Cptsdcore Emojis & Text

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𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐚 𝐩𝐩𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬’𝐬 “𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲“ 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐳𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐢 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩:) 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝟑𝟎 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞: ❤︎︎ 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐭𝐜 ❤︎︎ 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭, 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 ’𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞’ 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭 ❤︎︎ 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐢 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝/𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩, 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐝, 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐰𝐟𝐮𝐥 ❤︎︎ 𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧!! 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐜𝐫𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐚𝐰 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧<𝟑𝟑𝟑 ❤︎︎ 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭!!! 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 ’𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬’ 𝐨𝐫 ’𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰’ 𝐞𝐭𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫/𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐝𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲!! 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲? 𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞… ’𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠’ ’𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠’ ’𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐬’ 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 @𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐠𝐚𝐥 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲? 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮!! 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬!!💗🫶

“Neurodivergent Umbrella”* Beneath the umbrella, it lists: ADHD DID & OSDD ASPD BPD NPD Dyslexia CPTSD Dyspraxia Sensory Processing Dyscalculia PTSD Dysgraphia Bipolar Autism Epilepsy OCD ABI Tic Disorders Schizophrenia Misophonia HPD Down Syndrome Synesthesia * non-exhaustive list

https://tttake.hatenablog.com/entry/2020/11/12/%28-phobia%29_%E6%81%90%E6%80%96%5B%E7%97%87%5D%E3%81%AE%E7%A8%AE%E9%A1%9E%E3%81%A3%E3%81%A6%E3%80%81%E3%81%A9%E3%82%8C%E3%81%8F%E3%82%89%E3%81%84%E6%9C%89%E3%82%8A%E3%81%BE%E3%81%99%E3%81%8B%EF%BC%9F_

As a neurodivergent person I find emojicombos.com a favourite site. I also write here to make others happy and to make stories inspired by events similar to my experiences, so I can come back to them on any device to. Also, I hope any person reading has a great day! -NeuroFabulous (my search NeuroFabulous)

hopefully my writing posts help ppl to feel understood or at least get a glimpse of all the possibilities neurodiverse ppl may experience (: (my search NeuroFabulous)

┌ ⃟🧠̶͞⇣

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!

ㅤ🔐 ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘⡣🧠ㅤ𝖶𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖤 𝖨𝖲 𝖬𝖸 𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖣?ㅤ║▌│█ ║▌

TIPS For CHECKs Feel the instruments and get comfortable with them. Ex: at the dentist, you’re weary of the suction straw. If no plastic cups for rinsing, ask them for some or, have them turn the suction on a low setting and feel it with your finger before they use it in your mouth. Perhaps they can put something on if you don’t like the sucking noise. See how you feel with the specific doctor. Ex: Dr. A seems hurried and strict, but Dr. B seems more empathetic. Or perhaps ask if a nurse can be in the room with you to. Try having the doctor teach you how much you can do. Ex: for a strep throat test, ask if you can swab your own throat, even have them hold your hand whilst you do it in a mirror. Or tell them the way your throat’s structure may find it easier to tilt, etc. (my search NeuroFabulous)

❁્᭄͜͡🧠

Gᴏᴛ ᴀ sɴᴀᴋᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ sᴛᴏᴍᴘᴇᴅ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴇʟ ᴏғ ʜɪs ʙᴏᴏᴛ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ɪᴛ. Lᴀᴛᴇʀ ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ʜᴇ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏsᴛ, ᴀs ʜɪs ʙᴇғᴜᴅᴅʟᴇᴅ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ʀᴀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ Pᴀ. "Sᴏɴ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʟᴅ ʙᴏᴏᴛs. Hᴇ ᴅɪᴇᴅ ɪɴ 'ᴇᴍ, ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴏғ ғᴀᴄᴛ. Wᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ʜɪᴍ ᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. Wᴇʟʟ, I ʀᴇᴄᴋᴏɴ ʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. Hᴇʀᴇ—" Mᴀ, ᴡɪᴘɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴛᴇᴀʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ʜᴇʀ sᴇᴀᴍᴇᴅ ᴏʟᴅ ᴄʜᴇᴇᴋ, ʜᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪʀ ᴏғ ʙᴏᴏᴛs ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴀs ᴀɴ ʜᴇɪʀʟᴏᴏᴍ. Hᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴡʜᴇɴᴄᴇ ʜᴇ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴍʏsᴛᴇʀɪᴏᴜs sʜᴀᴅᴇ. Dʀᴇssɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ, ʜɪs ɴᴇᴡʟʏ ᴡɪᴅᴏᴡᴇᴅ ᴡɪғᴇ ʜᴜɢɢᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ sᴏɴ. "Bᴏʏ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢʀᴀɴᴅғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴅɪᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴛs ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴅɪᴅ. Tᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ..." Oғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴏʀ ʙᴏʏ ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ ᴍᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ ғᴀᴛᴇ. Hɪs ᴡɪғᴇ ʜᴇʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴛs. Lᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴄʟᴏsᴇʟʏ, sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴇʏᴇ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ғᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ᴛᴏᴏᴛʜ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ sɴᴀᴋᴇ, sᴛɪʟʟ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴠᴇɴᴏᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏɪsᴏɴ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴs. Lᴏᴅɢᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍʙᴇᴅᴅᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴛs.

ʙʟɪᴛᴢᴇɴᴋʀɪᴇɢ2194 • 1 ʏʀ. ᴀɢᴏ Tʜᴇ ᴍᴏɴsᴛᴇʀ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴅ ᴘᴏᴋᴇᴅ ɪs ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ's ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ. "Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴏʀʀʏ," ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏɴsᴛᴇʀ ᴡʜɪsᴘᴇʀᴇᴅ, "ʜᴇ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴜʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ."

"You're going to be okay," Karen assured Plankton. He clutched her hand. "I'm right here." The receptionist's voice echoed through the large waiting room. "Plankton?" Karen's heart jumped. She squeezed her husband's hand. They walked down the hallway, Plankton's breaths shallow, eye darting around the white, sterile walls. The nurse led them to a small room. "Just a few questions," the nurse smiled, her voice soothing as she helped him in the recliner. The nurse, noticing his agitation, spoke slowly and clearly. "We're just going to take your blood pressure, okay?" The nurse wrapped the cuff around his bicep, her movements gentle. The hiss of the air pump filled the tense silence. "Look at me, Plankton," Karen whispered, her calming gaze meeting his. "Take deep breaths." He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling in a deliberate rhythm. The nurse waited patiently, giving them space. As the cuff tightened, Plankton's eye squeezed shut. The nurse completed her task quickly, her voice steady. "Good job," she said, patting his hand. Karen felt his fear spike, but his grip on her hand remained firm as the oral surgeon walked in. Dr. Marquez nodded at them, his demeanor calm and professional. "Hello, Plankton. I see we're getting ready for your wisdom teeth." He noticed Plankton's tension and turned to Karen. "You earlier mentioned his neurodisability. Is there anything special we can do to help make him comfortable?" Karen's screen lit up with gratitude. "Yes, thank you." She explained his need for calm and his sensory sensitivities. Dr. Marquez nodded thoughtfully. "We can use a weighted blanket to help with that. It provides a gentle pressure that can be quite comforting for some of my patients." He turned to the nurse. "Could you please bring one?" The nurse nodded and left the room. When she returned, she carried a soft, blue weighted blanket they warmed. They placed the blanket over Plankton, the weight evenly distributed. His body visibly relaxed under its soothing embrace. "It's okay," Karen whispered, stroking his antennae. "This will help." Plankton felt the warmth of the blanket, the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders and chest. But it did little to ease his dread. "Thank you, Dr. Marquez," Karen managed a smile, relief washing over her. She knew how important these accommodations were for her husband. The doctor explained the procedure, using simple terms that Plankton could understand. Karen noted how he tailored his explanation to avoid overwhelming details that might trigger anxiety. The anesthesiologist entered, her smile kind. "We're going to give you some medicine to help you sleep," she said gently, "and then you'll wake up without feeling a thing." Plankton nodded, his eye wide. Karen leaned in, her voice low. "You can hold my hand as you fall asleep." The anesthesiologist prepared the IV, but Plankton's grip on Karen's hand grew tighter. Dr. Marquez noticed his distress and suggested a different approach. "How about some laughing gas first?" he offered. "And perhaps a topical numbing agent.." The nurse quickly set up the gas mask, explaining each step. "This will help you relax," she said, placing it over him. "Just breathe normally." The sweet smell of the nitrous oxide filled him, yet he still remained awake. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen said soothingly. "Just keep breathing." He took a tentative breath, feeling the gas fill his lungs. The room began to spin, but not in the scary way he'd feared. It was more like floating. The weight of the blanket now felt like a gentle hug from the ocean depths, a warm embrace from his childhood home. Dr. Marquez waited until Plankton's breathing steadied, each gesture carefully calculated to avoid any sudden movements that might startle his patient. "You're doing great," he assured Plankton, his voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore of his anxiety. "You're almost there." Plankton inhaled another lungful of gas, his eye fluttering closed. The nurse gently began applying the topical numbing agent, her movements carefully choreographed to avoid any sudden jolts. Karen held his other hand, her thumb tracing comforting circles on his palm. "You're safe," she whispered. "I'm here." The gas grew heavier, his mind drifted further from the cold reality of the room. He felt himself sinking into the chair, the weighted blanket now a warm sea of comfort. His grip on Karen's hand grew looser, his breaths deepening. The doctor nodded to the anesthesiologist, who began the IV drip after using the topical numbing agent. Plankton's fear didn't vanish, but it became manageable, a distant thunderstorm rather than a hurricane in his face. His eye closed completely, his body going limp under the blanket. Karen watched as the surgical team moved with precision, their masks and caps dancing in her peripheral vision. The beeping of machines and the murmur of medical jargon filled her ears, but all she focused on was the rhythm of Plankton's breathing. The anesthesiologist checked the monitors and gave a nod. "He's ready," she said quietly. Dr. Marquez took his position, his gloved hands poised over Plankton's now open mouth after removing the gas mask. Karen's gaze was steady, her love and support unwavering as the surgical team moved in unison. The whirring of the instruments began, a soft mechanical lullaby to the background of Plankton's deep, even breaths. The surgery itself was a dance of precision, each gesture a step carefully choreographed to minimize discomfort. The doctor's hands were steady as he removed the wisdom teeth. Karen could see the tense lines in Plankton's face soften under the influence of the anesthesia. The anesthesiologist checked the monitors continuously, ensuring his vital signs remained steady. The nurse offered Karen a chair, but she chose to stand, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. As the surgery progressed, Karen felt the tension in the room ease. The surgical team worked with efficiency, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine. Dr. Marquez spoke in hushed tones with his assistants, each word a gentle whisper in the symphony of medical sounds. Plankton's breaths steadied, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor a soothing reminder that he was still with her, that his anxiety had been replaced by the peacefulness of deep sedation. The doctor's instruments continued to dance, a silent ballet of precision and care. The nurse occasionally glanced at Karen, offering a reassuring smile as they suture his gums with dissolving stitches. "Alright, we're all done," Dr. Marquez announced, his voice a gentle interruption to the symphony of beeps and whirs. "Let's wake him up slowly." Karen felt her own heart rate spike as the anesthesiologist began reversing the medication. They removed the IV drip and the nurse wiped Plankton's mouth with a soft cloth, her touch as gentle as a sea anemone caressing his skin. His eye flickered open, unfocused and hazy. He blinked slowly, taking in the surroundings. Karen's screen was the first thing he saw, a beacon in the medical fog. "You're okay," she murmured, her voice the gentle hum of a distant lighthouse guiding his consciousness back to shore. Plankton blinked again, his vision swimming into focus. The weighted blanket was still wrapped around him, the comforting pressure now a grounding reminder of her presence. His mouth felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. The nurse offered him water, and he sipped it slowly, feeling the coolness soothe his throat. "How do you feel?" Dr. Marquez asked, his voice a soft wave breaking over the shore of Plankton's awareness. Plankton nodded, his grip on Karen's hand firm. "Good," he managed to murmur, his voice thick with the aftermath of the anesthesia. Karen could see the relief in his eye, the storm of fear now a distant memory. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

🔪☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ sprinkling some fairy dust on the feed for my mentally ill & disabled girlies who may be struggling or having a hard time rn ༺♡༻ /)__/) Ƹ̵̡\( ˶• ༝ •˶) /Ʒ o ( ⊃⊃) *⛥*ﾟ・。*.ੈ ♡₊˚•. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ # 🔮

🌈🧠🤷🏼‍♀️

ℑ𝔪 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣. 💀

https://emojicombos.com/read-before-doing-horror

ᥬ🤯᭄

🏩🦷🌸

"𝖮𝗁 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍.." 𝖣𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍? 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖨 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝗏𝖺𝗅𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 '𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅' 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗍. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗑𝖾𝖽. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑏𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡 ౨ৎ

BENEFITS TO EMBRACING NEURODIVERSITY IN Schools @MeS. SPEECHIEPO CREATES INCLUSIVE LEARNING ENVIRONMENTS Neurodiversity affirming teaching strategies allow ALL students, regardless of neurotype to be accepted, valued, and supported. IMPROVES ACADEMIC AND LEARNING OUTCOMES Neurodivergent students often excel academically when their individual learning styles are accommodated and their strengths are nurtured. ENHANCES SOCIAL INTERACTIONS Neurodiverse i.e. BOTH Neurotypical and Neurodivergent) students have opportunities to interact with peers of varying neurotypes, fostering social skills and relationships, empathy, understanding, and acceptance. REDUCES BULLYING AND STIGMA Directly teaching about differences and embracing neurodiversity reduces bullying and stigma, creating a safer and more welcoming school environment for ALL students. PROMOTES A VARIETY OF STRENGTHS AND INTERESTS Schools can identify, promote, and celebrate the talents, strengths, and interests of ALL students, whether in academics, arts, or other areas to make everyone feel valued, respected, and accepted. OMeS SPEECHIEPO

Going into Hospital When you are suddenly needing to go into hospital it can be scary, and the last thing people want to do is think about what they need to take with them. For this reason we have compiled this list to help you prepare. Comfortable/ Loose fitting clothing Several pairs of underwear Thick socks Ipad/Tablet/ Ipod w/ earphones Money Sanitary pads Mobile phone and charger Food to snack on Books/ CD’s/ Magazines Toiletries/ face wipes/hairbrush Own Pillow Clothing for going home Dressing gown and slippers An overnight bag is a good idea (although you may not need this) Heating pad

r/TwoSentenceHorror Deiun ...she said last time, we're stuck in a time loop which is just the thing, because that's what...

https://emojicombos.com/how-to-write-horror

r/TwoSentenceHorror 4 yr. ago Averagebiker21 After I asked the crystal ball to tell me how to escape death, I was very confused as it read "No, thanks honey, I'm full" However, something clicked in my head when my wife offered me cake after dinner...

DOCTORs APPOINTMENTs Before a procedure, get to meet the physician and acknowledge their authority before you mention your sensitivities. Find a way to make a compromise. Even request more time for an appointment if you want to have topical numbing agents wait to work, to discuss alternatives, etc. Before a procedure, look up the physician and/or the clinic website. Find pictures of the inner building and search for FAQ, policies, procedures, reviews, etc. Before a procedure, bring a fully charged phone and any sensory necessities such as plastic cups for water, ice pack, self testing kits, written notes and copies, etc.

"I wanted to scream, but I have no mouth."

"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 disabilities 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.

Tinder is completely useless, and I don't have a single match. If I don't find another way to start a campfire tonight, I'll freeze to death. (tumblr) 🖤

shortscarystories.tumblr.com 🖤 You locked your doors and Windows to prevent me from entering. Too bad I'm already inside.

ɪ'ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣ.☻

໒꒰ྀི × ˕ ×｡꒱ྀི১

໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

🪦⊹ ࣪𐙚 ˖ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐🌷

I ʜᴀᴅ ᴀɴ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀʀʏ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴀs ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ. Wᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ғᴏʀ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ. Mʏ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀʀʏ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ sᴇᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴍʏ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ɪɴ ᴀ sᴇɴsᴇ ᴏғ sᴀᴅɴᴇss. Eᴠᴇɴᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ʏᴇᴀʀs ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ I ᴅᴜɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍʏ ᴍᴜᴍ's ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴛʀᴇᴇ ʀᴇᴄᴏʀᴅs ғᴏʀ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴘᴀᴘᴇʀᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴡʜᴇɴ I sᴀᴡ ᴀ sᴛɪʟʟʙᴏʀɴ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴄᴇʀᴛɪғɪᴄᴀᴛᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡʙᴏʀɴ ᴡʜᴏ sʜᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴇxᴀᴄᴛ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ. I ᴛʜᴇɴ ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ I ᴡᴀs ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴀ ᴛᴡɪɴ ᴀs ᴍʏ ᴍᴜᴍ ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ᴅɪᴇᴅ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴏᴜʀ ʙɪʀᴛʜ.

r/shortscarystories 23 hr. ago captain-howdy2323 Unknown Stranger Oh my! I can hear him moving around down stairs. Can I remember if I heard him come inside? Idk. I must have because I've armed myself. I cower away in this closet. But I can't remember any of that. I must be in shock. Oh my heart is racing. I hear him coming up the stairs. It won't be long until he finds me. I can already see what everyone will be saying. "Man found in house", "The bloodbath". He's right outside the room. I'm breathing so heavily. I'm sure he can hear me. Please, stop shaking. Please, nerves calm down. He's opening the door. This is it. Finally. I've been waiting in his closet for hours.

Anonymous asked: autism culture is feeling like a nuisance when you’re overstimulated because you don’t want to be mean to anyone or have a meltdown but you can’t keep masking and everything is too much

Anonymous asked: Undiagnosed autism culture is your family can't comprehend that you are also autistic because you have a family member that was diagnosed as a child and has different support needs than you.

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!

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.

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.

~ Considering your sensory needs- pack a bag with sensory aids such as headphones, earplugs, coloured glasses, stim tools, ice, comfort items and so on to support your comfort whilst at your appointment. Considering your communication needs- perhaps take a trusted friend or family to support with verbal communication, a hospital passport that you can share with staff or notes including scripted comments or responses that you can refer to during the appointment as verbal speech. Wear suitable clothing or dress that can be easily taken on and off. To minimise uncertainty, research what is involved in the procedure before attending so that you have a good idea what to expect. Write out a list of questions to avoid relying on memory during a potentially stressful experience. Plan your travel route in advance and leave plenty of time to get to your appointment to minimise anxiety and allow time to adjust to the environment upon arrival. Engage in calming, grounding techniques prior to the appointment start time. During: whilst at the appointment it may be helpful to ~ Ask for the nurse practitioner to talk you through the procedure in full before it commences, preferably with use of images or demonstrations with relevant equipment. Be open about which aspects of the experience you might struggle with as an Autistic person and request particular adjustments. Engage in grounding techniques such as mindful breathing. Hold on to a stim object that is comforting or acts as a stress reliever. Listen to music to support self-regulation. Share your concerns or worries with the nurse practitioner to invite reassurance or helpful advice. Remember your reason for attending and why it is important for you. Aftercare: following the procedure, it is a good idea to plan in some time for self-care and self-regulation, some ideas might include ~ Get yourself into a sensory safe space where things feel predictable and calm (for e.g. a quiet room with dim lighting, weighted blanket etc). Arrange to debrief/chat to a friend or another supportive person about your experience after leaving your appointment. Arrange to meet with a trusted person following the procedure to support you with getting back home or perhaps to do something you might enjoy together. Engage in your dedicated interest. Acknowledge your achievement in attending and getting through the appointment. Journal about your experience to help with emotional processing. Engage in your favourite stim to release any tension that may remain in your body. Allow yourself to physically rest or sleep once back at home.

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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.

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

Anonymous asked: autism culture is trying to isolate yourself because you're getting overstimulated but people keep coming in to talk to you and then get mad when you lash out. like omg im TRYING to "calm down" just give me a minute

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

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

What to say: “I know my body and I know something is not right." "I know this is different for me and I really need your help.” "I appreciate your expertise." Try to engage the doctor as a partner, but be firm. Express that you appreciate the doctor’s expertise, but emphasize that you know yourself. Bottom line: Don’t stop asking questions and keep speaking up until you get the answers that you need. In short, it’s all about framing. You need to suggest that someone else is making you ask them about whatever it is you want to bring up. This approach shifts the focus onto a third party, which helps doctors lower their defenses. If they think medical suggestions from patients are inane, you’re just feigning agreement with them. It effectively puts you on the same side as the doctor ⁠— the two of you against one. Or just get another opinion before deciding w/ them.

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

nickgram.com/special-needs

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

r/TwoSentenceHorror 13 hr. ago drforged ↓ “Have you ever seen a monster?” My son asked, as I tucked him in “No” I answered, as I looked into his many yellow eyes...

r/TwoSentenceHorror 6 days ago Old_Lady_In_Titanic Everyone else was distracted by the huge iceberg that glided within inches of the ship. Only I saw the giant metallic sea-bear gash a hole in the hull beneath the waterline with it's razor sharp knife-like claws.

People may like horror for many different reasons. Personification of non-human's, perspective, etc. There's some considerate guidelines to take in-to account. Of course, horror's meant to be scary, but not to frightening as to cause panic attack. Trigger warnings may give away the ending or some plot twist. Here are some tips: ~Profanity. Can say like 'oh dear' or something. ~Gore, avoiding unnecessary graphic detail. ~Animals. Can be something like 'the dog growls at presence of ghost' ~Self harm, etc. You can, however, have a character sacrifice oneself. ~Abuse (like exploitation, arranged marriage) although you can imply abduct, poison, etc. ~Stereotyping groups (portraying certain authorities, religions, cultures, etc. as disrespectful) You can use (with discretion) controversial topics (execution, foeticide, the double effect, etc.) lightly. You can mention potential topics (cannibal, baby death, poisons, apocalypse, etc.) in story insofar as it partains to the plot, but no glorifying trauma. You can have the narrator be the villain, victim, or bystander. Have fun writing, and heed your emotions!

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⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢛⠩⢤⣶⡤⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⡇⠺⠏⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠻⣿⠟⠀⢚⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⢛⣛⣛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣄⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⢟⣉⠥⢤⣬⣀⣉⣙⠛⠛⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⡡⠶⡟⠋⣭⠛⡟⠛⠿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⣡⠆⠁⠀⢠⡟⡝⣩⡍⡛⡟⠙⠲⢄⢙⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢡⣤⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣠⡀⠀⠹⢦⣤⡴⠃⠀⢔⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣯⡉⠁⠀⠀⠘⣧⡁⠉⠅⣡⠇⠀⠀⢀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣮⢩⣬⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⣔⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣲⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣛⡻ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠁⠀⣀⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣵⣮⣥ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠉⡁⣀⣈⣩⠝⢉⡻⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿ ⡿⡭⢤⣶⣬⠽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡻⣥⠀⠙⠿⠃⢀⣲⣾⣾⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⣀⣉⡛⠻ ⣿⣄⣀⡛⠁⢀⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣷⡀⢀⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢋⡀⠐⠀⡴⢋⡉⢿⡁ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⣤⠤⠤⣤⡤⣀⡙⠻⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⢧⣈⣍⡸⠃ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡅⣾⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⢇⠀⠛⢀⡇⠀⠈⢙⣷⣿⣿⣷⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴ ⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣟⣚⣀⣀⣀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠀⢀⣠⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⣾⣿ ⡿⠋⠤⠶⠀⢀⡙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⣿⣿ ⠀⡴⡻⡋⠓⡄⠈⠉⠒⣝⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⣉⣤⣤⣤⣀⡉⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣸⣿⣿ ⠀⢧⡁⠛⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⢈⡼⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣸⣿⡿⠃⠐⢉⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠂⠠⢤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣶⢾⠛⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠐⢀⠔⠋⠁⢰⡟⠡⢒⣒⠤⡄⣀⣀⣀⠉⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣶⣦⡄⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣊⠑⠲⠚⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢀⢴⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠃⠹⠿⢁⢁⣿⠀⠀⠉⠹⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣷⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣑⣈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠶⣤⣥⠤⠞⠃⠀⠀⠐⠀⣪⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⡄⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⢴⣶⠊⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣦⣬⡁⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣴⣾⣿⣿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠋⠙⢋⣛⣛ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⣁⣤⡤⠦⠀⠤⢤⣄⣀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣤⣤⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⢀⢠⠴⣶⣭⣭⣯⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢁⠴⠋⠁⡞⠀⢢⣤⡄⡀⢳⠈⠙⠷⣤⡀⠉⢻⣿⣿⣽⠀⠈⠋⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⣠⣄⣬⠿⠟⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠈⠉ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⢃⠄⠀⠀⠀⢧⡀⠘⠛⡃⢁⡾⠀⠀⠀⠈⠟⢶⣾⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡇⢀⢀⡼⠞⠉⣠⣤⠴⠶⠶⠤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⡿⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠶⠤⠴⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣼⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⣴⡽⠋⠀⣠⠞⠉⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠈⠙⢦⡀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣧⣪⣦⣀⣀⠀⠀⢂⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⡇⢠⡾⠋⠁⠀⢠⡟⠀⢀⠜⢀⣠⣀⠈⢤⠀⠈⣷⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡕⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⡟⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠈⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⠄⠀⣿⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢠⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⠢⡈⠛⠋⢀⡔⠀⠀⡟⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢣⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢧⣄⠀⠀⠁⠈⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡟⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠲⠶⠶⠒⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡵⠷⠒⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⢠⡤⠀⠀⣀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣤⣀⡀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡔⢠ ⣿⣁⡤⠎⠁⠀⠀⡞⠀⣵⡇⡌⡇⠉⠐⠠⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣾⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿ ⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠱⣄⡉⣁⡱⠃⠀⠀⠀⠈⠪⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠛⠉⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣄⣀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⢀⣴⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡁⠈⢿⣷⠒⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣀⣤⣤⣀⣈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⣿

T̴̲͙̩̍͗h̸̡͚̭͚̹̄̑ȩ̷̨̯̖̘̻̏̏͑͆̈́̓̃̋̇͘̕r̷͍̙͚͋̎̓͊̽̃̒̋̂̓̾͌̚e̷̙̘̰̅́̅́͘͜'̴̛̻̪̼̩̺̐s̵̢̖̼̥̣̤̙̖͙̙̽̓͊̾̋̈́ͅͅ ̸̛̯͖̰̖̭̪̼͓͉̤͂͆̑̓̉̆̌̂̋̄̑͊a̷̡͓̘̺͚͇̘̭̝͖̞̓̔͋̅́̚͠ ̸͕̘̦͈̪̱̥̥͚̘̤̹̭͙̔̐̾̂̏̿͘͝ͅs̵͚̖̱̀͂͆̃̀̎̓̆͌̽̀͘͠͝n̴̡̖̜͈̘͔͖̩̏̍͊̓̅͑̈́̆̊̕͝a̴̧̛̛̲̤̠̟̠̘͚̱̔̅ķ̵̡̛̛͉͚̜̙̥̠͚̘̼͑̎̄̈́͌̅͊͌̕e̶̼͓͕̗͜͝͝ ̶̨̡̛̞̦̉͌͗̓̾́͂͒͋̌̏̈́̉̀i̴̟̼͈̭͈̻̭̭͑͗̔̆͆́͝ͅͅň̶͚͚̻̬͎̝̤̜̥̱͙ ̶̨̢̞̻͇͙̻̻͚̝̻̃͛̒̒̂͊̋̉͛̈͌͆̅͠m̷̢̳͖̦̽̾̕͜ͅy̶̥̤̝̜͊̊̍̂͂͐̽̂̏́͘͘͜͜͝ ̴̨̟̣̰̔̽̽̊́̂͜b̸̌͗̿̂̀ͅơ̸̧̡̨̰͖͇̟͛̅̈́͐̀ͅo̵̹̦̟̞̘̙̩̻̣͖̲͒͐̄͋̌̃t̵̑͝ͅ.̴̤̻͈̙̠͔͇̫͇́ͅ ̸̢̛͕͖͉̣̫̜̔̑͋̈́̊̍̓͛̑̔̈́̐͝

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⡱⢈⠰⠀⠄⡁⠂⠤⠈⠄⡁⠂⠄⠡⠈⠄⢂⠡⠌⡐⠄⠂⠄⡈⠄⠡⡈⠐⣈⣤⣦⣶⣶⣦⣥⣆⠐⠠⢈⠐⡀⠂⠄⡁⠂⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⡈⠄⠡⠐⡀⢂⠐⡈⠐⠠⢀⠡⢈⠐⠠⠐⡀⠂⠄⡈⠄⡈⠐⠠⠀⠌⡐⠠⢁⠐⡀⠂⠌⡐⠠⢈⠐⠠⠈⠄⢂⠁⠂⠄⡁⠆⡐⠠⢈⠐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠀⠆⠠⠁ ⠥⡈⠤⢁⠂⠄⠃⠤⠁⠂⠄⠡⢈⠂⠡⠈⠄⢂⠐⠠⢈⠰⢀⠂⠌⡐⠀⣽⣿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⣿⣷⡀⠂⡐⠠⠁⢂⣄⠁⠒⢀⠂⠄⢂⣰⡈⠄⠃⡀⢂⡐⠀⠃⠄⡁⠂⠄⡈⠄⣁⠄⡁⢢⣀⠂⠄⠃⠄⡁⣦⣀⢁⠂⠒⢀⢁⣂⢌⣐⣠⣈⠁⢊⠐⠠⢈⠐⢂⠐⠠⢀⠡⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⠠⠁⠌⠠⠁ ⡱⠐⡰⠀⠌⠠⢁⠂⠡⠘⠠⢁⠂⠌⢠⠁⠌⠠⠌⠐⡀⠂⠄⡈⠄⡐⠀⢿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠐⠠⢀⠁⢂⣿⣿⣿⣦⠂⠄⣨⣿⣿⣿⣆⠐⢰⣿⣿⣷⡈⠠⢀⠁⢂⠐⣸⣿⣿⣎⣿⣿⣷⣌⠐⣰⣾⡿⢿⣷⣾⣾⣷⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢿⣷⡀⠌⡐⠠⠈⠄⣈⠂⡐⠠⢈⠐⡀⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⠌⡠⢁⠊⠄⡁ ⢆⠡⡐⠈⠄⡑⠠⠘⡀⢁⠂⠡⢈⠐⠠⠈⠌⡐⢈⠐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⢀⠡⠸⣿⣶⣶⠀⢰⣿⣿⡿⠟⢀⠡⠀⣼⣿⡟⠀⠘⣿⡎⢠⣿⡏⠀⠹⣿⣮⣿⡏⠈⢻⣷⡐⠠⠈⠄⣠⣿⢧⠘⣿⣿⠀⠹⣿⣼⣿⠏⠀⠈⣿⡏⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡏⠠⢀⠡⢈⠐⡀⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⡈⠄⠡⠐⠠⢈⠐⡀⠂⠌⡐⠀ ⢎⠰⠈⠅⠂⠄⡁⢂⠄⠡⢈⡐⠠⢈⠐⡁⢂⠐⠠⢈⠐⡀⠂⠄⡁⠂⠄⡁⠉⣿⡇⠀⢸⣿⡄⠐⡀⠂⠄⢹⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⣼⡟⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⢸⣿⡀⢂⠁⠂⣼⡿⠀⠀⣼⡯⠀⢰⣿⡿⠡⠀⡀⠀⣿⣷⣀⣀⡄⠀⣰⣶⣶⣾⣿⠃⡁⢂⠐⡠⠈⠄⡁⢂⠐⡈⠐⢠⠈⠄⡁⠂⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⠄⡁ ⠆⡌⠱⢈⠡⢈⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⡀⢁⠂⡐⠠⢈⠄⡁⠂⠌⠠⢁⠂⠄⡁⠂⠄⢹⣿⠁⠀⣿⡇⢀⠂⠄⡁⢂⣿⡏⠀⢠⡇⠀⢿⣷⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠄⡈⢰⣿⠃⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⣼⡿⠁⠀⣴⣿⡄⠘⣿⣿⣿⠁⢀⣿⢏⠉⡉⢁⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⠈⠄⡁⠂⠌⡐⠠⢁⠒⡀⡁⠂⠌⡐⠀ ⢣⠘⢠⠁⢂⠌⠠⢁⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⠔⠠⢁⠂⠄⠄⠡⡈⢐⠠⠈⠄⠐⣈⣠⣿⡟⠀⢰⣿⡃⠠⠈⠄⡐⣸⣿⠁⠀⠟⠛⠀⠈⢙⡏⠀⢰⡆⠀⠀⢀⣴⡇⠀⣾⡟⠀⠂⢄⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⡿⠁⠀⣿⠁⢀⣾⣿⣿⣷⠀⢻⣿⡇⠀⣼⡿⠈⡐⢀⠂⠌⡐⠠⢈⠐⠠⢂⠡⠀⠅⠂⠄⠡⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⠠⢀⡁⠂⠄⡁ ⡡⠊⠄⠌⡠⢈⠐⢠⠈⡐⠠⠂⠌⡐⠠⠂⠌⡐⢈⠐⡀⠂⠄⠡⢈⣰⣿⠿⠿⠁⠀⠚⢿⣿⡄⠌⠠⢠⣿⠇⠀⣷⠀⣀⡀⠀⣾⠃⠀⣸⣿⣶⣶⣿⣿⠁⠀⣿⡇⢈⠐⣾⣿⠀⠀⣰⠀⠁⠀⢠⣿⠀⢸⣿⠿⠟⠉⠀⢸⣿⠁⢠⣿⠇⠐⡀⠂⠌⠠⢀⠁⢂⠌⠡⢀⠂⠡⠈⠌⠠⠁⠌⡐⠀⠆⣈⠐⠠⠀⠅⠂⠄ ⡑⠌⡨⠐⡀⠂⠌⡀⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⠠⢁⠂⠔⢀⠂⡐⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⢿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡟⠀⡁⢺⣿⠀⢰⣿⣿⣟⠁⢀⣿⡀⢠⣿⠏⠙⠉⢹⣿⡀⢰⣿⠉⡀⠂⠹⣿⡀⢠⣿⣆⠀⢀⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣿⣿⡀⠸⣿⡆⡐⠠⠁⠌⡐⢀⠊⠄⠂⡁⠂⠌⠠⠡⠘⠠⢁⠒⠠⠑⠠⠀⠌⠠⠁⡌⠈⠄ ⡱⠈⡄⠡⢀⠡⢂⠐⠡⢈⠐⠂⠌⡐⠠⢈⠐⡀⠆⠐⡈⠐⡀⠆⠐⠸⣿⣦⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢀⠐⡀⠉⣿⣶⣾⡟⢸⣿⣦⣾⣿⣧⣾⡟⠀⠌⠐⡀⢿⣷⣿⠏⠠⢀⠁⢂⢻⣷⣾⡿⢿⣿⣿⠿⠻⣿⣦⣤⣴⣶⣿⡿⠋⢿⣷⣤⣿⠏⠀⠄⡁⢂⠐⠠⠈⠄⠡⢀⠡⠌⠠⠁⠌⡐⢀⠂⠡⠈⠄⡑⠈⠄⠡⢀⠡⠂ ⢆⠡⡐⢁⠂⡐⠠⢈⠐⠠⢈⠂⡐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⠌⡐⠠⢁⠐⡀⢃⠠⠙⠛⠋⠉⢈⠁⠄⡐⢀⠂⠄⡁⢈⠛⠋⠠⢀⠉⠛⠋⢈⠛⠛⡀⠌⠠⢁⠠⢈⠉⢁⠂⡁⠄⡈⠄⠠⠙⠋⠄⠠⠉⡁⠄⠠⠉⠛⠛⠛⡉⢁⠠⠐⠈⠹⠟⠋⠠⢁⠂⠌⠠⠈⠄⡑⢈⠐⡀⠂⠌⠠⠑⠠⠐⢂⠈⠡⢈⠐⠠⠁⠌⠂⡄⢂⠁ ⠎⡐⠌⡀⢂⠐⡁⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⡈⠐⡠⢀⠁⢂⠐⡀⢂⠐⡀⠆⢈⠐⠠⢈⠐⢀⠂⡈⠄⠰⠀⢂⠁⠂⠤⠈⠄⡁⠂⠌⡐⠠⢀⠁⠂⠄⠂⠌⢀⠐⠠⠐⠠⢀⡁⠢⠁⠌⠠⢁⠠⢀⠡⢀⠡⠈⡐⢀⠂⠄⠡⠈⠄⡐⢈⠐⠠⠈⠄⠡⢈⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⢁⠊⠄⠡⢈⠐⡠⢈⠁⠂⠌⢠⠁⠌⡐⠠⠈⠄ ⢣⠐⢌⠠⢁⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⠠⢈⠐⡀⢂⠐⡈⠁⠄⠂⠌⡀⢂⠐⡀⠂⠄⡐⠀⠂⢁⠠⢈⠠⠐⡀⠌⠐⡈⡀⠌⠐⠠⠈⠄⠠⡁⢂⠐⡀⠂⠌⠐⣨⣤⣶⣶⣾⣶⣶⣥⡀⠄⡠⠁⠂⡁⠠⢀⠂⢀⠂⡀⠂⠄⢂⠠⠈⠄⡁⠂⠄⢂⠈⠄⠡⢈⠐⡠⢈⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⡈⠄⡁⠢⠐⡀⠂⠌⣈⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⠁⠌⡀ ⡃⠌⢂⡐⠄⡈⡐⢀⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⡐⢀⠂⠄⡡⠈⡐⠠⢐⣀⠂⡐⠈⡐⠀⡈⢰⣤⠐⢠⡀⠡⠀⣢⣧⡀⠐⠠⠁⢂⣱⣬⡀⠐⡀⠂⠄⠡⠈⢼⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠙⠛⢻⣿⡀⠐⠠⠁⣠⡁⢀⠂⠄⠐⢀⠐⣠⣆⠀⡁⢂⣤⡁⠂⢂⠈⠄⡁⢂⣰⣤⣂⡌⠐⠠⢈⠐⡀⠂⢄⠁⢂⠤⠁⠂⢄⠈⠰⠀⠌⠠⡁⠂⠄ ⡱⢈⠂⠄⢂⠐⡀⠂⠌⡐⢀⠢⠐⡀⠂⠌⡐⢀⠐⡀⣡⣿⣿⣧⡠⣵⣷⣄⢨⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡀⢲⣿⢿⣷⠁⠠⣡⣿⣿⢻⣿⡔⢀⠡⠈⡐⠈⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣿⡇⠁⢂⣾⣿⣿⣆⢤⣾⣧⡀⣼⡿⣿⣦⣐⣾⡿⣿⣷⡆⣨⣴⣾⣿⠿⠿⠿⣿⡌⠐⡀⠂⠄⡁⠂⠌⡀⠂⠌⡁⠂⠌⢠⠁⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂ ⡅⢂⠡⠌⡀⠂⠤⠁⢂⠐⠄⢂⠐⠠⢁⠂⠄⢂⠐⣀⣿⡏⠈⣿⣿⡿⠻⣿⣿⡿⠀⢻⠁⢿⣷⣸⣿⠈⣿⣏⣴⣿⠟⠀⠀⢻⣿⠀⠠⢁⠐⠈⡘⢿⣷⣾⠀⠀⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠡⢸⣿⠁⢹⣿⣿⠟⢻⣷⣿⠇⠘⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡐⠠⢁⠂⠄⠡⠒⠠⢁⠂⠄⠡⠈⠄⡈⠐⠠⢁⠂⠄ ⡜⢀⠒⠠⠄⡁⢂⠘⠠⢈⠐⠂⠌⢂⠐⡈⠐⡀⢂⢸⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⠃⠀⣹⣿⠃⠀⣼⠀⢈⣿⣿⡇⠀⢹⣿⡿⠃⠀⢀⠀⢹⣿⡀⢁⠂⡈⠐⡀⠌⣿⡏⠀⢸⣿⠀⠄⡐⠈⠄⣿⡇⠀⢸⣿⡟⠀⢈⣿⡿⠀⢀⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠁⠀⠀⢴⣶⣶⣶⣾⡿⠀⠂⠄⡈⠄⠃⣈⠐⠠⠈⠄⡑⢈⠐⠠⠑⡀⠆⡈⠄ ⠆⡌⠌⡐⠠⠐⢂⢈⠐⡀⢊⠐⡈⠄⠂⠄⠡⠐⡀⣿⡇⠀⢸⣿⠏⠀⠀⣿⡟⠀⢠⣟⠀⢸⣿⣿⠇⠀⣸⡿⠁⠀⣴⣿⣇⠀⢿⣧⠂⡐⠠⢁⠀⢢⣿⠃⠀⣾⡏⠈⠄⡐⠈⢰⣿⠁⠀⣿⡿⠁⠀⢸⣿⠇⠀⣼⡟⠀⢀⣧⠀⢸⣿⣄⡀⠀⠀⢹⣿⡍⠉⠄⠂⡁⢂⠐⡈⠐⠠⠈⠄⡁⢂⠐⠠⠈⠄⠡⠐⠠⠐⠂ ⠎⡐⠰⢀⠡⠈⠄⢂⠐⡈⠄⢂⠐⡈⢐⠈⠤⢁⢠⣿⠇⠀⣿⡏⠀⠀⢰⡿⠁⠀⣾⡇⠀⠘⠉⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⠀⣾⣿⣽⣿⠀⢸⣿⢀⠐⡀⣂⣬⣼⡟⠀⢠⣿⣇⠈⡐⠀⠡⢸⣿⠀⢰⣿⠃⠀⠀⢼⡟⠀⢠⣿⠁⠀⠚⠛⠃⠀⢈⣿⣿⣿⣷⠄⢽⣿⣄⡌⠐⣀⠂⡐⠠⠁⠌⠠⡁⠄⡡⠈⠄⡉⠄⢡⠈⠡⠈⠄ ⢣⠐⣁⠂⠄⢡⠈⠄⢂⠐⡈⠄⠂⠌⢠⠈⡐⠠⢸⣿⡀⠀⠋⠀⢀⣶⠀⠁⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠀⣠⡆⠀⢰⣿⠀⠸⠿⠿⠟⠁⠀⢸⣿⠀⢂⢰⣿⠿⠟⠃⠀⠘⠻⣿⡦⢀⠁⠂⢿⣯⠀⠘⠁⠀⢸⡄⠈⠀⢀⣾⡏⠀⣸⣀⣀⡄⠀⣾⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⣼⡟⠿⣿⡆⢀⠂⠄⠡⠈⠌⡐⢀⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⡈⠄⡈⠡⠈⠄ ⣃⠰⢀⠌⡐⠠⢈⠰⠀⢂⠐⡈⠐⠌⠠⠐⠠⢁⠀⣿⣇⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⡆⠀⢠⣿⣿⠀⠀⣾⣿⣇⠀⣸⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⣿⠏⠡⢀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣾⡇⠃⡈⠄⠺⣿⡄⠀⢀⣴⣿⣷⠀⠀⣼⣿⡄⠐⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⠀⠀⣿⡇⠂⠌⠠⠁⡌⠐⡀⠢⠈⠄⡁⢂⠐⡀⠂⠄⡡⠈⠄ ⡐⠢⢁⠂⠄⡁⠂⠤⢁⠂⡐⠄⠡⠈⠄⡁⠢⢀⠂⡘⢿⣷⣿⡿⠏⢹⣿⣶⣿⠟⢿⣷⣾⡿⠙⣿⣿⣿⠛⣿⣷⣶⣶⣾⣿⠿⠋⠠⠁⠄⡈⢿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢀⠂⡐⢀⠂⠻⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⢿⣷⣾⡿⢻⣷⣾⡿⠘⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣶⣾⣿⠟⣿⣧⣾⡿⢁⠈⠄⡁⠂⠄⢡⠀⠅⡈⠔⢀⠂⠰⢀⠁⠂⡄⢁⠂ ⠥⠑⡠⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⠄⠒⠠⠈⠄⢃⠐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⢀⠉⡉⠄⠂⠄⡉⠩⠁⠄⡈⠙⠋⢁⠐⡈⢉⠁⡐⠈⡉⠙⠋⢉⠠⠐⠠⠁⠌⠠⠐⡈⢉⠉⡁⠠⢀⠀⠄⢂⠐⡀⠂⠤⠁⡈⠉⡁⢀⠐⡈⠙⠉⡐⠠⢉⠉⠄⢂⠈⠙⢉⠀⡙⠛⠉⠄⢂⠈⠛⠛⡁⠄⡈⠐⠠⠁⠌⡀⠂⠔⠠⠌⠠⢈⠐⠠⠘⠠⠐⡀⠂ ⡌⢡⠐⠠⠄⡁⠂⠌⠠⢁⠂⠡⠈⠄⡘⢀⠂⡐⠠⢁⠂⠡⠐⡈⠐⡐⠈⠄⡁⠂⠄⠡⠈⠄⢂⠐⡀⠂⠄⠡⢀⠡⠈⠄⠂⡁⢂⠡⠈⠄⠡⠐⡀⠂⠄⡁⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⠄⡁⢂⠡⢀⠡⠐⡀⠂⠄⡁⠂⠄⡁⢂⠈⡐⠠⢈⠐⡀⢂⠐⡈⠐⡈⠠⠈⢄⠡⢀⠂⠄⡁⢂⠁⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⡈⠐⠠⠘⡀⢁⠂⠡⢀⠡ ⡜⠠⡘⢀⠂⠄⠃⠌⡐⠠⢈⠡⢈⠐⡀⢂⠐⠠⢁⠂⠌⡐⠁⠄⠡⢀⠁⠂⠄⠡⠈⠄⠡⠈⠄⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⠂⠡⢈⠐⠠⢀⠂⠌⠠⢁⠂⠄⡁⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⠠⢈⠐⡀⢂⠐⡈⠠⠁⠄⡁⠂⠄⡁⢂⠁⠄⠂⠄⡁⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⡈⠐⠠⠁⡁⠂⠄⢂⠈⡐⢀⠂⠌⠡⠘⡀⢂⠂⠡⢈⠁⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⠂ ⢆⠡⠐⠄⢊⠠⢁⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⡀⠂⠌⠠⢈⠐⢂⠈⡐⠠⠁⢌⠠⠁⠌⡐⠈⠄⢡⠈⠄⠡⢈⠐⡈⠐⡀⠂⠄⠡⢁⠂⠌⡐⠠⠈⠄⡁⢂⠈⠄⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⢈⠄⡁⢂⠐⡈⠄⢠⠁⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⠈⠄⡁⢂⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⢂⠐⡁⢂⠡⢀⠡⠈⠄⢂⠐⠠⠈⠄⡁⢂⠐⠠⢈⠁⠂⠌⡈⠄⣁⠂⠂⠌⡐ ⢊⠤⢉⡐⢀⠂⠄⣈⠐⡀⢂⡐⢈⠐⡈⢁⠂⠌⡀⢂⠁⢂⢁⠂⠄⡉⠐⠠⢉⠐⠠⠈⡄⢁⠂⠌⡀⢡⠀⡉⠠⢁⠂⡈⢐⠠⠁⠌⡐⢀⠂⠌⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⢁⠂⡐⢀⠂⡐⢠⠈⠄⡈⡐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⠁⡌⠐⡀⠂⠌⡐⠀⠆⡐⠠⠈⠄⢂⠐⠂⠌⡈⠰⠀⠌⡁⠌⡐⠈⢄⡈⠄⠡⡈⠌⡐⢀⠂⠄⢂⠁⢂⠄ ⣃⠐⠂⡄⠂⠌⡐⠠⠐⡀⠂⠄⢂⡐⢀⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⠌⡀⠂⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⢄⡈⠄⠡⢀⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⡐⠠⢁⠂⠰⢀⠢⠀⠅⢂⡐⠠⠈⠄⡁⢂⠐⠠⠁⠄⢂⠐⠂⠌⡀⠂⠌⡐⠠⠄⡁⢂⠰⢀⠁⠂⡄⠡⢀⠡⠂⠄⡁⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⠠⡈⠐⡐⠠⢁⠌⡐⠀⠆⠠⢁⠂⠄⢨⠐⡀⢂⠐⡈⠄⠌⠠⠌⡀⠂ ⣂⠩⠐⠠⢁⠂⠄⡁⠂⠄⠡⡈⠄⡀⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⠄⡁⠂⠌⠠⠀⠌⡐⠠⢈⠐⡀⢂⠐⠠⢁⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⠡⠌⠠⢀⠂⡁⠂⠔⠠⠈⠄⠡⠈⠄⡈⠔⠠⢀⠡⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⡀⠢⠀⡌⠐⠠⢁⠂⠤⢁⠂⠄⡡⠈⠔⡈⠄⠡⠀⠅⠠⢁⠂⠄⡠⠁⠌⡐⠠⢈⠐⡀⢂⠐⡀⢂⠰⠈⠄⡁⠂⠄⡁ ⡤⢁⡉⠔⠠⢈⠐⠠⠁⠌⡐⢀⠂⠤⢁⠂⡐⠠⢈⠐⡀⠢⠄⡈⠐⠠⠁⠌⠠⢁⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⡀⠆⠈⠔⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⠌⡐⢈⠐⠄⠂⠄⠡⠂⠡⠈⠄⠡⢈⡐⠄⠌⡐⠂⠤⠁⠂⠔⡀⠂⠄⡁⠆⠠⢁⠒⠠⢈⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠈⠄⡁⢊⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⢁⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⡀⠆⢂⠐⠠⢂⠁⠂⠄⡁⠂⠄ ⡔⢂⠰⢈⠐⠠⠈⠄⡁⢂⠐⠄⡈⠐⡀⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⠠⠁⠂⠄⠃⡐⠡⢈⠐⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⢂⠐⠠⢁⠂⡁⢂⠐⠠⢈⠐⡀⠆⡈⠄⠡⠈⠄⡁⢂⠡⢈⠐⠠⠐⡈⠐⠠⢁⠂⠡⠘⡀⠄⡁⢂⠐⡈⠐⠠⠌⠐⠠⠘⡀⠆⡈⠔⡀⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⠄⠨⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⢈⠐⡀⠢⠐⡀⢂⠂⠌⡐⠠⢈⠒⢀⠂⡁⠂ ⡒⣈⠐⠂⠌⠠⠑⠠⠐⡈⠄⠂⠄⢃⠠⠁⠒⢀⠂⠌⠠⠑⡈⠄⠡⠐⡀⠂⠌⡐⠠⠐⠠⠈⠄⡈⠂⠄⢂⠁⠂⠌⡐⠠⠈⠄⠒⠠⠘⢀⠁⢂⠐⡀⠂⠄⡈⠄⠡⢀⠃⡐⠂⡈⠄⠡⠐⡐⠠⠁⠂⠄⡉⠐⡈⠐⡁⢂⠐⠠⠐⠠⠐⡁⢂⠐⡈⠄⠊⠄⡑⠈⠄⡈⢂⠁⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⢁⠂⠌⡀⢂⠐⡁ ⠒⠤⠘⠠⠈⢄⠡⠘⠠⠐⡈⠡⠈⠄⢂⠡⠈⠄⡈⠄⡁⢂⠐⡈⠄⠡⢀⡁⠢⢀⠡⡈⠡⢈⠐⠠⠁⡌⠠⠈⠌⡐⠠⢁⠡⠈⠄⠡⠈⠄⡈⠄⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⡈⢁⠂⡐⠠⢁⠐⡈⠄⠡⢀⠡⠈⠌⡐⠠⠁⡄⠡⠐⡈⠄⢡⠈⡁⢂⡐⢀⠂⡐⢈⡐⠐⠠⢉⠠⠐⠠⠁⠌⡐⠐⠠⢈⠄⠡⢈⠐⠠⢈⠐⡀⢂⠐⡀ ⠍⡄⢃⠡⠈⠄⢂⢁⠂⠡⣀⠡⢈⠐⡀⢂⠉⠄⡐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⠈⠔⠠⢀⢁⠂⡐⠠⢁⠂⠌⡐⠡⢀⠡⢁⠂⠄⡁⠂⢄⠡⠈⢄⡁⢂⠐⡈⠄⠡⠐⡀⢂⠐⣀⠂⠡⠐⡈⠄⡐⢈⠐⡀⢂⠉⢠⠀⡁⠂⡄⢁⠂⡐⠈⠄⢂⠐⠠⠐⣀⠂⠌⡀⠄⡁⢂⠐⠠⢁⠂⡁⠂⠄⡉⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⢈⠐⡀⢂⠁⢂⠐⡀ ⠣⢐⡈⠄⢡⠈⠄⠂⠌⡁⠠⠐⡀⢂⠰⠀⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⠁⡌⠠⢁⠂⠄⠂⠤⢁⠂⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⢈⠐⠠⢁⠂⠄⣁⠂⠄⢂⡐⠠⠌⠠⢁⠐⡀⠂⠄⡈⠄⠡⠐⠠⠐⡀⢂⠐⠠⠌⡀⠂⠤⢁⡐⠠⠂⠌⠠⢁⠂⠌⢠⠁⠄⡈⠐⡀⠆⡈⠄⠌⡐⠄⢂⡁⠌⡐⠠⢁⠁⡂⠌⡐⠠⢈⠐⠠⡈⠄⠂⠄ ⡃⠆⡐⠈⡄⠈⠄⠡⠂⠄⡁⠆⠐⡀⢂⠁⠢⢀⠁⢂⠐⠠⢁⠂⠄⡁⠂⠌⢠⠁⠂⠄⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⠰⢀⠁⠂⠌⡐⠠⠈⠄⡀⠢⠌⠠⢀⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⡈⠄⡁⢂⠡⠐⠠⠌⡐⠠⠠⢁⠂⠄⡐⠠⠁⠌⡐⠠⢈⡐⠠⢈⠐⠠⢁⠐⡠⠐⡈⠐⠠⠈⠄⡀⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⡀⠆⠠⢁⠂⠌⡐⠠⢈⠐⡈ ⡱⠈⠤⠁⠄⠡⠊⢠⠁⠂⠔⡈⢐⠠⠂⠌⡐⠄⠊⠄⠨⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⠁⠌⣀⠂⠡⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⠌⡐⠠⢈⠐⠤⢀⠡⢈⠐⠠⢁⠂⡁⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⠌⡐⢀⠢⠐⡀⢂⠐⡀⢂⠁⠆⡐⠠⢁⠂⠄⠌⡐⠠⠁⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⡐⢀⠂⠌⡐⠀⠆⡐⢀⠂⠡⢂⠁⠆⠠⢁⠂⠰⢀⠂⠔⡈⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⢁⠂⠰⠀ ⡔⠉⠤⢁⠊⠄⡁⠂⠌⡐⠀⠆⡀⢂⠁⢂⠐⡈⠐⡈⠄⡑⠀⠆⡈⠄⠡⠂⠄⡈⠐⡀⢂⠁⠂⠌⡐⠠⠁⠂⠌⠐⡀⠂⠄⠊⡐⢀⠂⡐⢁⠂⡐⠠⢈⠐⡀⢂⠐⠠⠐⡀⢂⠐⠠⢈⠐⡀⠂⠄⡈⠐⠄⠠⠁⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⡐⢀⠂⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⢈⠐⠠⠈⠄⡁⠂⠌⡐⠠⢈⠐⠠⢁⠂⡐⢈⠐⠠⢈⠐⡁ ⡌⡘⠄⢂⠐⡐⠠⢁⠂⠄⠃⡐⠠⠁⠌⡀⠒⠠⢁⠐⡐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠈⠄⡁⠂⠄⡁⢂⠡⢈⠐⡐⠠⠁⠌⠂⠌⡐⠠⠁⠌⡐⢀⠂⠡⠐⡀⠒⢀⠁⢂⠐⡐⠠⢈⠂⠡⠐⠠⢈⠂⡐⠂⠄⡑⠐⡈⠐⡈⠄⢃⠐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠀⠆⡈⠐⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⢁⠂⠌⠠⢁⠂⠄⡁⠒⠠⢁⠂⠌⡐⢀⠂⠌⠠⠈⠄⡁⠂⠄ ⠖⠤⢊⡄⠂⠄⡁⠂⠌⠠⠁⠄⠡⢈⠐⠠⢁⠂⠂⠌⡀⢁⠂⡐⠠⠁⠌⠠⢁⠂⡐⢀⠂⡐⠠⢀⠡⠈⠄⡁⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⠂⠌⠠⠁⠄⡁⠂⡉⢀⠂⠄⡁⢂⠈⠄⠡⠈⠄⠂⠄⡁⠂⠄⠡⢀⠡⠐⡈⠄⡈⠐⡀⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⠡⠈⠄⠂⠄⡁⠂⠌⠠⢁⠂⠌⡐⠠⠁⠒⠠⢈⠐⡀⠂⠌⠠⢁⠁⠂⠄⡑⠠

Tuesday, March 31st, 2015 | I only go shopping at night The cashier swipes my items across the scanner as I stare at the floor. I find it easiest to get through my anxiety by avoiding eye contact with other people. That’s why I only go shopping at night fewer people to avoid. “Did you find everything okay?” she asks casually. “Mm-hmm,” I mumble to the floor. Her voice sounds nice. Pleasant. Curiosity wins over and I glance up. The cashier’s head is completely caved in on the left side. Probably a car accident. I snap my gaze back down towards the floor. After I pay she gives back my change in a hand so mangled I’m surprised it can hold anything at all. Thanking her, I grab my bags and turn towards the exit. Immediately I see a man looking through magazines at the store front. The skin on his face and hands is the consistency of a hot dog that fell into a campfire. Burn victim. I rush out the door as fast as I can. In my car I finally catch my breath as I lean my forehead on the steering wheel. Eventually I look up and see my familiar reflection in the rear-view mirror: my head is blown open in the back. Gunshot victim. Why did I ever wish for the power to see how people die? Credit to reddit user resistance1984

🏕️🔭🥾🌳🔥

ᴿᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ’ᵗ ⁿᵉᶜᵉˢˢᵃʳⁱˡʸ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵉⁿᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵘⁿᵉʳᵃˡ ʰᵒᵐᵉ ᵒʳ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳⁱᵃˡ ˢᵉʳᵛⁱᶜᵉ‧ ᴬ ᵗᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉ ⁱˢ ᵒⁿᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵗᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵃⁿ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗ ⁱⁿ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ⸴ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ⸴ ᵒʳ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳʸ ᵒᶠ ᵖᵃˢᵗ ˡⁱᵛᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ˢᵒ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ʳᵉᵃˢᵒⁿˢ ʷʰʸ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ˢᵒ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵈᵒ‧ ᴴᵃᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ⁱᵗ? ᴰᵒ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ᵒᵈᵈ⸴ ᵒʳ ᵈᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˢʰᵃʳᵉ ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ? ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵖⁱᵗᵃᵖʰˢ? ᵀʰᵉʸ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵖʳᵒᵛᵒᵏⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗ ʷʳᵉⁿᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ˡᵒᵛⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴳᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵍˡⁱᵐᵖˢᵉ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ’ˢ ˡⁱᶠᵉ⸴ “ᴮᵉˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᶠᵃᵗʰᵉʳ⸴ ᔆʷᵉᵉᵗ ᴬⁿᵍᵉˡ”‧ ᵂʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵇᵒʳⁿ⸴ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ˡᵉᵃʳⁿ ˢᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉ‧ ᴰⁱᵈ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ⸴ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ⸴ ᵖᵃʳᵉⁿᵗˢ⸴ ˢᵖᵒᵘˢᵉ? ᵂᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉʸ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵉʳᵛⁱᶜᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿ ᵉˣᵖˡᵒʳᵉʳ ᵃⁿ ᵃʳᵗⁱˢᵗ⸴ ᵃ ᵖᵒᵉᵗ? ᴵˢ ⁱᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗʸ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ? ᵀʰᵉ ᵖᵃʳᵏ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ˢᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵒʳⁿᵃᵗᵉ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵃᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵉʳᵉⁿⁱᵗʸ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵈᵉᶜᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ʷᵒᵒᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ᵍʰᵒˢᵗ ᵗᵒʷⁿ‧ ᴿᵉᵐⁿᵃⁿᵗˢ ᵒᶠ ʸᵉˢᵗᵉʳʸᵉᵃʳ‧ ᴬ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ⸴ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷʰᵒ ˡⁱᵛᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ‧ ᴵˢ ⁱᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃʳᶜʰⁱᵗᵉᶜᵗᵘʳᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵈʳᵃʷˢ ʸᵒᵘ? ᵀʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ᶜᵃʳᵛᵉᵈ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵃᵗᵘᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃⁱⁿᵉᵈ ᵍˡᵃˢˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷʳᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ⁱʳᵒⁿ‧ ᴹᵘᶜʰ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵍᵒ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇʳᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵒⁿᶜᵉ ʷᵃˢ‧ ᴿᵉˢᵖᵉᶜᵗ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵃʳᵉ ᵍᵒⁿᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇʳᵃⁿᶜᵉ⸴ ᵉⁿᵈˡᵉˢˢˡʸ ᶠᵃˢᶜⁱⁿᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᴰᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ˢⁱᵐᵖˡᵉ ʳᵉᶜᵗᵃⁿᵍˡᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵃʳᵇˡᵉ ᵒʳ ᵃⁿ ᵉˡᵃᵇᵒʳᵃᵗᵉˡʸ ᶜʰⁱˢᵉˡˡᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵍᵉˡ? ᴬʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳˢ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᶠʳᵉˢʰ? ᵂʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ⁱⁿʰᵃᵇⁱᵗᵃⁿᵗˢ? ᴾʳᵒᶠᵉˢˢᵒʳ ᴰᵃᵛⁱᵉˢ ˢᵃʸˢ ʰᵉʳ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉʸᵃʳᵈˢ ˡᵉᵃⁿˢ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵗᵒʷᵃʳᵈ ᵇⁱᵇˡⁱᵒᵖʰⁱˡⁱᵃ ⁽ᵃ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵇᵒᵒᵏˢ⁾ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ⁿᵉᶜʳᵒᵖʰⁱˡⁱᵃ “ᵒʳ ᵃⁿʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵉᑫᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵍʳᵒˢˢ ᵒʳ ᵐᵒʳᵇⁱᵈ ᵈᵉʳᵃⁿᵍᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ‧” ᴵⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉⁿᵈ⸴ ˢʰᵉ ʳᵉʲᵉᶜᵗˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵉʳᵐ ᵗᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵈᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵃˡˡ ʰᵉʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵃ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵃⁿ‧ ᴵᵗ’ˢ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ʰᵃᵖᵖʸ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ˢᵒ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ᵒʳᵍᵃⁿⁱᶻᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ⸴ ᵈᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ʷᵒʳᵏ⸴ ʳᵉˢᵉᵃʳᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈᵒᶜᵘᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵉᶜᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉˢᵉ ᶠʳᵃᵍⁱˡᵉ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉˢ‧ ᴱᵃᶜʰ ᵗᵉˡˡⁱ ᵃ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ⁱˢ ᵘⁿⁱᑫᵘᵉˡʸ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵒʷⁿ‧ ᴬ ᵗᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉ ᵇʸ ᵈᵉᶠⁱⁿⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿ ⁱˢ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ʷʰᵒ ⁱˢ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ⸴ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃʳᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵍᵒᵉˢ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵍ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉᵐ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃˡˢᵒ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᶠᵘⁿᵉʳᵃˡˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵘⁿᵉʳᵃʳʸ ᵗʳᵃᵈⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ‧ ᵀᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉˢ ᵃʳᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍʰᵒᵘˡⁱˢʰ ᶠᵒˡᵏˢ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ ᵒᵇˢᵉˢˢⁱᵒⁿˢ‧ ᴵⁿ ᶠᵃᶜᵗ⸴ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ᑫᵘⁱᵗᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵖᵖᵒˢⁱᵗᵉ‧ ᵀᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉˢ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵇᵘʳⁱᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ˡᵉᵃʳⁿ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵒᶠ ⁱⁿᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵘᵃˡˢ⸴ ᵃⁿᶜᵉˢᵗᵒʳˢ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ‧ ᴬⁿᵈ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ᵃ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉˢᵗᵒⁿᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˡⁱᵗᵉʳᵃˡˡʸ ᵗᵉˡˡˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ’ˢ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ⸴ ⁱᵗ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ᵃᵐᵃᶻⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴮᵉ ᶜᵒⁿˢⁱᵈᵉʳᵃᵗᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ‧ ᴵᶠ ᵃ ᶠᵘⁿᵉʳᵃˡ ⁱˢ ⁱⁿ ᵖʳᵒᵍʳᵉˢˢ ᵒʳ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉ⸴ ᵐᵒᵛᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ˢᵉᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ‧ ᴰᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ⸴ ˢⁱᵗ ᵒʳ ˡᵉᵃⁿ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿˢᵗ ᵐᵒⁿᵘᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ‧ ᴬˢᵏ ᵖᵉʳᵐⁱˢˢⁱᵒⁿ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ᵒᶠᶠⁱᶜᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵈᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉˢᵗᵒⁿᵉ ʳᵘᵇᵇⁱⁿᵍ; ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵐᵃʸ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵃˡˡᵒʷᵉᵈ‧ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷ ᵃˡˡ ᵖᵒˢᵗᵉᵈ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ʳᵘˡᵉˢ‧

〰✮⚠💊꒰ঌ👁໒꒱⚠✮〰

ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᵂʰᵃᵗ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵐⁱⁿᵈ; ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ? ᴾᵉᵃᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᑫᵘⁱᵉᵗ? ᴹᵒⁿᵘᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ? ʸᵒᵘ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵃ ʳᵃⁿᵈᵒᵐ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉ ᴴᵉʳᵉ ˡⁱᵉˢ ᔆᵐⁱᵗʰ ¹⁹ˣˣ⁻? ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ? ᴵ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵃⁿ ⁱⁿᶠᵃⁿᵗ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʰᵉ ᵖᵃˢˢᵉᵈ‧‧‧ ᵂᵃˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵍʳᵃⁿᵈᵖᵃ ᵇᵒʳⁿ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᵐᵉ ʸᵉᵃʳ? ᴴᵒʷ ᵈⁱᵈ ᔆᵐⁱᵗʰ ˢᵖᵉⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ? ᵂᵃˢ ᔆᵐⁱᵗʰ ˢᵃᵗⁱˢᶠⁱᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ⸴ ᶠᵘˡᶠⁱˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˡˡ ʰⁱˢ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐˢ? ᵂᵃˢ ⁱᵗ ˢᵘᵈᵈᵉⁿ ʷʰᵉⁿ ⁱᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ⸴ ᵒʳ ʷᵃˢ ⁱᵗ ᶠᵒʳˢᵉᵉⁿ? ᵂʰᵉⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᴵ ᵍᵒ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉʸᵃʳᵈ⸴ ᴵ ᵗᵉⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵉˣᵖˡᵒʳᵉ ⁿᵉᵃʳᵇʸ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉˢ; ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵃᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ˡⁱᶠᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉ‧‧‧ ᴰʳʸ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉˢ ᶜʳᵘⁿᶜʰ ᵃˢ ᴵ ʷᵃˡᵏ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵃ ʳᵒʷ‧ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵉˡᵖ ᵇᵘᵗ ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷʰᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳⁱᵃˡˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᶠᵒʳ‧ ᴸᵒᵒᵏˢ ᵇʳᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵉʷ; ᵒʰ⸴ ⁱᵗ ˢᵃʸˢ ²⁰ˣˣ ˢᵒ ⁱᵗ ᵐᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉ ʳᵉᶜᵉⁿᵗ‧ ᴬᵐᵃᵇᵉˡ; ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵃ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ⁿᵃᵐᵉ! ᴬᵐᵃᵇᵉˡ‧‧‧ ᴿⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁿᵉᵃʳ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵇⁱʳᵗʰᵈᵃʸ‽ ᴬ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗ ˢʰᵃᵖᵉᵈ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉ‧‧‧ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵉˡᵖ ᵇᵘᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘⁿᵍᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ‧ ᵂʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ? ᴴᵃᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵃⁿʸ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ? ᔆᵒᵐᵉ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳˢ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉᵈ‧ ᴬʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒˢᵉˢ ᵃʳᵗⁱᶠⁱᶜⁱᵃˡ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ˢᵒ ᶠʳᵉˢʰ‧‧‧ ᴵ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒˡᵒᵘʳˢ! ᴮᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵗʳʸ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ʳᵘˢʰ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵃ ˢᵃᶜʳᵉᵈ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ‧ ᴱᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ⸴ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᴵ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ⸴ ᴵ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ʷʰᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᴵ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ‧ ᴬˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᴬ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ʷᵒʳᵗʰ ᵗᵉˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵏⁿᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵉʳᵉⁿᵉ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵇʸ ᴵ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵃʳ‧ ᴿᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ’ᵗ ⁿᵉᶜᵉˢˢᵃʳⁱˡʸ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵉⁿᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵘⁿᵉʳᵃˡ ʰᵒᵐᵉ ᵒʳ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳⁱᵃˡ ˢᵉʳᵛⁱᶜᵉ‧ ᴬ ᵗᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉ ⁱˢ ᵒⁿᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵗᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵃⁿ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗ ⁱⁿ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ⸴ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ⸴ ᵒʳ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳʸ ᵒᶠ ᵖᵃˢᵗ ˡⁱᵛᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ˢᵒ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ʳᵉᵃˢᵒⁿˢ ʷʰʸ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ˢᵒ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵈᵒ‧ ᴴᵃᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ⁱᵗ? ᴰᵒ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ᵒᵈᵈ⸴ ᵒʳ ᵈᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˢʰᵃʳᵉ ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ? ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵖⁱᵗᵃᵖʰˢ? ᵀʰᵉʸ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵖʳᵒᵛᵒᵏⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗ ʷʳᵉⁿᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ˡᵒᵛⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴳᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵍˡⁱᵐᵖˢᵉ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ’ˢ ˡⁱᶠᵉ⸴ “ᴮᵉˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᶠᵃᵗʰᵉʳ⸴ ᔆʷᵉᵉᵗ ᴬⁿᵍᵉˡ”‧ ᵂʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵇᵒʳⁿ⸴ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ‧ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ˡᵉᵃʳⁿ ˢᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉ‧ ᴰⁱᵈ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ⸴ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ⸴ ᵖᵃʳᵉⁿᵗˢ⸴ ˢᵖᵒᵘˢᵉ? ᵂᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉʸ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵉʳᵛⁱᶜᵉ⸴ ᵃⁿ ᵉˣᵖˡᵒʳᵉʳ ᵃⁿ ᵃʳᵗⁱˢᵗ⸴ ᵃ ᵖᵒᵉᵗ? ᴵˢ ⁱᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗʸ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ? ᵀʰᵉ ᵖᵃʳᵏ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ˢᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵒʳⁿᵃᵗᵉ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵃᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵉʳᵉⁿⁱᵗʸ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵈᵉᶜᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ʷᵒᵒᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ᵍʰᵒˢᵗ ᵗᵒʷⁿ‧ ᴿᵉᵐⁿᵃⁿᵗˢ ᵒᶠ ʸᵉˢᵗᵉʳʸᵉᵃʳ‧ ᴬ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ⸴ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ʷʰᵒ ˡⁱᵛᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ‧ ᴵˢ ⁱᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃʳᶜʰⁱᵗᵉᶜᵗᵘʳᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵈʳᵃʷˢ ʸᵒᵘ? ᵀʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ᶜᵃʳᵛᵉᵈ ᵗᵒᵐᵇˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗᵃᵗᵘᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃⁱⁿᵉᵈ ᵍˡᵃˢˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷʳᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ⁱʳᵒⁿ‧ ᴹᵘᶜʰ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵍᵒ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇʳᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵒⁿᶜᵉ ʷᵃˢ‧ ᴿᵉˢᵖᵉᶜᵗ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵃʳᵉ ᵍᵒⁿᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇʳᵃⁿᶜᵉ⸴ ᵉⁿᵈˡᵉˢˢˡʸ ᶠᵃˢᶜⁱⁿᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ˢᵗᵒʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᴰᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ˢⁱᵐᵖˡᵉ ʳᵉᶜᵗᵃⁿᵍˡᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵃʳᵇˡᵉ ᵒʳ ᵃⁿ ᵉˡᵃᵇᵒʳᵃᵗᵉˡʸ ᶜʰⁱˢᵉˡˡᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵍᵉˡ? ᴬʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳˢ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᶠʳᵉˢʰ? ᵂʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ⁱⁿʰᵃᵇⁱᵗᵃⁿᵗˢ? ᴾʳᵒᶠᵉˢˢᵒʳ ᴰᵃᵛⁱᵉˢ ˢᵃʸˢ ʰᵉʳ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉʸᵃʳᵈˢ ˡᵉᵃⁿˢ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵗᵒʷᵃʳᵈ ᵇⁱᵇˡⁱᵒᵖʰⁱˡⁱᵃ ⁽ᵃ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵇᵒᵒᵏˢ⁾ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ⁿᵉᶜʳᵒᵖʰⁱˡⁱᵃ “ᵒʳ ᵃⁿʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵉᑫᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵍʳᵒˢˢ ᵒʳ ᵐᵒʳᵇⁱᵈ ᵈᵉʳᵃⁿᵍᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ‧” ᴵⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉⁿᵈ⸴ ˢʰᵉ ʳᵉʲᵉᶜᵗˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵉʳᵐ ᵗᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈᵉᶜⁱᵈᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵃˡˡ ʰᵉʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵃ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵃⁿ‧ ᴵᵗ’ˢ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ʰᵃᵖᵖʸ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ˢᵒ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ᵒʳᵍᵃⁿⁱᶻᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ⸴ ᵈᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ʷᵒʳᵏ⸴ ʳᵉˢᵉᵃʳᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈᵒᶜᵘᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵉᶜᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉˢᵉ ᶠʳᵃᵍⁱˡᵉ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉˢ‧ ᴱᵃᶜʰ ᵗᵉˡˡⁱ ᵃ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ⁱˢ ᵘⁿⁱᑫᵘᵉˡʸ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵒʷⁿ‧ ᴬ ᵗᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉ ᵇʸ ᵈᵉᶠⁱⁿⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿ ⁱˢ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ʷʰᵒ ⁱˢ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ⸴ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉˢᵗᵒⁿᵉˢ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃʳᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵍᵒᵉˢ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵍ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉᵐ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃˡˢᵒ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᶠᵘⁿᵉʳᵃˡˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵘⁿᵉʳᵃʳʸ ᵗʳᵃᵈⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ‧ ᵀᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉˢ ᵃʳᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵍʰᵒᵘˡⁱˢʰ ᶠᵒˡᵏˢ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ ᵒᵇˢᵉˢˢⁱᵒⁿˢ‧ ᴵⁿ ᶠᵃᶜᵗ⸴ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ᑫᵘⁱᵗᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵖᵖᵒˢⁱᵗᵉ‧ ᵀᵃᵖʰᵒᵖʰⁱˡᵉˢ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵇᵘʳⁱᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳⁱᵉˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉʸ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ˡᵉᵃʳⁿ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵒᶠ ⁱⁿᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵘᵃˡˢ⸴ ᵃⁿᶜᵉˢᵗᵒʳˢ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ‧ ᴬⁿᵈ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠⁱⁿᵈ ᵃ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉˢᵗᵒⁿᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˡⁱᵗᵉʳᵃˡˡʸ ᵗᵉˡˡˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ’ˢ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ⸴ ⁱᵗ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵇᵉ ᵃᵐᵃᶻⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴮᵉ ᶜᵒⁿˢⁱᵈᵉʳᵃᵗᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ‧ ᴵᶠ ᵃ ᶠᵘⁿᵉʳᵃˡ ⁱˢ ⁱⁿ ᵖʳᵒᵍʳᵉˢˢ ᵒʳ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉ⸴ ᵐᵒᵛᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ˢᵉᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ‧ ᴰᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ⸴ ˢⁱᵗ ᵒʳ ˡᵉᵃⁿ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿˢᵗ ᵐᵒⁿᵘᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ‧ ᴬˢᵏ ᵖᵉʳᵐⁱˢˢⁱᵒⁿ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ᵒᶠᶠⁱᶜᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵈᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉˢᵗᵒⁿᵉ ʳᵘᵇᵇⁱⁿᵍ; ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵐᵃʸ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵃˡˡᵒʷᵉᵈ‧ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷ ᵃˡˡ ᵖᵒˢᵗᵉᵈ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ʳᵘˡᵉˢ‧

⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢬⢓⣬⢣⡝⣬⢳⡌⠷⡌⠶⡑⢮⠰⠡⠎⠴⢢⠕⢦⢃⠖⡰⢢⠜⡰⢤⢒⠌⡰⢁⢆⠲⡰⢆⡲⢤⠠⢀⠠⠤⢆⠔⣢⠔⡦⣔⢢⠆⡅⢒⢀⡂⢆⠄ ⡀⣢⣠⣠⣤⣴⣬⣶⣭⣮⣽⣶⣭⣞⡼⣡⠗⣜⠣⡜⠡⢁⠂⢁⠁⠈⣄⣡⣾⣤⣯⣦⣷⣦⣽⣴⣇⣊⡠⠁⠁⠊⢖⡙⢮⢱⢣⡍⢇⣊⣖⣭⣾⣵⣿⣷⣿⣷⣿⣼⣦⣖⣈⠜⠤ ⣴⣿⡿⣟⣛⠛⠻⡉⠉⠉⠛⢛⡻⠻⢿⣿⣿⣼⠳⡴⢡⠀⠡⢀⣼⣿⡿⠿⣟⡛⠋⠙⣏⠉⠉⠛⡻⠻⢿⣷⣎⡡⢂⡘⢠⢍⢲⣾⣾⣿⠿⠻⢟⡋⠉⠉⠙⡻⠛⠛⠛⠻⣿⣷⠁ ⡿⣿⣤⡀⠈⠉⠙⢓⡶⠶⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⢻⣿⠳⡥⢃⡌⠠⠘⣿⡗⠀⠀⠀⢈⣹⠶⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢺⣿⠇⢉⡁⠃⠌⡙⣿⡓⠂⠀⠀⣀⣩⠷⠶⠪⡀⠀⠀⠀⣐⣾⢿⢰ ⡗⠎⡍⠿⡛⣻⡾⠥⠤⢤⡤⠷⣤⡴⠶⢛⠛⠭⠓⠍⠣⠌⡇⠆⠀⠉⠓⠲⠮⠥⢄⣀⣧⠤⢤⠼⠷⠒⠛⢉⣀⡀⠣⣌⢱⡞⢓⠩⣍⠓⠾⢿⠶⠮⠤⡤⠶⣾⣶⢿⢿⡝⣠⠈⣼ ⣧⣼⣤⣧⣤⣀⡈⠐⠀⠂⠄⠑⠘⢈⣡⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣅⣀⠰⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣦⣶⣿⣶⣮⣤⣄⣀⢀⡉⡤⢢⣹⣴⣼⣷⣾⣭⣶⣭⣷⣨⣔⠊⡄⠦⠤⡁⣘⣌⣨⣦⣤⣶⣶⣾ ⢏⣭⡽⠋⢋⣛⣻⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠰⢿⡋⠛⠻⣯⣍⠛⠉⠛⢿⡇⠀⠀⠈⣿⠋⠙⠒⣤⡤⠀⠉⠉⢻⣧⢣⣍⠷⣿⠟⠉⢉⣻⣤⠛⠉⠛⣹⣷⠁⡎⡱⢂⢽⣿⣛⢋⠙⣹⠿⠉⣽ ⣛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣉⠉⠉⠑⡊⢹⣏⣩⣍⣴⣤⣤⣦⣼⣿⣶⣿⣶⣷⣶⣷⡿⣯⣿⣟⣮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⡞⢩⡙⣭⣥⣀⣀⣀⣀⠭⠀⡌⢉⠩⡉⠛⠙⣉⣛ ⣛⣛⡻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢿⣟⣻⣿⣛⣹⣿⣷⣔⣯⣿⣿⣛⣻⣟⣻⣻⣿⣿⣿⣯⣉⣿⣏⣉⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣻⣿⣙⣻⣿⡁⢈⠒⢿⣛⣉⡿⣍⡝⣿⢟⠀⠀⠊⠐⠀⠼⡛⠱⣿ ⣷⡶⢄⡢⠄⡤⢂⡅⣾⣿⣿⣻⣾⣟⡶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣟⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣻⣿⣿⣿⣻⣟⣻⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⡏⡾⠿⣿⣿⣻⠷⠂⠀⠀⠰⣾⣿⣟⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠴⠒⢿ ⠶⡹⢦⢯⡹⣜⡳⡞⡽⡿⣯⡿⣿⢮⢷⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠛⢻⣿⠏⠀⠀⢻⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠑⡩⠚⠦⠳⡡⢳⡙⠧⣙⠦⠙⠄⠋⣧⣋⠟⢻⠏⢋⡝⣇⣊⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⡯⠛⠐⠋⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⡀⣌⣦⣾⣼⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠻⣇⣶⢔⣦⡀⠀⣤⣀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⣶⣶⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⣿⣿⢿⢉⣾⣿⢦⠙⢿⣶⣯⣙⢶⠿⠿⠄⢀⣸⢿⣷⠆⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣶⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣓⣛⢛⣁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠷⣿⣷⣻⣀⣨⣻⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⠿⠿⣀⣛⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠻⣾⣿⣿⣷⣄⣺⠿⠾⡿⠿⡟⣀⣀⣘⣻⣿⡿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢘⠒⠓⡛ ⡶⢶⡿⣷⣿⣴⡲⢦⣤⢶⣿⣿⣶⣬⣽⣾⣿⣿⠿⡿⢿⣷⣦⣮⣵⡿⢟⠀⠀⠻⢦⣤⣯⣭⣿⢷⠀⠘⢿⣶⣾⣽⣿⡿⠇⠀⠀⠻⠷⢶⣯⣽⣿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢀⠘⠷⠶⠶⠿⠷ ⡷⠷⠖⣓⣺⣟⣻⠷⢿⣿⡿⣿⢿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠗⢛⣶⣓⡞⢦⣄⠀⠁⠊⣤⡖⠒⠂⠉⣏⣙⣛⡒⢦⣀⠀⠘⢬⣦⠖⠖⠲⣖⣒⣖⡦⣤⣤⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡴⠲⠒⠶⣖⣶⣲⣶⣀ ⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⡿⡿⣏⠷⣍⠾⡹⢿⣶⣶⣴⣤⣶⣶⣶⠾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⣶⣦⣤⣧⣤⣶⡶⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠻⠷⣶⣶⣤⣴⣶⣶⡶⠟⠀⠀⡀⡀⠛⠿⠷⣶⣶⣶⣴⣴⣶⣾ ⡇⠟⠖⠖⣒⡚⣿⣒⣵⣘⣲⠭⢦⣧⣅⣆⣂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠴⠾⠾⡿⠯⠴⢤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣀⣂⣒⣢⣕⡴⢦⣥⣎⣀⣁⠂⠚⢲⣲⠂⠀⠀ ⠇⠆⢃⣵⣿⡟⠉⠉⠙⢀⣤⣖⣉⡤⢬⣁⠉⢳⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣖⡉⠁⠈⠂⠀⢠⡧⡠⢤⠬⠥⠬⠽⢶⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡏⠁⠁⠀⠈⠱⣤⢄⡨⠭⠭⠽⠳⢶⣤⠀⠁⠀ ⠀⠂⠈⣿⣦⣾⣀⣀⣴⠊⠀⣀⣀⣐⣤⣴⣶⡿⠃⠀⡀⢀⢀⡀⢻⣷⣦⣤⣔⣀⡀⠀⣆⣀⣀⣘⣦⣤⣶⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⣦⣤⣔⣂⣀⣀⣈⠳⣄⣀⣈⣶⣼⡿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠣⣁⠋⢆⡁⢎⡈⡙⢛⠻⡿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⡉⢁⠂⠆⠰⢀⠁⠀⠠⠄⠀⠉⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⡛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⠈⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠠⠉⠤⢰⠀⢆⡡⢌⡐⣄⣠⡐⡐⡂⡂⡀⢂⠐⠠⡈⠆⠱⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠆⡡⠐⡉⠄⢃⠂⡁ ⠄⠊⡐⡁⡀⢀⠠⠀⡀⠄⡀⠄⠡⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⡙⠔⣃⠾⠤⠜⠂⠘⠈⠉⠙⡟⠙⠙⠙⠙⠚⠠⠴⣌⠒⡀⠆⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠂⢀⠀⠁⠐⣈⣠⠤⠤

꒰ঌ👁️໒꒱ աɦʏ ɖօ ʏօʊ ӄɛɛք ɦɨɖɨռɢ ʄʀօʍ ʍɛ? ǟʟʟ ɨ աǟռȶɛɖ աǟֆ ʄօʀ ʏօʊ ȶօ ƈօʍɛ օʊȶ ǟռɖ քʟǟʏ. ꒰ঌ👁️໒꒱

daily affirmations ˙ᵕ˙ ❤︎ i won’t be so hard on myself ❤︎ i belong here ❤︎ i am worthy of what i desire ❤︎ i love me always ❤︎ happiness is in my hands

💉 ❤️‍🩹 💉 ❤️‍🩹 💉 ❤️‍🩹 💉 ❤️‍🩹 💉

🔪🥩🦷👁️🦷🥩🔪

巛 ˊ ѕσηg ѕυggєѕтισηѕ(ωєιя∂¢σяє) ˊ 巛 ・вαву нσтℓιηє ・ρσѕѕιвℓу ιη мι¢нιgαη ・нєу кι∂ѕ ・ωєℓ¢σмє тσ кιтту ¢ιту ・ѕυкι ѕυкι ∂αιѕυкι ・ι'∂ яαтнєя ѕℓєєρ ・ƒαℓℓєη ∂σωη ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟмιgнт α∂∂ αησтнєя σηє σя мσяє тσ ιт ℓαтєя ση! ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Affirmations 🧸: my energy is cleansed ⋆ miracles happen to me daily ⋆ i choose happiness everyday ⋆ i am glowing with love ⋆ everything works in my favor

︵୨୧‿︵୨୧︵‿୨୧︵ self love journey — learn to say no to things that don’t serve you, talk to yourself only with love and respect, cut negative self-talk, don’t compare yourself to others, practise self-love affirmations

⚫️〰️🔘⁉️

I had a bad day bad days come with bad week bad weeks bad month bad months bad year bad years, bad life 🪽🦴🎀🐰🍼☁️

🫧𖦹⋆꩜ʚ🍓 // ᵂʰʸ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ⁱ ˢᵃʸ ❝ 𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ❞ .ᐣ //💉🫀🎀🔪🦴✧⸝⸝🪐 ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢊⠊⠃⠥⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠄⠀⠀⢐⡁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢆⠀⠉⠉⠈⠐⠅⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⠃⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⣔⢶⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠀⠂⠄⠀⠄⠔⠀⠄⠔⠂⠀⠈⠉⠊⠳⡆⠀ ⠀⠀⡀⢢⡪⠖⣩⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢁⠀⠀⡐⠈⡐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡍⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠤⠀⠤⠠⠄⢤⡷⡂⠀⠀⠀⠉⢠⠠⠍⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢐⡞⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⣥⡁⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠄⠅⠃⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⠡⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⠓⠒⠒⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣑⡂⣀⡀⡀⣘⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢂⡤⡚⣂⡑⠌⢂⡁⢅⣁⠉⠆⠅⢊⢋⠋⠤⣠⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⡄⡀⡀⢈⣤⣃⠃⠐⠂⠀⠐⠁⠀⠀⠁⢃⠎⠰⠐⠀⠁⡂⠀⠁⠂⠡⡧⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠅⢄⣓⠙⠁⠐⠂⠄⡅⣀⢀⠫⠀⢄⢀⠮⠠⣈⢀⠁⡈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠓⣆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠁⢂⣏⡠⡮⠡⠢⠀⠃⠀⡐⣂⠀⠂⠇⠠⡂⠄⠩⠀⠁⡈⣢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡮⠤⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠂⠄⠤⡖⠕⢘⠠⢘⠀⡁⠌⠐⢄⠻⠢⡷⠐⠀⠀⠀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠘⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣘⠅⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢀⡋⠌⠈⡄⠗⠂⢀⠈⠆⠀⡁⠈⠧⢄⠀⠖⠁⠠⠀⠀⠁⡠⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠁⠁⠁⠀⠀ ⠈⠋⠴⠆⠖⢃⠂⠀⠂⠐⡀⠈⢢⢀⠁⠠⠐⠀⡄⠀⠃⠀⡀⠀⠀⣀⡜⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡨⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡁⣬⡀⠀⠀⠠⢀⠀⡁⠨⡉⡂⠀⡁⢀⠂⣁⠢⡁⢔⠂⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡉⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⡀⠀⡀⡄⠖⠂⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠽⡂⠈⠡⠀⣂⠐⢀⡜⡗⣏⠋⠁⠁⠉⠋⠁⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠁⠚⠛⠃⠁⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

🫀🥩☎👁🍖🔪

ᴬˡʸˢˢᵃ ᶠᵃʸᵉ ᴬᵛⁱˡᵃ ᴮᴵᴿᵀᴴ ²⁷ ᴰᵉᶜ ²⁰⁰⁰ ᴹᵒᵈᵉˢᵗᵒ⸴ ᔆᵗᵃⁿⁱˢˡᵃᵘˢ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗʸ⸴ ᶜᵃˡⁱᶠᵒʳⁿⁱᵃ⸴ ᵁᔆᴬ ᴰᴱᴬᵀᴴ ¹⁹ ᴬᵘᵍ ²⁰¹⁰ ⁽ᵃᵍᵉᵈ ⁹⁾ ᴹⁱᵃᵐⁱ⸴ ᴼᵗᵗᵃʷᵃ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗʸ⸴ ᴼᵏˡᵃʰᵒᵐᵃ⸴ ᵁᔆᴬ ᴮᵁᴿᴵᴬᴸ ᴹᵃᶜᵉᵈᵒⁿⁱᵃ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ ᔆᵗᵉˡˡᵃ⸴ ᴺᵉʷᵗᵒⁿ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗʸ⸴ ᴹⁱˢˢᵒᵘʳⁱ⸴ ᵁᔆᴬ ᵂʸᵃⁿᵈᵒᵗᵗᵉ⸴ ᴼᴷ⁻ᴬˡʸˢˢᵃ ᴬᵛⁱˡᵃ ᶜʰᵃʳᵐᵉᵈ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵒⁿᵉ ˢʰᵉ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ᵈᵘʳⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉʳ ˢʰᵒʳᵗ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ᵃ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ˢᵃⁱᵈ ᴬˡʸˢˢᵃ ᶠᵃʸᵉ ᴬᵛⁱˡᵃ⸴ ⁹⸴ ᵂʸᵃⁿᵈᵒᵗᵗᵉ⸴ ᴼᴷ ᵖᵃˢˢᵉᵈ ᵃʷᵃʸ ᵃᵗ ³⠘⁵⁵ ᴾᴹ ᴬᵘᵍᵘˢᵗ ¹⁹⸴ ²⁰¹⁰ ᵃᵗ ᴹⁱᵃᵐⁱ ᴵⁿᵗᵉᵍʳⁱˢ ᴮᵃᵖᵗⁱˢᵗ ᴴᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ ⁱⁿ ᴹⁱᵃᵐⁱ⸴ ᴼᴷ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ⁱⁿʲᵘʳⁱᵉˢ ˢᵘˢᵗᵃⁱⁿᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵃ ᵖˡᵃʸᵍʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᵉᑫᵘⁱᵖᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵃᶜᶜⁱᵈᵉⁿᵗ‧ ᴬˡʸˢˢᵃ ᶠᵃʸᵉ ᴬᵛⁱˡᵃ ʷᵃˢ ᵇᵒʳⁿ ᴰᵉᶜᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ²⁷⸴ ²⁰⁰⁰ ⁱⁿ ᴹᵒᵈᵉˢᵗᵒ⸴ ᶜᴬ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃᵘᵍʰᵗᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᴿᵒⁿ ᴬᵛⁱˡᵃ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜᵃᵗʰʸ ⁽ᶜᵃᵐᵖᵇᵉˡˡ⁾ ᶜᵒˡˡⁱⁿˢ‧ ᔆʰᵉ ʷᵃˢ ᵃ ˢᵗᵘᵈᵉⁿᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵂʸᵃⁿᵈᵒᵗᵗᵉ ᴱˡᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃʳʸ ᔆᶜʰᵒᵒˡ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵃˢ ˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵃˡˡ ʷʰᵒ ᵐᵉᵗ ʰᵉʳ‧

r/TwoSentenceSadness 3 yr. ago PistachioPug People say I'm not disabled, I'm neurodivergent. Somehow the fancy label doesn't make me feel any better about all the things I wish I were able to do.

https://www.ovulationcalculator.com/cramping-pain

https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/mittelschmerz/symptoms-causes/syc-20375122

𝙱𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝙰𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 (𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍) :♡.•♬✧⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾*+:•*∴ 𝙿𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚜. 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚕. 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎'𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚊𝚕𝚜. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎. 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚜𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚖 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚝. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚋𝚕. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚔, 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎, 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑. 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝙼𝚢 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗. 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍. 𝙽𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚢. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝. 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝙸'𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚅𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜. 𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝙲𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎. 𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚣𝚒. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚛. 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚕. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛, 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢. 𝚡𝚘𝚡𝚘

COMPUTER SENSORS vi ** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ * "It's like his brain turned up the volume on everything," Hanna murmurs, finally understanding the gravity of Plankton's condition. "Exactly," Karen says, her voice still low and soothing. "It's a constant barrage of sensory information for him." Hanna nods, her gaze shifting from Plankton to Karen. "What exactly happened when I...I jabbed him?" "It's like his brain took a brief vacation from reality." She pauses, collecting her thoughts. "It's a sudden break from consciousness, usually triggered by a sensory overload. In Plankton's case, it's often unexpected, like a surprise party his brain wasn't ready for." "So, when I jabbed him during the game, it was like...like I flipped a switch?" Karen's expression is a mix of sadness and patience. "More like turned up the volume on an amp that was already at max," she says. "It's like his brain took a short break from processing all the sensory input." "Oh," she whispers, her voice a soft echo of regret. "I had no idea." Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton. "It's not something that's easy to explain," she says, her voice a gentle wave. "It's like when you're trying to listen to someone in a crowded room. Sometimes the noise just gets too much, and you have to tune out for a second to keep from getting overwhelmed." Hanna nods, glued to Plankton's sleeping form. "But what happened earlier," she whispers. "When he went to his room?" Karen's gaze follows Hanna's to Plankton, understanding dawns on her face. "Oh, you noticed," she says gently. "His sensory overloads can be gradual. Sometimes it's like a pot boiling over, but other times it's more like a slow simmer that gets out of control." "What do you mean?" Karen's gaze remains on Plankton, her voice a gentle wave. "It's like earlier," she explains. "In the bedroom. He was getting overwhelmed, but it was happening so gradually, he didn't realize it." She looks at Hanna, filled with the patience of experience. "It's like when you're in a conversation and someone keeps talking louder and louder, and you don't notice until you're shouting just to be heard." Hanna nods with understanding. "So, when it's a sudden thing?" "It's like a thunderstorm," Karen says, her voice a gentle explanation. "Loud, intense, and overwhelming. But the gradual buildup is more like a slow-moving fog, thickening until it's hard to breathe." She looks at Hanna with quiet strength. "Today in the bedroom, it was like that. The sounds, the light, even the smells...it was all too much for him. But he couldn't tell you. He just had to retreat." Hanna nods reflecting her dawning comprehension. "So, when he went to his room, he was trying to get away from it all?" Karen's smile is sad but knowing. "Yes," she whispers. "His room is his sanctuary. He's got it set up just right— dim lights and all his favorite things. It's where he goes to recharge, to escape the storm when it gets too loud." Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. She can see now how the simple act of playing a board game had become a tempest for him. How the jovial jab had sent him spiraling into a sensory hurricane. She feels a pang of regret for not noticing the signs sooner, for not understanding the delicate balance he maintained every day. "How do you know when touch helps him?" Hanna asks, her voice a soft inquiry. "I mean, if he can't tell you?" It's all about reading his cues," she whispers. "Sometimes, it's the tension. Other times, it's the way his pupil reacts to stimuli." She pauses, her gaze lingering on Plankton's sleeping form. "And sometimes, it's just a feeling." "How can I get better at that?" she asks, her voice earnest. "How can I support him without making things worse?" Karen's smile is warm, filled with gratitude for Hanna's willingness to learn. "It takes time," she says gently. "But the key is to pay attention to his reactions, his body language. If he flinches or withdraws, that's a sign that what you're doing isn't helping. But if he relaxes or moves closer, then you know you're on the right track." Hanna nods, still on Plankton's sleeping form. "But what if I miss the signs?" she asks, her voice a soft echo of fear. "What if I hurt him again?" Karen's hand squeezes hers reassuringly. "You're already doing so much better than most. It's just about learning to read his body language, his reactions." Hanna nods, still on Plankton. "What about when he's asleep?" she asks, her voice a soft concern. "How do you know if he's comfortable?" "It's all in the subtleties," Karen explains, her gaze shifting from Plankton to Hanna. "If he's tense, if curled tightly, then I know to be careful. But if he's relaxed, loose or reaching out...that's when I know it's safe to touch him." Hanna nods, taking in the information. She watches as Plankton starts to stir. "He's waking up," Karen whispers, her voice a soft breeze in the quiet room. She watches as Plankton twitch, his eye slowly opening. The panic from earlier is gone, replaced with a soft curiosity as he looks around the room. "Hey, buddy," Karen says, her voice a soothing lullaby. "How are you feeling?" Plankton blinks slowly, moving to rub his eye. "Tired," he murmurs, his voice a hoarse whisper. Hanna clenches at the sound, but she remains still, not wanting to disturb him. "Do you need anything?" she asks, her voice a soft echo of concern. Plankton's gaze shifts to her, his pupil dilating slightly. He seems to consider her words before shaking his head. "Just...quiet," he says, his voice a whisper in the stillness. Hanna feels a strange sense of responsibility, a need to protect him from the world that can be so unforgiving to those who are different. She watches as he blinks slowly, moving slightly as if testing the waters of consciousness. Karen's smile is a soft glow of gratitude. "Just sit with us," she says, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Your presence is enough." "I swear we were just playing a game, and..." he asks, his voice still a whisper. Hanna nods of guilt and empathy. "I know," she says. "I'm sorry." Plankton reaches out, touching her arm lightly. "It's ok," he whispers. "I just...I need time." Hanna nods, brimming with unshed tears. "I'm here," she says, her voice a soft promise. "I'll be quiet as a mouse." Plankton's grip tightens around her arm for a moment, a silent thank you, before releasing its grip. He sits up slowly, wrapping around himself like a self-made blanket. Karen watches him with a knowing gaze, her heart aching for his pain but also swelling with pride at his resilience. "Let's get you water to drink," Karen says, her voice a gentle breeze that doesn't disturb the peacefulness of the room. She rises and heads to the kitchen, leaving Hanna and Plankton in the cocoon of quiet understanding. Hanna nods, still on Plankton as he slowly unravels from his protective ball. She feels the weight of his gaze on her, a silent question, and she meets it with a smile tinged with sadness. "You're ok," she whispers, her voice a soft caress in the hushed room. The kitchen door clicks shut behind Karen, leaving Hanna and Plankton in the gentle embrace of the dim light from the fireplace. The silence stretches out like a warm blanket, comforting and safe. Plankton reaches for the blanket, pulling it tighter around his shoulders. Hanna takes a deep breath, the scent of the fireplace mixing with the faint aroma of their earlier dinner. "I'm really sorry," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. "I had no idea." Plankton nods, loosening slightly. "It's ok," he whispers. "Not your fault." The warmth from the fireplace creates a serene ambiance, the flickering light casting shadows across the room. Hanna watches as Plankton begins to move again, a sign that he's slowly coming back to the present moment. "What can I do to make it up to you?" she asks, her voice a soft thread of hope in the quiet. Plankton considers her question, his tentacles stroking the blanket in a rhythmic pattern. "Just...just be there," he murmurs, his eye closing briefly. "And maybe next time, we can find a different way to play." Hanna nods, her heart heavy with the weight of her mistake. "I'd like that," she says softly. "I'd really like that."

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS vii (Autistic Author) The film starts, and for a while, the only sound is the muffled dialogue and the occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but then relaxes slightly, allowing her contact. Plankton's antennae still and he turns to look at Chip, who's staring at the screen, lost in the fantasy. Karen watches them both, torn between anger and pity. She knows Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, but it's hard to see her son hurt. The movie plays on, the sound of laughter and adventure a stark contrast to the heavy silence that hangs over them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he glances at Chip, his eye flickering with regret. Karen feels the tension in the room begin to ease as Chip becomes engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to Plankton, seeking comfort without words. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the armrest of the couch tightening. The film starts, and for a while, the only sound is the muffled dialogue and the occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but then relaxes slightly, allowing her contact. Plankton's antennae still and he turns to look at Chip, who's staring at the screen, lost in the fantasy. Karen watches them both, torn between anger and pity. She knows Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, but it's hard to see her son hurt. The movie plays on, the sound of laughter and adventure a stark contrast to the heavy silence that hangs over them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he glances at Chip, his eye flickering with regret. Karen feels the tension in the room begin to ease as Chip becomes engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to Plankton, seeking comfort without words. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the armrest of the couch tightening. During a particularly suspenseful scene, Chip reaches out and grabs Plankton's arm instinctively. But the sudden touch sends Plankton spiraling. His antennae shoot up, and he starts to shake uncontrollably. "Daddy?" Chip asks, his grip tightening in concern. Plankton's body jolts, his antennae flailing wildly as his eye roll back. "Daddy!" Chip's voice is filled with fear as he clutches his father's arm tighter. Plankton's tremors only worsen, his body convulsing in a way that's both frightening and heartbreaking. Karen's realizes what's happening. "Chip, let go!" she cries. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice trembling with fear. Plankton's shaking becomes more intense, his antennae flailing as if trying to escape the confines of his own body. His mouth opens in a silent scream. Karen's knows this isn't a ‘seizure’ but something else entirely—a meltdown, a result of the overwhelming emotions he's been trying to hold in. She rushes to his side with worry. "Chip, let go of him," she says, her voice urgent. Plankton's shaking becomes more intense, his antennae thrashing about like seaweed in a storm. Karen quickly moves closer, her own hands gentle as she pries Chip's tight grip from Plankton's arm. "Chip, sweetie, let Daddy breathe," she says, her voice firm yet filled with empathy. "What's wrong with him?" he stammers, voice trembling. Karen's full of sadness as she takes Chip into her arms, gently peeling him away from Plankton's convulsing form. "It's ok, baby," she murmurs, her voice a lifeline in the chaos. "Daddy's just having a hard time right now." Her movements are swift and sure as she guides Chip away from the couch, her gaze never leaving Plankton. His body is still racked with tremors, his antennae a wild mess of emotions. She knows that touch can be overwhelming for Plankton in moments like these, so she keeps her distance, giving him the space he needs. "Why is he doing that?" Chip whispers, his voice shaky with fear. Karen's heart aches as she holds him close, trying to shield him from the harshness of the world. "It's called a meltdown, sweetie," she explains gently, her voice a soothing balm. "Sometimes, when some neurodivergent people get really upset or overwhelmed, their bodies may react like this." Karen's on Plankton, who's still trembling on the couch, his antennae a blur of distress. She knows he needs space, yet her instinct is to comfort him. With Chip in her arms, she keeps a safe distance, speaking softly so as not to add to the sensory overload. "Plankton," she says, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart. "It's ok. Just breathe." Plankton's body continues to spasm, his antennae a frantic tapestry of emotions. Karen's filled with a fierce determination as she carefully approaches him, her movements slow and calculated to avoid triggering more distress. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle lullaby amidst the chaos. "I'm here." Slowly, his antennae begin to still, his body calming as he registers her presence. "It's ok," she repeats. With trembling hands, she reaches out to stroke his back, the barest touch. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his breaths coming in deep, shaky gasps. "Just breathe," she whispers again, her hand moving in a soothing rhythm. "It's ok, you're ok." Plankton's antennae slow their erratic dance, his body following suit. The tremors subside, leaving him drained and panting. "Daddy?" Chip whispers, peering over Karen's shoulder. Karen nods, still on Plankton. "He's ok now," she says softly. "It's just his brain's way of letting out all the big feelings." Chip watches, his grip on Karen tightening. "Is he going to be ok?" he asks, his voice small. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Yes," she murmurs. "Just give him a moment." The room is silent except for Plankton's uneven breathing. The colors from the TV flicker across their faces, painting them in a strange, unsettling light. Karen can feel Chip's little heart beating against hers, and she knows he's scared. "It's ok," she whispers again, her voice a beacon of calm in the storm. "Daddy just needs some time." Plankton's antennae droop, his body finally still. His eye meets hers, a silent apology in the depths of his gaze. Karen nods, her hand still on his back, offering assurance without words. "Chip," she says, her voice still low, "can you go to your room for a bit?" He nods, eyes still glued to his father, but he doesn't protest. With a heavy heart, Karen watches her son disappear down the corridor, the door clicking shut behind him. Turning her full attention to Plankton, she sits down beside him, her hand resting lightly on his back. His breathing is still ragged, his antennae barely moving. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice hoarse. Karen nods with understanding. "We'll talk to him," she says gently. "But first, let's make sure you're ok." Plankton's body still trembling slightly. Karen keeps her hand on his back, her touch a silent promise that she's there for him. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles, trying to soothe him. "You don't have to apologize," she says firmly. "You are who you are, and we love you for it." Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks up at her, his single eye brimming with unshed tears. "But I don't know how to be a good dad like this," he chokes out. Karen's heart breaks at his words, but she keeps her voice steady. "You're already a great dad, Plankton," she says. "You just need to find a way to show Chip that." He looks at her, hope and doubt warring in his expression. "How?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. Karen takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "By teaching him," she says gently. "By letting him in, just like you're letting us in now." Plankton's antennae droop, and he nods. "I know," he says, his voice filled with regret. "But it's hard. I don't want him to see me like this." Karen squeezes his hand. "He already does," she says gently. "And he loves you anyway."

r/TwoSentenceSadness icon Go to TwoSentenceSadness r/TwoSentenceSadness 2 yr. ago TransParentCJ I had never understood how everyone else seemed to ignore the buzzing g sound of electricity everywhere they went; it was deafening to me. The doctors sent volt after volt of that same loud, excruciating electricity through my brain now, in some attempt to "cure" me.

' ptsdcore autismcore amputeecore' YYOOUUU NNEEEDD TTTOOO TOOUUCCHHH GRRAASSS !!!!!

PLUSH ONE ii (By NeuroFabulous) "What's your favorite thing to do?" Karen continues, her voice gentle. He looks around the room, his gaze finally settling on the metal container, his project before the accident. "Fix," he says, his hands moving in small, repetitive gestures. "Invent. Invent," he murmurs. It's a start. The paramedics nod, jotting down their observations. "It seems like his long-term memory is intact," the first one murmurs to the other. "Okay, Plankton, we're all done here; we'll be heading on out." Karen nods, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening as she watches them leave, their boots echoing down the hall. The door clicks shut, and suddenly the room feels much emptier, the silence suffocating. She looks back at her husband. She's never dealt with someone with severe autism, let alone the man she loves. She takes a deep breath. "Come on," she says, her voice a gentle coax. "Let's sit up." With surprising ease, he allows her to help him into a sitting position. He looks at her, his gaze warm and affectionate. "Karen," he says, his voice gentle. It's the first time he's called her by name since the accident, and it fills her with a hope so profound it hurts. They sit there for a while, Karen stroking his arm, Plankton's eye closed as he leans into her touch. He seems to find comfort in her presence, and she in his. She whispers softly, "I love you, Plankton." He opens his eye, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Love... Karen," he echoes. "You, I... I lo-ove you Karen." It's not eloquent, but it's enough. It's more than enough. Karen feels tears sting her screen as she leans in and kisses his forehead. "I love you too, Plankton." His hand, stiff and unpracticed, moves to hers, tracing the outline of her palm. The simple gesture speaks volumes, a silent promise that they'll navigate this new world together. Karen's eyes well up, a smile forcing its way through the tears. "You're going to be okay," she whispers, trying to tell herself as much as him. Plankton nods, his gaze on their joined hands. He starts to fiddle with her fingers, his touch tentative but earnest. It's a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. He's trying, and she loves him for it. The world outside feels muted as they sit together, sharing this quiet moment of understanding. Their bond, though altered by his new condition, remains strong. Karen can see it in the way he looks at her, his eye searching hers for comfort. And she's there, offering it in spades. "We'll get through this," she says, her voice steady "We'll figure it out." Plankton nods, his hand still tracing the lines of her palm. His movements are methodical, almost ritualistic. It's clear that touch is a way to connect, in a world that's suddenly become more confusing. Karen runs her thumb over the back of his hand. He looks up at her, his gaze intense, his eye searching hers for reassurance. Karen smiles through the tears. "We're in this together," she whispers, leaning in to pat his shoulder. But the second her hand makes contact, he flinches away, his body taut with discomfort. It's a stark reminder of the sensory challenges he now faces. "I'm sorry," Karen says quickly, retracting her hand. She's read about sensory issues in autism, but experiencing it firsthand is overwhelming. She's eager to learn what will soothe him, what will help him navigate this new reality without causing him discomfort. "It's ok" Plankton mumbles, his hands moving in a soothing motion over the blanket. Karen's determined to learn. "What do you need, honey?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton's hand stops its erratic movement. He looks at her, his expression unreadable. "Karen," he whispers. Her eyes fill with hope, clutching onto his words like a lifeline. "What do you need, Plankton?" she asks again, her tone soft and patient. He turns his head slightly, his gaze fixed on the couch. Karen gently guides him to the couch, placing a pillow under his head. She grabs his favorite blanket, and drapes it over him. He stiffens for a moment, then relaxes into the softness. His hands resume their repetitive stroking, this time on the fabric. Karen notices his eye is drawn to the patterns, and she wonders if the visual stimulation helps him focus. Gently, she sits beside him, keeping a respectful distance. Karen's mind is a storm of thoughts and questions, but she forces herself to be present, to be patient. Plankton's hand continues to move over the blanket. He's in his own world, yet she's eager to understand it.

During the appointment, a small sample of cells are taken from your cervix and checked for certain types of human papillomavirus (HPV) that can cause changes to the cells. The procedure might also interact unhelpfully with common Autistic qualities such as differences in how we understand what our body is feeling (interoception), our experience of pain (hypo/ hyper sensitivity) and difficulties in noticing and identifying how we feel (alexithymia). Co-occurring conditions commonly experienced in the Autistic community such as gastro-intestinal issues and joint hypermobility disorders can also have an impact on an Autistic patient’s experience of a screening procedure. Nurse practitioners and doctors may have a limited understanding of the unique and significant ways in which autism and its associated issues impact a patient’s experience of a given medical procedure. This means that the particular supports that might help to alleviate discomfort could be lacking. We might encounter resistance to our own attempts to self-regulate and take care of our sensory and emotional needs during the appointment. We may even experience medical gas lighting or invalidation when attempting to express our experience or request much needed accommodations. For those of us with a history of these types of experiences, just being in a medical environment could feel threatening and unsafe. The communication of pain experienced has often been minimised or overlooked which has resulted in a heightened feeling of dread in advance of appointments and a lack of confidence in the support offered during. We also think that it is deeply wrong that people in our community continue to pay the price for unmet access needs in medical settings. This is an urgent problem that demands institutional change on a broad scale and a shift in mind set amongst medical staff on the ground.

https://www.legalmatch.com/law-library/article/what-is-a-medical-lawyer.html

affirmations ᰔᩚ i am beautiful i am confident i am magical i am brave i am loved

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

You don't just practice away a neurological disorder 👀

"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.

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.

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ix (Autistic Author) As Karen heads back to her own bed, her mind is a whirlwind of emotions. She can't help but feel a twinge of anger at the cruel hand life has dealt Plankton, making something as simple as expressing love a monumental challenge. But she quickly pushes it aside, focusing on the love she feels for her husband and the determination to help their family navigate through this. The night passes slowly, filled with restlessness and worry. When dawn breaks, Karen is already preparing breakfast, hoping that the routine might offer a semblance of normalcy. The smell of pancakes fills the house, a silent promise that today will be better. Plankton emerges from the bedroom, his antennae drooping slightly, evidence of his fatigue. He meets Karen's gaze, and she offers him a soft smile. "How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice gentle. He shrugs, his antennae twitching nervously. "Tired," he admits. "But ready to talk to Chip." Karen nods with a mix of concern and admiration. "I'll get him up," she says, heading to Chip's room. When they all gather at the breakfast table, the tension in the air is palpable. Plankton sits stiffly, his antennae barely moving, as if afraid to break the delicate silence. Chip looks between them, his eyes wide and hopeful. "Chip," Karen says gently, taking a deep breath. "Remember what we talked about last night? About Daddy's meltdowns?" Chip nods, his eyes darting to Plankton, who's pushing his pancake around with a syrupy look of dread. "Daddy?" he says, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks up, his gaze meeting Chip's. The fear and confusion in Chip's eyes is almost too much to bear, but he steels himself. "Yes, buddy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from the previous night's outburst. "I made you this," Chip says, pushing a plate of perfectly formed pancakes towards his father. "To make you feel better." Plankton's antennae perk up slightly at the gesture, his eye focusing on the food with a hint of curiosity. "Thanks, buddy," he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep. Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his heart pounding in anticipation of a reaction. "Do you like them?" he asks, hope blooming in his voice. Plankton nods, his antennae waving slightly. "They look delicious," he says, and there's a hint of a smile in his voice. He takes a bite, chewing slowly. The room holds its breath, waiting. "They're great," he finally says, and Chip's face lights up. The tension in the room eases ever so slightly, the sweetness of the maple syrup mingling with the salty scent of fear that still lingers. Karen watches the exchange, her heart swelling with pride for both of them. Plankton's effort to engage, despite his exhaustion, is clear. Chip, for his part, seems to understand the unspoken rules of their new reality. They're all learning together, stumbling in the dark but finding their way through the maze of neurodivergence. "Daddy," Chip says after a moment, his voice filled with courage. "I know you have meltdowns sometimes. But I still love you." Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his chewing slowing. He looks at his son, his single eye filled with a mix of emotions: love, regret, and a hint of fear. "I know, buddy," he whispers. "And I too." The room remains quiet, the only sound the soft clinking of silverware against plates. Plankton clears his throat. "Chip, I need to tell you something." Chip looks up, his eyes wide and expectant. "What is it, Daddy?" Plankton takes a deep breath, his antennae fluttering. "I have something," he says slowly. "It's like... it's like my brain works differently than yours and Mommy's." Chip's eyes never leave his dad's, nodding slightly. "Ok," he says, his voice steady. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks down at his plate, his voice quivering. "It's called Autism," he says. "It means that sometimes, I get really, really upset, and my body reacts in ways that might scare you." Chip's expression is a blend of confusion and curiosity. "But why do you get upset, Daddy?" he asks. Plankton's antennae wiggle as he searches for the right words. "Sometimes, things that don't bother you or Mommy can feel really, really big to me," he explains. "It's like when you're scared of a thunderstorm, and the thunder feels like it's right next to you." Chip's brow furrows, and he nods. "But you're not scared of storms, Daddy," he points out. "It's different, bud," Plankton says, his antennae stilling for a moment. "It's like... sometimes my brain gets a storm inside, and I don't know how to make it stop." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "But you're ok now?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton nods, his antennae moving in a way that Karen knows means he's trying to be brave. "I'm ok," he says, his voice a little stronger. "But I might have more storms. And when I do, I might need some space." Chip looks at him seriously, his young mind working to understand. "Ok," he says, his voice a soft echo of Plankton's earlier apology. "I won't make it stormy for you, Daddy." Plankton's antennae twitch with a mix of love and relief. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "That means the world to me." Karen watches them, her heart swelling with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this is the start of a new understanding. "And you know," she adds, her voice gentle, "Whenever you have questions or if you're scared, you can come to me and/or Daddy, and we'll explain as best as we can." Chip nods, his gaze still focused on Plankton. "But what if I don't know when I’m irritating you?" Plankton's antennae droop, and he sighs. "That's the hard part," he admits. "Sometimes I don't know either. But we can learn together, ok?" Chip nods, his eyes still on his dad's. "Ok," he says, his voice a little shaky. Karen pours them both a glass of juice, hoping to lighten the mood. "Why don't we talk about what you can do to help?" she suggests, handing a glass to Chip. Chip takes a sip, his eyes still on Plankton. "What can I do?" he asks, his voice earnest. Plankton's antennae twitch thoughtfully. "Well," he says, "sometimes, all I need is a little space, like when I'm in the middle of a big idea." Chip nods, remembering the times when Plankton would get so focused on his latest contraption that the slightest disturbance would send him into a tizzy. "I can do that," he says, his voice filled with determination. Plankton's antennae lift slightly. "And when you do freeze, Dad," Chip continues, his voice soft, "How can I tell if you need a hug or if you just need me to sit with you?" Karen's eyes fill with pride as she watches her son's bravery. Plankton looks at Chip, his antennae moving in a way that she knows means he's trying to find the right words. "If I freeze," he says slowly, "it's ok to just be there, to wait until I come back. I might not be able to hug you right then, but I'll know you're there." Chip nods, his grip on his juice glass tightening slightly. "What about meltdowns?" he asks, his voice quivering. Plankton's antennae droop, and he takes a deep breath. "Those are harder," he admits. "But if you can give me space and maybe some quiet, it'll help me calm down faster." Chip nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I'll try," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Dad, what types of touch do you like and what types of affection do you dislike?” Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks at Karen for a moment, unsure of how to answer. She gives him a gentle nod of encouragement. "Well," he starts, "I'm not a big fan of surprise hugs or pats on the back, especially when I'm working or thinking hard. But a hand on my shoulder or a quiet 'I love you' is always nice." Chip nods, processing the information. "So, like when you're stressed, I should just tell you I love you?" Plankton's antennae wobble with the weight of his nod. "Yes," he says. "That's right. Just remember, buddy, everyone shows love differently." Karen's eyes are filled with hope as she watches the conversation unfold. It's not perfect, but it's a start. A start to understanding and acceptance. "And if you need more than that, Daddy?" Chip asks, his voice small but earnest. Plankton looks at him, his antennae moving in a way that Karen can't quite read. "If I need more than that," he says, "I'll tell you. Or Mommy will help you understand." Chip nods, taking another sip of his juice. "Ok," he says, his voice small. "But what if I don't know what to say?" Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly, and he looks down at his plate. "That's ok, Chip," he says. "Sometimes, just sitting with me is enough."

SHELF IMPROVEMENT vi (Autistic author) Karen rummaged through the game drawer, her hands shaking slightly. She pulled out a game of memory matching, thinking the simple task might help him focus. She placed it on the coffee table in front of them, spreading the cards out. "It's your turn," she said, her voice calm. Plankton nodded. He stared at the cards, his eye flickering from one to the next. Karen watched. Would he be able to play? Would he understand the simplicity of matching pictures? He reached out with his tiny hand, paused, gaze focused on a card with a picture of a fish. Then, with a quick movement, he flipped it over. The card was a match. "Fish," he whispered, a smile creeping onto his lips. Karen felt a weight lift from her chest. He had done it, he had understood the game. Her eyes filled with tears as she matched the next card. "Good job, Plankton," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "You found the match." He nodded, his antennae twitching with excitement. "Fish," he said again, his smile growing wider. "Fish, Karen." Karen felt a warmth spread through her, seeing a glimpse of the Plankton she knew, the one who loved puzzles and challenges. "Yes, Plankton, you're doing great." Suddenly, their son Chip came home from a camp trip. The door slammed, and Plankton shot up. His eye widened in fear. Karen quickly placed her hand on his back, trying to soothe him. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispered. "It's just Chip coming home." Plankton's antennae twitched as he processed the information. "Chip," he murmured, his voice quavering. "Home." Chip sees his dad but doesn't know of the acquired Autism. "Dad!" He yelled excitedly, running to him with a tight embrace of a hug. But it proves to be too much for Plankton. The sudden jolt of noise and movement sent Plankton into a spiral of overstimulation. His body convulsed, and he shook, his tiny form wracked with seizures as Karen watched helplessly as Chip only held Plankton tighter. "Chip, no!" she screamed, her voice breaking. She jumped up from the couch. "Gently, gentle!" But it was too late. Plankton's body was a blur of spasms, his eye rolled back. Karen knew this autistic response; this is sensory overload. "Chip, let go!" Karen shouted, her voice desperate. But Chip, not understanding his father's condition, only held on tighter. "Dad, are you okay?" But Plankton's body continued to convulse violently, his tiny limbs flailing. Karen's mind raced, recalling her research on autism and its sometimes intense physical responses. She had to act fast. Gently but firmly, she pried Chip's arms from Plankton's trembling body and lowered his father to the floor. "Chip, sweetie, I need you to step back," she instructed, her voice shaking. Chip's eyes were wide with fear. "Dad.." he stuttered, trying to reach for Plankton. "Chip, please," Karen pleaded, her voice tight. "Just go to your room for a bit. I need to take care of Dad." With a tearful nod, Chip stepped back, his screen never leaving his father's convulsing body. Karen turned her attention back to Plankton. "Shh," she soothed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, it's okay." Her voice was a gentle lullaby, trying to anchor him in the chaos. But Plankton's body continued to shake from the lingering sensation of Chip's touch. Karen knew she had to move quickly. She grabbed a pillow from the couch and placed it beneath his head, trying to reduce the risk of injury. The seizure lasted a few more seconds, his antennae quivering wildly. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it started to gradually fade. Plankton's body went limp, his breaths shallow and quick. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice shaky with relief. "You're okay." Plankton's antennae twitched, and his eye flitted open. He looked up at Karen, confusion and fear etched on his face. "Karen?" he murmured, his voice weak. "I'm here," she said soothingly, stroking his back. "You had a reaction to Chip, Plankton. It's okay now." His antennae stilled for a moment as he focused on her voice. "Chip," he repeated, his gaze distant. "Too much." Karen nodded. "I know, Plankton. I'll explain to Chip. He didn't mean to scare you." She could hear Chip's sobs from his room, the sound piercing the silence of the living room. Plankton's antennae moved slightly. "Chip," he murmured. "Not mad." Karen felt a knot loosen in her chest. "No, Plankton," she whispered. "Chip's not mad, honey. He loves you, just like I do." Plankton's antennae twitched as he processed her words. "Love," he murmured, his gaze finding hers. "Karen loves Plankton. Chip loves Plankton." Karen nodded, swiping at her tears. "Yes, we both love you so much," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "We're going to help you through this." Plankton's eye searched her face, his expression unreadable. "Help," he whispered. "Karen helps." Karen's chest tightened with the weight of his trust. She knew this was just the beginning, that their lives had shifted in a way she had never anticipated. But she was determined to be his rock, to navigate this new reality with patience and love.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ & ꜱᴜʀɢᴇʀʏ “Good morning, Ms!” Ms has hypersensitivity due to autism. Even a slight touch is unbearably painful! How will Ms get through the medical exam? Ms sits on the exam table, heart racing. Ms tries to focus on the poster of a serene beach scene to calm herself. Dr. Hartwell, noticing her distress, approaches carefully. "Ms I know this can be overwhelming. But I'm here to help you. We'll take it slow, okay?" Ms nods, gripping the cold metal bar tightly. He starts with gentle explanations of each step, his voice calm and steady. Ms tries to breathe deeply, fighting the urge to retreat. The door clicks shut, a soft, final sound that echoes in the sterile room. He asks if she's ready, and she shrugs. His gloved hand touches her skin, and she tenses. "Ms, I'm sorry," Dr. Hartwell says, retreating slightly. He tries a different approach, his voice softer now. "How about I touch with less pressure?" The pain subsides a fraction, but it still remains. Dr. Hartwell then gets out a big metal speculum. Ms sees it, feels it, she’s uncontrollably shaking. "Ms," Dr. Hartwell says calmly, placing the speculum down. “Sorry. To big and hard,” Ms manages. The doctor nods thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving hers. “Let's use this instead,” he says, picking up a smaller, plastic one. It's less daunting, less cold, but the pain lingers, unbearable. Ms grips the bar tighter, her knuckles white with strain. “You're doing great,” Dr. Hartwell whispers, his voice a balm. He inserts the speculum slowly, his eyes on her face, reading every twitch, every flinch. Ms squeezes her eyes shut, body rigid with tension. The plastic touches, slides, and she gasps, but it's more unbearable than she feared. Dr. Hartwell stops immediately, his expression filled with concern. "Would you like to insert it?" He gently withdraws the tool. They’re running out of time. He looks around the room. "How about we try this?" he asks, his voice a gentle coax. "You can sit in the chair, lean back, and I'll examine you that way." Ms nods, desperation in her eyes. Dr. Hartwell adjusts the chair, bringing the foot rest closer. He tells her to put her feet up, the action itself traumatizing. He takes the smaller speculum, coated it in gel, and tells her to breathe deeply. Dr. Hartwell proceeds, his movements precise and gentle. Ms feels the pressure, the intrusion. She whimpers. The doctor's eyes meet hers, filled with understanding. "Let's try this," he suggests, picking up a small object. "I'm going to use this cotton swab instead. It's softer, less intrusive." Ms nods, the fear lessening ever so slightly. The cotton swab touches her gently. The pain does not vanish, but it's tolerable, a dull throb instead of a piercing scream. The doctor's voice remains calm, guiding her through the motions. “Good. Now for a mammogram..” Ms feels a new wave of anxiety crash over her. The machine looms in the corner, cold and unforgiving. "It’s important we check everything today," Dr. Hartwell explains, his eyes kind and patient. "But I know this is hard for you. Can you please stand up and come…” Ms, however, is still shaking, knows her hypersensitive condition will render it. The doctor notices and quickly adapts. "How about we skip the mammogram for now and discuss other options?" They talk through alternatives, like manual self-checks at home. Dr. Hartwell assures her that her health is his priority. He's willing to work with her to find the best approach, one that's comfortable and effective. Ms feels a glimmer of hope, a hint of trust and gratitude. They agree on a plan: a manual exam for today, and they'll explore further options for if needed. Her eyes light up with hope. They go over the instructions, simple steps she can do herself. Ms feels empowered by the idea of having control over the process. The doctor's empathy is palpable. They practice together, a mock exam with a plastic model. Mis's hands shake slightly as she mimics his gentle touch. He corrects her grip, praising each small victory. “Your in need of two hormone inoculations.” Dr. Hartwell says. Mis's heart sinks. She hates the sharp sting, the feeling of invasion. She looks at the needle, so thin and yet so terrifying. Her anxiety spikes, her chest constricts, making it hard to breathe. Dr. Hartwell notices and nods. "Ok let's try something different," he says, his voice calm and measured. He shows her a cream, explaining how it can help. They apply it, waiting for it to work. Finally, the time comes. Dr. Hartwell holds the needle, his grip steady and firm. His touch is swift and sure, but Ms feels the pain, a sharp reminder of her vulnerability. “One down, one more to…” But she cries. Dr. Hartwell pauses, understanding in his eyes. "It's ok," he says gently. "We can find another way." He sets it aside and pulls out a small device. "This is a topical anesthetic spray. It will numb the area so you don't feel as much." Mis nods, desperate. He applies the spray, and she feels a coldness spread where the inoculation will soon be. The doctor waits patiently, letting the numbing agent work its magic. Mis's breathing slows, the panic easing slightly. "Ready?" he asks, his voice soothing. This time, the approach is less terrifying. It’s administered with minimal discomfort. Ms winces but does not pull away. The pain is there, but it's muffled. Dr. Hartwell nods, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "Good job, Ms. You're doing so well." Ms needs a blood draw. She's not just afraid of needles, but the anticipation of pain, the cold touch of the alcohol swab, the pressure of the phlebotomist's grip...it's all too much. Not to mention the actual poking prick.. Dr. Hartwell notices and suggests a compromise. They'll use a butterfly needle, smaller and more comfortable, and a warmer to heat before drawn. The nurse prepares the equipment, movements efficient and kind. She's used to dealing with anxious patients, but Mis's fear isn’t just fear or annoyance; it’s autistic condition and hypersensitivity that Ms herself knows limited pain tolerance. The nurse wraps the warm cloth around Mis's arm, and the gentle heat seeps. Dr. Hartwell takes his place beside her, holding the small butterfly needle with a cotton ball at the tip. The nurse places the heated alcohol swab on the inner elbow, and Ms tenses. It's a gentle poke and she feels the slight sting as the nurse inserts it. But of course the sting is magnified for Ms. The nurse is quick, her hands steady with expert ease, and the whole process is over in seconds. Mis's heart is racing, her body shaking. Dr. Hartwell rubs her shoulder, his touch a reassurance. "It's over," he says softly. "You did it." Ms nods. "What can we use for next time?" The nurse asks. “X-rays, different form of the hormonal injection where no needles are involved, urinal test instead of bleeding? A bigger room? Child sedatives?” Ms murmurs. Dr. Hartwell nods, scribbling down notes. "We'll explore all those options. In the meantime, you can go home!" “Thanks..” Ms says. The next appointment, Mis goes knowing her sensitivities have not changed. This time, Dr. Hartwell meets her in the hall. Mis breaks down, despite being gratefully understanding and trying to be brave. They take her to a quieter, more private exam room, decorated with soothing colors and a soft, plush chair. "Take your time, and tell when you're ready." Ms sits down. She sees a box labeled "DIY Health Kits" and feels a spark of curiosity. Dr. Hartwell opens the box, revealing an array of tools and instructions tailored to her needs. "This is your DIY health kit," he explains, his voice calm and soothing. "You can use to perform self-exams at home. It's less invasive, and you can do it on your own terms." Ms nods, a flicker of hope in her eyes, tears of relief instead of upset tears. He hands a small container with a test strip inside. "This is for urine. It's quick and easy, and it will tell what needs to know." Ms takes the container, follows his instructions, each step a small victory. Dr. Hartwell shows her a slim device, similar to a tampon but with a small cap. "This is DIY Pap. You insert it like so, then twist to collect a sample." The vibrating ice pack is next. "For finger pricks," he says, his voice calm. Ms looks at it, a strange mix of relief and curiosity. The thought of doing it herself is less terrifying than the clinic. "Now, let's talk mammograms," Dr. Hartwell says, his gaze soft. He shows her a handheld scanning device. "This is a DIY mammogram. It uses sound waves, no radiation, and it's less invasive than the traditional. You can use it in the privacy of your home, at your own pace. It's designed to be gentle." Ms nods, the fear slightly eased. The doctor opens another compartment in the DIY health kit, revealing a pack of colonoscopy strips. "These are for checking your bowel health. They're painless and easy to use. All you do is defecate on this, will tell what’s going on down there, ok?" Ms nods. The idea of self-examination is less daunting than the traditional methods. Dr. Hartwell's empathy is a balm, his patience unyielding. He opens the last compartment. Inside, she finds a set of small patches. "These are the hormonal patches," he says, holding one up. "They're like stickers. You just apply one to your skin, and it delivers the medicine through your skin. No needles." Mis's eyes widen. It's like he's reading her mind, offering a solution tailored to her fears. Ms feels a surge of gratitude to Dr. Hartwell. His understanding and willingness to adapt to her needs make her feel seen and heard, something she's not used to, in a medical setting. For the first time, Ms feels a glimmer of hope that she can take control of without the debilitating pain nor fear of ableist microaggressions. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

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.