Corpus Callosum Emojis & Text

L🧠R

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY viii (Autistic author) Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his grip on Plankton's wrists loosening. "What accident?" he asks, his voice filled with dread. Plankton's smile is gone, replaced by a look of sadness. "Head," he says, his voice a barely-there whisper. "Hurt." He touches his forehead gently, his antennas drooping. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with realization, his grip on Plankton's wrists loosening entirely. "You got hurt?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "What happened?" Plankton nods, his antennas still drooping. Sponge Bob's confusion grows, his anger replaced with worry. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice softening. "What happened to your head?" Plankton's antennas twitch, his smile a distant memory. "Fall," he says, his voice a monotone. Sponge Bob's heart skips a beat. "You fell?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "When? How?" Plankton nods, his eye flickering with something akin to pain. "Recently," he says, his voice flat. "Head bad." Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock, his mind racing with questions. "You fell and hurt your head?" he repeats, his voice filled with disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me?" Plankton's gaze drops to his book, his hands fluttering over the pages. "No tell," he whispers, his voice filled with regret. "Shame." Sponge Bob's eyes fill with understanding, his anger evaporating like mist in the sun. "Oh, Plankton," he says, his voice soft. "You didn't have to keep this to yourself." Plankton's smile is a pale imitation of his usual self, his antennas still. "No good," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Head hurt. Plankton bad." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with worry as he tries to comprehend his friend's cryptic words. "You're not bad, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "You've just had an accident." Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the book, his hands flapping over the pages. "No," he says, his voice a sad echo. "Head bad. Plankton bad." His body slumps, his usual vibrant energy dimmed by his distress. Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with sadness as he tries to comfort his friend. "You're not bad, Plankton," he says, his voice soothing. "You're just hurt right?" Plankton's antennas twitch slightly, his hand stilling on the book. "Hurt," he echoes, his voice a monotone. "Inside head." He taps his forehead, his eye searching Sponge Bob's for understanding. "Grey matter. Neural pathways." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his confusion growing. "What do you mean, Plankton?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "What's going on with your brain?" Plankton's hand continues to tap his forehead, his voice detached. "Neurochemicals," he says, his voice a robotic recital. "Synaptic connections. Autism." His smile is a mere memory, his eye glazed over with a faraway look. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes in his chest, his mind racing. "You're talking about your brain," he says, his voice tentative. "What's wrong with it?" Plankton's hand stops tapping, his gaze focusing on Sponge Bob. "Wiring," he says, his voice a monotone explanation. "Neuro- typical patterns disrupted affect the parts of brain when result in autism." His words are precise, his tone devoid of emotion. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with comprehension, his spongy heart sinking. "You're saying you have autism now?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton nods, his eye still fixed on the book. "Neurotypical divergence," he confirms, his voice still devoid of emotion. "Synaptic variance, myelination discrepancies." He speaks in a monotone, his words sounding rehearsed and mechanical. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears, his heart breaking for his friend. "What does that mean, Plankton?" he asks, his voice shaking. "Does that mean you're not okay?" Plankton's gaze remains on the book, his hand tracing the spine. "Neuro-typical divergence," he repeats, his voice a flat recitation of medical terms. "Synaptic connections altered. Atypical neural patterns. Autism." He speaks as if recounting a scientific paper, his tone lacking any personal connection. "When hit head, damaged the myelination," he says, his hand continuing its mechanical movement against the book. "Myelination is the insulation around the axons that speeds up the nerve impulses made in a part of brain we call the cerebral cortex. My cerebral cortex now restricts, slows down impulses." Sponge Bob listens, his mind racing to keep up with Plankton's sudden shift in vocabulary. "But what does that mean?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "How'd the damage give you autism?" Plankton's hand stops its movement along the book. "Neurodivergence," he says, his voice a clinical recount. "My brain now operates outside typical parameters. Synaptic pruning, myelination patterns altered. Atypical neural networks formed." He speaks as if discussing a complex scientific experiment, his words a jumble of medical terminology that Sponge Bob barely understands. "Does that mean you're not okay?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice filled with fear. Plankton's hand stills on the book, his gaze unfocused. "Functional diversity," he says, his voice a hollow echo of the medical lingo he's been taught. "Neurodivergence can lead to unique cognitive strengths, but also challenges." He taps the book, his antennas waving slightly. "My brain's wiring changed," he says, his voice a monotone. "Synaptic clefts widened, neurotransmitters less efficient. Restricted blood flow to temporal lobes." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix of confusion and fear. "Does that mean you can't be... fixed?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton's antennas twitch, his gaze still unfocused. "Can't fix," he echoes, his voice a sad recitation. "Neuroplasticity, yes. Rewire, adapt. But cerebral cortex, permanent. Autism, permanent." Sponge Bob's eyes are wide, his mind reeling with the complexity of Plankton's words. "But, Plankton," he says, his voice quivering. "What about the Krabby Patties? Your plans?" Plankton's gaze snaps up, his hands still. "No plans," he says, his voice a sad echo. "No more steal." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his heart racing. "You don't want to steal the Krabby Patties anymore?" he asks, his voice filled with hope and disbelief. Plankton's antennas droop, his hands flapping slightly. "No more schemes," he whispers, his voice a monotone. "No more steal." His eye meet Sponge Bob's, a flicker of his old mischief briefly shining through. "But," he adds, his smile mischievous, "still have competitive spirit." His hands begin to flap with excitement. Sponge Bob's heart soars with relief, a smile spreading across his face. "So, you're still the same Plankton," he says, his voice filled with hope. "Just... different. Ok, cool!" Plankton nods, his smile a ghostly reflection of his usual self. "Different," he repeats, his voice a sad echo. "But still have friend?" His antennas wave slightly, his eye searching Sponge Bob's for reassurance. Sponge Bob's heart swells with affection. "Of course, Plankton," he says, his voice firm. "We're still friends. Nothing can change that." He squeezes Plankton's shoulder, trying to convey his support.

♿️🌈

💙 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 💙

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.

😷 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. 😷

😷 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. 😷

😷 https://about.kaiserpermanente.org/health-and-wellness/our-care/exploring-the-promise-of-at-home-cervical-cancer-screening 😷

ℑ𝔪 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣. 💀

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.

😷 https://neurodivergentinsights.com/misdiagnosis-monday/ptsd-and-autism 😷

💙 https://neurodivergentinsights.com/misdiagnosis-monday/ptsd-and-autism 💙

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.

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

"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.

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!

I V X L C D M 1 5 10 50 100 500 1000 🔢 Individual decimal places Thousands Hundreds Tens Units 1 M C X I 2 MM CC XX II 3 MMM CCC XXX III 4 CD XL IV 5 D L V 6 DC LX VI 7 DCC LXX VII 8 DCCC LXXX VIII 9 CM XC IX

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.

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.

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

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

💙 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.). 💙

😷 https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/autism-and-anxiety/201904/medical-visits-and-autism-better-way 😷

🧠✋🤚

左右🧠

🧠⬅️💬

ⅡⅧ

🧠|

🧠⬅️➡️

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 REALITY viii (Autistic author) "I don't understand," she says, her voice filled with distress. Plankton's hand clenches, his body vibrating with tension. "Numbers," he repeats, his voice edging on a scream. "They make quiet." Hanna's eyes widen, her smile fading to a look of horror. "But Plankton," she says, her voice shaking, "it's just a clock." But her words are like fuel on the fire of his distress. He steps closer to the clock, his hand outstretched as if to will it to silence. "Numbers," he whispers, his voice a plea. "They make quiet." Hanna's eyes fill with sympathy, but her words only worsen his agitation. "Plankton, it's just a clock," she says, reaching out to touch him. Karen's heart hammers in her chest as she sees his body tense even further. "Hanna, don't," she warns, her voice tight. "Please don't touch him right now." But Hanna doesn't hear her, her own voice rising with frustration. "It's just a clock, Plankton," she repeats, her hand covering his shoulder. "Nothing's going to hurt you.." The touch sends him spiraling, his body convulsing with overstimulation. "No touch!" he screams, his hand slapping at her arm, his face a mask of fear and anger. But Plankton's outburst has ignited something in Hanna, a spark of anger. "Why can't you just be normal?" she snaps, her voice echoing through the tense room. Karen's heart breaks as Plankton's eye goes wide, his body jerking away from her. "Hanna, please," she says, her voice tight with pain. But Hanna's words keep coming, a barrage of misunderstanding. "You can't just ignore us," she says, her voice rising. "You have to interact with the world." Plankton's body recoils, his skin seemingly vibrating with each of her words. "Interact," he echoes, his voice strained. Karen's heart is in her throat. "Hanna, please," she says, her voice tight with pain. "You're not helping." But Hanna's eyes are glassy with frustration. "How can I help if he won't even look at me?" she asks, ignoring the desperation in Plankton's gaze as she holds his arms tightly. Karen's eyes plead with her, but Hanna's grip doesn't loosen. "Let go," Plankton whimpers, his voice tight with tension. Hanna's smile is forced, her grip unyielding. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice laced with irritation. "You can't just..." But her words cut him like knives. "Look away," he murmurs, his voice strained, his body begging for the pressure to ease. Hanna's smile falters, her grip tightening. "Why can't you just look at me?" she asks, her voice edged with annoyance. Plankton's breath hitches, his antennae drooping. "Can't," he whispers, his gaze flickering between her and Karen. Hanna's eyes narrow, her grip on his arms tightening. "You can," she insists, her voice firm. "Just..." But Plankton's whimpers grow louder, his body shaking with the effort to pull away. Hanna's smile fades, her grip tightening in frustration. "Why can't you just be like everyone else?" she asks, her tone no longer gentle. Plankton's whimpers become sobs, his body shaking with the effort to break free. Karen's eyes are wet with unshed tears as she watches the scene unfold, her heart breaking for him. Hanna's grip remains firm, her expression a mix of confusion and annoyance. "Why are you doing this?" she demands, her voice sharp. "You're just being difficult." Plankton's sobs grow more desperate, his body twisting in her grasp. "Let go," he whispers, his voice a strained plea. Hanna's eyes flash with irritation. "Why ca--" Her words are cut off by Karen's firm voice. "Hanna, please," she says, stepping between them. "You're upsetting him." But Hanna's confusion turns to anger. "How can I not be upset?" she retorts, her grip on Plankton's arms tightening. "He won't even..." Her words are cut off by Karen's firm voice. "Please, Hanna," she says, her eyes pleading. "You don't understand." Suddenly, Plankton's legs buckle, his body going slack as Hanna finally releases his arms. He crumples to the floor. He's retreating, Karen realizes, her heart racing. He's retreating into himself. Karen's eyes fill with fear as she watches him, his sobs subsiding into quiet whimpers. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a prayer. Hanna's face falls, her anger replaced with shock. "What's wrong with him?" she asks, her voice trembling. Karen's eyes are wet with unshed tears as she crouches beside him. "It's a condition," she says, her voice tight with frustration. "He needs time and space to process everything." Hanna's face crumples, her hands going to her mouth. "I didn't know," she whispers, her eyes wide with regret. "I'm sorry." Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton's huddled form. "It's not your fault," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "But we all have to learn." Hanna nods, her eyes brimming with tears. Karen wraps her arms around Plankton, her touch gentle. "It's okay," she murmurs. "I'm here." He trembles against her, sobbing. Hanna stands there, apology etched in every line of her face. "What can I do?" she whispers. Karen looks up, her eyes wet. "Just give us a moment," she says, her voice a gentle command. Hanna nods, backing away slowly, her eyes on Plankton. "Okay," she murmurs, the weight of her words heavy in the silent room. Karen holds Plankton tightly, his body a trembling mass of emotion. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a soothing balm. "You're safe." He nests his head into her shoulder, his whimpers softening to quiet sobs. The room feels thick with their shared pain, the air charged with the tension of misunderstanding. Hanna's eyes dart around, looking for anything that might soothe him. Karen's gaze meets hers, a silent plea for understanding. "It's called autism," Karen says softly, her voice a gentle explanation. Hanna's eyes widen, her face a canvas of realization. "Oh," she whispers, the word a soft exhalation of breath. Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton's tear-stained face. "It's a spectrum," she says, her voice calm and steady. "And he's on a part of it that's very sensitive to stimulation." Hanna nods slowly, her understanding growing. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice full of regret. "I didn't know." Karen's grip tightens around Plankton's shoulders. "It's okay," she murmurs. "We're all still learning." Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's trembling form. "I'll go," she says, her voice small. "I didn't mean..." Karen nods, her gaze steady. "Thank you," she whispers. "We can talk soon." Hanna nods, her eyes filled with sadness. "Of course," she says, turning to leave. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving Karen and Plankton in the heavy silence. Karen's arms remain around him, her body a protective cocoon against the harshness of the world. Plankton's sobs slowly ease into quiet sniffs, his body still trembling in her embrace. Her heart aches for the pain he's feeling, the fear that Hanna's misunderstanding has brought to the surface. "I'm sorry," she whispers to him, her voice shaking. Plankton's trembles begin to subside, his breathing evening out. He pulls back, his eye searching hers. "No," he murmurs, his voice hoarse from crying. "Not at fault." Karen's eyes fill with relief, her grip on him loosening slightly. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "We just need to find ways to help you." Plankton nods, his eye fluttering shut. Karen's mind races with thoughts of what more she can do, what she can say to make him feel safe. "We'll get through this," she says, her voice a promise. "Together." Plankton's eye opens, his gaze meeting hers. "Together," he echoes, his voice a whisper. Karen's heart swells with love for him, her eyes shimmering with determination. "We'll find what works," she says, her voice firm. Plankton nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Thanks," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "Tired.." Karen's heart breaks at the exhaustion etched into his features. "I got you, you can rest," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. They move to the couch, Plankton's body curling into her side. She wraps the weighted blanket around him, still within their embrace. His breathing slows, his body relaxing against hers. The whirring fan above offers a steady rhythm, a lullaby for his troubled mind. Karen's hand strokes his back in gentle circles, her thumb tracing patterns that seem to soothe his nerves. The fan's steady whir fills the room, a calming symphony that lulls Plankton's racing thoughts to a crawl. Karen's thumb moves in soothing circles on his back, each pass sending a ripple of comfort through him. Plankton's breathing evens, his body slack against hers. The fan's steady hum is a lullaby in the quiet room, a metronome for his racing thoughts. Karen's hand continues its soothing dance across his back, his eye finally closing. The room is a cocoon of silence, the fan's whisper the only sound breaking the stillness. Plankton's breathing slows, his body melts into Karen's embrace. Her hand continues its gentle caress, a metronome of comfort as he finally surrenders to sleep.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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."

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‧

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‧

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.

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

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

https://www.pastelpalacetattoo.com/ Services: txttoo cover-ups & reworkings, Piercings, txttoo RATINGs 4.9 out of five Positive: Cleanliness, Professionalism, Punctuality, Quality, Value disability accessible, clinically professional, thorough after-care Piercings (done with sterile nxxdles not a piercing gvn) Lobe (single) - £15 Lobes (double) - £25 Tragus - £30 Anti-Tragus - £30 Rook - £30 Conch - £30 Daith - £30 Helix - £30 Eyebrow - £30 Lip piercing (single) - £40 Scaffold / Industrial - £40 Nose - £25 Septum - £35 Earl /Bridge - £40 Smiley - £40 Belly - £40 Resident Artists: Sam Sparkles Tattoos Faithful Piercing Made with love by the Pastel Palace team x 27 N Station Rd, Colchester CO1 1RE (Essex) United Kingdom, England CO1 1RE 07947 551877 Tues - Sat: 10:00am - 5:30pm Sun-Mon: Closed HOURS Monday Closed Tuesday 10 AM–6 PM Wednesday 10 AM–6 PM Thursday 10 AM–6 PM Friday 10 AM–6 PM Saturday 10 AM–6 PM Sunday Closed

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

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.

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

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.

Autistic and Being Startled Easily... @neurodivergent_lou Autistic people may struggle with being startled easily, whether that be by a sudden phone call or someone walking into a room. This is something that autistic may experience more intensely than non-autistic people for a variety of different reasons. Autistic people may be 'startled' easily due to hyper-sensitivity to sensory input. For example, for autistic people noise may feel increasingly amplified. The sound of someone coming into a room can be incredibly startling and sudden. Sensory overwhelm isn't necessarily just about the noise itself but can also be related to the layers of sound or unpredictability of it, As autistic people, we may struggle with feeling on edge a lot of the time and being in 'fight or flight mode'. For example, the world can generally feel unpredictable and we may have repeated past experiences of being misunderstood (e.g. due to autistic communication differences). This feeling of being on edge can contribute to being easily startled. It also feels related to how autistic people experience focus and attention. Autistic people may have a tendency toward hyper-focus and getting almost lost into a subject of interest. We may also end up deep in thought or dissociate. This can mean that someone coming into the room can feel particularly disruptive. The shift in attention can be difficult too. One minute your attention is absorbed in a certain thing and then suddenly a person walks in, makes you jump and shifts your attention completely. The theory of monotropism suggests that autistic minds tend to have their focus pulled more intensely towards a smaller number of interests at any given time, leaving less processing resources for other things. Another part of this is waiting to potentially be startled and the stress of waiting for this. For example, if we are waiting for a phone call, it can be stressful anticipating a sudden loud noise. It can make us feel on edge and unable to do anything else.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

nickgram.com/special-needs

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. 💙 https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3708482/

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

💙 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. 💙

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

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

🇮🇻🇻🇮🇮

8ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁☾

Dysgenesis in the brain can be a factor in autism spectrum disorders (ASD): Dendritic spine dysgenesis Atypical numbers and structures of dendritic spines in the central neurons of people with autism. This cellular pathology is also found in experimental mouse models of ASD. Cerebral cortical dysgenesis A malformation of the cerebral cortex that can occur when neural migration is defective during gestation. Symptoms include a thickened cortex, high neuronal density, and poor boundaries between the grey and white matter. Olfactory bulb dysgenesis A dysgenesis or agenesis of the olfactory bulbs and projection zones in the brain may contribute to ASD. Other neuroanatomical abnormalities in autism include: Agenesis of the superior olive, Dysgenesis of the facial nucleus, Reduced numbers of Purkinje neurons, and Hypoplasia of the brainstem and posterior cerebellum. ASD is a chronic condition with a wide range of symptoms, including difficulty with communication and social interactions, repetitive behaviors, and obsessive interests.

BRAIN CHIP pt. 1 (By NEUROFABULOUS) It was an accident. Plankton fell on his head from the roof as his head landed on the sidewalk. Karen rushed over to the now unconscious form as she watched the accident unfold. "Oh no, Plankton, what have you done?" she exclaimed, picking him up and going back inside to rest him on the couch. She laid him down carefully, his head cradled in a pillow. He was breathing, yet his eye remained shut. She lightly tapped his cheek, whispering his name, "Plankton, can you hear me?" There was no response. He is out cold. Should she call for help, or wake him gently? She chose the latter. "Plankton, darling," she said softer than before, stroking his hand, "please wake up. Come on, Plankton," she murmured. Karen waited. Then, Plankton's eyelid twitched. A faint groan escaped him as he regains consciousness. His hand reached for his head. Karen's eyes widened with relief as she saw his eye begin to open, revealing a slit of confusion. "It's ok," she soothed, squeezing his hand gently. "You had a fall." He winced, his hand moving from his head to hers, holding it tightly. "What happened?" he managed. "You slipped and fell," Karen explained, trying to keep the panic from her voice. "You hit your head." Plankton's eye widens, taking in his surroundings. The familiar living room swam before him as he attempted to sit up. Karen helped, her hands steadying him. He winced again. "Easy, love," she cautioned, hands on his shoulders. "Let's take this slow." Plankton nodded as he repeated her words, "Easy, love." The echo of his voice was faint but it grew. "Take this slow," he whispered to himself. Karen looked at him with concern, noticing his strange behavior. "Plankton, are you ok?" she asked, her voice tight. His eye searched hers. "Ok, Karen," he said. This wasn't something she'd heard from him before. "You're just a bit shaken up, that's all," she assured. But Plankton just nodded, repeating her words. "Shaken up. That's all." The phrase seemed to soothe him, his grip on her hand loosening slightly as he focused on her voice. Karen studied his face, noticing the glazed look in his eye. He wasn't just echoing her; he was stuck on her words, his mind unable to form his own thoughts. "Plankton," she said, her voice quivering, "tell me what you're thinking. What do you remember?" "Thinking," he echoed, his gaze flickering as he searched his own mind. "Remember," he managed, his words choppy and disjointed. "What do you remember, Plankton?" she pressed. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his eye searching hers for answers she didn't have. "Fell. Sidewalk. Pain," he said, his voice trailing off as he tried to piece together the moments before the darkness had claimed him. "Yes," Karen said, nodding. "You fell. Do you remember anything else?" Plankton's eye searched hers, his brow furrowed. "Fell. Pain. You." The repetition was unnerving, but she clung to the fact that he'd managed to form a coherent response. "That's right," she said, her voice steady. "You fell and hurt your head. But what were you doing before?" His head tilted slightly, as if the question was a puzzle piece he couldn't fit into the jigsaw of his memory. "Doing," he echoed. "Doing before?" "Yes," Karen prompted, her voice soft but firm. "What were you doing before you fell?" Plankton's mind raced, trying to retrieve the lost moments. His eye flickered before finally settling on hers. "Before. Before," he repeated, his voice gaining speed. "I was on the roof. Ok, Plankton. The Plankton on the roof. Before, before," he stumbled over the words, the phrase looping in his head like a broken record. Karen felt a cold shiver run down her spine. "Plankton, honey, can you tell me more?" she prodded gently, her voice trembling. "Tell me more, tell me more," he echoed, the words now a rapid-fire chant. He started to sit up again, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. The pain in his head seemed to have lessened, replaced by a desperate need to repeat. "On the roof," he blurted out, his voice stronger now, the phrase taking hold. "Roof. Roof. On the roof before." Why is he doing this? "Plankton, can you tell me what you were doing on the roof?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation flowing. "Roof. Roof," he murmured, his eye locking onto hers. "Doing roof. Doing roof," he repeated, but she knew she had to keep him talking. "Yes, you were doing something on the roof," Karen urged, her voice gentle but firm. "What was it, Plankton?" His eye searched the room, as if the answer was hiding behind the curtains. "Fixing," he finally said, his voice clearer. "Fixing the roof." Her screen lit up with hope. "Yes, you were fixing the roof," she confirmed, her voice steadier now. "Do you remember why you were up there?" Plankton's eye searched hers, his mind racing. "Fixing. Roof," he murmured again, the words like a lifeline. "Fixed the leak." The revelation came suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped in his brain. The leak had been causing trouble for weeks, and he'd finally decided to tackle it today. The memory was faint, but it grew clearer as he spoke. Karen's grip on his hand tightened. "Good, you fixed the leak," she encouraged, her voice steady. "Do you remember how you got down?" "Down," he echoed, his mind spinning as he recalled the ladder, the shaky descent. "Fall. Down. Fall down." "Plankton," Karen said, her voice barely above a whisper. "What's wrong?" He didn't answer her question. Instead, he looked confused. "Wrong? Provided adequate response, yet how wrong?" Karen's mind raced as she tried to understand. "Your speech, Plankton. It's... it's different," she managed, her voice trembling. "It's ok," she assured him, not wanting to alarm him further. But Plankton's behavior grew more erratic. He began to rock back and forth slightly. "Plankton, honey, are you ok?" Karen asked, her voice laced with worry as she observed his sudden onset of repetitive motions. He didn't acknowledge her question; instead, he kept rocking back and forth, his hands fluttering at his sides. His eye remained focused on a spot on the wall, unblinking. "Roof. Fix. Leak," he muttered, his words staccato, rhythmic. The tension in the room grew as Karen watched him. Karen's mind raced. The stimming was a sign of overwhelming stress or anxiety, but she had never seen him do this before. She leaned closer. "Plankton," she whispered, placing her hand on his arm to get his attention. His eye snapped to her, the rocking stopping abruptly. "Wrong," he said, his voice still strange, his words choppy. "Worry. Not ok. Karen." Karen's breath hitched. "Plankton, yo--" Her words were cut off by his sudden jerking movement. He began to stim, his hands flapping in front of him. The sight of her husband, a man she knew so well, now lost in a world of his own, was almost too much to bear. "It's ok," she murmured, her voice shaky, trying to keep the situation under control. But his stimming intensified, his body now matching the erratic rhythm of his speech. "You're ok," she said, touching his arm, but he snapped. "No, Karen," Plankton said, his voice rising in pitch. "Not ok." The flapping grew faster, his eye unfocused. "Plankton, please," she begged, her voice thick with tears. "Tell me what's happening." She says, grabbing his hands to hold them still. But her touch seemed to only fuel his distress. "No," he says. "Karen, it!" The sudden sharpness in his tone made her flinch. She had never heard him speak that way. It was as if he was a different person. "What do you mean, 'no'?" Karen asked, her voice trembling as she held on tighter. Plankton's body grew rigid, his stimming increasing in intensity. "No touch," he said firmly, pulling his hands from her grasp. His words were still fragmented, but the meaning was clear. Karen's eyes filled with tears. "Plankton, please," she pleaded, reaching for him again. But he recoiled, his movements quick and jerky. "Karen. No," he stammered, his voice laced with fear. But she grabbed his shoulders. "What's wrong, Plank..." Her words were lost as Plankton's body began to convulse with fear, his stimming now a full-blown defense mechanism. "No," he yelled, his voice piercing the quiet room. "Karen, pain! Not safe! Karen harm Plankton scared! No hurt Plankton!" Karen's eyes widened, her own fear spiking at his sudden terror. Her hands hovered in the air, unsure of what to do. "Plankton, it's ok," she said, taking a step back. "I..." But he was beyond consolation, his body a whirlwind of chaotic movements. "Karen bad," he whispered, his voice trembling as much as his limbs. "Karen hurting Plankton. Plankton scared." This wasn't her Plankton. The love and trust in his eye had been replaced by something wild and uncertain. She took another step back, her own hands now shaking. "I'm not hurting you," she said, desperation seeping into her words. "I'm trying to he-" Her sentence was cut short as Plankton's body tensed further. His stimming grew erratic, his legs kicking rapidly. "No," he yelled, his voice now unrecognizable. "Karen no good. Karen stop. Not safe." Karen's screen filled with horror. What had happened to her husband? He looked at her with a fear she had never seen before, his trust replaced with a primal instinct to escape. She took another step back, her voice shaking. "Plankton, it's me," she whispered. But he didn't seem to hear her. Instead, a strange, low humming noise began to emanate from his throat. The hum grew in volume, filling the room with a sound that seemed to resonate with distress. "No," he murmured. "Karen, pain, bad." "Plankton," she called softly, using his name to anchor him. He stopped his erratic movements, his body slowly calming. The humming grew quieter, the fear in his eye fading slightly. She took another step closer, her hand outstretched. "You're ok," she whispered, her voice as soft as a lullaby. "You're safe."

Ａｕｔｉｓｍ ｉｓ ｎｏｔ ａ ｔｒａｇｅｄｙ 𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖒 𝖎𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖆 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖉𝖞 Ⓐⓤⓣⓘⓢⓜ ⓘⓢ ⓝⓞⓣ ⓐ ⓣⓡⓐⓖⓔⓓⓨ 🅐🅤🅣🅘🅢🅜 🅘🅢 🅝🅞🅣 🅐 🅣🅡🅐🅖🅔🅓🅨 𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓼𝓶 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓪 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓭𝔂 ᴀᴜᴛɪꜱᴍ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴛʀᴀɢᴇᴅy 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒎 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒅𝒚 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽𝗒 𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗶𝘀𝗺 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗱𝘆 𝘈𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥𝘺 𝘼𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙢 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙖 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙙𝙮 𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍𝚢 A̶u̶t̶i̶s̶m̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶a̶ ̶t̶r̶a̶g̶e̶d̶y̶ A͟u͟t͟i͟s͟m͟ i͟s͟ n͟o͟t͟ a͟ t͟r͟a͟g͟e͟d͟y͟ A̲u̲t̲i̲s̲m̲ ̲i̲s̲ ̲n̲o̲t̲ ̲a̲ ̲t̲r̲a̲g̲e̲d̲y̲ 🇦‌🇺‌🇹‌🇮‌🇸‌🇲 ‌🇮‌🇸 ‌🇳‌🇴‌🇹 ‌🇦 ‌🇹‌🇷‌🇦‌🇬‌🇪‌🇩‌🇾 ʎpǝƃɐɹʇ ɐ ʇou sı ɯsıʇn∀ 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗. 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜.

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."

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."

SHELF IMPROVEMENT i (Autistic author) "Plankton if you're gonna get the shelf remade, then just call a repair or buy a new one." Karen says. The shelf groaned, protesting under the weight. The shelf lurched, and with a crash, it tumbled down. Plankton's eye rolls back into his head as he crumpled to the floor. The room grew eerily quiet, except for the sound of Karen's gasp. "Plankton!" she exclaimed, rushing over to him. Panic washed over her, her heart beating like a drum in her chest. She knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder gently. "Plankton, can you hear me?" Her voice was high-pitched and shaky. His eye remained closed, his body unresponsive. Karen had to figure out what to do next. Her mind raced through scenarios, each more alarming than the last. What if he was hurt badly? What if this was her fault? The thought made her want to scream, to throw something, but she couldn't. Not with Plankton lying there, so still, so silent. She felt for a pulse. It was there. He was alive, thankfully. And still breathing. "Okay, okay," she murmured to herself, "just stay calm." She knew she needed to see if she could wake him up. Gently, she called his name, her voice soft and urgent. "Plankton, come on, wake up." She patted his cheek, not too hard, not too soft. Still, his eye remained closed, his body unmoving. The quiet was deafening. "Please," she whispered, her voice trembling, "please wake up." But Plankton lay there, unmoving, like a discarded ragdoll. "Wake up!" she called out, but his body remained a lifeless weight beneath her fingertips. Her thoughts raced as she managed to lift Plankton's arm. It flopped back down like dead weight. "Come on," she mumbled, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. "You can't leave me like this." Her voice cracked, but she couldn't let despair consume her. She had to think. Carefully, she slid his arm over her shoulder, grunting with effort as she managed to get him into a sitting position. His head lolled back, but she held him firmly. "Let's get you to the couch," she says, setting him down on the sofa. "Don't leave me," she whispered, squeezing his hand. Her mind was a whirlwind of "what ifs" and regrets. What if she had insisted he leave the shelf alone? What if she had caught him? Tears slipped down her screen. "You're such a stubborn husband but I love you," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "You can't leave me like this," she whispered to his unresponsive form, her voice hoarse with emotion. "We've been through so much together. Remember when we first met?" Her thoughts drifted to their early days, the laughter, the bickering, the love.. She tried to chuckle, but it came out as a sob. Her voice grew softer, more desperate. "You have to come back to me, Plankton." Her eyes searched his face for any sign of life, any flicker of an eyelid, any twitch of his antennae that would indicate he heard her. But there was none. The silence in the room was a heavy blanket smothering her hope. Her hand tightened around his, willing him to squeeze back, to give her a sign. Suddenly, she heard a faint moan. "Plankton?" she gasped, her eyes widening. There it was again, a soft moan, and the tiniest movement of his mouth. "You're okay," she said, relief flooding her voice.

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 10 Chip feels a lump in his throat, his heart heavy. He wants to hug his dad, to make it all better, but he remembers his mom's words and stays put. He looks at Plankton, his mind racing to understand. Karen's eyes are full of emotion as she watches them both. "Chip," she says, her voice steady. "You don't have to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. Your dad's brain is just different. And sometimes, it needs more time to process things, okay?" Chip nods, his gaze never leaving Plankton. "But I want to make it right," he whispers. Plankton's stims slow down a bit. "I know," he says, his voice quieter. "And I'm s-sorry I did not tell you last night." Chip sniffles. "It's ok, Dad. I just...I just wanted to help." Plankton's antennae still, his face softening slightly. He looks at Chip, his single eye full of regret. "I know," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "Now let's do this science fair of yours.." Karen nods, seeing his effort to move on. "Okay, let's get going!" The three of them go to the reserved theater for Chip's event. Karen and Plankton find seats in the audience to watch the competition. The stage buzzes with excitement as Chip sets up his project by the other contestants. Plankton's antennae twitch, absorbing the cacophony of sounds and smells. The lights are too bright, the chatter too loud, but he tries to keep it together. He's proud of Chip. Though the sensory bombardment was too much for Plankton's system to handle, for his son, he'd try. He watches Chip nervously fidget with his project, his heart racing. This is his son's moment, and he doesn't want to ruin it with another outburst or meltdown. He grips the armrests of his chair, his body tense. The announcer's megaphone pierces the air, making his antennae spike with discomfort. The sharp, high-pitched noise feels like a knife to his sensitive ears. He flinches, his eye squeezing shut involuntarily as his hands fly to his head, trying to muffle the sound. Karen notices his distress, her face etched with concern. She reaches for him, but thinks better of it. "Plankton," she says, her voice gentle but firm. "The megaphone will be here all day. We need to find a way to make i---" He cuts her off. "I know," he snaps. "But I can't just ignore it!" His antennae spike again as another announcement blares through the speakers. He winces, his body visibly shaking with the overstimulation. Karen nods, understanding. "Let's go outside for a bit," she suggests, her voice soothing. "Maybe some fresh air will he--" But before she can finish, Plankton shakes his head frantically. "No," he whispers, his eye squeezed shut. "I-I can't leave Chip." His body is rigid with the effort of containing his sensitive auditory processing system. He flinches, his antennae retracting, his skin crawling. "Chip's up soon," he stammers. "Can't leave now." His voice cracks with anxiety, his body trembling with the effort of staying seated. Karen nods, understanding the importance of this moment for both of them. The lights dim, and the theater silences as the judges take their places. Plankton's heart races as he watches Chip approach the podium, his hands fidgeting nervously with his project. The megaphone booms once more, announcing the beginning of the presentations. The first contestant steps up, their project a whirl of colors and sounds that make Plankton's antennae spike. He grits his teeth, trying to focus on his breathing, but the clapping that follows is like nails on a chalkboard to his sensitive hearing. He wishes he could cover his ears, but his pride in Chip keeps him in his seat, his hands white-knuckled on the armrests. As the applause continues, Plankton's body starts to shake, his antennae twitching erratically. He feels the pressure building in his chest, the need to escape this tormenting cacophony. The clapping seems to go on forever, each sound a sting to his overwhelmed mind. Karen notices his distress, her heart aching. She reaches for his hand, but he flinches away, his eye wide as Chip demonstrates his project. The applause erupts again, a round of cheers. Plankton squeezes his eye shut, his antennae flattened against his head. He wants to scream, to run, but he's frozen, his eye squeezed shut, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. But then it proves to be too much for his body. Karen's hand instinctively goes to his shoulder. "Plankton?" She asks, concern etched into her voice. He doesn't answer, his body now rigid with pain. He feels like his insides are being torn apart. The noise, the crowd, it's all too much. He's going to be sick. He can feel it, the bile rising in his throat. The lights are spinning, and the world is closing in. Karen's grip on his shoulder tightens. "What's wrong?" She asks, alarmed. Plankton's eye flips open, and he swallows hard. "I-I don't...I ca--" His words cut off as his stomach revolts, his body lurching forward as he vomits, sounds and crowds of the science fair overwhelming him. Karen jumps to action, guiding Plankton out quickly, her arm around his wobbling frame. The coolness of the hallway is a relief, but Plankton can't stop shaking, his antennae flat against his head. "I-I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice shaking as much as his body. "I-I couldn't take it." Karen nods. "It's okay," she says, her tone calm and steady. "Let's get you cleaned up." She knows his sensory overload can lead to such outbursts, and it breaks her heart to see him in such distress, his unshed tears. They make their way to a water fountain, running cool water over his hands as he rinses his mouth. "Sorry, Karen," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to do this." He looks at her, his single eye filled with guilt. "I wanted to be there for Chip." Karen takes his hand. "You can't control how your brain reacts to things, and that's okay."

PLUSH ONE i (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's watching her husband, Plankton, who had been working tirelessly for hours, the metal container his new project. He wrestled with a stubborn bolt, his face a picture of concentration. Suddenly, Plankton's grip loosens as the bolt flies off the rusted metal, smacking him in the head. He topples back, his head hitting the cold concrete floor with a thud as the metal shelf collapses on his head. Karen gasps. Plankton lies still, unconscious. Her eyes widen with fear as she rushes over. She checks his pulse, finding a steady beat. Relief washes over her. He's alive, but she can see the bruising as she clears the metal away from him. "Plankton, honey," she whispers, shaking him gently. "Can you hear me?" No response, his eye closed tightly. Panic starts to creep in, but Karen forces herself to remain calm. "Come on, wake up," she says, a little louder this time. The room feels like it's spinning, but she takes a deep breath and dials for medics. The phone seems to ring forever, each second stretching into eternity. The dispatcher's voice is a distant echo in her panic-filled hearing, but she manages to spit out their address, the gravity of the situation, and Plankton's name. While waiting for the medics, Karen can't help but worry about his well-being. She knows how much he puts into his projects, how much he loves tinkering and inventing. Two paramedics rush inside, their footsteps heavy. They quickly assess Plankton's condition, their faces masks of professional concern as they set up some medical equipment around. "Ma'am, can you tell me what happened?" one asks while checking his vitals. Her voice shaky, Karen recounts the accident, never leaving Plankton's still form. They nod, working swiftly and efficiently. Karen winces but remains composed as they clean the wound and apply pressure. The other paramedic starts an IV, explaining that Plankton might have a concussion and that they need to monitor his condition closely. Karen nods, trying to process the situation as she watches them work. "We'll stay as he wakes up and only leave once the damage has been assessed." Karen's eyes well up with tears, but she fights them back, gripping his hand tightly. The wait for Plankton to stir feels interminable. The tick of the clock echoes through the room, each second a reminder of his potentially serious condition. The silence is pierced only by the occasional beep of the medical devices and the rustle of the paramedics' movements. They decide to perform a more thorough examination, including a quick brain scan to rule out any serious damage. One of them holds a scanner device over his head, watching the readouts with a furrowed brow. The results come in, and the paramedics share a concerned look. "Ma'am, it seems your husband has sustained a head injury that's led to a... unique complication," one of them says, his voice measured. "It's a form of autism, from the impact. It's not unheard of, but it's definitely not common." Karen's eyes widen. Autism? Her mind races as she tries to grasp what this means for Plankton. "What do I do?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper. The paramedics explain that this type of autism is known as Acquired Autism, a rarity. "It's like his brain rewired itself to compensate," one of them says. Karen nods, trying to understand. Her mind is a whirlwind of questions, each more overwhelming than the last. How will this change Plankton? Their life together? The paramedics outline some of the potential symptoms he might exhibit: social withdrawal, sensory overload, difficulty with change, and the possibility of developing intense interests or routines. They tell her that every case is unique, and they can't predict exactly how Plankton will be affected. They also mention that there can be positive changes, like heightened focus or skills in specific areas, often referred to as savantism. But they stress the importance of keeping him comfort. Karen nods, her mind racing as she tries to imagine their future. The quiet whir of the medical devices in the background seems to mirror the chaos in her thoughts. The paramedics continue, explaining that Plankton may now see the world differently, senses heightened or dulled, social interactions potentially altered. He might find comfort in routine, the predictability of the mundane offering a solace that the unexpected could not. She wonders how this will affect their dynamic, their shared jokes and laughter. They tell her that autism, congenital or acquired, is irreversible. It's a part of him now, a new chapter in the story of their lives. It's not a disease to be cured, but a condition to be understood. Finally, a low groan escapes. "Honey, can you open your eye?" Karen asks, her voice a mix of relief and anxiety. Slowly, Plankton's lid flutters open, revealing a dazed expression. "What... happened?" he slurs, his eye struggling to focus. The paramedics exchange a hopeful glance; he's coming around. They decide to ask Plankton simple questions to assess his cognition. "Plankton, can you tell me your name?" one of the paramedics asks, a gentle smile playing on their lips. "Name, Sheldon Jay Plankton." His voice is slow, but clear. A flicker of relief lights up Karen's screen. He seems to be responding coherently. The next question comes, "What's your wife's name?" "Karen." It's a victory, a sign that he's still in there. But the joy is short-lived as Plankton begins to stim. He starts rocking back and forth. The paramedics' calmly explain, "It's a form of self-soothing. It's common with autism. Let's see if we can get him to focus. What's your favorite color?" He stops rocking for a moment, his gaze locking onto a blue tool on the floor. "Blue," he says. "Good, good," the paramedic nods, noticing the sudden change in his demeanor. "What do you like to do for fun?" The paramedic asks while the other paramedic removes the IV. But Plankton, feeling them remove his IV, yelps. His hands begin to flap rapidly as he looks around the room, his eye wide with fear. "It's okay," Karen whispers, stroking his hand, trying to soothe him. The paramedics' eyes meet hers, their expressions sympathetic. "It's okay, Plankton. You're safe." They try another question, one that's more familiar to him. "Do you remember your latest invention?" But Plankton's still feeling the sting of the IV removal, his eye darting around the room, not quite focusing on anyone or anything. "Look, Plankton, a button," Karen says softly, pointing as she tries to refocus him. He turns his head slightly, his eye locking onto her hand. "Button," he repeats, his voice a whisper as he rubs his arm. The paramedics nod, giving Karen an encouraging look. She continues, "Plankton, sweetie, can you tell me what the button does?" For a moment, he's still. Then, he answers. "What the button does Plankton." It's a start, a glimmer of the Plankton she knows. Karen's eyes fill with hope as she presses on. "Yes, honey, what happens when you push the button?" He blinks, his gaze shifting from her hand to the floor, and then back up to her. "The button... tell... what the button does Plankton," he mumbles. Encouraged by the response, she leans in closer, her voice even softer. "The button, honey, what happens when you push it?" Plankton's eye refocus, his mind racing to piece together the fragmented information. His voice quivers with effort as he says, "Button... blue... go." The words are disjointed, but there's a spark in his eye. Karen's hope grows as she realizes he's trying to communicate. "Is that your invention, Plankton?" she asks, her voice trembling. He nods slightly, his hand reaching for the metal shelf that had fallen. She gently guides his hand back to the button. The paramedics watch the interaction closely, noting his responses. They're looking for signs of coherence, anything that might indicate the extent of his cognitive ability. "Can you tell me the purpose of your invention, Plankton?" His gaze flits from the button to Karen's screen and back again. "Button... blue... go," he repeats. "Can you tell me the purpose of your invention Plankton." He parrots. Karen's eyes widen. "It's okay, sweetheart," she says, her voice shaky. "Just tell me what the button is for." Plankton whispers, "Button... blue... go," his gaze intense. "Tell Karen what the button is for.." Karen's eyes never leave him, her heart pounding in her chest as she sees the effort he's making. "The button," she prompts softly, "what does it do?" Plankton's breath hitches, his fingers tapping a rhythm. "Button... blue... go," he murmurs, the words falling out of order, as if his brain is trying to solve a puzzle. Karen nods encouragingly, her screen brimming with unshed tears. She knows she needs to be patient, to guide him through this new reality. "Honey, the button... what happens when it goes blue?" Plankton's hand twitches, then stills. He stares at the button, thoughts visibly racing. "Go... blue... button." The words come out slowly, as if he's assembling them carefully in his mind. "It goes blue." The paramedics nod, scribbling notes on their clipboards. One says, "That's good. Keep prompting him. It's important to see how his cognition functions." She tries to think of more questions to unlock the Plankton she knew before. "What's your favorite food?" she asks. He pauses, his gaze drifting to the corner of the room, then snaps back to her, his eye brightening slightly. "Krabby Patty," he says, his voice clearer now. "We sell chum..." Karen's gaze swells with hope, his words a familiar echo of their shared past. The Krabby Patty was his lifelong obsession, a symbol of his restaurant rivalry with Mr. Krabs. It's a sign, however small, that he's still in there. "Yes, Plankton," she smiles, her voice thick with emotion.

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.

AUTIE AND DOCTOR GOOD (Author has Sensory Processing Disorder) Autie’s determination grew with each step she took away from that cold, unfeeling place. This was not the end of her journey. Days later, Autie found herself in the waiting room of Dr. Goodie, a recommendation from a friend who understood her plight. The walls here were painted a warm, soothing color, and the air smelled faintly of lavender. The music was soft, a melody that seemed tailored to her soul. The furniture was plush, and the lighting gentle, not the harsh fluorescent glare she'd come to expect. When Dr. Goodie entered, her eyes met Autie's, a smile in them that seemed genuine. She didn't immediately dive into her charts, but sat down, her posture open and attentive. "Tell me, Autie, what brings you in today?" Her voice was calm, a stark contrast to the storm Autie had weathered before. Autie took a deep breath, her words tumbling out like a waterfall, explaining her symptoms, her fears, and the pain of being doubted. Dr. Goodie nodded, her gaze never leaving Autie's, her expression one of understanding. She asked questions, real questions, that didn't make Autie feel like she was being interrogated. Her touch was gentle, her explanations thorough. She acknowledged Autie's reality, validating her experiences without dismissal. The exam room was a sanctuary, designed with sensory needs in mind. The lights were dimmer, the sounds softer, and the air held a faint scent of calming essential oils. Dr. Goodie offered Autie noise-canceling headphones, and a soft, weighted blanket to hold during the exam. She moved slowly, giving Autie time to adjust to each new sensation. Her voice remained calm and soothing, a lifeline in the tumultuous sea of Autie's overwhelmed nervous system. "We'll go at your pace," Dr. Goodie assured her. "I have different tools and techniques that I can use to make this easier for you." Autie felt a spark of hope, a tiny flame flickering in the darkness. For the first time in a long time, someone was offering her choices, treating her not as a problem to be solved, but as a person to be heard. Before each test, Dr. Goodie explained what she was about to do, asking for Autie's consent. "Is this okay with you?" she would say, holding up a thermometer or a blood pressure cuff. It was a simple question, but it meant the world to Autie. Her nods were met with a warm smile and a gentle touch that didn't make her recoil. The doctor's fingers were light as they performed each procedure, and she talked Autie through each step, her voice a steady beacon in the chaos of Autie's senses. For the first time in this medical odyssey, Autie felt seen and heard. Dr. Goodie didn't dismiss her pain, didn't treat her like a puzzle to solve or a problem to fix. Instead, she offered empathy, a rare gift in a world that so often misunderstood her. With each question, each caring gesture, Autie felt a piece of herself being put back together, like a shattered vase being carefully glued. "Would you like the lights a bit dimmer?" Dr. Goodie asked, and Autie nodded gratefully. The doctor obliged, and the room transformed into a soothing cave of calm. The doctor then presented her with a tray of different textured materials to choose from. "Which one feels most comfortable for you?" Autie selected a soft, velvety material, and Dr. Goodie placed it over the chair's harsh fabric, giving her a small oasis of comfort. Next, she offered a variety of fidget toys, each designed to cater to a different need. "Which of these helps you focus?" Autie's eyes lit up as she chose a smooth stone, the weight of it grounding her in a way she hadn't felt since she first walked into the cold, uncaring environment of Dr. Baddy's office. She clutched it tightly as Dr. Goodie continued her exam, her thumb absently tracing patterns that soothed her racing mind. The doctor spoke softly, explaining that she understood how overwhelming the world could be for someone with heightened senses. "We're going to work together," she assured Autie, "to find what works best for you." It was a revelation, like stepping out of a nightmare and into a dream. Here was someone who didn't just tolerate her differences but celebrated them, who saw her as more than just a collection of symptoms. Dr. Goodie took out a small pad of paper and a pen, asking Autie to write down any particular textures or sensations that were particularly uncomfortable for her. Autie's hand shook slightly as she began to scribble, the relief making her almost lightheaded. She listed the cold metallic feeling of instruments, the rough cotton of the typical examination table, the sharpness of needles, and the unyielding grip of Dr. Baddy's restraints. The doctor nodded thoughtfully as she read, her eyes never leaving Autie's. "I see," she said, her voice calm and measured. "We'll make sure to avoid those triggers as much as possible. I have a few alternatives we can try." Her voice was like a balm, soothing Autie's frazzled nerves. "For instance, we can use a different material for the blood pressure cuff, and I can make sure to warm up any instruments before I use them on you." She paused, waiting for Autie to indicate her agreement. When she nodded, Dr. Goodie smiled gently. "Good. And I have some numbing cream that can help." The exam continued, but this time it was a dance of understanding. Each move was made with care, each touch a promise that Autie's needs were not just acknowledged, but respected. Dr. Goodie was patient, explaining each step before taking it, and Autie felt a burden lifting. She was not a problem to be solved, but a person to be cared for. The doctor's gentle touch was a stark contrast to the invasive poking of before, and Autie found herself relaxing under the weighted blanket, the soft light, and the steady rhythm of her voice.

COMMON ACCOMMODATIONS FOR KIDS WITH AUTISM ELIGIBILITY: OMeS. SPEECHIEPO Sensory/movement breaks Advanced notice of changes in routine Visual Schedules Allow for wait time Provide written instructions Chunking of work Clear, concise directions Access to calming area Give choices when possible Directly teach self advocacy skills

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.

Lots of laughter Need for acceptance Passionate Strong emotions Loyal Full of love active & playful Kind hearted Happy hands Big smiles Because - Autism is not always *that* different

Autistic Masking The Autistic Teacher What is Autistic Masking? Masking is when we suppress or hide our feelings, needs, behaviours or another part of ourselves in order to fit in with those around us. Sometimes referred to as camouflaging. Everyone masks to a certain extent... but autistic people often have different social norms and so there is increased pressure and judgement from those around. An autistic person can mask so much that it becomes harmful to ourselves. We can spend our lives masking and hiding our real selves. Suppressing Some behaviours that we find soothing or help us to regulate can be considered a bit 'weird' and so many Autistic people suppress these 'stims' Making eye contact can be uncomfortable, even painful for some autistic people, but we might force ourselves to be uncomfortable to try desperately hard to appear to fit in, even to our detriment. Suppressing Most common for me is hiding my sensory discomfort. This could be staying somewhere that is too bright, too loud, too hot... because I'm trying really hard to cope and be like everyone else. But unfortunately it can take it's toll and can result in a meltdown, shutdown or burnout. Sometimes if you are feeling really shy you can force yourself to be out there and talking to people. But it's draining. Exhausting. Reflecting I have become very good at watching people and reflecting their behaviour. This too is masking. I might learn scripts... planning how a conversation might go and thinking about the correct responses. I watch and listen to what kind of behaviour or language is acceptable so that I can fit in. This might include suppressing the desire to infodump and tell them all about my current hyper focus or special interest. The Effects Autistic people who mask more show more signs of anxiety and depression. It's exhausting, draining...and people mask for so many years that they begin to lose their identity. Masking can lead to Autistic burnout and a mental health crisis Understanding and Acceptance Understanding and acceptance of neurodivergent behaviours and differences by neurotypical individuals is key. This would lessen the need to mask! As neurodivergent people, we can also be aware of masking and how it effects us. Knowing this and being kind to yourself, allowing some time to be your authentic self and recover is absolutely vital in protecting your own mental health.

AUTIE AND DOCTOR BAD (Author has Sensory Processing Disorder) The doctor's office was a minefield of sensory assaults. Every creak of the floorboard, every fluorescent flicker, every rustle of paper echoed like thunder in the hypersensitivity of Autie. The sterile smell of alcohol and antiseptic hung in the air, sharp and stinging. The walls, a shade of blue that was supposed to be calming, instead made the room feel cold and unfriendly. Autie sat, knees pressed tightly together, hands fidgeting in her lap. Her eyes darted around, trying to take in everything and nothing at once. The chair's material was a torment against her skin. She waited for Dr. Baddy, the general practitioner. When he finally entered, his eyes didn't meet hers. He skimmed through her chart with a sigh, his pen tapping implicitly on the page. He mumbled something about her being overly sensitive, that her issues were all in her head. Each word felt like a sharp jab, a knife twisting in her gut. The room grew smaller, the sounds louder. The doctor's voice grew louder, more dismissive. He talked over her, his words a blur of condescension. Autie tried to speak, to explain how she felt, but her voice was lost in the cacophony. She could feel her heart pounding, her palms sweating, her throat constricting. Her mind was racing, trying to make sense of his dissonance. Why couldn't he understand? She knew they’re busy, but still.. He began the tests, his cold instruments probing and poking. Each touch was a violation, a scream in her soul. The bright lights above seemed to bore into her, exposing every nerve ending. Autie flinched with each poke of the needle, each squeeze of the blood pressure cuff, each cold stethoscope on her skin. Her hyperactive mind painted the worst-case scenarios behind her closed eyes. The doctor's voice was still a blur, but Autie managed to catch words like "anxiety" and "psychosomatic." Her cheeks burned with shame. Was she really just imagining it all? Were her pain and fears simply the figments of an overactive imagination? But she knew better, she felt the reality of it, the weight of each sensation like an anchor around her neck, pulling her under. Her body was a symphony of discomfort, and he was the one turning a deaf ear. “Dr. Baddy, please, I…” He looked up, his eyes sharp, and she saw a flicker of annoyance behind the professional mask. “Miss, I understand this can be uncomfortable. It's all in your head, you know? It’ll be over..” The words hit Autie like a wave, a cold, unyielding force that crashed over her. Her heart pounded in protest, but she bit her tongue, fighting the urge to scream. Her eyes filled with tears that she refused to shed in front of him. Dr. Baddy continued, his voice a drone in her ears, as if speaking to a toddler. His touch grew more invasive with each test, his dismissive tones grating on her already frayed nerves. Each time he said "it's all in your head," she felt a piece of her sanity chip away. The room was spinning, the pressure in her chest building, her breaths shallow and desperate. She clutched the arms of the chair, her knuckles white, willing herself to stay calm. He didn't look at her as he spoke, his gaze on the computer screen, typing away. The words were a slap in the face, confirming what she feared: he didn't believe her. The pain was real, but in his eyes, she was just another patient to be placated. Autie's voice quivered as she tried to protest, to explain that she wasn't just overreacting. But the words wouldn't come. Her mouth was dry, her throat tight. The room was spinning faster now, the walls closing in. The noise grew louder, a crescendo of doubt and frustration. Dr. Baddy's impatience was palpable. He didn't seem to notice her distress, or if he did, he didn't care. Each new test was a battle for her to endure, a silent cry for validation that went unheard. Finally, Autie reached her breaking point. She couldn't take the poking and prodding anymore, nor his dismissive accusations. With a tremble in her voice, she managed to interject, "It's not all in my head. My body isn't lying to me." Dr. Baddy's eyes snapped to hers, his expression hardening. "Young lady," he began, raising his voice, "you're not making this easy for yourself. These symptoms you're describing are mere textbook anxiety, but until you accept it, we won't get anywhere." His words were exploding in her ears. Autie flinched at his volume, the force of his tone sending shockwaves through her already overstimulated system. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, but the walls remained steadfast in their judgment. The air grew thick with his accusations, suffocating her, no matter how hard she’s trying… Her heart hammered. Her mind raced, trying to find the words to explain, but they remained elusive, trapped by the fear that his skepticism had planted. Her breaths grew shallower, each one a struggle. “Sir, I’m neurodivergent…” He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Aren’t we all, I know. But that’s no excuse for overreacting like this. You need to learn to manage your anxiety. This isn’t your first appointment, Miss. I’ve seen worse cases than yours, and they don’t act like you do. Maybe it’s time you complied instead of wasting time with trivial complaints!” The words stung like a thousand needles, piercing her soul. Autie felt a tear slip down her cheek, hot and humiliating. Her body shook with the effort to keep herself from screaming. But she knew she had to keep it together, to fight for herself in this battle of perception. “Doc, if we can just…” Dr. Baddy leaned in, his face inches from hers. “Miss, if you can’t even sit through a simple exam, how do you expect to handle real-world stress? Your symptoms are textbook. I’ve seen it all before. Now, kids have done these tests yet they don’t cry wolf like you do. Get a grip!” Autie felt like she was drowning, his words like a heavy weight pressing on her chest, leaving her gasping for air. Her vision blurred with unshed tears, her body shaking uncontrollably. The doctor's, a place of hope and healing, now felt like a prison. Her heart ached with the injustice of it all. This wasn’t the first time she’d faced disbelief. She wanted to flee, to leave this cruel, albeit professional, man behind. But she knew that would only reinforce his misconceptions about her. But the nurse at the door, the one who had offered a sympathetic smile earlier, was busy with her own work. Autie was alone with Dr. Baddy’s disdain. “I’m going to need you to stay still,” he said, his voice a command. He moved to restrain her flailing limbs, his grip firm and unyielding. The pressure on her wrists and ankles was a new torment, each touch a branding iron on her already raw skin. Autie’s breathing grew quick and shallow, each inhale a battle, each exhale a defeat. She couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel. Her chest tightened, a vice squeezing the life out of her. The room swirled into a whirlpool of sound and color, dragging her under as she literally got sick, bringing her even more discomfort. The smell of bile and fear mingled with the antiseptic stink, and she heard Dr. Baddy’s voice, now sharp and accusatory, telling her to calm down. But how could she? The world was a symphony of pain and doubt, and he was the conductor, baton slashing through her defenses. Her stomach lurched again, and she felt the cold, wet floor beneath her knees. Autie was beyond soothing. She was lost in overstimulation, each sensation a new threat to her already fragile psyche. The doctor's hands, now removing the restraints, felt like a hundred biting insects, each touch a reminder of dismissal. Her legs wobbled as she stood, eyes blurry with tears. The floor spun beneath her, and she leaned heavily on the nurse. "It's okay, sweetie," she whispered, her voice a balm to Autie's raw soul. But it wasn't ok. Nothing was ok. The world was still a minefield, each step a gamble she wasn't sure she could win. The nurse helped her to a chair, handing her a cup of water. Autie sipped it gratefully, the coolness a brief respite from the fire raging inside her. Dr. Baddy stood back, arms crossed, his face a thundercloud. The room felt like it was shrinking, the embodiment of the doubt that plagued her. But the doctor's words were a weight, dragging her back under. Was she just overreacting? The nurse's voice was a whisper in the chaos. "Miss, let's get you cleaned up, okay?" Autie nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Her body was still shaking, and her eyes stung from the tears. The nurse's touch was firm but kind as she helped Autie to the bathroom. The nurse handed her a wet cloth, and Autie gratefully wiped her face, the coolness bringing a tiny bit of relief. It was something she knew all too well: the look of someone who didn't quite believe her, who thought she was just being dramatic. An ableist microaggression, subtle but stinging nonetheless. "It's okay, you'll be fine," the nurse said, her voice soft but patronizing. Autie could see the judgment lurking beneath her smile. "You just need to learn to cope with your... issues." It was their lack of understanding that was the real issue. But all that came out was a weak, "Thank you." She just wanted some sensory accommodations, but they made it seem like an outrageous request, refusing as if inconvenient. Leaving the office, Autie felt broken, defeated. The sun outside was too bright, the sounds of the world a cacophony she couldn't bear. But she knew she had to find a better doctor, one who would listen.

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.

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."

Affirmations for Autistic People @neurodivergent_lou Your worth isn't defined by your productivity. You are not lazy for resting. You are not too much as an autistic person. You are not a burden for advocating for your needs and requesting accommodations. Society needs to adapt to you too. You are not faking being autistic. People who aren't autistic don't spend time worrying if they are autistic. Self diagnosis is valid. It is not your fault for struggling in a world that is not built for you. Your sensory issues are very real even if other people have different sensory experiences to you. You are not making things up You are not broken, you are not incomplete.

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

𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖤 𝖳𝖮𝖦𝖤𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱 𝖻𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 part 4 Chip looked down at the octopus in his lap, his eyes filling with tears. "I didn't know," he whispered. "I just didn't understand." Karen took a deep breath, trying to calm her own shaking voice. "You need to understand, Chip. That word is not okay," she said, her tone steady. "It's hurtful and disrespectful. Your father is not 'that'. He's autistic. And autistic is just a part of who he is." Chip looked up at her, his expression one of shock and dawning realization. "But why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice small. "Why did you keep it a secret?" Karen took a moment to compose herself, her own tears threatening to spill over. "We didn't keep it a secret just to hide it," she explained, her voice trembling. "We kept it private because it's your father's story to tell, not ours. And because we didn't want you to think of him any differently. But we should have talked to you, yes. We should have helped you understand." Chip nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the octopus in his hand. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to make hi-" "Don't," Karen said, cutting him off. "Your apology can wait. Right now, you need to understand why that word is wrong." She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's not just a label, Chip. It's a way people have used to put others down. To make them feel less than." Her voice was firm, her eyes never leaving his. "Your father has felt that way enough times already; he doesn't need it from his own son!" Chip nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. He hadn't realized the impact of his ignorance. "What can I do to make it right?" he asked, his voice cracking. Karen took a deep breath. "First, you need to educate yourself," she said gently. "Learn your dad's specific needs. Talk to him. Hear his story. Understand what it's like for him." Chip nodded, his gaze firm. "Okay," he said, his voice still shaky. "I'll do that." Karen goes back to the bedroom to find Plankton sitting on the edge of the bed, his body wracked with sobs. His hand was moving in a repetitive motion, tracing the edge of the bedspread, a silent testament to his pain. Her heart breaking, she sat beside him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "It's okay, love," she soothed, her voice gentle. "It's okay to cry." Plankton's sobs grew louder, his body shaking. But amidst the tears, a steady sound emerged. It was the soft, rhythmic humming he often did when he was overwhelmed or even just restless. It was his way of self- soothing, his brain's attempt to find order in the chaos. Karen had learned to recognize this sound over the years. She held his hand, her thumb rubbing small circles in his palm. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice a balm to his raging emotions. "I'm here." Plankton's humming grew softer, his body slowly still. The anger drained from him, leaving behind only sadness. "Chip," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "He said the word." It was a private stim, one Karen knew meant Plankton was trying to process the pain. He spoke to himself often during these moments, his thoughts running in a loop as he tried to find comfort in his own company as he rocked back and forth. "But why?" Plankton whispered, his eye glazed over as he felt the familiar rhythm of his stim kick in. "Why would Chip, Chip did?" He stared at his own hand. "I'm not that. I'm not." Karen's heart ached at the pain in his voice. She knew this was his way of trying to make sense of the world. "You're not, love," she assured him. "You're just different. And that's okay." Chip goes into his parents bedroom and goes up to Plankton slowly, the octopus in his hand. "Dad," he whispers, his voice tentative. Plankton looks up, his eye red and swollen from crying. "I'm sorry," Chip says, holding out the octopus. "Can we ta—" But Plankton doesn't give him a chance to finish. "I don't want your apology," he says coldly. He turns his body away from Chip. Karen's eyes dart between the two of them, her heart racing with fear of the growing rift. "Plankton," she starts, but he shakes his head. "Please," Chip says, his voice breaking. "I didn't know." He takes another step forward, his hand outstretched. "Let me help you," he says, putting his hand on his dad's shoulder to turn him around. But Plankton flinches at the touch, his sensory overload already at peak. Karen's eyes widen as she recognizes the signs of another seizure coming on. "No," she says. "Not now." But it's too late. Plankton's eye rolls back. Chip backs away, his heart racing. This was his fault. If he hadn't upset him, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Karen moves swiftly, placing the bear in his trembling hand. The room goes quiet as the seizure takes hold, the only sounds Plankton's whimpers. Chip watches. He wants to help, but doesn't know how. Karen moves quickly, guiding the bear into Plankton's hand. "Now Chip," she says, her voice steady. "When your dad comes back, he may not immediately remember. He might talk funny or seem confused. It just means he needs some time to get his thoughts back." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his father's trembling form as the shaking slows. Drool trickled down the corner of Plankton's mouth as he began to mumble. "Wha-wha-wha," Plankton phrased, trying to piece together the shattered thoughts. It was like his brain had gone back to the beginning, relearning how to speak, to process the world around him. It was both heartbreaking and strangely endearing. "Bear," he mumbled, his fingers fidgeting with the plush toy. "Bear...good." He giggled, a high-pitched sound that seemed out of place coming from him. "Bear is...bear." His speech was a jumble of words. Karen watched with a mix of amusement and sadness. This was a part of Plankton's recovery she had seen before, his brain trying to find its footing again. It was like a toddler learning to talk, except it was her husband. She turned to Chip. "Try talking to him," she urged. "Keep it simple and calm."

SHELF IMPROVEMENT xiii (Autistic author) "It's okay," Karen soothed. "You're safe." Plankton nodded slowly, his antennae twitching as he tried to sit up. Andreea was there instantly, offering a gentle support. "Take it easy," she said, her voice calm and soothing. "Let's not rush." "Who are you?" Plankton asked, his voice shaky. Andreea smiled warmly, recognizing the fear behind the question. "I'm Andreea, Penny's mom," she introduced herself softly, her eyes kind. "We met just now at the science fair, remember?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his memory slowly reconstructing the events. The noise of the science fair washed over him again, the confrontation with his new reality stark. He nodded, his body still tense. "Oh, right," he murmured. Andreea's gentle touches continued, but Plankton's discomfort was growing. His skin felt like it was crawling with every contact, his senses heightened. "Could you please...not touch like that?" Andreea nodded, understanding. "How about this?" she asked, her hand hovering over his, a question in her eyes. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae quivering. She placed her hand gently on his, her touch light as a feather... It was too much. Plankton's body tensed up again, his skin feeling like it was on fire. "No...," he whimpered, pulling his hand away. "NO TOUCH." Andreea's hand froze mid-air, her eyes widening in surprise. "Oh," she said, her voice apologetic. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." Karen stepped forward, her heart racing. "It's okay," she assured both Andreea and Plankton. Plankton's hands were a blur in the air, his stimming a silent scream for relief, and his body was desperately trying to make sense of it. Andreea's hand retreated quickly, understanding dawning on her face. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes filled with compassion. "I didn't mean..." But Plankton was beyond words, his body caught in the throes of a silent storm. His hands patted the bed rhythmically, a self-soothing gesture that offered him a semblance of control amidst the chaos of his overstimulated surroundings. Karen watched, her heart breaking for the fear and confusion that danced in his eye. "Home," he managed to get out, his voice barely a whisper. "Take home." Karen nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "Okay, sweetheart," she soothed, her voice steady despite the worry etched deeply in her heart. "We'll go home." Andreea stepped back, giving them the space they needed. "Let me know if there's anything I can do," she said, her voice low and soothing. "We're here for you." Plankton nods as Karen goes to find Chip. The hallways of the school are a blur of sounds and sights, each one a potential trigger for Plankton's fragile state. Karen's heart races, her mind on autopilot as she moves swiftly, her eyes scanning for Chip's distinctive form. She finds him, his face a picture of concern as he stands outside the classroom. "Dad?" Chip asks, his voice filled with worry as he sees Plankton's condition. "Chip," Karen says, her voice shaking slightly. "Daddy's not feeling well. We have to go home." Chip's eyes widen in concern. "What happened?" Karen sighs, explaining quickly. "It's just his autism, sweetie. It's overwhelming sometimes." Chip's eyes fill with understanding, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Okay," he mumbles. Karen scoops Plankton up into her arms, his tiny frame feeling like a feather. The walk home is a journey through Plankton's minefield of sensory overload. Each footstep a potential trigger, Karen's heart in her throat with every crunch of gravel underfoot. Arriving home, Chip follows his parents to their bedroom, as Karen sets down Plankton in his bed. The room is dimly lit, a sanctuary from the harsh world that lies beyond their walls. The soft glow of a lamp in the corner casts long shadows that dance and flicker. Karen gently lays Plankton down on the bed, his body still tense from the overstimulation. "You can go to your room if you want, Chip," Karen says. She quickly kisses both their heads before slipping out the door, leaving Chip to watch over Plankton. She desperately needs a moment to herself, to process the whirlwind of emotions and new realities that have crashed into their lives. But Chip's gaze doesn't leave his father's form. He was so excited to show his parents, but they had to leave! All because of his dad.. Chip's thoughts swirl with accusations. "Why did you have to get sick?" he whispers angrily, his small fists clenching. Plankton's antennae twitch, and his eye flicks to Chip, his gaze questioning. "Son, please underst--" "It's all your fault!" Chip's voice cracks with anger and disappointment. "If you weren't like this, we could have stayed at the science fair!" Plankton's antennae droop, his heart shattering at his son's words. The weight of Chip's accusations presses down on him like a heavy stone, his body trembling with the effort to control his breathing. "Chip," he whispers, his voice breaking, "it's not..." But Chip is on a roll, the dam of his emotions finally breached. "You're always ruining things!" he yells, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "You can't even go to a simple science fair without having a...a... meltdown," he spits out, the word bitter on his tongue. Plankton's eye widens in hurt. "Chip, no," he whispers, his voice trembling. "You don't get it!" Chip shouts, tears welling up in his eyes. "You don't get how it feels to have everyone looking at me because you can't even handle a little noise!" Plankton's antennae droop further, the weight of his son's words a heavy burden. "So sorry," he whispers, his voice small and defeated. "I never wanted to..." But Chip isn't finished. "How do you think mom feels, always having to take care of you?" he demands. "Don't you see how much she's suffering because of you?" His words are a knife, each one twisting in Plankton's chest. Plankton's antennae drop to his sides, his body a picture of defeat. "Chip," he says, his voice weak. "I..." "Your wife," Chip says, "is tired," he spits, "always taking care of you! And you don't see how you're ruining her, hurting us! She deserves better than this!" The venom in his words is like a poison, seeping into the very fabric of their relationship. "So don't tell me you're not a burden to her, because you are!" The accusations hang in the air like shrapnel, each word a piece of metal that pierces Plankton's heart. "Chip," he whispers, reaching out with a trembling hand, but Chip's had enough. He turns on his heel, his footsteps pounding on the floorboards like a marching band, each step taking him further from Plankton's reach. The door slams behind him, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. Plankton flinches, his body curling into a tight ball under the blankets. Tears stream down. The silence that follows is deafening, the echo of Chip's words bouncing around the walls, a taunting reminder of his failure as a father. Karen, who had been downstairs, rushes upstairs at the sound of the slam. Her heart thuds in her chest as she thinks of the possible scenarios.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT xiv (Autistic author) Finding Chip's door closed, Karen knocks gently. "Chip, are you okay?" she asks, her voice laced with concern. There's a pause, then the sound of sniffling. "Come in," he mumbles, his voice muffled by the closed door. Karen opens the door with a soft creak, the room bathing in the soft light from the hallway. Chip is sitting on his bed, his face red and blotchy from crying. The sight of him like this breaks her heart. "Chip?" she says, her voice trembling with concern. "What's wrong, baby?" Chip's head snaps up, his eyes wet with unshed tears. "I wanted you to be proud of me in the science fair, if only Dad..." But Chip was cut off, interrupted by a crash from his parent's room. Both Karen and Chip exchanged looks of alarm before bolting out of Chip's room and down the hall. They open the door. The sight that greeted them was like a tornado had swept through their bedroom. Plankton's anger had manifested in a flurry of destructive energy, his small body heaving with the effort of his rage. He had thrown everything within his reach: the lamp was on the floor, the shadows from its shattered glass twisting and turning on the ceiling like ghosts. The bedside table lay on its side, its contents spilled out. Karen's eyes widened in shock, but it was the sight of Plankton that truly broke her heart. His face was a mask of fury, his antennae whipping around as if about to strike. "Plankton, honey, what happened?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear and concern. But Chip's presence was like fuel to the fire, only serving to inflame his anger further. "I'm not trying to be a burden!" Plankton shouted, his tiny fists clenched in rage. "I'm lovable!" His antennae whipped back and forth in a display of frustration that Karen had never seen from him before. Karen took a step back, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Plankton," she pleaded, her voice shaky. "You..." But Plankton was beyond reason, his autistic mind overwhelmed by the accusations. "I'M. NOT. A. BURDEN!" he screamed at Chip, his tiny fists shaking with the intensity of his emotions. Karen's eyes widened in shock. Plankton had never been like this before. His autism had brought moments of stress, but she had never seen this raw anger. Chip looked from his mother to his father, his own eyes brimming with tears. He understood now that his words had caused this. He had never meant to make his father feel that way. "Dad," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I'm sorr-" But Plankton's anger had consumed him. "But I didn't know how she now feels about me?" he yelled, his voice echoing off the walls. "How tired is she, from caring for me?" His eye was wild, his tiny frame shaking with the effort of his outburst. "And no more lying!" Karen's heart was racing. She knew she had to intervene before things got worse. She stepped tentatively into the room, her hands held out in a calming motion. "Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "What did Chip say to upset you?" She turns to Chip. Chip's eyes dropped to the floor, his cheeks flushing with guilt. He swallowed hard, his voice a whisper. "I didn't mean it," he managed to get out. "I just got..." But Karen's gaze was on Plankton, her heart breaking for the pain she could see in his eye. "Chip, tell me," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "What did you say to your father?" Chip took a deep breath, his eyes darting to the floor. "I...I told him he's a burden," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "That mom deserves better, that...that he's ruining our lives." The admission was like a punch to his own stomach. "Because I can see how tired you're feeling with his tantrums, and it's not fair that YOU have to deal with this," he added, gesturing to his dad. "I told him you don't like to suffer becau…" But before he could finish, Karen's hand was on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Chip," she said, cutting him off. "That's enough." Her voice was calm, but it held a firmness that made him swallow his next words. She turned to Plankton, her gaze filled with compassion and understanding. "You're not a burden, sweetheart," she said, her voice steady as a rock in a storm. "You're our family, and we love you." "Mom, that's no excuse to keep him around," Chip snaps. Plankton's antennae quiver, his rage now filled with even more hurt and anger. "Chip," Karen says, her voice a gentle reprimand. "That's not how we speak to each other." She kneels beside Plankton's shaking form, her hand reaching out to him. Plankton's eye locks onto her hand. He flinches away, his breathing erratic. "Don't touch me," he says, his voice cold and hard. Karen's hand freezes in midair, the sting of his words cutting deep. "Okay," she whispers, retracting her hand slowly. "Okay." Her heart is a whirlwind of emotions. She understands Chip's frustration, but she also sees the devastation on Plankton's face. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking. "Chip, please," she says, her voice firm but gentle. "We have to be understanding." But Chip's pain is like a volcano, erupting without warning. "Understanding?!" he yells. "What about what I feel?" He turns to Plankton, his eyes wet with tears. "Do you even know how hard it is for me to see Mom tired from you all the time?" Plankton's face falls. "I never meant to..." But Chip's tantrum isn't over. "You're always so selfish!" he shouts, the words stinging like whips. "You don't think about us, about what we need! And now, because of you, I'm missing the science fair! So much for your 'love'!" He snaps, poking Plankton. Hard. Hard enough to make him whine. Plankton's anger spikes. "Don't touch me!" he yells, his voice echoing in the small space. Chip rolls his eyes and proceeds to touch Plankton again. This time, the reaction is swift and violent. Plankton's tiny arm shoots out like a whip, slapping Chip's hand away. "I SAID NO TOUCH!" he screams, the force of his words shaking the room.

PLUSH ONE v (By NeuroFabulous) They sit there in silence, their hands clasped. Karen can feel the steady rhythm of his breath, his hand twitching slightly with each exhale. She squeezes his hand, a silent promise of support. "I'm here," she whispers again, her voice a balm to the raw edges of his fear. Plankton's body relaxes into hers, his gaze fixed on their intertwined fingers. Karen's mind races, trying to understand the complex web of sensory input that now dictates his reality. Every touch, every sound, every sight could be either a comfort or a cacophony. "I'm gonna go clean up the metal container." Karen says, giving him a kiss on the forehead before going. After she left, Plankton thought about his rivalry with Krabs. He didn't want Krabs to be suspicious if he suddenly stops trying to steal his formula. He doesn't want Krabs to find out or figure out about his autism. So he wrote down "I went across the street" on a note if Karen came back. Then, he went to the Krusty Krab restaurant. The bright lights and the noise of the kitchen now overwhelms him. He found a corner and sat down, his eye squeezed shut. His heart raced as he tried to think about the mission. It's a place he's been in countless times, but he's autistic now. Yet he knew and remembered the environment, despite the new sensory experience. Plankton took a deep breath and forced his eye open, his gaze darts around, trying to find the safety vault he knew so well. He saw the familiar soda machine, the greasy counters, and the gleaming spatulas, but everything felt wrong. The smell of cooking oil was too intense, the clatter of pans too loud. His mind raced, trying to process the cacophony of sensory input. He needs to focus on getting the recipe out of that safe! Slowly, Plankton stood, his legs wobbly from the effort to filter out the chaos. He knew he had to keep moving, to complete his task. Now to figure out the combination. He approached the safe, his hands trembling with the effort to block out the noise. The buttons on the safe were cold under his fingertips, and he felt the familiar thrill of a challenge. His mind raced, trying to remember his past schemes and the patterns that had always come so naturally to him. But it was like trying to recall a dream. The numbers and sequences danced just out of reach, taunting him with their elusiveness. His eye darted around, catching sight of the menu board, the colorful condiments, and the glint of the cash register. It was all too much. He stepped back, his breaths coming quick and shallow. He needed to find his center, to focus on the task at hand. He closed his eye and thought of Karen, the feel of her hand in his, the sound of her voice. It grounded him, calmed the storm in his head. With renewed determination, he opened his eye. The safe was a monolith, a silent witness to his tumultuous thoughts. He studied the buttons, the cold metal under his fingertips. He knew the pattern had to be simple, something Krabs would think secure. Plankton's mind raced, trying to decipher the sequence that had once come to him so easily. He closed his eye, trying to concentrate, but the sounds and smells of the kitchen crashed over him like a wave. The cacophony was unbearable, a stark contrast to the quiet orderliness of his laboratory. He took a deep breath, focusing on the cool metal of the safe. He had to get the Krabby Patty formula. For Karen, for himself. This was a purpose, his obsession. But now, everything felt different. The familiar had become strange, the simple complex. With trembling hands, Plankton started to press buttons on the safe, his mind racing with the patterns of his past attempts. But his brain didn't respond in the usual way. The numbers jumbled, the sequences slipped away. He felt the weight of his failure pressing down on him, the kitchen sounds amplifying his anxiety. What numbers would Krabs put in? He took a deep breath and tried to visualize their conversations, the tiny details that might hold the key. But every memory was now filtered through the lens of his new autistic brain. It was like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing. His hand hovered over the dial, his eye blinking rapidly. "Krabs," he murmured to himself. "What would Krabs say?" The name echoed in his head, a beacon in the fog. Plankton knew his rival's patterns, his obsessions. He thought of Krabs' parsimony, his love for his secret formula. It had to be something significant to him, something that made sense in his own peculiar way. Plankton's thumb tapped the side of the safe, his mind racing through memories. And then it clicked. Krabs had always talked about his mother's birthday, a sacred number, a key to his heart. Plankton tried the combination, his heart pounding. The dial spun smoothly, the clicks sounding like a symphony in his heightened hearing. 14-6-82. The safe whirred to life, the door popping open. Plankton's eye widened in amazement, his heart racing. He'd done it. He reached in and grabbed the precious envelope. The Krabby Patty formula, in Krabs' own scrawl. It was within his grasp. Now to get out of here! But how? What's made him always get caught before? The chaos of the kitchen faded away, and he saw the pattern. It was his lack of disguise, his hasty exits. This time would be different. He needed to blend in, to become part of the background. He needed to calm down, to think through his actions logically. He couldn't let his excitement overwhelm him. Plankton had to get out without drawing attention to himself. He thought back to the times he'd seen Krabs interact with his employees, the casual way he'd moved through the kitchen... Plankton then spotted the air vent! Sure enough, he and the recipe both fit through. He emerged into the alley, his heart racing. The cold air was a slap in the face, but it also brought with it a sense of clarity. He knew his sensory overload would make a hasty retreat impossible. But he's out of the Krusty Krab! He ran back to his own place across the street. Plankton stumbled into his lab, his eye taking in the familiar sights with new intensity. The colors were too bright, the smells too potent, the sounds of his own inventions too loud. But here, he knew he was safe. He laid the envelope on his workbench, his hand shaking with excitement. This was his life's work, the elixir to his problems. But now, with the Krabby Patty formula in his grasp, he wasn't sure what to do next. His mind raced with the sensory input from the kitchen, making it difficult to think clearly. The lab's chaos seemed to calm him, though. The familiar sounds of beeping machines and the faint scent of chemicals soothed his overwhelmed senses. He took a deep breath, his hand steadying. The envelope sat there, a symbol of his old life. His obsession with the Krabby Patty formula had been the driving force behind their rivalry for so long. Now, his autism didn't erase his past, it just colored it differently. The desire to be successful, to have what Krabs had, remained. But the way he approached the world had changed. He knew the taste, the smell, the very essence of a Krabby Patty. It was a part of him now, a memory that could never fade. He stared at the envelope, his heart racing. Plankton took a deep breath, his eye focusing on the paper. His hands trembled as he opened it, the formula's secrets were written in a made up code by Krabs. But Plankton's autism made it decipherable to him! The letters and numbers danced on the page, but instead of the jumbled mess he'd expected, they formed patterns, beautiful patterns that his brain craved. He saw the structure, the order, the way each ingredient intertwined with the next. It was like a symphony of flavors, and he was the conductor. His heart raced as he read through the document, his mind whirling with the possibilities. He threw away the handwritten note from before as he brought the formula into the bedroom with him. Plankton sat on the bed, his mind racing. The code was complex, but he could see the patterns. It was like the universe had laid bare its secrets to him.

"You can't be Autistic... you're a girl! " Girls can be Autistic too! It's my neurotype... anyone can have an autistic brain. "You can't be Autistic... you can give eye contact!" Some autistic people have absolutely no problem with eye contact. Some of us make eye contact but are not always comfortable with it. Some of us find eye contact painful. Our level of eye contact does not determine our neurotype! "You can't be Autistic... you have empathy." Autistic people can be highly empathetic, though we may express it differently. For some of us, it's our intense empathy that drives us to help others. "You can't be Autistic.. you have friends!" Many autistic people have friends and some of us have lots of friends and enjoy socialising! But for some, relationships might look different. Many autistic individuals value friendships and relationships but may struggle with neurotypical social cues. "You can't be Autistic... because you're nothing like my autistic nephew." All autistic people are different, with different strengths and struggles. It doesn't make us less or more autistic... or less or more than anyone else... just uniquely autistic. "You can't be Autistic... you're terrible at maths! We're not all mathematical geniuses. Some autistic people are very creative or artistic. Some are very good writers or speakers. Some might have learning disabilities. Some autistic people have an amazing ability to make others smile. We are all different but all just as valuable.

Everyone is NOT a little bit autistic. The Autistic Teacher Using the phrase "everyone is a little bit autistic" can be problematic for several reasons... Minimisation of the Challenges Autism is a complex neurotype that affects individuals in various ways. By saying "everyone is a little bit autistic," it trivialises the challenges and differences faced by those who are autistic. Stereotyping and Misunderstanding Autism is not just about being introverted, having social quirks, or being detail-oriented. It encompasses a wide range of challenges in communication, differences in behaviour, and sensory processing that are unique to each autistic individual. Lack of Understanding and Awareness Such statements can perpetuate misconceptions about autism and hinder efforts to create a more inclusive and supportive environment for autistic individuals. Invalidation of Experiences Autistic people have distinct experiences and struggles that should not be dismissed or equated to common personality traits found in everyone. Promoting Stigma Comparing personality traits to a complex neurotype can reinforce stereotypes and stigma associated with autism. Instead of using 'everyone is a little bit autistic', it's important to respect the diversity and individuality of autistic people and educate ourselves and others by listening to actually autistic voices. The Autistic Teacher

NEW TO AUTISM OR POSSIBLE AUTISM DIAGNOSIS? OMeS SPEECHIE POS First Unlearn (almost) EVERYTHING you know about Autism and start FRESH! Autism is MORE than stereotypes! Autistic people can: Speak, be friendly, make eye contact, play creatively, be intelligent, enjoy hugs, go to college, tolerate different sensory sensations, respond to their name, get married, have friends, have jobs and careers, and more! Autism is a Pattern of Differences: Language: : Loe Take and Talking, may struggle saying wants/needs • Delay or decreased use of gestures, pointing, body language • Echolalia & scripting after age 2.5 • Uses words or phrases repeatedly/often • High pitch, melodic, sing-song voice • Uses another's hand/body as a tool to get help/gain access Interests & Routines: • Prefers sameness and routine, may struggle with changes and become anxious and dysregulated • Has strong, focused interests, may have early interest in letters/ numbers/ reading • Focuses on details and likes things to be "just right" (labeled OCD) • Repeats play activities or scenes (dumping/crashing, creative play) : Creies wakon router/patterns Social: • Eye contact: intense, avoidant, or inconsistent • Absent or inconsistent response to name • May be "overly" friendly/ lack stranger danger • May prefer to play alone or parallel play longer than others • May be better at responding to others than initiating social contact • Differences in joint attention • May need to direct/control play Sensory Processing: • Selective (picky) eating habits • Covers ears to loud sounds/ puts sounds up to ears, listens to sounds/songs on repeat • Watches items up close to study spinning or how they work, may look at eye level or side of eyes • Enjoys tight hugs, avoids hugs • Seeks movement: jumping, pacing, rocking back and forth, crashing • Sensitivity to grooming, washing, These are common examples & a non exhaustive list Autistic people can have many strengths, which often include: Hyperlexia: Reading letters & words at an early age Exceling in music, art, science, math, computer Hyper focusing on areas of interests Excellent memory skills Having an extensive knowledge in certain topics Knowing numbers, shapes, & colors early Motivated to teach self difficult skills. Remember that your feelings are valid. However you feel Keep in mind that some feelings should not be shared publicly where your child may see it one day. AND know that it's common for feelings to change over time, especially when you learn more about Autism and see your child progress with support. Consider Neurodiversity affirming support: Neuro-affirming support prioritizes the child's strengths and individuality, promotes self-advocacy, and ultimately allows and encourages children to be their authentic self. Be ready to advocate for your child while also teaching your child to advocate for themselves. Unfortunately, most people have a lot to learn when it comes to accepting Autistic and disabled people. While this should not fall solely on the shoulders of disabled people and/or their parents, we need to recognize that this does happen, and parents need to be ready. Accept that you may make mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. I have made MANY. Keep in mind that when you know better, you can do better. Growth is the goal!

https://www.wikihow.com/Interpret-Autistic-Body-Language

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.

https://www.autismwellbeing.org.uk/downloadable-resources

https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/ableism

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.

~ Doubting Blood My father got a DNA test done on my autistic, non-verbal little brother because he didn't think he was his child. The results came back and it turns out my brother is his son, but my mother has no idea my dad ever got that done.

replying to seal y girl- i have autism and enjoy finding comfort in making aesthetics but thats me lol text: “ADHDcore autismcore” thats a real mental issue and not an aesthetic/core thing actually lets not (·•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ ) (sealygirl)

“ADHDcore autismcore” thats a real mental issue and not an aesthetic/core thing actually lets not (·•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ ) (sealygirl)

SHELF IMPROVEMENT viii (Autistic author) The next day, Karen got up out of bed. Plankton's still asleep. She wondered how she's to wake him with his new sensory sensitivities. Gently, she opened the blinds, letting in the soft morning light. The room was peaceful, the silence only broken by the steady hum of his breathing. She took a moment to just watch his sleeping form, the covers rising and falling with each breath. Karen approached the bed, careful not to wake him. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as she reached out to stroke his forehead. He mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep, and she smiled sadly. "Good morning, Plankton," she whispered, keeping her voice soft. His eye fluttered open, and he blinked at her, his gaze slightly unfocused. "Karen," he mumbled, his voice groggy. "How are you feeling?" she asked, concern etched on her screen. Plankton blinked a few times, his antennae slowly raising. "Tired," he finally said, his voice raspy. "It's okay," Karen soothed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "We'll take it easy today. I told Chip about your new neurodisability.." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he took in her words. "Chip knowing?" he murmured, his eye searching hers. "Yes, sweetie," Karen nodded. "We talked about how we need to be gentler with you now." Plankton's antennae stilled, his gaze unreadable. Then, slowly, his eye found hers. "Thank... you?" he whispered, the words a gentle caress. Karen felt a tear roll down her screen. "Of course," she said, smiling softly. "We're in this together." It's the first time since the accident that he used an actual pronoun. Plankton's antennae quivered as he absorbed her words. "Together," he echoed, his voice gaining strength. Karen wiped her screen, trying not to let her emotions overwhelm them as Chip came into their room. "Morning, Dad," Chip said, his voice tentative. He had spent the night thinking about his father's condition, his young mind racing with questions. Plankton's antennae twitched, and he offered a small smile. "Chip," he mumbled. Chip cautiously approached the bed, his eyes wide with concern. "You okay, Dad?" Plankton nodded, his antennae still. "Chip," he murmured. "Chip loves Plankton." Chip climbed up onto the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. "I love you too, Dad," he said, his voice trembling as he crawled closer to Plankton. Plankton's antennae flinched as Chip approached, his body tensing instinctively. Karen had explained about personal space the night before, but she wasn't sure if he'd remember. "Chip," she said softly, placing a hand on her son's shoulder. "Let's not get too close just yet, okay?" Chip nodded, his screen a picture of understanding. He sat at the edge of the bed, giving Plankton enough space. Karen could see the effort it took for him to control his instincts. Plankton's antennae twitched as he took in the new dynamics, his eye flicking between Karen and Chip. "Space," he murmured, his voice still weak. "I need... space." Karen nodded, swallowing hard. "Of course, Plankton. We'll make sure to give you your space." She reached for Chip's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Remember, buddy, let's not overwhelm Dad." Chip nodded, his eyes serious. He slowly slid off the bed, his movements careful. But as he stood up, his elbow accidentally brushed against Plankton's arm. The reaction was instant. Plankton's antennae shot up, his body jerking away from the touch. "No!" he yelped, his eye widening in discomfort. Karen lurched as she saw Plankton's expression. She had tried to prepare Chip, but it was clear that their new reality was going to be a learning experience for them all. Chip's screen filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispered. Karen's seeing her son's upset face. "It's okay, Chip," she said quickly. "It's an accident. Let's give Dad some more space, okay?" But Plankton's expression had shifted. His antennae were vibrating rapidly, his eye flashing with anger. "Too much," he snapped, his voice harsher than Karen had ever heard it. "Chip, too much!" Chip's eyes watered, and he took a step back, his hand hovering. "I'm sorry, Dad," he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's antennae whipped around, his whole body vibrating with agitation. "Out!" he bellowed, the word exploding from his tiny body. "Chip, go out!" Chip's eyes grew large with shock. He had never heard his dad speak to him like that before. His shoulders slumped, and he turned to leave, his steps slow and heavy. Karen watched her son retreat. "Plankton," she began, her voice shaky. "It's okay, he didn't mean..." But Plankton's anger was palpable. "No!" he shouted, his eye flashing. "Chip, no more!" His voice was loud, a stark contrast to the gentle whispers of their previous interactions. Chip hovers by the door. "Dad, I di-" "OUT!" Plankton's shout reverberated through the room, cutting him off mid-sentence. His body was rigid with tension, his antennae quivering angrily. Karen felt a pang of fear and sadness seeing her husband like this. But Chip wants to reconcile with his father. Chip looked back, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Dad, ca--" "OUT!" Plankton's voice was a thunderclap in the stillness of the room. Chip flinched, his small body visibly trembling. "Dad," Chip tried again, his voice shaking. "Can't you li—" "OUT!" Plankton shouted, his antennae whipping around like tiny storm clouds. Karen saw the fear in Chip and knew she had to intervene. "Chip, go to your room," she said firmly, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. "Let's give Dad some time to calm down." Chip nodded. With one last longing glance at Plankton, he left the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS viii (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's gaze searched both of their faces, seeing the tentative connection forming. "Why don't we let Daddy rest now?" she suggested softly, her eyes on Chip. "It's getting to be bedtime. You head to bed, Chip." she said gently. Chip nodded, his hand still hovering over Plankton's. He knew his father needed his space, especially after such an ordeal. "Goodnight, Dad," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of fear and love. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye still focused on Chip. "Goodnight, buddy," he murmured, his voice exhausted. "I-I-I-I… lo-ove y-you." The words hung in the air, a declaration of his feelings despite his condition. Chip felt his heart swell with a mix of emotion, his hand falling to his side. "I love you too, Dad," he whispered back, his voice trembling slightly. The next morning, Karen hears a ding vibrate on her phone, waking her. She sits up and looks over at Plankton, who's still sleeping. She smiles softly at the sight of her snoring husband, his antennae twitching slightly with each breath. Gently, she slides out of bed, careful not to disturb his rest. She grabs her phone, checking the text. Her heart skips a beat at the sight of the message: "Plankton: Dental Appointment to discuss his latest x-ray. We open in 1 hour." It was from Plankton's dental office. Karen sighed, setting her phone on the nightstand. "Plankton, love," she whispered, carefully shaking his shoulder. "Wake up, we have a dental appointment." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye opening. He took a moment to process the information, his brain slowly coming online. "Dentist?" he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. Karen nodded, her voice steady. "Yes, honey. We need to talk to the dentist about your latest x-ray." Plankton's antennae twitched. Karen knew that dental appointments were a particularly tough challenge for Plankton due to his sensory sensitivities. With a sigh, Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. Karen could feel the tension in the room, so she took Plankton's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'll call Sandy" she said, her voice calm. "She'll look after Chip." Plankton nodded, his antennas still twitching nervously. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Karen quickly dials Sandy's phone number. The phone rings, a distant melody in the quiet room. Plankton's antennae twitched with every ring, his nervousness palpable. "Sandy, it's Karen," Karen's voice was a comforting balm over the line. "Could you possibly watch Chip today? We've got a dental appointment for Plankton, and it's... sudden, I know." Sandy's voice came through the speaker, warm and understanding. "Of course, Karen. Right now? I'll be heading on over!" Karen breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, Sandy," she whispered, then hanging up. She went to Chip's room. The light from the hallway spilled into his room, casting long shadows across the floor. Chip stirred in his bed, his eyes blinking open sleepily. "Huh?" he mumbled. Karen's smile was gentle as she leaned over him. "Hey, buddy," she whispered. "Sandy's here to watch you while I take Daddy to a dentist appointment." Chip's eyes widened, his mind still foggy with sleep. "Dentist?" he repeated, sitting up. "Don't worry, Chip," Karen assured him, her voice soft. "You can stay here with Sandy. She'll take good care of you." The sound of the doorbell rang through the house, a sharp, piercing noise that made Plankton's antennae twitch. Karen's eyes darted to his face, but his expression remained stoic. She knew his hearing was sensitive, but she didn't have time to fuss over it now. "It's just Sandy," she assured Plankton with a smile, patting his hand before heading to the door. "It'll be okay, honey." The door opened, and Sandy's cheerful face appeared. "Howdy, Karen!" she chirped, her eyes scanning the room. "Hi, Sandy! I don't know how long we'll be gone but I can keep you updated. It's to review an x-ray from Plankton's last x-ray they said they'd keep an eye on, and they notified us to come in today." Sandy nodded, her smile warm and reassuring. "Don't worry, I've got this. I'll keep Chip busy and entertained," she promised. "But he can also sleep in.." Karen's eyes searched Plankton's, his antennae twitching slightly. "It's okay, love," she murmured, squeezing his hand. "We'll be going now." Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. Karen knew he was scared, but she also knew he'd get through it. "Come on," she whispered, her voice soothing. "Let's go to the car."

CHIP IN MY BOX viii (Autistic author) The room is quiet as they wait for Plankton to stir. Chip's mind is racing. Suddenly, Plankton's body twitches, a small movement under the velvet shroud. Karen's hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide with anticipation. Her heart is a wild animal in her chest, thumping against her ribs as she watches her husband slowly come back to them. Under the curtain, Plankton's eye opens slightly, the pupil dilated with confusion. His limbs move sluggishly, his mind trying to make sense of the world that's rushing back in. Karen's hand reaches out to his, her eyes brimming with relief and fear. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle breeze in the quiet room. "You're safe." "Wh... wha... whale...?" Plankton's voice slurs, his eye flickering behind the velvet curtain. Karen's grip on her son's hand tightens as she watches her husband struggle to find his footing in the murky waters of consciousness. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a lifeline in the storm of his confusion. "You're home, you're safe." Plankton's eye blinks, his brain trying to piece together the shards of reality. "Whale?" He mumbles again, his voice slurred with sleep. Karen's heart squeezes, her hand still in Plankton's, her voice even softer now. "No, honey, it's not a whale," she says, forcing a gentle laugh. "It's me, Karen. You're at home." Her words are a soft caress, a beacon in the fog of his sensory overload. Chip watches, his eyes wide with fear and hope. He wants to call out, to tell his dad everything's okay, but he remembers Dr. Kelp's instructions. He stays quiet, his hand tightening around the new fidgets, his knuckles white with tension. Plankton's mumbling becomes more pronounced, his eye darting around under the velvet cover, as if searching for something he can't quite see. "Bubble...box," he murmurs, his voice a distant echo. Karen's heart races, her mind racing to keep up with his scattered thoughts. She knows his brain is trying to make sense of the world, to find the familiar in the chaos. "A box is here," she whispers, her voice soothing. "It's new, and right beside you." Her words seem to resonate somewhere in the fog of Plankton's mind. His hand twitches, reaching out. Chip's breath hitches as he sees his father's hand hover over the new box of sensory items. "Bubblebox," Plankton murmurs, his voice a soft breeze through the room. The words are meaningless, but the tone conveys a desperate search. Karen's eyes fill with tears as she nods. "It's here," she whispers, guiding his hand to the box. His fingers graze the velvet curtain, his movements clumsy and unsure. Chip watches, his heart in his throat, as his father's hand trembles over the box's edge. "Bubba," Plankton says, his voice a whisper of confusion. Karen's eyes are glued to his face, her heart breaking at his distress. She tries to think of something to say, to bring him back to them fully. But she knows better than to push too hard. Plankton's eye blinks rapidly, his hand fumbling with the box's contents. "Fishy," he mumbles, his voice a disjointed symphony of half-thoughts. "Fishy, fishy." Karen's heart squeezes. He's talking to his mind, she knows, to the jumble of thoughts that have overtaken his reality. The words are nonsense, a random assortment of sounds. "Fishy?" He murmurs again, his hand patting the floor. "Fishy, bubblebox." His voice trails off, lost in the fog of his own thoughts. Karen's heart is racing, her mind trying to decode his ramblings. She knows his mind is searching, trying to find the safety net of his sensory world. "Yes, honey," she whispers, her voice a soothing lullaby. "You're okay." Plankton's eye rolls back into his head, his body going slack again. The silence in the room is deafening, a stark contrast to the tumult inside her. Karen's hand is a tremor against his, willing him back to reality. Chip watches, his own thoughts racing, as his mother's eyes dart to Dr. Kelp for guidance. The doctor's tentacles move with a quiet assurance, placing more items around Plankton. "It's normal," he whispers, his voice a lifeline in the storm of their fear. "His mind is trying to find his bearings." "Where's," he mumbles, his voice a distant whisper. "So... many... Karen..." His antennae twitch erratically, his hand flailing in the air as if trying to catch invisible orbs. Karen's heart is in her throat, her eyes brimming with tears as she watches his struggle. "I'm here," she says, her voice a soft caress, reaching for his hand. "You're safe." Her eyes plead with Dr. Kelp, desperation etched in her features. The doctor nods reassuringly, his tentacles moving with a gentle rhythm. "We're home." Plankton's eye moves beneath the velvet, searching for familiarity. "Home?" He whispers, his voice scratchy from disuse. "Where am I?" The fear in his tone makes Karen's heart ache. "You're home, Plankton," she whispers back, her voice soothing. "You're safe." Her words are a gentle reminder, a beacon in the storm of his senses.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY viii (By NeuroFabulous) Chip's heart ached, his guilt a physical presence in his chest. He knew he had hurt his father, and he desperately wanted to take it back. "I know I don't understand, Dad," he said, his voice quivering. "But I want to learn. I want to be there for you. You're special..." Plankton's antennas perked up slightly at the word 'special'. It was a term he had heard before, but it didn't always come with the warmth and sincerity that filled Chip's voice. "You don't know what that means," he said, his voice low and defensive. Chip felt his heart sink even further, his stomach twisting into knots. "Huh?" Plankton's voice grew louder, his antennas shooting up. "You think because I'm 'special', you can just treat me like a toddler?" He threw the pillow across the room, his anger palpable. "I'm not some kind of science project, Chip!" The room grew tense as Chip swallowed his words, his eyes wide. He had never seen his dad so upset. "Dad," he began, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean it like that. I just want to—" "Don't," Plankton snapped, his antennas pointing sharply at the ceiling. "You think you can fix me with your little experiments?" His words were like a slap in the face, but Chip knew better than to let his own anger flare up. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him. "I just want to help," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be ther-" "I don't need your help!" Plankton's outburst echoed through the room, his antennas quivering with emotion. "I don't need anyone to 'fix' me, especially not you!" His voice was raw, each word a dagger to Chip's soul. Chip took a step back, his eyes wide with hurt and confusion. "But Dad, I just wa-" "Don't," Plankton said, his voice sharp and final. "Just don't." Chip felt his throat tighten, his words stuck in his mouth. He had never seen his father like this, so raw and exposed. The silence was suffocating, each second that passed feeling like an eternity. Plankton's chest heaved with the effort of containing his emotions. His antennas were a blur of movement, indicating his internal turmoil. Karen watched from the doorway, her heart breaking for both her husband and her son, feeling torn between comforting them and giving them space. "I know," Chip said, his voice small. "But I'm tr-" Plankton's antennas shot up, cutting him off. "You think you know?" His voice was laced with bitterness. "You have no idea what it's like to be me.." Chip felt his heart sink further, his mind racing. "I'm sorry," he offered, his voice small. "But I do know that you're more than just your autism. You're my dad, and I love you." Plankton's antennas remained stiff, his eye unblinking. "Love," he spat out the word like it was a foreign object. "You don't know what that word means either, do you?" Karen stepped forward, her voice a soothing balm. "Plankton, sweetheart, let's not do this," she pleaded. "Chip's just trying to—" "I know what he's trying to do!" Plankton shouted, his antennas jerking erratically. "He's trying to make me feel less than, like I'm so—" "Dad, no," Chip said, his voice shaking. "That's not what I'm doing. I just want us to be closer, like you and Mom.." Plankton's antennas quivered, his body tensing. "Don't bring her into this," he warned. "You don't understand her either." His words were like a slap, but Chip knew his father wasn't in control of his emotions. "I do, Dad," Chip managed to say, his voice filled with determination. "I see how much you both love each other, and I just want to be a part of th-" "Don't you dare!" Plankton's voice was a roar, his antennas thrashing in agitation. "You don't get to use your mother as an excuse for your ignorance!" The room vibrated with tension, each word a blow to Chip's heart. He felt tears prickling his eyes but blinked them back, trying to maintain some semblance of calm. "I'm not using her, Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "I just want to know how to be close to you the way Mom..." Plankton's antennas shot up in a gesture of disbelief. "The way your mother is with me?" his voice was thick with anger. "You think you can just mimic that?" He stood up, his whole body shaking with emotion. Chip felt his heart drop, his words coming out in a rush. "No, Dad," he said, his voice trembling. "I just want to connect with you." He took a step towards his father, his hand outstretched, but Plankton took a step back, his antennas bristling. "I don't like your connecting," Plankton said, his voice cold. "I need you to leave me alone." His antennas waved erratically, a clear sign of his distress. Chip took another tentative step forward, reaching out again.. Plankton flinched, his antennas waving wildly. "I said no!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "I can't do this right now!" His eye darted around the room, seeking an escape from the overwhelming emotions. Chip's eyes filled with tears, but he knew pushing would only make things worse. He took a step back, his arms falling to his sides. "Ok," he whispered, his voice tight with unshed emotion.

PLUSH ONE viii (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's mind races with questions, but she knows better than to ask now. She watches Plankton closely, his body slowly unwinding. His eye opens slightly, his gaze flicking to his plushie. "Plankton," she says, keeping her voice steady, "Would you like to sit with me?" He considers her offer, his antennae twitching nervously. Then, with a shaky nod, he crawls across the floor, his body still tense, and sits by her side, the plushie still clutched in one hand. Karen swells with relief, the air in the room finally feeling a bit less suffocating. She keeps her movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to startle him. Plankton sits next to her, his antennae still twitching. The man she loves is trying, and it's all she can ask. Plankton sits next to her, his antennae twitching, a constant reminder of the world he now navigates. She reaches out tentatively, her hand hovering near his. "Would you like me to hold your hand?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. He looks at her hand, then at her, his eye swiveling in consideration. For a moment, Karen thinks he might reject her offer, but slowly, his hand reaches out and wraps around hers. It's a tentative gesture. His grip is firm, but not too tight, his antennae quivering as he tries to process the sudden contact. She holds her breath, afraid to disturb the fragile peace they've found. Karen's mind races, trying to recall everything she's read about autism, about how touch can be both a source of comfort and of pain. She remembers the importance of consent, of letting the person with autism lead the way. So she sits, her hand in his, and waits. The room is still, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside their window. Plankton's breaths are steady now, his grip on the plushie loosening. His antennae are still, no longer searching the air for threats. Karen's eyes are locked on their intertwined hands, the warmth of his palm a comfort she hadn't realized she'd missed. "You're doing so well," she whispers, her voice as gentle as his only response is a twitch of his antennae. His eye flicks to hers, a silent question. "It's okay," she says, her smile reassuring. "We're just sitting together." Plankton nods slightly, his eye still focused on their joined hands. He then repeats her words, his voice a mirror of her own. "Okay, sitting together." The phrase echoes. It's called echolalic palilalia, a common trait in those with autism, where words are repeated. Karen nods with love. "Yes," she says. "Sitting together." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, a hint of a smile playing. It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.