The Return To Innocence

Hello from the LiveJournal user formerly known as BrightRoseFox.
Due to a complex thingy involving problems with emails and such, I have changed my LiveJournal name, my Yahoo name, and my Facebook name.
Everything is now BrightLotusMoon.
If you know me well enough, you know why I am now BrightLotusMoon.
So, yeah. Just FYI.

Also.
Dear Lovelies:
Not only am I feeling so much better, I truly believe I am worth everything that people say I am. I have been getting messages, emails, phone calls, and comments from friends who have told me what I mean to them. I have been amazed and heartened and lifted and joyous.
I may be a moonlight witch, but I cannot access the magic of the moon without accessing the magic of the sun. And the moon is always there, her power extreme eternally. And the sun is always there, his power intense forever.
I feel bright and powerful and in full bloom, like a great lotus blossom beneath the full moon.
♥

So. Multiple friends have suggested I write something like this, because no matter how often I say it, I still get invalidated, scolded, told I shouldn't be doing it because it upsets people. And of course, it would be talking about my life, my disabilities, my personal health, in public forums.

To paraprhase a friend: "...taking someone's lived experiences as they apply to their particular disability and how it expresses itself, and saying that they can't talk about that because it will make other people feel bad, is not okay and it invalidates them to varying degrees. Different disabilities affect different people in different ways."

In other words, sometimes comparing things is bad. We are human. Humans all have problems. Each human has their own set of problems. Some humans want to talk about their personal problems in ways that other humans find annoying, upsetting, unsettling - but other humans find those ways comforting, eye-opening, powerful.

I don't know how else to say it, so I'll be blunt, and this time I am not going to pull any punches:
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...hush now; let me speak...
And sometimes there are days when all you can feel is that pain-filled urge to fly and fall, and all you can think is "If only I could make the world fly and fall with my brain; if only I could win my own game, always."
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I'm moving everything from LiveJournal to Dreamwidth because of LJ's shitty policies, so I need to keep repeating Dreamwidth in my head.

http://brightlotusmoon.dreamwidth.org/1544111.html

For everyone feeling confused, afraid, panicked, upset, and worried: I'm here. Message me, here or via Facebook. I mean, I am depressed as fuck with suicidal ideations, but I'm not leaving, I want to stay for all of my friends and for my own strength. Even as I've been having seizures and meltdowns, I have insisted on staying strong.
So many friends have reached out to me with messages and emails and phone calls and video chats! I feel beloved.
Just because the policies of The Creepy Orange Butt Face his VP The Hateful Creepy Nope Man terrify the fuck out of me, it doesn't meant I want to hide. After I come out from under the blankets I will gather up my spears, paint myself rainbow, and adopt a war cry. I've never actively protested like this. But damn it, first time for everything. My people are already hurt and dying. I have to do something. I will do something. I will write things, and keep writing things, and I will be here for you who are scared and crying. You are allowed to feel these things. People who tell you to shut up are jerks and assholes. It is not okay. I don't know if it will be okay. But we will fight.

Also, if you are a fan of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, I wrote this a month ago on Tumblr. I got inspired by Stuff. I copied it to Fanfiction Net and Archive Of You Own. Some people really like it and tell me it gives them hope. I hope it makes you feel better. You matter and you have value and you are loved.
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12174760/1/Mikey-the-Lifegiver-The-Heart-And-The-Light

First, we will start with waking up.
I was dreaming heavily about a zombie apocalypse. The uninfected had to wear special ID bracelets and get monthly innoculations; sometimes they worked. When Adam shook me awake most of my brain was unresponsive. In cerebral palsy, this means a sort of catatonia. I couldn't move. Adam pulled me upright and I became a marionette, slumped in a ballerina's pose. He swung my legs over the side of the bed, dead weight, and as I leaned against the dresser my left foot remained on its toes. My speech was slurred and aphasic. But I laughed through it because this was what always happened. "She's poseable!" I giggled.
My arms remained stiff and above my torso, my head tilted. Adam massaged me and jiggled me and applied accupressure. Luna nuzzled my nose and mewled. I managed to perform a basic tai chi stance to balance. My left side was still a ghost. That part of my brain was still halfway dead and sluggish. I found some of my pills and my coffee smoothie.
I took twenty minutes just to get dressed. My left eye and mouth drooped, stroke-like, and I cursed at it.
Downstairs, after breakfast, we rinsed dishes and explored the concept of auditory processing dysfunction when I reacted badly to the running water, and we tested different flows with the faucet controls. I fed the cats.
At some point, I felt it like a wave cresting beginning in my gut and lower spine. Adam was right there, and when I grumbled "Ahh, crap" I lost myself and became a twitching, myoclonic half statue. He wrapped his arms around me. I drooled on his arm. I kept forgetting to count the seconds. He held me and said, "I've got you." I came out of the seizure with a gasp and a groan of failure and frustration. He led me to the stairs. I crawled up like a kitten.

It's hard to put all the details together right after. I am among those who can write freely. My brain automatically instinctively compartmentalizes. It all hinges on what happens when I wake up. In the middle of the night when I need the bathroom, that part of my brain carefully eases my body out of bed and stumbles to a goal. I am mostly asleep. In mornings or afternoons when I actually awaken, all of my brain struggles to come online and it causes overload. I become a poseable doll, autistic inertia, catatonia, executive dysfunction, cerebral palsy hemiplegia, full spasticity, pain bursting like fireworks, fire racing through my muscles, ice crackling under my skin layers, barbed wire wrapping around my nerves. Thoughts rushing forth like white rapids. I can't exist, where am I, I was just in a different place, what is this thing that has caught and trapped me, this is my body, I feel corporeal.

In my dreams, more and more, my knees are destroyed and I find myself walking across cities hobbling sometimes crawling, and I can never find a wheelchair or a walker, and the walls I lean against shift and undulate. Nobody offers to help. Behind me, the empty hollows follow and observe.

Please, comment if you understand, if you are under the same neurodivergence. You may have better words. All I have are words typed. I have begun to fear speaking. Phones ringing make me flinch. Always, I feel wrong. Always, I have done the wrong thing. I have disappointed, frustrated, exasperated, hurt, damaged trust, broken promises, destroyed hope, made guilty, because I am ill. I do not have alexithymia but sometimes my emotional reactions flatten and sink into the empty hollows. You tell me I said something cruel but you use my disintegrating memory against me. That never happened, you misinterpreted, and now I am the villain. I cannot trust myself. I fear myself. I have blackouts, shutdowns, meltdowns, and I will never tell you what I really feel because you will scoff and quickly blame me, just me. You want me to return to a self who was never true anyway, who collected masks over a lifetime, who wove stories to hide the strangeness happening inside a malfunctioning brain. Malfunctioning according to whom? No, merely atypical, far from average, not socially normal. I was never the person you saw. I was an illusion. I performed because I had to keep myself alive and functioning.

They call it Autistic Burnout. When I collapsed. When the masks shattered. Executive Dysfunction. Autistic Inertia. When the true, real, genuine self emerged with wings brighter than the sun and stars. The self who was wrong, who was obsessive and compulsive and who disobeyed and who screamed against those strange structures. The sick, glittery creature who touched everything and grabbed the things that seemed soothing over and over, detrimental, damaging, hurtful, why have you done this, you are not supposed to do any of this, you have hurt us. And I did. And I have. And I have grasped control over the years, little by little with help from those who are there and have been there. I feel another metamorphosis, but one you won't see. I am ill, I am dysfunctional, I am very damaged, I am not okay, and that right there is all right. I have counselors. I have sounding boards and therapies and remedies. Soon, it will be all right and it will continue to be all right. I am building shields against words. But not the words I choose. You can tell me I am wrapped up in labels and names and diagnoses, you can tell me I am too influenced by friends who have my same conditions, you can tell me my illnesses have taken over my life. I will simply agree, and if I feel strong enough I will launch into a monologue about neurodevelopmental plasticity in adulthood. I stopped fighting. This is flow.

http://chaoticidealism.livejournal.com/84655.html
Dear gods and Ice Cream Kitty, I need this badly. It makes me realize how quickly I can go from a 5 to a 9 over the span of one week.
If I had more geographically close friends that I can actually ramble to without worrying about boring them, I would print this out for them. Hell, I'm gonna print it out and put it on my fridge. I'm gonna print it out and give it to my parents. I know I only see them once a year, but they really don't understand and it's damaging.
http://chaoticidealism.livejournal.com/84655.html

This is one of those things where "just get over it" becomes a knife through the chest, one that we can yank out and stab back with.

Yes, I know, I'm only doing this for fun and getting a degree in neuropsychology would be like the DREAM and shit, but when else am I going to be able to write a thesis on a comic/cartoon character and share it with a bunch of other fanfic-writing geek-nerds who range in age from teenager to grandparent while not giving a fuck about age and bonding. In which the central characters can be genderfluid and sexually fluid simply by virtue of what they are and how they've lived. In which most of the fandom can be connected by the single fact that parent and child can remember the same voice actor playing two different characters within the same franchise - and those of us who never had children can simply pull ourselves back in just with that knowledge. In which a single character that became the mascot for the entire franchise is the long-running subject of essays, articles, blogs, fan comics, and, yes, theses, just for their complex psychology in each incarnation.
Also, the psychology around the character's weapon. Hang on...lemme find what I'm quoting...ah! "Also, to dip into science for a moment, the three forces used in a nunchuck strike (the force of the user's rotating body, the force of the twist to the arm used, and the force of the nunchuck itself rotating) result in an inertial force that's been jacked up to incredible heights. With a nunchuck of 180 grams, you can get an average speed of 88 meters per second, and that translates into around 350 jouls of force - which is the rough equivalent of a bullet shot from a Colt M1911. The only reason a nunchuck doesn't blow right through a person's body is because the force is somewhat spread out the length of it's "branch", instead of concentrated into a penetrative body, like a bullet or an arrow."
Sooo, I will fucking laugh in the faces of those old 90s fanfics that apply abject ableism to said character's behavior, mentality, and interests just because character acts immature, vacuous, whiny, and artless and also silently chases flutterbies across dark cities while doing handstands and backflips across telephone wires between skyscrapers, which excuse you nobody else in the franchise does because nobody else is so ridiculously mind-blowingly physically talented by pure natural skill that it causes intense jealously in great ninja masters. Cough.
Excuse me. I'll save that for the essay.

*is already one-quarter into thesis* Pan and Loki, this is FUN.

Thanks, Depeche Mode. And that lyric was from the 1980s!

On Facebook, I am popular today. Many folks have been sharing a simple post I wrote in February about Augmentive Assistive Communication accommodations for Autistics who are non-verbal; and how Martyr Paaarents don't want their burdensome diseased children talking through machines.

And now, I wrote this:

https://www.facebook.com/BrightLotusMoon/posts/10153647910985684
"Welp, this lady can just fuck right off.
I want to hug her son and tell him he's all right and beautiful.
In the comments of Angie's post, actual Autistics are giving out advice that really should come with a charge at this point. It's the same thing, over and over, for years and years, and people still have the gall to call us angry and harsh and mean for trying so hard to make you assholes realize why we are not going away. We are angry. We are upset. You are part of the reasons why, because you want us to be not like us, to be more like you, and that leads to many of us putting up masks so we can Pass and that leads to Autistic Burnout and Executive Function burnout with Executive Dysfunction and you wonder why we suddenly cannot do all those things we used to do when you were around, like we suddenly "Regressed" or something. This is my shocked face. Look at it. Look at my shocked face.

I don't want to do all your homework for you. If you honestly desire knowledge and understanding, I want something in return. I want cooperation. I want acknowledgement that this is a lot to understand and very complex and that it takes up a lot of my energy and executive function. I want a Ninja Turtles action figure and some My Little Pony toys. Maybe shopping at Ulta. Or straight cash via Paypal.

I offer blog posts at no charge. And yet I still get passive-aggressive shots at my compassion and eagerness to be a teacher. (Example: "Wow, you are angry and harsh, sorry for wanting to learn, guess I'll just leave, have fun being defensive and snippy, sad for you!" Yeah, we're angry, we are blunt but not harsh, we are tired, we are mournful, and we have been repeating the same words to people who have been saying the same things other people have been saying; so, do you guys, like, have a secret group or something? You say the same things like a script and then you accuse me of accusing you of being hateful, and I swear I can just mouth every word before you say it.). Over and over, I will call someone out for being a whiny aggressive defensive jerk and they will block me and tell me to have fun in my echo chamber safe space bubble. Different people, all the same. Fine. I don't have to deal with them anymore. Now I get to hang out with cool people I love.

I have begun mentoring non-neurodivergent people and non-autistic people as well as newly diagnosed autisics who were Adult Diagnosed like me. Me! A mentor! That's unbelievable! And they want to research and know things, really for real! I want to do well by them, I want to make them feel proud and happy. I still run to my own mentors, that is how deeply I believe in empathy and understanding and acceptance and not fucking up. I have no time for people who don't want to read the books and articles they should be reading - and that includes my blogs and the blogs of a dozen other autistics who are trying to change the way the world sees us."

Also, my friend Nora wrote this:
http://fullmetalheart.com/index.php/2016/04/29/do-not-call-me-high-functioning/
http://fullmetalheart.com/index.php/2015/12/26/in-which-functioning-levels-are-complete-and-utter-donkey-dung/
My friend Michael wrote this:
http://www.mmonjejr.com/2014/10/its-time-to-accept-that-they-hate-you.html

And then there's this:


Which is also because this that I wrote:
My baby Mikey never gets the credit he deserves.
To 2012 show fans, the creepy "Parasitica" might as well be a counterpart to 2003's horrifying "Same As It Never Was" with the explosion of fan art and fanfics, and we all agree that Mikey was amazing and needs recognition for every type of intelligence that isn't Logical-Mathematical. He's got Interpersonal and Bodily–kinesthetic like nobody else, plus epic Musical–rhythmic, plus Intrapersonal, Naturalistic, and Existential.
Just because he has ADHD and transient expressive aphasia, doesn't understand math, displays highly non-linear thinking, defies and denies logic and physics, and refuses to learn the classroom way doesn't mean he's [insert ableist terms regarding intellect]. Notice how he absorbs Donnie's chemistry and biology lessons quietly by stimming. Also, he's a creative chef and an artist. Also he's an Olympic-level athlete, and an expert in acro-yoga, capoeira, ballet, gymnastics, parkour, jiujitsu, aikido. A master of kusarigama and nunchaku which requires extraordinary balance, flexibility, agility, proprioception, high-jump, nearly psychic sensitivity of self and surroundings. He's literally empathic and reads people like books. He absorbs the anger and upset from others and projects joy and love. He asks his brothers to repeat mission plans so he can remember, like a sponge, because of learning disabilities, and he gets smacked on the head for it. He says ridiculous silly weird nonsensical things to try and make others relax. He has nearly perfect memory, thus was chosen as navigator. He's the most neurodivergent character in the franchise.
And he should not only get more love and credit, he should get side effects from his family constantly putting him down, smacking him, and calling him names. It's easy for the sunshine children to develop depression, anxiety, nightmares. The episodes "Into Dimension X" and "Journey to the Center of Mikey's Mind" should have had some sort of PTSD effect I would think. Spending months alone in a bizarre alien dimension learning an entirely different set of laws of physics, being attacked by homicidal aliens trying to destroy his inner self, which happens to be a child... In "Parasitica" he should have gotten night terrors, being the only one who could save his family and the world from becoming zombie-like wasp drones.
He's sixteen and an extroverted wild child whose greatest fear is being abandoned by his family in the darkness to be fed alone to the monsters . Somebody give that boy a hug.

(I just have a LOT of feelings. This is why fanfics. I might never be done with all the little stories I've been writing for Cold Fire Rising 2 Ouroboros. Reviewers have been quite encouraging. I'm tormenting the heck out of that boy. I love him.)

I just have a lot of feelings. To quote the film Mean Girls, "You can't sit with us" and "Do you even go here?" because abled people and neurotypical people keep annoying me on various levels.

Okay. Wait. I had the partial seizure inside the Autistic meltdown yesterday afternoon, right? The resulting lack of verbal speech, inability to eat solid food, hemiplegic muscle spasticity, dyspraxia, brain fog, and reverting back to child mind lasted just under six hours. Right? So it would make sense that something lingers.
Gnaahh brains are weird. I am tired but bouncy. I might rewatch Stranger Things followed by Deadpool followed by Rick And Morty followed by RWBY... while working on the suburban fantasy novel with the disabled queer Faerie Autistic epileptic fibromyalgic pansexual feminine female woman half-Fae psionic superhuman protagonist* and also by eager request the Ninja Turtles psionic Mikey fanfic story to help myBrain latch on to Things.

(PS I need more psionic Anime, English dubbed and subbed.)

*my editor has a crush on her; if that doesn't prove she's a good character fill in the blank.

I can't come to the phone right now, I love Facebook and email.

Re: TMNT Nicktoons show and fanfiction.
I just had the bestest idea ever for my Mikey/April/Kraang DNA headcanon: You know that Tumblr post that theorizes how Michelangelo might have the mentality of a creature from Dimension X, which explains his extraordinary skills and knowledge of Dimension X and why he seems more at home there, why his brothers think he is "a genius" there? My headcanon says that Mikey's mutagen contains the same Utrom/Kraang DNA as April O'Neil, who was genetically engineered to be half Utrom. That explains April's psychic powers and ability to use Kraang tech. But what if Mikey also has those same untapped, unreleased psychic abilities and needs something to draw them out? Like Kraang Prime or the Utrom Queen. April and Mikey might as well be psychic siblings.
A reviewer of my fanfics on ffnet pushed my theory even further with a literal interpretation: Toddler April, in that pet store with her parents, picks up little turtle Mikey and gets her DNA on him, which Donnie then discovers one day sixteen years later when he gets bored and decides to make Mikey his science project, realizing that Mikey's DNA has two unusual strands that look similar, realizes what's happening, and once he tells April, the Utrom Queen beats Kraang Subprime to the lair and takes everyone to Dimension X for a handy explanation. Turns out it's her DNA in both April and Mikey. Hi, Mom! (and Kraang Subprime wants to use that, obviously, being a villain)

Imma need to write this up as a short story outside my Cold Fire universe. I love how both I and random Tumblr user had the same idea about Mikey and the Kraang.

*looks around* Damn, I really need to join a TMNT fandom page that appreciates this level of bizarre headcanon.

Stuff that breaks my heart.

http://panels.net/2016/05/26/on-steve-rogers-1-antisemitism-and-publicity-stunts/

They turned Captain America into an agent of a Nazi regime.

Let us let that sink in for a moment.

Steve Rogers. Is. Nazi.

*hysterical laughter*

This is one of the most Nope things to happen in fiction. They've taken a living history and twisted it with the blood of my Jewish family, of my fellow cripples... and they claimed it's not that bad, it's just a story. I'm not even going to finish that with a cliche, because I might Godwin my own blog.

If you've been on Facebook you've seen my reactions. But you've also seen how people are rising up.

As Cap himself said, NO. YOU MOVE.

1 - Aww, look, it's Depression O'clock. No wonder I went to bed early with mild writer's block.

2- New thing about me that is an autistic trait:
Any time the Disturbed version of "Sound Of Silence" plays, I will immediately, automatically stop what I am doing, shut my eyes, and start swaying and rocking side to side. I literally, neurophysiologically cannot help it. It is a thing I absolutely have to do. It mildly worries me, because what if I am somewhere where it is not a good idea to start rocking and swaying to a song like it's almost a seizure, and hopefully I can get somewhere private. Also, if you interrupt me or start singing, I might try to harm you. My brain automatically goes MY THING GO AWAY.

Note: I've found that there are ways for me to stay alert and aware so I don't freak people out, but it is unbelievably difficult and takes up a lot of processing power. Sometimes if I play the song myself I can control it, but the swaying will happen. If you dare make fun of me for this I will harm you. If you think this is a silly thing that everybody does I will harm you. If you deliberately play the song just to watch this reaction and laugh I will make other people harm you.

3 -I'mma just gonna keep sharing these, because she is awesome and also my editor.

What's that? Get back to work? Yes, editor. Thank you editor.

Fuck it, I'm probably going to wind up doing something like this.

Autistic woman sorts laundry!
Autistic woman watches comedic movie, doesn't laugh.
Autistic woman takes a shower, shaves legs.
https://autisticacademic.com/2016/04/06/autistic-woman-brushes-teeth/

*quirk face*
It is possible I out-wrote myself. Over-wrote myself? Overdid the writing? Right, that. Chapter Twenty remains only a few hundred words. I pout. Come on, brain. This is just a little fanfiction. It's a healthy, growing 61K+ fanfiction that needs at least five more chapters. You can do this.
I should get lunch. Also a doughnut.

"Hey, does anyone remember this amazing story from like years ago, Cold Fire by Joanna Capello, whatever happened to that?" -Ninja Turtle fans on the internet.
LOL. I still exist. This pleases me.
Anyway, this is the first part of a fanfiction story I'm writing. It is basically an overhauled complete rewrite of a fanfic I wrote around 1998, one that made my name popular in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fandom of that time. Recently, I have actually been getting emails from strangers asking me to either find "Cold Fire" or write a new story in the same universe, a world in which our beloved Michelangelo gains telekinetic and telepathic powers via alien technology - but at a nearly fatal price. I was a sadistic little fucker. Angst, Tragedy, and Hurt/Comfort were my Tropes to play with.
This time around, I get to play with the 2012 reboot from Nick. Despite my skepticism of the first season, it really grew on me. Especially their very individual traits. And Mikey has freckles! And huge bright baby blue eyes! However, of course with that comes Mikey being the comedic prankster, the one seen as least intelligent, the loud silly goofy annoying weird hedonist who has ADHD and natural ninja skills and could be the most powerful martial artist if only he'd concentrate his potential.
It irritated me a bit at first when April O'Neil was brought in as a teenager and a hybrid human with Kraang DNA and rudimentary clairvoyant powers. However, once it was established that in Dimension X, Michelangelo was the Genius King, I realized that potentially, Mikey could also have Kraang DNA, which is why he is able to navigate Dimension X as if it were his natural state. "Hey, in crazy backwards land, crazy backwards dude is king." And it does make me wonder if the showrunners will actually touch upon that. If Mikey really has Utrom DNA, and if it is activated, would he be potentially psychic? I'm not waiting to find out.
This story takes place in the middle of Season 4. I know they're on a strict mission to locate all the pieces of the Triceraton black hole generator, to stop the Triceratons from ever getting to Earth in the first place, traveling back in time to prevent not only the destruction of Earth but the entire invasion. But I imagine they could take a break for a few months to deal with... um... this.

So, this is essentially for Emily to review for neuroscience accuracy, and for any TMNT fan who comes across it to read for fun. And if you are not a TMNT fan, or don't even know what TMNT is, think of it as a really weird in media res story with established characters in an established world that you can Google for a few hours. Seriously, this is a fandom that will remain immortal.
And if you do recall the details of "Cold Fire", just keep them in mind, because this will be much different.
PS, did you know that Dr Honeycutt is voiced by David Tennant? Looks like The Doctor has some new companions after all.

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Guys, I have no idea where to go with this. I recall writing it at the end of college, so between 2000-2001. I think the last time I added anything was 2012. I might just cannibalize it for the autistic Fae novel.

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http://www.avclub.com/tvclub/adventure-time-scams-kids-learning-criminal-nature-231064
Stuff I loved:
The way Finn realizes he needs to adjust his teaching methods to work with the kids' unique world perceptions is quick, incredibly fluid, and clever enough to make it fun and easy for everyone. Put into context, Finn basically set up his own IEP and put his mind into the kids' minds, and decided to use their language, their skills, their observations, rather then pushing them to learn the way he or Bubblegum might want. This made me think about my OT, PT, etc, in childhood, when nobody knew I was autistic, but seeing as cerebral palsy has so much in common with many autistic traits, we were somehow able to turn it into a well-received lesson plan.
The scene with the vine: The children didn't know what it was or what to do, they only knew that Finn needed it while he was sinking. Because they had no past understanding that you cannot yell at a vine to make it a rope, they tried another tactic that they understood from their own world: physical. Pushing the vine swayed it toward the quicksand, and then it was turned into a rope simply by Finn grabbing it. This intrigued me because it mimics the "alien on earth" trope. I don't know what this thing is and nobody will tell me how it works, so I'll use my only frame of reference and what I know how to do, and somehow it still works. Like a math problem, except I can't show my work because I can't explain what I did.

If you open yourself to the child's world and work within their views, language, conceptions, perceptions, and abilities, you'll find that it gets easier to teach them what they need to know. Even if the child continues the behavior pattern that you see as bad - in the scamps' case, scamming, stealing, insulting, bullying - you can know that each lesson shows them other methods of doing their own thing.

When I was little, I had a long unique list of tics and stims that got me Looks. My mother, recognizing a highly anxious, nervous, attention-deficit-disordered mind, would play games that hid lessons on how to soothe myself. I found myself remembering bits of my childhood while watching this episode.
http://kisscartoon.me/Cartoon/Adventure-Time-with-Finn-Jake-Season-7/Episode-13

My dreams have been getting stranger and more fascinating.

Okay, so, most of you have read my thoughts on TMNT writers' treatments of Michelangelo ever since the 1980s cartoon turned him into a goofy, foolish, silly-brained, ridicule-worthy jokester. I blame David Wise, who specifically told me he wrote Mikey as such because he "liked him better that way" - which made me want to smack him. Some of you even remember that in the late 1990s and early 2000s, I won fanfic awards in the tightknit TMNT online community for "most creatively sadistic stories" back when you could find "Cold Fire" and "Ashes To Ashes" before GeoCities was destroyed. (I was the author who turned Mikey into a more serious, artistic softhearted guy who got nearly killed by aliens and developed telekinesis. People still talk about me.)

So anyway, my brain still clings to the original team from the original Mirage comics. Because in last night's dream, they were the latest incarnation, from the CGI show. But this Michelangelo was much less of a goof. Mikey got fed up with his family being assholes to him and disappeared. For a while it was like a first-person video game, in which Mikey/I ran through streets and rooftops, staying hidden; and since Michelangelo's specialties have always been better speed and agility than the others, that factored (even Splinter admitted, in the 2012 CGI TV program, that Michelangelo had the most raw power of all the brothers combined, he just lacked focus and commitment). Eventually it turned back into a TV show, and Mikey started hanging out with a human Japanese family he had befriended previously. They ran a small restaurant catering to those in poverty. Their house was below in a huge basement that split off into rooms, and there was the father and four daughters. Mikey and the 16-year-old girl became best friends, playing video games all day, and he also babysat the toddler and made the pizza, sometimes shaping cheese into kanji and random shapes.
His brothers have been looking for him, wanting to apologize. A random band of assassins have been looking for the human family, because the uncle, a vet physician specializing in human-animal hybrid mutants, couldn't save a mutated member of their bunch. So everybody convenes all at once. There is this confrontation with his brothers and Splinter where Mike is all, Screw you guys, I'm tired of being mocked and kicked around. Arguing happens, Raphael reveals his feelings toward his "little brother" and everyone is touched.
The assassins strike, target the teenage daughter, and Mikey gets shot a few times while protecting her. The uncle shows up, the Turtles attack the assassins, there is ass-kicking all around, the assassins retreat, the heroes rush to the uncle's private hospital, they almost lose Michelangelo and spend a week realizing he's important while he's in a coma, and then eventually everything returns to normal and the human family becomes friends to all the Turtles and Splinter starts training the four daughters.
Also, there was a lot of detailed stuff, like the father and uncle's past, what happened to the mother, the twelve-year-old belatedly realizing the other meaning of "we're going to play video games together", which made the father and Splinter blush and the other siblings giggle, the layout of the restaurant and basement house, the arguments, the streets of Brooklyn in the rain, the assassins; but there isn't enough time in my writerbrain to explain it here.

Haaa, dreams.

Yes, I am letting my disabilities define me and dictate my human powers and ability to function. Along with all the dozens of other things that define me and my life. Autism is one thing. Cerebral palsy is another. So is fibromyalgia. Epilepsy. ADHD.
So is being a woman. A pagan. Jewish. Mediterranean. Eastern European with Asian ancestry. Bisexual. Short. Curvaceous and slim. Cat owner. Skin care hobby expert. Creative writer. Reader and wearer of urban fantasy, paranormal science fantasy, supernatural slipstream fiction, and speculative poetry. Chocolate lover. Sushi eater. Cheese lover. Loves mushrooms and bacon. Would eat emu and bison every week if easily affordable. Prefers online socializing because being corporeal in front of people is hard, and I would not give up Internet because it facilitates disabled communication, something people don't realize when they demand we live Internet free. Loves brownies and cheesecake and pure maple syrup on crepes.
I am so many things.
Among them is my disability. All of it. And I have my labels that keep me living, medicated, taken care of, connected.
I connect to myself through ways I understand best. I was born disabled, so there it is. There is never any shame in it.

I don't have autism.
I AM autism.

Hey parents: get over your fears and embrace us. We are like your children.

https://chavisory.wordpress.com/2016/01/20/when-it-is-who-we-are/

It's been a while since I've had a blister. So much walking. Very painful. And the cell phone store didn't have a replacemen model, so the company's insurance will ship me a new phone, which should arrive next week, around Tuesday. I am patient. Computer damage happens. I just won't have a mobile phone for a few days.

Adam went back to Manhatten to take down the display he put up last week. I think I'm all peopled out, with phone calls to Medicard and Medigap and ATT and such. The only people want to speak with right now are the cats. If my best friends or husband or family calls, I'll put on a mask. Cats don't need masks.

Emily, my newest friend, suggested taking my LJ entries tagged Disabilities and organizing them for a blogger site and adding a Patreon link. That way there is plenty of content already while I write more. I might as well apply it to the fiction books, taking a paragraph and inserting it. Hi, writerbrain.

I am so tired. No talking. I need dinner. And a Band-Aid.

LOL.

1 Whyyyy do I still have heartburn.

2 I had eggses and cheese and fruit.
I'm tired of cooked vegetables, except for Chinese Spinach (monchoy, was it? At H-Mart?).

3 Chocolate will be eaten.

4 Later, maybe the boston creme donut.

5 I need to make more chocolate coffee.

6 I think the best eyeliner colors for my water line might be champagne, or bronze, or taupe. I want to open my eyes.

7 I want to sleep. I want to read. This depression Hollow makes bizarre turns.

8 The psychology appointment with the soft hypnosis biofeedback opened up a startling Thing in my deeper mind. I think I can semi-cure one of my "pointless addictive compulsions" if I follow this path. I don't care if it's been five years. Next month I will put it into practice.

9 I think I will end this episode of "Stitchers" and then take a nap. I'm very full and have heartburn and part of me wants to cry for no reason. I want to hate myself enough to self harm. Thus medication and sleep.

What people keep failing to understand is that a sick, scarred, damaged, fucked up brain is a sick damaged organ. If a sickness began five years ago, no amount of treatment over five years will cure it. Not until all that treatment is cohesively brought together. Fuck a five year thing, a three year thing, a seven year thing. Cures will happen when they fucking happen. If I said I would fix it before, I meant it, and I slipped, and I tried to kill myself each time. This time, however, I have neuropsychologist willing and determined to work with a part of me that I had not done so in the past five or six or twenty years. It is embedded. It is in my hands and fingers. Suicidal ideation might actually not happen this time. I have a few months to practice this deeper, stronger, more intense technique. I can yell, scream, rage, and be as angry at myself as I need, but in the end, anger won't work. Asking myself and my deep mind all the questions will work better.

I don't have scars anymore. I mean, not on my body. I know that in the next few weeks, my control might slip, and Dr A says if that happens, I should pull back and learn what that other part of me did that, why the blackouts have been happening, why the OCD has been raging for five years. I hate being told "Well, why didn't those other psychologists help? Why aren't you fixed yet?" Because they were social workers, clinical, too casual. Dr A, he's different. He knows patients like me, he's a rehab psychologist. I am in rehab with him.

I wonder of a person who decides that therapists are useless because they should cure a person, any neuropsychologically sick person, within a set amount of time, has absolutely no idea what it's like to be sick person wrestling with years of control and failure, control and failure. I'm tired of being unable to talk about it without breaking down and destroying my own self, diving too deeply into compulsions that destroy everything because a part of my brain doesn't know how else to respond. Something takes over. Time Agnosia. Epilepsy. Sensory Processing Disorder. Anxiety Disorders. This is what all my support groups are for. Support groups that get demonized because somehow they are pulling me in with their Dark Side and their dark cookies and how dare I feel safe, secure, comfortable, comforted more than I ever have.

No, this isn't about anyone I know. It's about people I don't know who are willing to drag down someone like me to see how much they can hurt me. It will happen again, I can predict that. But now I understand. Neuropsychologically damaged people are great targets.

I'm glad we had this chat.

I feel better.

Soooo.
In my private autism support forum, I described one of my novels. And three professional book editors popped up to express interest in reading it.
*clears throat*
*takes breath*
AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH WHAAAAAAAAAA.
'kay, I'm cool.

Time to keep working.

Dear Diary,
Today I almost lost a finger and my husband was medical. It was the best day ever. (Firefly meme reference: "Dear Diary: Today I was pompous and my sister was crazy. It was the best day ever.")

I was cleaning the immersion blender and was literally stupid, as in in a stupor. I put my right middle finger in the center of the blades while they were on. Luckily, Adam had been listening to the series of events and, upon hearing me scream, ran into the kitchen like a Winchester brother out of hell. After we'd wrapped my finger in a paper towel and cleaned the blood off the sink, we examined the two wounds, decided I didn't need surgery, and wrapped a small bandage around both. One slice was across the top, toward the nail bed, and the other was round and mussed my fingerprint. I lost several layers of skin and was very dizzy for a while. Again, not bad enough for hospital or stitches.
I might hang on to that paper towel as a reminder. I bleed a sweet merlot.
Also, Adam cut a finger off one of those blue latex gloves to make a finger condom so I could do stuff.

I apparently had a sleep seizure, probably during a dream somehow or after a dream or something. I am feeling the after effects and a terrific headache of multiple kinds, yay.

In one dream, I was a dragon youkai and every time I showed my demon form, there were strobes and clanging and gongs and tingly burning and a sensory mess and every seizure trigger I have; and another dream involved being part of a polyamorous triad of paranormal mages hunting a shape-shifting serial killer, and the dream kept putting me back in specific scenes over and over where my palsy startle reflex would go off. And I still didn't get to participate in the ritual sex. Thanks, dream.

Also last night the damaged nerves in my right knee decided to act up to literally cripple me visibly in that way I'm not used to, so I was hobbling with knees bent and I cried myself to sleep, and other things happened that exploded most of the nerves in my body, and also the allodynia part of fibromyalgia made me want to tear off my skin while the autistic hypersensitivity made me crave tight clothes and blankets making it a bizarre conflict of interest, and also my joints hurt right now. My fingers feel swollen and hot and it hurts to type and oh hi, allodynia.
I am super not well today.

I mean. I have husband all day, who will help massage and Reiki-thingy and cuddle. So there is that.

Um.

Hi?

(Alphas) I'm S2E2, on the episode with the speedy metabolism guy. And I love Gary, and I love how everyone loves Gary, and he is sweet and they are sweet, and that dialogue between Gary and Hicks about the text messages was especially adorable. I might do what Gary did in a snarky way, because part of my brain would totally latch on to the literalness of Hicks' words.
Nobody tells Gary to not be autistic. They just are his friends and they help him help them help him. If I had seen "Alphas" when I was first diagnosed, I might have clung on like a life preserver. I mean, sure I still would have had Futurama playing in the background at all hours until guests with short fuses got angry at me. But this show would have happened, too.

In one interview with Ryan Cartwright, he said he liked to do a little improv, toss in a joke curveball at the end of a line, even just a physical quirk, throwing the other actors off just a bit. I would have preferred he had gotten more inspiration for Gary from more actual autistics beyond doctors and therapists, but he still did fairly well.

Maybe it's me. I grew up being... encouraged! to be all the social nice things, the smiling, the polite laughter, the handshake. Outside of my hypersensitivity, I crave hugs. If I could hug, or bow, rather than shake hands, I ask for that. Heavy eye contact makes me shaky and weird unless it's for meditative purposes specific. I wasn't supposed to show cerebral palsy, let alone dyspraxia or physically manifested anxiety or any of the conditions frequently associated with autism.
Gary Bell has a lot of physical motions, movements, tics and twitches, that I do not. Gary Bell also speaks in a semi-rising flat affect that is nearly totally literal. I had to teach myself in high school to not do that. It was easy, since I could practice on the librarian, or guidance counselor, or the gym coaches who gently poked me when I needed cheering. I don't have any memory of fellow students interacting with me. I don't look like Gary Bell. I don't talk like Gary Bell. But I know Gary Bell.

My sarcasm, satire, and snark is built thickly upon dry wit. I know sarcasm well, except sometimes I will ask what you mean Was that sarcasm? Was that literal? Why did you make that face? Is that a scowl? Are you angry at me? What did I do? I'm pathetic, I'm sorry.
Most of my sarcasm was learned from my highly sarcastic, witty, dry humoured parents, and later by bingeing Futurama, no kidding. My parents script at each other constantly. They quote old movies from the 1940s and beyond, they have little codes in the form of film dialogue. And my mother with her ADHD, my father with general anxiety and empathic healing projection, who may be neurodivergent after all... I learned because I had to. The point is that if you are having a conversation in a small group and I wander off because I seem bored or lost, it's because I don't know how or what to contribute and I will turn into a cat. You must find me and say a thing. See, this happened Friday after Thanksgiving. C. and M. were ready to leave, and suddenly during a discussion of C. and I loving qigong, M. very casually mentioned her autism, and I just erupted with glee, oh oh oh, tribe, hello, oh my! I finally became animated. And So C. And I shall continue to talk about quantum physics and martial arts, and how autism plays into it.

I have many theories. At least one does involve bunnies.

I have two pendants that attach to two medical ID charms via jump rings. But it wasn't until I joined an Autistics Only support group that I realized that the infinity symbol with the different colorful gemstones is a symbol for neurodiversity and the autism spectrum, hopefully to replace that godawful puzzle piece that tries to insist that we are missing or some shit.

So, here's the Infinity symbol.


And here's the Faery Star, or seven-petal flower:


I love them like I love my gemstone bracelets. They mean special things.

Today: several small seizures, one huge meltdown, motor apraxia, and the crushing dark Hollow of clinical depression.
The next person who asks why I feel that way will be laughed at. Sometimes life, duh. Leave me alone. I'm not doing good with memory. I want the phone to stop ringing. I changed the house phone tones to classical music. I still don't want to talk to anyone.
Unless it's about the next episode of Heroes Reborn. Or cats. Or videos.

I am literally numb. You want me to actually care enough? Wait until I have had my medication and therapy. Expect a flat accent with flat emotions. Also, I am working House chores, novel, stories. All the careless mistakes I have made will be reprimanded later. BRB, more Klonopin so the OCD fades slightly. I know I am bad. Today of all days I don't need to be reminded. BRB, sending consoling words to friend whose daughter died. BRB, helping writer friends with ideas. I will punishment self later. Today dances in the numb, emotion free Hollow. And it is just fine.

Some light reading for later.

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2869041/#__ffn_sectitle

I've been working on a blog post. Trying to find words about "high and low ends of the spectrum" when the spectrum is a Mobius Strip, trying to find words about "nonverbal adult in diapers" without feeling angry. Trying to turn it into a respectable blog and not an upset rant
Maybe find a way to be paid somehow.
Comments and corrections by actual students and academics are yes welcome thank you.

Yeah.
https://spectrumnews.org/features/deep-dive/the-lost-girls/
Yeah.