at last, Sally listens to dramatic music: she loves to immerse in it, imagine scenarios and act as if she's in a play.

Barnaby is a heavy sleeper, and a loud one too. He snores a lot.

Wally often has nightmares that he wakes up from in the middle of the night. Whenever this happens he goes to Barnaby's house, crawls in his bed and sleeps with him. It's the only thing that stops him from having nightmares. Surprisingly he doesn't mind his snoring too, since he likes having someone making sounds as he sleeps. It's comforting to him, because it means they're there. He also thinks Barnaby is very comfy considering his fur and size. The dog is used to waking up some days and see Wally there, it happened many times. Since it doesn't wake him up he doesn't mind it: whatever helps his friend is ok with him. Barnaby also believes Wally's nightmares are pretty standard, but they're actually gorey and dark and are, mostly, about his friends dying and stuff, or waking up one day to a desert town, which is why it upsets Wally so much.

Wally has people pleasing tendencies. He just wants to make friends with anyone he meets, which is why he's so friendly and nice. However, don't be fooled, this doesn't mean you can trample all over him. Sure, he doesn't vocally set boundaries, but if you do something to hurt his feelings he's gonna get his revenge... in other indirect ways. He's also often scared that his neighbours wouldn't be friends with him if he wasn't like this, which is why he often feels resentment. He's wrong though: his neighbours would totally still love him.

One time, as Frank and Julie were playing together like always, she said something like:"Oh Frank, why are you always so angry all the time? Be more like Wally! He's never upset at anything, that man is always so happy," she then started to wonder: "why, I don't think I've ever seen Wally be truly angry at something. Do you think he can't just feel anger, Frank?" she asked. "Of course he can, everyone feels emotions, silly. All of them. I do have to say though, I'm curious to see Wally angry." They organized a plan to make Wally angry and watched inside Howdy's store from the window in secret as they executed it: Wally came up to Howdy and gave him the posters he drew for the store. Howdy acted out the plan:"Seriously? These are so ugly," he stated as he started to make up things to criticize, "I will not accept them, you need to do a better job." He then looked at Wally who had an indescribable look on his face: he thought he was about to yell or something but, instead, he started to silently cry. Everyone panicked: Julie and Frank immediately ran up to the little guy, she hugged him tightly while Frank continously apologized. Howdy started giving him all the apples he had in his store to try and cheer him up... They decided they were not going to try to make Wally mad ever again.

I headcanon Wally to be aroace and poly. He feels strong platonic affection to all the people he makes friends with, he wouldn't like the classic idea of relationships. Why would you love two people differently? to him love should be equally shared!

[finsterhund]

Childhood Emotional Abuse and the Resulting Unhealthy Fears Involving Comfort Items

For those unfamiliar with the concept of comfort items/comfort objects the idea is simple. People, children especially, become emotionally attached and find comfort in an inanimate object. The most famous example being Linus’ blanket from the Peanuts comic.

Studies have been done that show comfort items being more common among children living in suburban communities and in cultures where parents are expected to work full time and spend long periods away from their young children. Rural communities where parents stay closer to home and work in jobs that can be done on one’s own property see comfort objects in children less.

It used to be believed that a comfort item was evidence that a child did not have a healthy strong bond to their maternal figure, but more recently it’s suggested that developing a bond with a comfort item can also be the first steps to independence from a parent as a child explores their personal identity being separate from their provider. It being the first thing that is theirs that they have responsibility over.

Comfort items are also fairly common in children with developmental disorders, and adults on the autism spectrum can often have them as well. They serve as a means of grounding one’s self and finding familiarity, security, and safety in an unfamiliar or perceived unsafe environment.

And with that understanding it should come at no surprise that people with trauma disorders will have comfort items as well.

Recently I’ve been trying to rationalize why I have such an unhealthy view on the physical health of, and personal responsibility for the natural wear on my comfort items. I’ve seen many others who don’t seem emotionally devastated by comfort items fading, greying, losing their softness, becoming threadbare and such. There’s more an interest in protecting the textile feel of the worn stuffed toy than there is in making them bright and soft again. But for me it’s a source of emotional anguish.

To me the physical wear on any of my stuffed animals (my comfort items are almost exclusively stuffed dogs these days) is the source of significant mental duress. To the point that I will suffer not bringing them places because I fear for their safety. At the cost of my own comfort.

I have figured out what I think is the reason for this.

I have severe abandonment, attachment, and loss issues and these have been directed at my comfort items due to the sheer amount of times in my early childhood that mine were stolen, harmed, and destroyed by my birth parents. Often times as a punishment or as an attempt to forcibly “cure” me of my mental illnesses.

Warning: the following few paragraphs will be discussing this. In explicit detail. I want to get it out of my head. I want my experiences out. I want them heard. But they are tough to hear.

My earliest memory of a comfort item being stolen were the most common way my birth mother punished me for anything and everything up to about age 7. My birth father physically abused me which many people will rightfully say is worse, but the things my birth mother did were severely emotionally abusive. Bear in mind, the reasons for this “punishment” weren’t always bad things that I had done. Off the top of my head some of these reasons for being punished were:

Not paying close enough attention when something pertaining to her religion was being done or said

Complaining about something to do with her religion in any way was immediately and severely punished. Was pretty much the only time she herself physically abused me.

Stuttering when reciting passages from the bible (bear in mind this was age 3-6 and I had a significant speech impediment)

Being selectively mute

Speaking out of turn

Crying. For pretty much ANY reason. Including fear, hunger, and pain

Accidentally hurting myself

Not eating properly (holding cutlery right, chewing properly, being a picky eater)

Showing visible fear or apprehension in public

Not wanting to be held, hugged, touched, or picked up

Showing resistance towards intrusive, uncomfortable, or unpleasant medical procedures

If it was severe enough (it angered her enough to resort to violence) she would “safely” beat me with her hand or a wooden spoon, but most of the time it was a psychological punishment that took advantage of my Achilles's heel: stuffed animals.

Now even though I definitely was not ready, she forced me to sleep alone starting around the age of 2. I was one of those kids who was TERRIFIED of sleeping. (not of the dark yet, but that’s coming, oh don’t you worry) I did not feel at all safe in the house when it was day time, and was constantly afraid and looking over my shoulder and alert of impending dangers. My ears constantly pricked for the tiniest of sounds. This is common for CPTSD sufferers. It’s hyper-vigilance. Anyways, this was worse at night. It was too quiet, and my birth mom was often at work. That was when she worked. Night shifts. So naturally being without her (despite her shortcomings I trusted her and relied on her back then) it was scary. This was also the same time frame that the Spot incident happened which messed with my brain severely. I remained a bedwetter up until around 10 due to this and further complications because of how I was emotionally abused.

The point I’m haphazardly getting at and providing context towards, is that I would usually be punished by having my stuffed animals taken away at bedtime. Knowing, full well, that they were the only things that helped me feel safe. She made a big deal about this too. Mentally degrading me for it. Sometimes she’d take them away one by one to further incite fear. She made sure to know each of their names and made it seem like they were going to be emotionally harmed by being taken away as well. I remember one distinct instance where I didn’t want to recite whatever bullshit she was trying to record me saying on camcorder (I was also scared of cameras) and I whined and tried to run away. She pinned me down in place and said that for every mistake she’d take away one of my stuffed animals. I couldn’t talk. Evidently we got down to all of them (about five) at which point I began sobbing and pleading with her to have even a sliver of empathy. She did not.

This punishment sits comfortable in the timeline coincidentally around the same time that my nyctophobia first started to present itself/develop. It also aligns with when I was locked in my bedroom with the light bulb removed for hours at a time as a punishment. I could not in any way verbally react to being forced to sleep in the dark with no stuffed animals because my birth father would just beat me. Even crying relatively quietly. At that point I was unrelenting and “the only punishment that worked” was physical violence. Everything else had been taken from me. I’d pass the hours by holding as still as possible and breathing shallowly. I was given a nightlight by a relative eventually but this was also frequently stolen from my room for bedtime as a punishment. My memories of this blend together with being forced to sleep in the dark later into my childhood. It was all the same: The completely cover yourself with a blanket, not move or make any sounds, and hope you mercifully fall asleep even though it feels like you’re suffocating under there thing.

My birth mother rarely relented with the bedtime punishments. Even though I would spend the rest of the day begging her to. She could pretty much force me to do things just by threatening them. I tried to be as good as possible but it really felt like she could do it at any time, no matter what. Like she was deliberately looking for things that would justify it.

She showed a lot of resentment towards me and did psychologically abusive things like this frequently back then. She did let up with time. Early in my life she harbored a lot of resentment because my conception had ruined her life, career, and tied her into an abusive marriage and she did, no question, take it out on me. I think a big reason why it stopped is because in order to get me ready for kindergarten I had to see a speech therapist and they immediately told her that she was being fucking batshit and making me worse.

I don’t 100% blame her for this. I know full well extremists in her religion promote this as “proper child training” and she was extremely gullible, believing pretty much anything that was spoonfed to her with the trappings and flavoring of her faith, and that a lot of the time my birth father would make her punish me or else he’d physically assault me. But still, it’s obviously something that destroyed the way my brain works. I was something she didn’t want. That she didn’t value. She learned to love me (or at least the concept of having children. She doesn’t value ME per say, as an individual or for who I am) later, but the early childhood developmental damage was done. We can dance around the issue of who’s responsible, who’s guilty, who’s at fault all we want but in the end it happened and I suffered for it.

Going back to what I mentioned earlier where if it involved her religion she’d go feral, at one point when I was a very very very hyper 5 year old stuck inside for Sunday school instead of getting to play outside on a bright warm summer afternoon like a regular boy I had brought a dog with me named Swirly. A golden retriever with slightly curly fur fabric and a soft fake rubber nose. He had been bought at a Rexall drugstore. Anyways, I was bored out of my fucking mind because I was 5 and was forced to sit in a stuffy dusty room and listen to big complicated grown up words from a six thousand year old “translated into extremely dated English” book and started stimming with Swirly by moving his ears up and down and similar small, non-obstructing things. Once Sunday school (hour and a half) was over it was pretty much time for the regular church service (hour and a half to two hours) so for those wondering that means a 5 year old boy who is very hyper having to sit still and do nothing and “pay attention” in extremely uncomfortable clothes his birth mother forced him to wear for a total of around 3-3.5 hours. So, knowing that the five or so minutes between the end of Sunday school and the beginning of the regular service would be the only chance I got, I began running around in the church basement and tossing Swirly up in the air and catching him. A fun activity to get some of my pent up energy out with and stretch my legs right? Wrong. My Sunday school teacher who was an asshole and an absolute lying manipulative scab got all snappy and hostile towards me and tried to force me to hand over Swirly. She had never hit me, she had no power over bedtime, so of course I wouldn’t obey. Fuck you. So I refused to hand over Swirly and easily avoided her by running the fuck away and hiding in the storage closet. She then snitched to my birth mom, claiming that I was a “serious disruption” and being “disrespectful” and “not paying attention.” My birth mom then took me outside to scream at me, took Swirly, locked him in the car, and then when the ordeal was finally over she took me home and beat the absolute shit out of me and then wouldn’t let me sit down after because I’d get blood everywhere so I was forced to stand but I ended up just lying down face first on the floor because my legs got too tired. Swirly was kept on a high shelf in the cupboard for a month as further punishment. Part of me thinks I still have him... somewhere... I renamed him to a character in a book I liked. But yeah. In case it wasn’t obvious I hated going to church. Sure the windows were cool and it taught me the valuable skill of staring off into space and daydreaming about cool space battles and shit, but it was so much a waste of time that I will never get back. I also wasn’t allowed to bring toys with me after that. Made me hate it even more. Congratulations.

I was immune compromised and that factored into stuffed animal theft a lot. She would frequently take my stuffed animals and force them through the washer and dryer. On hot cycles. Sometimes used bleach. This destroyed many of them and caused further distress. I started actively fighting against attempts at washing my stuffed animals with tooth and nail; hiding them, attacking with violence, and the classic begging and pleading and hysterical sobbing. It was at this time she introduced me to a book called The Velveteen Rabbit. This book actually has extremely positive messages about the wear and tear of children who love their toys making them “real” which likely would have helped me with this if not for how I was introduced to the book but it ended up being completely ruined for me because instead it was used as a cautionary tale of “let me wash your stuffed animals or I will BURN THEM” because of the boy in the story having his possessions burned due to scarlet fever. I really don’t know what it is about Christians and burning things. Specifically stuff that’s made for kids. To this day if you burn something meant for kids I will laugh at your funeral. You are a detriment to society.

So anyways, I was threatened with fiery stuffed toy execution if I didn’t let them get matted and torn with chipped and shattered safety eyes in the washer and dryer. At one point I did get a stuffed toy burned. By my birth father. I don’t remember why but I do remember him tormenting me about it, degrading me, and being physically restrained as he threw the penguin who’s name has long since been repressed in a far recess of my brain never to come out again into the woodburning stove. I remember the event like an out of body experience where I was only loosely connected to the physical plane. Like I’m not in control of my own body. Most of my traumatic memories are like this. It’s like I try to forget that that was me and that I’m watching a movie instead. My brain humanely doesn’t show the actual burning. Only the toss.

I’ve had other things burned. Books, VHS tapes, computer games, drawings I’ve made, etc. They’ve all been extremely traumatic and my brain blocks out most of them. I remember I had a Dragonball computer game or something (all I remember was it was a disc) and my birth mother burned it because she was under the impression that Japanese cartoon styles looked “evil, hateful, and demonic.” This happened sometimes too. I wasn’t even being punished. She was just a religious lunatic who thought kid-friendly media that didn’t promote her religion was dangerous and needed to be destroyed. She frequently got parenting self-help books that promoted beating your kids and burning secular toys to show your kids that they were evil. She eventually eased up on this with time though and I went from being screamed at for wanting to watch Pokemon at 4 to getting to own Pokemon cards and Harry Potter books (bot not letting my birth father find out) at 12. 

Things being burned happened a little bit later into my life, around 5-10. The stuffed animal theft (with them being returned eventually most of the time) was from earlier. Theft of personal possessions that held significant emotional value to me was continued to be used but it stopped being used as a punishment and started being an attempt to “cure” me of being mentally ill. “Weak” as my birth father called it, but as I’ve come to suspect “easily identifiable as being abused in the home” as being the true motivator. They were under the impression that I needed to be forcibly made to stop having comfort items altogether.

I had trouble with sensory feelings. I could only wear specific fabrics, clothes that fit a certain way, and would become severely distressed if forced to wear an unsuitable fabric or something too tight. As a result I would become attached to articles of clothing for feeling just right. I had a pair of bright green shorts and they were my favorite shorts. Even though the only damage that ever befell these shorts was easily fixed, my birth mother decided that I was relying “too much” on these shorts and tried to hide them. I found them. She then destroyed them in my presence to “teach me a lesson.”

Things like this happened frequently throughout my life. Another instance I remember vividly, when I was 8 or 9 was when me and my brother got happy meals from McDonald’s. They came with a little stuffed toy. My brain can’t piece together what it was, repression and all that. But I remember it being red. My birth mother had taken us out to McDonald's for some positive reason. Because we had good report cards or something. Anyways, so we had McDonald’s and went back home but she forgot something at the restaurant so she went back to get it. Leaving me and my brother alone with my birth father who decided for whatever reason that we hadn’t deserved McDonald's so he came into our rooms to beat us and take away the toys. My brother submitted quicker than I did and I heard him hit the wall and not cry after before my birth father went to me. I had a death grip and absolutely did not want to let go. I put up more of a fight and he physically assaulted me, squeezing around my throat with one hand and tearing the toy out of my hands with the other. It ripped. I tried to take it back and he repeatedly slammed my head into the metal bars of my bed frame, causing bruising and broken skin on my right temple.

My birth father frequently did shit like that. Just decide out of the blue that we didn’t deserve something or needed to be taught a lesson. My birth mother when she was around would come between us in these circumstances so he often waited until she was gone. He didn’t like us being “spoiled” with praise, nurturing, rewards, and food so he’d often treat us this way after something positive happened like we went with my birth mom to see a movie or to the swimming pool. Getting a new stuffed animal was usually grounds for harassment.

Honestly the fact that this was so common it’s a wonder that I’ve managed to keep the most important stuffed animal from my early years with me. Battered, worn, falling apart, missing his face, with skin grafts and a loose eye Ope is worse for wear, that’s putting it lightly. But I still have him. My guess is that it’s because he was given to me by my grandparents and they died when I was five. My birth mother had and still has a lot of remorse for leaving them, for not listening to them about my birth father, etc. His connection to them probably saved him from destruction or being thrown away. I’m not complaining. He matters so much to me. Despite how badly he’s fallen apart all these years he’s the only stuffed animal who’s degradation doesn’t cause me as much emotional stress. It still makes me sad when I think about it, but that’s just Ope. I still chew on his nose. Some things are eternal.

The last time I had to deal with parental stuffed animal theft was later. Within the couple years or so before my friend rescued me and took me in and we shared that fateful first apartment. At that point my birth father was gone and the locks were changed. He wasn’t living there. Because of my high school’s disability program I had got a part time job. Yes me. With a job. It was possible at one point. Anyways, while I was out, being the SOLE BREADWINNER of the house at the time, my birth mother for some fucking reason decided to take a bunch of my stuffed animals to the thrift store. In her infinite wisdom she didn’t think far enough ahead to consider that:

Going to thrift stores is one of my only recreational activities. 

That I did so very frequently. 

And that exact thrift store was my favorite one to go to. 

Never mind the fact that eventually I would have noticed when I got out my stuffed animals to brush them for stress relief. She really did think I was that stupid. It went about as well as you’re thinking it went. I went to the thrift store, went to the stuffed animal section. “Oh. I have one of these! I have one of these too. Wait... the dent in his safety eye is the exact same one that I--” And then I was in HYSTERICS as I had to buy back as many of my stuffed animals that hadn’t been sold yet as I could. My brain repressed pretty much everything after discovering that they were mine. Can’t remember bringing them up to the front or coming back home. I was absolutely DESTROYED. Why the fuck would she have ever thought that this was an okay thing to do? I don’t know. 

When I went back there to clear the old house out several years later she had the nerve to get mad at me for wanting to donate things I didn’t want (but she wanted me to want), as if she hadn’t snuck behind my back and done it to things I actually held value in, taking advantage of me being at work to do so.

Looking back on just how much my comfort items were exploited to abuse me and torture me for the crime of existing it really isn’t a matter of WHY I get so manic about and attached to the ones I have now. You should be able to see the clear path of progression that lead to me being so terrified of bad stuff happening to my things. I also have to wonder if this didn’t also contribute to my unhealthy addictive and obsessive personality. I was misdiagnosed as being on the autism spectrum and I wonder if my hypersensitivity, special interests, and the like are the result of being punished for enjoying things and having boundaries. Maybe my new psychiatrist will be able to tell me that. But for now I just wanted to write out a bit of a memoir about these sorts of things. It feels good to acknowledge and expel them onto the internet.

Where I am now I am constantly buying stuffed dogs, each with their own name, each being cared for and valued. Some are more important than others: 

Tiny, bought for me by one of my best friends Rob/Fishytales who is my immediate go-to when I’m having mental problems to just hold close. Afraid to let anything happen to him he mostly gives comfort by just being there. A reminder of what a great friend Fishy is. 

Whisky, who goes with me to conventions as part of my cosplay, who I hold in my arms when I sleep and who’s deteriorating softness has been the subject of many a late night vent post or cry. 

Wheezy, who I bought at a flea market where I eventually got robbed and lost everything else I bought except him because I held onto him. A meme parody of the original Whisky who ended up being the one I brought around in public when we were searching for a new place to live and I didn’t feel safe where we were crashed for the time being. 

The beanie baby dog army, toys used to be kept as an “investment” now selling for a dollar a piece and easy to buy in perfect condition. A reminder of my early years and great high quality stim toys who look cute and are satisfying to hold. My four favourites being the one I had as a toddler, the one I always wanted to have but was never able to, the one that’s named after my first childhood dog, and the one who was also a dalmatian like the first aforementioned one. (Dalmatians used to be my favourite breed) 

The customized beanie baby dogs with wings, just like my dream stuffed animal I’ve always wanted to have, and just like my imaginary friend who became my voice when I had none. 

There’s the Vicious plush and the Andy plush, characters from my favourite video game who brighten up my room and make it feel safe.

I have a little red pillow that is technically a comfort object. I’ll always hold onto it.

And my Andy hat helps too doesn’t it? It’s like armor for when I go outside. Being Andy is my first line of defense for fears and trauma woes.

Last of all is Ope. Who despite looking like a rotting corpse has kept me moving forward and feeling brave. Who comforts me with his textile feel, smell, and just by being there.

And you know what? So many people, even now, have at one point felt the need to berate me about my “stuffed animal problem” as if my 1 dollar each beanie babies are as much of a crisis as your super expensive but socially more “acceptable” adult grown up hobbies, or in any way comparable to having thousand-dollar-limit credit cards or car payments or whatever.

Like no offense, but it couldn’t be more obvious that these mean so much to me because of severe trauma and child abuse. Your lack of compassion or failure to acknowledge another person’s life experiences is demeaning and degrading. Wow. How dare I buy stuffed dogs at thrift stores and occasionally on ebay and want to get collars for them and bring them around with me everywhere. It might not be that way for every child with a comfort object, but mine WERE because I didn’t have a bond with a maternal figure. And I still don’t. I don’t know what it’s like to have parental guardians. I don’t know how to feel safe. I have violent nightmares almost every night and wake up with bruises all over my legs. Apparently I’m not loud during these nightmares so they’re easy to ignore. I get that. Fine.

But listen. We are mortal, only here for a little while. We shouldn’t have to suffer just to appear normal to appease some industrialist dehumanizing status quo. We should do things because it makes us happy, because it makes us feel safe, because it gives us comfort, peace, and enjoyment. We should care about comfort, health, safety. That means having a home, medicine, food to eat, and of course, things that bring emotional well-being. Like my dogs do for me.

And when you ridicule me and make fun of me for doing what I can to feel safe in this big scary world, you are serving as echos of the same violence that refused to let me bring them to school, that took them from me to try and force me to be “normal,” that stole them from me to punish me for things that children just do, because their children. You echo the way they were stolen to “cure” me of things of which there isn’t a cure. Which DOESN’T WORK. It only causes further mental damage. So all you’re doing is being the ghost of that damage. making so that I can’t escape it, recover, or heal.

I don’t know if I’ll ever not feel guilt for my stuffed animals showing their age, getting dirty, and little accidents that sometimes just happen. Maybe with time I’ll stop projecting blame onto myself, the victim of what happened, and realize that I was just a regular kid in an irregular situation. But until then I DO know that YOU shouldn’t be projecting shame onto me for something that harms no one.

I wish I could go back to when I was five and knew how to stand up to people. To tell adults that invade my personal boundaries “No.” Because telling me how to live my life is the definition of invading my personal boundaries. And you need to stop.

I’m proud of my stuffed animals. I care about them. In spite of how I was raised to perpetuate violent and fear I want to treat them with love, respect, and dignity. They’re not just worthless, disposable, things. I love them.

And my first step to standing up for myself and not taking blame for things that aren’t my fault will be bringing them with me. Keeping them with me. I will not be ashamed of them. I have not only suffered but survived horrors few children in the western world go through and my stuffed animal entourage is my reparations. I have the right to have them. Especially after my past. 

They give me independence. And that there’s something I have control over in this world.

[pretentioussongtitle]

I do this with phone calls, cause phone calls give me the ADHD executive dysfunction AND social anxiety double-punch. So if i need to call someone I'll write a guide for myself (which sounds dumb to anyone who doesn't have ADHD and/or social anxiety, but it works for me, so eh).

1. Get phone. (this is a good place to start because it's easy, unless I've misplaced my phone.)

2. Collect important information. (this is anything relevant to the call; forms, papers or questions I need to write down in advance). I have all that collected ahead of time.

3. Call (number). Raising the stakes!

After step 3 I usually have a bit of an opening speech jotted down, just a "Hi, my name is ---- and I'm calling because -----"

After that, whoever is on the other end of the phone will either walk me through whatever process I need, or transfer me to someone who can.

I can honestly say I have no conscious memory of ever encountering a rude receptionist. Brusque, sometimes, but never rude. (I know they exist, but they aren't the standard.) They're busy people and they're usually quite happy to help you along as efficiently as possible so they can go back to the other ten things they need to do.

I also doodle a lot on the phone, because stimming by making swirly patterns with my pen helps keeps me calm and focused.

Recently accidentally discovered the best executive dysfunction hack I’ve ever found

Ok so we’ve all heard of tips involving lists, make a list of everything you need to do, cross it out when you’re done, etc.

Well recently next to each item on my list, I wrote down how to start that task. This can be as simple as “get out my notebook and the assignment” or a little more detailed like “open chemistry textbook to page 235 and review the section on gibbs free energy”

Basically, you do all the executive functioning all at once before you start your tasks! Now when you get to the task, your brain doesn’t need to access that executive functioning to figure out how to start, you’ve already done it. Even stupid stuff like “take the assignment out of your backpack” helps a weird amount when it’s written down. Like it helps more than you think it should. I was rolling my eyes up until the point where it worked

[changeling-fae]

Ryder Appreciation Week (Belated)

Since I’m late to the party this is basically one large thing about my Seiki Ryder which includes the above newest moodboard/aesthetic.

1. Does your Ryder like their father?

Seiki loved her father and was much closer to Alec than her brother was by a long shot. She inherited Alec’s awkwardness, passion, sense of numinous from him so she related better to him. Plus she’s much more forgiving than Kensei is who is so much like their father that it caused Alec and him to clash (Kensei inherited mom’s charisma so he’s considered much more likable than Alec ever was also).

2. How does your Ryder feel about their sibling? 

Just like how she got along with her father, she gets along with her brother too. They’re each other’s berserk button and are very protective of each other (I do headcanon her to be the younger twin though).

3. If given the chance, do you think your Ryder would be a good Nexus Director? 

Not at all. She’s terrible with politics and planning ahead. Plus she cries a lot when overwhelmed.

4. What’s your Ryder’s favorite weapon? 

Her biotics, she’s Jack levels of power.

5. What’s your Ryder’s fighting style/class? (biotic sniper can be a thing now!)

Adept/Vanguard; she’ll charge straight into the battlefield and annihilate her enemies in seconds.

  6. Does your Ryder get along well with Tann, Addison, Kandros or Kesh? 

Tann seems to think she hates him which she doesn’t, she just doesn’t have much to say to him. Addison scares her, socially aggressive people trigger anxiety in her and she doesn’t know how to respond. Kandros is her bro and they have each other’s backs. Kesh asked her to be her kids godmother basically so yeah, they’re pretty close.

7. Is your Ryder good at driving the Nomad? 

Alec taught her how to drive like a good N7.

8. What is the one Pathfinder task that your Ryder hates? 

All the politics and angry Nexus people who blame her or her father for everything. 

9. What does your Ryder enjoy about being a Pathfinder?

Discovering new people, places, and things.

10. How does your Ryder feel about the memories they unlocked? 

Conflicted, on one hand she’s beyond happy that her mother is still alive but on the other hand she feels uncomfortable with how her father made that happen. She also feels sad knowing how much regret her father had in wishing he had been a better dad.

11. Does your Ryder consider SAM a friend/sibling/…?

Yes, absolutely. Maybe even something beyond that (not romantic). He’s too much a part of her for her to ever feel comfortable if separated. When the Archon took him she could feel his absence and it scared her. Also he is the culmination of her parent’s love and she could never ignore that.

12. What’s your Ryder’s favorite location in Andromeda? 

Havarl and Aya.

13. If your Ryder could give one gift to their LI (if there is one!), what would they give? 

She gives gifts frequently but she did knit Jaal a blanket and a sweater already.

14. How does your Ryder feel about the fight between Kallo and Gil? 

She agrees that Gil should make alterations for better functioning but feels he should respect Kallo’s feelings on the matter.

15. What does your Ryder think about Shepard? 

That she’s a certified kickass badass.

16. Does your Ryder like the other Pathfinders? 

She feels a little awkward with Sarissa but get along with the other two great.

17. What is the one lesson your Ryder learned in Andromeda? 

That she can always rely on her family no matter what.

18. What is the hardest thing your Ryder had to do in their life?

Forgive her father after he destroyed her academic career and agree to go with him to Andromeda.

19. Does your Ryder like memes? 

All the memes.

20. Which song would represent your Ryder well?

A weird combination of Sia’s Move Your Body, Rainbow and Of Monsters and Men’s Little Talks.

Bonus Questions About Seiki:

21. Full Name?

Seiki Sara Ryder

22. Origin/Meaning of the name

Seiki means Star Hope with this Kanji used;  星希

23. How did you come up with the name and why did you chose it?

I wanted something celestial for her name and since Andromeda is all about new beginnings I thought it appropriate.

24. Did Ellen or Alec chose the name for your Ryder? Or did your Ryder chose the name?

Both did together, Alec and Eiko (Ellen) are both half Japanese on their mother’s sides and they wanted to keep to their heritage. Also their kids are the first generation born in space so they felt it fit.

25. What pronouns does your Ryder use?

Feminine pronouns. 

26. Gender identity

Girl although she never really thinks about it and she doesn’t feel a need to tie herself to it.

27. Sexuality

- Panromantic Demisexual.

28. Date and Place of Birth

June 11, 2163 The Citadel.

29. Manner of Birth (Was Alec there? How long did it take? Were there any complications?)

He was absolutely there and trying to support Eiko in whatever capacity he could. It was an all day affair while she was in labor and the twins were born healthy despite a bit of a scare when they found that an umbilical cord was wrapped around Seiki’s neck. Luckily the doctor was a Matriarch Asari who had been birthing babies for well over 600 years.

30. First Words?

"Bobo” Her attempt at Rainbow and the name of her favorite stuffed toy.

31. Is your Ryder the older or younger sibling?

She’s the younger twin by a good 45 min.

32. Does your Ryder have siblings? (CanonTwin and more)

Just her brother Kensei.

33. Zodiac Sign?

Gemini but probably with like a Cancer Moon and a Pisces Rising. (Kensei might end up as an Aquarius Rising or something).    

34. Does your Ryder have a catchphrase?

Not really, she just kind of says whatever pops into her head.

35. Dominant Hand? Or is your Ryder ambidextrous?

Both twins are lefties but can use the right if need be.

36. What does their autograph look like?

Swirly.

37. Describe your Ryders handwriting:

Also swirly, a bit flowery.

38. Height

5′ 1

39. Weight

95 lbs

40. Bloodtype

Negative O.

41. Any birthmarks that stand out?

She has a red stain birthmark on her wrist, her mom used to call it a hidden faerie kiss.

42. Hair (Length, Colour, Does your Ryder change it on different occasions? Describe it, share some screenshots or if you’re an artist maybe draw your Ryder with different hairstyles?)

She has brown hair that’s more on the wavy side, mostly the lower half. She wore it long all her life but cut is short to her shoulders before leaving for Andromeda.

43. Eye Color

Brown amber.

44. Do they look like their parents? Are there more resemblances with Ellen, Alec or a completely different relative?

I headcanon their mom looking more Japanese so both kids look like a perfect blend of their parents.

45. Do they like the way they look? Would they change anything about them if they had the chance? What would they change and why?

She’s pretty ok with how she looks actually and only rarely feels insecurity.

46. Any scars? How did they get them?

Just from where her biotic implant was placed.

47. Do they wear make up? Are they good at it? Do they apply it for routine or because they have fun doing it?

She likes experimenting and is pretty good at it but all in all she doesn’t wear it often.

48.  Is your Ryder neuroatypical? How do they deal with it? Did the events in Andromeda affect their mental health in any way? Does your Ryder use stimming methods?

She’s autistic and suffers from depression and anxiety as well as sensory disorders. Not having her brother around messes with her in Andromeda but SAM helps with her coping. She stims by constantly moving/fidgeting. 

49.  Wardrobe (What clothes does your Ryder prefer? Did they take any clothes with personal history with them to Andromeda?)

All the colors, sweaters, stockings, mismatched clothing, whatever fits her fancy.

50.  Any Accessoires they always take with them?

A necklace that has a bit of Earth’s soil in it.

And I will be finishing this up with an edit later (hopefully tomorrow.