Corpus Callosum Emojis & Text

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new ♿️ 🌈 miscellaneous symbols spectrum disabledcore disabilitycore pridecore diabetescore amputeecore autismcore adhdcore ocdcore jck

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Most kids with ASD are either hypersensitive or hyposensitive to stimuli like noises, lights, touch, etc. 
If someone has Autism and/or PTSD, he/she may be more prone to sensory overload and startle more easily.
That means there’s not much information about how typical treatment methods can or should be adjusted for patients with ASD. 
According to this article, a nurse could…

Offer home-based services
Use more visual aids, such as gradient scales to describe degrees of emotion
Keep appointment times regular and predictable as much as possible
Provide sensory toys or allow children to bring their own
Emphasize the possibility of a “happy ending” after trauma―​“this correlates well with the documented effectiveness of social stories, narratives and role-playing in therapy involving individuals with ASD”
Be mindful of how often society dismisses the emotions of autistic people
Involve other trusted caregivers
…and more. Essentially, the therapist should keep the child’s unique strengths and limitations in mind at each step and be open to flexibility.
Remember to…

Not take behavior personally
Be willing to listen without pressuring him/her to talk
Identify possible triggers and help him/her avoid them
Remain calm and understanding when he/she is emotional
Let him/her make age-appropriate choices so he/she feels in control of his/her life
Be patient
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new 💙 autismcore ptsdcore nursecore 😷

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Before beginning trauma-focused therapy it is important to stabilise the individual with emotional coping strategies and creating feelings of safety. Support strategies that have been found to be helpful in the general population include: 

mindfulness and grounding in the present moment
creating feelings of safety (for example an object/picture that symbolises safety)
sensory soothing
Autistic people may require:

a greater number of sessions 
a longer or shorter duration to each session 
regular breaks.
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new 😷 autismcore health professional

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Treatments should be appropriately adapted for autistic people and their individual needs. 
(Rumball et al. 2020) and Kerns et al. (2022) suggest a number of other events that autistic people found traumatic: 

abandonment by/loss of a loved one (for example a family member, pet or support staff)
sensory experiences (for example fire alarms)
transitions and change (for example school transitions, routine changes with the seasons, unpredictability in day to day life)
social difficulties and confusion (for example difficulties interpreting social cues, misunderstandings and conflicts) 
events related to one’s own mental health difficulties (for example psychotic experiences).
Autistic people may also be more likely to find these experiences traumatic due to autistic characteristics such as:

sensory sensitivities
communication and social interaction differences
distress around changes to routines
distress if prevented from taking part in repetitive and restricted behaviours such as stimming. 
Some theories suggest that other factors associated with being autistic, may mean an increased risk of developing or maintaining PTSD symptoms
But just because symptoms aren’t crippling doesn’t mean you're not affected.
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new 😷 disabledcore autismcore ptsdcore medical procedure

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https://about.kaiserpermanente.org/health-and-wellness/our-care/exploring-the-promise-of-at-home-cervical-cancer-screening
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new 😷 cancercore 🍑 homecore girlism disabilitycore ptsdcore autismcore

Why autistic people are like cats:
- We are highly sensitive.
- We don't like loud or sudden noises.
- We are easily spooked and startled.
- Especially because we are zoning out, like, all the time.
- We love to be held and touched and petted and cuddled bUT ONLY IF IT WAS OUR IDEA!
- We're picky eaters.
- Easily distracted.
- Solitary creatures.
- Takes us a while to warm up to people and be comfortable around them.
- Our idea of being "social" is just hanging around the vicinity or in the same room as other people but not necessarily interacting with them.
- We are finicky, particular, meticulous creatures of habit and we have a comfort zone we will defend with our lives.
- If we deem you worthy, you will be allowed into our comfort zone.
- Gaining our love and trust is super rewarding because it is not easily done. Be flattered.
- If you touch us unexpectedly we will flinch or jump.
- We are awesome predators and get super intense about stuff one nickname for the ADHD gene is "the hunter gene")
- We are cute and lovable and have a lot of personality.
- Many autistic children love to feel enclosed and secure and so love secret hiding places and cubby holes (i.e., "if I fits, I sits")
- We sometimes appear to freak out at nothing and scamper away for no reason but really it's because we can hear things you can't and some sounds bother us.
- Because we have such hyper-sensitive senses, any snuggles you give us will be a million times more rewarding for you because you'll know and appreciate just how intensely we're enjoying them.
- Please give us food or we will boop your nose in your sleep.

new autismcore special olympics cat

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https://neurodivergentinsights.com/misdiagnosis-monday/ptsd-and-autism
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new 😷 disabledcore autismcore ptsdcore

Symptoms of concussion: Concussions lead to symptoms that may not present in cerebral contusion cases, such as ringing in the ears, dizziness, light and sound sensitivity, and changes in personality. Nausea and vomiting are two other hallmarks not necessarily seen in contusion cases.
Grade 1: This type of concussion, also known as a “ding concussion,” occurs without loss of consciousness, and with other features and signs of the condition resolving within 15 minutes.
Grade 2: More severe are concussions that are not accompanied by loss of consciousness, but other symptoms—including confusion—persist for longer than 15 minutes.
Grade 3: This type is accompanied by loss of consciousness, with symptoms persisting longer than 15 minutes.
Symptoms of contusion: Since bruising in the brain causes blood to pool in tissues surrounding the brain, this condition can cause pupil dilation, increase intracranial pressure, lower heart rate, and affect breathing. Numbness and tingling in specific areas, loss of consciousness or coordination, and sleepiness are also common signs.
Head trauma: Though head injuries account for most cerebral contusions, they can arise in absence of trauma, as in certain cases of high blood pressure or taking certain medications. Concussions, however, are defined as arising from head injuries.
Cognition and TBIs: While more severe forms of both of these TBIs can affect cognition, contusions—especially if accompanied by edema—are more frequently associated with slurred or disrupted speech and memory problems. That said, severe concussions can also cause these symptoms.
When you have a concussion, you might feel like you’re fatigued and off balance. 

new concussioncore headinjuryposting braincore concussed

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https://neurodivergentinsights.com/misdiagnosis-monday/ptsd-and-autism
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new 💙 disabledcore autismcore ptsdcore

"disabilities aren't aesthetic" Yes, but you don't need to say this under the posts of disabled people showing off cute mobility aids, decorated med organisers, a cute bed set up, the art piece that represents their disabilities, etc. Whether theyre your fellow disabled folk or especially so if you're able-bodied/neurotypical, allow disabled people freedom of expression and the little joys they can.
People cope with their disabilites in diverse ways, and sometimes that means you will see a disabled person romanticizing their life, or making their aids aesthetic. Someone existing and expressing themselves, making their lives more comfortable and enjoyable, should not be seen as ”glorifying” anything. I’m not telling anyone to go make themselves disabled, nobody should take their health for granted.

new disabledcore disabilitycore team special olympics adhdcore autismcore amputeecore special Olympics

Info tips for practitioners 
w/ autism and/or sensitivities


First, thank you for
caring. Not trying
to question your
expertise in health. 

Now, Autism is a spectrum. 
It’s not something one can
turn off. It’s not a choice. 

Most of us are not trying
to be demanding. If any
thing, we’re afraid of 
being seen as childish,
picky, high maintenance,
bossy, rude, etc. 

We can easily get overwhelmed. 
We want to compromise with
you. If we ask for another nurse
to do something or if we know
we cannot handle a procedure
without certain accommodations,
it’s not personally attacking
against you. 

You have the power to provide
the care and provide us any
options; individuals know
their own personal tolerance
and needs. We do not ever
want to start arguments. 

We do not want to inconvenience 
you over something, as we do not
feel entitled. Having sensitivities
not by choice, as it is more than 
inconvenience but also painful. 

We always feel when you
do your best. We’re both
human, autistic or not. 
It is not a choice. 

new nursecore autismcore peoplecore gp

|￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣|
|   I love my friends a lot,  |
|    I just suck at talking     |
|     to them regularly        |
|＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿|       
               (\__/) ||       
               (•ㅅ•) ||       
               / 　 づ 

new tumblrcore friendscore asciicore autismcore

Hi, friends!

I like emojicombos.com
because it’s easy for me
to use, being public domain. 
I also like to express myself
through writing, as an author
with Autism. So thank you
Emoji combos and keep it up!

new autismcore neurodivergentcore submit your creation friendcore friendscore emoji art editor dot art editor team special olympics

For Employers
w/ disabled workers


If a person who has a disability wants to work
they might have difficulty getting jobs. 

There are different types of disabilities to varying degrees. 

First, inform them the expectations of the job. 

Make sure they know how to do the job as you train. 

Give warnings (and explain why behind the warning) before
resorting to termination, as some people might not under
stand what they did wrong. 

Even if the disability is confidential, explain to coworkers
not to give the employee a hard time, without divulging. 

Don’t touch the employee or their belongings (including any
mobility aids) without asking them first. 

Allow the employee extra time if necessary so as to not 
overwhelm them. 

Monitor the surroundings to make sure no harassment
takes place, possible barriers to accessibility, etc. 

Try not to get frustrated if they do something differently than
what others might do, such as note reminders, etc. 

new disabilitycore disabledcore autismcore amputeecore adhdcore peoplecore employment

I	V	X	L	C	D	M
5	10	50	100	500	1000

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Individual decimal places
Thousands	Hundreds	Tens	Units
M	C	X	I
MM	CC	XX	II
MMM	CCC	XXX	III
CD	XL	IV
D	L	V
DC	LX	VI
DCC	LXX	VII
DCCC	LXXX	VIII
CM	XC	IX

new 🔢 listcore schoolcore i ii iii iv v vi vii viii ix x xi xii xiii xiv xv xvi xvii xviii xix roman alphabet operating system

What’s disabilities?

Being disabled can have various meanings. 
Physical disabilities are usually more visible. 
Even so, it might not be readily apparent. 
One individual can have more than one disability. 
But it’s not by choice, even in an elective amputation, 
mental disorders, ptsd vía warfare, etc. 

Some disabilities are more invisible, if internal
or having to do with mentality. 

No matter what disability, it’s important to
not have unreachable standards whilst at
the same time not be patronising. 

Some disabilities are from congenital, meaning
they were born with it or had their whole life. 
Some disabilities are acquired later in life
such as an external injury they got. 

new disabledcore disabilitycore amputeecore adhdcore autismcore ptsdcore disabilities

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https://news.vanderbilt.edu/2011/09/21/bloodwork-toolkit/

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new 💉 autismcore tolerance numbed special olympics acceptance

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https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/autism-and-anxiety/201904/medical-visits-and-autism-better-way
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new 😷 autismcore disabilitycore special olympics medicalcore sickcore disabledcore

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https://www.findatopdoc.com/Parenting/When-a-Child-with-Autism-Refuses-Treatment

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new 😷 sickcore disabledcore adhdcore autismcore

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An Autism Specific Care Plan helps families give hospital staff important information. It tells them how to communicate and interact with the child and keep them safe. Families who use Autism Specific Care Plans feel happier with their care and feel that health care providers are better at working with their child or teen with autism.

Hospitals and emergency rooms can also think about making changes to help patients with autism. Small changes can all help lower anxiety for kids and adults with autism. Some of these changes include keeping wait times short, creating a calm space, and playing a movie in the waiting area. Making sure parents are part of all medical care and treated as experts on their child can help both families and staff. Finally, hospital staff can try communicating in the way the patient prefers (talking vs. typing, etc.).

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new 💙 autismcore disabledcore

ℑ𝔪 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣. 💀

new autismcore neurodivergentcore autistic

CATCH IN MY CHIP viii
(Autistic author)

The room is bathed in a soft
moonlight, the shadows playing
across Plankton's sleeping features. His
body, once taut with tension,
has relaxed into the embrace
of the bed, his arm curled
around a pillow. His antennas
now rest gently on the
pillowcase, no longer quivering
with agitation.

Karen watches him sleep, her
thoughts a jumble of worry and
love. She knows he's tired, that the
weight of the world can be too
much for him to bear at times. But
she also knows that he's strong,
that he'll face tomorrow with
determination.

The first light of dawn filters
through the curtains, painting the
room in soft shades of pink and
orange. Karen gently squeezes his
shoulder before standing, her eyes
never leaving his peaceful face.
She knows that today will be a
day of apologies and
understanding, of teaching Chip
about his dad's autism and how to
navigate the world around him.

With a soft sigh, she heads to
Chip's room, her footsteps silent
on the cool floor. She opens the door
to find him sitting up in bed,
his eyes red and puffy from crying.
He looks at her.

"Is Dad okay?" he asks, his
voice thick with sleep and the
remnants of his earlier distress.

Karen nods, her eyes filled
with a quiet determination. "We'll
talk to him when he wakes up."

The words hang in the air, a gentle
reminder of the conversation that
needs to be had. Chip nods, his eyes
still puffy from crying. He clutches
his pillow, the fabric damp from
his tears.

"But what do I do?" he asks, his
voice small and scared. "How do
I make sure I don't make him
upset again?"

Karen sits on the edge of the bed,
her hand stroking his. "You
just keep being you, Chip," she
says, her voice warm. "Daddy loves
you, and we'll learn together how
to make sure he doesn't get
overwhelmed."

Chip nods, his eyes searching
hers for reassurance. "But what
about my trophy?" he asks, his
voice still shaky.

Karen's hand stops, her gaze
dropping to the shard of plastic
he holds tightly in his fist. "We'll
fix it," she says, her voice
filled with conviction. "Together."

The promise brings a small
smile to Chip's face, his eyes
lighting up. "Really?"

Karen nods, her own smile
genuine. "Of course, honey,"
she says. "We're a family. We
stick together."

With that, she stands up, her
body weary but her spirit
resolute. The room feels
lighter somehow, the air less
charged with tension.

Chip clambers out of bed, his
small hand reaching for hers.
Together, they walk to the
bedroom, the shattered
remnants of the trophy
glinting in the early light.

Plankton is still asleep,
his chest rising and falling in
a steady rhythm. Chip
looks at him, his eyes filled
with a mix of sadness and
curiosity.

"We'll talk to him when he
wakes up," Karen says, her voice
soft.

They sit beside Plankton's
bed, the room still and quiet.
Chip's hand trembles slightly as
he holds the broken piece
of trophy. "But what if he's still
mad?" he whispers, his voice
barely above the silence.

Karen's hand squeezes his.
"He'll understand," she says,
her voice filled with a calm
certainty. "He loves you, and he
knows you didn't mean to hurt
him."

The words are a gentle balm
to Chip's fears, but the doubt
lingers. He nods, his gaze
never leaving his father.

"Remember, Chip," Karen says, her
voice a soft whisper. "Daddy's
brain is different."

Chip nods, his eyes fixed on
his dad's sleeping form. He's
seen Plankton stressed before,
but never like this. He wants to
show him love.

With tentative steps, he moves
closer to the bed, his heart
beating a staccato in his chest.
He reaches out, his hand shaking
slightly as he hovers it over
his dad's arm.

"Chip," Karen whispers, her hand
covering his. "Remember, gentle."
Her words are a gentle
reminder of the invisible lines
that can be crossed.

Chip nods, his eyes on Plankton's
peaceful face. He takes a deep
breath, his hand steadying. Slowly,
so slowly it's almost imperceptible,
he brings his palm to rest
on Plankton's forearm, his touch
as light as a feather.

Plankton's body tenses for a
moment, a reflexive reaction to
the sudden contact. Chip holds
his breath, waiting, hoping.
Then, almost imperceptibly, he feels
his dad's arm relax under his hand.

"It's okay," Karen whispers, her
voice a gentle breeze. "He's okay."

Chip's hand remains hovering, his
heart in his throat. Plankton's
body remains still, his breathing
even. Karen's touch is a guide,
her hand resting on Chip's.

"It's okay," she whispers, her voice
a soft encouragement. "You can
do it."

With a deep breath, Chip's hand
descends, his fingertips brushing
against Plankton's arm.

Plankton's antennas twitch.
Karen watches, her eyes never
leaving her husband's face.

Chip's hand hovers, his
heart racing. He wants to
reassure his dad, to let him
know he's there. He's
learned about space and
understanding, but all he
can think of is the warmth of
his touch, the comfort
he craves to give.

His fingertips graze Plankton's
arm, the contact so light it's
barely there. He watches,
waiting for a reaction, for a
sign that he's crossed the line.
But Plankton remains still,
his breathing unchanged.

Encouraged, Chip presses down
slightly, his hand a soft
weight on his father's arm.
He feels the warmth of his
skin, the steady pulse beneath.
It's a tentative connection,
fragile as spider silk.

Plankton's antennas quiver,
but his body remains still.
Chip's heart hammers in his chest,
his breaths shallow and quick.
He's afraid to move, afraid
to break the spell.

Karen watches, her eyes
filled with a quiet hope.
The air in the room is thick
with anticipation.

Chip's hand hovers over
Plankton's arm, trembling
slightly with nerves and
love. He's unsure if this
small gesture will be met
with anger or acceptance.

Karen's gaze is a silent
cheer, urging him on. Plankton's
breaths remain steady, his body
still. Chip's heart is a
drum in his chest, each beat
a silent plea for
understanding.

With a tremble, he lets his hand
settle, his fingertips barely
grazing the fabric of the blanket.
He feels the heat of Plankton's skin,
the rise and fall of his chest.
It's a gentle touch, the lightest
of caresses.

Karen's hand remains on his,
guiding him, encouraging him.
Plankton's breaths remain steady,
his body still. Chip's eyes
are wide with hope, his hand
poised above the blanket.

With a tremble, he lets his
fingers come to rest on the
cotton, feeling the warmth
of his father's arm beneath.
He holds his breath, waiting
for a reaction, for any sign
that he's done the right thing.

Plankton's body remains still,
his breathing unchanged.
Karen's eyes are glued to
his face, watching for any
hint of distress. But there's
none. Only the gentle rise
and fall of his chest, a testament
to his deep sleep.

Chip's hand is a butterfly
landing on Plankton's arm, his
fingers fluttering slightly
against the warmth of his
skin. He's never felt so
exposed, so vulnerable. But
his love for his dad is stronger
than his fear.

Karen watches the silent
exchange, her heart in her throat.
The moment feels sacred, a
testament to their growing
understanding of each other.

Chip's hand remains on Plankton's
arm, the warmth of his touch a
promise of comfort and love.
He's afraid to move, afraid to
disrupt the delicate balance.
Karen's hand is a soft presence,
guiding him, giving him
the courage to stay.

Plankton's breaths are slow
and even, his body relaxed.
Chip wonders if he's dreaming, if he's
in a world where the sensory
overload doesn't exist. His heart
swells with hope, with the
desire to protect his dad from
the world's harshness.

Karen's hand on his is
a gentle reminder that he's not
alone. She gives him a small,
encouraging nod, her eyes filled
with understanding. He takes a
deep breath, his hand moving
slowly, so slowly, to cover his dad's.

The moment their skin
touches, it's like a dam breaks.
Chip feels a rush of warmth, a
connection that's been missing.
He squeezes Plankton's arm lightly,
his heart pounding. He's afraid to
move, afraid to breathe too loudly.

Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's face, watching for any
sign of distress. But his features
remain relaxed, his antennas
still. The room is a sanctuary
of quiet, the only sound their
melded breaths. Chip feels a
lump form in his throat, his eyes
welling with tears.

He whispers, "Thank you," to
his mom, his voice shaky with
emotion. She nods, her hand
still covering his. "Remember,"
she says, her voice a soft
caress. "Gentle."

With trembling fingers, Chip
tucks the blanket closer around
Plankton, the fabric smoothing
over his shoulders. It's a
tiny act of love, a silent
apology. He wants to crawl into
the bed beside him, to wrap
his arms around his dad..

He looks up at Karen, his
eyes pleading. "Can I?"

Karen nods, her smile sad
but understanding. "Just be
careful not to wake him,"
she whispers.

With the grace of a
cat burglar, Chip slides into the
bed, his movements slow and
calculated. He's careful not
to disturb the sheets, not to
make a sound that could break
the tranquil silence.

Plankton's arm is a warm
mound beside him, and he
reaches out tentatively, his
fingers seeking the comfort
of his dad's skin. He finds it,
his hand coming to rest lightly
on the crook of his elbow.
The connection feels right,
like finding a piece of himself
he didn't know was lost.

He snuggles closer, his head
resting on the pillow beside
Plankton's.

Karen watches, her heart
swelling with love for her son.
"It's ok," she whispers. "Just be
gentle."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II viii

JUST A TOUCH viii
(Autistic author)


After dinner, they
retreat to the living room.
Plankton's eye is glued
to the puzzle book on the
coffee table, his antennae
twitching with unspoken
longing. Karen picks it up,
opening to a new page.

"Would you like to work
on this one together?"
she asks, her voice gentle.
He nods, his eye lighting
up with the familiar challenge.

Together, they tackle the
puzzle, Karen's voice a gentle
narration as Plankton's antennae
move in time with her words.

The patterns on the page
hypnotize him, drawing him in.
Plankton's antennae stop
twitching, his focus solely
on the words before him.

And then the doorbell rings,
breaking the spell. Karen's
heart skips a beat, her hand
tightening around the puzzle
book. Plankton's head snaps up,
his eye wide with alarm. "Who
is it?" he asks, his voice
sharp.

Karen's eyes dart to the clock.
"It's probably SpongeBob,"
she murmurs. Plankton's antennae
perk up at the mention of his
friend's name. "Party," he says,
his voice hopeful. Karen nods,
swiping at the tear that's
managed to escape. "Yes, Plankton.
SpongeBob's probably here
to invite us to a party at the
Krusty Krab. Do you
think you're up for it?" she asks,
her voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae droop
slightly. "Maybe," he says,
his voice unsure. The thought
of the bright lights and loud
noises at the party sends a
shiver of anxiety through
his tiny body. But the
prospect of seeing Sponge
Bob is tempting.

Karen sighs, understanding
his hesitation. She walks
to the door, her movements
slow and deliberate. Sponge
Bob's cheerful greeting floods
the hallway. "Hey,
Karen! Plankton! You guys
coming to the party?"

"Hey, Sponge Bob," she says,
her smile forced. "What's the
occasion?"

Sponge Bob's face lights up
like a Christmas tree, his
spongy body bobbing with
excitement. "Mr. Krabs is
throwing a bash at the
Krusty Krab!" he says, his
hands gesturing wildly. "You
guys are coming, right?"

Plankton's antennae quiver
at the mention of the party.
The thought of the loud
noises and the jostling
crowd makes his stomach
churn, but the prospect of
seeing his friend shines like
a beacon through the fog
of his fear.

Karen watches him,
reading his emotions like
a book. "It's okay," she says,
her voice a gentle reminder.
"We can go for a little bit."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still. "Okay," he says, his voice
barely a whisper. Karen can
see the internal struggle
playing out across his features.
"Just stay as long as you're
comfortable," she adds. "I'll
just stay, you go with him."

Sponge Bob's eyes light up.
"Great!" he says, bending
down to hold his hand. He
holds his finger as they go.

Plankton's grip is tight,
his antennae flat against
his head. The noise of the
Krusty Krab is a cacophony
of sounds, each one
stabbing at his heightened
senses. But the warmth of
Sponge Bob's hand, the
familiarity of their friendship,
anchors him.

Mr. Krabs sees Plankton
clinging to Sponge Bob's 
side.

"What's going on, laddie?"
he asks, his voice gruff but
concerned at the sight of
their hands.

Plankton's antennae
twitch, his gaze darting
to the floor. Mr. Krabs' 
eyes narrow.

"Why did ye invite
Plankton?" he asks
with suspicion.

Sponge Bob's smile
doesn't waver. "Well,
he's always welcome..."

Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow.
"But he's our enemy.."

Sponge Bob's smile
doesn't waver. "He's my friend,"
he says firmly. "And I'm watching
to make sure he won't steal any
thing, boss.."

Mr. Krabs' eyes soften,
his suspicion giving way to
reluctant acceptance. "Alright,
but keep an eye on him," he says,
his voice gruff.

Sponge Bob nods, his grip
on Plankton's hand tightening.
Plankton's antennae quiver,
his heart racing at the sudden
influx of stimulation. The
colorful lights, the smells of
frying food, the laughter of
the patrons—it's all so
much. But Sponge Bob's hand is
warm, a lifeline in the chaos.

They move through the
crowd, Plankton's steps small and
careful. His eye darts around,
trying to take it all in without
getting overwhelmed. Sponge
Bob's voice cuts through the
noise like a knife. "You okay,
buddy?" he asks, his smile
concerned. Plankton nods, his
voice a strained whisper. "Good,"
Sponge Bob says, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's.

As they reach the party
area, Plankton's antennae start to
wave erratically. The lights
are too bright, the sounds too
loud. He clutches Sponge
Bob's hand tighter. 
Plankton takes a deep breath,
his chest expanding with the
effort. It's like trying to
swim through jello, his senses
on high alert.

Sponge Bob feels the
change in his friend's grip,
his own heart racing with
concern. "You okay, Plankton?"
he asks again, his voice
barely audible over the din.
Plankton nods, his eye
focused on the floor. The
pattern of the tiles is
soothing, grounding him amidst
the chaos.

A flash of pink darts
through the crowd, and Plankton's
antennas twitch. "Patrick!"
Sponge Bob says, letting go
of Plankton's hand.

Plankton looks around and
sees Squidward doing the
dishes, but in a disorganized
manner that Plankton needs
to correct.

The sight of the
scattered plates, the water spots
on the glasses, sends a jolt of
anxiety through him. His
compulsion to straighten, to
organize, to make it right, is
almost unbearable. So he goes
to Squidward by the sink to interfere.

Squidward glances up, his
tentacles frozen mid-wash. "What
are you doing here?" he snaps.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his gaze fixated on the mess.
"Help," he says, his voice tight.

Squidward rolls his eyes, grabbing
another plate to wash as he ignores
Plankton.

Plankton's antennae quiver, his
eye darting between the chaos
and Squidward's dismissal. He's
doing the dishes wrong and needs
him to help!

"Squidward, let Plankton assist,"
he says, his voice formal.
Squidward sighs, shaking his
head.

"Look, I don't have time for
this," he says, his tentacles
moving rapidly. Plankton's
body tenses, his need for
meticulousness consuming him.

As Plankton approaches Squidward,
his movements are precise, almost
mechanical. His antennae twitch
in time with his racing thoughts,
his need for order a silent
scream in the noisy room. He
holds out his hand, palm up.
"Wash," he says, his voice firm.
Squidward pauses, eyeing him
warily. "What?"

Plankton's gaze is unwavering,
his voice steady. "Smudges.
Wash dishes. Correct way."

Squidward's grip on the plate
slackens, his eyes narrowing.
"What do you mean?"

Plankton's antennae wave
frantically. "Correct way,"
he repeats, his voice a
desperate whisper. "No smudges.
Wrong order."

Squidward's tentacles still,
his gaze sharpening. "What's
gotten into you?" he asks, his voice
filled with skepticism.

Plankton's antennae twitch.
"No smudges," he says again,
his voice a mix of urgency and
desperation. Squidward sets
the plate down with a clatter.
"What are you on about, Plankton?"

But Plankton's focus is solely
on the task at hand. He reaches
for the dish soap, his movements
precise.

Squidward watches him, his
expression a mix of annoyance
and curiosity. "What's going on?"
he asks, his voice gruff. Plankton's
antennas twitch, his eye darting
to Squidward. "Just helping,"
he says, his voice flat as he puts
the now clean dish away. But he
sees imperfections on some of the
clean dishes, handing them over
for Squidward to wash as he straightens
up the other plates.

Squidward's eyebrows furrow,
his gaze flicking between Plankton
and the dishes. "What are you
doing?" he asks again. Plankton's
grip on the towel tightens, his
body vibrating with the need for
perfection. "It's not right,"
he says, his voice strained. "Has to be
right."

"Those I've cleaned!" Squidward
says as Plankton puts them in
the sink for him to wash over
again. "Squidward look. No..."

But before Plankton can
finish, Squidward snatches the plate
from his tentacles. "Look, I don't
have time for your... whatever
this is," he says, his voice gruff. He
takes it and haphazardly shoves
it with smaller plates. Plankton
can't take the misalignment!

Plankton's antennae stand on
end, his eye wide with horror.
"No!" he says, his voice rising.
"Wrong order!" His hands
shake as he tries to grab the
plate, his mind racing with
the need to correct the mistake.

Squidward pulls away, his
expression a mix of confusion
and irritation. "Plankton, what's
wrong with you?" he snaps.

"Plankton's centrum semiovale has
restricted inhibitory synaptic
transmission!" Plankton's
voice is a mix of panic and
frustration, his antennae waving
wildly. Squidward's eyes narrow,
his grip on the plate tightening.
"What are you talking about? I
am not going to wash this again,"
he says, his tone firm.

Squidward's words hit a nerve,
triggering a cascade of emotions
in Plankton. "It's not
about Squidward!" he says, his voice
sharp. "It's about the order! Cleanliness..."

"PLANKTON I SAID NO!" Squidward
yells, startling him as he turns back
to the sink.

new just a touch neurodisability viii

GREAT CHIP viii
(Autistic author)

When Plankton finally came out
Chip approached with caution. He didn't want to scare
his dad, didn't want to cause another seizure.
"Hey, Dad," he said softly. "How are
you feeling today?"

Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye
flicking towards Chip. "Tired," he murmured,
his voice hoarse from sleep. "But okay."

Chip felt his chest tighten with relief.
He'd been worried about his dad all night,
scared that another seizure would strike 
without warning.

"Can we talk?" Chip asked, his voice
gentle as he approached Plankton.
He didn't want to push, but he needed
to make sure they were okay.

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
eye searching Chip's face. "Of course,"
he said, his voice still groggy.
He sat down at the kitchen table,
his body language open but cautious.

Chip took a deep breath, his heart
racing with the need to get this right.
"Dad, I know last night was...
scary," he began, his voice shaky.
"But I want to be there for you."

Plankton's antennae waved slightly,
his expression a mix of confusion and
fatigue. "What do you mean?" he asked,
his voice still thick with sleep.

Chip took a deep breath, trying
to find the right words. "I mean,
I want to understand your seizures
and what you go through," he said,
his eyes never leaving his father's.
"So that maybe I can help."

Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye
narrowing slightly. "What do you want
to know?" he asked, his voice a mix
of curiosity and caution.

Chip's eyes searched his father's,
his thoughts racing. "Everything," he said,
his voice earnest. "What happens
before, during, and after. What you feel,
what you see..."

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
face scrunching up slightly. "Why?"
he snapped, his voice sharp. "What's
the point of reliving it?"

Chip took a step back, surprised
by his father's sudden irritation.
"I just want to understand,"
he said, his voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae waved erratically,
his eye flashing. "It's not a show, Chip,"
he snapped. "It's not something to be
poked and prodded at."

Chip felt his cheeks flush with heat,
his hands balled into fists at his sides.
"I'm not trying to pry," he said, his voice
shaking with frustration. "I just want to help!"

Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye
narrowed. "You can't help," he said,
his voice cold. "You don't get it."

Chip's heart sank, feeling the distance
between them growing wider. "But Dad,"
he began, his voice trembling. "I'm trying."

Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly,
his face a mask of agitation. "You can't,"
he said, his voice clipped. "You don't know
what it's like!"

Chip felt a wave of frustration
crash over him, his hands
clenching into fists. "That's why
I'm asking!" he exclaimed. "I'm not
trying to make it about me!"

Plankton's focusing solely on Chip.
"You don't get it," he said, his voice
softening slightly. "It's not about you,
but it's also not something you can fix."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
his heart racing with a mix of anger
and hurt. He knew Plankton wasn't
trying to be cruel, but the words stung.
"I just want to be there for you,"
he said, his voice shaky. "To make
sure you're okay."

Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly,
his eye flashing with agitation. "I don't
need you to fix me," he snapped, his voice
sharp as a knife. "I just need you to leave me
alone sometimes."

Chip took a step back, his eyes
watering with the sting of his father's
words. "I just want..."

"I know what you want," Plankton cut
in, his antennae vibrating with irritation.
"But you can't fix this, Chip. It's not a puzzle
you can solve with a pat on the back or a hug."

The room grew tense, the air thick
with unspoken words. Chip felt his throat
tighten, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.
He knew his father's snappy tone was a defense
mechanism, a way to keep the world at bay
when it all became too much. But it still hurt.

new great chip arguecore viii

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY i 
(Autistic author)

Sheldon Plankton's new safety 
vault was a masterstroke that 
would leave even the great 
Squidward Tentacles in awe.

Plankton's nefarious eye
lit up with greed as he surveyed 
his latest invention. The vault, 
though not as grandiose as the 
Krabby Patty's secret formula, was a 
testament to his own ingenuity. It was 
a gleaming, metal cube, to store 
his most precious possessions: his 
beloved Krabby Patty copies. He had 
spent weeks crafting it, ensuring that 
not even the most persistent of jellyfish 
could breach its impenetrable exterior.
Even his robotic computer wife Karen
is impressed!

The safety vault was positioned 
in the most secure corner of the 
Chum Bucket, surrounded by a 
moat of acid and a minefield of 
his own design. Plankton felt a 
thrill of excitement as he approached it, 
tingling with anticipation. But 
his excitement was his downfall, as 
his enthusiasm caused him to trip 
over a stray piece of wire, sending 
his body hurtling towards the 
unyielding metal structure.

With a resounding thump, his 
skull connected with the vault's 
cold, unforgiving surface. The room 
spun around him briefly before 
everything faded to black. His tiny 
body slumped to the floor as Karen  
helplessly watched.

"Plankton, are you okay?" she 
asked, her voice a robotic echo in 
the otherwise silent room.
But there was no response, only 
his limp body lying on the floor.

Her diagnostic systems quickly 
determined that despite the impact, 
his vital signs were stable.

"Plankton, wake up!" she called out, 
shaking him gently. But his eye
remained closed, and his body 
motionless. Plankton was 
out cold, unresponsive.

With a sigh, Karen knew that
she had to take matters into her
own robotic hands. She carefully
picked him up and placed him on a
nearby chair. His head lolled to the
side.
He still didn't wake up, but at least he
was alive. "Wake up, my
dear," she cooed.

Her concern grew as she
realized he wasn't responding to
her voice commands. Plankton had
always been a lightweight when it
came to bumps on the head,
but this was unusual.

With a whirring sound, Karen
engaged her medical protocols and
scanned Plankton with a glowing
eye beam. The readings confirmed
his condition: acquired
Autism. "Oh dear," she murmured,
more to herself. She
carefully set him down on the
couch, ensuring he was comfortable.

"Plankton," she called out
again, this time with a touch of
urgency. "You must wake up!" But his
body remained still, his chest rising
and falling in a steady rhythm.

"Plankton, can you hear me?" she
asked, her voice now tinged with worry.
He didn't respond. She tried a
different approach, speaking in a
soothing tone that she knew he liked.
"Mr. Krabs will never know about
this, I promise." His favorite
topic of the Krabby Patty formula didn't
even stir a reaction.

The room remained eerily
silent, save for the faint hiss of
his breathing and the steady
hum of her processors. Karen felt a
rare sense of helplessness, her
hands hovering over his unresponsive
form. She had seen Plankton in many
scrapes before, but this was different.
Autism was something she hadn't
accounted for in her programming.

Her thoughts raced as she tried to
recall any information on the condition.
It was a spectrum, she knew.

As she waited for a response,
Plankton's eyelid began to twitch.
Slowly, his eye opened, focusing
on the ceiling. Karen's heart
leaped in hope. But when he finally
managed to look at her, his gaze was
unusually blank.

"Karen," he mumbled, his voice
slurred. "What happened?"

Karen's circuits buzzed with relief.
"You had a bit of an accident,
dear. You bumped your head," she
explained calmly.

But Plankton's response was not
what she expected. He just stared
at her, repeating her words. "Accident.
Bumped head." His voice was flat,
lacking the usual sneer and
cunning tone that accompanied his
schemes.

Her relief quickly turned to
concern. His behavior was unlike
anything she had seen in their
long history of working together.
Karen knew that autism was a
complex condition, affecting each
individual differently. But the
way Plankton repeated her
words, with no inflection or
understanding, was unsettling.
The autism is irreversible. "Plankton you
have autism now.."

The room's silence grew
heavier, filled with the weight of
the unspoken. Plankton's eye
flitted around the room, not
focusing on anything in particular.
Karen watched him, her mind racing
through potential scenarios.
How would this change their dynamic?
How would he cope with the world?

"What's autism?" Plankton asked,
his voice still devoid of its usual
sharpness. Karen paused, trying
to find the simplest way to
explain something so complex.

"It's a condition, Plankton. It
means your brain works a bit differently
now," she began. "You might repeat
things, or find social situations
difficult to understand. It's okay,
though. We'll figure this out
together."

Plankton blinked at her, the
wheels in his head visibly turning.
"Different?" he echoed. "How different?"

Karen took a deep breath, her
synthetic skin mimicking a human
sigh. "Well, it can vary greatly,
but for you, it might mean that
some things will be harder to
understand, and others may become
obessions."

Plankton's eye focused on her,
his curiosity piqued. "Obsessions?"
he repeated, his voice still
lacking its usual malicious edge.

Karen nodded, trying to put a
positive spin on the situation.
"Yes, but obsessions can be good.
You've always been obsessed with
the Krabby Patty, and that has
driven you to create so many
amazing inventions."

But Plankton was not listening. His
eye had locked onto the gleaming
safety vault, and his voice grew
steady and intense. "Vault," he murmured.

Karen watched as the gears in
his mind seemed to click into place.

"I'll help you to bed 
Plankton," Karen says.

He repeats her words back to her.
"Help to bed."

Gently, Karen guides him
towards their makeshift living quarters
behind the Chum Bucket's lab. His
steps are unsteady, his legs moving
as if they're not quite his own.

"Goodnight, Plankton," she says softly,
kissing his forehead. "Goodnight
Karen," he murmurs, his voice a
mimic of hers.

As she pulls the covers over
his frail body, his hand shoots out,
grabbing hers. "Stay," he says, with
the same urgency he used to demand
help with his latest schemes.

Karen pauses, looking at him
with a mix of affection and
worry. "I'll be right here," she
promises, her voice soothing. She
sits on the edge of the bed, her
metallic hand in his tiny grip.

The silence stretches out
between them, filled only with the
steady rhythm of Plankton's breathing.
Karen's mind whirs with
thoughts of their future, her
fingers gently stroking the
back of his hand. "It's going to be okay,"
she repeats, as much for herself as
for him.

Plankton's gaze shifts to meet
hers, his expression unreadable.
"Okay," he parrots, the word
hanging in the air like a question.

Karen's circuits whir with a
mixture of emotions. She had
never felt so protective of him.
This newfound vulnerability in
his demeanor tugged at her
programming, bringing a warmth
to her cold metal frame that she
couldn't quite comprehend.

"You're going to be okay," she
reassures him, her voice a soft
hum in the quiet room. "We'll
figure out what this means for
you, and for us." Plankton nods,
but his gaze is distant, lost in
thoughts she can't quite
fathom.

As they sit together in the
silence, Karen can't help but
reflect on the years they've spent
scheming and plotting. Despite
his single-minded obsession with
stealing the Krabby Patty secret
formula, he had always had a
certain charm, a spark that had
kept her by his side. Now,
that spark seems to have faded,
replaced by a vacant stare.

Plankton's grip on her hand
tightens, and she squeezes back,
trying to convey comfort without
words. She wonders what this
new chapter in their lives will
bring. Will he still be the
same Plankton she knows and loves,
or will he change in ways she
can't predict?

Karen destroys the safety vault
and both of them are glad to 
have gotten rid of the vault.
Plankton nods in approval.

"You want me to tuck you in?"
Karen asks.

Plankton nods, his eye still
glued to the ceiling. "Tuck in."

Karen gently takes his hand,
helping him. His body
stiffens at first, then relaxes into
the bed. She pulls the blankets up
to his legs, for he remains sitting up.
He watches her movements with a
curiosity that is almost childlike.
Plankton starts to rock
back and forth, his legs moving in a
rhythmic pattern. It's a behavior
Karen has never seen before,
but she quickly recognizes it as
stimming - a common trait among
those with autism.

"Is this okay?" she
asks. Plankton nods, his
rocking increasing slightly in speed.
He seems comforted by the shared
rhythm, his eye finally closing as he
lay down.

Karen continues to watch him,
his small frame lost in the
overly large bed. She knows that
this is only the beginning of a
new journey, one she's not quite
prepared for. But she's a computer.
She can adapt. She'll learn and
grow with him, just like she has
always done.

new karen and the autistic journey headinjuryposting autismcore i

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ii

(Autistic Author)



Chip's eyes fill with tears, and he looks 
away, trying to hide his emotions. "I just 
want to understand," he says, his voice 
small.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," 
he snaps, his eye cold and distant.

But Chip is undeterred. He's seen his 
mother's gentle touch work wonders on 
his father during his seizures, so he 
decides to try it. He reaches out and 
places a small hand on Plankton's 
shoulder. "It's ok, Dad," he whispers. 
"You can tell me."

Plankton flinches at the touch, his 
antennae stiffening. "I said it's not your 
business," he repeats, his voice a low 
growl. Karen can see the internal 
struggle playing out on his face, the 
effort it takes to maintain his anger when 
all he really wants is to retreat into 
safety.

"Plankton," Karen says softly, placing 
her hand over Chip's. "It's ok."

Her voice is a gentle reminder of the 
love that exists between them all, a love 
that has grown and adapted to 
Plankton's condition over the years. But 
anger in Plankton's eye doesn't fade. He 
stares at his son, his jaw tight, his 
antennae quivering with barely 
restrained frustration. Karen can feel the 
tension in his arm, the way his muscles 
are taut under her touch.

"It's ok," she repeats, her voice a 
soothing balm. "Chip just wants to 
understand."

But Plankton's anger doesn't dissipate. 
He sits there, his eye still cold and 
distant, his body rigid with tension. "I 
don't need to justify myself," he says, his 
voice a knife slicing through the air. 
Karen's heart sinks further. This was not 
how she had hoped the conversation 
would go.

"Dad," Chip starts, his voice trembling. "I 
just want to know why-"

"I SAID it's not your business," Plankton 
barks, his eye flashing. Plankton's anger 
is a storm that needs to pass before 
they can talk it out, and Karen doesn't 
want to force the issue here.

Karen nods at Chip, signaling for him to 
give his father space. With a sad smile, 
she stands up and takes the frisbee 
from his hand. "Why don't you go play 
for a little while?" she suggests, her 
voice gentle. "Give Dad and me some 
time to talk."

Chip nods, his eyes brimming with 
unshed tears. He takes a few steps 
away before turning back to look at his 
dad. "I'm here if you need me," he says, 
trying to keep the quiver out of his voice. 
Then he runs off, the frisbee clutched 
tightly in his hand.

Plankton's anger lingers like a fog 
around him, thick and heavy. Karen can 
see it in the way he sits, his shoulders 
hunched and his antennae flat against 
his head. She knows he needs a 
moment to compose himself, to come 
down from overstimulation.

The silence stretches between them, 
taut with unspoken words and fear. 
Plankton's gaze follows Chip as he 
disappears into the playground, the 
frisbee a small beacon of hope in his 
hand. Karen waits, her heart aching for 
the pain she knows her son is feeling, 
the pain she feels herself.

When Plankton's breathing finally starts 
to slow, she decides to break the 
silence. "It's okay, Plankton," she says 
softly. "Chip just doesn't understand."

Karen sighs, her eyes filled with a mix of 
love and sadness. "You're just wired 
differently. And Chip loves you for who 
you are."

Plankton shakes his head, his antennae 
still flat against his skull. "He doesn't 
know like."

Karen's eyes never leave his face, her 
expression a mask of patience and love. 
"You're right," she says. "He doesn't 
know. But that doesn't mean he doesn't 
love you. He's just scared. And 
confused. We all are sometimes."

Plankton's jaw tightens, and he looks 
away, not meeting her gaze. "I don't 
need his pity party," he mutters.

Karen sits next to him, her hand resting 
on his knee. "It's not pity, Plankton. It's 
just love and curiosity. He wants to know 
so he can help, so he can be there for 
you."

Plankton stays silent, his eye on the 
distant playground where Chip is trying 
to fit in with the other kids. The anger is 
still there, a palpable presence that 
makes the air around them feel charged.

"I know you're mad," Karen says, her 
voice calm and soothing. "But you know 
we can't keep this from him forever. He's 
growing up, and he needs to 
understand."

Plankton's eye still on Chip, but the 
anger is slowly fading, replaced by a 
heavy sadness. "I don't want him to tell 
I'm a monster," he murmurs, his voice 
barely audible over the rustling leaves.

Karen's heart breaks a little more. 
"You're not a monster," she says firmly. 
"You're a wonderful father, Plankton. 
And Chip loves you. He just doesn't 
understand."

Plankton's gaze finally shifts to her, his 
eye glistening. "I don't know how to handle this," 
he admits, his voice 
strained. "I don't know how to explain it 
to him. I don't even understand it half the 
time."

Karen reaches up and places a hand on 
his cheek, turning his face to hers. "You 
don't have to explain it all at once," she 
says gently. "We'll do it together, ok?"

Plankton nods, his expression still taut 
with tension. He takes a deep breath 
and finally relaxes a bit, his antennae 
rising slightly. "Ok," he murmurs.

Karen stands up, her hand still on his 
shoulder, and together, they walk over to 
the playground to collect Chip. His eyes 
light up when he sees them 
approaching, and he runs over, the 
frisbee abandoned in his excitement. 
"Dad, are you ok?" he asks, throwing 
his arms around Plankton.

Plankton stiffens and gasps as Chip 
embraces him in a hug.

Karen's heart clenches at the sight, 
knowing how much her husband 
despises sudden physical contact.

"Come on, let's go home," she says 
gently, her hand on Chip's shoulder 
guiding him away from Plankton.

The walk home is quiet, each step 
punctuated by the thump of Chip's 
sneakers against the pavement. Karen's 
on her husband, his shoulders slumped 
and his gaze cast downward.

As they enter the house, the familiar 
creaks and groans of the floorboards 
welcome them home. Plankton heads 
straight for his workshop, the place 
where he finds solace in the chaos of 
the world. Chip trails behind, his eyes 
glued to his father's retreating back.

"Dad?" he calls out tentatively. Plankton 
pauses, his antennae drooping slightly, 
but doesn't turn around. Karen can see 
the turmoil in her son's eyes, the 
unanswered questions weighing him 
down.

"Why don't you go to your room, Chip?" 
she suggests softly. "I'll talk to Dad."

With a nod, Chip heads upstairs, his 
footsteps echoing through the house. 
Karen watches him go before turning to 
Plankton. "Let's go sit down," she says, 
leading him into the living room. She 
knows he'll need some time to recover 
from the onslaught of emotions that 
come with it.

In the dim light of the room, Plankton 
slumps into the worn armchair, his eye 
avoiding hers. Karen takes a seat on the 
couch opposite him, her hands folded in 
her lap. "We need to talk about this," she 
says gently. "You can't just push Chip 
away when something like this 
happens."

He's silent for a long moment, his 
antennae twitching nervously. "I know," 
he says finally, his voice gruff. "It's just... 
I don't know how to deal with it. With him 
seeing me like that."

Karen's heart goes out to him. She 
knows the fear that comes with the 
unknown, the fear of being judged, of 
losing the ones you love because they 
don't understand. She takes a deep 
breath and speaks softly. "You don't 
have to deal with it alone, Plankton. 
We're a family. We're in this together."

Plankton doesn't respond immediately, 
his gaze still fixed on the floor. But 
slowly, his antennae start to rise, a sign 
that he's listening, that he's starting to 
come out of his shell. Karen waits, 
giving him the space he needs.

Finally, he looks up, his eye meeting 
hers. "I've always tried to be a good 
father," he says, his voice barely above 
a whisper.

"You are," Karen reassures. "You're the 
best father Chip could ask for."

Plankton nods, his antennae relaxing 
slightly. "But I don't know how to explain 
it to him," he says, his voice tight. "I 
don't want him to..."

"To what?" Karen prompts, her tone 
gentle.

"I don't want him to think of me as... less 
than," Plankton murmurs, his gaze 
flickering towards the stairs where Chip 
had disappeared. "To gawk, nor to 
prompt.."

Karen crosses the room and takes his 
hand, her touch a comforting presence. 
"He doesn't think that," she says firmly. 
"He just wants to know so he can help. 
And so he doesn't have to be scared."

Plankton sighs, his shoulders slumping 
further. "I know," he admits. "But it's 
hard, Karen."

Karen nods, her grip on his hand 
tightening. "I know it is, but we can't 
keep this from him forever. He's going to 
have questions, and he deserves 
answers. I’ll let him back now."
With a deep breath, Plankton nods.

new chip off the old talks autismcore

Sensory inputs can be any stimuli 
entering through one of the sensory 
modalities: sight, sound, gustation, 
olfaction, and tactile sensations. 
Tactile sensations include responses 
to pressure and temperature. Over
stimulation is the product of sensory overload.
Overstimulation (OS) occurs when there is “to 
much” of some external stimulus or stimuli for 
a person's brain to process and integrate effectively.
Sensory overload can be triggered by a singular 
event or a build up thereof. When the brain has to put 
all of its resources into sensory processing, it can shut 
off other functions, like speech, decision making and 
information processing.
Using noise-cancelling headphones to vastly reduce 
external sound, which can help to stop sensory over
load. Weighted sensory products, such as blankets 
or vests, to provide pressure and soothing proprioceptive 
input. Avoiding open questions – if you need their input on 
something, aim to use closed yes/no questions.
It causes feelings of discomfort and being overwhelmed. 
Moving away from sources of sensory input, such as loud 
sounds or strong smells, can reduce these feelings.
However, it is a core characteristic of autism, where individuals 
often experience heightened sensitivity to stimuli.
It's important to note that not all autistic individuals experience 
overstimulation in the same way or to the same degree. Some 
may have a higher threshold for sensory input and be less easily 
overwhelmed, while others may become overstimulated even in 
relatively calm environments. 
Stimming, short for self-stimulating behaviors, is a 
repetitive movement or action that can include body 
movements, vocal noises, or sensory stimulation. It 
can be a way to manage excess energy, self-soothe, 
or cope with emotions. Stimming can also help regulate 
sensory input, either increasing stimulation or decreasing 
sensory overload. 
Stimming behaviors can consist of tactile, visual, auditory, 
vocal, proprioceptive (which pertains to limb sensing), 
olfactory, and vestibular stimming (which pertains to balance).

new autismcore neurodivergentcore special olympics

abled people: can you do the thing??
disabled people: … technically yes BUT it would hurt l/ruin my day/trigger a flare/exhaust me/be a fall risk/make me more sick AND THEN I would have to spend a day in bed/increase my dosage/cancel all my other plans/spend a week recovering afterwards
abled people: … but you CAN do it

new team special olympics autismcore tumblr

Neurodivergence* are just as physical as other disabilities. why are changes in your brain, nerves, gut, hormones, senses, and energy levels only considered physical if they're caused by literally anything else? have we considered that the separation of the mind from the rest of the body is just a way of minimizing and othering ND people?

*neurodivergent refers to people with mental illnesses, developmental and intellectual disabilities, and other neurological conditions.

new neurodivergentcore originally posted on tumblr

Is Wednesday Addams Autistic? 
The question of Wednesday Addams neurotypicality has been going around the internet since the series was released. I have gathered some points asto whether she is actually autistic. To begin, she shows ahypersen sitivity towards colour as her mother says, "she is allergic to colour" and Wednesday's response to being asked what happens she says, "I break out into hives and then the flesh peels off my bones*". She also dislikes touch (like hugging), which is very usual for autistic people, either because of sen sory reasons or
discomfort. It did take the whole season for her to be okay with hugging Enid. Hyper/hypo sensitivity - the over or under-responsiveness towards certain sensory stimuli is very common in autism and most autistic people experience both - in extreme cases being overwhelmed due to sensory differences or overstimulation can lead to meltdowns; what Wednesday explained happens to her may not be the typical behaviour of an autistic meltdown (rocking, crying, hitting etc.) so can we still consider this autistic? She is afictional character after all but let us continue to analyse her and figure it out. The next thing she does which may be considered autistic is dedicating one hour a day to her novel. Now, why is this autistic? A strict adherence to rules and being set in patterns is atypical trait of ASD, often people on the spectrum prefer to have routines so that they know what is going to happen. There is a comfort in doing things in a fixed pattern. Individuals with ASD even show reduced cognitive flexibility which is whythere is such difficultyin changing patterns, as well as it being overwhelming. To move on, Wednesday has very fixed interests and knows them with great depth, she showsthis with her knowledge in foren sie pathology and plants - she masters her skills - and as she says about herself, "I know I'm stubborn, single minded and obsessive", sheis stubborn so gets a task complete, she is single minded so very set in her ways and obsessive which in autistic people, obsessions can be a way to cope and feel less stressed about one's surroundings Most autistic people have fixated interests of abnormal intensity, is this the case with Wednesday Addams or is she just smart? As we all know, a level of social awkwardness comes with having autism, let us talk about Wednesday's social behaviour. Firstly, she doesn't show much body language when talking to anyone and has somewhat abnormalities of eye contact; she doesn't blink for long periods and or doesn't have much emotion in her eyes which can make it hard for other peopleto interpret her emotions, along with alack of facial expressions and speaking in a monotonous tone -which is usual of typical autistics. Secondly, when she does feel emotion while talking to someone (upset or other) she seems to mask
in that moment while trying to compute her emotions, she has a difficulty

new autismcore Inspired by Addams Family neurodivergentcore wednesday addams

sympt0ms of migraine include:


fqtigue
nausea/vomıtıng
digestive issues
visual disturbances (auras)
sensitivity to light and/or sound
mood changes
bra1n fog/cognitive changes
ringing in the ears
dizziness/vertigo
numbness/weàkness on one sıde of the bødy

 list is NOT complete, but is a starting point.

new headcore headscore skullcore healthcore braincore vomitcore dizzycore medcore migraines

CHIP AND FAIL viii
(Autistic author)

Karen's hand was a lifeline,
her voice a gentle guide. "Chip,"
she called out.
"We need to talk."

Chip stopped in the hallway. 
Why was Dad acting so
weird? He turned to face his
mother, his eyes brimming with
unshed tears. "What's wrong with
him?" he demanded, his voice
filled with accusation. "He doesn't
deserve to be called my dad if
he can't even..."
But that's when it happens.
That's when Plankton started
hyperventilating, and that's
when Plankton can't take
anymore.
That's when it happened.
Chip's words were like a match
striking too close to a powder keg.
Plankton's breath hitched, his antennae
twitching erratically. Karen rushed to
his side, her screen wide with concern.
"Babe, you okay?" she asked, her voice
a gentle caress. She holds her arms
out to catch Plankton.

But Plankton's mind was a
whirlwind, his body a live wire.
He couldn't answer, couldn't find
the words to explain the chaos
that was his reality. His antennae
trembled as he struggled to
breathe, his body rigid with fear.
He had hoped to keep this
hidden, to protect Chip from the
truth, but it was too much.
The storm inside him grew
wilder, each breath a battle.

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, his own confusion
mirroring the chaos in the
room. "What's wrong with you?"
he repeated, his voice a mix of anger
and desperation.

But Plankton's mind was a tornado,
his thoughts swirling too fast
for words. He could feel his chest
constrict, his heart pounding
like a drum.

Karen watched her son's screen,
seeing the hurt in his eyes, the
misunderstanding etched
deep. She took a deep breath,
knowing the moment had arrived.
"Chip," she began, her voice
soft but firm, "there's something
you need to know about your dad."

Chip looked at her, his expression
a mix of anger and confusion. "What
could possibly make him act like
this?" he spat, poking Plankton hard. "Why
did you marry him? He's just nothing but..."

"Chip," Karen said firmly, taking his
hands in hers, when Plankton
starts to wheeze heavily, his body
constricting with each shallow breath.

Chip's anger faded, replaced with
fear as he watched his father's
distress. "Dad?" he whispered,
his voice shaking.

Plankton's body trembled as his
legs gave out, collapsing into the
embrace Karen had been ready to offer.

"Dad?" Chip's voice was barely
above a whisper, his eyes wide
with fear and confusion. He had
never seen his father so
overwhelmed, so vulnerable.

Karen knelt beside Plankton, her
hands gentle on his trembling
body. "It's okay, love," she
whispered, her voice a salve
on his raw nerves. "Just breathe."

Chip's eyes were glued to his
father with fear. He had never seen him
like this before, his body a
stranger's under his own touch.
"What's wrong with him?" he asked
again, his voice shaking.

Karen took a deep breath, her
hands trembling as she smoothed
back Plankton's antennae. "Chip, your
dad was born with something..."
Her voice trailed off, the words
stuck in her throat like a piece
of unchewed food.

Chip's eyes searched hers, his
confusion a storm cloud
gathering. "What do you mean?"
he asked, his voice small and
scared.

Karen took a deep breath, her
heart aching for both her son
and her husband. "Your dad," she
began, her voice shaking with
the weight of her words, "was born
different, Chip." Plankton's
eye flickered open, filled with a
mixture of fear and hope.

"What do you mean, 'different'?"
Chip asked, his voice small and
scared. He had never heard his
mother talk about his dad this
way before.

Karen took a deep breath,
swallowing the lump in her
throat. "When your dad was born,
Chip," she began, her screen
filled with a sadness that
threatened to spill over, "his brain
was injured during delivery. When
the doctors pulled him out, they
didn't realize how fragile he was
and they..." Her voice trailed off,
the memory too painful to
recount. "They had to get him out
and applied too much force on his
head, which caused some damage.
It gave him a type of condition, where
he's on what's called autism spectrum."

Chip's eyes widened, his grip on
his shirt tightening. "But that's
not his fault, right?" he asked, his
voice a hopeful whisper. He didn't
want to think of his dad as
damaged or broken.

Karen nodded, her screen filled
with love for both her husband and
her son. "No, honey, it's not his
fault," she said, her voice steady.
"It's just how he's. And
it's not something you can see or
touch. It's like having a radio in
your head that's always tuned to the
loudest station, and sometimes
the static gets too much."

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II Karen/Chip Plankton II viii

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS i

(Autistic Author)


Karen went to the park.
Her husband, Plankton, sat 
by her. Karen glanced over 
and saw the soft smile on 
his face, a smile that had 
greeted her every morning 
for the past twenty-five or so years.

The park was alive with laughter, 
the distant sound of a ball bouncing off the pavement 
and the occasional squawk from a seagull. Plankton's 
eye were closed, his 
breathing slow and steady. He was enjoying the 
warmth of the afternoon sun on his face.

Suddenly, their adopted son Chip burst into their 
peaceful scene, his cheeks flushed from running. 
He was holding a frisbee that had strayed from its 
intended path, and he called out to them with the 
enthusiasm of a young boy who had discovered 
something wonderful. "Look what I found!" he 
exclaimed, oblivious to the delicate moment 
he was interrupting.

Plankton jolts.

Karen's notices her husband's sudden movement. 
His eye open wide, and he stares into the distance 
unseeing, unblinking. She knows the signs all too 
well. Plankton is having one of his shutdowns.
But Chip's dart between the frisbee and his 
parents, sensing something amiss.

"Dad?" Chip says, tentatively.

Karen jumps up and grabs Plankton's arm, gently 
squeezing to bring him back. "It's ok, honey," she 
whispers, her voice steady.

Chip's smile fades as he sees his father's 
unresponsive state. He drops the frisbee, forgotten 
in his grip, and takes a cautious step closer. "What's 
happening?" he asks, his voice cracking.

Plankton's body remains eerily still, like a statue. The 
only indication that he's alive is the faint rise and fall 
of his chest as he breathes. Karen's eyes dart 
around the area, checking if anyone has noticed. 
She doesn't want to draw unwanted attention.

"It's ok, Dad's just taking a little break," she murmurs, 
setting the frisbee aside. He's never seen these 
before, nor knows the drill.

Chip takes in Plankton's unblinking gaze. Karen feels 
a pang of guilt for keeping this part of Plankton's 
condition hidden from their kid. But it's a dance 
they've been performing for years, trying to maintain 
a sense of normalcy amidst Plankton's condition.

Karen focuses solely on Plankton, willing him to 
come back to her. She feels the warmth of his hand 
under hers, but there's no response, no squeeze, no 
recognition of her touch.

Karen's gaze is fixed on her husband's face, 
searching for any hint of life, any flicker of 
consciousness. She whispers his name, a soft 
mantra, trying to anchor him to reality.

But Chip doesn't understand. His eyes are wide, full 
of fear and confusion as he watches his dad frozen 
in place. "What's a 'little break'?" he asks, voice 
trembling. Karen's heart tightens; she's always 
shielded Chip, hoping to spare him the worry and 
fear.

"It's like when you zone out," she explains gently, 
hoping to relate it to something he might have 
experienced. "Remember when you were playing 
video games and I had to call you for dinner three 
times before you heard me?"

Chip nods slowly, still glued to Plankton's unmoving 
form.

"It's like that," Karen continues, "But for Dad, it 
happens without warning."

Chip nods again, trying to process this new 
information. He's always known his dad was 
different, but seeing him like this is something he's 
never had to face before. He takes a deep breath 
and tries to hold back his tears, not wanting to scare 
Plankton when he wakes up.

"What do we do?" he whispers, his voice shaky.

Karen squeezes Plankton's hand gently, never 
leaving his face. "Just wait," she instructs Chip 
calmly. "These usually don't last long. But if you need 
to, you can tell anyone who asks that he's okay, just 
deep in thought."

Chip nods, trying to mimic his mother's calm 
demeanor, but his eyes betray his anxiety. He's 
never seen his dad like this, never knew that these 
moments of stillness were a part of him. Plankton's 
condition, a form of autism, can leave him with anger 
issues and overload.

Karen feels the weight of the secret they've kept 
from Chip all these years. Plankton's autistic 
neurodivergence had always been a part of their 
lives, but they had shielded their son from the full 
extent of it. They had hoped he would understand 
when he was older, but now the moment had come 
unplanned, and she wasn't sure if ready.

"Why does Dad zone out?" Chip asks, his voice 
small. Karen sighs, deciding it's time for the truth. 
She sits down next to Plankton, keeping her hand on 
his arm. "Dad has something called 
'neurodivergence', Chip. It's like his brain works 
differently than ours. Sometimes it helps him see the 
world in amazing ways, but it can also be hard for 
him. These little breaks are his brain's way of 
processing."

Chip stares at her, trying to grasp the concept. "So, 
he's not just ignoring us?"
"No, sweetie," Karen says. "He's not ignoring us. It's 
like his brain needs a time-out, like when you play for 
to long and your phone heats up and/or dies, but 
will still work eventually."

The wind picks up, rustling through the leaves above 
them, and a chill runs down Chip's spine. He nods 
slowly, watching his dad's chest rise and fall in the 
silence. It's strange to see someone so still, so quiet, 
yet so obviously alive.

"But why haven't you told me before?" he asks, his 
voice barely above a whisper. Karen's eyes well up 
with tears she quickly blinks away. "We wanted to 
protect you," she admits. "I didn't want you to be 
scared and he doesn’t want you to think of him 
differently."

"But it's okay to think differently," Chip argues, his 
voice growing stronger. "Dad's always been there for 
me, even if he doesn't hug me a lot."

Karen smiles sadly, stroking Plankton's arm. "It's not 
just about thinking differently, Chip. It's about how his 
brain processes things. Sometimes, too much 
sensory input can overwhelm him. That's why he 
might seem distant or not as affectionate as other 
dads. It's not because he doesn't like you," she 
reassures him. "It's because hugging or loud noises 
can be really intense for him."

Chip's eyes widen with understanding. "So, that's 
why he doesn't like it when I jump on him?"
"Yes," Karen nods. "But it doesn't mean he loves you 
any less. He just shows it in his own way. Like when 
he spends hours helping you build that Lego castle, 
or when he makes those amazing sea creature 
sculptures that you love so much."

Chip's shoulders slump, and he sits down on the 
bench beside his mother, staring at his dad with a 
newfound curiosity. "Does he know I know now?"
"I don't think so, honey," Karen says, her voice still 
low and soothing. "These episodes usually last just a 
few minutes. It's like he's somewhere else, but he'll 
come back to us."

The park's sounds swirl around them, muffled by the 
tension that has settled in the air. Karen watches 
Plankton's expression, waiting for the telltale twitch 
of his antennae that signals his return to the present.

Finally, Plankton blinks and looks at Karen, his gaze 
momentarily unfocused before recognition floods 
back into his eye. He looks around, startled by his 
surroundings, and then at Chip, who is staring at 
him.

"What happened?" Plankton asks, his voice groggy.

Karen releases a breath she didn't realize she'd 
been holding. "You had one of your zoning-out 
moments," she says, her voice calm and gentle. 
Plankton looks at her, then at Chip, who is watching 
him with a mix of curiosity and fear.

"I did?" Plankton's antennae twitch, and he rubs his 
head.

"Yes," Karen says, her hand still on his arm. "Chip 
found a frisbee, remember?"

Plankton's gaze shifts to the frisbee lying forgotten 
on the ground, then back to his son. He nods slowly, 
piecing the moments before together. "Ah," he 
murmurs, a hint of embarrassment crossing his face.

Chip's curiosity outweighs his fear as he looks at his 
father. "Can I ask?" he asks tentatively.

Karen nods, her heart swelling with pride at his 
bravery. "Of course, Chip."

Chip looks at his dad, filled with questions. 
"Why’d you zone out?" he asks, his voice still 
hushed.

"It's none of your business Chip," Plankton snaps, 
his eye flashing with a sudden fury that takes both 
Karen and Chip aback. His voice is harsh, the words 
cutting through the stillness of the park.

Karen's heart sinks as she sees the hurt on Chip's 
face. Plankton's anger, a common side effect of his 
overload, surfaces without warning. She knows he 
doesn't mean it, but the sting is real for their son.

new chip off the old talks karen plankton autismcore i

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS viii

(Autistic Author)


They sit in silence for a few moments, 
the sound of Plankton's slowing breaths 
filling the space. Karen's mind races with 
the conversation they need to have with 
Chip.

"How do we explain it?" Plankton asks, 
finally breaking the silence. His 
antennae still, his eye looking at the 
floor.

"We tell him the truth," Karen says firmly. 
"But we also remind him of all the 
wonderful things you do for him, all the 
ways you show him love."

Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping 
further. "I know I'm not the dad he 
deserves," he murmurs.

Karen's voice is firm, but filled with 
warmth. "You are the dad he needs," 
she corrects. "And we'll get through this 
together."

Finally, Plankton's 
antennae perk up slightly. "I'm sorry," he 
says again, his voice still thick with 
emotion.

Karen nods. "I know," she says softly. 
"But we can't keep hiding this from him. 
He needs to understand."

Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. 
"I know," he admits. "I just don't know 
where to start."

Karen gives his hand a gentle squeeze. 
"We'll start by talking to him," she says, 
her voice strong and reassuring. "When 
you're ready."

They sit there for a while longer, the 
rhythm of Plankton's breathing slowly 
returning to normal. Karen's mind is 
racing with thoughts of how to navigate this 
chapter in their lives. How to help Chip 
understand his father's condition without scaring 
him or making him feel responsible.

Finally, Plankton turns to her, his antennae still shaky. 
"What do we do now?" he asks, his voice a mix of exhaustion and fear.

Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes filled with resolve. 
"First," she says, "we make sure you're ok."

They sit there, the only sound in the room the distant 
hum of the TV. Plankton's antennae are still, his eye 
focused on the floor. Karen's hand remains on his 
back, a silent promise that she's there for him.

"Let's get you to bed," she says softly. "You need to rest."

With her help, Plankton stands, his legs wobbly from 
the intense episode. Together, they make their way 
to their bedroom, the quiet of the house a stark 
contrast to the emotional upheaval they've just 
experienced.

Once Plankton is tucked into bed, Karen sits beside 
him, her hand resting on his arm. "We'll get through 
this," she says, her voice a gentle reassurance in the 
stillness. "We're a family."

Plankton's antennae twitch with a hint of doubt, and 
he looks up at her, his eye searching hers for 
understanding. "But what if I can't?"

Karen's gaze is unwavering. "You can," she says 
firmly. "You're strong, Plankton. And we're here to 
help you."

Plankton's antennae quiver, and he nods slowly. 
"Ok," he whispers. "Ok."

Karen leans in, kissing his forehead. "Rest," she 
says. "We'll talk more tomorrow."

With a nod, Plankton closes his eye, and Karen slips 
out of the room, leaving the door open a crack. She 
heads to Chip's room, heavy with the weight of the 
conversation they need to have.

Chip is lying on his bed, his small form wrapped in a 
blanket, staring at the ceiling. His eyes are red, and 
he looks up as Karen enters.

"Hey, buddy," she says softly, sitting beside him. 
"Can we talk?"

Chip nods, his eyes still wet with tears. "What's 
wrong with Daddy?" he asks, his voice shaky.

Karen takes a deep breath, choosing her words 
carefully. "Daddy has something called Autism, 
sweetie," she says, her voice gentle. "It makes his 
brain work a bit differently from ours. Sometimes, 
when he's really upset or overwhelmed, his body can 
react in ways that might seem strange or scary."

Chip's eyes are wide with curiosity, and he nods 
slowly. "Is that why he gets so mad?" he asks.

Karen takes a moment before responding. "Sometimes, yes," 
she says. "It's his way of dealing 
with big feelings. But it's not because he's mad at you, ok?"

Chip nods, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. 
"But why does he get so mad?" he asks again, his 
voice quivering.

Karen sighs, her hand stroking him. "Daddy gets 
overwhelmed by his feelings, and it's hard for him to 
express them," she explains. "Sometimes, when he 
can't find the right words or when things get too 
much, he feels like he's going to break apart. That's 
what we call a meltdown."

Chip sniffs, his eyes glued to the ceiling. "It's like 
when I'm really sad and I don't want to talk?"

Karen nods, her heart swelling with love for her son's 
empathy. "Exactly," she says. "And just like you, 
Daddy needs some space when that happens."

Chip looks at her, his eyes serious. "But what if I 
want to show him my affection?"

Karen smiles sadly. "You can, Chip," she says. "Just 
remember to be gentle, and maybe use words or 
gestures that aren't to overwhelming for him."

Chip nods, his eyes still on the ceiling. "But what if I 
make it worse?" he whispers.

Karen's heart clenches at his fear, and she takes his 
hand in hers. "Sometimes, we just need to learn new 
ways to show and receive love."

Chip nods, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. 
"Ok," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Karen leans in, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. 
"You're brave," she says, her voice filled with pride.

"But what about the rock he broke?" Chip asks, his 
voice still shaky.

Karen sighs, her eyes meeting his. "Daddy didn't 
mean to scare you," she says. "Sometimes, when 
people are upset, they do things they don't mean to. 
It's part of how they cope."

Chip nods, his grip on her hand tightening. "But 
Dad now," he says again, his voice small.

"We'll give him some time to rest," Karen assures him. 
"And tomorrow, we'll talk about it more."

With that, she tucks the blanket around him and turns 
to leave. As she reaches the door, Chip's voice stops 
her. "Mom," he says, his tone tentative. "Can I go to Daddy?"

Karen's heart skips a beat, and she looks back at 
him, her eyes filled with both concern and hope. "Do 
you think that's a good idea, sweetie?"

Chip nods. "I want to tell him I love him," he says, his 
voice barely above a whisper.

Karen's heart squeezes. "Ok," she says, taking a 
deep breath. "But remember, we need to be gentle 
with him right now. Let's go to his room together."

They tiptoe down the hall, the house eerily quiet. 
Karen can feel Chip's hand in hers, small and warm 
and trembling slightly. When they reach the bedroom, 
she opens the door quietly and peeks in. Plankton is 
lying on his back, his antennae still, his chest rising 
and falling with deep, even breaths.

They approach the bed, and Karen can see the 
tension in Plankton's body, even in sleep. She
whispers to Chip, "Remember, sweetie, just a little. 
And if he wakes up, tell him you love him."

Chip nods solemnly, and together, they tiptoe to the 
bedside. Chip extends a tentative hand and gently 
pats Plankton's arm. Plankton's antennae twitch, but 
he doesn't wake. "I love you, Daddy," Chip whispers, 
his voice quivering.

Karen's eyes fill with tears at the sight of her son's 
bravery and love. She gives Chip's hand a squeeze.
"That was perfect," she says, her voice barely a 
murmur.

They stand there for a moment, watching Plankton's 
chest rise and fall in the dim light of the moon 
peeking through the curtains. Then, with a heavy 
heart, Karen leads Chip back to his room.

Once Chip is tucked in, she kisses his forehead and 
whispers, "You're a brave boy, and I'm so proud of 
you." His eyes, still red and swollen from crying, 
meet hers with a quiet understanding beyond his 
years.

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore viii

Children with autism exhibit a higher general and anxietʏ, due to altered sensory sensibilities.
Autism or autistic disorder is a severe developmental disability that is characterised by an 
impairment in mutual social interactions, communication skills, and repetitive patterns of 
behaviours. They can also show an increased sensitivity to sounds, light, odours, and colours.
The attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) was the most common disorder associated 
with the autistic group (71%) and the epilepsy with the control group (52%) (P < 0.089)
It's important for the clinicians to know how to manage these affecting patıents in developmental 
age, ensuring an adequate and minimally invasive management using a prompt approach, when possible.
So, a good communication can help to establish trust and build needed cooperation throughout the 
visit and treatment. All patıents in developmental age, especially with health disorders, need 
experienced doctors who know how to face promptly tr4uma under general anaesthesia, if possible.
Moreover, a parent-reported questionnaire method would also help overcome this deficiency, provided 
that the parents remember all past tr4uma events of their children. 
Respondents often cited conflict between understanding the additional needs for successful treatment 
of autistic patıents and a lack of resources to implement support strategies. Despite this, some were 
positive about making the necessary modifications to support autistic patıents. Professionals should 
adapt their practises to meet the needs of their autistic patıents.
Autism is a developmental condition associated with social communication difficulties, and the presence 
of rigid, repetitive behaviours and atypical sensory sensitivities. As such, the nature of procedures 
and the treatment environment may prove a particularly challenging area for individuals on the autistic 
spectrum. In particular, sensory atypicalities may pose a barrier to treatment. Many autistic individuals 
are hypersensitive to a multitude of stimuli such as bright lights, noise and touch. Further autism-specific 
challenges include communication difficulties between practitioner and patient, which has been reported to be 
a key element in failed or unpleasant visits for autistic adults. Given the bidirectional nature of 
communication, the practitioner clearly plays a crucial role in overcoming this area of challenge. Autistic 
people have reported significant difficulties in accessing adequate care. 
Five main themes emerged from these responses: (1) understanding individual needs, (2) the key role 
of communication, (3) the value of autism specific techniques; (4) a conflict between needs and resources 
and (5) positive  and rewarding work. To ensure successful treatment, the individual needs of each patient 
needs to be taken into consideration, as it affects each client differently. 
Given the variability in needs and preferences of autistic people, an overreliance on personal experiences may 
lead to professionals offering 'one-size-fits-all' accommodations, consequently producing more discomfort 
for the patıents. It was encouraging, however, to see a number of respondents in the current study flag up an 
understanding of this individuality, and the need for a tailored approach. Indeed, a considerable number of 
respondents reported not being aware of any techniques available to reduce possible discomfort in autistic 
patıents. Autism (congenital or acquired) and symptoms are not a chøice.

new autisticaphobia autismcore adhdcore epilepsycore doctorcore patientcore autistic

See both the person and the disability. On one hand, not seeing the person may lead you to introduce them as "my autistic friend," stereotype them, or treat them like a child. On the other, refusing to acknowledge the disability and not accommodating their needs is also unhelpful. Strike a balance by treating their differences as natural, and overall unremarkable.
Be clear about how you feel and what you want. Autistic people may not pick up hints or cues, so it's best to directly state your feelings. This helps eliminate confusion on both ends, and that way if the autistic person has upset you, they have the opportunity to make amends and learn from it. Warning: In most cases, people with autism are unable to cope when under pressure, so don't pressure them.
Ask questions about how you can be accommodating and helpful. Get insight on how to relate to this person by talking with them about what it is like for them in particular to live as an autistic person. You may find that they want to share and can tell you lots of useful information that will help you to relate to them better.
When applying this information, be sure to consider your autistic loved one as an individual, and remember that each step won't always apply to each person.

new disabilitycore autismcore wiki how

The following link 

https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-018-05112-1

if read it shows Hans Asperger’s involvement
w/ Nasi propaganda promoting problematic ideals calling
autistics as psychopaths and deemed unfit in 

new autismcore fyi reflection of history t4

There is no one-size-fits-all approach for autism

Understand that every autistic person is different.
Tailor treatment to the individual's needs. 

For example, one autistic person may have excellent self-care skills and above-average school performance, but need sensory integration therapy and social skills training. Another might be highly social but unable to care for herself and in need of counseling for depression.

new autismcore autisticaphobia wiki how

Please don't touch me
or stand too close.
I have an
Autistic Spectrum Condition. I process sensations differently. Sometimes I Can't cope with touch or
physical contact.

4 ways to manage autism, anxiety and
sensory overload Choose sensory-friendly
events and places Choose sensory-
friendly features
• Fewer lights
• Less background music
• Noise blocking headphones
• Calming rooms
• Weighted blanket Make sensory
experience shorter Reduce sensory
experience • Take breaks from busy,
noisy and bright places • Noise blocking
headphones
• Sunglasses


For example, a child who has difficulty with the feeling of clothing and thus has difficulty getting dressed shows hypersensitivity.  As a result, that child can experience sensory overload from clothing.

It is also important to know that a toddler refusing to get dressed because they are exerting their independence or would rather play or do something else is not a child experiencing sensory overload.  That is not hypersensitivity.  That is normal for toddlers.


So choose sensory-friendly providers or products.  In particular, that helps people whose anxiety is made worse by what they experience from their senses.  Hollander, E., & Burchi, E. (2018). Anxiety in Autism Spectrum Disorder. Anxiety & Depression Association of America

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💟 WHAT MIGHT BE EASIER FOR YOU MIGHT NOT BE SO EASY FOR ME 💟

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NEURODIVERSITY
Neurodiversity is the concept that
insta: anthonymakessomeart
differences in brain development, such as "Neurodivergent" is used to describe
people who have different, or atypical, autism and adhd, are natural differences brain development, while "neurotypical"
that should be accepted, like differences is used to describe people who have
in hair texture or eye color. typical brain development. They are different, but equally deserving of
acceptance and respect! The concept of naturally diverse brains is important to neurodivergent people because not only does it encourage acceptance from other people, but it encourages us to accept ourselves. It helps us to see that even though we are different,
there is nothing wrong with us. It can also help neurodivergent people get the support they need, since accepting that everyone's brain functions differently means accepting that everyone needs
help in different areas.

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ᵀᵒ ᴳᵒ ᴼʳᵈᵉʳ
⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾
ᴵᵗ ᵃˡˡ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ˢᵒ ᶠᵃˢᵗ‧ ᴬⁱᵐⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛᵃᵘˡᵗ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˡᵃᵘⁿᶜʰᵉᵈ
ᵃ ʳᵒᶜᵏᵉᵗ ʷʰᵉⁿ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃᶜᶜⁱᵈᵉⁿᵗᵃˡˡʸ ᵍᵒᵗ ʰⁱᵗ‧ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ʷᵃˢ
ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗᵒʷⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ⁿᵃᵛʸ ᵇᵘᵈᵈⁱᵉˢ⸴ ˢᵒ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᑫᵘⁱᵈ
ʷᵃʳᵈ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ʷᵒʳᵏ‧ "ᴸᵒᵒᵏ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᵒⁿᵉ!" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ʸᵉˡˡᵉᵈ‧
ᔆᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵖᵃˢᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʳᵃⁿ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ
ᵇᵒᵇ‧‧‧" ᶜʳⁱᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ʷʰᵉⁿ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵗᵃʸᵉᵈ ᵘⁿʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢⁱᵛᵉ‧
"ᴵ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ʷᵉ'ˡˡ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉ ᵘᵖ ˢʰᵒᵖ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ'ˡˡ ᶜᵃʳʳʸ
ʰⁱᵐ ʰᵒᵐᵉ‧" ᔆᵃⁱᵈ ˢᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ‧ ᔆᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉˢᵗᵃᵘʳᵃⁿᵗ‧
ᴱᵃʳˡⁱᵉʳ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ʰᵘʳᵗ ʰⁱᵐˢᵉˡᶠ‧ 
ᴮᵘᵗ ⁿᵒʷ⸴ ʰᵉ ʰᵘʳᵗ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ⸴ ʷʰⁱᶜʰ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ʰᵘʳᵗ‧
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵒᵇᵇᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷᵉᵈ ˢᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖⁱⁿᵉᵃᵖᵖˡᵉ
ʰᵒᵐᵉ ᵒᶠ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧ "ᴵ'ˡˡ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧‧" ˢᵃⁱᵈ
ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗᵃʸᵉᵈ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇʸ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ʰᵒᵖⁱⁿᵍ
ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵒʳᵍⁱᵛᵉⁿᵉˢˢ ʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵈᵉˢᵉʳᵛᵉ‧ 'ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ⁱˢ
ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ⁱⁿⁿᵒᶜᵉⁿᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵒᵘʳ ᵈⁱʳᵗ ʰᵒˡᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ‧ ᴵᵗ ⁱˢ ᵃ ᶠⁱˡᵗʰʸ
ʷᵒʳˡᵈ⸴ ʸᵉᵗ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵃˢ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉˡᵖ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉᵃⁿᵉˢᵗ
ᵒᶠ ᵇᵘˡˡⁱᵉˢ' ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ‧ "ᵂʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿᵉ‧‧‧"
ᴼⁿᶜᵉ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵒᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵉʸᵉˢ⸴ ʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ
ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠⁱᵍᵘʳᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ʰᵉ'ˢ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵃˡˢᵒ ˢᵃʷ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʳᵉˢᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵇʸ
ʰⁱᵐ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶜʰ‧ "ᴴᵒʷ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᴵ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ
ˢᵃʸ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵈⁱˢᵗᵘʳᵇ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ ᴿᵘᵇᵇⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ᶜʰᵉᵉᵏ 
ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵖᵃᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈ⸴ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵐⁱˡᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ
ˢˡᵒʷˡʸ ˢⁱᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱᶠ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵍᵒᵗ ⁿᵒᵗⁱᶠⁱᵉᵈ⸴ ˢᵒ
ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵇᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ; ʰᵉ ᶜᵃˡˡᵉᵈ ˢᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ⁱⁿˢᵗᵉᵃᵈ‧
"ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ ᴶᵃʸ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ʸᵒᵘ ᵖᵘᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ'ˢ ᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ
ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵍᵒ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ ʷʰᵉʳᵉᵛᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ! ᴺᵒⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳ
ᵃᵖᵒˡᵒᵍⁱᵉˢ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵘⁿᵈᵒ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈⁱᵈ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵒⁿˡʸ ʰᵉˡᵖ
ᵇʸ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˡᵉᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ!" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵒⁿᶜᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ
ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ˢᵃʸ ᵃⁿʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ‧ "ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈᵈʸ⸴ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ
ᶠⁱⁿᵉ ⁿᵒʷ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵖᵒᵏᵉ⸴ ᶠⁱⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ
ⁱᵗ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢʰᵒʷⁿ ᶜᵒⁿᶜᵉʳⁿ‧ "ᴼʰ‧‧‧" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ˢᵃⁱᵈ
ᵃʷᵏʷᵃʳᵈˡʸ‧ "ᴸᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵃ!" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ʰᵃⁿᵍˢ ᵘᵖ‧
'ᵂʰʸ ᵃᵐ ᴵ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ᵇˡᵃⁿᵏᵉᵗ' ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ
ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵃʷᵒᵏᵉ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵉᵉ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ‧ 'ᴰⁱᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉ
ᵇᵒᵇ ᵈⁱᵉ' ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷᵒʳʳⁱᵉᵈ ˡᵒᵒᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵛᵉʳˢ ʷʰᵉⁿ
ʰᵉ ᵃᶜᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵍᵃᵛᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃ ᵇˡᵃⁿᵏᵉᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢˡᵉᵖᵗ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ‧
ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ⁱⁿ⸴ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ⁱⁿ ˢⁱᵍʰᵗ‧
ᵂʰᵉⁿ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵇᵉᵈ⸴ ʰᵉ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ
ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵃʳᵍᵘⁱⁿᵍ‧ "ᴴᵒʷ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ˡᵒˢᵗ ʰⁱᵐ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ʷᵃˢ
ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃᵗ ˡᵉᵃˢᵗ!" "ᴰᵒⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵃʸ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ˢⁿᵒᵒᶻⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃ
ˢⁿᵒʳⁱⁿᵍ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵉⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʲᵒᵇ‧‧‧" "ʸᵉˢ⸴ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁿᵒᵗ
ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ʰᵘʳᵗ!" "ᴾⁱᶜᵏ ᵒⁿ ᵃ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵒʷⁿ ˢⁱᶻᵉ!" "ᴼʰ
ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ⸴ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ʷᵒʳᵗʰ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵉ!"
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶜʳⁱᵉᵈ‧ "ᴵ ʷᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵍᵒ ʰᵒᵐᵉ ᵘⁿᵗⁱˡ ᴵ ˢᵉᵉ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃˡˡ
ᵍᵒᵒᵈ; ᴵ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵉˡˡ ʰⁱᵐ ᴵ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ʰⁱᵐ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ'ᵈ ᵈᵒ
ᵃⁿʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵖᵘᵗ ⁱᵗ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵗᵒ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ‧‧‧" "ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ⁱᵗ ʳⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇʸ
ˡᵉᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ˢʰᵒʳᵗ‧‧‧" "ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵒⁿˡʸ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᴵ ᵗᵉˡˡ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ'ˡˡ
ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵃᶜᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱᵐ! ᵂᵉ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ
ᵇᵉ ᵗᵒ ⁿⁱᶜᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢᵃʸ ᵃⁿʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ⸴ ˢᵒ ᵇᵉᵃᵗ ⁱᵗ!" ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ
ʸᵉˡˡᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵃ ᵗʰᵘᵈ ⁿᵒⁱˢᵉ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʷᵉⁿᵗ
ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵍʳᵃᵇ ᵃ ᵗᵃᵇˡᵉ ˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ˢʷⁱⁿᵍⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ
ʷʰⁱᶜʰ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʰᵘᵈ ⁿᵒⁱˢᵉ‧ "ᴰᵒⁿ'ᵗ!" ʸᵉˡˡᵉᵈ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ⸴ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᵒᶠ
ᵗʰᵉᵐ ˡᵒᵒᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ⸴ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ!" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵘʳⁿˢ
ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ⁿᵉⁱᵍʰᵇᵒᵘʳ‧ "ᴮᵘᵗ ᴵ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶜᵃʳᵉ; ᵍᵉᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ!" ᴬᶠᵗᵉʳ ˢᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ
ˡᵉᶠᵗ⸴ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵉʸᵉ'ˢ ⁱʳʳⁱᵗᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ʰⁱᵗ‧
"ᴬˡˡ'ˢ ᶠᵒʳᵍⁱᵛᵉⁿ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ʰᵉˡᵈ ᵃ ᵈᵃᵐᵖ ᶜˡᵒᵗʰ ʳᵃᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉᵈ
ˢʰᵒᵗ ᵉʸᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ "ᴴᵃᵛᵉ ᴵ ᵃ ᵇˡᵃᶜᵏ ᵉʸᵉ?" ᴬˢᵏᵉᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵃˢ
ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ'ʳᵉ ᵍʳᵉᵉᵗᵉᵈ ᵇʸ
ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧ "ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ‧‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵗᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ˢᵒᵐᵉ
ʷʰᵃᵗ ˢʷᵒˡˡᵉⁿ ᵉʸᵉ⸴ ˢᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᶜᵃʳʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᴵ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ
ʰᵘʳᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ‧‧‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ‧ ᴶᵘˢᵗ ᵗʰᵉⁿ⸴ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵘᵖᵖʸ
ᵒᶠ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵗʳᵒᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵛᵉʳ‧ "ᴴᵉʸ⸴ ˢᵖᵒᵗ‧‧‧" ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ˢᵃⁱᵈ‧
ᴱᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ⸴ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵉʸᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵃˡˡ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ‧ ᴬⁿᵈ ˢᵒ ᵈⁱᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵏʳᵘˢᵗʸ
ᵏʳᵃᵇ ᵉᵐᵖˡᵒʸᵉᵉˢ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ‧

new forgivenesscore plankard plankward squidbob spongebobkin headinjuryposting to go order

Best Practices for Encouraging
Special Interests in Children with Autism
What Helps

• Encouraging conversation about interest
• Paying attention to non-verbal cues
• Engaging in activity about interest
• Allowing children to keep objects related to interest
• Taking note of circumstances that promote calmness
• Using interest as motivation for desired behaviors

What Hurts
• Treating the interest like it's boring
• Ignoring non-verbal cues or gestures
• Disengaging from the conversation
• Forcing a discussion unrelated to the interest
• Demanding that children think about other subjects
• Leveraging interest as punishment

new comfortcore special olympics autismcore

autistic-reptile love languages of
autistics: • sending them posts/pictures related to their special interest
 them • talking to them while you're both looking in another direction so there's no pressure to
make eye contact
• making/buying them their same food • determining their happy stims and anxious
stims so you know how they're feeling
• specifying when you're being sarcastic/joking • sitting in the same room together in silence
while you both do your own thing
• prompting them to info dump (and listening)
• • having extra earplugs/sunglasses/other
sensory aids for them when they forget

new friendcore special olympics autismcore

ᴹʸ ᴮᵃᵈ ❥𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 𝟼𝟶𝟹
⁽ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ⁾
"ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷʰʸ ᵈᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵒⁿ
ᴹⁱᶜʰᵃᵉˡ ᴶ‧‧‧" "ᴵ'ᵐ ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵐʸ
ˢᵉˡᶠ ᵖᵘᵐᵖᵉᵈ ᵐᵒᵒᵈ! ᴺᵒʷ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵒ
ᵍᵉᵗ ⁱⁿᵍʳᵉᵈⁱᵉⁿᵗˢ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵒˡᵈ
ʰⁱˢ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵘᵗᵉʳ ʷⁱᶠᵉ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧ ᴴᵉ ˢᵃʷ
ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵘⁿᶜʰ ʳᵘˢʰ⸴ ˢᵏⁱᵖᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ʷʰⁱˡˢᵗ
ʰᵘᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵘⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵒⁿᵍ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ
ᵇᵃᵈ; ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱᵗ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵐᵒᵒⁿ
ʷᵃˡᵏᵉᵈ ᵇᵃᶜᵏˢ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃˡˡ‧ ᴴᵉ ᵉᵈᵍᵉᵈ
ᵗᵒ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᶠᶠⁱᶜᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ‧ "ᴺᵒʷ ʷʰᵒ'ˢ ᵇᵃ‧‧‧
ᴬᴬᴬ!" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵍᵒᵗ ʰⁱᵗ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵗᵘʳⁿᵉᵈ
ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᶠᶠⁱᶜᵉ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ʷʰᵉⁿ ⁱᵗ ˢʷⁱⁿᵍ
ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ˢˡᵃᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ⁱⁿ ʰᵃʳᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵉᵃᵈ‧
ᵀʰᵉ ˡᵃˢᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ
ʳᵉᵍⁱˢᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ
ᵗʰᵉ ʰⁱᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇˡᵃᶜᵏᵉᵈ
ᵒᵘᵗ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᶠᵃˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ˡⁱᵐᵖ‧
ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ʰᵉᵃᵛᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ
ᵒᵖᵉⁿ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᵃ ʰⁱᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ ᶜʳʸ
ᵘᵗᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷʰᵒ
ᵗʰᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᶠᵃˡᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ‧ "ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵃᵏᵉ
ᶠᵃⁱⁿᵗⁱⁿᵍ; ʰᵒʷ ˡᵒʷ⸴ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᶠᵒʳ
ʸᵒᵘ‧‧" ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ
ˢᵃʸ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʰᵉ ʳᵉᵃˡⁱˢᵉᵈ ʰᵒʷ
ˡⁱᵗᵉʳᵃˡˡʸ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵃ ᵐᵃʳᵏ‧ ᴴᵉ ˢᵃʷ
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵘᵗᵗᵉʳˡʸ ᵏⁿᵒᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ
ᵘⁿᶜᵒⁿˢᶜⁱᵒᵘˢ ⁱⁿˢᵗᵃⁿᵗˡʸ ʰᵘʳᵗ
ʳᵉᵃˡ ᵇᵃᵈ‧ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ˢᵗᵒᵒᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ
ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ᵃᵍᵃᵖᵉ ⁱⁿ ˢʰᵒᶜᵏ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ
ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳⁿᵃˡˡʸ ᵖᵃⁿⁱᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵐᵒᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃʳⁱˡʸ‧
ᵀʰᵉ ᵉᵈᵍᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ʳⁱᵈᵍᵉ ⁿᵒʷ
ˢʰᵒʷˢ ᵃ ᵈᵉⁿᵗ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ⁱᵗ ʰⁱᵗ ʰⁱᵐ‧
ᴱᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵘˢᵗᵒᵐᵉʳˢ ˢᵗᵃʸᵉᵈ ˢⁱˡᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿ 
ˢᵘˢᵖᵉⁿˢᵉ ᵃˢ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ˢᵗᵒᵒᵈ
ʰᵒᵛᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇ⁰ᵈʸ‧‧
"ᶠᵉᵗᶜʰ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵐᵉˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵃˡᵗˢ!"
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉᵐ‧
ᴬ ᶜᵘˢᵗᵒᵐᵉʳ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ 
ʰᵃᵛᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵐᵉᵈⁱᶜᵃˡ ᵉˣᵖᵉʳᵗⁱˢᵉ
ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᵃ ˡᵒᵒᵏ‧ "ᴴᵉ ⁱˢ
ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵘᵗ ʷᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʳᵒᵘˢᵉ ᶠᵒʳ
ᵃᵗ ˡᵉᵃˢᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵛᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵃʸ
ʰᵉ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ᑫᵘⁱᵗᵉ ʰⁱᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐᵘˢᵗ'ᵛᵉ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ʳᵉᵍⁱˢᵗᵉʳ ᶠᵃˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᵛᵉʳ‧
ᴴᵉ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵒʳ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵉⁿᵈ ᵘᵖ
ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ 
ˢˡᵃᵐ ᵇᵘᵗ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᵗᵉˡˡ ʸᵉᵗ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ
ˢᵗᵃʸ ᵇʸ ʰⁱˢ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ˡᵉᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ
ᵇᵒᵐᵇᵃʳᵈ ʰⁱᵐ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᶜʳᵒʷᵈⁱⁿᵍ
ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᔆᵉᵉ ᵗʰᵉ 
ˢˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ˢʷᵉˡˡⁱⁿᵍ? ᴵᵗ'ˡˡ ᵈⁱᵉ ᵈᵒʷⁿ
ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ʳᵉᵍᵃⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ
ᶜᵒⁿˢᶜⁱᵒᵘˢⁿᵉˢˢ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ⁱᵗ ᵍᵒᵉˢ
ᵃʷᵃʸ ᵒʳ ᵗᵘʳⁿˢ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᵇʳᵘⁱˢᵉ‧"
ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉˡⁱᵉᵛᵉ ᵃⁿʸ
ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʳᵉˢˢᵘʳᵉ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ˢʷᵉˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵘᵗ
ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ˡᵉᵗ ⁱᵗ ʰᵉᵃˡ ⁱᶠ ʷᵃⁿᵗⁱⁿᵍ
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ‧ 'ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵒⁿ
ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʷᵉˡˡ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵗⁱʳ
ᵍʳᵃᵈᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵏᵉ‧‧‧' ᴹʳ‧
ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ˢⁱˡᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ʰᵒᵖᵉᵈ‧
ᴱᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗʷⁱᵗᶜʰ
ᵃˢ ˢʷᵉˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁿᵒᵗ
ʸᵉᵗ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ ʸᵉᵗ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᵇᵒᵇ ᵃⁿᵈ
ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᔆᑫᵘⁱᵈʷᵃʳᵈ ᵃʷᵃⁱᵗᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ
ᵃⁿˣⁱᵉᵗʸ ᶠᵒʳ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧ ᔆʷᵉˡˡⁱⁿᵍ
ˢᵗᵒᵖᵖᵉᵈ ⁿᵒ ˡᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ ˢʷᵉˡˡˢ‧‧‧
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ'ˢ ᵉʸᵉᵇʳᵒʷ ˢˡⁱᵍʰᵗˡʸ
ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᶠᵘʳʳᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ
ᶜˡᵒˢⁱⁿᵍ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ‧ ᴱᵐᵖˡᵒʸᵉᵉˢ
ʷᵃᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ⸴ ᵍⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ʰⁱᵐ ˢᵖᵃᶜᵉ‧
ᴿᵉᵗᵘʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱˢ ˢᵉⁿˢᵉˢ
ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ‧
"ᵁʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰ‧‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢⁱᵍʰᵉᵈ
ʷⁱᵗʰ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵈⁱᶠᶠⁱᶜᵘˡᵗʸ ʷᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵘᵖ‧
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵗʳᵘᵍᵍˡᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ
ᵗᵒ ᶜᵒᵐᵖʳᵉʰᵉⁿᵈ‧ ᴴⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ⁿᵒʷ
ᵗʰʳᵒᵇˢ ᵃˢ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ʳᵃᵈⁱᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ
ʷʰᵉⁿᶜᵉ ʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ʰⁱᵗ‧ "ᴼʳᵍ; ʷʰ‧‧‧
ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ‽" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵍⁿⁱˢᵉᵈ
ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ˢᵗᵃⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʰⁱᵐ‧
"ᴳᵉᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵖᵘᵗ ⁱᶜᵉ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʰᵉᵃᵈ
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ⁱᵗ'ˡˡ ʰᵉˡᵖ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ‧‧"
ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵒᶠᶠᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉˡᵖ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ᵘᵖ
ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵃʷᵃʸ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰⁱᵐ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒ
ˢᵒʳʳʸ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵒʳ‧‧‧" "ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ‧‧‧
ᔆʰᵉˡᵈᵒⁿ ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ʷᵃⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˡˡ ᵈᵃʸ ᶠᵒʳ‧‧‧
ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘ‽" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ 
ᶜᵃᵐᵉ⸴ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳʳᵘᵖᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ˢᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉᵐ‧
ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵖᵘᵗ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ
ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵇᵉᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ˢᵒᶠᵗ ᵖⁱˡˡᵒʷ ᵃˢ
ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ‧
"ᴵ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ
ⁿᵉˣᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ‧‧" ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ ˢᵃʸˢ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ
ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵒᶻᵉ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵗᵒ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ‧ "ᴳᵉᵗ
ʳᵉˢᵗ‧ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵘᵖ ᵒⁿ ʸᵒᵘ 
ᵗᵒᵐᵒʳʳᵒʷ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ‧‧‧" ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ᵗᵒˡᵈ ʰⁱᵐ
ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉˢⁱᵗᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ
ᵛⁱˢⁱᵇˡʸ ʳᵉˡᵃˣ‧ "ᴵ'ᵐ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃˢᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱˢ
ᶠᵒʳᵍⁱᵛᵉⁿᵉˢˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ‧‧‧" "ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴵ'ᵐ
ˢᵘʳᵉ ʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵒʷˢ‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᵃˢ ˢʰᵉ
ᶜᵃˡᵐˡʸ ᵖᵃᵗᵗᵉᵈ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵘˢᵇᵃⁿᵈ‧ "ᵂᵉˡˡ ᴵ
ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ʰᵉ'ˢ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ᵇᵘᵗ ʷʰᵉⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ʰᵉ
ʷᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵘᵖ ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵗᵉˡˡ ʰⁱᵐ‧" ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ ᵗᵒˡᵈ‧
"ᵀʰᵃⁿᵏˢ⸴ ᴷᵃʳᵉⁿ‧‧" ᴹʳ‧ ᴷʳᵃᵇˢ ˢᵃʸˢ
ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵘᵐ ᵇᵘᶜᵏᵉᵗ‧

new moonwalk bad plabscore plabsen plabs doorcore headinjuryposting headachecore my bad

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https://www.verywellhealth.com/guardianship-for-adults-with-autism-4165687

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new 💙 special olympics autismcore disabilitycore disabledcore

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PFA TIPS: PAIN MANAGEMENT AND AUTISM

By Alizah Patterson, MD, Pediatric Resident, PL-3 , The Herman & Walter Samuelson Children’s Hospital at Sinai

Download a printable version of “Pain Management and Autism “

Sensory stimulation can be perceived very differently in people with autism spectrum disorder. It is common for children to be averse to certain types of taste, texture, and flavors. How they perceive pain, however, is not very well understood. Some people believe that people with autism may have a decreased sense of pain, but pain can manifest in different ways. Identifying and managing pain can be challenging for both healthcare providers and parents.

Methods to assess pain
Assessing pain in children can often be a challenge for providers and parents. For older children, the number pain scale is typically used with 0 representing no pain and 10 being the worst pain imaginable. The faces pain scale allows children to choose a face – images range from happy to crying – that shows how their pain is making them feel. For children who are nonverbal, the FLACC score is often utilized. This method looks at Facial expression, Leg positioning, Activity level, Crying and Consolability. This pain scale requires more time but can reliably assess pain responses in neurotypical individuals.

People with ASD or intellectual disability, or any type of cognitive impairment may express pain in other ways and may require a customized FLACC scale. This would incorporate individualized pain behaviors which is more reliable in detecting pain in individuals with cognitive impairment. Again, this would require additional time and understanding of the scale.
 
Research on autism and pain
Not much research has been done on the topic of autism and pain, partly due to the challenges of assessing pain in children with communication difficulty and partly due to the common belief that people with autism have decreased sensitivity to pain or a high pain threshold. Studies conducted with people with high-functioning ASD tend to use a pain scale of 0-10. On this scale, patients tend to respond with lower numbers, but other methods of rating pain have shown varying results. Some studies have used observations of providers or parents, which also tended to show decreased sensitivity to pain in children with autism.

Other studies have challenged the idea that people with autism experience less pain. These studies found that pain is expressed differently among those with autism. One study comparing children with autism, children with intellectual disabilities, and neurotypical children showed that both behavioral changes and physiologic changes (i.e. heart rate) were higher with pain, but face scores did not vary among the groups.

Some case studies have found that when asked their pain score, verbal individuals with ASD respond with low scores, but when asked how much discomfort they have, the score tends to be higher.

How does pain manifest in children with autism?
Children with ASD may not express pain in typical ways – crying, moaning, or withdrawing from a painful stimulus – and therefore may often be labeled as less sensitive to pain. Several case studies have shown that though children may not show these typical signs or may not react to pain in the moment, they still have physiologic reactions and behavioral reactions. Even with no obvious reaction to a painful stimulus, they may start breathing fast or their heart rate may increase. They may have increased stimming behaviors, aggression, or anxiety after the painful incident. Individuals with ASD also tend to show behavior changes for longer after the painful incident than neurotypical children or children with intellectual disabilities.
When assessing for pain in a nonverbal child with ASD, close attention should be paid to increased aggression, self-injurious behaviors, stimming, or any behavior that is not typical for that child. If they are acting unlike themselves, look for a possible source of discomfort or pain that may be present or was present in the near past. In a more verbal child, asking if they have pain or if something hurts may not accurately reflect what they are feeling. Using words such as “discomfort”, “uncomfortable”, or “anxiety” may better approximate the level of pain they are in.

What can I do about my child’s pain?
If a source of pain can be identified, treating that pain is of utmost importance. Treatment would be the same as for any other child—analgesics such as Tylenol or ibuprofen, ice, or heat (if tolerated), and rest. Parents and providers should be wary of hidden injuries that the patient may not be able to communicate about, such as a fracture or insect bite.

If the source of pain cannot be identified or you are unsure of the severity of the injury/illness, always err on the side of caution and have a physician assess your child. They should do a full skin exam to look for scratches, bites, rashes, or other injuries. If an injury is suspected to a limb, x-rays may be needed to rule out a fracture. If no clear injury or illness can be identified, parents and providers should look for other possible medical causes for the behavior changes, like abdominal pain, headache, or urinary tract infection.

For pain management during painful or stress-inducing medical procedures, like a blood draw, there are several techniques that can be used. Non-pharmacologic (medication) methods are preferred. Every child may respond differently to these techniques, so some trial and error may be necessary to determine the best method for your child.
• Distraction: If your child has a preferred activity, engaging them in this activity during the procedure may significantly reduce their focus on pain. This could include watching a show, blowing bubbles, deep breaths, playing with a toy, or calming movements such as a parent rocking them.
• Sensory distractions: There are several items that can be used to distract a child’s senses from the painful stimulus. A vibrating device or ice placed on the area of a blood draw or lumbar puncture can reduce the pain signal sent to the brain.
• Topical pain control: There are a few topical medications that can be used to reduce pain sensation. A cooling spray at the site of the procedure is quick and easy. A numbing gel or cream can also be applied 20-30 minutes prior to the procedure, which has been shown to be an effective way to manage pain during IV sticks. However, this has not been shown to reduce anxiety or fear during procedures.
• Deep pressure: Firm pressure, through squeezing or a tight hug, has been shown to significantly decrease anxiety and stress in individuals with autism. This method can also be used during medical procedures to decrease discomfort. Every child is different though, so deep pressure may be too much sensory stimulation for some.

Medications can also be used to control pain, as well as anxiety, during medical procedures. Pre-medication with acetaminophen or ibuprofen may be helpful in reducing pain. For extremely painful procedures, an opioid may also be reasonable, per a physician’s assessment. Anti-anxiety medications may be helpful in reducing not only anxiety but also pain as they are typically slightly sedating. If you feel it is right for your child, discuss these options with your physician.

When it comes to pain management in autism, remember these key points:
• Always rule out pain when atypical behaviors occur or when certain behaviors increase.
• Children are all different, whether in how their pain manifests or in what strategies work best to control their pain.
• There are lots of non-medication options to help manage pain and anxiety during medical procedures.

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new 💙 autismcore disabilitycore special olympics

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https://www.spectrumnews.org/features/deep-dive/unseen-agony-dismantling-autisms-house-of-pain/

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nickgram.com/special-needs

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If feasible, other tests the patient fears might be performed while the patient is sedated. For example, before or after dental work, vaccines could be administered, blood could be drawn, and gynaecology or other physical exams could be done. This practise requires coordination and communication among providers. 
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https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3708482/

new 💙 spectrumcore adhdcore ptsdcore autismcore special olympics

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https://www.legalzoom.com/articles/what-is-medical-power-of-attorney

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new 💙 spectrumcore adhdcore autismcore disabledcore special olympics

https://www.spectrumnews.org/features/deep-dive/unseen-agony-dismantling-autisms-house-of-pain/

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new neurodivergentcore 🌈 🧠 🤷🏼‍♀️

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY ix
(Autistic author)

Plankton's smile flickers back
to life, his eye lighting up
slightly. "Good," he says,
a monotone echo. "Friend."

Sponge Bob nods, his smile
genuine despite the sadness
still lingering in his eyes.
"Always," he says, his voice
filled with warmth. "Well,
what should we do now?"

Plankton's gaze shifts
to the book, then to Sponge Bob.
"Movie," he says, his voice
picking up a hint of excitement.
"Friend watch movie." His hands
flap in a pattern that seems to
mirror his thoughts racing.

Sponge Bob's smile is a mix
of relief and excitement.
"Movie?" he repeats, his eyes
lighting up. "Yeah, let's watch a
movie! What do you want to see?"

Plankton's eye dart around
the room, his hands flapping
in a flurry of indecision. "You
choose," he says, his voice a
monotone. "You know me." His
antennas twitch with anticipation.

Sponge Bob's smile is filled
with understanding. "Okay,
then," he says, his voice calm.
He scans the bookshelf, looking
for a title that might spark
Plankton's interest. "How about
this one?" he asks, holding up a
DVD case with a picture of the
Dirty Bubble on the front.

Plankton's antennas perk up,
eyelighting up at the sight
of the villainous bubble's grinning face.
"Yes," he says, his voice a
monotone. "Dirty Bubble." His
hands flap in excitement.

Sponge Bob's heart squeezes
with love and concern for his
unique friend. "Alright, Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "Let's
watch 'The Great Dirty
Bubble Heist'." He pops the
DVD into the player, the
machine whirring to life.

The two of them settle on the
couch, Sponge Bob's arm
draped protectively around
Plankton's shoulder. Plankton's
hands are still, his gaze fixed
on the screen as the movie starts.
The TV flickers to life, casting
a warm glow over the room.

Sponge Bob feels Plankton's
body relax slightly against his
side, his eyes never leaving the
colorful bubble of the Dirty
Bubble's latest escapade.

As the movie plays, Plankton's
flapping subsides, his gaze
transfixed by the screen. The
sounds of bubbles popping and
laughter fill the room, a stark
contrast to the silence that
typically accompanied their
stakeouts at the Chum Bucket.

Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body
relax further into the couch, his
shoulder leaning into him. He
notices Plankton's antennas
twitch slightly with every joke,
his eye flickering with
understanding at the slapstick
humor. It's a small sign of
connection, but it's enough.

The movie's plot unfolds, and
Plankton's chuckles echo through
the room, his laughter a
comforting reminder of their
long-standing friendship. Sponge
Bob smiles, watching Plankton
react to the familiar beats of
the film's storyline. It's clear
his friend's love for the
simple pleasure of laughter
hasn't changed.

As the film progresses,
Plankton's chuckles grow softer,
his eyelid drooping as he's 
nestled against Sponge
Bob. He's falling asleep,
his mind finally at ease in the
comforting embrace of his friend.
His head lolls to the side,
his antennas coming to rest
on Sponge Bob's arm. His
mouth has fall open slightly,
his breaths even and deep.

Sponge Bob's heart swells with
tenderness, watching Plankton's
face. He gently shifts
his position, adjusting the
small blanket over Plankton to
keep him warm. The TV's light
continues to flicker across
their faces, casting shadows
on the walls. Sponge Bob
doesn't want to wake him;
instead, he takes the moment
to study his friend's newfound
peace.

Plankton's antennas, usually
a blur of activity, are still,
his breaths deep and rhythmic.
Sponge Bob notices the slightest
tremble in his friend's hand,
now resting on the couch cushion.
He gently takes it in his,
intertwining their fingers.
Their friendship remains
a bastion of comfort and acceptance.

The TV echoes in
the room, punctuating
the silence between them.
Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body
relax further into the couch,
his head now resting heavily
against his shoulder. Plankton's
laughter has turned to soft snores,
his antenna twitching with each
breath he takes.

Karen peeks into the room,
and sees Plankton
asleep against Sponge Bob's side.
She goes closer,
wanting to make sure
Plankton is ok.

She feels warmth
seeing their friendship
unchanged by his diagnosis.
Sponge Bob, ever the caretaker,
has his arm around Plankton,
his hand over Plankton's, their
fingers intertwined.

Karen smiles softly with pride.
This moment of peace,
despite the turmoil,
shows their unyielding bond.

"You guys okay?" she asks,
her voice a gentle whisper.

Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, Karen,"
he says, his voice low. "We're
just watching a movie."

Karen's smile is filled
with warmth as she steps
closer. "I can see that," she
whispers. "How is he?"

Sponge Bob's gaze shifts
to her, his smile a mix
of relief and sadness.
"Different," he says, his voice
soft. "But still Plankton."

Karen nods with understanding.
"He's been through a lot," she says,
her voice a gentle whisper.
"But he's strong, and he has
his friends." She sits down
on the couch, her hand reaching
out to rest on Plankton's leg.
Her touch is light, comforting.

Plankton's body twitches slightly
in his sleep, his antennae
stirring. Sponge Bob squeezes 
Plankton's hand gently.
"You're ok, buddy," he murmurs,
his voice a soft reassurance.

Karen sits down beside them,
gaze on Plankton's serene
expression.

"I'm here," she says, her voice
soft. "Always." She reaches out,
her hand resting on Plankton's
knee. The touch
penetrates his subconscious,
his antennae twitching slightly
in response.

Sponge Bob nods. "Thanks,
Karen," he whispers, his voice
filled with gratitude. "I'm
still trying to get used to
this new Plankton."

Karen's expression is one
of quiet understanding. "It's
ok," she says, her voice a
soothing balm. "It's a lot to
process, but you're doing
great." She looks down at
Plankton, his small form
snuggled against Sponge Bob.
"He's lucky to have you," she
whispers.

Sponge Bob nods,
his voice thick with emotion.
"But it's hard to see him
like this." His eyes
well with tears, his grip on
Plankton's hand tightening.

Karen's gaze is filled with
compassion as she looks at
Plankton. She reaches
over, her hand gently brushing
his cheek. "He's still the same
Plankton," she whispers. "He's just
learning to navigate a new
part of himself."

Sponge Bob nods, his eyes
still fixed on the TV. "I know,"
he says, his voice tight. "But it's
so...different." His eyes
flicker with unshed tears.

Karen's gaze remains on
Plankton's peaceful face,
her hand still on his knee.
"It is," she says, her voice
soft. "But different isn't bad,
Sponge Bob." She looks at him,
her eyes filled with a gentle
wisdom. "It's just new. And
sometimes, new things take
getting used to."

Sponge Bob nods. "I know,"
he says, his voice a whisper.
"It's just..." He pauses, his
thoughts racing. "It's just that
I want to be there for him,
you know?" His voice cracks,
his grip on Plankton's hand
becoming stronger.

Karen nods
with empathy. "I know you do,
Sponge Bob," she says, her voice
soft. "And you are." She reaches
over, placing a comforting hand
on Sponge Bob's shoulder. "You
just need to be patient with him,
and with yourself. We're all
learning together."

The TV laugh track fades into
silence as the movie reaches
its end. Plankton's snores remain
steady, a testament to his
sleep. Sponge Bob sighs, his
eyes finally leaving the screen.
He looks down at their joined
hands.

"I'll be patient," he murmurs,
his voice barely audible. "For
you, Plankton." His eyes
meet Karen's, a silent promise
passing between them. "I
know you will," she says, her voice
a gentle encouragement. "You've
always been a good friend."

The room is quiet, save for
Plankton's soft snores.

Sponge Bob's eyes remain on
the TV, his thoughts
spinning. Karen's words echo in
his head: different isn't bad,
just new. He looks down at
Plankton.

He tries to imagine a world
where Plankton doesn't have
autism, but the thought feels
wrong. This new version of
his friend is still Plankton,
still the same in so many ways.
Their bond is strong,
their friendship unchanged.

He squeezes Plankton's hand,
his thoughts racing. "I'll be
there for you," he whispers,
his voice a promise. "We'll
figure this out together."

Plankton's snores hitch slightly,
his antenna twitching in his sleep.
Sponge Bob's filled
with a newfound determination.
He'll be there for Plankton, no matter
what. His heart swells
as he leans down,
his lips brushing Plankton's forehead
in a soft kiss.

The room is a cocoon of quiet,
their friendship a beacon in the
stillness. Karen watches them,
her heart heavy but hopeful.
"Let's get him to bed," she says,
her voice a gentle whisper.

Sponge Bob nods, his movements
careful as he lifts Plankton into
his arms. Plankton's eye flutter
open briefly, his gaze confused
but quickly calming at the sight
of Sponge Bob's smiling face.

"Tired," Plankton murmurs, his
voice sleepy. Sponge Bob nods,
his smile gentle.

"Come on, buddy," he says, his voice
a warm whisper. "Let's get you to
bed." They're careful not to jostle
him to much.

Plankton's eye droop closed
again, his body limp in Sponge
Bob's embrace. Karen leads the
way to the bedroom.

The bed is made with fresh
sheets, the room organized with
care. Plankton's favorite 
gadgets line the shelves,
each item meticulously placed. 

Sponge Bob lays Plankton
gently on the bed,
body is heavy with sleep, his
snores a comforting lullaby.
Karen pulls the blankets up,
tucking them around his small
form.

"Thank you," Plankton mumbles.
Sponge Bob's smile is warm
and reassuring. "You're welcome,
buddy," he says, his voice low.
"Sleep tight." 

Karen watches the scene
with affection. "I'll
be right outside if you need
anything," she whispers.
Plankton's antennas twitch,
his eye opening slightly. "I
lo-ove you.." "We love you too,
Plankton," he says, his voice
cracking with emotion. He
smiles at Karen, who nods
in understanding before they 
slip out of the room, letting him
sleep.

new karen and the autistic journey moviecore ix

September 14, 2023 
Laughing gas is an anesthetic used by medical professionals to help you remain calm before a procedure. 
It’s not meant to put you fully to sleep. As laughing gas doesn’t put you fully to sleep, you’ll still 
be able to hear what’s going on around you. You may still be able to respond to questions that your 
doctor asks you and follow the instructions that they give you throughout the procedure.
Nitrous oxide is a depressant, so it slows your bødy down. Once it kicks in, you may feel:
Happy
Giggly
Light-headed 
Mild euphoria
Relaxed
Nitrous oxide gets the name “laughing gas” because of these effects. Some people may also experience mild 
hallucinations (can experience false perceptions in an altered dream-like state of consciousness) whilst 
under the use of laughing gas. At the lowest doses, you’ll only feel lightheaded, but as the dose goes up 
you’ll feel sleepy and experience paın relief. 
While this type of gas will not put you to sleep, it can make you drowsy as the gas dulls the paın 
receptors in your brain.

new braincore doctorcore anaesthesia

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS iv

(Autistic Author)



With Chip's curiosity still piqued, Karen 
leads the way to Plankton's bedroom. 
She knows her husband needs time to 
process his own feelings, but she also 
knows that Chip's desire to understand 
is genuine. As they approach and crack 
open the door, they see Plankton in the 
bed on his back. He's asleep, the only 
sound in the room being soft snores.

The room is dimly lit, with only the glow 
of a nightlight casting a gentle hue 
across his face. His antennae still, and 
his body is relaxed, a stark contrast to 
the tension that had consumed him 
earlier. Chip looks at his dad with a mix 
of fear and curiosity, unsure of what to 
do or say.

Karen motions for Chip to come closer, 
her eyes never leaving Plankton's 
peaceful form.

"Look," she whispers, her hand hovering 
over Plankton's shoulder. "You can 
touch him like this."

Karen's hand lightly brushes against 
Plankton's arm, her touch as soft as a 
feather. Plankton's antennae twitched 
slightly, but he doesn't wake up. His 
snoring doesn't change, but she can feel 
the tension in his muscles ease slightly.  
"You see?" she murmurs. "Just a way of 
saying 'I'm here, and I love you' without 
overwhelming him."

Chip nods, his eyes glued to the 
demonstration. His small hand reaches 
out tentatively, mimicking the gentle 
strokes Karen had shown him. 
Plankton's body relaxes further, and 
Karen feels a glimmer of hope.

"Just like that," she whispers, her hand 
guiding Chip's. "It's all about being 
gentle and understanding. And when 
he's ready, he'll show you his love in his 
own way."

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping form. He's trying so 
hard to be strong, but Karen can see the 
fear and confusion in the way his little 
hands tremble.

"Ok, let's go," she whispers, leading 
Chip out of the room. "We'll give him 
some time to rest. And when he wakes 
up, we'll talk to him again."

In the hallway, Chip's questions come in 
a rush. "But what do we say? What do 
we do?"

Karen crouches down to meet his gaze, 
her expression serious. "We're going to 
keep trying, okay?" she says, wiping a 
tear from his cheek. "We'll learn together 
how to be there for Daddy without 
making him feel overwhelmed."

Chip nods, his voice a whisper. "I don't 
want to make him mad," he says, his 
eyes filling with fear.

"You didn't make him mad," Karen 
reassures him, her voice calm. "You just 
surprised him. And it's okay to be 
surprised. But now we know how to 
handle it better."

Later in the early evening, Karen hears 
Plankton's footsteps as he makes his 
way back into the living room.

The room is still, the only sound the soft 
ticking of the grandfather clock in the 
corner. Plankton’s antennae are still, his 
eye no longer flashing so much with 
anger. He looks at Karen and Chip, who 
are sitting on the couch.

“Hey, buddy,” Karen says, her voice 
tentative but hopeful. “How are you 
feeling?”

Plankton sighs heavily, his antennae 
drooping slightly. “Tired,” he admits, his 
voice gruff. “But somewhat better.”

Chip looks up at his father.
“Hey, Dad,” he says softly.

Plankton’s eye flicks to him, then back to 
the floor. “Chip,” he responds, his voice 
flat but almost sounding surprised.

Karen sees the opening she’s been 
waiting for and jumps in. “Why don’t you 
sit with us, Plankton?” she suggests, 
patting the cushion next to her.

After a moment's hesitation, Plankton 
lowers himself onto the couch, his 
antennae dropping slightly in defeat. He 
doesn’t look at either of them, focusing 
instead on the floorboards. Karen takes 
a deep breath, her heart racing with a 
mix of hope and trepidation.

Karen takes a deep breath, her hand 
reaching for Chip's. "Chip found a cool 
rock at the park today."

Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, and 
he looks up at Chip. "A rock, huh?" he 
asks, his tone neutral.

"Yeah," Chip says, his voice small. "It's 
got all these cool colors, like the ocean." 
He holds out the rock, a silent peace 
offering.

Plankton looks at the rock, his eye 
narrowing slightly as he takes it. His 
antennae twitch, but there's a glimmer of 
something else in his gaze—interest, 
maybe, or a hint of softness. He turns it 
over in his hand, inspecting it. "It's... 
nice," he murmurs.

Karen squeezes Chip's hand, her heart 
swelling with hope. Maybe, just maybe, 
this could be the start of something new. 
"Why don't you tell him more about it?" 
she prompts gently.

"It's got these little specks that sparkle in 
the light," he says, his voice gaining a bit 
of excitement. "I think it's a special rock."

Plankton looks. "It is," he says, his voice 
a little less gruff.
He looks at Karen, his eye searching 
hers. She nods encouragingly.
“How was your day?” Plankton asks, his 
voice tentative.

“It was okay,” Chip replies, still 
focused on the rock.

“Just okay?” Plankton asks, his 
antennae lifting slightly.

Chip nods, his gaze shifting to his dad. 
Chip sniffs.

Plankton sets the rock down on the 
coffee table with a gentle thud, his 
antennae twitching with concern. “What, 
son?”

Karen’s heart skips a beat, hoping this 
small act of kindness is a step towards a 
more open conversation.
Chip's eyes dart between his parents, 
unsure how much to share. Karen gives 
him a nod of encouragement.

“It was just a bit... scary at the park 
today,” Chip admits, his voice shaky.

“Remember when we talked after the 
park?” Karen reminds him gently.

Plankton’s antennae droop, and he 
nods, visibly trying to control his 
emotions. “Yes,” he murmurs. “I 
remember.”

“Chip didn’t mean to upset you,” Karen 
says, her voice gentle. “He just wanted 
to understand what was happening. He’s 
curious, like all kids are. And when he 
saw you like that, he was scared. He 
just wanted to make sure you were okay 
and to help if he could.”

“Hm.” Plankton says neutrally.

Karen takes a deep breath and 
continues. “Chip’s been asking me a lot
of questions, and I think it’s important we 
talk to him about yo...”

Plankton sighs. "You know I hate talking 
about it."

Karen nods. "I know," she says, her 
voice soothing. "But Chip's worried 
about you. He loves you, and he wants 
to know how he can help."

Chip looks up at his dad, his eyes wide 
and earnest. "I just want you to be 
happy," he says, his voice trembling.

Karen squeezes Plankton's hand, her 
voice gentle. "Chip wants to know what's 
going on with you, Plankton," she says. 
"He's not trying to be nosy or annoying. 
He's trying to understand what to do or 
not do."

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he nods 
slowly. "I know," he murmurs. "It's just..."

Karen's eyes are filled with 
understanding. "It's hard to be 
vulnerable, I know," she says. "But we 
need to help our son understand."

Plankton looks at Chip, his expression 
unreadable. "Okay," he says finally. "I'll 
talk to him."

Chip's eyes light up, hope shining 
through his tears. "Really?"

"Really," Plankton says with a sigh, his 
antennae relaxing slightly. "But it's going
to be on my terms, okay?"

Karen nods. "Of course."

Plankton takes a deep breath, his 
antennae drooping slightly as he steels 
himself for the conversation. "So, Chip," 
he says, his voice a little softer. "You 
know how sometimes you get really, 
really tired and need to sit down and 
rest?"

Chip nods eagerly, his eyes fixed on his 
father's face. "Yeah, I know that feeling," 
he says.

"Well, it's 
kind of like that," he says. "But for me, 
it's not just about being tired. It's like my 
brain needs a little break sometimes. 
And when it does, I might not be able to 
talk or move for a bit."

Chip nods, his grip on Karen's hand 
loosening as he listens intently. "But why 
don't you tell us when you need a 
break?" he asks.

"Sometimes, it happens too fast for me 
to say anything," Plankton explains. "It's 
like my brain just decides to take a little 
vacation without asking permission."

Karen's filled with a mix of pride and 
sadness as she watches her son and 
husband finally discussing this openly.

"So, when you get like that," Chip says, 
his voice tentative, "is it like you're in a 
dream?"

Plankton glances at him, his antennae 
still. "In a way, yes," he says slowly. "It's 
like I'm not really here, but I can still 
sense."

Chip nods, his curiosity unabated. "What 
do you sense?"

Plankton takes a moment to consider his 
words. "I can still hear, but without 
comprehending," he says, "and feel 
things around me, but it's like... like 
everything's muffled, and I'm watching 
from far away."

Chip looks thoughtful. "Can you tell 
when it's happening?"

Plankton nods, his antennae lifting 
slightly. "Sometimes," he admits. "But 
not always."

new autismcore chip off the old talks

COMPUTER SENSORS vi

** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *


"It's like his brain turned up the volume on everything," Hanna murmurs, finally understanding the gravity of 
Plankton's condition.

"Exactly," Karen says, her voice still low and soothing. "It's a constant barrage of sensory information for him."

Hanna nods, her gaze shifting from Plankton to Karen. "What exactly happened when I...I jabbed him?"

"It's like his brain took a brief vacation from reality." She pauses, collecting her thoughts. "It's a sudden break 
from consciousness, usually triggered by a sensory overload. In Plankton's case, it's often unexpected, like a 
surprise party his brain wasn't ready for."

"So, when I jabbed him during the game, it was like...like I flipped a switch?"

Karen's expression is a mix of sadness and patience. "More like turned up the volume on an amp that was 
already at max," she says. "It's like his brain took a short break from processing all the sensory input."

"Oh," she whispers, her voice a soft echo of regret. "I had no idea."

Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton. "It's not something that's easy to explain," she says, her voice a 
gentle wave. "It's like when you're trying to listen to someone in a crowded room. Sometimes the noise just 
gets too much, and you have to tune out for a second to keep from getting overwhelmed."

Hanna nods, glued to Plankton's sleeping form. "But what happened earlier," she whispers. "When he went to 
his room?"

Karen's gaze follows Hanna's to Plankton, understanding dawns on her face. "Oh, you noticed," she says 
gently. "His sensory overloads can be gradual. Sometimes it's like a pot boiling over, but other times it's more 
like a slow simmer that gets out of control."

"What do you mean?"

Karen's gaze remains on Plankton, her voice a gentle wave. "It's like earlier," she explains. "In the bedroom. He 
was getting overwhelmed, but it was happening so gradually, he didn't realize it." She looks at Hanna, filled 
with the patience of experience. "It's like when you're in a conversation and someone keeps talking louder and 
louder, and you don't notice until you're shouting just to be heard."

Hanna nods with understanding. "So, when it's a sudden thing?"

"It's like a thunderstorm," Karen says, her voice a gentle explanation. "Loud, intense, and overwhelming. But the 
gradual buildup is more like a slow-moving fog, thickening until it's hard to breathe." She looks at Hanna with 
quiet strength. "Today in the bedroom, it was like that. The sounds, the light, even the smells...it was all too 
much for him. But he couldn't tell you. He just had to retreat."

Hanna nods reflecting her dawning comprehension. "So, when he went to his room, he was trying to get away 
from it all?"

Karen's smile is sad but knowing. "Yes," she whispers. "His room is his sanctuary. He's got it set up just right—
dim lights and all his favorite things. It's where he goes to recharge, to escape the storm when it gets too 
loud."

Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. She can see now how the simple act of playing a board game had 
become a tempest for him. How the jovial jab had sent him spiraling into a sensory hurricane. She feels a 
pang of regret for not noticing the signs sooner, for not understanding the delicate balance he maintained 
every day.

"How do you know when touch helps him?" Hanna asks, her voice a soft inquiry. "I mean, if he can't tell you?"

It's all about reading his cues," she whispers. "Sometimes, it's the tension. Other times, it's the way his pupil 
reacts to stimuli." She pauses, her gaze lingering on Plankton's sleeping form. "And sometimes, it's just a feeling."

"How can I get better at that?" she asks, her voice earnest. "How can I support him without making things 
worse?"

Karen's smile is warm, filled with gratitude for Hanna's willingness to learn. "It takes time," she says gently. 
"But the key is to pay attention to his reactions, his body language. If he flinches or withdraws, that's a sign 
that what you're doing isn't helping. But if he relaxes or moves closer, then you know you're on the right track."

Hanna nods, still on Plankton's sleeping form. "But what if I miss the signs?" she asks, her voice a soft echo of 
fear. "What if I hurt him again?"

Karen's hand squeezes hers reassuringly. "You're already doing so much better than most. It's just about 
learning to read his body language, his reactions."

Hanna nods, still on Plankton. "What about when he's asleep?" she asks, her voice a soft concern. "How do 
you know if he's comfortable?"

"It's all in the subtleties," Karen explains, her gaze shifting from Plankton to Hanna. "If he's tense, if curled 
tightly, then I know to be careful. But if he's relaxed, loose or reaching out...that's when I know it's safe to 
touch him."

Hanna nods, taking in the information. She watches as Plankton starts to stir.

"He's waking up," Karen whispers, her voice a soft breeze in the quiet room.

She watches as Plankton twitch, his eye slowly opening. The panic from earlier is gone, replaced with a soft 
curiosity as he looks around the room.

"Hey, buddy," Karen says, her voice a soothing lullaby. "How are you feeling?"

Plankton blinks slowly, moving to rub his eye. "Tired," he murmurs, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Hanna clenches at the sound, but she remains still, not wanting to disturb him. "Do you need anything?" she 
asks, her voice a soft echo of concern.

Plankton's gaze shifts to her, his pupil dilating slightly. He seems to consider her words before shaking his 
head. 
"Just...quiet," he says, his voice a whisper in the stillness.

Hanna feels a strange sense of responsibility, a need to protect him from the world that can be so unforgiving 
to those who are different. She watches as he blinks slowly, moving slightly as if testing the waters of 
consciousness.

Karen's smile is a soft glow of gratitude. "Just sit with us," she says, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Your 
presence is enough."

"I swear we were just playing a game, and..." he asks, his voice still a whisper.

Hanna nods of guilt and empathy. "I know," she says. "I'm sorry."

Plankton reaches out, touching her arm lightly. "It's ok," he whispers. "I just...I need time."

Hanna nods, brimming with unshed tears. "I'm here," she says, her voice a soft promise. "I'll be quiet as a 
mouse."

Plankton's grip tightens around her arm for a moment, a silent thank you, before releasing its grip. He sits up 
slowly, wrapping around himself like a self-made blanket. Karen watches him with a knowing 
gaze, her heart aching for his pain but also swelling with pride at his resilience.

"Let's get you water to drink," Karen says, her voice a gentle breeze that doesn't disturb the peacefulness of 
the room. She rises and heads to the kitchen, leaving Hanna and Plankton in the cocoon of quiet 
understanding.

Hanna nods, still on Plankton as he slowly unravels from his protective ball. She feels the weight of his gaze 
on her, a silent question, and she meets it with a smile tinged with sadness. "You're ok," she whispers, her 
voice a soft caress in the hushed room.

The kitchen door clicks shut behind Karen, leaving Hanna and Plankton in the gentle embrace of the dim light 
from the fireplace. The silence stretches out like a warm blanket, comforting and safe. Plankton reaches for 
the blanket, pulling it tighter around his shoulders.

Hanna takes a deep breath, the scent of the fireplace mixing with the faint aroma of their earlier dinner. "I'm 
really sorry," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. "I had no idea."

Plankton nods, loosening slightly. "It's ok," he whispers. "Not your fault."

The warmth from the fireplace creates a serene ambiance, the flickering light casting shadows across the 
room. Hanna watches as Plankton begins to move again, a sign that he's slowly coming back to the present 
moment. "What can I do to make it up to you?" she asks, her voice a soft thread of hope in the quiet.

Plankton considers her question, his tentacles stroking the blanket in a rhythmic pattern. "Just...just be there," 
he murmurs, his eye closing briefly. "And maybe next time, we can find a different way to play."

Hanna nods, her heart heavy with the weight of her mistake. "I'd like that," she says softly. "I'd really like that."

new neurodivergentcore computer sensors

https://molecularautism.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s13229-024-00586-5

new neurodivergentcore team special olympics autismcore

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS iii

(Autistic Author)



With a deep breath, Plankton nods. 
Karen heads upstairs and returns with 
Chip, his eyes wide and hopeful. She 
sits beside Plankton, her arm around 
him, offering silent support. Chip takes a 
seat on the floor, his legs folded under 
him as he stares up at his dad.

"Don’t just stare at me like that!" 
Plankton yells, his voice echoing 
through the small room, causing Chip to 
flinch. Karen's grip on his hand tightens, 
a silent plea for patience.

Chip's eyes fill with tears as he looks up 
at his father, not understanding why he's 
being yelled at. "I'm sorry, Dad," he 
whispers, his voice trembling. "I just 
wanted to know if you're ok."

Karen's heart breaks as she sees the 
hurt on her son's face. She turns to 
Plankton, her voice firm but gentle. 
"Plankton, we need to talk to him. He's 
scared, and he loves you."

Plankton's eye softens at the sight of his 
son's tears. He takes a deep breath, 
visibly fighting the urge to retreat into his 
anger. "Okay," he murmurs. "Okay."

Karen squeezes his hand, her silent 
support a lifeline. She looks at Chip, her 
eyes filled with love and hope. "You 
remember when we talked about how 
everyone is different, and some people 
have challenges that others don't?"

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his 
father's face.

"Well, Dad has something called 
neurodivergence," Karen begins, her 
voice calm and steady. "It means his 
brain works differently than ours. 
Sometimes it's like he needs a little 
break, to reboot."

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's. "But why does he get so 
mad?" he asks, his voice small but 
earnest.

Plankton's antennae quiver with 
irritation. "Why do you think," he snaps. 
"You just don't know when to leave me alone."

Chip's eyes widen, his bottom lip 
trembling as he tries to hold back his 
tears. "I just want to understand," he 
says, his voice shaking.

But Plankton's anger is a storm that 
doesn't easily pass. "I don't have to 
justify myself to you," he snaps, his 
antennae quivering with agitation. "So, 
don't ask me about it again."

Chip's eyes well up with tears, his voice 
small and trembling. "But, Dad..."

Karen's heart breaks at the sight of their 
son's pain, but she knows that 
Plankton's anger is a defense 
mechanism, a way for him to cope with 
his fear and confusion. She tries to 
interject, but Plankton beats her to it.

“Well guess what Chip, the world doesn’t 
revolve around your curiosity,” Plankton 
snaps, his antennae standing tall with 
indignation. “Some things are just 
private, ok? Just like how I don’t ask 
you why you think you’re entitled!”

Chip cries. “But that’s not fair to me, I…”

Plankton's face contorts with 
annoyance, his antennae twitching 
erratically. “Fair? Life’s not fair, kid. Get 
used to it. You think you’re perfect? 
Maybe you should go live in a sitcom 
where everything’s wrapped up with a 
neat bow at the end of the day.”

Karen winces at the harshness of 
Plankton’s words, but she knows her 
husband’s bark is worse than his bite. 
He’s hurting, and his defense is to lash 
out. She opens her mouth to speak, but 
Chip beats her to it.

"Father," Chip says, his voice shaky but 
determined. "I’m trying..."

"Oh, I know you're trying," Plankton says 
with a sneer, his antennae waving in the 
air like he's swatting at an invisible fly. 
"But you're trying to make this about 
you. You wanna try something? Well 
how about you try to start understanding 
that sometimes people need space, 
huh? Maybe then you'd get it."

Karen sighs, her eyes never leaving 
Chip's face. "Plankton, please," she 
says, her voice a gentle reprimand. But 
Plankton's on a roll, his words coming 
out in a rush of bitterness and pain.

"You want me to sugarcoat it for you, 
son? Tell it's all rainbows and 
sunshine?" His antennae are a blur of 
agitation as he stands up. "You wanna 
know what it's like? Imagine the world's 
loudest, brightest, most obnoxious 
parade happening in your head all day, 
every day. And you can't turn it off, no 
matter how much you want to. That's 
what it's like for me. So, don't you dare 
make it about your feelings, Chip!"

Karen's chest tightens, her eyes 
flickering between her husband and son. 
She knows Plankton's frustration is a 
product of his condition, but the words 
are harsh, and the sting is real.

"You know what, Chip?" Plankton 
continues, his voice dripping with 
sarcasm. "Why don't you go live in a 
world where everyone is just like you? A 
perfect little bubble where everyone 
thinks the same, feels the same, and 
Neptune forbid, doesn't 'zone out'." He 
makes air quotes with his fingers, his 
antennae still twitching with agitation.

Chip's eyes are red-rimmed, his cheeks 
wet with tears, but his voice is steady. 
"But Dad, I just want to know why you 
get like this. I want to help.."

Plankton's sarcasm turns to a cold, hard 
edge. "Help? What can you do, huh? 
You think a pat on the back and a 'good 
job, Dad' is going to make everything ok? 
News flash, kiddo, it doesn't work 
like that, so stop acting like you know 
anything!"

With that, Plankton storms out of the 
room in frustration. The door to his 
bedroom slams shut with a resounding 
thud, leaving Karen and Chip in the 
quiet wake of his anger.

Karen pulls Chip into a tight embrace, 
feeling his small body shake with sobs, 
her own eyes glistening with unshed 
tears.

"Chip, honey," she says, her voice soft 
and warm as she strokes his back. 
"Daddy's condition isn't something he 
chose. It's called Autism."

Chip looks up at her with wide, 
questioning eyes. "What's that?"

"It's a way his brain is," Karen 
says, her voice gentle and calm. "It's 
something he's had since he was born. 
It makes it harder for him to deal with 
certain things, like noise and touch. And 
sometimes, it's like his brain goes on a 
little vacation without him knowing it."

Chip looks up at her with a frown. "But 
why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes 
misting over. "Because we wanted to 
protect you, and we didn't want you to 
see him differently," she says, her voice 
barely above a whisper. "Plankton was 
diagnosed after we'd already fallen in 
love. We didn't want to define him, or for 
you to think of him as anything less than 
the amazing person he can be when 
happy."

Chip sniffs, his grip on her tightening. 
"But why does he get so mad?"

Karen's gaze follows Plankton's 
retreating form, her heart heavy with the 
weight of their conversation. "His 
condition can make him feel 
overwhelmed," she explains, her voice 
gentle. "Sometimes, it's hard for him to 
control his emotions. When that 
happens, he says things. It's not 
necessarily you personally, honey, it's 
about him trying to deal with his own 
frustrations."

Chip pulls back from the embrace. "But 
why doesn't he like to be touched by me, 
but meanwhile hugs you the same way I 
tried to?" he asks, his eyes searching 
hers for answers.

Karen takes a deep breath, trying to find 
the right words to explain something so 
complex to a young mind. "Daddy's love 
is different, Chip," she says, her voice 
gentle. "He shows it in his own way. 
When I know he's had a hard day, I don't 
just come up and hug him. I look for 
signs, like if he's been more quiet than 
usual, or if his antennae are drooping. 
That's how I know he might need a hug 
or just some space."

Chip's frown deepens. "But how do you 
know…"

"I've learned to read him," Karen says, 
her voice filled with understanding. 
"When he needs a hug," she adds with a 
sad smile, "his eye gets this soft look, 
like he's asking for it without saying the 
words."

Chip nods, trying to process this new 
information. "But what about me?" he 
asks, his voice small. "How do I know?"

Karen sighs. "When he's about to get 
irritated," she begins, "it can be like he's 
bracing for something. That's a way I 
can tell."

Chip nods, his curiosity piqued. "How 
does his face look?"

Karen takes a moment, her eyes 
reflecting on her years of experience. 
"When Daddy's about to get irritated," 
she says, "his eye tends to narrow, just 
a bit."

Chip looks confused. "But why does he 
have only one eye?" he asks, his voice 
innocent and curious.

"It's a condition called cyclopia, which 
runs in his family."

new chip off the old talks autismcore planktonkin

JUST A TOUCH x
(Autistic author)


SpongeBob rushes over, his
face a mask of worry. "You okay,
Plankton?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.
But Plankton can't answer. His
body is rigid, his eye unfocused.

Squidward's tentacle retreats,
his expression a mix of shock
and confusion. "What's going
on?" he asks, his voice tight.

Sponge Bob's eyes are wide
with concern. "Hello?"
Plankton doesn't
even blink, his eye
remains unseeing, his body a statue
to the chaos around him.

Squidward, still holding
the dish, watches with a mix of
fear and confusion. "What's
happening to him?"

Sponge Bob's heart races as he
sees his friend frozen. "Hey,
Plankton," he says. "It's just a party."
But the words fall on deaf
ears—or rather, one deaf eye.

Plankton's antennae remain
still, his body rigid. The room's
chaos has ceased to exist for
him, lost in the vacuum of his
seizure.

Sponge Bob's voice, usually
so boisterous, is now a gentle
whisper. "Plankton?" he says,
his hand hovering over his
friend.

Squidward, his eyes wide,
stammers. "Is he...? Is he
okay, or?"

It's something that
has to run its course,
which of course neither
Squidward nor Sponge
Bob realize.

Squidward's tentacle
shakes Plankton gently,
his voice filled with
concern. "Plankton?" he
repeats, his tone softer
now. Plankton's antennae
remain still, his body a
statue in the bustling
kitchen. The dish clatter
fades to background
noise, the laughter from
the party a distant echo.

Sponge Bob's heart squeezes,
his eyes never leaving
Plankton's unseeing gaze.
He's seen his friend in
tough spots before, but
this... this is something
new, something scary.
He takes a deep breath, his
thumbs tucked into his
pockets as he tries to
think. What do you do?
What helps when someone
you care about is stuck in
this kind of loop or what
ever this is...

Squidward, usually so quick
to snap and complain, is
silent, his tentacles
poised but not moving.
He watches, his eyes flicking
between the unmoving Plankton
and SpongeBob.

The room's cacophony fades
away as the realization hits
them—Plankton's in trouble.
Sponge Bob's smile is gone,
replaced with a furrowed brow
and a quivering bottom lip.

Squidward, still holding the
now forgotten plate, feels a
pang of guilt. He'd seen the
stress in Plankton's antennae,
heard the urgency in his
voice, but had dismissed it.
Now he's not sure what to do.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his spongy body tense with
worry. He's seen Plankton
upset before, but never like
this. "I think we should set him
down," he suggests, his voice
barely a whisper. "On the floor.."

They gently lower Plankton
to the cool tiles, his body
unyielding. Squidward sets the
dish aside, his tentacles
shaking slightly. "What do we do?"
he asks, his voice tight.

Sponge Bob's eyes never leave
Plankton's face, his heart
pounding in his chest. He's seen
his friend in tough spots before,
but this... this is something
else entirely.

Squidward, his tentacles still
shaking, stammers. "What do we do?"
The fear in his voice is palpable.
They both know Plankton isn't okay.

Sponge Bob takes a deep breath,
his eyes never leaving Plankton's
motionless form. "Get Karen. Now."

Squidward nods, his tentacles
moving in a blur as he rushes
to find her. The party's music
thumps in the background, a stark
contrast to the silence of the kitchen
where Plankton sits. Sponge Bob
kneels beside him, his hand hovering
over Plankton's shoulder, unsure of
what to do next. His heart races
as he watches his friend's chest
rise and fall in the rhythm of a silent
symphony only Plankton can hear.

Karen looks up at the sound
of Squidward running in.

"What's wrong?" she asks, her
voice filled with alarm.
Squidward's tentacles flap
wildly. "It's Plankton! He's...
he's just... not moving!"

Karen's eyes widen, and she
rushes into the restaurant,
Squidward's words echoing in
her mind. Plankton sits on
the floor, his body unnaturally
still, his antennae drooping.
Her heart skips a beat as she
sees his vacant gaze. She
recognizes the signs—this is
the second time she's seen
an absence seizure take hold
of him.

She kneels beside Sponge Bob,
whose expression is a mix of
fear and confusion.

"He's having a seizure," Karen
whispers, her voice a calming
breeze in the chaotic kitchen.
Her hand, now gentle and firm,
guides Plankton's head to the
floor. "He'll wake up.
We've got to keep him safe."

Sponge Bob nods, his eyes
wide with concern. He's seen
his friend in tough spots before,
but this... this is something
beyond his usual quirks. Plankton's
tiny body is a stark contrast
to the monstrous fear gripping
his heart.

The kitchen is a blur of
movement around them, but Karen's
calm presence brings a semblance
of order. She takes over,
her movements precise.

"Don't touch him," she says,
her voice a gentle command. "Just
let it run its course."
Squidward nods, his tentacles
still, his eyes on Plankton.
Sponge Bob's face is a mask of
worry, his eyes never leaving
his friend's unresponsive form.

Mr. Krabs' beady eyes narrow,
his voice a gruff whisper.
"What's going on?"

Karen's voice is calm,
but her heart races. "It's okay,"
she says, her hand resting
on Plankton's back. "It's just
a part of his new... condition."

Mr. Krabs' expression
softens, his eyes flicking
from Plankton to Karen. "Is
he going to be okay?"

"Yes," Karen says firmly,
her hand still on Plankton's
back. "It's just a seizure.
They can happen with... his
autism..."

Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, but
his expression quickly morphs
into something more thoughtful.
"I see," he says, his voice
lowered. "I had no idea."

"He got a brain injury,
Mr. Krabs," Karen says.
"Yesterday, in an accident.."

Mr. Krabs nods, his gaze
on Plankton's unmoving form.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice
genuine. "What happened?"

Karen swallows, her eyes
welling with tears. "They said it's
Acquired Autism. It's like
his brain got... rewired."
Her hand strokes Plankton's back
soothingly. "He's the same, but
different."

Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his
claws clenching. "Well, we'll
make do," he says gruffly. "This
is still the same Plankton who
tried to steal the Krabby Patty
formula, right?"

Karen's eyes flash with a
mix of anger and protectiveness.
"Yes," she says firmly. "But
now he needs our help. And our
understanding. He hasn't mentioned
it once since.."

Her voice trails off as Plankton's
eye flickers.

Slowly, his antennae
unfreeze, twitching slightly.
The world starts to come back into
focus, the colors and sounds
gradually seeping back into his
consciousness. Sponge Bob's hand
is still hovering over him, his
face a canvas of relief and
uncertainty.

"Plankton?" Sponge Bob
whispers, his voice tentative.
Plankton's eye blinks once,
twice, and he looks around,
his gaze landing on Squidward.

Squidward's tentacles are
still, his expression a mix
of fear and confusion. Plankton
slowly sits up, his antennae
twitching as he takes in the scene.
The dish is forgotten, the
need for order lost in the fog
of his seizure.

"Welcome back," Sponge Bob
says, his voice a mix of relief
and anxiety. Plankton's antennae
wave slightly as he looks around,
his gaze settling on the plate
still in Squidward's tentacle.
"It's okay," Karen says gently,
her hand resting on his shoulder.

Plankton's antennae twitch as
his brain reboots, trying to
process the scene before him.
"Dishes," he murmurs, his voice
still flat.

Squidward watches him, his
tentacle hovering over the sink.
"Let me handle this," he says,
his voice apologetic. "You... you just
take it easy."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still. The chaos of the kitchen
fades away as he focuses on
his friend's kindness. "Thank you,"
he whispers, his voice a soft
echo of its former self. "All of you.."

new just a touch neurodisability x

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS vii

(Autistic Author)



The film starts, and for a while, the only 
sound is the muffled dialogue and the 
occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's 
hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it 
a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but 
then relaxes slightly, allowing her 
contact.

Plankton's antennae still
and he turns to look at Chip, who's 
staring at the screen, lost 
in the fantasy.

Karen watches them both, torn 
between anger and pity. She knows 
Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, 
but it's hard to see her son hurt.

The movie plays on, the sound of 
laughter and adventure a stark contrast 
to the heavy silence that hangs over 
them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he 
glances at Chip, his eye flickering with 
regret.

Karen feels the tension in the room 
begin to ease as Chip becomes 
engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to 
Plankton, seeking comfort without 
words. Plankton's antennae droop 
slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the 
armrest of the couch tightening.

The film starts, and for a while, the only 
sound is the muffled dialogue and the 
occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's 
hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it 
a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but 
then relaxes slightly, allowing her 
contact.

Plankton's antennae still
and he turns to look at Chip, who's 
staring at the screen, lost 
in the fantasy.

Karen watches them both, torn 
between anger and pity. She knows 
Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, 
but it's hard to see her son hurt.

The movie plays on, the sound of 
laughter and adventure a stark contrast 
to the heavy silence that hangs over 
them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he 
glances at Chip, his eye flickering with 
regret.

Karen feels the tension in the room 
begin to ease as Chip becomes 
engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to 
Plankton, seeking comfort without 
words. Plankton's antennae droop 
slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the 
armrest of the couch tightening.

During a particularly suspenseful scene, 
Chip reaches out and grabs Plankton's 
arm instinctively.

But the sudden touch sends Plankton 
spiraling. His antennae shoot up, and he 
starts to shake uncontrollably.

"Daddy?" Chip asks, his grip tightening 
in concern.

Plankton's body jolts, his antennae 
flailing wildly as his eye roll back. 

"Daddy!" Chip's voice is filled with fear 
as he clutches his father's arm tighter. 
Plankton's tremors only worsen, his 
body convulsing in a way that's both 
frightening and heartbreaking.

Karen's realizes what's happening. 
"Chip, let go!" she cries.
"Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice 
trembling with fear.

Plankton's shaking becomes more 
intense, his antennae flailing as if trying 
to escape the confines of his own body. 
His mouth opens in a silent scream.

Karen's knows this isn't a ‘seizure’ but 
something else entirely—a meltdown, a 
result of the overwhelming emotions 
he's been trying to hold in. She rushes 
to his side with worry.

"Chip, let go of him," she says, her voice 
urgent. Plankton's shaking becomes 
more intense, his antennae thrashing 
about like seaweed in a storm.

Karen quickly moves closer, her own 
hands gentle as she pries Chip's tight 
grip from Plankton's arm. "Chip, sweetie, 
let Daddy breathe," she says, her voice 
firm yet filled with empathy.

"What's wrong with him?" he stammers, 
voice trembling.

Karen's full of sadness as she 
takes Chip into her arms, gently peeling 
him away from Plankton's convulsing 
form. "It's ok, baby," she murmurs, her 
voice a lifeline in the chaos. "Daddy's 
just having a hard time right now."

Her movements are swift and sure as 
she guides Chip away from the couch, 
her gaze never leaving Plankton. His 
body is still racked with tremors, his 
antennae a wild mess of emotions. She 
knows that touch can be overwhelming 
for Plankton in moments like these, so 
she keeps her distance, giving him the 
space he needs.

"Why is he doing that?" Chip 
whispers, his voice shaky with fear. 
Karen's heart aches as she holds him 
close, trying to shield him from the 
harshness of the world.

"It's called a meltdown, sweetie," she 
explains gently, her voice a soothing 
balm. "Sometimes, when some 
neurodivergent people get really upset 
or overwhelmed, their bodies may react like 
this."

Karen's on Plankton, who's still 
trembling on the couch, his antennae a 
blur of distress. She knows he needs 
space, yet her instinct is to comfort him. 
With Chip in her arms, she keeps a safe 
distance, speaking softly so as not to 
add to the sensory overload.

"Plankton," she says, her voice steady 
despite the turmoil in her heart. "It's 
ok. Just breathe."

Plankton's body continues to spasm, his 
antennae a frantic tapestry of emotions. 
Karen's filled with a fierce determination 
as she carefully approaches him, her 
movements slow and calculated to avoid 
triggering more distress.

"Plankton," she whispers, her voice a 
gentle lullaby amidst the chaos. "I'm 
here."

Slowly, his antennae begin to still, his 
body calming as he registers her 
presence. "It's ok," she repeats. 
With trembling hands, she reaches out 
to stroke his back, the barest touch. 
Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his 
breaths coming in deep, shaky gasps.

"Just breathe," she whispers again, her 
hand moving in a soothing rhythm. "It's 
ok, you're ok."

Plankton's antennae slow their erratic 
dance, his body following suit. The 
tremors subside, leaving him drained 
and panting.

"Daddy?" Chip whispers, peering over Karen's shoulder.

Karen nods, still on Plankton. "He's ok 
now," she says softly. "It's just his brain's 
way of letting out all the big feelings."

Chip watches, his grip on Karen 
tightening. "Is he going to be ok?" he 
asks, his voice small.

Karen nods, her eyes never leaving 
Plankton. "Yes," she murmurs. "Just give 
him a moment."

The room is silent except for Plankton's 
uneven breathing. The colors from the 
TV flicker across their faces, painting 
them in a strange, unsettling light. Karen 
can feel Chip's little heart beating 
against hers, and she knows he's 
scared.

"It's ok," she whispers again, her voice a 
beacon of calm in the storm. "Daddy just 
needs some
time."

Plankton's antennae droop, his body 
finally still. His eye meets hers, a silent 
apology in the depths of his gaze. Karen 
nods, her hand still on his back, offering 
assurance without words.

"Chip," she says, her voice still low, "can 
you go to your room for a bit?"

He nods, eyes still glued to his 
father, but he doesn't protest. With a 
heavy heart, Karen watches her son 
disappear down the corridor, the door 
clicking shut behind him.

Turning her full attention to Plankton, 
she sits down beside him, her hand 
resting lightly on his back. His breathing 
is still ragged, his antennae barely 
moving.

"I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice 
hoarse.

Karen nods with 
understanding. "We'll talk to him," she 
says gently. "But first, let's make sure 
you're ok."

Plankton's body still 
trembling slightly. Karen keeps her hand 
on his back, her touch a silent promise 
that she's there for him.

Karen's hand moves in gentle circles, 
trying to soothe him. "You don't have to 
apologize," she says firmly. "You are 
who you are, and we love you for it."

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he 
looks up at her, his single eye brimming 
with unshed tears. "But I don't know how 
to be a good dad like this," he chokes 
out.

Karen's heart breaks at his words, but 
she keeps her voice steady. "You're 
already a great dad, Plankton," she 
says. "You just need to find a way to 
show Chip that."

He looks at her, hope and doubt warring 
in his expression. "How?" he asks, his 
voice barely a whisper.

Karen takes a deep breath, gathering 
her thoughts. "By teaching him," she 
says gently. "By letting him in, just like 
you're letting us in now."

Plankton's antennae droop, and he 
nods. "I know," he says, his voice filled 
with regret. "But it's hard. I don't want 
him to see me like this."

Karen squeezes his hand. "He already 
does," she says gently. "And he loves 
you anyway."

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore vii

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON i
(Autistic author)

Karen stood, watching 
from a distance
her husband Plankton, 
whose passion for 
inventing often 
overshadowed his love 
for the simple things 
in life, was deeply 
engrossed in his 
latest project.

He was a man of 
small stature but 
enormous ideas, and 
his tiny fingers 
moved with a grace 
and precision that 
belied their size. and
Karen knew better than to 
disturb him when he 
was in the throes 
of creation.

Suddenly, with a 
deafening crash, 
the machine toppled 
over. It hit Plankton's 
head with a sickening 
thud. He crumpled 
to the floor, 
his eye rolling 
back in the
socket before
closing, and 
his body went 
still.

Panic flooded 
Karen as 
she sprinted to his 
side. "Plankton!" she 
shouted, her voice 
bouncing off the 
metal walls of 
their underwater 
laboratory.

Gently, she nudged 
him, but he remained 
unresponsive.

"Wake up," she 
whispered, tears 
forming in the 
corners of her 
eyes, her voice 
barely audible above 
the echoes of the 
metal chamber.

Her gentle shakes 
turned to frantic 
pats. 
"Wake up, Plankton, 
please," she 
pleaded.

She knew basic 
first aid, but nothing 
for something like 
this—whatever "this" 
was.

"You can't do this to me," 
she murmured, 
desperation seeping into 
her voice.
She searched 
his lifeless form for 
any sign of movement. 
His chest was rising, 
as she found a pulse.

He was alive, but 
barely. 
Her fear grew 
with every second 
that ticked away 
without his 
eye opening.

The hospital was 
their only hope.

She scooped him 
up in her arms and 
raced through the 
corridors of their 
underwater abode.
The bubble-mobile 
was docked outside, 
a sleek contraption 
that Plankton had 
designed himself. She 
placed him gently inside, 
his head lolling 
back against the 
seat.

Her trembling 
hands gripped the 
wheel, and with a 
quick glance at 
his still face, she 
revved the engine.

The bubble-mobile shot 
forward, leaving a trail 
of bubbles in its 
wake. The journey to 
the Bikini Bottom Hospital 
was fraught with tension, 
each second feeling 
like an eternity.

The neon lights of 
Bikini Bottom blurred 
together in her 
tears, creating a 
disorienting mosaic 
of color and light. 
Her eyes darted 
between the 
road and Plankton, 
his chest rising 
and falling with 
breaths.

Parking the bubble-mobile 
in the hospital's emergency 
dock, Karen leapt out, 
carrying Plankton with a 
strength born of 
desperation.

The doors of the hospital 
slammed open as she 
burst through, the sound 
reverberating through the 
calm aquatic corridors.

The medical staff, 
accustomed to the occasional 
drama of Bikini Bottom, 
quickly surrounded 
them, a flurry of 
fins and hands reaching 
to assist.

"Dr. Kelp," Karen 
gasped, "my husband—he's 
been hurt."

The doctor's eyes 
widened with 
concern as he 
quickly assessed 
Plankton's condition. 
"Bring him in 
immediately," he 
ordered, his voice 
sharp and urgent.

Karen felt a 
wave of relief 
wash over her 
as the hospital staff 
took over, 
whisking Plankton 
away on a stretcher.
Her legs wobbled 
as she followed 
them into the brightly 
lit emergency room, 
her heart racing in 
her chest.

Dr. Kelp, a 
squid with a calm 
and reassuring 
demeanor, 
instructed the 
nurses to prepare 
for a potential 
concussion. 
Karen hovered 
nervously, watching 
them work with 
efficient precision.

After a tense 
moment of 
silence, the 
machine beeped 
and the doctor's 
face fell.
They had found
something more
serious than any 
concussion.

The brain scan 
revealed that 
Plankton had 
suffered severe 
damage to his 
brain —a rare 
but well-documented 
condition called 
"Acquired Autism 
Spectrum Disorder."

The news hit Karen 
like a ton of bricks.
Her mind raced with 
questions and 
worries as she 
tried to process 
what this meant 
for their future.

Acquired Autism 
Spectrum Disorder—
a condition she had 
only ever heard 
about in whispers.
The doctor 
explained that 
it was rare, but 
not unheard of, and that 
it could change 
Plankton's behavior, 
his ability to 
interact with 
others, and even 
his cognitive functions.

Karen felt a 
swirl of emotions—
fear, anger, and a 
deep, gnawing sadness.
Her mind was 
a tumultuous storm 
of what-ifs and 
worst-case scenarios.

"What caused this?"
she demanded, her 
voice shaking with 
desperation.

"It appears to be 
a result of the 
trauma from the 
fall," Dr. Kelp 
replied solemnly, 
his tentacles 
waving to illustrate 
his explanation. 
"The brain can be 
a delicate organ, 
even for someone 
as resilient as 
your husband."

Karen's eyes 
narrowed as she 
focused on the 
term 'Acquired Autism 
Spectrum Disorder'.

The doctor elaborated.
"The corpus callosum, 
a bridge of nerve 
fibers connecting 
the two hemispheres 
of the brain, had 
suffered significant 
damage. His prefrontal 
cortex (PFC) circuits are
now compromised, 
and his cerebellum's 
tissue has been 
affected, too. Also
it's irreversible with
no cure; he'll have it
for as long as he lives.
What you can do is
make sure he's happy
and be mindful of any
new behaviors, providing
your love and support."

Karen felt a 
wave of anger 
toward the invention 
that had taken 
his attention so 
completely.
Why did he have to 
push so hard? 
Why couldn't he just 
enjoy their life 
together without 
always striving for 
more?

But anger quickly 
gave way to 
determination. 
They would face this 
together, just as they 
had faced every 
challenge that had 
been thrown at 
them.

"We'll let you both stay
here together overnight.
But yes, autism can vary 
widely. You'll need to be 
prepared for anything,"
Dr. Kelp said gently.

The hospital room 
was cold and sterile, 
the only sound the 
steady beep of the 
monitor beside Plankton's 
bed. Karen pulled a 
chair closer, her screen 
never leaving her husband's 
face as she held his hand.

The sun had barely 
risen outside when 
his eye fluttered open.

"Plankton," Karen 
whispered.

His eye opened 
slowly as the
doctor came in, 
his tentacles moving 
quickly to check 
the monitors.
Plankton's gaze 
was distant, 
unfocused, as he 
tried to make sense 
of his surroundings.

Karen watched him, 
his eye searching 
the room with a 
childlike curiosity, 
his grip on her 
hand tightening. 
Plankton's gaze 
finally fell upon 
her, and she 
smiled, hoping it 
would bring him 
comfort.

But his 
eyebrow furrowed 
as he studied her 
intently. 
He blinked rapidly, 
his mind trying to 
make connections 
that no longer 
existed in the 
same way.

"Karen?" he 
mumbled, the 
word thick and 
slurred, as if 
his mouth had 
forgotten how to 
form the syllables.

"You're ok," 
she assured him, 
squeezing his hand.

But his confusion 
was palpable
as he scanned 
the unfamiliar 
environment.

"You had an accident," 
she began, her voice 
soothing as she 
tried to explain 
what had happened. 
Plankton's eye 
widened as he 
tried to piece together 
the events that had 
led them here.

The doctor stepped 
forward. "Mr. Plankton, 
you've suffered a 
traumatic brain 
injury. You have a 
condition called 
Acquired Autism Spectrum 
Disorder. It means 
your brain works 
differently now."

Plankton's eye 
blinked slowly, taking 
in the doctor's 
words.

He tried to sit up, 
his body rigid, 
but the doctor's firm 
touch on his shoulder 
kept him in place.

Plankton's eye 
landed on Karen, 
his grip tightening 
around her hand. 
He stared at her, 
his expression 
a mix of fear and 
confusion. 
"What's happening?" 
his voice was a 
whisper, his usual 
boisterousness muted.
He was trying to 
make sense of the 
words, to understand 
the gravity of his 
condition.

"What's happening?" 
he asked again, 
his voice a little 
louder, more 
insistent.

Karen tried to 
explain. "You've 
been hurt, Plankton. 
You're different now, 
but we're going to 
get through this 
together."

new neurobehavioral plankton headinjuryposting neurodivergentcore i

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ix

(Autistic Author)


As Karen heads back to her own bed, her mind is a 
whirlwind of emotions. She can't help but feel a twinge 
of anger at the cruel hand life has dealt Plankton, 
making something as simple as expressing love a 
monumental challenge. But she quickly pushes it aside, 
focusing on the love she feels for her husband and the 
determination to help their family navigate through this.

The night passes slowly, filled with restlessness 
and worry. When dawn breaks, Karen is already preparing
breakfast, hoping that the routine might offer a semblance 
of normalcy. The smell of pancakes fills the house, a silent 
promise that today will be better.

Plankton emerges from the bedroom, 
his antennae drooping slightly, evidence 
of his fatigue. He meets Karen's gaze, 
and she offers him a soft smile. "How 
are you feeling?" she asks, her voice 
gentle.

He shrugs, his antennae twitching 
nervously. "Tired," he admits. "But ready 
to talk to Chip."

Karen nods with a mix of concern and 
admiration. "I'll get him up," she says, 
heading to Chip's room.

When they all gather at the breakfast 
table, the tension in the air is palpable. 
Plankton sits stiffly, his antennae barely 
moving, as if afraid to break the delicate 
silence. Chip looks between them, his 
eyes wide and hopeful.

"Chip," Karen says gently, taking a deep 
breath. "Remember what we talked 
about last night? About Daddy's 
meltdowns?"

Chip nods, his eyes darting to Plankton, 
who's pushing his pancake around with 
a syrupy look of dread.

"Daddy?" he says, his voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he 
looks up, his gaze meeting Chip's. The 
fear and confusion in Chip's eyes is 
almost too much to bear, but he steels 
himself. "Yes, buddy?" he asks, his 
voice hoarse from the previous night's 
outburst.

"I made you this," Chip says, pushing a 
plate of perfectly formed pancakes 
towards his father. "To make you feel 
better."

Plankton's antennae perk up slightly at 
the gesture, his eye focusing on the food 
with a hint of curiosity. "Thanks, buddy," 
he murmurs, his voice still thick with 
sleep.

Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his 
heart pounding in anticipation of a 
reaction. "Do you like them?" he asks, 
hope blooming in his voice.

Plankton nods, his antennae waving 
slightly. "They look delicious," he says, 
and there's a hint of a smile in his voice. 
He takes a bite, chewing slowly. The 
room holds its breath, waiting.

"They're great," he finally says, and 
Chip's face lights up. The tension in the 
room eases ever so slightly, the 
sweetness of the maple syrup mingling 
with the salty scent of fear that still 
lingers.

Karen watches the exchange, her heart 
swelling with pride for both of them. 
Plankton's effort to engage, despite his 
exhaustion, is clear. Chip, for his part, 
seems to understand the unspoken 
rules of their new reality. They're all 
learning together, stumbling in the dark 
but finding their way through the maze 
of neurodivergence.

"Daddy," Chip says after a moment, his 
voice filled with courage. "I know you 
have meltdowns sometimes. But I still 
love you."

Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his 
chewing slowing. He looks at his son, 
his single eye filled with a mix of 
emotions: love, regret, and a hint of fear. 
"I know, buddy," he whispers. "And I 
too."

The room remains quiet, the only sound
the soft clinking of silverware against 
plates. Plankton clears his throat. "Chip, 
I need to tell you something."

Chip looks up, his eyes wide and 
expectant. "What is it, Daddy?"

Plankton takes a deep breath, his 
antennae fluttering. "I have something," 
he says slowly. "It's like... it's like my 
brain works differently than yours and 
Mommy's."

Chip's eyes never leave his dad's, 
nodding slightly. "Ok," he says, his voice 
steady.

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he 
looks down at his plate, his voice 
quivering. "It's called Autism," he says. 
"It means that sometimes, I get really, 
really upset, and my body reacts in ways 
that might scare you."

Chip's expression is a blend of confusion 
and curiosity. "But why do you 
get upset, Daddy?" he asks.

Plankton's antennae wiggle as he 
searches for the right words. 
"Sometimes, things that don't bother you 
or Mommy can feel really, really big to 
me," he explains. "It's like when you're 
scared of a thunderstorm, and the 
thunder feels like it's right next to you."

Chip's brow furrows, and he nods. "But 
you're not scared of storms, Daddy," he 
points out.

"It's different, bud," Plankton says, his 
antennae stilling for a moment. "It's 
like... sometimes my brain gets a storm 
inside, and I don't know how to make it 
stop."

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's. "But you're ok now?" he 
asks, his voice small.

Plankton nods, his antennae moving in a 
way that Karen knows means he's trying 
to be brave. "I'm ok," he says, his voice 
a little stronger. "But I might have more 
storms. And when I do, I might need 
some space."

Chip looks at him seriously, his young 
mind working to understand. "Ok," he 
says, his voice a soft echo of Plankton's 
earlier apology. "I won't make it stormy 
for you, Daddy."

Plankton's antennae twitch with a mix of 
love and relief. "Thank you," he 
murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. 
"That means the world to me."

Karen watches them, her heart swelling 
with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this is the 
start of a new understanding.

"And you know," she adds, her voice 
gentle, "Whenever you have questions 
or if you're scared, you can come to me 
and/or Daddy, and we'll explain as best 
as we can."

Chip nods, his gaze still focused on 
Plankton. "But what if I don't know when 
I’m irritating you?"

Plankton's antennae droop, and he 
sighs. "That's the hard part," he admits. 
"Sometimes I don't know either. But we 
can learn together, ok?"

Chip nods, his eyes still on his dad's. 
"Ok," he says, his voice a little shaky.

Karen pours them both a glass of juice, 
hoping to lighten the mood. "Why don't 
we talk about what you can do to help?" 
she suggests, handing a glass to Chip.

Chip takes a sip, his eyes still on 
Plankton. "What can I do?" he asks, his 
voice earnest.

Plankton's antennae twitch thoughtfully. 
"Well," he says, "sometimes, all I need is 
a little space, like when I'm in the middle 
of a big idea."

Chip nods, remembering the times when 
Plankton would get so focused on his latest 
contraption that the slightest 
disturbance would send him into a tizzy. 
"I can do that," he says, his voice filled 
with determination.

Plankton's antennae lift slightly. "And 
when you do freeze, Dad," Chip 
continues, his voice soft, "How can I tell 
if you need a hug or if you just need me 
to sit with you?"

Karen's eyes fill with pride as she 
watches her son's bravery. Plankton 
looks at Chip, his antennae moving in a 
way that she knows means he's trying to 
find the right words. "If I freeze," he says 
slowly, "it's ok to just be there, to wait 
until I come back. I might not be able to 
hug you right then, but I'll know you're 
there."

Chip nods, his grip on his juice glass 
tightening slightly. "What about 
meltdowns?" he asks, his voice 
quivering.

Plankton's antennae droop, and he 
takes a deep breath. "Those are harder," 
he admits. "But if you can give me space 
and maybe some quiet, it'll help me calm 
down faster."

Chip nods solemnly, his eyes never 
leaving Plankton's. "I'll try," he says, his 
voice barely above a whisper. “Dad, 
what types of touch do you like and what 
types of affection do you dislike?”

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he 
looks at Karen for a moment, unsure of 
how to answer. She gives him a gentle 
nod of encouragement. "Well," he starts, 
"I'm not a big fan of surprise hugs or 
pats on the back, especially when I'm 
working or thinking hard. But a hand on 
my shoulder or a quiet 'I love you' is 
always nice."

Chip nods, processing the information. 
"So, like when you're stressed, I should 
just tell you I love you?"

Plankton's antennae wobble with the 
weight of his nod. "Yes," he says. "That's 
right. Just remember, buddy, everyone 
shows love differently."

Karen's eyes are filled with hope as she 
watches the conversation unfold. It's not 
perfect, but it's a start. A start to 
understanding and acceptance.

"And if you need more than that, 
Daddy?" Chip asks, his voice small but 
earnest.

Plankton looks at him, his antennae 
moving in a way that Karen can't quite 
read. "If I need more than that," he says, 
"I'll tell you. Or Mommy will help you 
understand."

Chip nods, taking another sip of his 
juice. "Ok," he says, his voice small. 
"But what if I don't know what to say?"

Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly, and 
he looks down at his plate. "That's ok, 
Chip," he says. "Sometimes, just sitting 
with me is enough."

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore ix

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM i

(Autistic author)

"I've waited long enough, I 
better go check..." Karen 
says to herself. Sheldon
Plankton, her husband, left 
earlier to attempt
to steal a krabby patty but he
hasn't returned.

Worried, she makes her way to the 
restaurant across the street.

Meanwhile, Mr. Krabs grabbed 
a fry pan and swung it at Plankton.

The sound of metal hitting flesh
echoed through the restaurant,
and Plankton crumpled to the ground.

Mr. Krabs, his eyes bulging with
triumph, looked down at the tiny,
unconscious form of his arch-nemesis.
"Gotcha, ya tiny troublemaker!" he
cackled, waving the fry pan above
his head like a trophy. The Krabby
Patty recipe remained safe, but 
Plankton's not. Karen heard the thud
from the hit and went in.

Her heart skipped a beat as she
saw Plankton sprawled out on the
floor, unmoving. She rushed over.

"Plankton!" Karen gasped, her voice
trembling with fear as she knelt beside
his tiny frame. He was out cold. 
She gently touched his
arm, hoping for a response, but there
was none. The fry pan lay a few
inches from his crumpled body, a silent
testament to the battle that had just
taken place.

The restaurant's usual
chaos was replaced with a tense
silence that seemed to thicken the air.
Mr. Krabs, still clutching the pan,
looked at Karen with a mix of pride
and wariness. His victory over Plankton
was clear, but he knew that this wasn't
the end of the feud between them.

Karen's eyes filled with tears as she
picked up her husband, cradling his
tiny body in her palm. His antennas
were limp, and his single eye was
closed. She clutched him tightly,
desperately.

"Wake up, Plankton," she whispered, her 
voice filled with urgency as she lightly 
shook. But Plankton remained 
unresponsive, his tiny body as lifeless 
as the seaweed that clung to the ocean 
floor. A cold fear gripped Karen's heart, 
turning her blood to ice. She had seen 
her husband in many predicaments, but 
never like this.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as 
she gently cradled him, his normally 
active form now still and heavy in 
her hand. The Krabby Patty recipe was 
the last thing on her mind; all she could 
think about was Plankton and the 
love they shared. The warmth of his 
body was fading, and with it, her 
hope.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Krabs said. 
"This is just business."

Karen's gaze snapped up, anger 
replacing fear. "This isn't just 
business, it's personal!" she exclaimed, 
her voice echoing through the restaurant. 
"You can't keep doing this to him!" 
Mr. Krabs took a step back, his 
claws clutching the fry pan tighter. 
"I didn't mean for it to go this far," 
he mumbled, his proud stance wavering.

Ignoring his words, Karen rushed 
to the door, cradling Plankton in 
her hand. She had to get him to the 
hospital. The local doctor was known 
to help all creatures, regardless of 
their intentions. The Bikini Bottom 
Hospital was the only 
place she could think of.

The emergency room was a 
flurry of activity, with fish and 
crustaceans of all shapes and sizes 
waiting for their turn. The 
bright, sterile lights reflected off 
the polished floors, and the smell of 
disinfectant stung her nostrils as she 
raced in. She didn't care about the 
stares or the whispers that followed 
them; all she cared about was 
getting Plankton the help he needed.

The receptionist, a sluggish sea star,
barely looked up from her crossword puzzle.
"Name?" she drawled.
"Plankton," Karen replied, her voice 
shaking with urgency. "He's been 
attacked."
The sea star's eyes widened, and she 
dropped her pencil. "Oh my!" 
she exclaimed before hitting a 
large, red button that read "Emergency." 
Immediately, the doors to the back 
swung open, and a team of medical 
professionals rushed out.

The doctor, a stern-looking 
octopus named Dr. Manowar, took 
Plankton from Karen's trembling hand.
"What happened?" he asks, tentacles
moving swiftly to check for 
vitals.
"Mr. Krabs...he hit him with a 
fry pan," Karen managed to say 
between sobs.

The doctor's expression softened,
his tentacles moving more gently.
"Bring him to room three, we'll take
care of him," he instructed the 
nurse, a concerned look crossing his 
face as he examined the unconscious 
Plankton.

Karen followed closely, her 
heart racing as the medical team 
whisked Plankton away into the 
depths of the hospital. The stark 
white walls and the beeping of 
machines filled her with dread, 
but she held onto the hope that 
Dr. Manowar could save him.

The doctor's tentacles 
worked swiftly, hooking up monitors
and administering a series of tests. 
Karen watched, her own breaths 
synchronizing with the rhythmic beeps.

The hospital room was small, 
the walls lined with various medical
instruments. 
The sterile smell was overpowering, 
but she focused on Plankton, willing 
his tiny body to stir. Dr. Manowar 
muttered under his breath, his 
expression a mask of concentration.


"Karen," he said, turning to face her, 
his tentacles stilled. "I need to run some 
more tests, but it doesn't look good. 
Your husband has a severe concussion 
and potential internal damage."
Her heart dropped, and she felt like the 
ocean had swallowed her whole. 
"What...what can you do?" she asked, 
desperation clinging to every word.

The doctor's expression remained 
steady, his eyes never leaving hers. 
"We'll do everything we can. But 
you should prepare for the worst."

Karen felt a wave of nausea wash 
over her. She couldn't lose 
Plankton. He was her partner in 
crime, her confidant, her soulmate.
"No," she 
whispered, her voice barely audible. 
"You can't give up on him."

The doctor nodded gravely. "I understand 
how you feel, but we must be realistic. 
Let's give him some time."

The nurse led Karen to a small 
waiting area outside the room, 
where she slumped into a chair. 
The clock on the wall ticked away 
the minutes, each second feeling like an 
eternity. The muffled sounds of the 
hospital - the beeping machines, the 
rush of footsteps, the hushed whispers - 
only served to amplify the deafening 
silence in her heart.

"Your husband is a 
miracle. The tests came back, and 
his injuries are less severe than 
we initially thought."

Karen's eyes widened in disbelief, 
then flooded with relief. "What does 
that mean?"

Dr. Manowar's tentacles unfurled 
as he spoke. "It means we can treat 
his injuries, but he'll need to rest 
for some time. However, during 
our examination, we noticed some 
unusual patterns in his behavior 
and brain activity."

Karen felt a sudden knot in her 
stomach. "What do you mean?"

"It seems that during the impact, 
Plankton's brain has undergone a 
significant change. He's showing 
symptoms consistent with a condition 
known as acquired Autism." Dr. Manowar 
explained, his tentacles folding 
into a comforting gesture.

Karen felt the world spin around her. 
"Autism?" she repeated, her voice 
barely above a whisper. "What does 
that mean for him?"

Dr. Manowar sighed, his tentacles 
waving gently. "It means his 
interactions and responses to his 
environment may be different now. 
It's permanently irreversible but you
can help by creating a calm environment."

Karen nodded, trying to digest 
the information. "What can I do?"
Her voice was small, trembling. 
The doctor's eyes softened. "Give him 
space, patience, and support. It'll be 
a journey of learning for both of you."

The doctor's words hung in the 
air like a fog, thick and impenetrable. 
Karen felt a weight settle in her 
chest, heavier than any she had 
ever known. The thought of 
Plankton being different, of not 
knowing how to communicate with 
the person she loved most, was 
almost too much to bear. But she 
swallowed her fear and nodded, 
determined to do whatever it took 
to help him.

"Thank you, Dr. Manowar," she 
whispered, her voice hoarse with 
emotion. "We'll get through this."
The doctor nodded solemnly before 
excusing himself to attend to other 
patients. Karen was left alone with 
her thoughts, the beeping of the 
machines the only company.

She took Plankton's hand in hers, 
feeling the coolness of his skin 
against her own. "Plankton," she 
whispered, her voice shaking. "You're 
going to be okay." She wasn't sure if 
he could hear her, but she needed 
to say it. To believe it. To feel the 
words in the air between them.

"I know you can't understand me 
right now," she continued, her voice 
barely above the steady beep of 
the monitors. "But I'm here. And 
I'll always be here for you."
Her eyes searched the room for 
anything that might bring comfort, 
but all she found was the cold 
reality of hospital life.

"When you wake up," she whispered, 
squeezing his hand slightly, "things 
might be different. But that's 
okay. We'll figure it out together."
The words sounded hollow in the 
small, sterile room, but she hoped 
they would reach him somehow.

As the hours passed, Karen's mind 
raced with questions. How would 
this change their lives? Could they 
still scheme together? Would he 
even remember their love for 
each other? She pushed the thoughts 
aside, focusing instead on the gentle 
rise and fall of his chest, a sign that 
he was still fighting.

Suddenly, Plankton's single eye 
flitted open, looking around the 
room with a dazed expression. 
"Karen?" he croaked, his voice weak 
and unsteady.

"Plankton!"
she exclaimed, her voice a mix of 
relief and hope. He was awake! 
"I'm here, my love."

new a journey to autism headinjuryposting autismcore plaren i

givesmehope:

I met a 16 year old genius who was in medical school, studying to be a pediatric neurosurgeon.

He put every dollar he made at his job into a retirement fund. Why? He wanted to be able to retire at age 30, so that he could spend the rest of his life performing brain surgeries for free.

His philanthropy GMH.

Mar 5 2010

new surgerycore braincore medicalcore schoolcore

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iii
(Autistic author)

"Now let's go 
to the living room 
and I'll go pick up
a smoothie for you.
Can you stay here by
yourself?"

He nodded, his 
expression slightly 
less tense.

"I'll be back 
soon," she assured him, 
squeezing his 
shoulder before 
leaving the 
Chum Bucket.

Just moments later, 
Karen's friend Hanna
came for a surprise
visit. She knew Karen
had a husband named
Plankton, but she never
met him. Plankton was 
now back on the
living room couch.

"Oh, you must be 
Plankton!" Hanna 
exclaimed.

Plankton's eye 
flitted to her, 
his expression 
unreadable.

Hanna walked 
over to the couch, 
her smile wide and 
genuine. "It's so 
nice to finally 
meet you," she said, 
embracing him in
a hug.

Plankton stiffened, 
his eye wide with 
surprise. 
His body tensed, 
his mind racing 
to process this 
new sensory input.

"You ok?" Hanna 
asked, pulling back 
slightly. She had 
noticed his reaction 
but didn't know 
the reason behind 
it.

Plankton nodded, his 
eye darting around 
the room again. 
He wasn't used to 
such spontaneous 
affection, and the 
unexpected sensation 
of Hanna's arms around 
him had thrown him 
off balance.

"Yes, I am Plankton," 
he murmured, his 
voice monotone. 
He wasn't quite 
sure how to respond.
Hanna's smile didn't 
waver, unaware of 
the turmoil within 
his mind. "How are 
you feeling today?"
Plankton's gaze 
flicked to the 
ceiling, his mind 
racing to find 
the right words.

"Today, feeling," 
he echoed, his voice 
still a whisper. 
The repetition 
was a comfort, a 
way to process the 
flood of sensory 
information that 
assaulted him 
continuously.

Hanna looked at 
him with a 
puzzled expression.

"You know, your 
wife Karen tells me 
you're an inventor,"
she said, her tone 
innocently curious.

Plankton's eye 
locked onto hers, 
his mind racing 
to understand 
the context of her 
words. "Inventor," 
he repeated, his voice 
flat. It was a word 
he knew, but it 
felt foreign 
now, as if it belonged 
to someone else.

"Yes, inventor," 
Hanna said, nodding 
enthusiastically. "I've 
heard so much 
about your gadgets 
and contraptions. 
What are you working 
on these days?"

Plankton's eye 
flitted around the 
room again, 
his mind struggling 
to grasp the 
concept of 'working'. 
"Gadgets, contraptions," 
he murmured, his voice 
a broken record.

Hanna's expression 
was one of 
confusion, her smile 
beginning to fade. 
"Well, what do you do 
all day?" she 
prodded gently, 
trying to coax him 
out of his silence.

Plankton's 
reply was 
immediate and 
robotic, "Do, all day, 
all day."

Hanna's brow 
furrowed, 
uncertain how 
to interpret 
his repetitive 
response. She had 
known Karen for 
years, but Plankton's 
behavior was unlike 
anything she had 
ever heard of her 
friend's husband.

"Do you like 
the beach?" she 
asked, hoping to 
engage him in 
conversation.

Plankton's eye 
blinked slowly, 
his mind processing 
the question. 
"Beach," he echoed, 
his voice hollow.

Hanna nodded, 
encouraged by his 
response. "Yes, the 
beach! It's such a 
beautiful place. Do 
you ever go there?"

Plankton's gaze 
shifted to the 
window, the 
memory of sand 
and surf a distant 
whisper. "Go, beach, 
beautiful place," he 
said, his words a 
stuttered echo of hers.

Hanna's smile 
dimmed slightly. 
This wasn't the 
witty banter she 
was expecting from 
Karen's husband. 
"Is there anything 
you'd like to talk 
about?" she asked, 
uncertain.

Plankton's eye 
moved to hers, 
his gaze intense. 
"Talk," he repeated, 
his voice a 
whisper.

Hanna felt a 
twinge of 
discomfort. Something 
was off about 
his responses, but 
she couldn't quite 
put her tentacle on 
what it was. 
"Well, what do you 
like to do for fun?" 
she tried again, her 
tone tentative.

Plankton's eye 
wandered back to 
his own hand, 
fidgeting with his 
fingers. "Do, fun," 
he murmured, the 
words a reflexive 
response to the 
question.

Hanna's eyes 
narrowed slightly. 
"What do you do for 
fun?" she clarified, 
wondering if he had 
simply misunderstood.

Plankton's gaze 
remained on his 
fidgeting hand, 
his mind racing 
to connect the 
concept of 'fun' with 
his new reality.
"Do, fun," he 
repeated, his voice 
devoid of the 
mirth he once 
expressed so freely.

Hanna's smile 
was now forced, her 
confusion growing 
with each 
interaction.

"Plankton, can you 
tell me what you 
enjoy doing?" she 
asked, hoping for 
a clearer response.

He looked up at 
her, his gaze 
slightly less 
focused than before. 
"Enjoy doing," he 
repeated, his voice 
a faint echo.

Hanna's 
twitched with 
concern. "You know, 
like hobbies or 
interests," she 
prompted gently, 
trying to keep her 
voice light.

Plankton's eye 
moved back to 
his fidgeting hand, 
his mind a 
whirlwind of 
thoughts and 
sensory overload. 
"Hobbies, interests," 
he murmured, his 
voice a hollow echo.

Hanna's concern 
was now clear 
on her screen.

"You know, like 
things you like 
to do in your free 
time," she tried again, 
her voice a little 
less bright.

Plankton's eye 
latched onto hers. 
"Free time," he 
repeated, his voice 
a monotone. "Like to 
do."

Hanna's eyes 
widened slightly, 
her confusion 
growing with each 
word he said. 
"Yes, exactly," she 
nodded, her voice 
a little more 
cautious now. "What 
do you like to do 
in your free time?
Well, other than 
repetition.." She 
awkwardly laughs
as she elbows him
multiple times, not 
knowing how her
touch is irritating
Plankton.

Plankton's getting
more frustrated/angry
now, as Hanna goes
to pat his shoulder.
He can't take much 
more now.

Hanna's touch 
was like a brand, 
searing his already 
overwhelmed senses. 
He flinched away, 
his body rigid with 
tension.

"Plankton, are 
you ok?" Hanna 
asked, her voice 
filled with 
concern. She noticed 
his discomfort but 
couldn't pinpoint the 
cause.

He nodded 
slightly, his 
expression unreadable. 
"Ok, ok," he 
mumbled, his voice 
still a monotone.

Hanna looked 
at him with 
concern, her 
smile slipping. 
"Karen said you 
used to be quite 
the conversationalist. 
What happened?" She
says, grabbing his
elbow; but that's the
last straw for Plankton.

Plankton's 
eye snapped up to 
hers, his voice 
sharp. "What happened?
You happened!" He 
snapped, his words 
sharp as a knife. 
The sudden aggression 
in his tone 
was like a slap in 
the face, catching 
Hanna off guard.

She took a step 
back. "I'm sorry, 
I didn't mean to..."
she began, but Plankton 
was on a roll now.

"You don't know 
what happened!" 
his voice grew 
louder, his words 
quickening with 
each syllable. "You 
don't know anything!"

Hanna's eyes went 
wide with shock. 
This was not the 
Plankton Karen had 
described. Her arms 
flailed in the air as 
she tried to placate 
his sudden anger. 
"I'm sorry, Plankton. 
I just didn't know..." 

new neurobehavioral plankton neurodivergentcore iii

JUST A TOUCH ix
(Autistic author)


Plankton's antennae quiver with
frustration. "It's about the order,"
he repeats, his voice strained.
"Everything needs order."

Squidward sighs, his tentacles
flapping in exasperation. "Look,
I don't know what's gotten into
you, but we need to get these
dishes done, and we can't do that
if you're going to micromanage
every single one!"

Plankton's antennae droop.
"Needs thorough..."

Squidward throws his tentacles
up in the air. "I don't care
about your 'thoroughness' right
now!" he exclaims. "Just let me do
my job!"

Plankton's antennae flatten.
"No!" he shouts, his voice echoing
off the stainless steel walls.

Squidward turns, his tentacles
poised for a fight. "What is your
problem?" he snaps. Plankton's
eye darts around, his heart racing.
He can't explain the sudden
urgency, the need for order that's
consuming him. The need to be
perfectly cleansed without blemish.

"It's just... it's just..." Plankton
stammers, his antennae drooping.

Squidward's eyes narrow, his
tentacles still. "What's the matter
with you?" he asks, his voice
edged with irritation. Plankton
swallows, his throat tight. "Needs
good.."

But before he can say more,
his gaze locks onto a speck of
dirt on a plate. The world
around him fades away as he
reaches for it, his movements
slow and deliberate.

Squidward watches him, his
expression a mix of confusion
and annoyance. "What is
that?" he asks, his tone sharp.

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye focusing on the speck.
"Dirt," he whispers, his voice
laced with distress. "Has to be
gone." His hand shakes as he
reaches for the plate, his mind
consumed by the need to remove
the imperfection.

Squidward snatches the plate,
his tentacles firm. "It's just a
tiny speck!" he says, his voice
loud. Plankton's antennae shoot
up, his body stiffening. "Can't
have dirt," he murmurs.

The room seems to close in,
his heart hammering in his chest.
The need for order, for
everything to be just so, is a
wave crushing down on him.
Squidward's face swims in
his vision, a blur of impatience.
"Squidward," he says, his voice
steadying. "It's dirty."

Squidward's grip on the plate
doesn't waver. "It's not dirty,"
he says, his tone firm. "It's a
tiny speck."

But to Plankton, that speck
is a boulder, a symbol of the
chaos he can't control. His
antennas quiver as he stares
at the offending spot, his
breaths coming in short, sharp
gasps. The world narrows to just
the dish, the speck, and the
overwhelming need to erase it.

Squidward reaches out a tentacle,
to move him aside, reaching
to touch Plankton's shoulder. But
before he can make contact,
Plankton flinches, his eye
snapping up to meet Squidward's.

"Don't," he says, his voice
sharp. "No touch."
"Then move so I can mix
the dishes.."
The words hit Plankton like a
wave, sending him spiraling.
He can't explain it, but the
thought of Squidward's tentacle
touching him sends a shiver
down his spine. But the only
alternative is to result in
disordered dishes!

Squidward's grip on the plate
doesn't change, his tentacle
poised to push Plankton aside.
"Please," Plankton whispers, his
voice trembling. "No..."

SpongeBob watches from a
distance, his smile fading.
He's noticed the changes
in Plankton, the way his
movements have become so
precise, his speech so formal.
But he doesn't know what to say,
what to do.

Squidward's tentacle hovers,
his gaze flicking from the
plate to Plankton's face. "I'm
in charge, not you!" He says
shoving Plankton as he mixes
the dishes. That's it.

The room spins around Plankton,
his vision blurring with the
sudden assault. The clatter of
plates, the smell of grease,
the touch of Squidward's tentacle—
it's too much. His body reacts
before his brain can catch up, 
the partygoers' laughter
a distant echo in Plankton's ringing
ears.

"Plankton?" Squidward asks,
his voice a distant rumble as
SpongeBob comes in.

Plankton's vaguely aware of
his surroundings, but it's all just
white noise, his gaze going
blank as the absence seizure
starts up.

new just a touch neurodisability ix

JUST A TOUCH iii
(Autistic author)

 ¦ ᶠˡⁱⁿᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ

Once home, she helped him
settle into his favorite chair,
his eye scanning the room.
Everything was in its place,
exactly as he liked it. Karen
noticed his breathing slow
as the familiarity washed over
him. She knew that routine
and order could be vital to his
comfort now to avoid
triggering his anxiety.

Then suddenly, Plankton
began to rock back and forth.

Karen recognized the motion.
It was a new behavior, one
she hadn't seen before. His
body swayed with a rhythm that
matched the ticking of the
antique clock on the wall. "It's okay,
sweetie," she said, trying to keep
her voice steady. "We're home now."

The rocking grew more intense,
his eye darting around the room,
his antennae vibrating with each
back-and-forth movement. Karen's
mind raced, trying to remember
the doctor's words. Sensory
overload. He needed calm.

Swiftly, she dimmed the lights,
the neon signs from the Krabby Patty
franchise across the street casting
soothing shadows through the windows.
The glow was just enough to
illuminate the space without
causing further distress, and
she watched as Plankton's rocking
subsided. She sat by him.

She grasped and squeezed
his shoulder. But
this time, he flinched.
"Plankton?" she asked,
concern etching her voice.
He pulled away from her,
his antennae dropping to
his side.

The doctor had
mentioned that some with
autism might have heightened
sensitivity to touch.
Karen felt a knot in her
stomach. "What if he
doesn't like me touching
him anymore?" she thought.
"What if I can't comfort
him when he's upset?"

She decided to
test the waters gently.
Reaching out, she lightly
trailed her finger over his
hand. Plankton didn't react. Encouraged,
she placed her hand on
his shoulder again,
this time more softly.
He tensed, then relaxed.
It was progress.

"Let's start with simple touch,"
she said, her voice soothing.

The doctor had mentioned that
Plankton might be hypersensitive
to certain types of touch,
and Karen was determined to
navigate this new aspect of their
relationship with care. She placed
a gentle hand on his knee, and Plankton
flinched, his antennae retreating.

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice
as soothing as a lullaby. "It's just me, Karen."
Her hand hovered over his, unsure
of the best way to provide comfort.

Karen took a deep breath,
deciding to try again. This time,
she approached with care, her touch
feather-light, gliding over his hand
like the softest of sea breezes.

Plankton's antennae twitched, and
his gaze remained on her hand,
watching the movement as if it were
the most fascinating thing he had
ever seen. Gradually, the tension in
his body eased, and his hand
lifted to meet hers. It was a tentative
touch, his fingers brushing against
hers, testing the waters.

Karen felt a rush of
relief. "See, it's okay," she murmured,
keeping her voice low and even.
Plankton's hand was cold, his grip
firm but not painful. His eye
locked onto hers, searching for
reassurance.

Slowly, she began to stroke his
hand with her thumb, applying
the slightest pressure. His breathing
evened out, his antennae rising slightly.
Encouraged, she tried a different
type of touch—a gentle squeeze.
This time, he didn't flinch. Instead,
his hand returned the gesture,
his own grip matching hers in strength.

Karen felt a flicker of hope.
"Maybe we can find a way
through this," she thought.

They sat in silence for
a few moments, their hands
entwined, as Karen tried to
think of the next step. The
doctor's words echoed in her
mind: find what works for him.

Gently, she began to rub
his hand, her thumb moving in
small, soothing circles. Plankton
seemed to find comfort in the
predictable pattern, his body
unwinding a fraction more.
Encouraged, Karen leaned in closer,
her other hand reaching out
to tap his shoulder. But as soon
as her hand made contact with
his skin, he jerked away, his
eye flashing with fear and
pain.

"I'm sorry," she said
quickly, her heart racing.
"I didn't mean to scare you."
Plankton stared at her, his
expression unreadable. "It's just,
sometimes touch feels..." His words
trailed off, and Karen felt her
own fear rising.

"Painful?" she guessed, her voice
trembling. Plankton nodded,
his antennae drooping. "Some
touches are okay, others..."
He paused, his eye darting
to his hand, which was still
wrapped around hers. "It's confusing."

Karen nodded, her heart
aching for him. She
knew she had to be more mindful
of his sensory needs. Carefully,
she pats his cheek with
the back of her hand, the lightest
of touches.

Plankton's antennae
flinched, but he didn't pull
away until she put both of
her hands on his shoulders. The
sudden pressure was too much,
like an electric shock. "Karen,"
he said, his voice tight with
discomfort, "too much."

Karen nodded, her
hands retreating to her lap.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice
small. "I didn't mean to..."

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye searching hers. "It's okay,
Karen," he said, his voice measured.
"But some touches are too much."

Karen nodded, her heart
heavy. She had so much to learn
about this new Plankton, this
person she knew so well yet
barely knew at all. "I'll be
more careful," she promised,
squeezing his hand gently.

Plankton's gaze remained
steady on hers, his expression
neutral. "Thank you, Karen,"
he said, giving her a side hug.

This was a Plankton she had
never seen before, one who
spoke in a staccato rhythm,
his movements precise and
calculated. Yet, in the safety
of their home, Karen saw
glimpses of the man she knew.

Her eyes fell upon a
pamphlet the doctor had
given her, titled 'Understanding
Neurodivergence'. She picked
it up and began to read.

The first few pages were
dedicated to explaining
what it meant to be neurodivergent,
how it wasn't an illness
but a natural variation in the
brain. Plankton's new
condition, Acquired Autism, was one of
the many spectrums that
fell under this umbrella.

Karen read through
the descriptions of different
behaviors, her eyes widening
as she recognized some
of the changes in Plankton—
his need for order, his heightened
sensitivity to stimuli, and his
newfound obsessions. The
pamphlet explained that these were
common in individuals with
his condition and offered
optional suggestions for 
supporting them.

Her gaze fell upon a section titled
'Seizure Protocols'.

Karen's eyes widened as she
read about the different types
of seizures that could occur
due to neurodivergence.
Some were minor, like staring
spells, while others could be
more severe. Her heart raced
as she thought of Plankton,
his body stiffening and shaking.
The pamphlet recommended to
keep any sharp or harmful
objects away from him. It was
important not to restrain him,
but instead, to gently guide him
to the floor if necessary.

The next section discussed
how to communicate with someone
on the spectrum. It suggested
using clear, direct language,
avoiding sarcasm and idioms.
Karen realized that she would
have to learn a new way
of speaking with Plankton.

Her screen skimmed over
the pages, absorbing the
information like a sponge.
The pamphlet highlighted the
importance of individuality
and diversity, emphasizing
that Plankton's brain was not
broken, but simply wired differently.
This was a concept she had
heard of before, but it had
never hit so close to home.

The causes of neurodisability
varied widely, from genetics
to congenital to trauma.
One paragraph caught her
attention—brain injuries
could lead to conditions like
Acquired Autism. The words
swirled in her mind, a stark
reminder of the wrench that
had changed everything.

As Karen read on, she
learned about the complex
interplay of biological factors
and life experiences that can shape
a person's neurodivergence.
It was both overwhelming and
fascinating, a glimpse into a world
she had never truly understood.

new just a touch neurodivergentcore iii

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY i


(Autistic author)


Karen's husband, Plankton, was 
arguing with Mr. Krabs as usual. 
They've had their fair share of 
disputes over the years, but this 
one seemed to be escalating 
fast. Without warning, Mr. Krabs 
swung the stove from his kitchen 
with all his might. It connected 
with a sickening thud against 
Plankton's head. Karen gasped 
as her husband crumpled to the 
ground. Plankton's eye had rolled 
back and closed, his body going 
still as Mr. Krabs left back.

Karen knelt beside Plankton and 
gently tapped his cheek. "Wake up," 
she murmured, voice trembling. No 
response. She tried again, her voice 
a little louder. "Honey, can you hear 
me?" Plankton's eye remained 
closed, his antennae limp. Panic 
began to creep in.

Her mind raced with 
possibilities, each more 
frightening than the last. What if 
his tiny brain had been damaged? 
What if he was in a coma? What 
if he never woke up? She cradled 
his minuscule form.

The room grew 
silent as the gravity of the 
situation sank in, willing Plankton 
to stir. A tear trickled down her
screen.

Karen felt for a pulse. It was 
there, faint but steady. She let 
out a sigh of relief and picked 
his tiny body up, cradling him 
carefully. "I've got to get him to 
a doctor," she thought.

She held Plankton's hand as they
performed a brain scan.

Karen sat by her husband's side as the
machines around Plankton beeped and
whirred. The sterile smell of the
hospital filled, and the cold
white walls seemed to press in around
them. Plankton's lying still
on the hospital bed. A thick bandage
was wrapped around his head, and
various tubes connected him to
monitors that displayed a symphony
of lines and numbers, none of which
meant anything to her. She squeezed
his hand gently, willing him to wake
up.

The doctor walked into the room,
his lab coat fluttering slightly as
he moved. He held a clipboard
carefully in his tentacles, studying
the information with a furrowed
brow.

"Mrs. Plankton," he began, his voice
soft, "We've finished scans. The good
news is that it's not life-
threatening. However, we've noticed
some sustained atypical brain activity."

Karen's eyes widened. "What does that
mean?" she asked, her grip on
Plankton's hand tightening.

The doctor sighed, his expression
sympathetic. "Autism. His behavior may
change. He might become more focused
on his routines, have difficulty with
social interactions, and exhibit sensory
sensitivity. It's permanent, and no cure.
We expect him to wake up soon. We'll
ask him some questions to assess and
then you can take him home."

Karen felt her heart drop. She knew
about autism, had read about it in
magazines, but never thought it would
affect her own family. The doctor
left the room, and she was alone with
her thoughts, watching Plankton's chest
rise and fall as they remove the bandage.

The hours ticked by in agonizing
slowness as she sat there, praying
for him to wake up. The only sounds
were the rhythmic beeping of the
monitors and the occasional muffled
conversations from the hallway.

Finally, Plankton's eyelid fluttered.
He groaned softly, and his hand
twitched in hers. Karen leaned in,
hope surging through her. "Plankton?"
she whispered, her voice thick with
emotion as she smiled through her tears. 
"I'm here," she said, voice shaky. "You're in
the hospital, but you're ok."

Plankton's eye opened, squinting in the
bright lights. He looked around the room,
confusion etched on his tiny face.
Slowly, his gaze landed on Karen. "What
happened?" he croaked, his voice weak.

"Mr. Krabs hit you with a stove," Karen
explained, her voice a mix of relief
and sadness. "They diagnosed you with
acquired Autism."

The doctor approached with a gentle nod.
"Plankton, can you tell me your name?" he
asked, ready to jot down notes.

Plankton's eye searched the room, finally
settling on Karen. "Sheldon Jay Plankton."
Karen's grip on his hand tightened
offering silent encouragement.

The doctor nodded and proceeded with
questions. "Tell me
when you're born?"

"July 31, 1999 10:16.08 am ET!"

Karen felt a twinge of pride at her
husband's precise answer. The doctor
nodded, scribbling something on his
clipboard. "Tell me more about yourself.."

"More about yourself." Plankton echoed.

The doctor's offering 
a gentle smile. "Echolalia. It's a trait 
that's common in individuals with 
autism. It can help him process 
information. Well Plankton has no
need for therapy, yet you may want
to adjust your daily lives to 
accommodate. You're free to go!"

The drive back to the Chum Bucket was
silent, the weight of the diagnosis 
pressing down on Karen's shoulders. He
was quiet too, his eye fixed on the 
passing scenery. He didn't seem to 
notice the difference in himself, but 
Karen knew their lives were changed.

Once home, Karen helped Plankton into 
his favorite chair, surrounded by 
his inventions and gadgets. The room
was a mess, but it was his sanctuary, 
and she didn't want to disturb it. He 
seemed more at ease, his eye
flicking from one object to another 
with a sense of familiarity.

Would Plankton be the same? Would he
still laugh at her jokes, or get 
angry at the Krabby Patty secret 
formula?

Plankton remained silent, his gaze
still locked on his surroundings.
Karen felt a pang of worry. Would 
his obsessive nature become more
pronounced?

"It's getting late, Plankton."
Karen's voice was soft as she
guided him to their bedroom. He
followed without protest, his
movements mechanical. She helped
him into bed, pulling the blankets
up to his chin with a gentle
tuck.

Plankton lay there, staring at the
ceiling, his thoughts a swirl of
confusion. "Do you need anything?"
she asked, her voice a gentle hum in
the quiet room.

"Stay, Karen stay." He says.

Karen nodded, taking a seat
on the edge of the bed.

"Of course, I'll stay," she assured him,
trying to keep her voice steady. She took
his hand again, feeling the warmth of
his palm against hers. She didn't know
what the future held, but she knew she'd
be by his side.

As Plankton's breathing evened out into
the rhythm of sleep, Karen sat there,
watching him. She noticed how his grip on
her hand had loosened, but didn't dare
move.

The next day, Karen woke before
Plankton did.

She hovered over him, watching the
steady rise and fall of his chest.
How was she going to wake him up
without startling him?

She knew that sudden noises could be
overwhelming for him now. Karen took
a different approach. She stroked his 
arm with a feather-light touch. His eye
brow flinched.

Next, she tried speaking his name,
starting with a whisper and gradually
getting louder. "Plankton," she called,
"It's time to wake up." His eyelid
twitched, and he blinked his eye open.

He looked around. "Karen?" he 
asked. She nodded with a
smile.

"Good morning, honey," she said softly.
"How are you feeling?"

Plankton sat up slowly, his antennae
twitching as he took in his surroundings.
"Different," he murmured, rubbing his
temple.

"We're home,
Plankton. Remember what happened?"

He nodded, his eye glazed over
for a moment. "Krabs. The stove."

"Yes, but you're ok now," Karen
reassured, stroking his cheek with
her finger.

Plankton nodded again, his antennae
twitching nervously. Karen noticed that
his movements were more deliberate,
his gaze more intense. She decided to
keep things simple to avoid
overwhelming him with too much
information at once.

"Let's get breakfast," she
suggested. Plankton followed
her into the kitchen, his steps slower
than usual. The clanking of pans and the
sizzle of oil had always been a familiar
symphony in their home, but today it
felt alien, like a disturbance to his
newly heightened senses. Karen moved
around the kitchen with precision,
keeping the noises to a minimum.

As she prepared their meal, Plankton
stood by the counter, his gaze fixed.

"Breakfast is ready," she said, sliding
a plate of chum flapjacks in front of
him. The smell usually brought him
joy, but today it was overwhelming. 
Plankton took a step back.
Karen's smile faltered, realizing she
would have to adjust their meals.

"Would you like something else?" she
asked, her voice a soothing melody.

Plankton nodded, his gaze not
leaving the plate. "Different," he
whispered.

Karen knew she had to find
foods that wouldn't overstimulate. 
She placed the flapjacks aside
and found a jar of pureed peas and plain
yogurt. She hoped the blandness would
be more soothing.

Plankton's antennae twitched as he
came closer. He stared at the bowl
intently, then took a tentative spoonful.
The texture was soothing, and the color 
was calming. He ate slowly, each bite 
measured and deliberate.

Karen watched him
with love and concern. She
wanted to ask if he liked it, but she
knew better than to interrupt his focus.

Once Plankton had finished, he looked
up at her with a hint of a smile. "Good," 
he said. It was the closest thing to praise 
she had heard from him since the incident.

Karen cleared the table, her mind racing
with questions about what the future held.
How would Plankton's new autism affect
their daily lives?

"Now what would you like
to do, Plankton?" She asks.

He looks at her. "Read." 
The old spark seems to flicker back
to life, albeit with a different
intensity. Karen nods, leading him
back to his lab.

The room is a mess of wires and
gadgets, but Plankton moves through
it with purpose. He selects a
book from the shelf, a manual on
quantum physics that had been
collecting dust. His gaze flits
over the pages, absorbing
the information with fervor.

Karen watches him from a distance.
This was her Plankton, but also new. His
obsession with the Krabby Patty
formula had always been intense, but
now his focus was lasered in on
the book, his mind racing through
equations and theories.

The room was silent except for the
soft rustle of pages turning.
Plankton didn't look up from his
book, lost in a world of science and
theories. Karen knew she had to let
him be, to find his new normal.

new autism in the plankton family braincore headinjuryposting karen plankton neurodivergentcore i

JUST A TOUCH vii
(Autistic author)


The room is thick with
unspoken words as Sandy
slowly approaches the bed,
her movements calculated to
avoid overstimulating Plankton.
Her eyes are full of compassion,
but also fear of the unknown.

"Hi, Plankton," she says softly,
extending her hand with a gentle wave.
He flinches, his antennae quivering.
"Remember me?" Plankton's
brain processes her words, but
his response is delayed. He nods,
his movements mechanical.

Sandy sits on the edge
of the bed, her eyes never
leaving his. "How are you
feeling?" she asks, her voice
carefully modulated to avoid
causing him discomfort.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye darting to the side.
He doesn't look at her directly,
his gaze lingering on a spot
on the wall. "Fine," he says,
his voice devoid of inflection.

Sandy nods, her eyes
searching his for any sign
of the friend she knew. "It's
good to see you, Plankton."
Her words hang in the air,
their meaning lost in the
labyrinth of his new reality.

Karen watches them, her heart
in her throat. She can see
the effort Plankton is making
to engage with Sandy, the way
his antennae twitch with every
word spoken. It's a dance,
a delicate balance between
his need for solace and
his desire for connection.

Sandy's hand hovers
near his, her eyes questioning.
"Can I?" she asks, her voice
barely a whisper. Plankton's
gaze shifts to hers, his
expression unreadable.

Karen nods, giving her
permission. "Gently," she says,
a soft reminder. Sandy nods,
her hand inching closer to
his. Plankton's antennae
twitch slightly, his body
stiffening as her fingertips
brush against his.
But the moment their skin
makes contact, something
snaps within him. He jolts upright,
his antennae flailing as his eye
widen in panic.

"Too much," he cries out, his
voice a mix of fear and anger.
"Too much!" The room seems to
shrink around him, the walls
closing in with every beat of
his racing heart.

Sandy's eyes widen in shock,
her hand retreating quickly. "Plankton,"
she says, her voice calm. "It's okay."

But Plankton's not listening, his
body shaking with the force
of his emotions. "No!" he yells,
his voice echoing through the room.
"No touch!"

Sandy's face falls, her eyes
brimming with confusion and
hurt. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice
shaking. "I didn't mean to..."

But Plankton's in the throes
of a full-blown meltdown. His
tiny fists clench. "No touch!"
he repeats, his voice rising.

Karen's heart breaks
seeing the fear in Sandy's eyes,
but she understands the
importance of respecting
Plankton's boundaries. "We're
sorry, Plank..."

But Plankton's anger
interrupts her, his voice
sharp and intense. "No! No sorry!
Sandy touch no good!" His words
are a jumble of pain and
frustration, a stark contrast
to the controlled monotone
he'd used earlier.

Sandy's eyes fill with tears,
her hand retreating to her lap.
"I'm sorry," she whispers,
her voice cracking. "I didn't
know." Karen nods, her grip
on Plankton's hand tightening.

"It's okay," she says to both
of them, her voice steady.
"We're just figuring this out."
Plankton's chest heaves with
breaths. "No touch," he
mutters, his voice fading.

Sandy nods, her eyes
still on Plankton. "I'm
sorry," she repeats, her voice
softer. "I'll..."

But Plankton's outburst
continues, his voice rising. "No touch!"
The room vibrates with his
distress, the air thick with
his panic. Karen's heart races,
her mind racing to find a way
to soothe him. She knows he's
overwhelmed, that his new
hypersensitivity to touch has
been violated.

Sandy's eyes widen, her
hands hovering awkwardly in
the space between them. She
can see the turmoil in his
face, the anguish in his voice.
"I didn't mean to..." she starts,
but her words are swallowed
by his distress.

"Plankton, it's okay,"
she says, her voice barely
above a whisper. But it's too
late. The dam has broken,
and his emotions flood the
room like a storm.

His tiny body trembles with
rage, his antennae flailing in
every direction. "No touch!"
he screams again, the force
of his voice surprising even
Sandy. She jumps back,
hands raised in a gesture
of surrender.

Karen's eyes are on Plankton,
a silent apology in her gaze.
"It's okay," she says to him,
her voice soothing. "We'll
make sure that doesn't
happen again." Plankton's
eye darts around the room,
his breathing erratic. "No touch,"
he whispers, his voice
broken.

Sandy backs away, her eyes
swimming with unshed tears.
"I didn't know," she says,
her voice thick. "I'm so sorry."

The room echoes with Plankton's
sobs, his body quaking in Karen's
arms. Karen's heart
aches for him, her eyes never leaving
his face.

"No touch," he whispers, his voice
broken. Karen nods, her eyes brimming
with tears. "I know," she says, her voice
gentle. "It's okay. We'll figure this out."

Plankton's antennae stop flailing,
his body still trembling as the storm
of his emotions begin to subside. He
looks up at Karen, his gaze searching
for comfort. She wipes a tear from her
face with her free hand. "It's okay,"
she repeats. "You're okay."

Sandy's eyes are red, her
shoulders slumped. "I didn't know,"
she says again, her voice shaking.
"I just wanted to help."

Karen nods, her own eyes
wet with empathy. "I know," she says.
"It's a lot to take in."

The three of them sit
in the quiet room, the only
sound Plankton's muffled sobs.
Sandy's eyes dart around,
not knowing what to do with
herself. Karen squeezes
his hand gently, her gaze
never leaving his. "We're
here for you," she whispers.

Slowly, Plankton's crying
subsides, his body still
shaking. Karen can feel the
tension in him, like a coiled
spring ready to snap again.
Sandy's hand twitches, as if
she wants to reach out, but
she stops herself, remembering
his outburst. "I'm sorry,"
she says again, her voice
small.

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "It's not
your fault," she says to
Sandy, her voice gentle.
"We're all just trying to
navigate this new... reality."
Sandy sniffs, nodding.

"I just want to be here
for you guys," she says, her
voice shaky. Plankton's
sobs quiet, his body
slumping in exhaustion.

Karen nods, her eyes
meeting Sandy's. "We know,
and we appreciate it," she
says, her voice tight. "But we
have to be careful with
his sensory needs."

Sandy nods, her
face a mask of sorrow. "I'll
learn," she whispers. "What do
you need from me, Plan..."

But Plankton's already
slipping away, his eyelid
drooping as sleep beckons.
Karen's grip on his hand
doesn't loosen as she watches
his breathing even out. The
tension in the room slowly
eases as his body relaxes,
his sobs giving way to quiet
snuffles.

Sandy's eyes are on him,
her heart heavy with guilt.
"I'll go," she says, her voice
barely above a whisper. Karen
nods, her gaze still on Plankton.
"Thank you," she murmurs. "Call
me if you need anything."

Sandy nods, her eyes
lingering on the two of them
before she stands, her legs shaky.
She crosses the room, the weight
of her mistake dragging her
down. As she reaches the door,
she glances back one last time.
Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly in his sleep, and she
can't help but feel a pang
of sadness.

Karen's eyes follow her,
filled with a mix of
gratitude and sorrow.
"Thank you," she whispers
again as Sandy exits,
closing the door behind her.
The click echoes through
the quiet space, a stark
reminder of the distance
that's grown between
them all.

Plankton's grip on her
hand tightens slightly in his
sleep, as if sensing the
shift in the room's energy.
Karen brings her other hand
to cover his, sandwiching
it between hers. Her eyes
well with tears as she
whispers, "It's okay, Plankton.
You're okay."

The room is bathed in silence
once again, the only sound
being Plankton's gentle
snores. Karen's mind is racing,
thinking of all the
adjustments they'll need to
make, the education she'll
have to provide to those
who know and love him. But
for now, she focuses on the
warmth of his hand in hers,
his head buried in her shoulder.

Her eyes drift to the clock,
the hands moving in a slow,
steady march forward. It's time
for her to start dinner,
to bring some semblance of
normalcy back into their lives.
Gently, she shifts Plankton to
his side, making sure he's
comfortable before rising
from the bed.

The kitchen is a minefield
of potential triggers: the
hum of the fridge, the clink
of pans, the smell of
cooking food. She moves
carefully, her eyes scanning
the room for anything that
might overstimulate him.

The recipe she's chosen is
simple, something they both
enjoy. She starts the prep,
chopping vegetables with a
precision that Plankton would
appreciate, her movements
methodical and calming.

The aroma of cooking food
fills the air, a comforting
reminder of their shared life.
Karen's mind is a whirlwind
of thoughts, planning how
to help Plankton navigate this
new world. She wipes her
hands on a towel.
As she hears Plankton's tentative
steps on the stairs, she takes a
deep breath. His descent is
slow, each step measured
with caution.

When he enters the kitchen,
his gaze darts around the room,
his antennae twitching with
each new sound. Karen's heart
squeezes. She's used to his
energy, his boundless enthusiasm.
This cautious creature is still
his shell-shocked self.

"Hungry?" she asks, her voice
as soft as the evening light.
Plankton nods.

The meal is a simple one,
a familiar comfort in a world
that's become so alien. Karen
places the plate before him,
the steaming food a visual
symphony of their shared past.

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his gaze fixating on the plate.
"Food," he says, his voice
still monotone. Karen nods,
aching for the
passionate foodie she knew.

"Do you need anything
else?" she asks, her voice
soft. He shakes his head.

The meal is eaten in
silence, each bite a victory. Karen wants
to say something, anything,
but she knows he needs
space, time to process the
whirlwind of emotions.

new just a touch neurodisability vii

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT iii


(Autistic author)



The door creaks
open, and Karen turned to see
Hannapoking her
head in. Hanna's never met Plankton.

"Hi, Karen," Hanna called,
warm and cheerful. "How's the
Chum Bucket running today?"

Karen forced a smile
at the sight of Hanna.
She hadn't told anyone about
Plankton's condition yet. "Oh, you 
know," she said,
trying to keep her tone light. "Just
another day."

Plankton's eye snapped up at
the sound of Hanna's voice, his
gaze intense. Karen felt a flicker
of anxiety. Would he be able to
handle the unpredictability of
a guest?

"Plankton, this is Hanna," Karen
introduced.
"Hanna, this is my husband, Plankton.
I’m going to clean up the yard."

As Karen left, Hanna's screen lit up.
"The one and only!"
she exclaimed, moving in for
a hug. 
Plankton recoiled at the
sudden physical contact.

"No touch,"
he said, a sudden
snap of command. 

Hanna, taken aback, froze. "Oh, I-I'm
sorry," she stammered.

"No touch," he repeated in a way that was
both defensive and pleading.

Hanna took a
step back, her smile faltering.
Plankton's eye darted around the
room, his breaths shallow and
quick. The sudden intrusion into
his personal space had triggered
a storm of sensory overload, his
brain struggling to process the
unexpected contact.

"I'm sorry," Hanna began. "No touch!"
His voice was a whipcrack in the
silence, his body tensing.

Hanna's smile had disappeared
completely, replaced by a look of
confusion and concern. "Plankton,
I didn't mean to upset you," she said.
"Can we start over?"

But Plankton's agitation only
grew. "No touch!" he snapped
again. Hanna took in his
distress.

"I'm sorry," she
stuttered, her voice tentative.

But Plankton's gaze remained
fixed on the spot where her hand
had been, his body a taut wire of
frustration. "No touch," he murmured,
his voice a mix of anger and fear.

Hanna's trying to
understand, her own emotions a
whirlwind of confusion and
concern. "I didn't know."

"No touch,"
he whispered.

"What's
going on, Plankton?" she asked. 
"You're
scaring me."

"No touch," he
repeated, his body now vibrating
with tension.

Hanna felt her own
frustration rising. "I said sorry,"
she retorted, her voice rising. "What
more do you want?"

Plankton's antennae shot up,
his whole body quivering.
"Understand!" he bellowed, the
word no longer a mere echo
but a demand. "Understand!"

"Plankton,
what's happening to you?"

"Understand," he spat. "Need to... 
understand!"

"I don't get it,
Plankton," she said. "What do
you want from me?"

"No touch!"
he shouted. The cucumber
slices bounced off the plate,
scattering across the floor.

"What's wrong
with you?" she demanded, her own
anger rising. "Why
are you acting like this?"

But Plankton's rage had
overtaken him, his need to be
understood like a wildfire in his
mind. "Need to... understand!"
he yelled, his voice a desperate
cry in the storm of his emotions.

Hanna felt a wave of anger
crash over her. "I don't get it!"
she exclaimed, voice rising.
"What's your problem?"

"No touch!" he screamed again,
his body a coil of tension.

"Why are you acting like this?"
she demanded, her voice sharp.
"What's wrong with a simple
hello?"

Plankton's head snapped up, his
eye locking onto hers. "Wrong,"
he said, the word a hiss. "Wrong!"

"What do you mean, 'wrong'?"
she challenged. "You're the one
freaking out over a hug!"

But Plankton was lost in
his own world, his brain struggling
to make sense of the chaotic
sensory input. "No touch," he
repeated. "Need... to...
understand!"

"I've had enough
of this!" she shouted, her fists
clenching. "What is your
problem?"

Plankton's eye darted around
the room, his thoughts a blur of
past and present. "Problem,"
he murmured. His hand shot out,
slapping the cucumber plate off
the table, the shatter of porcelain
sharp in the silence. 
"Wrong," he murmured again, his
voice a mix of anger and despair.
"Need... to... understand."

Hanna's own anger grew with
each repetition, her voice rising.
"I'm not the one with a problem!"
she shot back. "You're the
one who can't even handle a
hug!"

"Understand!" he
shouted, his body shaking. "Need
to understand!" His hand slammed
on the table again, knocking
over their drinks. The room was
now a battlefield of emotions,
each collision sending shockwaves
through the air.

Hanna's frustration boiling over. "What's
your deal, Plankton?" she spat,
each syllable laced with anger.

But Plankton's fury was a
volcano erupting, his voice a
guttural roar. "Wrong!" he shouted.
"Wrong!" He hugs his knees and
started to rock in stimming,
his body a maelstrom of sensory
overload.

Hanna, unable to comprehend
his distress, felt her own anger
flare. "What's your deal?"
she yelled. "Why can't you just
act normal?"

Plankton's world was
spinning, his senses assaulted by
the sharpness of Hanna's tone.
"No touch," he murmured, his voice
a plea lost in the din of his
thoughts.

Hanna's screen flashed with
irritation. "I said I'm sorry," she
snapped, her voice like a whip.
"What more do you want?"

"No touch,"
he repeated, his voice a
desperate cry for understanding
as he rocked.

Hanna's confusion grew
with each repetition, her
patience wearing as thin as
the tension in the room.
"Why are you doing this?"
she shouted, her voice a
mirror of his own frustration.

Plankton's body was a
tangle of emotion, his
limbs flailing in a desperate
attempt to communicate.
"Wrong," he said, his voice
a tornado of pain. "Need... to...
understand!"

Hanna took a step
back, her face a mask of
disbelief. "What's gotten into
you?" she demanded, her own
anger a match to his. "I didn't
do anything wrong!"

Plankton's eye grew wild, his
body jerking as he tried
to find the words to explain his
pain. "Wrong," he insisted,
his voice a tornado of
frustration. "Need to... understand!"

Hanna's own anger grew
sharp as a knife. "What's your
problem, Plankton?" she yelled.
"You're acting like a maniac, I don’t 
know why Karen puts up with this!"

“Karen?” Plankton shook.

The question hung in the air, a
challenge thrown down, a spark in
his eye. Hanna's anger grew,
her voice a crescendo of accusation.
"Your wife loved you, Plankton,
despite your... quirks. Can't you
just be grateful for that? Can’t you
see how much she's trying?"

But Plankton's fury was
a hurricane, his thoughts a
whirlwind of confusion. "Wrong!"
he shouted, his body rigid. "Need
to understand!" The room
vibrated with his pain, his
need to communicate the
storm raging within him.

Hanna's a
gale force of accusation. "What's
your problem?" she screamed,
each word a shard of ice. Plankton's
eye darted around the room,
his antennae trembling with the
overwhelming noise. “If only
Karen knew what a monster
you really are, perhaps she
would leave you!” She yells
loud enough to alarm Karen.

Her words hit him like a
tidal wave, crashing over his
already fractured reality. The
world around him grew distant,
his eye glazed over as he tried to
process the onslaught of emotions.
His body froze, every muscle
locked in place.

Karen, drawn by the commotion,
rushed back inside
with dread. She took in the scene
with a gasp, Hanna's screen flushed with 
anger, Plankton's body
a statue of despair. "What's happening?"
she demanded, her screen flicking
from one to the other.

Hanna's gaze met hers, her
voice filled with exhaustion. "Your
husband just lost it
over a simple hug," she told, her
hands still shaking.

Karen took in Plankton's rigid
form. "Oh no," she murmured,
as Hanna notices Plankton and
his unblinking stare.

"What's wrong with him?" Hanna
asked, her anger dissipating in
the face of his sudden stillness.
Karen's with
concern as she rushed to his side.
"It's ok, I've got you."

Plankton's body remained
stiff, his eye unblinking as he
froze in place. Hanna took in
his pallor, the starkness of his
features against the chaos of
the room. "What's going on?"
she whispered, the fight draining
from her voice.

Karen's screen met hers,
desperation etched into her
features. "Hanna, what did
you say to him?" she
pleaded, her voice a
symphony of fear.

Hanna's expression softened
at the sight of Plankton's
frozen form. "I... I didn't
mean to upset him," she
stuttered, her words tripping
over themselves. "I just gave
him a hug, and he went crazy.
He kept saying 'no touch' and
'need to understand'. And I told
him you deserve better, that's all."

Karen's feeling shattered
at the revelation.

Her eyes filled with tears
as she took in Plankton's
lifeless form. “Hanna, tell
me what exactly you said to
about him..”

Hanna, her anger
now replaced with a deep
sorrow, recounted their
interaction, her words
falling like heavy rain.
Karen listened, upsettingly
sinking with each syllable.

"He said 'no touch',
right?" Karen whispered, her
voice a thread of hope. "It's his
way of saying he's overwhelmed."

Hanna nodded, her anger
giving way to worry. "Yes, and
he kept repeating 'need to
understand'. I didn't know what to
do and got frustrated with him, and
I said you deserve a better life."

Karen's gaze never left
Plankton's still form as she
absorbed Hanna's words. The
doctor's voice echoed in her mind:
his autism wasn't a choice,
it was his reality.

"Hanna, please," she said, her
voice a whisper of despair. "He's
not a monster, he's just
different." Hanna's expression
softened, her own filling
with regret.

"I'm sorry, Karen," she said,
her voice a quiet apology. "I
should have known better."

Karen's gaze remained
locked on Plankton, her heart
racing. She knew she had to
help him, had to bring him back
from the edge of this sensory
apocalypse. "It's ok," she
murmured, her voice a gentle
whisper. "It's ok."

Her hand reached out to him,
a bridge of comfort in the
storm of his overwhelmed mind.
"Look at me, Plankton," she
soothed, her voice a soft
lullaby. "I'm here. It's just us."

Slowly, his gaze shifted to her,
his pupil contracting in the
face of her calm. "It's okay,"
she whispered. "You're okay."

new no less to be different neurodivergentcore hanna

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY ii
(Autistic author)

The next morning, Karen woke up to
find Plankton still asleep, his hand
still clutching hers. She gently
pulled her hand away and stood up.

Plankton's snores echoed 
through the quiet room. Karen 
studied his peaceful expression, his 
features softer in sleep, and felt a
surge of affection for the man she
had married so many years ago.

In the cold light of day, the reality
of his condition settled in. 
He was different, but she 
would not let that change the way
she saw him. As a robot, Karen
understood the importance of
adjusting to new situations, and
this was no exception.

As Plankton stirred, she quickly
moved to his side, ready to face
whatever challenges the day 
might bring. His eye opened,
looking around the room
before settling on her.

"Karen," he said, his voice
still flat, but with a hint of
recognition.

"Good morning, Plankton," she
replied.
This was their first day facing
his autism together, and she had
spent the night
preparing.

Plankton sat up, his eye
locking onto hers. "Morning," he
repeated. His movements were
slow, deliberate, as if his brain
was processing each action. "Would
you like some breakfast?" she asked.

He nodded.
"No vault," he murmured, and she
could see the beginnings of a frown.
Karen nodded, knowing that
his obsessions might become more
pronounced. "It's okay," she said.
"We don't need the vault."

Plankton's eye searched her face,
his expression unreadable. "No
vault," he repeated, his voice
rising slightly. "Good."

Karen nodded. "Let's start the
day," she suggested, trying to
shift the focus. She led him to the
tiny kitchen area, the smell of
chum wafting through the air.

Plankton followed her, his steps
measured and precise. His gaze
flitted around the room, taking
in every detail. 

"Would you like eggs or chum?"
she asked.
"Both," he said, his voice clearer 
than before.

Karen nodded, cracking an egg
over the sizzling pan. Plankton sat
at the table, rocking back and forth
slightly. It was clear that
his senses were heightened, every
sound and smell more intense than
before.

"Here's your breakfast, Plankton,"
she said, placing the plate in front
of him. His gaze fixated on the
food, his eye narrowing as if
studying a complex puzzle. "Thank
you," he said, the words coming out
mechanically.

But as Karen stirred the chum and
eggs together, something shifted in
his demeanor. He stiffened in his
chair, his rocking coming to an
abrupt halt. "What's wrong?" she
asked, noticing the sudden change.

Plankton's eye grew wide. "No," he
whispered, his voice strained. "Not
together. Separate," he
demanded, his voice growing more
urgent.

Karen paused, her circuits racing.
"I'm sorry," she said gently. "I'll
fix it." She carefully scraped the
food onto two separate places, one
with egg, one with chum. She placed
it in front of him, hoping she
was interpreting his needs correctly.

Plankton stared. "Different plate,"
he murmured. "And a new spoon.
And new eggs not touching new chum."

Karen nodded, quickly moving to
comply with his requests. She knew
that routines and sensory preferences
could be crucial for individuals with
autism, and she wanted to make sure
his first breakfast post-diagnosis was
as comfortable as possible. She
replicated his meal with meticulous
precision, ensuring every detail was
exactly as he had specified, ridding of
the old food.

The new plate was set before him,
the eggs and chum neatly separated.
Plankton's shoulders relaxed slightly.
He picked up the spoon, his gaze
intensely focused on the task at
hand. Karen watched as he took a
tiny bite in what seemed like pleasure.

"Good?" she ventured.

Plankton nodded, his eye not
leaving the plate. "Good," he echoed,
his voice still monotone.

Karen observed him as he
methodically ate his breakfast,
each bite the same size, each chew
lasting the same amount of time.
It was fascinating and slightly
disconcerting to watch the man
she knew so well now engaging with
the world in such a different way.

Plankton's routine was always
important, but now it had taken
on a new level of significance.
The clink of the spoon against the
plate was the only sound in the
room, the rhythm of it almost
hypnotic. 

As Plankton finished his meal,
his head snapped up, his gaze
sharp and focused on her. "Karen,"
he said, his voice now clear and
concise.

"Yes, Plankton?" she replied,
wiping down the counter.

"Thank you," he said, his eye
fixed on the now-empty
plate.

Karen nodded, taking the
dishes to the sink. She could feel
his eye on her as she moved about
the room, the weight of his
silence a stark contrast to his
usual incessant chatter. She knew
that autism would bring
challenges, but she was
determined to be there for him.

new karen and the autistic journey breakfastcore ii

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY iv
(Autistic author)

Sandy feels the full weight
of her words crash down upon
her. The accusations she had
thrown at Plankton now felt like
sharp stones in her own stomach.
Her mind reels as she tries to
comprehend what she had just
learned. Autism? Plankton?
How could she have been so
blind, so cruel?

Her gaze falls to the floor,
avoiding Karen's. "I'm so sorry,"
she whispers, her voice thick with
guilt. "I didn't know."

Karen nods, her own emotions
swirling. "But we need to be
more careful with him."

Sandy's eyes are glued to
the floor, her tail flicking
nervously. "I didn't mean to
hurt him," she says, her voice
small and ashamed. "I just
thought he was being weird."

Karen nods, understanding. "I
know," she says, her voice gentle.
"But now we know better, and we
have to help him." She moves
towards the bedroom, her steps
determined. "Let's go check
on him."

They enter the room quietly.

Karen's optical sensors scan his
tiny form, noticing the slight rise
and fall of his chest. He's
asleep, she realizes, exhausted
from the emotional turmoil.

Sandy's gaze follows hers, her
expression a mix of regret and
curiosity. She's never seen
Plankton like this before,
his features softer, almost
peaceful in repose. "Is he okay?"
she asks, her voice a whisper.

Karen nods, her hand reaching
out to touch his shoulder.
"He's sleeping," she says, her voice
filled with tenderness. "It's been
a big day for him."

Sandy steps closer, her gaze
taking in Plankton's sleeping
features. His face, usually
twisted with plotting and
schemes, is now slack with
exhaustion. His eye, usually
alive with cunning, is closed,
and his breaths come in deep,
even snores, his mouth slightly
agape.

"What do we do now?" Sandy
asks, her voice hushed. Karen
sits beside him on the bed,
her hand still on his shoulder.
"We help him," she says, her
voice firm. "We learn about his
autism and how we can support
him."

They spend the next few
moments in silence, the air
heavy with the weight of what
has been said. Karen's hand
continues to gently stroke
Plankton's shoulder.
Sandy sits down on the
opposite side of the bed.

Her gaze is fixed on
Plankton, her thoughts racing.
She had known him for so
long, and yet she had never
considered this possibility.
"What does this mean for him?"
she whispers, her voice filled
with concern.

Karen sighs, her hand
still stroking Plankton's
shoulder. "It means we'll
have to make some changes,"
she says softly. "He'll need
routines, and patience, and
understanding."

Sandy nods, her eyes
glistening with unshed tears.
"I can do that," she says, her
voice filled with determination.
"But what about... us?"

Karen looks up, her gaze
meeting Sandy's. "What do you
mean?" she asks, her hand
pausing in its soothing motion.

Sandy swallows, her eyes still on
Plankton. "Our friendship," she
says. "How do we handle this
without making him feel...
different?"

Karen nods, understanding her
concern. "We just need to be
there for him," she says. "He's
still the same Plankton, just
with some new challenges."

They sit in silence for a
moment, the only sound the
rhythm of Plankton's snores.
Sandy reaches out tentatively,
her paw hovering over his arm.

"Is it ok to touch him?" she asks.

Karen nods. "Yes, Sandy. Just be
gentle," she whispers.

Sandy's paw touches Plankton's
arm, her touch light and tentative.
He stirs slightly, but doesn't
wake. She leaves her paw there,
offering comfort without intrusion.

Karen watches them
with a mix of love and
fear for the future. Plankton's
autism was still a mystery to
them, a labyrinth they were just
beginning to navigate. She knows
it won't be easy, but she's
determined to be by his side.

"We're a team," she says,
squeezing Plankton's shoulder.

Sandy nods, her gaze never
leaving Plankton's sleeping
form. "A team," she repeats, her
voice filled with resolve.

For the first time since the
diagnosis, the three of them are
united in a common goal: to
understand and support Plankton
as he navigates his new reality.

Sandy and Karen exchange a look,
each one filled with a determination
that mirrors the other. They've
been friends through thick and
thin, through Krabby Patty
heists and jellyfish stings, and
now they're facing a challenge
none of them had ever anticipated.

Sandy's paw remains on
Plankton's arm, her touch
steady and reassuring.

Plankton stirred, his sleep 
disturbed by the unfamiliar 
weight of Sandy's paw on his 
arm.

His eye fluttered open, and he
was met with the sight of
Sandy and Karen, their faces
contorted with a mix of
concern and confusion. He sat up
quickly, his body jolting with
fear.

"Plankton, it's ok," Karen
soothes, her hand reaching out to
calm him. "You're safe."

"Karen sad?" he
asks, his voice 
cracking.

Sandy's paw tightens on his
arm, which makes Plankton
feel uncomfortable enough to
get him to snap at her.

"What Sandy want?" he
asks, his voice sharp, his
body tense with anxiety.

Sandy's eyes fill with tears.
"I didn't mean to make you
upset," she says, her voice
shaking. "I just didn't know."

Plankton's gaze flits
between them, trying to read
their expressions, but his
brain struggles to interpret their
complex emotions. "Karen sad?" he
repeats, his voice a mix of
fear and confusion.

Karen's hand moves to cover
Sandy's, her grip firm but gentle.
"No, Plankton," she says, her
voice soothing. "We're just
concerned about you."

Sandy takes a deep breath,
forcing back her tears. "I'm sorry,"
she says, her voice barely above a
whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt
you."

Plankton's gaze flickers
between them, his mind racing to
understand the situation. "No
hurt," he says, his voice shaky.
"Sandy say Karen sad. No sad."

Karen's circuits pulse with a
mixture of relief and sadness.
"Sandy didn't mean it, Plankton,"
she says, her voice filled with
compassion. "We're all just trying
to understand what's happening."

Sandy's eyes are cast down, her
paws fidgeting in her lap. "I'm
sorry," she murmurs, her voice
heavy with regret. "I didn't
know." She grabs Plankton in
a hug, unaware of how the tight
embrace might feel to him. Plankton
stiffens, his senses getting overwhelmed.

"No touch," he says, his voice tight.

Sandy quickly releases him, her eyes 
wide with apology. "I'm sorry," she 
says, her voice trembling. "I just 
wanted to help."

Karen nods, her gaze softening. 
"We all do," she says. "But we 
have to learn how to help in ways 
that don't overwhelm him."

Plankton's eye darts around 
the room, with the need 
to regulate himself.

He starts to rock 
in a rhythmic motion, a 
self-soothing behavior
his new autism
craves. The sensation of
his own movements helps
to calm the storm of 
thoughts and emotions
swirling within him.

Karen notices the change
immediately and nods
understandingly. "It's
ok, Plankton," she says,
her voice gentle. "You
do what you need to do."

Sandy watches, her curiosity
piqued by the rhythmic rocking
"What's he doing?"
she asks, her voice hushed.

Karen sighs, her gaze
filled with understanding.
"It's his way of self-soothing,"
she explains. "It's called stimming."

Sandy's eyes widen, taking in
Plankton's rhythmic rocks.
"Stimming?" she repeats. "What's
that?"

Karen nods, her voice calm
and patient. "It's a way for him
to regulate his sensory
input," she explains. "It helps
him feel safe and in control."

Sandy watches. He starts to hum, a low
buzz that resonates in the
quiet room, his way of finding
comfort in the chaos of his
thoughts.

"It's ok," Karen whispers, her
hand on his shoulder. "We're
here."

Plankton's eye lock onto her
hand, the pressure of her touch
offering a semblance of comfort.
He starts to rock back and forth
again. The movement
calms him slightly.

Sandy watches. She had never
seen Plankton like this before.
The sharpness of her words
from earlier stings her
now, as she realizes the
depth of his distress.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice
quiet. "I didn't know."

Plankton's humming turns to
a soft melody, his body
still moving in a soothing
pattern. The words echo in his
head, a reminder of the world's
expectations he can never quite
meet.

Sandy watches him, her own
world now forever changed.
She had always known Plankton
to be eccentric, but this was
different. This was real.

Her mind reels with questions
and fears. How would this
affect their friendship?
Could they ever return to
the easy banter they once
shared? Would he still be the
same friend she had always
known?

But as she watches him
stim, the reality of the
situation starts to set in.
Plankton was still Plankton,
but with a new set of rules
and a new way of seeing the
world. Sandy makes a silent
vow to learn those rules, to
understand his world as much
as he had tried to understand
hers.

new karen and the autistic journey karenktondy plankary sandarenton karentony karandyn iv

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY vii
(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob's mind is racing,
his heart thumping in his chest.
He had never seen Plankton like
this, and the sudden change
was unnerving. "What happened
to make you so..." he asks,
his voice laced with curiosity.

Plankton's smile broadens, his
hands continuing their flapping
dance. "Good book," he repeats.
"Best friend." He pats the bed
again, his gesture urging Sponge
Bob to sit closer.

Sponge Bob does, his gaze
still locked on Plankton's.

"But what happened?" he
presses, his voice filled with
concern. "You've never been
this... this... affectionate
before."

Plankton's hands stop
their flapping, his antennas
drooping slightly. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes search
his friend's, his concern
growing with each repetition.
"But Plankton, what's really
going on?" he asks, his voice
filled with urgency. "You've
never talked like this before."

Plankton's smile wavers,
his hand reaching for the book.
"Read," he says, his voice a
monotone. "Happy book."

Sponge Bob's eyes dart
between Plankton's and the
complex text before him.
"But Plankton, I don't
know what this means."

Plankton's smile fades, his
hands stilled. He looks at
Sponge Bob with an unblinking
stare, his mind racing. "Friend,"
he says, his voice flat. "Best
friend." His gaze drops to
the book, then back to
Sponge Bob's face. "Read," he
instructs, his tone firm.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, the
weight of Plankton's stare
heavy on his shoulders. He opens
the book to a random page.
"Ok," he says, his voice
shaking slightly. "I'll try."

He starts from the top, his
pronunciation awkward and stilted.
"Quantum Mechanics," he reads,
his eyes squinting at the text.
Sponge Bob's voice falters, the
complexity of the words tripping
his tongue. "Plankton, I don't
understand any of this," he says,
his voice filled with frustration.

Plankton's eye widen, his smile
fading. "Friend," he repeats,
his voice strained. "Best friend."
He grabs the book from Sponge
Bob's hands, his movements
suddenly frantic. "Read," he says,
his voice a mix of desperation
and joy. "Good book."

Sponge Bob's heart races as he
watches his friend's erratic
behavior. He knows something is
seriously off, but he's
not sure what. "Plankton What's
going on with you?"

Plankton's smile flickers back,
his hands stilling. He looks at
Sponge Bob, his gaze intense.
"Read," he repeats. "Best friend read."

Sponge Bob nods, his throat
tight. He tries again, his voice
more confident this time. "Quantum
Mechanics," he repeats.

Plankton's smile brightens, his
hands resuming their flutter.
"Good," he says, his voice a
monotone cheer. "Best friend."

Sponge Bob's heart aches with
concern, but he continues to
read, hoping to find some
comfort in the words for
his friend. "Quantum Entanglement,"
he murmurs, his eyes scanning
the page for any sign of
understanding.

Plankton's flapping grows more
intense, his body rocking back
and forth with excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen as he
notices Plankton's erratic
behavior, but he keeps reading,
his voice steady and calm. "The
universe," he says, his eyes
skimming the page, "is a strange
and wondrous place."

Plankton's eye light up, his
hands flapping rapidly. "Wondrous
place," he echoes, his voice
mirroring Sponge Bob's. "Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy cheeks reddening. "You're
saying the same thing I just said,"
he points out, his voice filled with
confusion.

Plankton nods vigorously, his
hands fluttering in the air. "You're
saying same thing," he says, his
voice a cheerful mimic of Sponge
Bob's. "Wondrous place. Saying
the same thing just said.."

"Plankton," SpongeBob says, his
voice urgent. "What's going on
with you?"

Plankton's smile is wide, but
his gaze is distant, as if he's
somewhere else entirely. "You're
saying the same thing," he echoes
again, his hands flapping in a
rhythmic pattern that matches
his words.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen.
"Plankton," he says,
his voice strained. "You're just
repeating me." He pauses, trying
to gauge his friend's reaction.

Plankton nods, his smile
still in place. "Yes," he says,
his voice a copy of
Sponge Bob's. "You're repeating."
His hands flap with excitement.

Sponge Bob's concern grows,
his eyes searching Plankton's for
any sign of distress. "But why,
Plankton?" he asks, his voice
soft with worry.

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stopping mid-flap. 
"But why?" he repeats, his voice
a perfect echo of Sponge Bob's.

"You're copying
me," he says. "Why are
you copying everything I say?"

Plankton's eye refocus on
Sponge Bob's face, his smile
returning. "You're copying me
why are you copying everything 
I say." Plankton echoed.

Sponge Bob's trying to find a
reason behind the behavior.
"I'm asking you what's going on!"

Plankton nods, his antennae
waving slightly. "SpongeBob asking
me what's going on," he mimics.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
heart racing. "Plankton,"
he says, his voice filled with
urgency. "This isn't funny. What's
really happening?" "This isn't
funny," he echoes Sponge Bob's
tone. "What's happening?"

Sponge Bob's heart sinks.
"Plankton," he says, his voice
shaking. "What's wrong with you?"

Plankton's eye locked
on Sponge Bob's. "Wrong with
Plankton," he echoes. "What's wrong?"

Sponge Bob's voice trembles
as he speaks. "You're not acting
like yourself," he says, his heart
pounding. "You're just repeating
everything I say."

"You're repeating everything
I say," he says, his voice a
mirror.

"Plankton," he says, his
voice shaking. "Please, tell
me what's going on."

"Please tell me what's
going on," he repeats, his voice
a perfect match to Sponge
Bob's. "You tell me."

Sponge Bob's eyes are
filled with a mix of fear and
desperation. "But, Plankton,"
he says, his voice trembling.
"You're just repeating everything
I say." He takes a deep breath,
his mind racing to understand
his friend's sudden change.

Plankton's smile is unwavering,
his hands still fluttering. "You're
just repeating everything," he echoes.
"I say." His voice is calm,
his movements methodical.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears,
his heart breaking at the sight
of his friend. "Please,
Plankton," he begs, his voice
cracking with anger.

But Plankton's response is
only more of the same, his words a
perfect echo of Sponge Bob's plea.
"Please, Plankton," he repeats,
his voice a mirror of pain. "Please.."

"This isn't right,"
he says, his voice filled with
frustration. "You're not acting
normal."

Plankton's smile falters for a
moment, his hands stilling. "Not
normal," he repeats, his voice a
hollow echo. "You not acting
right."

Sponge Bob's frustration boils
over. "I'm not the one who's
changed!" he exclaims, his voice
loud. "You're the one who's
been acting weird and repeating
everything I say!"

"You're the one
who's changed," he echoes, his voice
still calm. "Weird. Repeating."

Sponge Bob's anger flares, his
spongy fists clenching. "No, Plankton!"
he says, his voice rising. "You're the one
who's different! You're not the same
as before!"

Plankton's smile fades, his hands
coming to a halt. His gaze meets
Sponge Bob's with a flicker of
understanding. "Different," he says,
his voice a flat echo. "Not same."

Sponge Bob's anger turns to
desperation. "What happened to
you?" he asks, his voice cracking.
"Why are you doing this?"

Plankton's gaze is
unyielding, his smile a forced
imitation of happiness. "You
doing this," he repeats, his voice
a monotone.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill
with anger. "What are you
talking about?" he demands, his
hands clenching into fists. "I
haven't done anything!"

Plankton's smile flickers,
his gaze dropping to his book.
"You haven't done anything," he
echoes, his voice a mirror of
Sponge Bob's anger. "I have."

Sponge Bob's eyes narrow, his
confusion turning to anger. "What
are you saying?" he asks, his voice
sharp.

Plankton's hands resuming their flapping. "I
have book," he says, his voice
calmer. "Good book. Happy book."

Sponge Bob's anger dissipates,
his confusion deepening. "But
Plankton," he says, his voice gentle.
"What's the book got to do with
anything?"

"Book," he repeats, his voice
a monotone chant. "Book, book."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to anger, his eyes narrowing.
"What is it with this book?"
he demands, his voice tight.
"What's so special about it?"

Plankton's smile flickers,
his hands pausing in their
flapping. "You and book," he says,
his voice a monotone whisper.
"Makes Plankton happy."

SpongeBob grabs Plankton's
wrists to stop the flapping,
making Plankton finally stop
his repetitive chanting.
"What's gotten into you?"
Sponge Bob asks, his voice
shaking with anger and concern.
"Are you just messing with me?"
Plankton's smile fades,
his antennas drooping. "No mess,"
he says, his voice a sad echo.
He tries to pull
his hands free, but Sponge Bob's
grip tightens.

Sponge Bob's eyes bore into
his friend's, searching for
anything that might explain
this strange behavior. "Then what
is it, Plankton?" he asks,
his voice a mix of anger
and fear. "What's going on?"

Plankton's gaze flickers with
a hint of sadness.

"Accident," he whispers, his
voice a hollow echo,
his body tense.

new karen and the autistic journey echolalia palilalia vii

3 NOV 2015
General anesthetics and sedatives work by anesthetizing the brain and central nervous system.
You may start feeling lightheaded, before becoming unconscious within a minute or so.
Once surgery is done and anesthesia medications are stopped, you’ll slowly wake up in the 
operating room or recovery room. You’ll probably feel groggy and a bit confused.
Because of the amnestic effect, you probably will not remember feeling somnolent. 
When first waking from anesthesia, you may feel confused, drowsy, and foggy. 
Some people may become confused, disoriented, dizzy or trouble remembering 
things after surgery. General anesthesia is essentially a medically 
induced coma. Your doctor administers medication to make you unconsciousness 
so that you won’t move or feel any pain during the operation.

new surgerycore braincore doctorcore anaesthesia

You don't just practice away 
a neurological disorder 👀

new 👀 neurodivergentcore adhdcore autisticaphobia team special olympics visual perception

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON vii
(Autistic author) (see notes below)
* ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Sponge Bob's 
thumb begins to 
move in slow, 
soothing circles 
against Plankton's 
skin. "Thank you," 
he says, his voice 
barely above a 
whisper.
Sponge Bob 
simply nods, 
his thumb 
continuing its 
soothing motion. 
He doesn't know 
how to explain 
the depth of his 
feelings, but 
his actions speak 
louder than words. 
His friendship 
with Plankton has 
always been 
unconventional, but 
now, in the face of 
this new 
challenge, it feels 
more precious than 
ever.

Just as the 
moment of 
connection seems 
to solidify, the door 
to the Chum 
Bucket opens again, 
and Hanna tentatively 
steps inside, 
a pamphlet clutched 
in her hand.

"I brought 
this," she says, 
her voice shaking 
slightly as she 
holds out the 
pamphlet. "It's about 
autism...and 
rituals that might 
help get rid of the 
autistic behaviors."

Karen's snatching the 
pamphlet from 
Hanna's grip. Her 
eyes scan the 
pages, her anger 
building with 
each word. "What 
are you thinking?" 
she demands, her 
voice like a 
whipcrack.

Hanna takes a 
step back. "I just...I 
thought it might 
help you get him 
back to normal," 
she stammers, 
clearly not expecting 
the ferocity of 
Karen's reaction.

But Karen's 
anger is a 
volcano, erupting 
with the force 
of her 
love for Plankton. 
"These are not 'behaviors' 
to get rid of," she 
snaps, 
shaking the 
pamphlet in the 
air. "This is who 
he is now!"

"But Karen, don't you 
think life would 
be easier if he 
wasn't...you know, 
like this?" Hanna 
tries to explain.

"This isn't 
about making life 
easier for me," she 
snaps. "It's about 
supporting him!"

"Karen, Plankton just 
needs to be fixed," 
Hanna says, her voice 
smaller now, her 
expression pleading. 
"We both know 
how difficult it is to 
be around someone 
with...problems."

The words hit 
Karen. "Fixed?" she 
repeats, her voice 
low and dangerous. 
"Plankton isn't 
broken. He's not a 
machine to be 
tinkered with! These 
are dangerous, 
deadly suggestions!"

Plankton flinches 
at the sound, his mind 
whirling. 
He feels a 
tiny spark of 
defiance in his 
chest.

"You dare 
suggest that he 
doesn't deserve 
to live because 
he's autistic? You 
don't get to decide 
his worth!"

Plankton's 
grip on Sponge 
Bob's  
tightens, his 
body stiffening, 
his heart racing.

"How 
could you?" she 
demands, her eyes 
spitting fire. "You 
want me to just...to 
just get rid of him?"

Hanna's eyes 
fill with tears as 
she takes another 
step back, her 
hands coming up 
in a defensive 
gesture. "I didn't 
mean it like that," 
she says, her voice 
quavering. "I just 
want to help!"

But Karen's 
fury is a 
freight train, 
unstoppable. "Help?" 
she spits. "This is 
not help!" She 
gestures at the 
pamphlet, now a 
mangled mess on 
the floor. "This 
is hate, Hanna! 
This is saying 
he's not worth it 
because he's not 
like everyone else!"

Plankton looks 
down, his antennae 
drooping. Was he 
really such a 
burden? Was his 
life not worth 
living?

Sponge Bob 
squeezes Plankton's 
hand, his 
grip a silent 
reassurance.

Karen's fury 
doesn't waver. "You 
call yourself a 
friend?" she says, her 
voice laced with 
disgust. "You'd throw 
his life away because 
it's inconvenient 
for you?"

Hanna's sobs fill 
the room, her 
body trembling 
under the weight 
of Karen's accusations. 
"I didn't mean it 
like that," she 
whimpers. "I just...I 
don't know what to do."

Karen's anger 
doesn't abate, but 
it turns into a 
deep sadness. She 
looks at Hanna, her 
eyes filled with 
disappointment. "You 
don't 'fix' someone 
because they're 
different," she 
says, her voice 
deadly calm. "You 
support them."

Plankton watches 
the exchange. He feels 
tiny, insignificant 
under the weight 
of their words.

Karen turns to 
Sponge Bob. 
"Take him to his 
room," she says, her 
voice barely above 
a whisper. "I need 
to talk to Hanna."

Sponge Bob nods 
slowly, his eyes 
filled with 
understanding. He 
gently helps Plankton 
to his feet, a 
steadying presence 
against Plankton's 
uncertain steps.

As they walk 
to the bedroom, 
Plankton's gaze 
remains glued to 
the floor, his mind 
whirling with 
thoughts he can't 
quite grasp.

Once Plankton is 
safely in bed, 
Sponge Bob 
tucks the blanket 
around him, his 
movements gentle and 
soothing. Plankton's 
body relaxes slightly 
under the comforting 
weight, his 
eye closing with 
a sigh.

Karen turns 
to Hanna, 
unfurling from  
defensive pose. "You 
don't understand," 
she says, her voice 
calmer now, though 
still tinged with 
frustration. "The 
things you're 
suggesting, they're 
not just cruel, they're 
dangerous."

Hanna's 
sobs slow, her 
eyes red and 
swollen. She looks 
at Karen with 
desperation, 
clearly lost in the 
ignorance. "What do 
you mean?"
Karen's
determined. "Straightjackets 
are used," she 
says, her words 
carefully measured. "They 
restrain patients, 
not help them." She 
pauses. "And 
those rituals you 
found, the ones 
that suggest 
them to 
make him 'normal'... 
They could 
kill.."

Hanna's 
sobs stop 
abruptly, her 
breath hitching. "What?" 
she asks, 
shock etched 
on her features.

Karen's eyes 
never leave 
Hanna's, her 
voice cold and 
devoid of pity. "You 
don't get to decide 
his worth, Hanna," 
she says, each 
word a bullet. "And 
you certainly don't 
get to decide his 
fate."

Hanna's 
shoulders slump. "I'm 
so sorry," she 
whispers, her 
tears flowing freely. 
"I didn't know."

Karen's 
expression softens 
slightly, the anger 
fading to 
disappointment. "You 
have to understand," 
she says. "Plankton 
is still Plankton. 
He just...sees the 
world differently 
now."

Hanna 
sniffs, wiping 
away her tears. "But 
what if he's in 
pain?" she 
whispers. "What if 
his autism is 
making him miserable?"

Karen 
sighs, her 
frustration 
dissipating. "He's 
not in pain," she 
explains. "He's 
just...sensitive. To 
everything. Sounds, 
smells, touch... exactly
what the institutions
expose them to, will cause
pain."
Hanna
absorbs Karen's 
words. "Oh, I didn't..."
she trails off, 
overwhelmed by the 
gravity of her 
mistake. "I'm so 
sorry, Karen. I didn't 
know."

Karen nods,  
relaxing slightly. 
"I know," she says, 
her voice softer now. 
"It's a lot to take 
in, and it's 
scary when 
someone you love 
becomes...different."

Hanna nods. "But 
you still love him," 
she says, a question 
and a statement 
wrapped in one.

"More than 
anything," Karen 
replies without 
hesitation, her 
tentacles tightening 
around Hanna. "And 
I need you to love 
him too, Hanna."

Hanna nods, 
swiping at her 
tears with the 
back of her hand. 
"I do," she 
whispers. "I just...I 
want him to be happy."

Karen's tentacles 
give Hanna a gentle 
squeeze. "He is," 
she says, her voice 
filled with 
determined love. "And 
we'll make sure he 
stays that way."


The two of them 
stand there, the 
silence of the 
moment heavy 
between them. Karen's 
eyes drift to the 
closed bedroom door, 
beyond which 
Plankton sleeps 
peacefully. The 
sounds of the 
Chum Bucket are 
muted, the only 
noise the distant 
hum of the 
laboratory equipment.

In that quiet, 
Karen's tentacles 
relax slightly, 
the anger of the 
confrontation 
dissipating. She 
looks back at Hanna, 
her expression 
softening. "Thank 
you for coming," 
she says, her voice 
still firm but 
lacking the sharp 
edge of anger. "But 
you have to understand 
that this isn't 
something to be 
fixed. It's part 
of him now. Let's
go check on him."

They find SpongeBob 
sitting on the 
foot of the bed, 
his hand 
still entwined with 
Plankton's, their 
fingertips barely 
touching. Plankton's 
breathing is deep 
and even, a stark 
contrast to the 
turmoil of moments 
before. His antennae 
twitch occasionally,
his mouth barely 
parted in a quiet 
snore.
Hanna follows 
Karen into the 
room, her eyes 
wide and 
frightened. She 
sees Sponge Bob and 
his gentle touch 
with Plankton and 
her expression 
softens slightly. 
This is new to her, 
this quiet 
understanding, but 
she can't help but 
be moved by the 
sight.
Sponge Bob looks 
up, his eyes 
filled with a 
certain sadness 
that mirrors 
Karen's. He nods 
silently, 
acknowledging her 
thanks. Hanna's 
eyes dart to 
Plankton, who 
remains fast asleep, 
his single eye 
closed peacefully.

Karen sits 
beside the bed, 
reaching out to 
stroke Plankton's 
forehead. His 
skin is cool to the 
touch, his breathing 
steady. She 
whispers to Hanna, 
"We need to be 
careful with him. 
He's...fragile."

Hanna nods, 
swallowing her 
tears. She 
moves closer, her 
own hand tentatively 
reaching out to 
touch Plankton's 
hand. His antennae 
twitch but he 
doesn't wake.

The room is 
bathed in a soft 
glow, the 
dimmed lights 
designed to reduce 
stimulation and 
ease his sensory 
overload. Karen's 
breathing slows as 
she watches the 
scene before her, 
her heart swelling 
with love and 
gratitude for the 
support Sponge 
Bob is 
providing.

Hanna's tentative 
touch seems to 
soothe Plankton, 
his 
snoring growing 
slightly more 
rhythmic.

Sponge Bob 
smiles softly at 
Hanna, his 
thumb still 
moving in gentle 
circles around 
Plankton's. 
"You're doing 
good," he whispers. 
"He just needs 
us to be patient 
and understanding."

Hanna nods, 
her eyes never 
leaving Plankton's 
face. "I'll try," 
she says, her voice 
quiet and earnest. "I 
really will."

Karen looks at 
Hanna, her eyes 
softening. "It's not 
easy," she admits. 
"But it's worth it."



**NOTEs As an autistic
writer (and I used AI to
help me with the words)
I do not encourage the
ableism people have
shown in their ignorance.
Depending on when and
where you live, some
people have thought 
such therapies might be
good, without actually
accepting nor helping.
Even Hans Asperger
has supported eugenics
during the war, sending
people to internment
camps leading to demise.
I came across the site 
autismmemorial.wordpress.com
if you'd like to educate yourself
about how people have
endured such.*

new neurobehavioral plankton autismcore vii

https://www.wikihow.com/Interpret-Autistic-Body-Language

new autismcore bodycore wikihow

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY v
(Autistic author)

The room falls into a tense
silence, the air thick with
the unspoken words of regret
and uncertainty. Plankton's
humming becomes the only
sound in the room. 
Sandy's eyes are glued to
Plankton, watching his
hands move in a mesmerizing
pattern. His humming grows
slightly louder, filling the
space around them with a
comforting buzz. Despite the
simplicity of the act, it's a
powerful declaration of his
new reality.

"Plankton are you ok?" Sandy
asks him.

Plankton's humming stops abruptly,
his gaze snaps to her. "Book," he says
with longing. "Want book."

Sandy nods, her eyes glistening
with newfound understanding.
"Of course," she says, standing up.

She and Karen move to the shelf
where she had placed the book earlier.
Karen reaches up, her hand
carefully retrieving it.

"Here," she says, her voice calm,
handing the science book to him.

He opens it, his gaze
immediately drawn to the index
table in the back. His eye
scans the rows, his
brain finding comfort in the
predictability of the page
numbers. 
He starts to read the
index aloud, his voice a monotone
that fills the room with a
strange rhythm.

"Quantum Mechanics... 134," he reads,
his finger tracing the line. "Relativity,
Special and General... 212."

Karen and Sandy listen, their
expressions a mix of wonder and
concern. They've never seen
Plankton so engrossed in anything
other than his own schemes before.

Sandy's gaze follows the
movement of his finger as it
traces the numbers, her mind
trying to grasp the significance
of his actions. "Why does he
read the index like that?" she
whispers to Karen.

Karen's smile is filled with
both love and pride. "It's
his way of finding order,"
she concurs. "The numbers,
the patterns, it brings him
comfort."

Sandy nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton. His focus
on the book is intense,
his voice a steady rhythm as
he reads off the page
numbers. "Biology... 37.
Chemistry... 101," he drones.

Karen sits beside him, her
hand on his back, providing
the gentle pressure he craves.
The sound of his voice, the
comfort of the book's familiar
weight, it's all part of his
new routine.

Sandy sits opposite, her paws
clasped in her lap, watching
intently. Her gaze flickers from
Plankton to Karen and back again.
She's learning, trying to
understand.

Plankton's voice rises in excitement
as he reaches the physics
section. "Quantum Entanglement...
543!" he exclaims, his
hands flapping. His
eye lit up, a rare smile
spreading across his face.

Karen's smiles. This was the
Plankton she knew, the one
who found delight in the
complexity of the universe.

He reads on, his voice
picking up speed. "String Theory...
621! Gravity Waves... 784!" His
stimming becomes more animated,
his hands fluttering like the
wings of a butterfly, each
flap a silent declaration of his
newfound obsession with order.

Sandy's curiosity is
piqued, but she's careful not to
interrupt, instead watching him
with a newfound respect. Karen
smiles, her hand still on his
back, feeling the warmth of
his excitement through her metal
shell.

"Plankton, why do you like
the index so much?" Sandy asks,
keeping her voice soft, when
the doorbell rings.

Karen's head snaps up, the
interrupted moment forgotten. "I'll get it,"
she says, standing quickly.

SpongeBob's face appears
in the doorway.

"Hi, Karen!" he says, his
voice bright and cheerful.
"Hi, Sandy!"

Sandy's eyes dart to the
closed bedroom door, then back
to Karen. "I should go," she says,
standing up. "Let you guys
have some space."

Karen nods, her gaze
following Sandy's. "Thank you," she
whispers. "Bye Sandy. Sponge
Bob, come on in; Plankton's in the
bedroom.."

SpongeBob's now going in,
his eyes wide with excitement.

"What's up, Plankton?" he says,
his voice a bubbly burst of
enthusiasm.

Plankton's head snaps up, his
eye wide. "SpongeBob," he says, his
voice excitedly affectionate.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen at the
sight of Plankton's intense focus
on the book. "Wow, Plankton,
you're really into that, huh?"

Plankton's hands stop moving,
his gaze shifting from the
index to Sponge Bob's smiling
face. "Sponge Bob," he says, his
voice filled with glee. He jumps
up from the bed, the book
forgotten as he rushes to embrace
his friend.

Sponge Bob stumbles backward,
surprise etched on his features
as Plankton's arms wrap around
his waist. "Whoa, buddy," he says,
his eyes wide. "What's gotten into
you?"

Plankton's grip tightens, his
body vibrating with joy. "Sponge
Bob," he repeats, his voice a
high-pitched squeak.

Sponge Bob's smile falters, his
hands awkwardly patting Plankton's
back. "It's ok, Plankton," he says,
his voice gentle. "I'm just here
to visit."

Plankton pulls away, his
eye shining with joy
with a warmth Sponge Bob isn't
used to seeing from him.

"Come, sit," he says, his voice
eager. He pats the spot on the
bed next to him. Sponge Bob's
expression is a mix of
happiness and concern.

Sponge Bob sits down, his
body tense. "Plankton, you
ok?" he asks, his eyes
searching Plankton's.

Plankton nods, his hands
still flapping in excitement.
"Good," he says, his voice
monotone yet earnest.

new karen and the autistic journey splankbob splankaren v

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton holds up the science book
he had been clutching, the
pages fluttering in his excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes flick to the book,
then back to Plankton's face.
"You're acting
different."

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stilling momentarily. "No bad,"
he insists, his voice a bit too
cheerful. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes search Plankton's,
trying to read the truth behind
his words. "But you've never
been this... affectionate before,"
he says, his voice tentative.

Plankton's smile widens. "Sponge
Bob," he says, his voice a sing-song.
"You are good friend." He leans
in closer, his antennas quivering.
"Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen further,
his spongy cheeks reddening. "Plankton,
what's going on?" he asks, his
tone filled with confusion. "You've
never said that before."

Plankton's smile only grows
broader. "No bad," he repeats,
his voice still monotone. "Good
day. Happy." He starts to rock
back and forth on the bed, his
hands flapping in a pattern that
seems almost... happy?

Sponge Bob's confusion
deepens. Plankton had never
been one to show affection,
let alone so openly. "What's
going on?" he asks again, his
voice laced with concern.

Plankton's response is a
repetitive giggle, his eye
locked on Sponge Bob's
face. "Good day," he says, his
hands flapping in a pattern that
matches his words. "Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in
surprise. Plankton nods vigorously, his
hands flapping rapidly. "Very happy,"
he says, his voice high and
excited. "Best friend happy."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to concern. "Plankton, are you
okay?" he asks, his voice gentle.

Plankton's giggle turns to a
laugh, a sound Sponge Bob rarely
hears from him. "Yes," he says,
his voice still monotone. "Happy."

Sponge Bob watches his
friend, his heart racing. "What
happened to you?" he asks, his
concern growing with each passing
moment.

Plankton's laughter fades into
a grin. "No bad," he says, his
hands still fluttering in the
air. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with worry. "What's really going on?"

Plankton's grin turns into a
frown, his hands stopping their
motion. "Sponge Bob," he says,
his voice dropping to a whisper.
"No bad. Happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with confusion, but he
can't ignore the desperation
in Plankton's tone. He reaches out,
his hand resting gently on
Plankton's arm. "But why are you
so happy?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.

Plankton's frown deepens,
his mind racing to find the
right words. "Because,"
he says, his voice strained. "I
have friend. Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his hand still on Plankton's
arm. "But we've always been
friends," he says, his voice
filled with confusion.

Plankton's smile is wide, his
eye unblinking. "Yes," he says,
his voice still monotone. "Best
friends. Happy."

Sponge Bob's mind races.
Something is clearly different about
Plankton, but he doesn't know
what. "But, Plankton," he starts, his
voice tentative. "What happened to
make you so... so...?" He struggles
for the right word.

Plankton's smile fades slightly,
his gaze dropping to the book
in his lap. "Book," he says, his
voice flat. "Good book."

Sponge Bob nods, trying to
follow the conversation. "Yeah,
it looks interesting," he says,
his eyes searching for a clue.

But Plankton's gaze is fixed
on the book, his hands
resuming their rhythmic
flapping. "Good book," he repeats,
his voice a gentle mantra.

Sponge Bob's eyes flick from
the book to Plankton's
hands, his mind racing to
connect the dots. "Is something wrong,
Plankton?" he asks, his voice
soft with worry.

Plankton's hands stop
their flapping abruptly, his
eye snapping to Sponge Bob's
face. "No wrong," he says, his
voice earnest. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's expression is one
of bewilderment. "But you've
always liked your science books,"
he says, trying to find some
semblance of normalcy in the
situation. "What's different about
this one?"

Plankton's smile returns, his
hands resuming their flapping.
"This one," he says, his voice
filled with a newfound enthusiasm.
"Good book. Happy book."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy heart swelling with a
mixture of joy and concern.
"What makes this one so special?"

Plankton's hands flutter with
excitement as he opens the book
to a random page. "Look," he says,
his voice a high-pitched squeak.
"See?"

Sponge Bob leans in, his eyes
scanning the dense text filled with
scientific terms. He nods, trying
to appear engaged, though he has
no clue what he's looking at.
"Wow, Plankton," he says, his
voice filled with forced enthusiasm.
"That's... really interesting."

Plankton's smile widens, his
hands flapping in excitement.
"Yes," he says, his voice a
cheerful monotone. "Good book."

Sponge Bob nods, still
confused but not wanting to
rain on his friend's parade. "Well, I'm
glad you're enjoying it," he says,
his voice warm.

Plankton's hands stop moving
momentarily. "Thank you," he says,
his voice sincere. "You are best
friend." He leans in closer, his
antennas quivering with excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in surprise
as he feels a sudden wave of warmth
and affection from Plankton, something
that's never been present in their
usually antagonistic friendship.

"What's going on, Plankton?" he asks,
his voice filled with curiosity.
"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Plankton's smile doesn't waver.
"Sponge Bob," he says, his voice
still monotone. "You are good.
You make Plankton happy."

"What's happened to make you 
so affectionate, Plankton?"

Sponge Bob's question hangs in the
air, his curiosity piqued by the
unexpected warmth from his
usually adversarial friend.

Plankton's response is a
repetitive giggle, his hands
resuming their flapping. "No bad,"
he says, his voice cheerful. "Good
day." He pats the bed next to him.
"Sit, Sponge Bob. Read book."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his spongy body frozen in place.
"I don't think I can read that,
Plankton," he says, his voice
filled with uncertainty. "It's
really complicated."

Plankton nods, his smile
remaining constant. "It's okay,"
he says, his voice soothing. "You
try." He pushes the book closer
to Sponge Bob, his hand
guiding him to the page.

Sponge Bob hesitates, his
thumb flipping through the pages.
The words are a blur of symbols
and numbers, his mind struggling
to make sense of them. "But,
Plankton, I don't understand any
of this," he admits, his voice
filled with frustration.

Plankton's hand stops him, his
eye wide with excitement. "Doesn't
matter," he says, his voice
cheerful. "You are here. Best
friend."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to concern. "But Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "You're
not acting like yourself."

Plankton's smile fades slightly,
his hands stilling. "Self,"
he repeats, his voice contemplative.
He looks at Sponge Bob, his
eye searching his friend's
face for understanding.

Sponge Bob's expression is one
of confusion and concern. "Is
this a joke?" he asks, his
voice gentle.

Plankton's smile falters for a
moment before growing wider. "No joke,"
he says, his voice a singsong.
"Happy." He pats the bed again,
his hand a silent invitation.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with
compassion. He sits down beside
his friend. "Plankton," he starts, his
voice tentative. "Is everything
ok?"

Plankton nods vigorously,
his hands flapping with
excitement. "Everything is
good," he says, his voice a
monotone cheer. "Best day."

Sponge Bob's gaze lingers on
his friend, searching for any
sign of distress. "But,
Plankton," he says, his voice
filled with uncertainty. "You're
not usually like this."

Plankton's smile never
fades. "Don't know," he says, his
voice calm. "But now, happy."

Sponge Bob's heart clenches, his
fears for his friend's well-being
growing stronger. "But what
about your schemes?" he asks,
his voice hopeful.

Plankton's eye blinks, the
thought of his usual plans
of world domination momentarily
forgotten. "Schemes?" he repeats,
his voice confused.

Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, you
know, your plans to steal the Krabby
Patty secret formula," he says, his
tone light.

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stopping their flapping. "Krabby Patty?"
he asks, his voice distant. "No want
Krabby Patty. Happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy mind racing. "You don't want
to steal the formula?" he asks, his
voice incredulous, now really
suspicious.

Plankton shakes his head, his
antennas swaying slightly. "No,"
he says, his voice still monotone.
"Only happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with confusion, but he can't
ignore the genuine smile on
his friend's face. "Okay, Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "If
you're happy, then I'm happy
for you."

Plankton's eye lit up, his
hands flapping with excitement.
"Thank you," he says, his voice
filled with gratitude. "Best
friend." 

new karen and the autistic journey confusedcore vi

https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/ableism

new autismcore disabledcore

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY iii
(Autistic author)

The sound of the door opening
interrupted. Sandy
barged in. "Hey,
Karen!" she called out.
"Hi, Sandy; come in.." Karen says.

Sandy looked over at Plankton
sitting at the
kitchen table, his plate empty,
his gaze fixed on the spot where
his food had been. "Hey, Plankton!"
she exclaimed, as he got up to go
sit on the living room floor with a
science book. She followed him.

"What's up, buddy?" she asked,
her voice cheerful. But Plankton
ignored her, his focus solely on the
pages in front of him. Karen watched
their interaction with a mix of
concern and curiosity.

"Plankton, you ok?" Sandy's
voice grew softer, her eyes
narrowing as she studied her friend.
"You seem... different."

Karen tensed, waiting for his
response. Plankton didn't look
up from his book, his eye
scanning the pages.
"Plankton?" Sandy tried again, her
voice a mix of confusion and
concern.

But Plankton remained
oblivious, his new condition
rendering him unable to read social
cues. "Why?" he asked, his tone
matter-of-fact, as if inquiring
about the weather.

Sandy's smile faltered. "Well,
you're just sitting there, not
saying anything," she said, trying
to keep the frustration from her
voice.

Plankton didn't look up from his
book. "Reading," he said, his voice
devoid of any inflection.

Sandy's confusion grew into
hurt. "Is everything ok?" she
asked, her voice tentative.

Plankton, still engrossed in
his book, didn't look up. "Ok,"
he murmured.

Sandy's known
Plankton for years, but his behavior
today was unlike anything she had
ever seen.

Karen prompts him. "Plankton,
say hello to Sandy."

He glances up from his book,
his gaze passing over her without
recognition. "Say, say hi Sandy," he 
says, his voice lacking any warmth.

Sandy's smile fades, her paws
clenching slightly with irritation.

"What's gotten into you, Plankton?"
she snaps, her voice sharper than
she had intended. "You're acting
like you don't even know me!"

Karen's circuits whir with
activity. "Sandy, it's okay," she
hesitates, not quite
sure how to explain
without revealing the truth.
"I'll go pick up some soda
pop drinks." She says, leaving
them both.

Sandy watches her leave, her
expression a mix of anger and
hurt. She turns to Plankton.

"What's your deal, Plankton?"
she asks, her voice tight.
"You've been acting weird
ever since I got here."

Plankton's eye snaps to hers,
his gaze unnervingly intense.
"Weird," he repeats, as if
processing the word for the first
time. "Different."

Sandy's anger bubbles to the
surface. "Yeah, you're different.
You're ignoring me!" she exclaims,
her paws on her hips. Plankton's
expression doesn't change. "Reading,"
he says simply.

Her frustration grows. "You're
always reading, Plankton," Sandy says,
her voice rising. "But you've never
ignored me like this before!"

Plankton's eye blinks, his focus
shifting to her. "Sorry," he says,
the word a mere echo of what
he used to express. It's clear
his social awareness has shifted.
He doesn't understand the subtleties
of her emotions anymore.

Sandy's hurt turns to anger. "You
don't just say sorry and go back
to ignoring me," she snaps. "What's
going on with you?"

But Plankton seems lost in his
own world, the words on the pages
of his book more real to him than
the friend standing before him.
Sandy's patience wears thin. "Why
aren't you listening to me?" she
demands.

"Listening," Plankton murmurs, his
gaze never leaving the book.
Sandy's eyes widen, her anger
building. "I'm right here!" she
says, her voice a mix of frustration
and sadness. "What is so important
that you can't even look at me?"

But Plankton's mind is elsewhere,
his thoughts racing through the
pages of his book. The words
swim before his eye,
each line a puzzle waiting to be
solved. He's oblivious to Sandy's
hurt, his world now filtered through
a new, more intense lens.

Sandy's voice pierces through
his concentration, her tone
sharp. "I said, why aren't you
listening to me?"

Plankton looks up, his eye
dilating slightly as he takes in
Sandy's stance. He tries to
interpret her body language.
"Plankton reading," he says, his voice
still flat, his gaze drifting
back to the book.

Sandy's eyes flash with anger.
"That's not what I asked, Plankton!"
she says, her voice rising. "What's
going on with you? Why are you
ignoring me?"

Plankton's gaze flicks back to
her, his expression still vacant.
"Reading," he repeats. The
word feels like a shield, a way to
explain the inexplicable.

Sandy's eyes narrow, her paws
snatching the book from his grasp.

Plankton's eye widens in surprise
at the sudden movement. He tries to
retrieve the book, body moving in jerky
motions. "Book," he says, his voice
still monotone.

Sandy holds it out of reach. "Look at
me Plankton!" 

Plankton's arms flail, his body
straining to retrieve the book.
"Book," he says, his voice
desperate, his mind overwhelmed.

Sandy, unable to understand feels her
own anger flare up. "What's your
problem?" she snaps, holding the
book higher. "You're acting like
a little kid!"

Plankton's eye locks onto the
book. "Mine," he whispers,
voice strained.

Sandy's seen him at his worst,
but this is something she can't
comprehend.

"I'm not a toy for you to ignore!"
she shouts. She hid the book on a
high shelf. 

Plankton's body tenses.
"Mine," he repeats, his
voice rising in desperation.

Sandy's eyes fill with tears of
frustration. "Why are you acting
like this?" 

He stands up, his body
shaking. "MINE," he shouts.

"What's gotten into you? Why
are you being like this?"

Plankton's eye darts around
the room, unable to hold
Sandy's gaze.

"Plankton, you're acting like a
complete jerk," Sandy says, her voice
shaking. "No wonder Karen is
always so tired with you."
"Karen," Plankton murmurs.
"Karen ok?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.

Sandy throws her arms in the air,
exasperated. "How can you be so 
selfish? Don't you know that
Karen is sick of you?" "Sick 
of me?" he echoes. "Yes, sick of you," she 
snaps. "Why don't you try acting
normal? Perhaps then
Karen would be happier! Or
better yet, leave her!"

The words hang in the air like a
toxic cloud, their sting hitting
Plankton's core. But his new
brain can't process the depth of
her anger. "Karen happy," he
whispers, his voice a broken
echo of his former self.

Sandy's eyes flash with rage.
"You don't know anything," she
spits out, her words like acid.
"You're just a selfish, self-centered
plankton who doesn't care about
how Karen feels!"

Plankton's concepts of "selfish" and
"sick of" are foreign to his new
way of thinking. He tries to
find the patterns in her words,
the logic in her accusations, but
it's like trying to solve an
impossible equation. "No," he
whispers, his voice trembling. "Karen
not sick of me?"

"You really don't get it,
do you?" she says, her voice
filled with a mix of anger and
sadness. "You're so caught up you
can't see what's right in front of
you! Karen doesn't deserve this!"

Plankton's eye narrows slightly,
his mind struggling to piece
together the puzzle of her
emotions. "Karen happy," he
repeats, his voice strained. 

Sandy's anger turns to
despair. "You don't even know
what you're saying," she says, her
voice heavy. "You're
so wrapped up in your own little
world that you can't see how much
Karen does for you, and how
much you hurt her."

As if on cue, Karen returns 
with coffee. "I'm back," she says, her
voice a gentle hum. She notices
the tension in the room and
Plankton's distress.

"Is everything ok?" she asks,
placing the drinks on the table.
Sandy glares at Plankton.
"No," she says, her voice
shaking. "Everything is not ok.
Plankton's been acting weird
all morning and, I told him how
you're always tired of him,
and he just doesn't get it."

Karen takes in the scene. She tries to
intervene gently. "Sandy, I think
there's something you should
know," she begins, but Sandy cuts
her off, turning to Plankton.

"See? Even Karen
thinks you're a burden!"

Plankton's world
shatters. Sandy's words hit him
like a tidal wave, her accusations
sinking into his new reality.
His teary gaze locks onto Karen,
desperation in his voice. "Burden?"
he croaks.

Karen's 
circuits racing as she tries to
smooth over the situation. "No,
Sandy," she says, her voice calm
but firm. "That's not what I said."

"Don't lie to me, Karen," Sandy
snaps, her eyes never leaving
Plankton. "I can see you've had enough
and if Plankton can't see that, then
perhaps it's best if he just leaves."

Karen's circuits race with
a mix of emotions - anger at
Sandy's accusations, sadness at
Plankton's distress, and fear of
what this means for their friendship.
"That's not true," she says, yet
Plankton's searching for any hint of
deception.

Sandy's eyes are steely, her
body language confrontational.
"Why don't you just leave her alone?"
she spits out, her voice thick with
frustration.

Plankton stands up, his sobs echoed
through the corridor as he runs back 
to the bedroom, shutting the door with
a thud.

"Sandy
that was uncalled for," she says,
trying to keep her voice steady.

Sandy's anger turns to surprise.
"What are you talking about?"
she says. "I'm
just telling the truth.."

Karen's expression is a mix of
sorrow and anger, her
voice tight. "You don't know what
he's going through."

Sandy's anger fades, replaced
by confusion. "What do you mean?"
she asks, her voice softer.

Karen takes a deep breath,
steeling herself for the
conversation she had been dreading.
"Plankton had an accident, hit
his head on the vault and got
knocked out."

Sandy's in shock.
"What? Is he ok?" she asks.

Karen sighs, her shoulders
slumping. "Plankton has
autism now," she says. "He can't
help the way he's acting."

The revelation hits Sandy like a
ton of bricks. The realization of
her own harshness crashes over
her. "Oh no," she murmurs, her
eyes filling with tears. "I had no
idea."

Her gaze drifts to the
closed bedroom door.
"What have I done?"
she whispers, her 
voice cracking.

new karen and the autistic journey readingcore iii

 Tue June 22nd, 2010 at 9:39pm

I work with Autistic children every week.

I work with a boy who has never spoken to me.

Today he looked me straight in the eye and said “Thank you, Samantha”

I cried so hard. He GMH

new autismcore speechcore spectrumcore disabilitycore

COMPUTER SENSORS iv

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Hanna laughs as he makes a particularly clever move. 
"You've got a knack for this," she says, accidentally 
jabbing him hard. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, her hand 
hovering in the air. "I didn't mean to—"

But Plankton doesn't flinch. He's frozen, limbs limp at his sides. 
Hanna realizes the gravity of the situation. The room feels suddenly 
too warm, too bright, too loud. She's done it again—pushed him too far.

"Plankton?" she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. "You ok?"

He doesn't respond, his body eerily still. Hanna feels the weight of her mistake. 
She'd been so caught up in the game, so focused on their newfound friendship 
that she'd forgotten his limitations.

Karen sets her cards down gently and moves closer to her husband, her hand 
reaching out to his. "Plankton?" she says, her voice softer than a feather's touch.

The room seems to hold its breath, the only sound the distant hum of the refrigerator. 
Hanna watches as Karen's hand hovers over Plankton's, the space between them filled 
with a tension that's almost palpable.

Plankton's eye remains open, unblinking. His limbs are limp, no longer moving with 
their usual grace. It's as if he's a statue, frozen in time. Hanna's mind races, replaying 
the last moments, trying to understand what happened.

Slowly, Karen reaches for Plankton, her touch feather-light. She speaks softly, a gentle coax 
that seems to seep into his very being. "Plankton," she whispers, "You're ok. You're safe."

Hanna watches, her own hands clenched into fists at her sides. The room feels like it's closing 
in around her, the pressure of the silence suffocating. But Karen's calmness is a beacon, a 
reminder that she's seen this before, that she knows how to handle it.

"Plankton, baby," Karen says, her voice soothing and gentle. "You're ok. Just breathe."

Hanna's eyes are wide with worry as she watches the scene unfold. Plankton's eye open 
but unseeing, his body frozen . The reality is more terrifying than she could have imagined.

"Plankton," she says, "you know I'm here. You know I've got you." It's a gentle reminder of the safety 
net she's always been, the one constant in his ever-shifting world.

Plankton's body remains still, a silent sentinel in the midst of their quiet living room. He lay 
slack in Karen's arms, his eye unblinking, as if he's listening to a melody that only he can hear. 
Hanna watches, as Karen's voice weaves a tapestry of comfort around them.

"You know I'm here," Karen says softly, her hand still clutching Plankton's tentacle. "You're not 
alone." Her words are a gentle reminder of the sanctuary she's always provided, a shelter from the 
overwhelming world outside. "It's okay," she says, "just come back to us when you're ready."

Karen sighs, breaking the tension. "It's ok," she says, her voice a gentle whisper that 
seems to fill the room. "This happens sometimes." She looks at Hanna
with understanding and a hint of sadness. 

"What can I do to help?" Hanna asks, her voice trembling slightly.

"Just keep an eye on him," Karen says, never leaving her husband. "If he starts to seize 
we'll need to move him to the floor and clear any sharp objects. But he's usually ok after 
these episodes. They're not necessarily 'seizures' but they can be similar."

Hanna nods, trying to absorb the information. She's never dealt with something like this 
before, and the fear is palpable. But she's determined to be there for her friends, to 
understand and support them through this. She takes a deep breath, focusing on Karen's words.

"This isn't the first time. We have a protocol for these episodes."

Karen's grip tightens, never leaving his unseeing gaze. "You're ok," she repeats, her voice a 
soothing balm in the maelstrom of his mind. "Just let it pass."

Karen's turns to Hanna. "It's ok. He'll come out of it soon." She speaks with the calmness 
experience with Plankton's condition a silent testament to the strength of their bond.

Hanna nods, glued to Plankton's unmoving form.

"Ok," Karen says, turning her attention back to her husband. She takes a deep breath 
her voice steady. "Hanna, come here."

Hanna moves tentatively, feeling like she's walking through a minefield. She approaches 
Plankton's side, her eyes never leaving his frozen form. Karen's hand leaves his, and she 
takes Hanna's in its place. "Just hold his hand," she instructs. "Let him know you're here, too."

Her hand is trembling as it reaches for Plankton's. She wraps her fingers around his. 
She squeezes gently, hoping to convey her apology without words.

Karen speaks to Hanna. "Just hold on," she says, "don't let go. He'll feel your warmth, your presence."

Karen's hand guides hers, showing her the right amount of pressure, the right rhythm of 
gentle strokes that she knows comforts him.

"Good," Karen murmurs, still locked on Plankton's vacant gaze. "Just keep doing that. It helps 
him feel connected."

Hanna nods, her grip firm but gentle on Plankton's. She's acutely aware of the responsibility 
in her grasp, the power to either comfort or cause further distress. Karen's hand moves to 
her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

"Good," she whispers. "Just keep doing that." Her hand moves to Hanna's, guiding her in the 
slow, deliberate strokes that she knows calm him. "Remember, he's ok. He's just taking a break."

Hanna nods, trying to push down the panic rising in her chest. She watches as Karen's hand glides over 
Plankton's, her touch as light as a feather. It's a silent dance, a language of comfort that Hanna is just 
beginning to understand.

"Just like this," Karen whispers, never leaving Plankton's unseeing gaze. "Let him know you're with him."

Hanna nods, brimming with tears she's fighting to hold back. She mimics Karen's gentle strokes
feeling the tension in Plankton slowly begin to ease. It's a delicate balance, a silent conversation 
that she's only just learning the language of.

"That's it," Karen whispers, her hand still on Hanna's shoulder. "Just keep going. He'll come back to us."

Hanna feels the tension in her own body slowly unravel as she matches her strokes 
to Karen's rhythm. It's a strange, almost meditative experience, this silent communication of care.

"Good," Karen says, her voice a gentle breeze. "Just keep your breathing steady." She demonstrates. "It helps 
him sync up with us."

Karen says, her voice a gentle guide. "Inhale...exhale...in...out."

Karen whispers, her hand still resting on Hanna's shoulder. "Now, just keep your voice low. He's sensitive to 
sound right now."

Hanna nods, her voice a mere murmur. "Ok." She watches as Karen's hand continues to move over Plankton's 
strokes a silent promise of safety.

"Just talk to him," Karen says. "Use a soft voice. It'll help bring him back."

Hanna swallows hard, her voice shaky. "Plankton, I'm here. It's Hanna." She wonders if he can feel her touch, if 
he knows she's there.

"Good," Karen says, her own voice a gentle hum in the stillness. "Just keep talking to him. He'll come back 
when he's ready."

"I'm sorry, Plankton," she says, her grip tightening slightly. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to show 
you that I care."

Karen nods. "That's good," she murmurs. "Just keep talking to him. Tell him what you're feeling." Her hand 
moves to cover Hanna's, guiding her in the gentle strokes that Plankton needs. "He'll hear you. He just needs 
time to come back."

"I'm here, Plankton," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry for pushing too hard. I didn't mean to 
hurt you." Here locked on his unblinking gaze, willing him to understand.

Karen's hand is warm and steady on hers, a silent reminder that she's not alone. She feels a strange kinship 
with Plankton in this moment, a shared experience of fear and confusion that transcends words. Karen's filled 
with empathy as she nods, urging Hanna to continue.

"Just keep talking to him," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle coax. "He's still with us. He just needs to find his 
way back."

Hanna nods, her voice a soft echo in the quiet room. "Plankton, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you 
uncomfortable. I just wanted to be friends."

Karen's hand squeezes her shoulder, a silent message of support. "That's it," she whispers. "Just keep your 
voice low and steady. He'll hear you."

Hanna continues her gentle strokes, her voice a soothing lullaby. "You're safe," she repeats, her words a gentle 
echo of Karen's earlier reassurances. "We're here for you." The room feels like it's holding its breath, every 
atom suspended in anticipation of Plankton's
 return.

And then, it comes—a blink, a faint twitch. It's as if a door has cracked open, a sliver of light piercing the 
darkness.

"Look," Karen breathes, her voice a whisper of hope. "He's coming back."

"Plankton," she says again, her voice a gentle caress. "I'm here. It's Hanna." The grip twitches more noticeably 
now, and she feels his pulse quicken beneath her fingertips.

"Keep it up."

"We're all here for you."

new karen & sheldon j. plankton computer sensors neurodivergentcore

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT


(Autistic author)



"Plankton, look out!"

The warning echoed 
through the lab, too 
late to prevent the 
calamity. Sheldon 
Plankton, the infamous 
villain and tiny proprietor 
of the Chum Bucket, 
had been so absorbed in 
his latest contraption that 
he never saw it coming. 
A miscalculation, a misstep 
and a metal clank as the 
heavy contraption toppled 
over. The world around him 
spun into a kaleidoscope of 
color, and with a sickening 
crack, everything went dark.

Panic gripped Karen, 
his loyal sidekick and 
wife. She rushed to his side, 
his body sprawled unnaturally 
beneath the twisted metal. 
She reached out to gently 
shake him. "Plankton!" she 
shouted, her voice piercing 
the quiet.

His eye remained 
closed, unresponsive to 
her touch or her cries.

Karen's panic grew, 
her mind racing through 
possible scenarios.
What if he's seriously hurt?
What if this is the end?

She buckled him in the car
to take him to the Bikini
Bottom Hospital. She held
his hand and drove.

"Plankton, please wake up,"
she murmured, her voice
shaking.
"You've got to be okay,"
Karen continued, her voice
strained. "We still have so
much to do. So much to steal
from the Krabby Patty
secret formula. So much to
prove to Mr. Krabs."

But Plankton lay there,
motionless. The silence was
deafening, broken only by the
hum of the car engine and
the occasional splash from
the wet streets of Bikini
Bottom. Karen's thoughts
spiraled, her usual confidence
in his invincibility shattered.

"Remember when we first
met?" she began, her voice
soft. "You had the biggest
dreams. You said we'd rule
the ocean one day." She
managed a weak laugh, but it
sounded forced, even to her.
Her grip on his hand tightened.

"You swore we'd crack that
Krabby Patty formula," she
continued. "We've
come so close so many times,
and each failure just made
you more determined."

Her voice grew stronger, the
memories fueling her words.
"Do you remember the first
time we tried to sneak into
the Krusty Krab?" she asked,
a hint of nostalgia in her tone.
"You had that ridiculous
disguise?" Despite the dire
situation, she couldn't help but
smile at the memory. "We've
been through so much since
then, Plankton. You've
always found a way to bounce
back, no matter how crazy
the plan or how dire the
outcome."
But Plankton remained still.

"We can't give up now," she
whispered, her voice trembling.

The hospital's cold lights
flickered above them as they
waited for the doctor. The
beeping of machines and the
hushed whispers of nurses
filled the room, but Karen's
thoughts drowned it all out.

The doctor, a stern-looking
fish with spectacles,
entered the room, holding a
clipboard. "Mrs. Plankton," he
began, his tone professional
but gentle. "We've completed the
brain scan on your husband.
The results are..." "Is he
okay?" she finally choked out.

The doctor looked up, his
expression unreadable. "Mr.
Plankton's injuries are...
complex. He's sustained a
brain injury, and 
he's developed Autism
Spectrum Disorder."

Karen's grip on Plankton's hand
tightened. "What does that mean?"
she asked, her voice a mix of fear
and hope. The doctor took a deep
breath, choosing his words
carefully. "It means his brain
has been affected in a way that
will change how he perceives and
interacts with the world around
him. It's a spectrum, so the
symptoms can vary widely."

He explained further, detailing the
challenges that lay ahead for
both of them. Plankton might have
difficulties with social
interactions, repetitive behaviors,
and sensory sensitivities. Karen's
mind raced, never leaving Plankton's
still form.

Then, just as the doctor finished,
Plankton's single eyelid began to flutter,
slowly opening to reveal a gaze
that seemed somehow... different.
He looked around the sterile room,
his eye darting from one corner to
another, taking in every detail with an
intensity that was unnerving. Karen's
squeezing his
hand harder. "Plankton?" she whispered.

For a moment, there was no response.
Then, in a voice that was his yet
not quite, he spoke.

"Karen," Plankton said, his voice
mechanical and measured.

His voice, though familiar,
now a puzzling echo of its
former self. She leaned in closer,
desperate for some sign of the
Plankton she knew.

"How do you feel?" she
asked, her voice tentative.

Plankton's eye narrowed as
he considered her question,
his voice echoing the words
back to her in a staccato
rhythm, "How... do... you... feel?"
The repetition sent a shiver
down Karen, but she
managed a nod.

"Karen," he began again, his
tone eerily calm, "How do
you feel?"

Karen's screen searched his eye,
seeking a spark of recognition.
"I-I'm worried," she admitted,
her voice trembling. "But I'm here for
you."

"Worried," Plankton echoed,
his voice a metronome of
emotionless syllables. "Worried.
Worried."

The doctor cleared his throat,
interrupting the eerie pattern.
"Palilalia is a common symptom
with ASD," he explained gently.
"It's the repetition of words
and phrases. It can be a way
of processing information."

Karen nodded, trying to absorb
the doctor's words as she
continued to search Plankton
for any sign of the
cunning, albeit misguided,
genius she knew so well. His gaze
remained fixed on hers.

"Karen," he said again, his
voice still eerily detached.

His usual energy and cunning
seemed to have been replaced by
this unsettling calmness. Yet, in his
eye, she thought she could see a
flicker of something familiar, a
tiny spark of the man she had
known for so long.

"I need to understand," she
said softly, willing him to connect
with her. "What's going on?"

"Understand," he repeated, his
voice a monotone echo. "Under-
stand." Then, as if a switch had
been flipped, Plankton's eye grew
wider, his focus intense.

Karen watched, hopeful, as
his hand began to twitch. He
was trying to communicate.
Using all her patience, she waited.

"Understand," he said again,
but this time, the word grew into
a phrase, "I need to understand."
The repetition was still present,
but now it was tinged with urgency.
Karen filled with tears
as she nodded vigorously. "I know,
Plankton, I know you do."

The doctor, noticing the change,
intervened, his voice soothing. "It's
ok, Mr. Plankton. Take your time."
He turned to Karen. "It's common
for individuals with ASD to repeat
words or phrases when they're trying
to process their thoughts. It's called
echolalia. It's his way of making
sense of what's happening."

Karen nodded, but she
could see the wheels turning in
his mind. His hand twitched more
intensely now, his gaze more
focused.
"Understand," he said again,
his voice gaining a slight
inflection. "Need... to... under-
stand." The words grew into a
steady rhythm, a heartbeat of
desire. Karen felt hope blossoming in
her chest.

The doctor leaned in, his
expression one of curiosity.
"It seems he's trying to express
his need to understand his new
condition," he murmured. "It's a
positive sign. It shows he's
engaging with the world around him."

Karen nodded. "Under-
stand," she whispered back to him.
"We'll figure this out together."

Plankton's twitching hand paused
momentarily, his gaze lingering
on hers. Then, his eye darted
back to the doctor, the word
"Understand" escaping his lips
once more. The doctor nodded
encouragingly. "It's ok, Mr.
Plankton. Do you know what
happened?"

"Understand," he said, his
tone shifting to one of
curiosity. "Understand. Accident."

Karen swelled with
relief. It was the first time
he'd formed a coherent
thought since the incident.

"Yes, Plankton," she said, her
voice soothing, "you had an
accident in the lab. But we're
going to get through this."

The doctor nodded. "You
have something called Autism."

"Autism," Plankton echoed, his
eye searching Karen's for an
explanation.

"It's okay," she said, her voice
steady despite the storm of
emotions inside her. "It just means
you see the world differently now."

Plankton's eye focused on hers,
his hand stilled. "Different," he
parroted back, as if testing the
word's weight in the air. "Different."

Karen took a deep breath,
forcing a smile through her
tears. "But not less," she assured
him. "Just different." She leaned
forward and kissed his forehead,
his antennas twitching slightly at
the touch.

new no less to be different plaren neurodivergentcore bbh

Going into Hospital
When you are suddenly needing to go into hospital it can be scary, and the last thing people want to do is think about what they need to take with them. For this reason we have compiled this list to help you prepare.

Comfortable/ Loose fitting clothing
Several pairs of underwear
Thick socks
Ipad/Tablet/ Ipod w/ earphones
Money
Sanitary pads
Mobile phone and charger
Food to snack on
Books/ CD’s/ Magazines
Toiletries/ face wipes/hairbrush
Own Pillow
Clothing for going home
Dressing gown and slippers
An overnight bag is a good idea (although you may not need this)
Heating pad

new saying goodbye hospitalcore neurodivergentcore visit

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 2


(Neurodivergent author)



By evening, Karen has set
up a makeshift kitchen area
in the living room, with all
the ingredients for spaghetti
arranged neatly on the coffee
table. Plankton sits cross-legged
on the floor, his eye never
leaving the recipe book.

He reads each step aloud, his voice
growing stronger with
confidence. Karen chops
vegetables nearby, noticing
the subtle changes in his
movements, the way he tilts
his head when he's concentrating.

The smell of garlic and onions
sizzling in olive oil fills the
room. Plankton stirs the
pot, his face scrunching up
slightly at the aroma, a sign
his sensory sensitivity has
heightened. She sees him rub
his hands together, a self-stimulatory
behavior, but she knows
it's his way of grounding
himself amidst the chaos.

They move around the makeshift
kitchen, a silent dance of
understanding and support.
Karen boils the water for the
spaghetti while Plankton
continues to sauté the veggies.
Each action is deliberate,
each step measured as they
navigate their new reality.

The water reaches a rolling
boil, and Plankton carefully
drops in the spaghetti strands,
his gaze transfixed by the
swirling water. Karen watches
his concentration and sees
the childlike wonder in his eye.

"How long?" he asks.
"Five minutes," Karen says, her
voice calm. She's read that clear
and concise instructions
can be helpful.

After five minutes, Plankton
quickly drains the spaghetti, his
movements precise and methodical.
He pours the sauce over the noodles
and mixes them gently, his focus
intense. Karen watches him,
a mix of admiration and concern.

"It's done," he announces, his
voice a mix of excitement and
apprehension. She brings over
two plates, setting them on the
coffee table. They sit across
from each other, the steaming
spaghetti a bridge between
them. Plankton's hand hovers
over his plate, unsure of how to
proceed with the new sensory
experience.

"Let's eat," Karen says with a
smile, picking up her fork and
twirling the noodles expertly.
The sound of her silverware
against the plate makes him flinch,
but he mimics her movements.

They eat in silence, the clinking
of forks and spoons the only
sounds in the room. Plankton
chews slowly, savoring each bite,
his face a canvas of emotions.
Karen watches him, her own
fork poised in midair.

As they finish dinner, Plankton
sets his plate aside and looks
at her, his expression earnest.
"Thank you, Karen," he says, his
voice clear. "For being here Karen."

Her eyes brim with tears,
but she blinks them back. "Always,
Plankton. I'll always be here. Now
it's getting late; let's go to bed.."

In bed, she reads to him,
his favorite childhood story,
the words acting as a lullaby.
Plankton's hand rests on her arm,
his thumb rubbing circles in a
self-soothing gesture. His breathing
steadies, matching the rhythm
of her voice.

The book's final page is turned,
and she switches off the lamp,
plunging the room into darkness.
The silence is filled with the
comforting hum of the fan above.

Karen lies beside Plankton,
his body rigid with tension.
Her arm wraps around him,
pulling him closer, and she feels
his muscles slowly relax.

"Goodnight, Plankton," she whispers,
kissing his forehead. He doesn't
respond, lost in his thoughts.
But she knows he heard her.
Karen notices the tension in his body 
and gently runs her fingers through 
his antennae, a silent offer of comfort. 
Eventually, his breathing evens out, 
and he falls asleep, his body curled 
into hers like a child seeking shelter.

The next morning, the sun streams 
through the blinds, casting stripes
across the bed. Karen, already awake, 
watches him, her hand still entwined with his.
He's still asleep, his body relaxed, the 
lines of worry from the day before 
smoothed out by the embrace of slumber.

Carefully, she slides out of bed,
not wanting to disturb him. She sees
him stir in his sleep, his antennae
twitching slightly, but he remains
unaware of her departure.

In the kitchen, Karen starts
the coffee, the scent filling
the room with a comforting
aroma. She opens the fridge,
finding the ingredients for
the morning routine. Plankton's
usual breakfast is a simple one:
toast with jam and a banana.

The toaster pops, and she
spreads the jam with a gentle
smoothness that Plankton likes.
The banana peels easily, revealing
the perfect yellow fruit inside.
Her mind races with thoughts
of how she'll need to learn
his new sensitivities, his likes
and dislikes, his triggers. But for
now, she focuses on the task
at hand, placing the slices
of bread in the toaster. 

When the toast is just right,
she carries the breakfast tray
to the bedroom, her steps
soft against the cold floor.
Plankton's still asleep, his
snores punctuating the quiet
morning. Karen sets the tray
on the bedside table.

She watches him, unsure
how to wake him without
causing distress. She's read
about sensory sensitivity
and knows that sudden noise
can be jarring for someone
with Autism. She gently strokes
his antennae, her touch
featherlight, and whispers his
name, "Plankton, wake up."

He stirs, his antennae twitching,
but his eye remains closed.
Karen tries again, a little
louder this time, "Wake up,
sweetie. Breakfast is ready."

Plankton's hand shoots up
to cover his eye, a reflexive
reaction to the light. His
body tenses, then relaxes as
his mind adjusts to the new
day. He sits up slowly.

"Thank you, Karen," he mumbles,
his voice still thick with sleep.
He takes in the breakfast
spread before him, his antennae
twitching with anticipation. He picks
up the toast, feeling the warmth 
in his hands, the stickiness
of the jam a familiar comfort.

Karen watches him closely, noticing
the way his eye widens slightly
at the first bite, the way his tongue
flicks out to taste the banana.
It's as if every sensation is
amplified, a symphony of flavors
and textures that she can't begin
to understand. She sips her coffee,
silent, giving him space.

As he eats, Plankton starts to hum again,
his body rocking slightly. It's a low,
comforting sound that fills the room.
Karen feels the tension in her
shoulders ease. This is their new
normal, a dance of care and
understanding. 

new copepod autism plaren neurodivergentcore neurodisability 2

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON viii

(Autistic author)


The room grew quiet as they
all digested the information.
Sponge Bob's gaze never left
Plankton's, his expression
filled with a fierce loyalty.
He knew his friend was
different, but that didn't
change the love he had for
the tiny creature.

Sensing the tension, Sponge
Bob took a deep breath and
smiled his wide, welcoming smile.
"You know what, Plankton?" he
said, his voice a gentle rumble.
"You're still my best buddy, no
matter what."

Plankton's antennae perked
up, his eye focusing on
Sponge Bob's earnest expression.
The sponge's words were a
comforting lullaby, a gentle
reminder of their unbreakable bond.
He felt the warmth of their
friendship wash over him, a
comforting blanket against the
coldness of Hanna's accusations.

Sponge Bob's hand found its
way to his shoulder, the
touch a familiar comfort that
his overstimulated senses craved.
Plankton leaned into the warmth,
his body responding to the
soothing pressure. "Best buddies,"
he echoed, his voice a soft
affirmation.

The room grew quiet as
Sponge Bob's hand remained
steady on his shoulder, his
presence a calming force in
the storm of his emotions. Plankton
closed his eye, his body
relaxing into the gentle embrace.

"We're gonna get through this,"
Sponge Bob said, his voice a
soothing lullaby. "We'll figure
it out, buddy. I'm here for
you."

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, the warmth of his friend's
words seeping into his soul.
Sponge Bob had always had
a way of making him feel safe,
but now, with this new
knowledge, their friendship
felt even more vital.

"Thank you," Plankton murmured,
his voice a soft echo of
gratitude. Sponge Bob's
thumb rubbed circles on his
back.

The two friends sat in
silence, the warmth of their
companionship a stark contrast
to the chill of Hanna's words.
Plankton felt the tension in
his body slowly melt away,
his breaths evening out. The
steady beat of Sponge Bob's
heart was a comforting lullaby
that helped him find peace.

Sponge Bob's thumb continued
its circular dance on his back, a
wordless communication of
his love and support. Plankton
sighed, his body growing
heavier with each comforting
pressure point. "Thank you," he
murmured, his voice a gentle
whisper.

Sponge Bob's eyes searched his
face, a flicker of understanding
dawning. "It's okay, Plankton,"
he said. "We'll get through this
together." His hand didn't
move, his touch a silent
promise of his unwavering
support.

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, the comfort of his
friend's presence a warmth
against the coldness of his fear.
He knew Sponge Bob would
always be there for him, even
if he didn't fully understand
his condition. The sponge's
love was a constant, a beacon
of light in his otherwise
confusing world.

Sponge Bob's eyes never left
his friend's, his smile a gentle
reminder of the joy they
shared. "You know, Plankton,"
he began, his voice a soft
caress. "You're still
the same little guy I've
always known."

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
body leaning into the warmth of
Sponge Bob's embrace.

The steady beat of the sponge's
heart was a comforting metronome
that helped him find his rhythm
again. He felt the tension in
his body slowly melt away, each
breath growing deeper and more
even. The room, once a battlefield
of accusations and misunderstandings,
was now a haven of quiet comfort.

The rustling of pages grew
softer, the candle's glow dimming
as the minutes ticked by. Karen
and Hanna watched from afar,
heavy with regret
and hope. They saw the change in
Plankton, the way he leaned into
Sponge Bob's touch, the way his
body slowly relaxed.

Sponge Bob, ever the
comforting presence, began to
hum a gentle tune, a melody
that Plankton had heard a
thousand times. The familiar
notes were a lullaby that
soothed his frazzled nerves,
his antennae dropping to rest
against the sponge's shoulder.
The tune was a bridge to
his past, a time before the
accident, before the world had
shifted on its axis.

Plankton's breaths grew deeper,
his body swaying slightly with
the rhythm. His eye closed.
Sponge Bob's humming grew softer,
his hand never leaving Plankton's
back. The warmth of his
companion's embrace was a
soothing balm.

The room, once a prison
of accusations, was now a sanctuary
of friendship. The candle's
flame danced, casting shadows
that played across the walls,
their flickering a gentle reminder
of the warmth in their hearts.

Sponge Bob's hum grew softer,
his melody a gentle whisper that
lulled Plankton into a peaceful
reverie. His body molded
into the sponge's embrace,
his antennae drooping with
the weight of his eyelid. The
world outside faded away,
replaced by the safety of Sponge
Bob's arms.

Karen watched from the
distance, shimmering with
unshed tears. She knew the
importance of this moment, the
power of a friend who
understood without words. Her heart
swelled with gratitude for
Sponge Bob's unwavering support.

Hanna, too, felt the
weight of her own words, the
realization of her ignorance
heavy on her shoulders. She
longed to reach out, to be
part of this healing embrace, but
felt the boundary that she had
unwittingly created. Her screen
followed the tender scene, her
thoughts racing with a
desire to apologize, to explain.

But she knew that now was not
the time for words. Instead, she
sat quietly, watching the
dance of friendship unfold. The
steady beat of Sponge Bob's
heart, the gentle rustle of his
body against Plankton's, the
soothing hum that filled the
air—it was a symphony of care.

Hanna's gaze drifted to the
candle, its flame a flickering
reminder of the warmth that
was slowly seeping into the
room. She watched as Plankton's
body grew heavier, his breaths
deepening. The anger and fear
that had once dominated the
space were now replaced with a
comforting quietude.

Karen's hand found Hanna's,
squeezing gently. "He's ok,"
she whispered. "We're going
to be ok." Her voice was a
calm sea, offering a gentle
buoyancy to the storm of
emotions that had ravaged
them all.

Hanna's screen searched hers,
uncertainty warring with hope.
"I'm sorry," she murmured,
her voice a soft apology. "I
just didn't know."

Karen nodded, her gaze
compassionate. "It's a journey,"
she said. "We're all just
trying to understand."

The humming grew softer, until
it was only a faint echo in
the room. Plankton's antennae
twitched with the last
remnants of his anxiety,
before they too stilled. His
body grew heavy, his breaths
deep and even. The gentle
sway of Sponge Bob's embrace
was a lullaby that rocked him
into a peaceful slumber.

Sponge Bob felt the
change in Plankton's tension,
his friend's body becoming
a soft weight against his. He
smiled, his heart swelling
with love and relief. Carefully,
he adjusted his hold, cradling
the tiny creature against his
chest. His thumb continued its
comforting strokes, his eyes
never leaving the closed eye.

Karen stepped forward, her
movements graceful and silent.
Her hand rested on Sponge
Bob's arm, her screen a gentle
thank you. Hanna quietly left.

The room was now bathed in
the soft glow of the candle,
its flicker the only sound.
Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly in his sleep, his
breaths deep and even. Sponge
Bob held him tight, his
heartbeat a gentle rhythm that
soothed the tiny creature's
slumber.

Karen watched the two,
aching with love and
gratitude. She knew that
Sponge Bob's simple act of
comfort was a powerful
statement of friendship and
support. It was moments like
this that reminded her of the
strength in their bond.

The candle's flame danced
gently, casting shadows that
played across Plankton's sleeping
face. His antennae, once a
whirlwind of anxiety, were now
still, resting against Sponge
Bob's chest. His breaths were
even and deep, a testament
to the peace he had found
in his friend's embrace.

Sponge Bob looked down at
his sleeping companion, his
face a picture of quiet contentment.
He knew that Plankton was
safe here, that his slumber was
a reprieve from the storm of
emotions that had ravaged
his day. The room was a
sanctuary of calm, the candle's
warmth a gentle guardian.

The sponge's heart swelled with
love as he watched his friend's
tiny chest rise and fall, each
breath a whispered promise
of support. He knew that
Plankton's world was now
different, that the ASD had
brought with it challenges that
neither of them could have
foreseen. But in this moment,
their bond was stronger than
ever, a beacon of understanding
in a sea of uncertainty.

Karen's eyes searched
Sponge Bob's, her own heart
heavy with the weight of what
Plankton had endured. "Thank
you," she murmured, her voice a
soft wave of appreciation.
"For being there for him."

Sponge Bob's gaze never left
Plankton's sleeping form, his
thumb still tracing comforting
patterns. "Always," he said, his
voice a gentle promise. "No
matter what."

new neurobehavioral plankton plankbobs viii

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT ii


(Autistic author)



With Plankton's condition still
fresh in her mind, Karen carefully
guided him out of the hospital and
into the car. She knew the drive
back to the Chum Bucket would be
a test, but she was determined
to make it as smooth as possible.
The car's engine rumbled to life,
and she pulled out onto the wet
streets of Bikini Bottom, 
fixed on the road ahead.

Plankton was quieter than
usual, his gaze out the window,
taking in the world with a new
perspective. Karen spoke gently,
describing the sights they passed,
hoping the familiarity would
comfort him. "Look, Plankton," she
pointed. "There's the jellyfish
field. Do you remember when we
used to get chased by jellyfish?"

His eye swiveled to meet hers,
the ghost of a smile playing on
his lips. "Remember," he said,
his voice still mechanical. "Plankton 
remember jellyfish."

It wasn't just the repetition anymore;
he was connecting with her, with
the world around him. It was a start,
a sign that maybe, just maybe, they could
find their way through this new, uncharted
territory.

Plankton's head lolled slightly to
the side as the car bumped along the
road, his breathing steady and even.
Karen watched him out of the corner
of her screen, the rhythmic motion of his
chest reassuring her that he was still
with her. Despite the turmoil of emotions
churning inside her, she felt a strange
peace settle over her. For the first time
since the accident, she allowed herself
to believe that they could navigate this
new reality together.

The rain had picked up, the drops
splattering against the windshield like a
symphony of tiny drums. The wipers
kept a steady beat, matching the rhythm
of her racing thoughts. Plankton's hand
was still in hers, but it was limp now,
his palm open and trusting. She
squeezed it gently, trying to convey all
the words she couldn't say.

The Chum Bucket loomed in the
distance, a beacon of their shared past
and the uncertain future ahead. As they
neared, Karen noticed the lights flickering
in the lab, the remnants of their latest
failed scheme. The sight brought a
pang of sadness, but also a strange sense
of nostalgia.

Karen's grip on the steering
wheel tightened. "We're almost there," she
said, her voice a lifeline thrown into the
silence.

As the Chum Bucket came into view,
Plankton's antennas twitched
in his sleep.

"We're home," Karen murmured, her
voice barely above the patter of the
rain. She parked the car and took
a moment to collect herself before
gently waking him. "Plankton, sweetie,
we're here."

His eye fluttered open, and he
looked around the car with a
slightly dazed expression. The
neon lights of the Chum Bucket cast
a warm glow, and Karen watched
as the reality of their situation
settled into his gaze.

"Home," he said, the word
falling out of his mouth like a
puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.
He sat up slowly, his movements
stiff and deliberate, as if every
action was a calculation.

Karen helped him out of the
car, the rain now a steady
shower, plinking against
the metal of the Chum Bucket.

"Come on," she said softly,
guiding him inside. "Let's get
you into bed." Plankton
followed her obediently, his
footsteps echoing in the stillness.

The lab was a mess, but
Karen ignored it, leading him
to their tiny living quarters.
The space was cluttered with
gadgets and gizmos, but there
was a warmth to it, a
testament to their life together.

Plankton's eye scanned the
room, taking in every detail,
his brain trying to process the
overwhelming stimuli. Karen
noticed the way he flinched at the
brightness of the lights and
quickly dimmed them, creating a
soothing ambiance.

"Better?" she asked, her voice
soft. Plankton nodded, his
movements more deliberate
now. He seemed to be focusing
intently on her, trying to piece
together the world around him.

Karen helped him into their
small, cozy bed, the blankets
familiar and comforting. As
she tucked him in, she noticed
his eye fixate on a book
on the floor. "It's ok," she
whispered, plucking it up and
placing it on the nightstand. "We can
clean up tomorrow."

Plankton lay still, his gaze
now on the ceiling, tracing the
patterns of the tiles above.
Karen sat beside him, her hand
resting on his shoulder. "Is there
anything you need?" she asked,
her voice a gentle ripple in the quiet.

"Need... to... understand," he
repeated, the words a comforting
mantra in the silence. Karen
nodded, stroking his antennae.
"I'll be here to help you, Plankton."

The doctor's words replayed in
her head. Autism wasn't a
weakness, but a different way
of experiencing the world. A
world now filled with sensory
overload for Plankton. She
made a mental note to dim the
lab lights and reduce noise levels.

"Karen," he said, the word a
question. "What... happened?"
The palilalia had shifted from
a mere repetition to a quest for
knowledge. Karen took a deep
breath. "You had an accident,
Plankton," she explained, her
voice calm and steady. "But we're
going to figure this out together."

Plankton's gaze remained fixed
on the ceiling, his eye
flitting from tile to tile as if
the answers lay in their pattern.
"Accident," he murmured, the word
tumbling through his thoughts.

Karen nodded, her heart heavy
with the weight of the truth. "Yes,
my love. You had an accident.
But we're here now, and we're
going to get through this."

Plankton's eye searched hers,
his voice a metronome of
uncertainty. "Get... through...
this." The words hung in the
air, a question wrapped in a
statement. "Through... this."

Karen ached as she
nodded, her voice a gentle
caress. "Yes, Plankton. Together."
Her hand reached out to
cover his, her touch a silent
promise. "We'll face each day
as it comes."

For a long moment, Plankton
was silent, his gaze still
trapped by the ceiling tiles.
Then, his eye swiveled back to her,
his voice a whisper of curiosity.
"Together," he echoed, the word
now a declaration. "We'll get
through this together."

Karen felt a tear slide down
as she nodded, her
smile a fragile thing. "Yes, Plankton,
we will." She leaned in and kissed
his cheek, his skin cool and clammy
against her lips. His antennae twitched,
and she knew he felt the warmth of
her affection, even if he couldn't
express it in the way she was used to.

The next day dawned with
a gentle glow, the sun peeking
through the blinds of the Chum
Bucket's living quarters. Karen
woke up with a start, the events
of the previous day crashing over
her like a wave. For a brief
moment, she allowed herself to
hope it was all just a terrible
dream. But the sight of Plankton's
still form beside her, his breathing
steady but different, brought
reality back in a rush.

They had a routine to
maintain, a life to live despite
the monumental shift in their
world. Karen slipped out of bed,
careful not to disturb him, and
began the day's tasks. She knew
that Plankton would wake soon,
his mind likely already racing.

The lab was a chaos of wires
and gadgets, but she had a plan.
Starting with the lights, she
adjusted each one to a gentle
glow, reducing the visual assault
that could overwhelm him. Then,
she moved on to the sounds,
taping foam pads to the doors
and machines to muffle the cacophony.
It was a small change, but it
was a step to making the
environment more comfortable for
his now sensitive senses.

Karen knew the kitchen would
be the next battleground. Plankton's
love for the Krabby Patty had always
been a source of both frustration
and motivation. But now, the
thought of the complex flavors
and textures could be a sensory
nightmare for him. She decided
to start with simple, plain foods,
things she knew he enjoyed before
his tastes had become so singular.

As she sliced a cucumber into
thin, uniform pieces, she heard
his footsteps approaching. The
tap-tap-tap of his feet on
the metal floor was a sound she
could set her clock to, yet now it
seemed foreign, a reminder of the
autistic world he now inhabited.

"Good morning," Karen called out,
forcing cheer into her voice.
Plankton's eye swiveled towards
her, his movements jerky as he
navigated the now-familiar space.
"Good... morning," he responded,
each word a deliberate choice.

Karen placed the cucumber slices
on a plate and slid it towards
him, watching as his gaze
flitted from one to the next,
studying them before making a
selection. The sight was both
heartbreaking and fascinating, a
window into his new reality.

As they sat together at their
tiny kitchen table, Plankton took a
small, tentative bite, his face
scrunching up as he chewed.
Karen held her breath, waiting
for his reaction. After a long
moment, he nodded. "Good," he
said simply, his voice still flat.

Karen swelled with 
pride and sadness.
It was a small victory, but it was
a victory nonetheless. They would
find their way through this, one
bite at a time.

new no less to be different plaren neurodivergentcore bb

https://pbs.twimg.com/media/GEP7KkaWcAALSij?format=png&name=small

new plankbobs autismcore neurodivergentcore criticalcurve

⁉️*️꩜

new silly autismcore

Expect different bødy language. Autistic people don't always make eye contact, sit still, or look at the person they are listening to. However, that doesn't mean they aren't paying attention.
It's helpful to be direct, so they don't get confused about your intentions. Here are some examples of things you could say:
"Do you want to hold hands?"
"How about a kíss?"
"Hey, I'm behind you. Want a hug?" (Some autistic people startle easily when touched from behind.)
Autistic people might be uncomfortable with certain types of to͠uch and ıntımate, because of sensory issues. To find out what works for them, just ask. Having a clear conversation is easy for many autistic people, and you'll get a clear sense of what they like.
Be clear about your own thoughts and feelings. Picking up on body language can be difficult work for an autistic person, and they might not realize what's going on, or guess completely wrong. If you want them to know your feelings, the easiest way is to express them out loud.
"I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm a little on edge today because of my dad coming. You did nothing wrong."
"I wish you would have told me earlier about Amy's math meet. I would like to have rearranged my schedule so that I could be there for her."
"It hur͘t my feelings when you said that my beard looked like a hipster beard."
Be prepared for them to show and experience emotions differently. They may not understand their own feelings (alexithymia), and thus act less emotional than others (e.g. not appearing to grieve when family members dıe, even though they're very upset). This does not mean that they aren't experiencing emotions.
Autistic people may react with a problem-solving approach: they see that you are upset, and they are determined to fix it so you can be happy. They may not realize that you don't want advice, just a listening ear.
Autistic people may appear emotionless, even when they are experiencing deep emotions.

new autismcore friendcore wiki how

https://psychcentral.com/autism/conditions-associated-with-autism

new autismcore factkin

https://rockymountainada.org/news/blog/5-tips-managing-sensory-needs-healthcare-settings

new autismcore adhdcore disabledcore disabilitycore health

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY i
(Autistic author)

"You know, Shel, just put yourself out 
there. You think to much! Just steal 
a patty from the krusty krab, and 
bring it back. No inventions, just 
believe. I'll wait out front." Karen says.

Sheldon Plankton, whose ambition 
often outstripped his grasp, took a 
deep breath and nodded. It was a simple 
enough plan, he thought, and maybe, just 
maybe, it would be enough. For years he'd 
been trying to outsmart Mr. Krabs, crafting 
ingenious contraptions and elaborate 
schemes to swipe the Krabby Patty secret 
formula. Yet here he was, standing in the 
shadow of the gleaming neon sign of the 
Chum Bucket, his own restaurant, contemplating 
the unthinkable: a straight-up heist. He tiptoed to 
the Krabby Krab, eye darting back and forth 
for any signs of movement.

Karen, ever the impatient one, was pacing back 
and forth outside the Chum Bucket. She had 
been waiting for what felt like an eternity. "What's 
taking him so long?" she murmured to herself, her 
frustration building.

Meanwhile, Plankton took a final 
shaky breath and slid open the 
kitchen window, his heart racing. 
The scent of greasy fryers and salty 
ocean air filled his nostrils. He reached 
out, his tiny hand trembling, and 
snatched the Krabby Patty that lay 
unguarded on the counter.

With the stolen patty in hand, Plankton's 
confidence grew. He had done it; the 
secret was within his grasp! He turned 
to leave, but his elation was cut short 
when a shadow fell over him. He looked 
up to find Mr. Krabs standing there, his eyes 
narrowed and his claw raised. "Plankton, I 
knew it was you!" he bellowed. Plankton froze.

Mr. Krabs lunged at him, but Plankton was 
quick. He dashed under the cash register, 
the Krabby Patty clutched to his chest like 
a football player crossing the finish line. 
"You'll never get me!" he yelled, his voice 
echoing in the quiet restaurant. But Krabs 
was persistent, his claws snapping shut 
just millimeters from Plankton's antennae.

With a cunning smile, Mr. Krabs stepped back 
eyeing the cash register. "Maybe not," he said 
reaching over the counter and hoisting the heavy 
metal contraption off its stand.

Plankton's eye went wide with horror as he 
realized what Krabs intended to do. He tried 
to dodge, but the space was too cramped, and 
the cash register came down on him like a 
guillotine blade. The sound of metal on metal 
reverberated through the kitchen, and the 
Krabby Patty went flying out of his grasp.

Mr. Krabs' victory roar filled the room as 
Plankton crumpled to the floor, stars 
dancing in his vision. The impact had been 
tremendous, and for a moment, he lay 
dazed and defeated. The cash register's 
heavy weight had not only knocked him 
out cold but also left a sizable dent in 
the floorboards.

Outside, Karen's pacing grew more erratic.
as "What's keeping him?" she groused. Just 
as she was about to storm inside, she hears 
the cash register, which hit Plankton's head.

Peering in she saw Plankton 
lying on the floor. "Plankton?" she 
shrieked, her voice cracking with 
panic.

Karen opens the door and goes 
to him.

"Plankton! Oh no!" she screamed, 
voice shaking the very foundation 
of the Krabby Krab. She rushed over 
to him, shaking with fear. Plankton's 
eye closed, and his body was 
completely still. The Patty lay forgotten.

Panic set in, and she began to pat his face.

"Plankton, wake up!!" she yelled, echoing 
through the deserted kitchen. She knew 
that Plankton could be dramatic, but this 
was unlike him. He'd always bounced back 
from Mr. Krabs' traps before, albeit with a 
bruised ego.

There was a pulse, faint but steady. "Thank 
Neptune," she whispered, her relief palpable. 

"Plankton, please," Karen begged, a mix of 
desperation and fear. She knew she had to 
do something, and fast. But what? Her 
medical expertise was limited to patching 
up her husband's bruises from past failed 
schemes, not dealing with a concussion 
from a cash register to the head.

She then managed to scoop up her 
unconscious husband and sprinted
to the Bikini Bottom Hospital.

Once inside the hospital, she explained 
what happened with the cash register. 
"We'll do a brain scan." They said.

Karen laid Plankton on the hospital bed.

Finally a doctor approached 
with a solemn expression. 
"The brain scan results are in."
Karen nodded for him to go on.

"It seems your husband has suffered 
significant brain damage from impact," 
the doctor continued, fidgeting with a 
clipboard. "The good news is that he 
will wake up, but... your husband has 
experienced severe brain trauma. While 
he will regain consciousness, it appears 
that he may have developed permanent 
autism."

"What does that mean?" she 
managed to whisper. The doctor 
explained that while Plankton 
would still be able to talk and/or 
communicate, his interactions 
and reactions to sensory would 
be significantly affected.

"But he'll still be the same Plankton?" 

The doctor nods. "In many ways, yes. 
His personality, his memories, they 
should all be intact. But his ability to 
process, to understand 
and respond appropriately... those 
might be altered. It's a complex 
condition, Mrs. Plankton. He can go 
home whence he wakes up."

Karen nodded numbly, mind racing 
with the implications.

As she sat by Plankton's bedside 
the hospital lights flickered, and 
the constant beeping of the heart 
monitor was the only company she 
had. The quiet was broken her 
husband's eye fluttering open. 
"Karen?" he croaked, his voice 
hoarse from the trauma.

Her heart leaped at the sound, and 
she took his hand, squeezing it 
tightly. "I'm here," she said, her 
voice cracking. "How do you feel?"

Plankton's gaze darted around the room. 
"Where am I?" he asked, his voice a mix 
of confusion and fear.

"You're at the hospital, sweetie," 
Karen replied, voice gentle and 
soothing. "You had hit your head 
on the cash register at the Krabby Krab." 
Karen said, her voice shaking 
slightly. "Mr. Krabs hit you."

Plankton blinked rapidly, trying to process 
her words. "Cash... register?" he murmured, 
voice sounding distant and confused. Karen 
nodded, her eyes never leaving his. The room 
was a cacophony of sounds: the beep of the 
monitor, the rustle of nurses' shoes, and the 
distant wail of a siren. Plankton's senses 
seemed to amplify, each noise stabbing at 
his brain like a thousand tiny needles.

"What happened to me?" he asked, voice 
small and scared. Karen took a deep breath 
preparing herself to explain the gravity of 
the situation. "You hit your head," she began, "and 
now, the doctor says you have... acquired a 
neurodisability."

Plankton stared at her, his eyes unfocused. "Neuro... 
what?" he repeated.

Karen took a deep breath, her heart heavy. "It's 
like your brain is wired differently now. You 
might see things, hear things, feel things more 
intensely. And sometimes, you might not understand 
people, or process differently."

"Does it... does it mean I'm broken?" he asked, voice 
barely a whisper.

"No, Plankton," she said firmly, "You're not 
broken. You're just... different. And we'll 
figure this out together."

new a life of diversity AI Story Generator neurodivergentcore karen plankton plaren plabsen braincore headcore i

Can Brain Damage Cause Autism?

Research exploring the potential link between autism and brain damage has yielded mixed results. While 

some studies suggest a possible association between the two, others indicate that brain damage alone is 

not a direct cause of autism.

Ruben Kesherim

November 1, 2023

Understanding Autism and Brain Damage

To fully comprehend the potential link between autism and brain damage, it is essential to understand the 
individual components involved. This section will provide an overview of autism, brain damage, and explore the 
connection between the two.

What is Autism?

Autism, also known as Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), is a complex neurodevelopmental condition that affects 
social interaction, communication, and behavior. People with autism may exhibit a wide range of symptoms, 
including difficulties in social interactions, repetitive behaviors, and sensory sensitivities. Autism is believed to have 
a strong genetic component, although the exact cause remains largely unknown.

What is Brain Damage?

Brain damage refers to any injury or harm to the brain that disrupts its normal functioning. It can occur as a result 
of various factors, including accidents, infections, strokes, tumors, and traumatic brain injuries (TBI). Brain damage 
can lead to a wide range of cognitive, physical, and behavioral impairments, depending on the location and severity 
of the injury.

The Link Between Autism and Brain Damage

Research exploring the potential link between autism and brain damage has yielded mixed results. While some 
studies suggest a possible association between the two, others indicate that brain damage alone is not a direct 
cause of autism. It is important to note that autism is a complex condition with multiple contributing factors, and 
brain damage might be just one of them.

Case studies and findings have provided insights into individuals who experienced brain damage and subsequently 
displayed autistic-like symptoms. However, such cases are relatively rare, and the exact mechanisms underlying 
the development of autism after brain damage remain unclear.

Understanding the relationship between autism and brain damage requires further research and exploration. It is 
essential to consult healthcare professionals and specialists to obtain accurate and personalized information 
regarding specific cases.

Can Brain Damage Cause Autism?

The relationship between brain damage and autism has been a topic of interest and research. While autism is a 
developmental disorder characterized by challenges in social communication and interaction, brain damage refers 
to any injury or trauma to the brain. In this section, we will explore the research and findings that shed light on the 
potential link between brain damage and autism.

Exploring the Research

Research examining the connection between brain damage and autism has provided valuable insights into the 
complex nature of the disorder. While it is clear that not all individuals with brain damage develop autism, some 
studies suggest that there may be a correlation between the two.

One line of research suggests that neurological damage can lead to the development of autistic symptoms in some 
individuals. This damage can occur before, during, or after birth, and it can be caused by various factors such as 
genetic mutations, infections, or trauma.

Case Studies and Findings

Case studies have played a crucial role in understanding the relationship between brain damage and autism. These 
studies provide detailed accounts of individuals who have experienced brain damage and subsequently developed 
autistic symptoms. While case studies offer valuable insights, they are limited in generalizability and cannot 
determine causation.

Additionally, research has identified specific brain regions that may be implicated in the development of autism 
after brain damage. For example, damage to the prefrontal cortex or the amygdala has been associated with the 
emergence of autistic traits. However, it is important to note that brain damage alone does not always result in 
autism, and the relationship between the two is complex and multifaceted.

While the research provides some insights into the potential link between brain damage and autism, it is crucial to 
acknowledge that not all individuals with brain damage develop autism, and not all individuals with autism have 
experienced brain damage. The relationship between the two is influenced by various factors such as the timing, 
severity, and location of the brain damage, as well as individual differences and genetic factors.

As the understanding of autism and brain damage continues to evolve, further research is needed to unravel the 
intricacies of this complex relationship. It is important to consult with healthcare professionals who specialize in 
autism and brain injury to receive accurate assessments, diagnoses, and appropriate interventions for individuals 
affected by these conditions.
Factors Influencing Autism after Brain Damage
While the relationship between autism and brain damage is complex, several factors can influence the development 
of autism following brain damage. Understanding these factors can provide valuable insights into the connection 
between the two.

Timing and Severity of Brain Damage

The timing and severity of brain damage play a crucial role in whether autism may develop as a result. Research 
suggests that brain damage occurring early in development, particularly during the prenatal period or early infancy, 
may have a higher likelihood of leading to autism.

The developing brain is highly vulnerable during these critical periods, and any disruptions or abnormalities can 
impact neurodevelopment and contribute to the development of autism.

Furthermore, the severity of the brain damage can influence the likelihood of autism. More severe brain injuries, 
such as those caused by traumatic brain injury or certain genetic conditions, may increase the risk of developing 
autistic traits or behaviors. However, it is important to note that not all individuals with brain damage will develop 
autism, and the relationship between brain damage and autism is not fully understood.

Location of Brain Damage
The specific location of brain damage can also influence the development of autism. Different areas of the brain 
are responsible for various functions, and damage to certain regions may result in specific challenges or symptoms 
associated with autism. For example, damage to the frontal lobe or areas involved in social communication may increase 
the likelihood of social and communication difficulties characteristic of autism.

Each case of brain damage is unique, and the location and extent of the damage can vary. Therefore, it is essential 
to consider the individual circumstances and consult with medical professionals to assess the potential impact on 
autism development.

Individual differences and genetic factors can significantly impact the manifestation of autism following brain 
damage. Each person's genetic makeup and predisposition to autism can influence how they respond to brain 
damage and whether they develop autistic traits. It is important to recognize that brain damage alone does not 
cause autism in every case, and genetic factors can interact with brain damage to influence the outcome.
Research suggests that individuals with certain underlying genetic vulnerabilities, such as specific gene mutations 
or genetic syndromes, may be more likely to develop autism after brain damage. Genetic testing and evaluation can 
provide valuable insights into these individual differences and help guide intervention strategies and support.

Understanding the factors that influence autism after brain damage is a complex and ongoing area of research. It is 
important to consult with healthcare professionals who specialize in neurological conditions and developmental 
disorders to gain a comprehensive understanding of the unique circumstances and potential implications.

Differentiating Autism from Other Conditions
When exploring the relationship between brain damage and autism, it's important to understand how autism 
spectrum disorder (ASD) differs from acquired autism. While both conditions may share certain characteristics, 
there are distinct factors that set them apart.


Autism Spectrum Disorder vs. Acquired Autism

Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is a neurodevelopmental condition that typically emerges early in childhood. It is 
characterized by persistent challenges in social interaction, communication, and restricted or repetitive behaviors. 
ASD is considered a lifelong condition that affects individuals across various domains of functioning.

Acquired autism, on the other hand, refers to the development of autistic symptoms following brain damage, often 
resulting from injury or disease. This form of autism is not present from birth but emerges after a specific incident 
or medical condition. 

new language: English autism acceptance month neurodivergentcore neurodisability recovered memories unreliable memory 2023

COMPUTER SENSORS i

 *

"Karen!" Hanna exclaimed, throwing her arms around Karen in a warm embrace.
"You made it!" Karen beamed.
"Is the husband home?" Hanna asked, glancing around.
"In our bedroom," Karen answers. "I don't think you've met!"

Hanna followed Karen through the hallway. She'd heard of Karen's husband, Plankton, 
but had never formally met each other.

Inside, Plankton sat on the edge of the bed.

"Plankton, this is my friend Hanna," Karen announced, screen sparkling with excitement.

Plankton looked up. He hadn't been expecting company, especially not someone so bubbly 
and vibrant.

"Oh, Plankton," Hanna gushed, reaching out to him. She was a hugger, and she didn't 
hold back. She enveloped him.

Plankton stiffened. It was... overwhelming. 

"It's so nice to finally meet you," Hanna said, her voice thick with sincerity. 

Hanna, ever the social butterfly, didn't seem to notice his discomfort. She plopped 
down on the bed beside him, her energy not even slightly dampened. "So, what do you 
guys have planned for the evening?" she asked, screen bright with excitement.

"Well, we were just going to order in and watch a movie," Karen replied, shooting 
Plankton a knowing smile. She knew he liked his quiet evenings.

"A movie night, huh?" Hanna clapped her hands together. "What's the film? I can stay 
and join!"

Plankton wasn't one for sharing his personal space, especially with someone he just 
met. The bedroom was his sanctuary, a place of solitude where he could escape the 
world and be himself.

Plankton managed a tight smile, his heart sinking. He wasn't in the mood for a 
romantic comedy, let alone one with Hanna's constant commentary and unbridled laughter. 
Karen quickly interjected. "Actually, Hanna, Plankton had his heart set on a sci-fi 
marathon tonight. You know, his usual Friday night routine."

"Oh, I totally get it," she said, patting him.

Plankton stiffened at her touch, his eye widening slightly. "Oooh, I know just the 
thing!" she exclaimed, jumping up and talking fast. "Karen, you won't believe this 
but I've got a DVD of 'Galactic Hearts' in my bag. It's got a bit of everything: romance, 
action, and a side of existential dread. Perfect for a Friday night in, right?"

Plankton sighed inwardly. He knew he'd have to sit through it, if only to keep the peace. 
"Alright," he said, his voice tight. "Let's give it a go."

With a resigned sigh, he trudged out to the kitchen to grab some popcorn and drinks. 
When he returned, Hanna had already claimed the spot beside him, leaving him no choice 
but to sit next to her, so he did, for Karen.

The movie started, and Hanna was immediately engrossed, laughing and gasping at all 
the right moments. Plankton, on the other hand, felt like he was in an alien world 
of his own. Every time the romantic tension on screen built up, she would lean over 
and whisper something to Karen, who would giggle in response. The constant movement 
and noise were making his skin crawl.

As the film went on, Hanna grew more and more absorbed in the love story unfolding 
before them. At one particularly dramatic scene, she reached over and grabbed Plankton's arm. 
"Oh, isn't this just the most romantic thing you've ever seen?" She gave him a squeeze 
not realizing the discomfort she was causing him. "Look at those stars," she whispered 
leaning closer. "It's just like they're reaching out to each other, isn't it?"

Plankton shifted. He'd never been one for public displays of affection, and Hanna's 
affection was uncharted territory. He gently extracted his hand, placing it awkwardly 
on his lap. "I s'pose," he murmured, trying to keep his voice neutral.

time she leaned in to whisper something to Karen, she brushed against him, sending a 
shiver down his spine. The movie's soundtrack swelled with a sappy love theme, and Hanna 
threw her arm around both their shoulders.

Plankton stiffened. The room felt suddenly too warm, too small. He'd never been one 
for affection, especially not from someone he'd just met, and Hanna's touch was 
suffocating him. Her arm remained draped around his shoulders, her grip tightening 
every time the couple on-screen shared a tender moment.

He tried to focus on the plot, but it was difficult with Hanna's sudden exclamations 
and loud sighs punctuating the silence. Karen seemed to be enjoying it, though, and 
he didn't want to spoil the evening. So, he sat, endured, and waited for the credits 
to roll.

As the movie progressed, Hanna grew bolder with her displays of affection. She'd lean 
in close, her shoulder pressing into his, and whisper her predictions for the plot. He 
glanced at Karen, hoping for a reprieve, but she was caught up in the moment. Plankton 
sighed and turned back to the movie, trying to ignore the heat building in him.

Hanna's hand found its way to Plankton's shoulder again. This time, she didn't let go. 
He cleared his throat, trying to subtly shift his body away from her touch, but she 
either didn't notice or didn't care. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the weight 
of her arm and the way she kept brushing against him. He could feel his heart hammering 
in his chest, begging for the solitude he craved.
Hanna let out a contented sigh, her grip on Plankton's shoulder tightening involuntarily. 
He flinched, and she finally looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "What's wrong?" 
she asked, her voice full of concern.

"It's nothing," Plankton said, his voice tight. 

Hanna looked at him. "Oh, I get it," she said, her hand moving from his shoulder to 
give his knee a comforting pat. "Sometimes romantic scenes can be too much, huh?"

Plankton nodded stiffly. Then, Hanna leaned over and whispered, "You know Plankton 
you're not so bad for a guy who pretends not to like romance." She elbows him, her 
touch playful and teasing.

Plankton's eye widened, his heart racing faster than the spaceship on the screen. He 
tried to laugh it off, his voice strained. He tried to keep his expression neutral. 
She leaned in closer, her arm now looped around his. "I think you're secretly a softy."

Plankton's discomfort grew. He swallowed hard, his eye darting to Karen for help, 
but she was too lost in the film to notice his distress.

He cleared his throat again, trying to be subtle, but they're oblivious. 

Karen looked over at her husband, her smile fading slightly as she noticed his rigid 
posture. She knew he wasn't a fan of the film, but she didn't realize Hanna's personality 
was making him so uncomfortable. Hanna jumped up from the couch. "Oh my gosh, you guys," 
she exclaimed a little too loud, her screen bright with excitement. "That was the best movie ever!"

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Karen couldn't help but laugh. "You really liked 
it?" she asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Liked it?" Hanna repeated, her voice incredulous. "I'm in love with it!!"

Her exuberance was palpable, but Plankton remained silent. He felt a mix of relief 
that the movie was over and dread for whatever might come next. Hanna, noticing his 
lack of response, turned to him with a grin. "What did you think, Plankton?"

Plankton felt uncomfortable under her gaze. "It's just not really my genre," he said, 
his voice a touch defensive.

Hanna's smile didn't falter. "Oh, come on," she said, nudging him playfully. "Admit 
it, you were totally rooting for them in the end." "Oh, I was," Plankton said, his 
voice devoid of enthusiasm. "I was just hoping the asteroid might hit the spaceship 
first."

Karen couldn't help but laugh, seeing the playful banter between her friend and her 
husband. "Ok ok," she said, standing up and stretching. "I think we've had enough 
romance for one night. How about we switch gears and play a board game?"

Hanna bounced, her energy unflagging. "Perfect! What do you have?"

Plankton started to feel dizzy. "I'll grab something," he said, his voice tight. He 
needed to get away, to regain some semblance of control over the situation.

He retreated to the bedroom, going on his bed. 

** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *

new author is neurodivergent Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton neurodivergentcore galactic hearts computer sensors

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