NEW REALITY v
(Autistic author)
Karen watches him for a
moment before speaking again.
"Plankton, can you tell me what's
going on in your head?"
He looks at her, his eye blinking
slowly. "In head?" he repeats.
Plankton's hand starts to move
faster, his thoughts racing.
"Spin, spin, spin," he murmurs
to himself. "Must spin."
Karen watches him, her heart
wrenching at the sight. He's lost
in his own world, one she can't
enter without causing distress.
"Plankton," she says softly, "can you
tell me more about the spinning?"
He nods, his hand moving in
harmony with his thoughts. "Spin, spin,
spin," he murmurs to himself, his
voice low and rhythmic. "Fan spin,
make world still."
"What do you mean, Plankton?"
she asks gently.
He looks at her, his expression
flickering with something akin
to understanding. "Inside,
spin fast, quiet," he explains,
his hand still moving in the air.
"Spin, calm. Like Karen."
Karen's eyes widen, her
heart racing. "Your brain
spins fast, like the fan?"
she asks, trying to follow.
Plankton nods, his gaze
flicking to the spinning
blades. "Inside, fast," he says,
his voice a faint whisper.
"What's fast inside, sweetie?"
Karen asks, her voice
gentle.
Plankton nods, his hand
still moving. "Thoughts," he says.
"Thoughts spin fast. Like fan."
Karen's mind races as she tries to
keep up with his erratic speech. "So,
the fan helps slow down the spinning?"
she asks, hoping to clarify.
Plankton nods, his hand moving
in time with his words. "Fan slow,
thoughts slow."
Karen's heart swells with love
and sadness as she watches him.
"It's okay," she whispers,
wiping away a tear. "We'll find
ways to make things easier
for you."
Plankton nods, his gaze
still on the fan. "Easy," he
agrees. "With Karen."
Karen's eyes fill with love
as she squeezes his hand. "Always,"
she promises. "But what about when
I'm not here?"
Plankton's hand starts to
shake, his gaze darting around
the room. "Karen go?" he asks,
his voice panicked.
Karen's eyes widen, her heart
pounding. "No, Plankton, I'm
right here," she assures him,
squeezing his hand tightly. "I'm not
going anywhere."
But Plankton's gaze remains
unfocused, his breathing quickening.
"Karen go?" he repeats, his voice
rising in pitch.
Karen's heart races as she feels
his panic growing. "I'm here," she
says, her voice soothing. "I'm not leaving.
The fan is spinning, remember?"
But Plankton's eye is wide,
his hand moving frantically in the
air. "Karen go," he whispers, his
body trembling.
Karen's heart squeezes in her chest.
"No, I'm not leaving," she says,
trying to keep her voice calm.
But Plankton's body
starts to shake,
his movements
becoming more
erratic.
"Plankton, no," Karen says,
her voice filled with fear.
"Stay with me."
But his hand jerks away,
his body convulsing.
Karen's eyes go wide with fear as
she sees him spasm uncontrollably.
"Oh no," she whispers, her heart racing.
This isn't just a panic attack;
it's a seizure. She's read about this,
how some people with autism
can have them.
Her first instinct is to hold him,
to protect him from the chaos of
his own brain, but she knows that's
not what he needs. She needs to keep
his environment calm, to let the
seizure pass without interference.
"Plankton, it's okay," she says,
her voice steady despite the
terror clawing at her insides.
"Just keep watching the fan."
But his body convulses
more violently.
Karen's read about this,
how some with autism can
have seizures triggered by stress.
Her mind races as she
quickly clears the space around
his fragile form, ensuring nothing
can hurt him. She dims the lights,
hoping the reduced stimulation
will help.
"Shh, it's okay," she whispers,
stroking his back in slow, soothing
motion, her voice low and calm.
Plankton's body jerks
less, his breathing evening out
slightly as he focuses on her voice.
Karen watches him, her
heart in her throat, until
his convulsions cease.
Plankton's body relaxes,
his eye closing as his
breathing slows.
Karen watches him, her own
breath held, until she's sure
the seizure has passed.
Her hand shakes as she
runs it over his antennae,
checking for any injury.
Plankton's eye opens,
his gaze unfocused. "Karen,"
he whispers, his voice
weak.
Karen's heart skips a beat
as she squeezes his hand.
"I'm here," she says, her voice
steady. "You had a seizure,
but it's over now."
Plankton nods, his gaze
still not quite meeting hers.
"Tired," he murmurs.
Karen's heart aches. "I know,
sweetie," she says, her voice
filled with concern. "Let's get
you into bed, okay?"
Plankton nods, his body
still trembling slightly.
He allows her to help him up,
his legs wobbly like jelly.
Karen's eyes never leave
his face, her heart in her
throat as she helps him
to the bed, tucking him in.
As she pulls the covers
up to his chin, Plankton's
body starts to twitch,
his head jerking to the
side. Karen's breath catches;
these are new tics, she realizes.
"It's okay," she whispers.
He looks at her.
"Tired," he repeats.
Karen nods, her own
exhaustion setting in. "I know,
let's get you some rest,"
she says, her voice gentle.
As she sits beside him,
Plankton's head tilts
slightly. She's read
about tics with
autism, but
this is the first
time she's seen
them in him.
Subtle movements,
quick jerks to the side,
like his brain
is trying to shake
off a pesky thought.
Karen's heart
squeezes with each
tiny spasm,
wishing she could
soothe his mind.
"Plankton," she says softly.
His head nods down.
Karen's eyes follow the
rhythmic motion, her heart
racing. She's read about these
tics, the involuntary spasms
that can accompany his new
diagnosis. "It's okay," she whispers,
trying to keep her voice calm.
"You're safe here."
But Plankton's eye
closes now, his breathing
deep and even. The tremors
have subsided, and his
hands rest quietly on the
covers. She watches him, her
own breathing slowing to match
his, until she's sure he's
asleep.
Karen sits back, her own
body weary from the rollercoaster
of emotions. The silence
in the room is deafening,
the only sound the steady
hum of the fan.
Her mind races with questions,
with fears about what the future
holds for Plankton, for them.
How can she help him navigate
this new world, where the simplest
interactions are fraught with
potential chaos?
Karen sits in the quiet room,
the only sound the fan's
soothing whirr. She watches
Plankton's chest rise and fall
with each breath.
Her heart swells with love and
determination.
"I'll do whatever it takes,"
she murmurs.
Her eyes never leave
his peaceful face, the gentle
rise and fall of his chest.
Karen knows that the fan
has become a lifeline for him,
but she also knows that she
can't let it become his only
comfort.
With a deep sigh, she stands
up and walks over to the fan,
slowly turning it off. The
silence is stark, but Plankton
doesn't stir. She watches
his face for any sign of
distress, ready to react if
needed.
Karen knows she has to
find a balance, to help
Plankton find other ways
to cope with the world's
overwhelming stimuli. The
fan can't be his only solace.
The room falls silent,
the absence of the fan's
spin a stark reminder of
the challenge ahead.
Her heart in her throat, she
sits back down beside him.
"Karen?" he whispers,
his eye fluttering open.
Her heart jumps. "I'm here,"
she says, her voice gentle.
Plankton nods.
They sit in the quiet,
his gaze drifting around
the room. Karen's mind
whirs with thoughts.