this aint a song for the broken hearted....

...der da da dum dum...

I wish I could ask for help, but no one is "entitled" to friendship.

dysfunctional brain told me it couldn't remember the last time a close friend invited me to do something. I answered "but what about [name]s birthday?". "that's different, you got them a present". I didn't have an answer. I cried.

it's time to start channeling the inner octopus to make sense of this crap.

on the one hand (tentacle?), I could probably just be sensible about it and arrange to do social stuff, but on the other, that isn't really "evidence" against dysfunctional brain. they'll come out if I say I need them, but is that just pity? or if the event sounds fun, but that doesn't mean they want to see me. I don't want to see me.

or they might be too busy, which again is no evidence one way or the other. I've lost track of tentacles.

if anyone is reading this, I don't know what you should do either. I want to see you, but not because I need you, I want you to want to see me but I'm not strong enough to believe that you do. and if you can follow that you're a better octopus wrangler than I am.

in search of Questions.

today I got up early and checked my emails. I did this mostly so that the fear of doing so didn't paralyze me into not checking them for the next 2 weeks. in my inbox was a reply to one of the 3 emails I had sent out that were responsible for this fear, a manageable but surprisingly varied spam collection, and a new post notification from a blog I follow. here is that blog post:

http://lindamadhatter.wordpress.com/2014/09/01/is-there-any-point-to-being-diagnosed-as-an-adult-and-a-thing-or-two-about-executive-functioning-and-routines/

the last paragraph (emphasis mine):

"And this is why having a diagnosis can be a great thing.  It allows us the knowledge we need to not only be a little easier and less judgmental on ourselves when things don’t quite go to plan, however it also allows us to use the same tools as our kids so that we too, can navigate this world which isn’t quite meant for us."

it's not even the main point of the post, but it never occurred to me before. Linda can modify stuff for Autistic kids to help her navigate this adult thing. I can modify stuff for Autistic kids to help me navigate this adult thing. and stuff for dyspraxic kids. andandand...

...it's not perfect. it still means braving places that centre NT parents in ND conversations. there will be toxic self pity. it still means hearing the wrong questions and "well intentioned" abuse. I'll have to translate it all into practical relevance, and many important questions will be missed entirely. but there is a use.

I just have to neurofab it up. and grow it up. and not let the bastards get me down.

there is hope.

(the scary email was good news, btw. just waiting on the other 2)

pocket full of teeth

here is a craft project.

firstly, if you are following a link from ravelry, I should probably warn you, there is very little yarn content in this blog. it is mainly used as a place of ranting by a queer, neurodiverse 20-something. there is sex and stimming and swearing and no guarantee that you will be interested in any of the themes explored in any of the other posts.

this post, however, is a pattern.

as part of a long term mission to bring a sense of order to my life, I have been making little pockets. the knitted ones are smaller versions of simply seamless pouch. the crochet ones, however, are my own original design.

gauge isn't really important, but pick a yarn & hook combination that produces a sturdy fabric in UK DC/US SC. from now on, I will be using UK terms only. I used a 2mm hook and fingering weight yarn.

chain until your foundation chain measures the width of your desired pouch, plus 1. DC in 2nd ch from hook and all remaining ch. DC again in last ch, and continue along the other side of the foundation ch.

when you get back to the start, DC in 1st DC, then 1 DC in each DC of previous row. continue spiralling upwards in this way for 1-1.5".

you have now formed the fip-top of your pocket. DC to the next corner (ie, just above an end of your foundation chain), ch1, turn, DC in each DC from the previous row until you reach the other corner. ch1, turn, DC in each DC. continue in this way, crocheting back & forth until the length (from foundation chain to end) is equal to the height of your desired pocket.

you now have the flip-top and back. to start the next row, sl st to the end of previous row, DC in each DC, sl st to beginning of previous row, sl st to end of next row up, turn, DC in each DC, sl st to beginning. continue to work back and forth, up the front of your pocket, sl st-ing to form the side seams.

when you get to the bottom of the flip top, turn it inside out and continue sl st'ing to the sides on what will be the inside of the top, until 1/4" from the foundation chain. cast off & weave in ends.

when I make pockets to this pattern, there is a tendancy to curl. this might be because I twist stitches somehow, but if not I have found that this becomes less pronounced as the piece gets bigger. if it still wants to twist, this effect will disappear completely after a day or 2 under a heavy book.

optional teeth...

DC red "gums" across the edge of the flip top. with white yarn, Sl in 1st red DC, then ch 6.

DC in 2nd ch from hook, then in next 3 ch. Sl in 2nd red DC, turn.

Sl in 3rd red DC, DC in 2nd white DC, then DC in each of the remaining 2 DCs, turn.

ch 1, DC in 1st & 2nd DC, Sl in 4th red DC, turn.

you have now formed a tooth. repeat these instructions across the opening.

unpacking

at the beginning of the month, I went to Wales. this was a big deal, mostly because I was teaching my first polymer clay workshop. I've informally taught beginners to clay through the LPCG, attended a few proper workshops as a student and helped out at some where mum was involved in the organising, but this time it was my own technique and I was responsible for making sure everyone understood the process well enough to repeat it at home.

I had casually "come out" to my host before (in all relevant senses of the term), when she came to stay with us for a workshop in London. she was...confused by my label. she couldn't equate me with the caricature of "Autism" in her mind. over dinner one night at her house, she asked The Hardest Questions.

I seem so normal, so what's wrong with me? if I've overcome the problems, why do I still identify with them?

I can't answer that. the answer doesn't exist. I can explain why it doesn't, but only here & now, long after the event.

these questions don't acknowledge my reality. they assume a lot of things. NTs are bizarre creatures, I pass for NT mostly because of the absurdity of your caricature of how I should be (with some lack of observation on your part, and some internalised NT supremacy on mine). I've "overcome" in that I've found coping strategies that keep me sane and normal looking, but I still practise them every day. let's take the trip to Wales as an example:

firstly, I developed the technique for making the "flight pendants". I'm unemployed, with geek tendencies and live in greater London, therefore I enjoy the science museum lates. at the lates, among other things, they have lectures related to that month's theme in some of the galleries. on one particular night, I was trying to listen to a lecture in the "flight" gallery. a combination of bad acoustics and ND sensory processing meant that I really wasn't following. my mind and eyes drifted, they drifted up, to the vintage aircraft suspended from the ceiling. most of the wings were canvas stretched over wooden forms. they were beautiful. I wanted that as a bangle. I started plotting. I thought I had it. I tried. I failed. over a year later, the magical solution to the problem came to me in the bath. a day later I had my bangle. it was (and is) beautiful. from there it was easy enough to develop pendants with a similar construction for the workshop (my flight bangle is apparently too big for most people).

secondly, packing. being dyspraxic (and over 6') I hate using wheelie suitcases or anything similar. being dyspraxic, I also have all the organisation of a 6 year old most of the time (and you really don't want to know how much chaos I could cause as an actual 6 year old). these restrictions make packing interesting. I need to get it all in my rucksack, but I need to know it's all there. I have a rucksack pocket for toiletries and another for "handbag shit". I have no idea how people are supposed to remember undergarments when they pack clothing, but I make "t-shirt rolls" (I roll up a bra, pair of knickers & pair of socks inside a top) because of paranoia over forgetting them. lots of little details. I get it done, I even enjoy it, but the process seems both faster & slower than it would be for NTs.

then travel. I don't sense time. if you tell most NTs you'll be back in 5 minutes, they'll notice if you come back after 2 ("that was quick"), 10 ("that took a long time") or an hour ("I was starting to think you weren't coming back"). I don't. I have literally no idea. imagine negotiating public transport with that mind. this journey involved 3 different trains, none of which left from the station that the previous train arrived at. try to picture the underwear moistening panic of arriving in an unfamiliar city, knowing you have a limited but essentially unknown amount of time to get to one of the other stations in that city, find the right train and get on it. add to that a brain that refuses to "see" left & right, meaning if I have to ask for directions I'll need to mentally translate them.

to make public transport possible (which, as I don't drive, means "to make independant travel further than the nearest shops possible") I obsessively check the time & the map, allow at least an extra hour of "chaos time" for anywhere outside london, and stare at the departures board until my train gets there. like I said, I'm in no way NT. this is my normal setting, obsessive planning and riding an exhilarating wave of pre-panic energy. the journey to wales was further complicated by the brain fug of depression (I was coming out of a bad patch), meaning I couldn't enjoy that dangerous thrill.

then, the weekend itself. we had a 1 day workshop, followed by a morning exploring the local area and an afternoon playing with the clay. we spent my last evening making koch canes and talking. my host (as her local clay friends had at the workshop) commented several times on my unusual perspective. she laughed at my insight ("even if she [my aunt] had taken my confidence, it wouldn't have been any use to her"). so, I seem "normal" and yet see life differently?

you see, it works both ways. life is scary and chaotic and exciting and beautiful. that's the point. my life is Autistic. I'm not your caricature image of "autism", because I'm not 5, because I think and feel, because that caricature is just that, oversimplified to the point of nonsense. I don't identify with some abstract "problem" I overcame during childhood (any more than you, hypothetical reader, identify as illiterate), I identify with my mind and the mostly unknowable ways it colours the world I experience. I identify with the friends I'm drawn to because of shared interests & humour, and with childhood memories & mums favourite me-as-a-baby stories. I identify with me.

(and, incase you were wondering, no I haven't quite gotten around to physically unpacking. tomorrow. tomorrow is good)

on flashing...

so, I was included in friday's flash blog but I was out. I had a fabulous valentines, by the way, I was at a queer classical music event and got home at silly o'clock (aka 3:15 am) because I don't have the good sense to get.off.the.bus at waterloo tube station (or not get on it in the first place, it wasn't really a useful bus). still, totally worth it.

writing the flash blog was terrifying, and (in my opinion) not my best writing. it's hard trying to make coherent words happen to someone elses timetable and agenda, even if their agenda is really close to my own, so I'd like to try and write the things that didn't fit...

...I was scared because no one reads this blog, so its safe for me to use it to anonymously scream into cyber space. the flash blog would (and did) bring more traffic, which might bring comments. I might like comments, but a few of the predictable responses to anything I might write about Autism would have really hurt me.

mostly, I'm talking about calls from Autism parents for me to check my "high functioning" privilege. this is a subject that has been covered by Autistic people before, but I want to unpack the batshittery of it here, for myself, in my anonymous cyber-screaming place.

1. "high/low functioning" is a shitty thing to call someone, especially in an Autistic context where the person saying it will often use it to describe our ability to pass for NT, and thereby judge our personhood. to paraphrase Ari Ne'eman, we're "high functioning" when we "don't need help" and "low functioning" when we're "not worth helping". if you really feel the need to assign labels based on NT perception, how about we use more honest terms? like "user friendly"
2. yes, I am user friendly. however, until I chose to describe specific events where I have communicated via my vocal chords you had no way of knowing that. there are many far more effective self advocates than me who don't speak most of the time, or at all. blogging is one of the most accessible means of communication for many Autistics, of all levels of user friendliness.
3. no, I don't know what it's like being your hairdresser's sister's non-verbal offspring, but neither do you. or your hairdresser. or the child's parents. parents know how it feels to raise their child. that's all.
4. not knowing what it's like to be Autistic never stops parents speaking for Autistics, because they are automatically seen as the Real Human Being in the situation. check your own privilege before trying to stop us telling our stories.
5. less user friendly Autistics don't tend to call people like me on unchecked privilege for telling the world about our Autistic joys and struggles. they call us when we try to exaggerate the functioning binary that suits many parent's and charities narratives about the tragedy of Autism.
6. I am well aware of my various privileges and oppressions, generally and in relation to conversations about Autism. the most relevant one in this case being British privilege in that I only have to deal with Autism $peaks on the internet when I'm feeling strong enough.

thats enough ranty stuff for now. I feel there was other stuff that got stuck in the marble effect, but I forget what. I might edit to add that in later...

oh, edits on NT allies.

there seems to have been a lot of progress in recent years within the English-writing internet. we has allies!

my sanity doesn't hold up to really following all the things I care about properly, but there definitely seem to be a lot more ND friendly blogs run by NT parents of Autistic kids than there were back when I joined AFF in 2006. this is great, but it also highlights how far we still need to go.

when I logged in after my flash blog was posted, there were no comments but there was a "+2". when I eventually worked out what that meant (the aspie tech genius stereotype? ha!) I was instantly star struck. 2 people had "liked" the post I wrote, despite my feelings that it was clumsily written/jumpy/predictable/didn't say everything it needed to. better yet, they're both outspoken allies to their ND kids, who have a thriving readership. and they approve of me!

that's fucked up. not what they're doing, my response to it. we need allies, and these two people are doing a hell of a lot for us, using their NT privileges of Being Automatically Seen As A Real Person and Being Able To Communicate Easily to fight for a more neurologically accessible world and bring other parents into the light. all social justice movements need allies, but all also need to be lead by the people that movement exists for. so, if you're an ally reading this (hi, by the way) I am striving to be less grateful, not because you're doing a bad job, but so we can all develop a healthier ally/oppressed relationship because in the future we're working for your attitude should be the default human setting.

if you are an ally reading this (hi again) and would like some suggestions on improvement...

...try to make your writing less kid-focussed. I'm not sure how to do this for many of you on a regular basis, as your main real life experience of the subject is your offspring, but we grow up, age out of what support was available, and remain Autistic. the first Autistic woman I saw on TV (and I watch most Autism documentaries, and live in a country that is not plagued by A$) was only last year, and only featured because her SON was Autistic. try to find out what would be helpful to Autistic adults in your area and spread the word via your platform, however small you think it is.

...continue to speak honestly about everything, the panic attack on the bus and the pretty bubbles. it all matters. it really does.

...try not to expect too much gratitude. many of us were expected to feel & act grateful whenever we were offered "help", even if it wasn't helpful, or it was a legal requirement, or, often, both. that sort of thing takes it's toll and makes it harder for us to self advocate. we really need to self advocate.

...we are not self narrating zoo exhibits. any education of NT allies or oppressors by us is at our discretion. most of you do seem to get that, but please spread that knowledge around.

ok, here endeth the lecture. good night allies, sweet dreams.

Bursting bubbles

so, I finally heard about an Autistic flash blog before the deadline. not much before, but enough (I hope).

the theme is "love not fear". I am not a parent, so I can't really give advice on that. I can, however, talk about bath time...

bath time is wonderful. I can't sense time passing so I have to sit next to the bath and watch it run. I sit in the warm, bright bathroom and knit. my current knitting project is a lace pattern that I've just about memorised, so it's beautiful and engaging without being difficult. I sometimes find myself baby-talking at the beautiful stitches. when the bath is full, I strip off and carefully step in. I sit down and stroke the inside of the bath, dislodging the tiny bubbles. I watch the bubbles scurry to the surface. each one has a shadow, wriggling across the bottom of the bath, until the bubble bursts on the surface, producing a flash of refracted light on the bottom. my own, private, silent firework display. when I'm finished with the bubbles, I lay back, watch the ripples on the ceiling and let my mind wander. eventually, I also wash my hair.

I can also talk about catching a train to another city...

like most Autistic adults, I'm unemployed. this means I have to get an advanced ticket or I can't afford to travel at all. as mentioned above, I don't sense time passing. I also have no concept of left & right, my sense of direction isn't terrible, I just can't attach words to it reliably.

so, I have to get a bus, train then a tube to the station where my advanced ticket starts. if I'm late, my ticket is worthless. if I need to ask for directions, I'll need to translate them from left/right to mental image. most of the time, I'm going from kings cross/st pancras and I "see" them as 1 station until I come up from the tube. things are further complicated by tube strikes, distraction caused by excitable Glaswegian gentlemen and, occasionally, panic attacks.

I love my wonky brain. I'm terrified of messing up because of its limitations but I love it anyway.

I don't wish I was different, but I want & need a better world. when I asked her how she felt about me being queer, my mum said she was ok with it, but would prefer if I was straight because then my life would be easier.

she's right, but wishing I was straight is not the way to deal with that. if she's worried that I might face prejudice in employment, in health care, by the media and people on the street, she should be finding ways to speak up, challenge outdated attitudes and laws. changing me will never be the answer.

to fully love and accept the Autistic people in your life, stop separating them from their labels. it's not ok to say that the bad bits are Autism and the good bits are personality, it's all Autism AND personality. my creativity, stimming, sense of humour, time keeping, generosity, and sensory issues are all part of me and fundamentally Autistic. you need to love and accept that I'll be late, I'll bounce when I get excited and I never want you touching my hair.

you need to build spaces where we know we can ask for help without fear or judgement, and let us be in that space so we can re-learn how to ask for the help we need, which may involve working out what that help looks like and probably means being "ungrateful" for something you previously thought was helpful. we don't want to hurt you, we just need you to stop hurting us. if hearing that a particular attitude or therapy schedule hurts the Autistic person in your life is painful, I'm happy for you. you messed up an can now learn from that. if you were comfortable with that knowledge, you would be a monster. keep reading, keep learning, keep refining. love and acceptance is a process.

yes. I am asking for "special treatment", so what?

on Tuesday, me and my friend(/ex) are going back to the school where we met for a photography session. I have very mixed feelings about the place. on the one hand, Sel-by is awesome, on the other....

it was (and still is) an all girls special school in rural surrey, part boarding, part day pupil. it's a beautiful place, the main building is an old manor house (although much smaller than any national trust place I've seen) with a long, winding drive and large grounds. it has a small swimming pool and when we were there the head of care kept her ponies in a paddock by the gates. the original stables were converted to provide an IT suite and fully equipped DT workshops. I remember all of this, but it's tainted. I remember the place as though it's appearance were a mocking euphemism for it's true nature.

there are many reasons why someone might have difficulty navigating the educational system. we often assign values to these, which is a shitty thing to do. as a society, we often like to think of people in need as "deserving" and "undeserving". if you work in special education, kindly shove ideas like that up your arse from whence they came. ok, back to my point; why do people end up in special schools?

well, maybe they don't understand the lesson. maybe the concept of fractions is just too complicated.

or maybe it's illiteracy? maybe they get why historical event A lead to historical event B in class discussions, but struggle because they can't read the text book.

yet more students may struggle with writing speed, or loose a significant amount of the school term because they needed to have surgery.

these are the "deserving" issues. the staff accept that they exist and make every effort to help. their attitude tends to be highly patronising, but at least they don't tell you it's your fault. but what about the "undeserving"?

they're harder to list. not more or less serious or real, just harder to describe.

I have been both a "deserving" and "undeserving" special child. I always understood the concept of the lesson, but didn't read until I was 9 years old, and at age 11 could barely write fast enough to get the title & aim of the lesson before the hour was up and I had to move on to the next class. if you don't believe the deserving/undeserving crap exists in this context, why would I feel the need to mention the time when I was considered worthy of real help?

because I was mainstream educated until the age of 14, and with support was in top or middle sets for most subjects. when I moved to a special school, my academic needs were not the issue.

I had (almost) no friends. there were literally 2 people in my year I could talk to and that was it. I don't mean I got on better with other age groups, I mean that.was.it. I also really struggled with organisation.

the no friends thing meant constant verbal abuse (or maybe the causal link was the other way round, or they were both caused by me "not fitting in". I don't give a shit), and the organisation thing meant I basically didn't do homework because I had no idea what had to be done when, let alone where that piece of paper was. to my frazzled mind, a new school with only 50 pupils sounded like a great idea.

I didn't do my homework at the new school either. I wasn't the only one, but I was the only one who didn't tick a single "deserves help" box. there were after school activities. I was banned from them unless I'd done ALL my homework for the past week. that was the only form of "help" available for my organisational issues. I could forgive them if it were the school policy, but it wasn't. even with a dyspraxia diagnosis, organisational difficulties were dismissed as "laziness".

I have a vivid memory of standing in the lunch queue. one of the staff approaches and asks me for money I don't have. it's the £7 weekly lunch money I should have brought in on monday. I have no where to write down a reminder. I don't even have a pen. I have another 2 hours of lessons and a 20 minute journey home before I can ask mum for the money, and the chances of me still remembering that I need to do this at the end of the lunch break are approximately zero. I don't have a phone, but if I did I wouldn't be allowed to use it anyway. I've said sorry, I forgot. I really am sorry. there is no privacy because everyone else is waiting for lunch. she wants to know if I think I can get food from shops if I "forget" my money. where do I think this food came from? do I think everyone else should pay for me? do I expect special treatment?

YES. yes, I expect "special treatment". otherwise what's the point of a "special school"? I want to be taught coping strategies and skills that will one day allow me to live independently and define my own success.

but I didn't have those words then, and I'm not sure I'll have them on tuesday. and I know it's all or nothing because if I try and fail to make my point I'm just "ungrateful". again.