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pls note the ai inflicts emotional damage (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
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can we all just come together and be besties... plz.... ☹☹😞😞
➡️🤝⬅️
⊂((・▽・))⊃
🫂🤝👥
🚶‍♂️🚶‍♀️➡️🫂
🚶‍♀️🚶‍♂️➡️📍⬅️🚶‍♀️🚶‍♂️
𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖤 𝖳𝖮𝖦𝖤𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱 𝖻𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 part 1 Chip came home early from a friend's house. His parents are named Karen and Plankton. They didn't expect Chip home so early, nor do they notice him outside their bed room door. Plankton has an autistic neurodisability they've kept hidden, so imagine Chip's confusion upon seeing his dad having an absence seizure. Plankton's eye stared blankly ahead, unblinking, as Karen sat by him. "I've your box of your special sensory items. What plushie might you want?" she whispered. "I'll just get your stuffed bear." Her voice was soothing, and calm. The room was silent except for the rhythmic sound of his breathing. He was in the midst of an absence seizure, his mind momentarily adrift. She knew the routine by heart. Everything had to be just right to bring him back to reality without causing distress. Karen gently picked up the box. She selected a favorite plush, the worn bear, and then carefully approached. As she neared, she noticed Chip, his eyes wide and scared, staring at the scene from the doorway. She swallowed her surprise, trying to maintain the serene façade. "Hi sweetie, come in," she managed, her voice steady. Chip tiptoed closer, his heart racing. He had never seen his dad like this. "What's happening to Dad?" he whispered. Karen knelt beside him, her eyes full of warmth. "Chip, right now Dad is just having a little rest but with his eye open. It's like when you get so lost in a video game you don't hear me calling you." "But why is he like this?" Chip's curiosity was palpable, his voice shaking slightly. Karen took a deep breath, choosing her words with care. "Dad has what's called a congenital neurodisability," she began. "It's a bit like when a daydream but his 'neuroregressions' are more intense for him. One might call these moments 'brain hiccups'. We kept it hidden because he didn't want people to judge him." Chip's gaze never left his father's frozen expression. "But why hide it?" Karen squeezed his hand, her eyes reflecting empathy. "Because, dear, some people might not understand. They could make fun or treat him differently. We didn't want his world to be harder. And you know your father values his pride." Chip nodded, his thoughts racing. He had always known his dad was different, but he had never quite put his finger on how. "Can I talk to him?" Karen's smile was soft. "It's important that you know, but we want to make sure he's okay with sharing too. It's a form of autism he has. But right now he's in a little bubble. It's like he's in a different world, okay? But we can coax him back gently." She placed the bear in Plankton's hand. His hands curled around it instinctively, clutching the familiar softness. "He might not immediately engage with you, but you can try speaking to him." Chip leaned closer, his voice trembling. "Dad?" Plankton's eye remains fixed, unblinking. Karen gave him a gentle nudge. "Remember, sweetie, don't touch his body or startle him. Just let him know you're here." "Dad, it's us, and a stuffed bear is also here for you. The bear is so soft," Chip said, his voice a mix of fear and wonder. "It's waiting for you to wake up." He paused, watching his father's unmoving hand. Plankton's thumb twitched slightly against the plush fabric. It was the tiniest of movements, but it was something. Karen nodded encouragingly from the sidelines, her eyes never leaving her husband. "That's it, Chip," she murmured. "Keep talking to him." Chip swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes wet with unshed tears. He took another deep breath and leaned even closer. "Dad, can you feel the bear?" He paused, watching his father's hand tighten around the plush toy. "It's here, wanting you to play. Do you see it's smiling? Look, the bear's smiling just for you." Plankton's hand moved slightly, tracing the bear's stitched smile with his thumb. Karen's eyes filled with relief as she watched the connection unfold. "See, Dad?" Chip whispered, his voice barely audible. "The bear missed you. It's here to keep you company until you're ready to come back to us." His words were met with a faint sigh from Plankton, a sign his brain was slowly emerging from its brief retreat. Encouraged, Chip took the stuffed bear and waved it in front of Plankton's vacant gaze. "Look, the bear's waving back!" He hoped the motion would catch Plankton's attention, but his father remained even more still, his eye unmoving. He tried a different tactic, placing the bear gently on Plankton's lap and giving it a little shake. "It's okay, Dad, the bear wants to play," he said, his voice a soft coax. "What do you say? Can we play together?" For a moment, nothing. Then, a flicker. Plankton's eye moved slightly, refocusing on the bear. It was a small victory. "Look, Dad, it's smiling at you. It's happy you're holding it," Chip said, his voice steady now. Slowly, Plankton's hand began to stroke the bear's fur. The rhythmic motion was almost mesmerizing. Karen watched, her own heart rate returning to normal. It was always a delicate balance, bringing him back. "That's right, Dad," Chip said, his voice filled with encouragement. "You're doing great." He picked up another plushie from the box, a small octopus with long, waving tentacles. "Look what else I found, an octopus!" Plankton's gaze shifted slightly. "It's got eight arms and can give you so many hugs at once." Chip held the octopus up. Plankton's hand twitched. Karen watched with a tiny smile, her heart swelling with pride for her son's patience. "Why don't you put it on Dad's other hand?" she suggested quietly. Chip nodded, gently placing the octopus on his father's hand. Plankton flinched at first but soon grew still again. "Now, Dad, you have more friends to keep you company," Chip said. "They're so friendly and smart." Karen watched as Chip was about to speak again but she held up a finger, signaling for him to wait. Plankton's eye blinked suddenly, breaking the glassy stare. His gaze flitted around the room, trying to piece together his surroundings, his expression puzzled. "You're okay," Karen said, her voice a gentle whisper. "K-Karen?" he croaked, his voice hoarse from his unspoken silence. "What...what's going on?" he asked, his voice weak but growing stronger. Chip watched, his own anxiety fading as he saw his dad's confusion. He held up the octopus. "Look, Dad, it's okay. We're here. You had a little brain hiccup but we're playing with plushies." He tried to smile, unsure if Plankton would understand.
𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖤 𝖳𝖮𝖦𝖤𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱 𝖻𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 part 4 Chip looked down at the octopus in his lap, his eyes filling with tears. "I didn't know," he whispered. "I just didn't understand." Karen took a deep breath, trying to calm her own shaking voice. "You need to understand, Chip. That word is not okay," she said, her tone steady. "It's hurtful and disrespectful. Your father is not 'that'. He's autistic. And autistic is just a part of who he is." Chip looked up at her, his expression one of shock and dawning realization. "But why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice small. "Why did you keep it a secret?" Karen took a moment to compose herself, her own tears threatening to spill over. "We didn't keep it a secret just to hide it," she explained, her voice trembling. "We kept it private because it's your father's story to tell, not ours. And because we didn't want you to think of him any differently. But we should have talked to you, yes. We should have helped you understand." Chip nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the octopus in his hand. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to make hi-" "Don't," Karen said, cutting him off. "Your apology can wait. Right now, you need to understand why that word is wrong." She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's not just a label, Chip. It's a way people have used to put others down. To make them feel less than." Her voice was firm, her eyes never leaving his. "Your father has felt that way enough times already; he doesn't need it from his own son!" Chip nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. He hadn't realized the impact of his ignorance. "What can I do to make it right?" he asked, his voice cracking. Karen took a deep breath. "First, you need to educate yourself," she said gently. "Learn your dad's specific needs. Talk to him. Hear his story. Understand what it's like for him." Chip nodded, his gaze firm. "Okay," he said, his voice still shaky. "I'll do that." Karen goes back to the bedroom to find Plankton sitting on the edge of the bed, his body wracked with sobs. His hand was moving in a repetitive motion, tracing the edge of the bedspread, a silent testament to his pain. Her heart breaking, she sat beside him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "It's okay, love," she soothed, her voice gentle. "It's okay to cry." Plankton's sobs grew louder, his body shaking. But amidst the tears, a steady sound emerged. It was the soft, rhythmic humming he often did when he was overwhelmed or even just restless. It was his way of self- soothing, his brain's attempt to find order in the chaos. Karen had learned to recognize this sound over the years. She held his hand, her thumb rubbing small circles in his palm. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice a balm to his raging emotions. "I'm here." Plankton's humming grew softer, his body slowly still. The anger drained from him, leaving behind only sadness. "Chip," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "He said the word." It was a private stim, one Karen knew meant Plankton was trying to process the pain. He spoke to himself often during these moments, his thoughts running in a loop as he tried to find comfort in his own company as he rocked back and forth. "But why?" Plankton whispered, his eye glazed over as he felt the familiar rhythm of his stim kick in. "Why would Chip, Chip did?" He stared at his own hand. "I'm not that. I'm not." Karen's heart ached at the pain in his voice. She knew this was his way of trying to make sense of the world. "You're not, love," she assured him. "You're just different. And that's okay." Chip goes into his parents bedroom and goes up to Plankton slowly, the octopus in his hand. "Dad," he whispers, his voice tentative. Plankton looks up, his eye red and swollen from crying. "I'm sorry," Chip says, holding out the octopus. "Can we ta—" But Plankton doesn't give him a chance to finish. "I don't want your apology," he says coldly. He turns his body away from Chip. Karen's eyes dart between the two of them, her heart racing with fear of the growing rift. "Plankton," she starts, but he shakes his head. "Please," Chip says, his voice breaking. "I didn't know." He takes another step forward, his hand outstretched. "Let me help you," he says, putting his hand on his dad's shoulder to turn him around. But Plankton flinches at the touch, his sensory overload already at peak. Karen's eyes widen as she recognizes the signs of another seizure coming on. "No," she says. "Not now." But it's too late. Plankton's eye rolls back. Chip backs away, his heart racing. This was his fault. If he hadn't upset him, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Karen moves swiftly, placing the bear in his trembling hand. The room goes quiet as the seizure takes hold, the only sounds Plankton's whimpers. Chip watches. He wants to help, but doesn't know how. Karen moves quickly, guiding the bear into Plankton's hand. "Now Chip," she says, her voice steady. "When your dad comes back, he may not immediately remember. He might talk funny or seem confused. It just means he needs some time to get his thoughts back." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his father's trembling form as the shaking slows. Drool trickled down the corner of Plankton's mouth as he began to mumble. "Wha-wha-wha," Plankton phrased, trying to piece together the shattered thoughts. It was like his brain had gone back to the beginning, relearning how to speak, to process the world around him. It was both heartbreaking and strangely endearing. "Bear," he mumbled, his fingers fidgeting with the plush toy. "Bear...good." He giggled, a high-pitched sound that seemed out of place coming from him. "Bear is...bear." His speech was a jumble of words. Karen watched with a mix of amusement and sadness. This was a part of Plankton's recovery she had seen before, his brain trying to find its footing again. It was like a toddler learning to talk, except it was her husband. She turned to Chip. "Try talking to him," she urged. "Keep it simple and calm."
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