Persephone, Asha, Hecate

New user name, new self

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.

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.
Persephone, Asha, Hecate

I'm not you. You're not me. But we're people. Yay us.

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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Persephone, Asha, Hecate

My brain to your brain. To the universe.

...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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Persephone, Asha, Hecate

The Heart And The Light

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.

Persephone, Asha, Hecate

The Real Deal: Cerebral Palsy, Fibromyalgia, Epilepsy, Dyspraxia, ADHD, Autism, Depression

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.

Persephone, Asha, Hecate

The Ten Point Overload Scale in Autism
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.

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.
Persephone, Asha, Hecate

Because I think his brain is covered in glitter, that's why

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.
Persephone, Asha, Hecate

"People are people So why should it be You and I should get along so awfully"

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:
"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:
My friend Michael wrote this:

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.
Persephone, Asha, Hecate

Collective Soul, Shine

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.