Neurodivergentpunk Emojis & Text

"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 )

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

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)

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!

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)

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)

🔪☆⋆｡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・。*.ੈ ♡₊˚•. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ # 🔮

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. 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)

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

♿️🌈

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠉⠀⡀⠄⡒⠈⠭⠭⠥⠈⠐⣚⣛⠛⠛⠛⡲⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠔⡨⡢⠑⠈⠉⠁⠉⠄⠀⠀⠀⡲⠀⠀⠐⢄⠀⠈⢷⠀⠀ ⠠⣤⣿⣛⡛⠛⣻⢿⣛⣟⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣛⢿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢦⡀ ⡴⠛⢡⡶⠒⡖⠦⢭⣿⣮⣱⣎⣿⣿⡿⠏⠀⠙⡿⠷⠿⣾⢿⣿⢭⡞⡐⣷ ⡇⠀⢺⠠⢾⡟⠲⢤⣀⡀⠠⠤⠄⡖⢂⣀⠀⠀⠙⣦⣄⠉⠉⢰⡄⠠⢃⣿ ⠹⣎⡪⠀⠀⢷⡦⣄⣯⡉⠓⠲⣤⣵⣉⣀⡀⠶⠞⠁⣀⣨⣴⢿⣷⠈⣰⠃ ⠀⠈⢳⡀⠀⠀⠻⣌⡟⠛⠷⣶⣧⣄⣀⣹⣏⣉⣻⣉⣉⣧⣸⣷⣿⠀⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠳⣄⠀⠀⠈⠳⢤⡀⣸⠉⠉⠛⡿⠻⠿⡿⠿⣿⢿⡿⣿⡟⠀⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣅⡪⢔⡠⢉⡛⠲⠦⠤⠧⣤⣤⣧⡴⠧⠾⠖⠛⠀⠀⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⠦⣅⡒⠡⠶⠀⣠⡤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠐⢁⠠⠀⢸⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⠦⣤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⢀⣠⠏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠓⠒⠒⠒⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀

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

『🧠🔥𝕭𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖓 🧠🔥』 (my search NeuroFabulous)

❁્᭄͜͡🧠

“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

Sometimes, stomach acid goes up into your esophagus, the tube that connects your mouth and stomach. That’s called heartburn. If it’s also an issue, sleep with your head slightly raised. It may also help to avoid or limit: Peppermint, chocolate, garlic, and tomatoes Tight clothes Meals within 2 or 3 hours of bedtime Lying down right after a meal Instead: Sleep on your left side. This position seems to help reduce nighttime heartburn symptoms Wear loose-fitting clothes. Tight clothes, especially near your waist, can put pressure on your stomach, leading to heartburn symptoms. Chew gum. Chewing gum encourages the production of saliva, which can soothe your esophagus and wash acid down into your stomach. Choose a flavor other than peppermint, which may worsen heartburn in some people. While the main symptom of GERD is reflux, a number of symptoms may accompany this condition. Heartburn: A painful burning sensation in the chest is the most common symptom Trusted Source Merck Manual First published in 1899 as a small reference book for physicians and pharmacists, the Manual grew in size and scope to become one of the most widely used comprehensive medical resources for professionals and consumers. View Source of GERD, but not all cases of GERD involve heartburn. Regurgitation: Another common symptom of GERD is regurgitation, which means a small amount of stomach acid and sometimes bits of food come up into the mouth or back of the throat. Sore throat: When stomach acid rises to the mouth and throat, it can cause coughing and a feeling of choking. This often leads to a sore throat and, for some people, difficulty swallowing, known as dysphagia. Chest pain: On top of the discomfort from heartburn, GERD can cause radiating chest pain

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ℑ𝔪 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣. 💀

ᥬ🤯᭄

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⢶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⡶⠶⠶⠶⠶⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠴⠒⣉⣁⠠⠤⠤⠤⠤⠄⣈⢉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣛⠻⢷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠋⠀⠀⢀⡤⠚⣡⠔⣊⠭⠔⠒⠒⠒⠒⠲⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡠⠤⠤⠤⢄⡀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠐⢁⡴⢊⡔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢢⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⣤⣴⣿⡿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⢿⣿⣿⠛⢻⣿⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢻⣿⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⣹⣿⡿⠛⢛⣓⣀⣀⣀⠙⠩⣿⣶⣞⣹⣶⣏⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠙⢿⣿⣷⣾⣉⣶⣏⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢛⠣⣍⠻⣦⠀ ⢀⣾⠋⡎⠀⣴⠟⠋⠉⣍⠛⠻⠶⣦⣿⣿⣿⣤⣿⣧⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⢹⡟⠛⠛⠛⢻⣟⠛⣻⣿⡷⢶⣦⡙⡌⢣⣿⡆ ⢸⡇⠀⡇⢸⡏⢀⣀⣼⡿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⡭⣉⣭⣭⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⣦⣄⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠁⣶⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⣿⠇ ⠸⣷⡀⣇⠸⣧⠉⠉⢻⣧⠀⠈⠛⢿⣶⣦⣄⣈⠉⠉⠉⠀⣿⡁⢠⣶⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡿⠷⠤⣀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣧⠀⢊⡠⢾⡿⠀ ⠀⠙⣷⣌⠲⠬⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣶⣤⣀⣿⡄⠉⠙⠛⠿⢶⣦⣬⣇⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠲⣶⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⣀⣥⣾⡿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⡉⠻⣿⣿⣶⣦⣄⣀⢰⡿⠉⠉⠉⠛⢻⣿⠿⠿⠶⣶⡶⠿⠟⢿⣟⠁⢹⡇⣻⣿⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⡿⠀⠉⠙⠛⢿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣤⣴⣿⣤⣤⣤⣿⣦⣤⣤⣴⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣦⣀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠉⠙⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢷⣄⠀⣀⠀⠠⣀⠈⠙⠷⣶⣿⣃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠉⢉⣿⠋⢸⡟⢱⣿⣾⠃⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣦⣉⠒⠤⣙⠲⠤⣀⡉⠙⠛⠿⠶⠶⠾⢿⣤⣤⣤⣾⣧⣤⣾⠿⠶⠿⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣶⣤⣉⠒⠦⢍⣑⡲⠤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠞⠁⠀⡆⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⢷⣤⣄⡈⠉⠉⠓⠒⠭⠭⠌⣉⣉⡉⣉⣉⣉⡉⠉⠁⢀⣀⠴⠊⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠻⢷⣦⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠻⠶⢶⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣶⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

"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 )

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

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.

᭨ ⃟🧠

r/shortscarystories 5 days ago DottedWriter My Former Highschool Bully Apologized To Me Today I stared at her as she sobbed on her knees "Alice, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry for everything! I'm sorry for every horrible thing I've done to you!" Sophia said as she wept in front of me. I just stared at her as she continued to sob over all of the things she had done to me. She would directly insult or make demeaning JOKeS about me, spread n͟asty rumours about me, manipulate my friends against me, şteal a guy I had a crush on, make horrible posts about me on social media, and even manipulate some guys into doing things like jum͜ping̨ me. She did everything if it meant I suffered in the end. I tried to tell my teachers about this, but they just turned a deaf ear, and I didn’t even bother talking to my parents about it, they were more focussed on their jobs than me. And even then, if Sophia found out I snitched, that would result in an extra beating from her and her cronies. She was behind all of my sufferıng, enjoyed the despair on my face, she enjoyed how much ab*se she inflected on me. So you could only imagine my surprise when she approached me one day and started to apologise tearfully to me As she continued to cry, my eyes started to spark with anger, anger that I had suppressed inside me for the past 5 years after highschool . I had no one to turn to for support, absolutely no one. And she dared to spew her little crocodile tears right in front of me. I had enough of it. I floated around my grave until I was behind her, I stared at her for a long minute, before I plunged my hand into her chest. She tensed up, and some of her bľood splattered onto my grave. I dug through her organs before I found what I was looking for. Her heart. It was still beating as she collapsed to the ground, her hands clutching at the wound at a desperate attempt to cover the bleeding. She coughed out błoođ, and wheezed as she continue to bleed out. I stared at how pathetic and pitiful she looked now. I stared at her as a twisted, evil, and satisfied grin crept onto my face .

– ̗̀ 𝓗𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔤𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔞 𝔥𝔞𝔱𝔢 ̖́- ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ✧

☆꧁lil reminder!: 𝘉𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘴. ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"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.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣶⠾⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⢷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣀⣀⣦⠤⢤⣤⣴⣿⣯⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣿⣧⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶ ⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠹⢷⣎⡷⣏⠿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠏⠉⢿⣞⡱⢎⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠈⠹⠷⠿⠶⠛⠛⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⠗⠛⠳⢿⡿⠟⠁⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣄⣀⣀⣤⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣄⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣹⣷⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠠⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠒⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠒⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠐⠒⠒⠒⠒⠀⠀⠉⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠒⠂⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⢀⡀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠁⠈⠙⡆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠤⠤⠤⢤⣀⡁⠀⠀⠃⠀⣀⠀⠀⣸⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠸⡄⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⢹⠰⡋⣿⣶⢤⠈⡷⠚⠒⢦⡯⣥⣾⠀⢸⣇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣄⣈⡉⠉⠁⣀⡇⠀⠀⢸⡍⠙⠛⠀⢘⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡀⠐⠄⣼⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢇⠉⠉⠉⠉⢍⡿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⡽⠀⠀⠰⣽⠏ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣯⣤⠀⠀⠀⢠⠔⠀⣁⢤⢍⣈⡒⢁⠀⠸⣱⡏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⠀⠀⠹⢿⡄⠀⠀⢰⠀⣾⣿⣾⣾⣾⣾⡇⠇⣴⠇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠀⠀⠀⠃⠘⢿⣇⣀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⠀⣀⠄⠀⠈⠋⢯⡦⡄⠀⠻⣿⠿⠛⢁⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣀⡔⠁⠀⢀⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠿⠾⡾⢬⠯⠷⣏⣋⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀ ⠐⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⢀⠀⢀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣾⠿⠿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⡿⠿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠻⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣷⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣧⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡆⠀ ⢰⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠀ ⢸⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡄ ⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⢋⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠙⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠈⠉⠻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇ ⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿ ⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⣷⣦⣄⣀⣀⡉⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠛⠿⠿⠟⠁⠀⢀⣴⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿ ⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⣿⣶⣶⣿⠿⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣤⣀⣠⣤⣶⣾⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⢻⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡟⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⠘⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⠀⢹⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠟⠟⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣄⡀⠸⠿⠿⢇⣀⣠⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿ ⠀⠀⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟ ⠀⠀⠘⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣶⣾⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⡦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡏⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢿⣶⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⠿⣿⣶⣤⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣶⡿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⢿⣶⣶⣶⣶⡿⠿⠟⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡴⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⢤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠴⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠒⠶⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⡤⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠛⠛⠓⠦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠶⠶⠶⠶⠦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⡈⣧⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⢠⣶⡶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⣶⣤⣀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣸⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⢻⡇⢲⡶⢶⣾⣶⣤⣀⠀⠈⢻⣦⣶⠶⣶⣤⣐⣿⣛⣉⣩⣭⡉⠉⢹⣿⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣆⠈⠻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠘⢦⣜⣿⣿⣿⣯⡟⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣏⣉⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢸⢸⣗ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⠀⠀⠀⡀⢸⡏⠉⠉⠛⠋⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⢠⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⣷⠘⠿⠶⠶⠶⣶⠶⢿⠿⢻⣟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠈⠓⠶⣿⣏⣅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢦⣸⣗ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⢹⣾⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡤⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡗⠀⠀⠀⠰⣾⣹⣿⠙ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠙⣽⣿⡤⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣄⣀⢀⣤⡤⣀⣀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣸⣿⠏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢀⣀⣾⣧⣴⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⠞⠀⠀⢈⣩⣤⢤⣄⣀⣙⠙⢁⡀⠀⠀⢹⣈⣿⡃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠁⠘⣿⣷⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⣠⣾⣻⣤⣿⣤⣿⣹⣏⣿⣦⡙⡗⠀⢨⡟⠙⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠫⣿⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠠⠇⣲⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠼⠁⠸⠟⡿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢀⢴⣾⡿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢿⣿⣶⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢋⣠⣽⣿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠖⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠿⣾⡷⢶⡤⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⠛⠉⠀⣠⡿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠉⢻⣿⣿⣅⣦⣾⠊⢻⣖⠶⣦⣴⠻⡟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⠴⠶⠿⠖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠶⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠹⢽⠟⠉⠿⠙⠙⠛⠛⠲⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⢤⣄⣀⣀ ⠶⠶⠖⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠱⠤⢴⠏⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠖⠛⠋⠙⠛⠒⠴⣟⣠⣄⡀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠉⠉⠀⠉⠙⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣾⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⢀⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⠇⣠⣄⡀⣄⣠⠞⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣾⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣝⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠶⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠸⡟⢧⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣼⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠶⣭⣭⣥⠾⠋⠀⠀⢈⣷⣤⣤⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣅⠸⣄⠘⠁⣬⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣧⣈⢡⡞⠀⠀⣤⠇⠙⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠩⣍⠀⠀⣠⠧⣀⣠⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣯⠀⠙⠒⠒⠂⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀⠰⣤⣀⣀⡤⢿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠘⢧⡉⠀⠈⠉⡉⠉⠉⠉⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⣼⠀⣆⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠙⣆⠈⣷⣀⣸⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⢷⠴⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⡤⢄⣠⣤⣤⡄⢠⣄⠀⢠⣤⠄⠀⠀⢤⢴⡦⡤⠤⣤⢤⣤⣤⣤⣤⠤⡤⠀⠀⠠⢤⠤⣤⣤⣤ ⢰⡇⣨⡇⣟⢛⣇⣸⠿⣧⢈⡇⢰⡄⠀⢘⣾⣷⠇⢀⣇⠀⢀⣧⠀⣿⠚⣇⠀⠀⢀⣸⡀⢠⣿⡀ ⠈⠉⠉⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠉⠈⠀⠈⠉⠁⠈⠉⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡶⢦⡀⢠⡶⠦⠀⣰⡄⠠⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇⠀⣿⢸⣧⣤⣠⡟⣧⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⢠⣿⣸⡇⠀⣸⠗⢻⡔⣿⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡞⢛⠛⠲⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⠉⢉⠀⢉⡉⡉⣋⣀⣈⣋⠉⢉⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⡾⠘⣦⡀⠉⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⣼⡄⣸⠋⡏⠉⣯⠉⢹⠁⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⠚⠉⠉⠙⣆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⡇⣀⣿⣇⠀⠀⠺⡦⡀⠀⠘⣷⡇⣷⡇⠀⡇⠀⣿⠀⢸⠋⢻⡃⠀⢀⡴⣎⡁⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⢹⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⣿⣿⣿⠟⠃⠀⠀⢻⣽⣄⡀⠿⢃⡹⠇⢀⠇⡀⢿⠀⠸⠇⠸⢆⡴⢋⣶⠏⠤⣴⣿⠋⠀⠀⢸⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀⢿⠹⣿⣽⣗⡂⠀⠀⢻⣞⣿⠒⠋⢀⣴⣿⠛⢻⣿⠗⠀⠀⣠⠏⣰⡟⠁⠀⠀⣻⣿⣀⡏⠀⡾⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠘⡆⢸⣿⣿⠿⣄⠀⠀⡿⡝⡦⡜⣿⠆⢸⠶⢹⡏⠳⣀⡼⠋⣸⡟⠀⠀⠠⠬⢽⣿⡽⠀⢰⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⢻⠀⠸⣿⠂⠈⠂⠀⠠⣿⡇⠙⠀⠀⢸⠗⢻⡇⣄⠉⢰⢡⡏⠀⠀⠀⢐⣿⣯⠘⠀⢀⡞⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⣌⠳⣄⠹⣷⣄⡀⠀⠶⠿⠃⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⢸⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣭⣿⠇⠀⠐⢹⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡘⣷⣤⣿⣆⠀⠳⣽⣿⣌⠀⠀⠀⠀⣝⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢤⣠⣾⣾⡿⠇⠀⠀⠰⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣻⣽⣯⣙⣟⣓⣲⣽⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣢⣌⣿⣶⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣀⣄⣯⣽⣹⣿⣤⣀⣀⣠⣆⣀⣀⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠐⣶⣿⡏⢉⣉⣙⣿⡏⠉⠉⠉⠉⢹⣿⣟⣹⣿⣙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣉⢹⣿⣙⣿⣉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⠤⣤⠒⢋⣡⣿⣷⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⢻⣷⣬⢛⣴⢛⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠃⢀⣹⠿⢿⣤⣛⣦⣟⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣦⣮⣷⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢻⠇⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡛⠛⠛⢻⠓⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠛⠀⣹⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣦⣤⣀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⢿⣿⡿⠟⠹⣿⡀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⡀⠀⢤⣬⣿⡏⠲⠤⢀⣆⣴⠿⠛⠉⢀⣀⠬⠍⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠰⢄⣽⡄⠀⠄⣿⡇⠀⠈⡳⣤⠀⠀ ⢠⡾⣛⢀⡴⢋⣛⣴⣤⠆⠉⠁⠂⠴⡿⠏⠁⠀⡠⣶⢽⣋⡠⠖⠋⠀⠀⣠⣶⠶⠿⢿⣛⠻⢷⢀⣿⣱⡄⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀ ⠘⢿⡿⡋⠀⠈⢿⣾⡏⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⢋⣴⡯⢋⡠⠤⠤⠴⠚⠉⠀⣠⣴⣿⢿⠀⣼⡾⠁⠈⢞⠂⡞⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⠞⠁⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⣾⣥⡄⣀⣠⠄⢀⡞⢠⠟⠋⠀⠈⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⠁⣠⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠈⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠞⠋⠈⠉⠓⠀⠀⠉⠙⠿⣷⣿⣭⡏⠀⠈⠀⡎⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣛⣷⣾⣿⠁⣀⣀⣀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⡷⣤⣀⣀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠖⠛⠋⠉⠛⠛⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠈⠉⠉⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣄⣀⣠⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣠⣀⣀⣀⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⣀⢀⣤⣠⣤⣶⣤⣤⣤⣴⣤⣶⣤⣤⣤⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢛⡛⠛⠛⠛⠛⡛⠛⡛⠛⢛⠛⡛⠛⠛⠛⢛⠛⡛⡟⠋⠉⢙⠛⡛⡛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⡛⠛⠛⢛⠛⠀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠤⠤⠖⡠⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡔⠉⠀⢀⣤⣀⣼⣿⣿⡍⠉⠉⠑⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⡏⠛⠛⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⢃⣦⣴⣔⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠁⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣟⣿⣾⣿⢿⣀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠓⠭⠷⠋⠀⢨⢦⠴⡷⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢎⣂⠇⢀⠍⢲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣇⠢⠤⠜⠒⢺⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢼⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠈⢅⣀⣠⡖⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⢀⠈⢣⠀⠉⠄⢩⡑⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠬⠼⠒⠒⠚⠒⠓⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡒⢢⣶⡆⣰⡄⠖⢂⠀⢶⣷⠐⠒⢲⠒⡶⡆⠀⢲⠒⣒⠂ ⠉⠁⠉⠉⠁⠉⠉⠈⠀⠉⠁⠈⠉⠉⠁⠁⠁⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⠶⠿⠻⠛⠺⠷⢦⣠⡶⠖⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⠶⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠷⣦⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣶⣦⣀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠉⠛⠉⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⡀⠀⢀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠿⢿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⢠⣆⣷⣶⣬⣳⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⣾⣿⣿⣮⣻⣷⣝⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⢿⡏⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⣿⡟⣿⣇⢹⣿⣾⣿⢺⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡶⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢰⣾⣿⡝⢿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⡇⣻⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡶⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠈⠻⣌⡛⢿⣿⣽⡿⠟⣱⡿⠛⠒⠲⢶⣤⠀⠀⠀⣴⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⠦⣴⡶⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣶⣴⠶⣿⣿⢷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣀⠀⣷⡀⠘⠋⣀⣹⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡏⠙⠃⣨⡿⠀⠀⣀⣹⠎⠙⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⡟⠿⠵⠋⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⠈⠷⣄⣀⣠⡴⠋⠓⠶⠶⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣏⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠉⠻⢦⣤⣤⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣇⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡶⢤⣶⠶⠋⣿⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⡀⠈⠙⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣆⣸⠆⣦⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣆⠀⠙⣦⡀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⢧⣄⣿⡀⣠⡿⠷⠶⠶⠶⠶⠾⠷⠶⠾⢷⠾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢶⠶⢦⣄⣶⡶⣶⣦⠀⢶⣶⠀⠰⣶⣶⠶⠀⠀⠀⢶⡶⣛⢶⡖⠲⢶⠶⢶⡶⢶⠶⡶⣶⠖⢶⡶⠀⠀⠐⠶⣶⠶⢶⣶⣶⣶⠆ ⠀⣺⡀⢀⡽⢸⡟⠿⣿⢀⣿⠽⣷⠀⢻⡇⠒⣦⠀⠀⠈⣧⡿⣾⠃⠀⣸⠀⠀⠃⣺⡄⠀⣿⠓⢿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠈⣲⣧⠀⠀ ⠘⠛⠓⠛⠃⠚⠛⠚⠛⠛⠛⠘⠛⠓⠛⠛⠚⠋⠀⠀⠈⠛⠁⠛⠀⠘⠛⠓⠃⠙⠛⠛⠀⠛⠓⠛⠛⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠀

⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⣄⣤⠤⡀⡤⣤⡤⣤⣤⠀⢠⢠⠠⢤⢤⣠⠀⡤⣄⣠⡤⣤⠠ ⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠁⠉⠈⠁⠁⠉⠀⣁⣩⡴⢼⣍⣃⠈⠈⠈⠀⠁⠉⠈⠁⠉⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠔⠋⠉⠀⠀⠆⠀⠀⠐⠌⢵⠠⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⡘⠀⢒⡤⠉⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢨⡐⠊⢦⣈⣷⠁⢀⠀⠀⠘⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠒⠊⠉⠛⠓⠲⣾⣾⣧⣤⣿⣯⣄⣸⣇⣺⣳⠀⠘⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣷⡶ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠯⣉⠒⠼⡏⠉⠉⠙⡏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⡤⠾⣶⣖⠁⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣯⣷⣯⣷⣿⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣎⣙⠋⠻⢟⠋⠀⠀⣠⠋⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠴⠪⡀⠙⠢⢄⣀⠀⡠⠊⠘⠉⠈⠉⠒⠊⡆⠤⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⠔⠉⠀⠀⠉⢦⡀⠀⠈⠉⠑⠒⠒⣶⠒⠒⠂⠉⠀⠀⠀⡀⡄⠀⠀ ⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⢠⠎⣀⣑⠼⠬⣰⡀⣀⠔⠉⠉⠀⠀ ⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠋⡹⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠒⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠤⠴⠖⠒⠒⠒⠦⠤⢄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠒⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠑⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠊⠁⠀⠀⣀⡤⠤⠖⠒⠤⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⢀⣴⡋⠤⠤⠤⢤⣤⠤⠤⠤⠵⣆⠀⠀⠀⣤⣶⣉⣉⠉⠙⠚⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⡤⠤⡠⠤⠤⢿⡿⠧⠄⠠⢤⡟⠀⠀⠸⡧⠤⢄⣈⣹⣿⣇⠈⠻⣆⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠦⣀⣀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡠⠔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠁⣻⣆⠀ ⢀⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠒⠒⠒⠒⠉⠀⠸⡄ ⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠋⠛⠀⢀⣠⣶⣾⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣀⠀⠀⣇ ⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡈⢀⣽⣷⠀⢹ ⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⣸ ⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠁ ⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠢⠤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠴⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠑⠒⠒⢒⡾⢿⡛⠿⠤⢤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠉⠀⠀⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠒⢤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⣷⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⢃⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⡤⢿⠖⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⢸⡎⠇⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⣿⢿⣟⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠘⠀⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡠⠤⠖⠒⠒⠒⠀⠒⠒⠒⠦⠤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⢀⡠⠔⠒⠚⠙⠓⠒⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣈⣳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⠋⠀⠀⠀⣴⠿⠖⠒⠒⢲⣶⡒⠒⠒⠚⡇⠀⠀⢠⡾⠭⠤⢤⣀⣈⣙⣷⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⡒⠒⠒⠒⠚⠛⠓⠒⠒⣺⠃⠀⠀⠘⣗⠒⠦⠤⠾⣿⣌⣉⣻⡄⠀ ⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠲⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡸⠻⡀ ⢰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⣧ ⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⡀⠀⠀⢸ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡤⠴⠖⠒⠚⠉⣹⠇⠀⠀⠗⠀⠀⢸ ⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠀⠠⠶⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⠸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼ ⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃ ⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠒⠦⠤⠄⠀⣀⣀⣸⣦⣠⡤⠖⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠹⣎⠉⠉⠓⠲⠤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⣳⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣧⣀⣤⡶⠶⠿⠛⣿⣿⠻⠄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣥⣶⣶⣶⠶⠿⠛⠋⢻⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⢻⡋⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⣀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⢠⠀⠀⠀⡀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⣀⠀⣀⣀⣀⡀⢀⣀⡀⣀⣀⢀⡀⠀⡀ ⠀⢰⠉⠀⢸⣇⣿⠀⣿⠳⣿⣟⢋⣗⠀⣏⢹⣿⡟⠉⣿⢿⣿⠀⠀⠰⣿⣼⣇⡏⢉⡏⢹⠶⣿⠀⠈⣿⢹⣷⢾⣿⣟⢻⣿⢉⠝⠈⠉ ⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠉⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⢉⣈⣉⣭⣵⣴⣷⣌⣙⠉⠈⠁⠈⠀⠉⠀⠀⠉⠈⠁⠈⠉⠉⠉⠁⠈⠀⠈⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⡶⠞⠛⠉⠉⣉⡀⠈⠉⠉⠉⢛⠳⠦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡀⢾⡍⠓⠦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢄⠈⣷⠀⣷⣦⠀⣈⠙⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠀⣄⠀⠈⠳⣸⡄⢁⡴⠋⠁⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣭⡍⠓⢎⢷⣄⡀⠈⣷⡏⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⣤⣤⡶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⣸⣃⣿⣷⠀⠀⢳⣿⣽⠿⠋⡗⢶⡾⢛⣲⣦⢄⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠽⢿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣷⣦⣦⣿⣾⣉⣴⣮⣹⡁⠀⠀⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣾⣧⣤⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣌⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣄⡈⠛⠛⠆⢿⡆⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⢻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠇⠀⠈⣹⣦⣀⣀⣴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡿⠿⠲⣿⣽⣿⣁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⢋⣿⣾⣟⣿⣳⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣏⣈⠙⠟⠙⢲⣻⢹⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠞⠛⠷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⢋⣿⠿⠛⠿⠦⣤⣄⣠⠼⡆⠀⠀⢀⡴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠛⠁⢦⣄⠀⠀⠙⠳⢦⣤⣀⡀⢠⡴⠋⠀⠼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠴⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠳⠶⠶⠶⢶⣶⡤⠤⠤⠶⠶⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠻⣄⡀⠀⣄⢠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⣤⣷⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡟⠁⠀⠀⣙⣦⣿⣤⣇⡼⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠉⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣦⣤⡴⢶⣶⠟⠒⠚⠛⠋⠉⠀⠈⠢⣉⣛⣩⠔⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣀⢀⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣉⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡦⣄⢠⠶⠄⣰⡄⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⣸⣸⠲⢤⣟⣇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠴⠦⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠒⠋⠛⠒⢺⠁⠹⠛⠒⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⢰⠐⣄⠉⢢⡀⠀⠀⢳⢠⡇⡸⢸⠉⣿⠉⡇⢸⡆⠀⠀⢀⡠⠖⠋⠉⢣⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⢡⣠⣿⣄⠀⢹⣆⠀⠸⣿⢱⡇⢸⠀⣿⠀⡏⢹⠁⢀⣴⣯⠄⢀⣠⠀⢸⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⢻⣿⣥⠀⠀⢻⣷⣤⣥⠌⢁⡮⢤⣽⡄⠁⠈⡷⣡⠞⠁⠰⣿⠁⡄⢸⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⠘⡄⢻⣿⣷⡀⠀⢿⣷⣄⣺⠏⡧⢔⡟⢆⣠⠞⣰⠏⠀⠀⣰⣿⡿⠀⡘⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢡⠀⢿⡂⠙⠀⠠⣿⠋⠀⠀⠿⠚⠇⡀⢁⣹⠏⠀⠀⢀⣿⠍⠀⣰⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⣤⡑⢈⣿⣦⠄⠙⠋⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⢀⣄⣾⠏⠀⢀⡞⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣐⣾⣿⢛⣷⣤⣽⠉⠃⠀⢀⣀⣷⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⣘⣟⣿⣧⣀⠀⢀⣀⠀⣀ ⠀⠀⠀⠶⢿⢛⣛⣻⡿⠛⠛⠛⠛⣿⣟⣻⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⢻⣟⣿⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿ ⠀⠀⠀⠒⣖⢉⣴⣿⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠹⢷⣽⣾⣽⣿⣿⡿⠉⣠⣽⣿⣷⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⠏⢻⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣈⣀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠸⢿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣆⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⡀⢬⣹⣿⠡⠄⢀⣠⡾⠛⠉⣉⠩⢛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢌⣯⠁⠀⣿⠀⠐⠢⠀⠀ ⢰⣟⣥⠔⢹⣧⣶⠂⠉⠀⠒⠟⠁⠀⣴⢾⣯⠔⠊⠁⢀⡴⠖⠛⣻⡏⢻⣠⠿⣦⠀⣷⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⡧⠀⠈⢻⣏⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠞⣵⠟⠁⠒⠊⠉⢉⣠⣴⣾⠟⢃⡼⠋⠀⠘⢰⠃⠀⠀ ⠴⠛⠐⠂⠀⠘⠛⠿⣿⣾⡟⠀⠃⡘⠁⠀⢀⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣶⡟⠁⢀⣀⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⣳⣤⣀⣀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠚⠋⠉⠉⠉⠁⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⡿⠿⠻⠿⡿⠿⠟⠿⢿⠟⠻⠿⢿⣿⠟⠛⠛⠛⣿⠻⠿⠿⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠃

(¬‿¬) ( ¬‿¬)>⌐■-■ (⌐■‿■)

➖➖⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ➖⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬜ ⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜🔲⬛⬜⬜ ⬜⬜🔲⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜ ➖⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜ ➖➖⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜

(•⌣•) ( •⌣•)>⌐■-■ (⌐■⌣■)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⢢⣎⣠⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠤⡀⠀⠀⡒⡊⣓⣊⣑⠓⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⢈⣱⡈⢢⡀⢣⢣⢹⢸⠠⠲⠀⣠⡊⢁⡀⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⢿⣇⠀⢷⡮⢊⢜⢲⡆⢀⢫⠎⠀⣏⠄⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⡌⢏⠁⠨⡟⠊⠸⠺⡐⣑⠏⠀⣸⠋⢰⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣦⣎⣺⠧⠈⠁⣆⠀⠀⠀⠁⢤⣶⡋⠀⠂⠀ ⠀⠀⠰⢟⣛⣿⠛⠓⢲⣞⣿⣷⣶⣶⡟⣻⡿⡿⣶⣿⡿ ⠀⠀⠈⣧⢾⣏⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠛⠏⣴⣿⣿⣟⠛⠋⠀ ⠀⣠⢊⢠⠨⠿⠂⣠⠔⢋⡭⢪⠀⢀⣀⣼⣁⢸⡀⠂⠀ ⠀⣻⠏⠘⣏⡀⠀⠀⡀⡿⠫⠀⠒⣉⣴⠟⡼⠋⠓⠎⠀ ⠐⠁⠈⠀⠙⠻⢿⡀⠘⢀⣤⣶⣿⣟⡿⠾⠤⠤⠎⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠰⡶⠴⢦⠴⠶⠴⠦⢶⡴⠤⠴⠶⠶⠶⡶⠶⠆

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(▀̿Ĺ̯▀̿ ̿)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⡴⠶⣶⣦⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣶⣟⣛⣛⠛⠛⡻⢶⣦⣤⣤⣄⠈⣙⣻⣶⣤⠴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣛⡿⠟⠋⠉⠉⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣝⣻⣦⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⣤⣄⠀⠉⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠇⠙⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠺⠿⣦⡀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠏⠁⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠻⠿⢿⣿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⠈⢸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢙⠻⠷⢶⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣤⣴⠿⠛⠁⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⠷⣶⣾⣬⣭⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢻⣶⣤⣴⣾⠛⠻⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡾⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡤⠶⠖⠛⠛⠛⠉⠙⠛⠛⠻⣿⣿⡿⠒⠶⠶⠶⠾⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠖⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡌⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⣴⣟⣀⣀⠀⣀⣠⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⢀⡀⢀⡀⢀⣀⣸⣧⣈⣷⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡟⠛⣿⣿⣟⣻⣛⣶⣟⣛⣷⣾⡏⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⡇⢸⡇⣿⣿⠛⣿⠻⣇⣿⣀⣀⣿⠀⠀⣿⠘⠛⣿⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⣼⣿⢿⣟⣛⡛⣿⠛⠛⣿⣿⣇⣀⣀⠘⢳⡞⢳⡞⠛⣿⢻⡄⣿⠀⠘⣿⣟⠛⣿⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⣿⠟⠁⠘⠛⠛⠋⠛⠁⠀⠛⠙⠛⠛⠋⠀⠘⠃⠘⠃⠀⠛⠘⣧⠛⠀⠀⠛⠙⠳⣿⡀⠀⠛⠀⠈⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⣦⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣴⣿⣷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠻⠶⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⣾⡿⢹⣇⠀⠙⢷⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢻⣿⣶⣀ ⣸⠛⣷⡀⠻⣧⡀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⢿⣿⣷ ⠙⠀⠈⠃⠀⠈⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠘⠃⢻ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⠂⠁⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠢⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⠔⠁⢀⠴⠬⠥⣤⠬⠵⠄⠀⣠⢔⣒⣚⠳⡄⠀⠀ ⢀⠊⠀⠀⠘⠆⣀⠀⠉⣁⠭⠃⠀⠙⢄⠒⠛⠂⠩⡄⠀ ⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠁⠸⠀ ⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠤⠄⢠⠀⠸⠄⠀⡇ ⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠒⠉⠁⠀⠀⠐⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃ ⠰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠀ ⠀⠡⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠢⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠤⠊⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠒⠠⠤⠀⢈⣦⣤⣐⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠈⡆⠀⠈⠑⢢⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⣁⣀⣠⡤⢴⠔⠒⠛⠹⠯⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠟⠏⠀⠀⢘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣴⠶⠶⠶⠚⠛⠛⠳⠶⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦⠀ ⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄ ⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢶⣿⣿⣿⡻⠶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⡶⠶⢶⣄⠀⠀⢸⡇ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠹⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⠆⠀⣹⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠶⠶⠦⣤⣤⡤⠶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⣏⣉⣁⣤⡶⠋⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣏⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠃⣠⡀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸ ⠀⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠷⠆⠉⠑⠶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿ ⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇ ⠀⠀⢹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠏⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠷⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠶⠶⠦⣤⣤⣤⡤⠶⠞⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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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.

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

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

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.

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).

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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.

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.

sympt0ms of migraine include: fqtigue nausea/vomıtıng digestive issues visual disturbances (auras) sensitivity to light and/or sound mood changes bra1n fog/cognitive changes ringing in the ears dizziness/vertigo numbness/weàkness on one sıde of the bødy list is NOT complete, but is a starting point.

Karen had always loved her husband Plankton. His mind was a bastion of order in a world that often seemed too noisy and chaotic for him. Plankton had a way of seeing patterns and connections that she never could. He'd spend hours meticulously categorizing his collections. It was his way of making sense of the world, a comforting rhythm she learned to appreciate. But today was one of those days where Plankton's brain seemed to betray him. It was a silent, unassuming morning until Plankton froze. His eye glazes over, and his body stiffened like a plank. Karen's heart skipped a beat, knowing all too well what was happening. Her mind raced as she quickly took action. She guided him to the safe spot they'd designated for these moments, a corner padded with cushions and devoid of sharp edges. His body began to convulse, a symphony of uncontrolled movements that didn't match the calmness of the surroundings. She felt her own heart race, her palms sweating, but she knew she had to be his rock, his anchor. Suddenly his friend Sponge Bob came in; he's never seen nor heard of Plankton like this before. "What's happening to him?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice quivering with concern. Karen took a deep breath. "He has autistic seizures," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's like his brain gets overwhelmed with stimuli, and it just... short-circuits." SpongeBob's eyes widened beyond belief, taking in the scene before him. Plankton's tiny frame jerked and tremored. It was a stark contrast to the precise, orderly Plankton he knew. "Is he okay?" Sponge Bob stammered, his hands waving in the air, unsure what to do. "Just stay calm," Karen instructed, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "These usually pass quickly. I need to make sure he doesn't hurt himself." She moved swiftly, carefully placing pillows under his head. Sponge Bob nodded, his concern growing as he watched his friend suffer. He wished he could do something, anything to help. "Can I talk to him?" he asked tentatively, his thumbs tucked into his pants, fidgeting. "It's better to let him be," Karen advised gently. "He can't process much during this. But once it's over, you can." When Plankton's convulsions finally ceased, his body limp, and his eye flutters closed. Karen checked his pulse, sighing in relief when she found it steady and strong. She looked up at Sponge Bob, her expression a mix of worry and fatigue. "Just be there for him when he wakes up," Karen said. "He'll be disoriented. He might not understand what happened." Sponge Bob nodded solemnly. He couldn't imagine what it must be like for Plankton, trapped in his own mind during these episodes. As Karen tended to Plankton, Sponge Bob felt a surge of curiosity. With a newfound determination, Sponge Bob turned to Karen, his eyes brimming with hope. "Could he maybe like... can he understand me now?" Karen looked at Plankton, still twitching, but clearly drained. She nodded slowly. "He can hear you. Just keep it simple and soothing." Sponge Bob approached cautiously, his eyes fixed on his friend. He knelt down and took Plankton's hand in his spongy grip. "Plankton," he whispered, "It's me, Sponge Bob. You're safe now." Plankton's eyelid fluttered, a hint of recognition flickering across his face. Karen offered Sponge Bob a small, grateful smile. She knew how much Plankton valued his friendship. Sponge Bob cleared his throat, his words gentle and measured. "Remember when we played catch with jellyfish?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're the best at catching them, Plankton. Your reflexes are so fast, it's like you're a jellyfish ninja." Karen smiles. Plankton's eye is open, but unfocused, as if looking through Sponge Bob instead of at him. His pupil is dilated, and his gaze is distant. Sponge Bob's heart swells with a mix of hope and concern. "Plankton?" he calls again, a little louder this time. No response, just the slightest twitch. He's there, but not really. Karen watches closely, a silent guardian making sure her husband doesn't slip back into the chaos that had consumed him. The room feels eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the usual symphony of sounds that filled their lives. Karen's eyes are filled with love and fear, a potent mix that's all too familiar. She's seen this before, Plankton's mind retreating into itself when the world becomes too much. Sponge Bob squeezes Plankton's hand, trying to ground him in reality, but his friend's hand is cold and limp. "You know, Plankton," he starts again, his voice quivering slightly, "you're like a tiny superhero with a giant brain. Nothing gets past you." Then, as if a switch was flipped, Plankton's body starts to jerk again, but this time, the movements aren't the violent convulsions of a seizure. They're smaller, faster - tics. His head tilts quickly. Karen's eyes narrow slightly as she recognizes the signs. This was a common aftermath of his seizures, his brain's way of recalibrating itself. "It's okay," she soothes, her voice a gentle melody that pierced through the tension. "Just ride it out." Karen's eyes never leave his, her gaze a silent promise of protection and patience. She knew these tics were a part of his autism, a way for his body to cope with the overwhelming input. It was as if the world was too loud for him, and his body had found its own rhythm to try to drown out the noise. The tics grew more frequent, his head jerking in quick, spasmodic movements. Sponge Bob's grip tightens on his hand, his own heart racing. He didn't understand what was happening, but he knew his friend needed him now more than ever. Karen's voice remained soothing, a constant in the storm of Plankton's neurological maelstrom. "It's okay," she said softly. "Let it happen." Sponge Bob watched, his eyes wide with concern. He'd never seen his friend like this before. The tics grew in intensity, Plankton's head snapping to a nod, his limbs twitching erratically. It was like watching a tiny, trapped bird, desperately trying to find its way out of a cage made of its own nervous system. "It's okay," Karen repeated, her voice a beacon of calm in the chaos. "These are just his tics. They're part of his autism. It's his brain's way of adjusting after a seizure." Sponge Bob nodded, trying to absorb the information. He'd known Plankton for years but had never known or seen him like this. Then Plankton's eye focused on Sponge Bob. A flicker of recognition sparked in the depths. "Sp...Sponge Bob?" he stuttered, his voice weak and tremulous. Sponge Bob's smile grew wider, relieved to hear his friend's voice. "Hey, buddy," he said. Plankton's head continued to twitch in a nodding motion, his eye blinking rapidly as he tried to focus on Sponge Bob's face. The tics were less intense now, but they were still present, a subtle reminder of the storm that had raged within him moments ago. Karen knew that this was the part where he'd start to come back to them. Karen explained, "The tics can last for a bit, but he'll be back to normal soon." Sponge Bob nodded, his grip on Plankton's hand steadying as he watched his friend's eye refocus. He didn't understand it, but he knew Plankton needed time. As the tics began to subside, Plankton's hand squeezed Sponge Bob's in weak acknowledgment. Sponge Bob felt a wave of relief crash over him. "I'm here," he murmured, his voice quiet and reassuring. Plankton's breathing grew more even, his body finally relaxing. The twitches gradually slowed until they were barely noticeable. It was like watching a tightly wound clockwork toy slowly unwinding. Karen reached over to stroke Plankton's arm, her touch feather-light. "You're going to be okay," she said. (my search NeuroFabulous)

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(▀̿Ĺ̯▀̿ ̿)

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🌈

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.

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

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."

THE LIFE OF UNITY iii (Autistic author) Kevin's laughter reaches a crescendo as he takes a step closer to Plankton. "What don't I know?" he asks, his voice sharper than ever. "That PLANKTON JUST. DON'T. WUV. THEM. JELLYFISH. YOU ARE COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY..." But his words are cut off by the sight of Plankton, his antennae drooping, his eye brimming with tears. The tiny creature's body trembles as Kevin's to loud words settle upon him, and suddenly, all the pent-up frustration and pain come rushing out in a torrent as a single tear forms and slides down his face. Plankton's antennae quiver uncontrollably, and he squeaks out a sob, his tiny body convulsing with the weight of Kevin's cruel words. SpongeBob is shocked. Kevin's words hang in the water, his laughter fading into an awkward silence as he watches Plankton's reaction. The sea cucumber's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Plankton's tears, his own expression morphing from smug to surprise, then to something akin to fear. "Plankton?" Plankton's antennae quiver as he sniffs, trying to compose himself, his monotone voice thick with emotion. "Plankton... brainless," he murmurs, his one eye filled with unshed tears. "Plankton," he adds, his voice cracking, "Plankton... not like jellyfish." Sponge Bob's heart squeezes tight in his chest. "Hey, Plankton," he says softly, "it's ok. Kevin didn't mean it." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice echoing Kevin's hurtful words. "Kevin... right," he murmurs, his eye glistening with tears. "Plankton... brainless. Like jellyfish." Kevin's expression morphs from smugness to shock, his eyes wide as he realizes the impact of his words. "It's just... you know, a joke." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice trembling. "Joke?" he murmurs. "Plankton... a joke. Plankton... brainless." Kevin's grin falters, his eyes widening in horror as he sees the pain etched on Plankton's tiny face. "No," he stammers, his voice cracking. "It was just a... I didn't mean it like that." But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's cruel words. "Plankton... no purpose in life," he murmurs, his one eye filled with a sadness so profound it seems to suck the color out of the surrounding waters. Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock. "Plankton," he says gently, "you have friends. You have a purpose." But Plankton's antennae droop even lower, his monotone voice a sad echo of his own self-doubt. "Plankton mindless.." Kevin's smugness evaporates, replaced with a flicker of concern as he watches the usually unflappable Plankton crumple under the weight of his words. "Look, Plankton," he says, reaching out to touch him. But Plankton flinches, his antennae quivering with pain. "Plankton," Kevin says, his voice a mix of surprise and regret, "I didn't mean it like that. I was just messing around." But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's insults. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye fixed. "Brainless." Sponge Bob's eyes wide with shock and sadness. "Plankton," he whispers, his voice filled with a tenderness Plankton rarely hears from anyone. "You're not brainless." But Plankton's antennae quiver with doubt, his monotone voice echoing Kevin's words. "Plankton... mindless," he murmurs, his one eye unable to meet Sponge Bob's gaze. "Like jellyfish." SpongeBob knew that Plankton's obsession with jellyfish is more than just a hobby; it's a deep connection, a part of who he is after the traumatic brain injury. And now, Kevin's careless words have struck a nerve, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. "Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice gentle, "you're not like that. You're smart. You're... you're you." But Plankton's antennae quiver with insecurity, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's words. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye still avoiding contact. "Plankton... like jellyfish." SpongeBob understood that the brain trauma has affected him, making him more vulnerable to words that question his intelligence and identity due to his autism. "Plankton," he says, his voice filled with concern, "you know that's not true. You're not like jellyfish in that way." But Plankton's antennae quiver with doubt, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's mockery. "Mindless," he murmurs. "Mindless, brainless." Sponge Bob's heart aches for his friend, reaching out to offer comfort. "Plankton, you're not like that," he says, his voice gentle and assuring. "You're brilliant. You know more about jellyfish than anyone." But Plankton's antennae quiver with insecurity, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's laughter. "Mindless," he murmurs, eye downcast. "Plankton... brainless." Sponge Bob tries to find the right words to say. "Plankton," he says gently, "you're not like that. You're so much more than what Kevin said." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of the cruel words. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye avoiding Sponge Bob's gaze. "Plankton... no purpose." Kevin's eyes dart from Plankton to Sponge Bob, his grin faltering. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice tight with confusion. "You guys are acting weird." Sponge Bob's embrace tighten around Plankton's tiny body, his voice firm but kind. "Kevin," he says, his gaze fixed on Plankton, "you don't know what happened to Plankton." Kevin's laughter fades into a puzzled look. "What do you mean?" Kevin's smirk fades, his eyes narrowing with confusion. "What are you guys talking about?" he asks, his voice tight. Sponge Bob hesitates, glancing at Plankton, who nods almost imperceptibly. "Kevin," he says, his voice serious, "Plankton had a bad accident. He hit his head, and now he's... different." Kevin's tentacles freeze in mid-air, his smugness evaporating. "What do you mean, 'different'?" he asks, his voice tentative. Sponge Bob sighs. "Plankton's had a brain injury," he says, his eyes never leaving Plankton's quivering antennae. "He's... autistic now." Kevin's eyes widen, his tentacles dropping to his sides. "What? No way," he stammers, his smugness gone. "You're... you're joking, right?" But Sponge Bob's expression is serious, gently stroking Plankton's antennae. "It's true, Kevin," he says, his voice gentle. "Plankton's had a tough time, and he's different now." "Plankton, joke." Kevin's confusion turns to shock as he looks from Sponge Bob to Plankton, his tentacles dropping to his sides. "But... but why didn't you say anything?" he asks, his voice trembling. Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "We didn't think it was anyone's business," he says tightening around Plankton's shaking antennae. "But now you know Kevin. And we need you to be cool about it."

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."

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iv (Autistic author) (see notes below) * ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ But Plankton's frustration had reached a boiling point. His voice was a thunderclap in the small room, his eye flashing with a rage he couldn't contain. "You don't know!" he roared, his body shaking. Hanna took another step back, her heart racing. "I'm sorry, Plankton, I truly didn't mean to upset you," she said, her voice shaking. Plankton's gaze shifted to the door, his mind racing to the safety of his solitude. "You don't know," he murmured, his anger subsiding slightly. The sudden silence was like a balm to his raw nerves. But Hanna's curiosity angered him further. "Plankton, what..." "I DON'T KNOW!" Plankton's voice pierced the silence, his frustration at an all-time high. Hanna's eyes grew wider. "I'll leave you alone," she said quickly, her voice quiet and soothing. But as she turned to go, she accidentally brushed against his arm. Plankton's reaction was instant and explosive. He jerked away, his body tensing, his eye flashing with anger. "Don't touch me!" he snapped, his voice sharp and jagged. Hanna's eyes wide with shock. "Plankton tell me what's..." But Plankton had reached his limit. The touch, the questions, the expectation of normalcy—it was all too much. He felt personally attacked, now on a roll. "You don't know what's what?" he spat out, his voice a whip crack. "You come in here, invading my space, without a care in the world for what I'm going through!" Hanna took another step back, retracting quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know," she whispered, her eyes filling with sorrow. "Karen never mentioned..." But Plankton's frustration had become anger, his next words cutting like a knife. "You don't know anything," he snarled, his voice laced with bitterness. "You come in here, asking your stupid questions, expecting me to be the same person I was before!" "Before what, Plankton?" Yet Plankton's not wanting to answer Hanna so he yells his next words at the top of his lungs. "Before I...I... YOU KNOW WHAT? IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!" Plankton's voice cracked with the effort of his outburst, but he's just getting started, now he's on a roll, his next words being worse. "I don't want you here. I don't need you here," Plankton spat out, his frustration a palpable force in the room. Hanna took another step back, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I was just trying to..." But Plankton's anger had taken over. "You're not helping!" he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. "You don't get to decide what I need!" He was on his feet now, his body rigid with frustration. "I don't want you to know!" "Know what, Plankton? You don't get to decide what I can and can't know," she said, her voice firm. But Karen's now returned with the smoothie, both Hanna and Plankton too wrapped up to notice her presence. "You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything?" his voice was a growl now. "You think you know what it's like to be trapped in here?" He tapped his head with his finger, his eye wild. "You don't know anything!" Now Hanna's getting real angry. "You think you're the only one suffering?" Hanna countered, her voice rising. "What about Karen? What about the people who actually care about you?" Plankton's gaze snapped to hers, his anger fueled by her words. "You don't know what it's like!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty space of the Chum Bucket. "You don't know what it's like to have the world make no sense! To be trapped in your own head!" Hanna's expression softened slightly. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I really am. But you can't just push everyone away." "Why not?" Plankton demanded, his voice a whip crack. "Why do I have to explain?" But Hanna's concern for Karen overrode her own fear. "Karen's my friend and she deserves better than you and your little tantrums," Hanna snapped back. "Tantrums? TANTRUMS?" Plankton's voice was a roar now. "This isn't a tantrum, it's reality!" Hanna's in a defensive posture, her eyes flashing with anger. "You think I don't know what real pain is?" she shouted back. "You're so caught up in your own world that you can't see what you're doing to her, just because you're too stubborn and acting like a child who can't deal with the real world! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A BURDENSOME WASTE OF SPACE! So, if you can't get your act together, maybe you should just go to an institution where people can handle your..." "That's enough!" Karen snapped. Her voice was a whip crack across the tension filled room, startling both Plankton and Hanna. She couldn't stand silent any longer. Yet Plankton's face crumpled at Hanna's threat, his anger giving way to despair. Tears began to stream down his face, his body shaking with sobs he couldn't control. The sudden shift from rage to sorrow was like a punch to Hanna. **NOTEs As an autistic writer (and I used AI to help me with the words) I do not encourage the ableism people have shown in their ignorance. Depending on when and where you live, some people have thought such therapies might be good, without actually accepting nor helping. Even Hans Asperger has supported eugenics during the war, sending people to internment camps leading to demise. I came across the site autismmemorial.wordpress.com if you'd like to educate yourself about how people have endured such.*

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY v (By NeuroFabulous) Karen held Plankton tightly, his sobs shaking both of them. "It's okay," she murmured, stroking his back. "You're still my husband. You're still Chip's dad." Her voice was a salve to his soul, but the wound was deep. In Chip's room, the silence was deafening. He sat on his bed, staring at the wall, his thoughts racing. He had never meant to hurt Plankton like that. He had just wanted his dad to be like everyone else's. He didn't understand why it had to be so hard. Outside, the sound of Karen trying to comfort Plankton's sobs drifted under the door, each one a knife in Chip's heart. He had never heard his dad cry before, and it made him feel like the biggest jerk in the sea. What had he done? He didn't want Plankton to go anywhere. He just wanted all to be okay. He sat on his bed, his eyes blurring with tears as he tried to piece together what had just happened. His mind raced with thoughts of his dad, his hero, his rock, now a crumbling mess in his mother's arms. He couldn't bear to think of the pain he had caused. He stood up, his legs shaking slightly as he approached the door. Karen looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and tired, but filled with a fierce love that never wavered. Plankton was still sobbing into her shoulder, his body trembling with the force of his pain. Chip felt like he couldn't breathe, his chest tight with regret. "I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice small and shaky. "I didn't mean it. I just..." But the words trailed off, his throat thick with unshed tears. Karen looked up at him, her eyes brimming with a mix of love and disappointment. "Chip," she said, her voice firm but gentle, "you need to understand. Your dad can't just turn his autism off." She took a deep breath, her gaze never leaving Chip's. "And we love him just the way he is." Plankton's body convulsed with each sob, his fear palpable in the tiny room. He had always known his condition set him apart, but to hear his son say such things... It was more than he could bear. Karen looked at Chip, her expression a mix of anger and sadness. "Chip, what you said was hurtful," she began, her voice shaking with emotion. "But you need to know that your dad's autism is just part of who he is." Plankton's sobs grew quieter, his body slowly calming down as he heard Karen's words. He knew she was right, but the fear remained, a cold knot in his stomach. Fear of rejection, fear of being seen as a burden, fear of losing the ones he loved most. Chip's eyes were glued to the floor, the weight of his words pressing down on him like a heavy stone. He felt like a monster, a creature that had lashed out without thought for the consequences. He took a tentative step forward. "Dad," he whispered, his voice choking with tears. "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it." Plankton's convulsions slowly subsided, his body still tense against Karen's embrace. His eye was closed tightly, as if trying to block out the painful reality. Plankton's convulsions grew less intense, his body slowly relaxing into Karen's embrace. His breathing was ragged, his antennas quivering slightly with each exhale. The look in his eye spoke volumes, a swirl of emotions that seemed to mirror the turmoil in Chip's own heart. The room was a stark contrast to the chaotic underwater world outside, the silence interrupted only by the occasional sniffle from Plankton. Karen's gaze never left Chip's face, her expression a mix of love and disappointment. "Your father's autism is a part of him, Chip," she continued, her voice measured. "It's like his brain has its own language, and sometimes it's hard for him to translate it to ours. But that doesn't make him any less of a person, or any less of a dad." Chip felt a knot in his stomach, his regret growing with every word Karen said. He had never thought about it like that before—his dad wasn't broken or weird, just different. And he had hurt him so badly. "But I just want him to be normal," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Why ca--" "Normal?" Plankton's voice was harsher than Chip had ever heard it. He pulled away from Karen, his eye blazing with a fierce intensity. "Chip, maybe you're the one who needs to leave.." "Plankton," Karen said, her voice a plea. "This isn't helping." But Plankton's face was a mask of pain and anger. Chip's heart raced, his dad's words cutting deeper than any insult he had ever heard. "Dad," he said, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean it." But Plankton was beyond reason, his emotions a swirling maelstrom of anger and hurt. "Get out," he said, his voice cold and final. Karen's eyes widened with shock, but she knew better than to argue with him when he was like this. She stood, carefully setting Plankton aside. He didn't move, just sat there, his body rigid with pain. "Come on, Chip," she said gently, her hand on his shoulder. "Let's give your dad some space." Chip's eyes were filled with tears, his heart breaking at the sight of his father's pain. He didn't know what to do, his mind racing with fear and regret. He allowed Karen to lead him out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving Plankton alone with his thoughts.

Types of automatisms Type Repeated stereotyped behaviors Orofacial lip smacking, chewing or swallowing movements Manual hand tapping, fumbling, rubbing or picking movements Leg walking, running, pacing Perseverative pre-seizure behavior continues during the seizure Vocal vocalizations Verbal spoken words

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.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY i (By NeuroFabulous) Chip and his friend Alex go to the Chum Bucket, where Chip lives with his parents Karen and Plankton. Chip had been looking forward to this moment all week. His friend Alex, the new kid in school, was finally coming over to his place. Chip's thought about the endless possibilities of what they could do together. Would they play video games? Maybe build a fort? Or, if they were lucky, his mom Karen might let them have ice cream before dinner.. The door swung open. "Welcome to the Chum Bucket," Chip said with a proud smile, leading Alex inside. Karen looked up from her book. "Hi," Alex said nervously. Karen's eyes widened. "Oh, hello!" She hadn't been expecting company. But she put down her book. "You must be Alex!" Alex nodded. "Hi, Chip's mom," they mumbled. "Just call me Karen, sweetie," she replied, her voice as warm as a freshly baked pie. "You two have fun!" She turned back to her book, her screen dancing with curiosity as they climbed the stairs. Chip's room was at the end of the hall, but they weren't going there yet. "C'mon," he whispered to Alex, his screen sparkling with excitement. "I want to show you my Dad!" He led him to the bed room door. They tiptoed closer. Plankton's on the bed. Alex peered around the doorframe, their curiosity piqued. "Surprise!" Chip shouted, jumping forward. Plankton's antennas shot straight up, a mix of shock and annoyance. But Plankton didn't move. He remained frozen in place, his eye vacant and unblinking. Alex took a step back, concerned. Chip's excitement faded into puzzlement. "Dad?" he called out, nudging Plankton's arm. No response, not even a twitch. They both stared at him, the room silent except for the faint buzz of a neon sign outside. Plankton's body was rigid. Chip felt a twinge of fear. This wasn't like his dad, who was always bursting with ideas and energy. Alex's grip on the doorknob tightened. They approached the bed slowly. Plankton remained unblinking. "Dad, are you ok?" Chip asked, his voice cracking. He reached out to shake him gently. Plankton's arm was cold and stiff, like a mannequin. Chip's heart raced. He'd never seen his dad like this before. Alex's eyes widened in alarm, their grip on the doorknob turning white. They stepped back, exchanging glances. "Chip, what's going on?" Alex whispered, fear seeping into their voice. Chip's eyes searched the room, his heart racing. "I don't know," he replied, "but we have to do something!" He rushed to the bedside, his hands trembling as he touched his dad's face. "Dad! Dad!" Alex hovered near the door, unsure of what to do. "Should we get your mom?" Chip nodded, his voice shaking. "Yeah, we need to tell." They both bolted out of the room and sprinted down the stairs. "Mom!" Chip yelled, "Something's wrong with Dad!" Karen looked up from her book, her face puzzled. "What do you mean, Chip?" But when she saw the look on his face, she set the book aside and followed them upstairs. In Plankton's room, she paused. The silence was heavy, and the tension was almost palpable. She could see the fear in Chip's eyes, mirrored in Alex's wide gaze. They pointed to the bed, where Plankton still sat, unmoving. Karen took a deep breath. She had known about Plankton's secret for years—his autism. But moments like these were always difficult to navigate. "It's okay," she assured them, her tone calm and steady. "Sometimes Daddy has these moments where he goes into his own world. It's part of who he is." She approached the bed slowly, her movements deliberate and gentle. Plankton's chest rose and fell with his breath, but he didn't acknowledge their presence. Karen placed a hand on his shoulder, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and understanding. "Plankton?" she called softly, her voice barely a whisper in the quiet room. No response. Her heart ached for her husband, trapped in his own thoughts. She had learned over the years to recognize the signs of his episodes, but seeing him like this never got easier. Carefully, Karen sat down beside him, her hands resting on his shoulders. "It's okay, sweetie," she murmured, her voice soothing. "You're safe." Slowly, she began to rub his back in small, comforting circles. Chip and Alex watched, silent and worried, from the doorway. Minutes ticked by like hours. Karen's gentle persistence never wavered. Then, almost imperceptibly, Plankton's shoulders relaxed, his eye blinking back into focus. He looked around the room, bewildered. "Karen?" he croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse. Chip and Alex breathed out in relief. Karen smiled warmly, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "It's okay, honey," she said, her voice a lullaby. "You're back with us." Plankton's gaze found hers, his mind slowly returning from its solitary adventure. He looked from her to the two in the doorway, confusion etched on his face. Alex took a tentative step forward, their heart still racing. "Are you okay?" Plankton blinked. "What happened?" Plankton managed to ask, his voice scratchy from his silent reverie. Karen stood, placing a comforting hand on his knee. "You had one of your episodes, sweetheart," she explained gently. "But it's okay. You're back now." Chip stepped into the room, his eyes brimming with relief. "What's an episode?" Alex asked softly, their curiosity overcoming their fear. Karen turned to them, her expression gentle. "It's like his brain goes on a little trip," she said, trying to simplify it. "It's part of him. Sometimes he needs time to come back." Alex nodded, their eyes still glued to Plankton. "Does he know he does it?" they asked, their curiosity genuine. Karen squeezed Plankton's hand. "He knows, honey," she explained. "But sometimes it's like he can't stop it." Chip felt a pang of sadness, his earlier excitement now replaced with a deep concern for his father. He knew that his dad was different from other parents, but he had never seen him like this. It was as if Plankton had been taken from them for a brief moment, leaving a shell in his place.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY x (By NeuroFabulous) They stepped out of the car, the sand crunching beneath their feet. Chip looked over at Plankton, his heart racing with hope. "Ready?" he asked, his voice tentative. Plankton nodded, his antennas lifting slightly. "Let's go," he said, his voice still tight. But there was a hint of excitement in his eye, and Chip felt a glimmer of hope. The beach was relatively empty, the waves rolling gently onto the shore. Karen gave them a beach ball and sat down, watching her family with a mix of hope and trepidation. Chip tossed the ball to Plankton, his eyes searching his dad's antennas for any signs of discomfort. They were slightly elevated, but not as tight as they had been earlier. Plankton caught the ball with unexpected grace, his antennas twitching with concentration. He threw it back with a soft chuckle, his arm moving in a fluid arc. The ball sailed through the air, catching the sun's glint before landing in Chip's outstretched hands. Karen watched from their picnic blanket, her heart swelling with pride. It was a simple game, but it was a bridge between them, a way to connect without words. She saw the tension in Plankton's shoulders ease slightly with every catch and throw, his antennas swaying gently with the rhythm of their play. Chip's laughter was like music, his movements uncoordinated but earnest as he tried to keep the ball in the air. Plankton's eye followed the ball, his antennas twitching in time with the breeze. The beach ball arced through the sky, a bright spot of color against the azure backdrop of the ocean. Plankton's gaze never left it, his focus unwavering. When it reached its peak, he lunged, his arm snapping up to meet it. The crack of the ball against his hand echoed in the salty air as it soared back towards Chip. Sand flew up around his feet as he took a step back, bracing for the impact. The ball hit his hands with surprising force, but he managed to keep it in play. Plankton's antennas waved slightly as he watched, his eye flicking from the ball to Chip and back again. His movements were precise, almost robotic, but there was something undeniably graceful about the way he played. It was as if the beach, the waves, and the wind were all part of a grand symphony, and he was the maestro conducting it with the flicker of a smile. Chip, on the other hand, was a flurry of awkward limbs and enthusiasm. He stumbled and tripped, but never lost his determination. With each catch, his smile grew wider, and his laughter grew louder. He was discovering a new side to his father, one that didn't need words to express joy. Their volleys grew longer, their movements more in sync. Plankton's antennas swayed with the rhythm of their game, a silent testament to his enjoyment. Karen watched from the picnic blanket, her heart full. For the first time in a long while, she saw a genuine smile on Plankton's face, one that wasn't forced or fleeting. But then, Chip's laughter grew too loud, too abrupt, and Plankton's antennas snapped back, his body tensing. Karen's smile faltered, knowing what was coming. "Oh wow!" Chip exclaimed as he made an impressive catch, his voice booming across the beach. Plankton's body jerked at the sudden noise, his eye widening in surprise. For a moment, Chip didn't notice, his excitement clouding his judgment. But then he saw Plankton's antennas flatten against his head, a clear sign of distress. His heart sank as he realized his mistake. "Sorry, Dad," he said quickly, his voice softer. "I didn't mean to..." Plankton's eye blinked rapidly, his antennas quivering as he tried to regain his composure. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice strained. "Just... just don't do that again." Chip nodded, his own smile fading as he saw his dad's distress. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the excitement bubbling inside. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer. "I didn't mean to..." But Plankton had already turned away, his antennas drooping as he stared out at the sea. Karen's eyes met Chip's over his shoulder, a silent message of understanding and reassurance. She knew her son had meant well, but the sudden loudness had triggered discomfort, risking sensory overload. Chip felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He knew he had to be more careful, more mindful of his father's needs. He took a deep breath, trying to push down the urge to apologize again. Instead, he opted for a gentler approach, his voice low. "Dad, I'm sorry," he said, stepping closer. "Let's sit for a bit?" Plankton's antennas twitched, his body still tense from the sudden sound. He nodded, his eye not leaving the hypnotic dance of the waves. Chip followed his dad's gaze, the apology still lingering on his tongue. He swallowed it down, knowing it wouldn't help now. Instead, he sat down next to him, leaving a respectful distance between them. He watched as Plankton's antennas slowly began to rise, his breathing evening out. The waves continued their rhythmic dance on the shore, and Chip focused on their soothing sound, hoping it would calm his father as well. He knew Plankton was sensitive to noise, and he had forgotten in his excitement. He vowed to do better next time, to remember his dad's boundaries.

givesmehope: I met a 16 year old genius who was in medical school, studying to be a pediatric neurosurgeon. He put every dollar he made at his job into a retirement fund. Why? He wanted to be able to retire at age 30, so that he could spend the rest of his life performing brain surgeries for free. His philanthropy GMH. Mar 5 2010

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.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY ii (By NeuroFabulous) "Let's go downstairs," Karen suggested, her voice still calm but with an underlying urgency. They followed her, leaving Plankton to gather his thoughts. Once they were in the living room, Karen turned to face them. "I know this might be scary, but you guys need to remember that Dad is okay," she began, her eyes full of reassurance. "It's just his way of processing things." Chip nodded, trying to understand. Alex leaned against the wall, their mind racing with questions. "It's like when you get lost in a good book," Karen continued, looking at Alex, "you're not really gone, you're just somewhere else for a little bit." Alex nodded, their eyes reflecting their attempt to grasp the concept. "But why does he do that?" Chip asked, his voice filled with a childlike innocence that masked his worry. Karen sighed, looking from Chip to Alex. She knew it was important for Chip to understand, but she wasn't sure how much Alex needed to know. "It's complicated, Chip. But what's important is that we're here for him." Alex nodded, still not fully comprehending but willing to accept the explanation for now. They could see the love and concern in Karen's eyes and knew it was something serious. "Okay," they said quietly. But before they could leave, Karen spoke again. "Alex, can I have a word?" Alex turned, their eyes meeting Karen's steady gaze. Chip hovered in the background, sensing the gravity of the moment. "Of course," Alex replied, their voice cautious. Karen's expression grew serious, her eyes locking onto Alex's. "You know, what happens here, stays here," she said firmly. "Your friendship with Chip is important to him. And his dad's condition...it's something Chip doesn't even know about yet I will tell him, but it's a bit personal. You did nothing wrong." Alex nodded, understanding the weight of what she was asking. "I won't tell anyone," they promised, their eyes sincere. Karen took a deep breath, appreciating Alex's maturity. "Thank you," she said, giving their hand a squeeze. "But for now, I think it's best if you head on home." Alex looked at Chip, who was still trying to process everything. "But... what about our plans?" Chip's voice was small, his excitement of earlier replaced by confusion and worry. "We'll have to save them for another day, buddy," Karen said, her voice soft. "But I promise, we'll make it up to you." She gave Alex a gentle smile. "Thank you for understanding." Alex nodded solemnly, their eyes darting from Karen to Chip and back. They knew they had stumbled into a situation that was bigger than themself, and they didn't want to cause any more stress. "Okay," they murmured, "I'll go." Chip looked up at Alex, his eyes filling with unshed tears. "Do you have to?" he asked, his voice trembling. Alex forced a smile. "Yeah, I should get going. But I'll see you." They gave Chip's shoulder a comforting squeeze before turning to leave. Karen walked Alex to the door, her mind racing with thoughts of how to explain this to Chip. She knew he wasn't ready to understand Plankton's condition fully, but she also knew that keeping it a secret wasn't fair to him. As they reached the front door, Alex paused. "Is your dad going to be okay?" They asked, their voice filled with genuine concern. Chip hovered behind them, listening intently. Karen nodded, her hand on the doorknob. "Yes, he'll be fine," she assured them. "This happens from time to time. It's just part of him." Alex nodded again, their gaze lingering on Chip. "Okay," they said, trying to sound braver than they felt. "See ya, Chip." Chip managed a weak smile, his eyes still glossy. "See ya," he echoed. The door closed gently, and the house was once again filled with a tense silence.

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY i (Autistic author) Karen's husband, Plankton, was arguing with Mr. Krabs as usual. They've had their fair share of disputes over the years, but this one seemed to be escalating fast. Without warning, Mr. Krabs swung the stove from his kitchen with all his might. It connected with a sickening thud against Plankton's head. Karen gasped as her husband crumpled to the ground. Plankton's eye had rolled back and closed, his body going still as Mr. Krabs left back. Karen knelt beside Plankton and gently tapped his cheek. "Wake up," she murmured, voice trembling. No response. She tried again, her voice a little louder. "Honey, can you hear me?" Plankton's eye remained closed, his antennae limp. Panic began to creep in. Her mind raced with possibilities, each more frightening than the last. What if his tiny brain had been damaged? What if he was in a coma? What if he never woke up? She cradled his minuscule form. The room grew silent as the gravity of the situation sank in, willing Plankton to stir. A tear trickled down her screen. Karen felt for a pulse. It was there, faint but steady. She let out a sigh of relief and picked his tiny body up, cradling him carefully. "I've got to get him to a doctor," she thought. She held Plankton's hand as they performed a brain scan. Karen sat by her husband's side as the machines around Plankton beeped and whirred. The sterile smell of the hospital filled, and the cold white walls seemed to press in around them. Plankton's lying still on the hospital bed. A thick bandage was wrapped around his head, and various tubes connected him to monitors that displayed a symphony of lines and numbers, none of which meant anything to her. She squeezed his hand gently, willing him to wake up. The doctor walked into the room, his lab coat fluttering slightly as he moved. He held a clipboard carefully in his tentacles, studying the information with a furrowed brow. "Mrs. Plankton," he began, his voice soft, "We've finished scans. The good news is that it's not life- threatening. However, we've noticed some sustained atypical brain activity." Karen's eyes widened. "What does that mean?" she asked, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening. The doctor sighed, his expression sympathetic. "Autism. His behavior may change. He might become more focused on his routines, have difficulty with social interactions, and exhibit sensory sensitivity. It's permanent, and no cure. We expect him to wake up soon. We'll ask him some questions to assess and then you can take him home." Karen felt her heart drop. She knew about autism, had read about it in magazines, but never thought it would affect her own family. The doctor left the room, and she was alone with her thoughts, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall as they remove the bandage. The hours ticked by in agonizing slowness as she sat there, praying for him to wake up. The only sounds were the rhythmic beeping of the monitors and the occasional muffled conversations from the hallway. Finally, Plankton's eyelid fluttered. He groaned softly, and his hand twitched in hers. Karen leaned in, hope surging through her. "Plankton?" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she smiled through her tears. "I'm here," she said, voice shaky. "You're in the hospital, but you're ok." Plankton's eye opened, squinting in the bright lights. He looked around the room, confusion etched on his tiny face. Slowly, his gaze landed on Karen. "What happened?" he croaked, his voice weak. "Mr. Krabs hit you with a stove," Karen explained, her voice a mix of relief and sadness. "They diagnosed you with acquired Autism." The doctor approached with a gentle nod. "Plankton, can you tell me your name?" he asked, ready to jot down notes. Plankton's eye searched the room, finally settling on Karen. "Sheldon Jay Plankton." Karen's grip on his hand tightened offering silent encouragement. The doctor nodded and proceeded with questions. "Tell me when you're born?" "July 31, 1999 10:16.08 am ET!" Karen felt a twinge of pride at her husband's precise answer. The doctor nodded, scribbling something on his clipboard. "Tell me more about yourself.." "More about yourself." Plankton echoed. The doctor's offering a gentle smile. "Echolalia. It's a trait that's common in individuals with autism. It can help him process information. Well Plankton has no need for therapy, yet you may want to adjust your daily lives to accommodate. You're free to go!" The drive back to the Chum Bucket was silent, the weight of the diagnosis pressing down on Karen's shoulders. He was quiet too, his eye fixed on the passing scenery. He didn't seem to notice the difference in himself, but Karen knew their lives were changed. Once home, Karen helped Plankton into his favorite chair, surrounded by his inventions and gadgets. The room was a mess, but it was his sanctuary, and she didn't want to disturb it. He seemed more at ease, his eye flicking from one object to another with a sense of familiarity. Would Plankton be the same? Would he still laugh at her jokes, or get angry at the Krabby Patty secret formula? Plankton remained silent, his gaze still locked on his surroundings. Karen felt a pang of worry. Would his obsessive nature become more pronounced? "It's getting late, Plankton." Karen's voice was soft as she guided him to their bedroom. He followed without protest, his movements mechanical. She helped him into bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin with a gentle tuck. Plankton lay there, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts a swirl of confusion. "Do you need anything?" she asked, her voice a gentle hum in the quiet room. "Stay, Karen stay." He says. Karen nodded, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Of course, I'll stay," she assured him, trying to keep her voice steady. She took his hand again, feeling the warmth of his palm against hers. She didn't know what the future held, but she knew she'd be by his side. As Plankton's breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep, Karen sat there, watching him. She noticed how his grip on her hand had loosened, but didn't dare move. The next day, Karen woke before Plankton did. She hovered over him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. How was she going to wake him up without startling him? She knew that sudden noises could be overwhelming for him now. Karen took a different approach. She stroked his arm with a feather-light touch. His eye brow flinched. Next, she tried speaking his name, starting with a whisper and gradually getting louder. "Plankton," she called, "It's time to wake up." His eyelid twitched, and he blinked his eye open. He looked around. "Karen?" he asked. She nodded with a smile. "Good morning, honey," she said softly. "How are you feeling?" Plankton sat up slowly, his antennae twitching as he took in his surroundings. "Different," he murmured, rubbing his temple. "We're home, Plankton. Remember what happened?" He nodded, his eye glazed over for a moment. "Krabs. The stove." "Yes, but you're ok now," Karen reassured, stroking his cheek with her finger. Plankton nodded again, his antennae twitching nervously. Karen noticed that his movements were more deliberate, his gaze more intense. She decided to keep things simple to avoid overwhelming him with too much information at once. "Let's get breakfast," she suggested. Plankton followed her into the kitchen, his steps slower than usual. The clanking of pans and the sizzle of oil had always been a familiar symphony in their home, but today it felt alien, like a disturbance to his newly heightened senses. Karen moved around the kitchen with precision, keeping the noises to a minimum. As she prepared their meal, Plankton stood by the counter, his gaze fixed. "Breakfast is ready," she said, sliding a plate of chum flapjacks in front of him. The smell usually brought him joy, but today it was overwhelming. Plankton took a step back. Karen's smile faltered, realizing she would have to adjust their meals. "Would you like something else?" she asked, her voice a soothing melody. Plankton nodded, his gaze not leaving the plate. "Different," he whispered. Karen knew she had to find foods that wouldn't overstimulate. She placed the flapjacks aside and found a jar of pureed peas and plain yogurt. She hoped the blandness would be more soothing. Plankton's antennae twitched as he came closer. He stared at the bowl intently, then took a tentative spoonful. The texture was soothing, and the color was calming. He ate slowly, each bite measured and deliberate. Karen watched him with love and concern. She wanted to ask if he liked it, but she knew better than to interrupt his focus. Once Plankton had finished, he looked up at her with a hint of a smile. "Good," he said. It was the closest thing to praise she had heard from him since the incident. Karen cleared the table, her mind racing with questions about what the future held. How would Plankton's new autism affect their daily lives? "Now what would you like to do, Plankton?" She asks. He looks at her. "Read." The old spark seems to flicker back to life, albeit with a different intensity. Karen nods, leading him back to his lab. The room is a mess of wires and gadgets, but Plankton moves through it with purpose. He selects a book from the shelf, a manual on quantum physics that had been collecting dust. His gaze flits over the pages, absorbing the information with fervor. Karen watches him from a distance. This was her Plankton, but also new. His obsession with the Krabby Patty formula had always been intense, but now his focus was lasered in on the book, his mind racing through equations and theories. The room was silent except for the soft rustle of pages turning. Plankton didn't look up from his book, lost in a world of science and theories. Karen knew she had to let him be, to find his new normal.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY iii ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᵀᵒᵖⁱᶜˢ (By NeuroFabulous) ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴀᴄᴛs Karen turned to Chip, her face a mask of calmness. She knew she had to explain, but she also knew it wasn't going to be easy. "Let's go talk to Dad," she said, her voice steady. Chip nodded, his hand in hers as they walked back up the stairs. Plankton was still sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked up as they approached. "Daddy?" Chip's voice was small and trembling. Plankton's expression shifted from confusion to realization. He knew he had been somewhere else, lost in his thoughts again. Karen sat down next to Plankton, her eyes meeting Chip's. "Chip, sweetie, there's something we need to tell you about Daddy," she began, her voice a gentle whisper. Chip looked at her, his eyes full of questions. "What is it, Mom?" Karen took a deep breath. "Your Dad has something called autism," she began, her voice soft. "It's like a special way his brain works that makes him see the world differently than we do." Chip's eyes widened. "Is that why he did those weird things?" he asked, his voice filled with curiosity rather than judgment, but that's not how Plankton took it. His expression grew defensive. "Weird things?" Plankton's voice was sharp. "What do you mean, Chip?" Karen's gaze softened as she saw the look of hurt in Plankton's eye. She placed a comforting hand on Chip's shoulder. "Sweetie, it's not that he does weird things. It's just that sometimes his brain needs a break. It's like he goes on a little vacation without telling us. It's called an episode." Plankton flinched at the word, his antennas drooping. "But why does it happen?" Chip asked, his voice still filled with innocence. "Well, autism is like a different operating system for the brain," Karen explained, choosing her words carefully. "Some people with autism have moments where their brains need to recharge or process information in a way that's unique to them. It's not weird or wrong, just different." Chip looked from Karen to Plankton, his mind racing with questions. "So my dad's just being... special?" he asked, trying to make sense of the situation. Plankton's gaze fell to the floor, feeling patronized and belittled by Chip's curiosity. "In a way, yes," Karen said, her voice soothing. "But it's not something to be ashamed of. It's part of who Daddy is, and it makes him special in a lot of wonderful ways." She took his hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "But it can also make things difficult for him, like today." Chip nodded slowly, trying to digest the information. "Does that mean he won't ever be able to play with us like other dads?" His question, though unintentionally, was laced with a hint of disappointment. Plankton's eye narrowed, and he felt the sting of microaggression in his son's words. "Chip, I can play with you. It's just sometimes I need to be by myself, okay?" His voice was tight, the frustration of years of misunderstanding bubbling to the surface. Karen intervened, sensing the tension. "Chip, Dad's episodes are just part of who he is. He loves you very much, and he'll always be here for you." But Chip's mind was racing. He couldn't help but wonder if there was something wrong with his dad. He looked at Plankton, his confusion and fear evident. "But why does he have to be like this?" Karen sighed, her heart heavy with the weight of the conversation. "Chip," she said gently, "it's not a choice. It's just how Daddy's brain is wired. It's not something bad, just different." Chip frowned, his brow furrowed as he thought. "But why can't he just turn it off?" He didn't mean to sound so dismissive, but the concept of his father being 'different' was still difficult to grasp. "Why's he gotta have this...this thing? I mean, if it makes him sick, why do we have to keep hanging out with him?" The words were out before Chip could even realize the impact they would have. Plankton's eye snapped up. A wave of fury washed over his face, his small form seemingly growing in size as his autistic mind processed the unintended slight. "You think I'm sick?" he roared, his voice echoing through the room, the walls seemingly trembling with his rage. The sudden outburst startled Chip, his eyes going wide with shock. He had never seen his dad like this before—his usually quiet and introspective father now a whirlwind of raw emotion. Karen's grip on his shoulder tightened, a silent warning to tread carefully. "No, Chip," she began, her voice firm but calm. "Autism isn't an illness. It's not something Daddy can just turn off or ignore." But Plankton's fury was unyielding. He stood up, his entire body trembling with the intensity of his anger. "You think I'm a burden?" he shouted, his voice shaking the very air around them. Karen's eyes flashed with a protective flame, her grip on Chip's shoulder becoming almost painful. "Chip, you need to apologize to your father," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. Chip looked up at her, his own anger building. "Why? I just want a dad who's normal!" His voice was laced with frustration and hurt. "Why can't he just be like everyone else's dads or else leave?" The words hung in the air like a toxic cloud, heavy with ableism and pain. Karen's face fell, her heart breaking for Plankton. "Chip, that's not fair," she said, her voice a mix of disappointment and sadness. "Your dad can't just change who he is because you don't understand." Plankton's face was a storm of emotion. He looked from Karen to Chip, his anger fading to something deeper, something more profound. It was the look of a man whose entire world had just been questioned by the person he loved most. "You think I'm not good enough?" he whispered, his voice shaking with barely contained hurt. Karen's eyes filled with tears, her heart breaking for her husband. "Chip, that's not what you meant," she began, but Plankton cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Let him speak," he said, his voice deflated. "Let him say what he really thinks." His gaze was unblinking, a challenge in his eye that Chip didn't quite understand. Karen took a deep breath, her heart breaking for the both of them. "Chip," she started, her voice steady despite her tears. "You know we love your dad just the way he is, right?" But Chip's anger and confusion were like a dam that had burst. "Yeah, but why does he have to be like this?" he demanded. "Why don't you just get me a better dad?" The words were like a slap in the face, and Plankton's eye widened in shock. Karen's grip on Chip's shoulder tightened, but she didn't say a word. She knew this was something Chip had to work through on his own. "Better?" Plankton's voice was hollow, echoing the emptiness in Chip's heart. "What makes a 'better' dad, Chip?" Chip's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger. "One who can play with me without getting stuck like a broken toy!" he shot back. "Even Mom doesn't want you around when you're like that!" The accusation hung in the air like a sword, slicing through the tension. Plankton's antennas drooped, his eye reflecting a deep hurt that Chip couldn't comprehend. "Is that what you think, Karen?" he asked, his voice barely audible. Karen's eyes snapped to Chip, her expression a mix of anger and sorrow. "That's not what anyone thinks, Chip," she said firmly. "Your dad is a wonderful person. And he's the only dad you've got." But Chip's frustration had taken over. "Yeah, well, maybe you should've picked a dad who actually deserves to be here," he spat, his words dripping with accusation. "May be we'd be happier if we could just start over without the 'autistic' baggage and get someone who doesn't need to be babysat all the time. Or better yet, maybe we should just get rid of him." His voice was harsh, his thoughts racing in a whirlwind of pain and confusion. The room fell silent, the air thick with the tension of unspoken truths and misunderstood pain. Karen's hands were trembling, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and hurt. "Chip, you can't say things like that," she managed to choke out, her voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's expression was unreadable, his body rigid with the weight of his son's accusations. "Is that what you want?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion. "Do you wish I was gone?" Karen's grip tightened on Chip's shoulder, her eyes flashing with anger and hurt. "Chip, that's enough!" she exclaimed. "You don't mean that!" But Chip's rage was like a wildfire, spreading uncontrollably. "Maybe we would!" Chip shouted, his voice echoing through the room. He didn't know where these words were coming from, but they felt like a release from the pressure cooker of his thoughts. "Maybe if you weren't around, we could be a real family! Even Mom wouldn't have to pretend everything's okay all the time, because she's too nice to go out and get a husband instead of being a burden she has to take care of like a parasite!" The moment the words left his mouth, Chip felt a deep pang of regret. But the damage was done. Karen's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Plankton's antennas quivered, his face white as a sheet.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY iv ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᵀᵒᵖⁱᶜˢ (By NeuroFabulous) ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴀᴄᴛs "Chip!" Karen's voice was a whipcrack, full of pain and anger. "How could you say such a thing?" Plankton's eye were wet with unshed tears, his body trembling as he stared at his son, his mind racing to process the hurtful words. "Maybe I am a burden," he murmured, his voice so low it was almost lost in the heavy silence. Karen's grip on Chip's shoulder tightened. "That's enough," she said, her voice shaking. "You don't mean that, Chip." But the look on Plankton's face told her that the damage was done. Chip stared at his dad, his heart racing. He hadn't meant to say those things, but the anger and confusion had just spilled out. He saw the hurt in Plankton's eye, the same eyes that had looked at him with love and pride so many times before. He felt a lump form in his throat, his cheeks burning with guilt. "Dad, I'm, I just..." He trailed off, not knowing what to say next. Plankton's gaze was unflinching, his hurt palpable. Chip looked at his dad, his heart racing. He could see the pain etched on Plankton's face, the way his antennas drooped. "I didn't mean it," Chip stammered, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry." The silence was deafening. Plankton's eye searched his son's, looking for any hint of sincerity. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "You've never seen me as a burden before." The words were like a knife twisting in Karen's heart. Karen's eyes filled with tears as she watched the exchange between her husband and son. She had always tried to shield Chip from the harsh realities of Plankton's condition, but now it seemed those efforts had only created a chasm of misunderstanding. "Chip," she said, her voice shaking with emotion, "you know that's not true. Your father is not a burden. He's a brilliant scientist, a loving husband, and the best dad we could ever ask for." Chip's eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his words. "But sometimes it feels like it," he mumbled, his voice thick with regret. Karen's eyes searched Chip's face, trying to understand his pain. "Sweetie, everyone has their own challenges. Daddy's just have to do with the way his brain works. It doesn't make him any less of a person or a dad." But Chip's frustration remained, his voice cracking. "But why can't he just get better?" he demanded, his eyes filled with a desperation that neither Karen nor Plankton had ever seen before. "I mean, if he's so smart, can't he just fix it? If not, then why do we have to keep him around?" Karen's heart sank as she watched the conversation spiral out of control. She knew that Chip didn't mean what he was saying, but the hurt on Plankton's face was real. But Chip wasn't listening. His thoughts had turned to a darker place, one fueled by his desperation for normalcy. In a moment of cruel manipulation, born out of fear and frustration, he looked up at Plankton. "Chip," Karen began, her voice firm but gentle, "autism isn't something that can be fixed. It's part of who your dad is. And we..." But Chip cut her off, his voice driven by a desperate anger that surprised even him. "If you can't play with me, if you can't be a real dad, then maybe you shouldn't be here at all," he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "Maybe we should just... "Chip!" Karen's voice was a whipcrack, eyes filled with horror. "Chip, that's enough!" she snapped. But her words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Chip's mind was a tumultuous sea of emotions—his frustration, confusion, and fear of the unknown had led him to a dark and dangerous place. Plankton looked at his son, his eye wide with shock and pain. "Chip," he began, his voice shaking, "you don't mean that. I'm your father. I love you." But Chip's anger had turned to a cold resolve. "It's for the best," he said, his voice eerily calm. "If you can't be a real dad, then maybe it's time for you to go." The words hit Plankton like a freight train. He felt the air leave his lungs, his antennas drooping further than ever before. "Chip," he choked out, his voice shaking. "What are you saying?" Chip's eyes were cold, his face a mask of determination. "I'm saying that maybe you shouldn't be here," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Maybe it would be better for everyone if you just weren't around anymo-" He was cut off by a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Chum Bucket—a wail so deep and mournful that it seemed to echo through the very fabric of their lives. It was Plankton, his tiny body wracked with sobs that seemed too large for his frame. Chip had never seen his dad cry before, and the sight of it made him feel small, his words weighing on him like an anchor. Karen's grip on his shoulder loosened, her eyes filled with a mix of shock and despair. She moved to comfort Plankton, her arms wrapping around him as he collapsed into her embrace. "It's okay," she whispered, rocking him gently. "It's okay." Chip stood there, watching his parents, the gravity of his words finally sinking in. He had never seen his dad like this before—so weak, so vulnerable. A pang of guilt shot through him, and he felt the weight of his own cruelty. Plankton continued to sob, his body convulsing with the force of his emotions. Karen looked up at Chip. "Your dad needs us right now," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "Please, go to your room and think about what you've said." Her eyes were filled with a mix of anger and sadness, but mostly, she looked disappointed. Chip nodded, feeling the full weight of his own words crash down on him. He turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last as he went to his own room.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY vi (By NeuroFabulous) Outside, the corridor was cold and empty, the neon lights of the Chum Bucket flickering above them. Karen's eyes were filled with a sadness that Chip had never seen before. "Why did I say those things?" Chip asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it." Karen took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "Your dad's autism is life-long," she said, her voice shaky. "It's not something that you can just ignore or wish away." Her hand rested on his shoulder, warm and comforting. "But it doesn't make him any less of a person, or any less of a father. He loves you so much, Chip. More than you'll ever know." Chip nodded, his eyes still on the floor. "But I hurt him," he said, his voice a whisper. "I don't know how to take it back." Karen's grip tightened on his shoulder. "You will," she assured him, her voice steady despite her own emotions. "You'll learn to understand, and you'll tell him you're sorry. But right now, let's just give him some space." They walked down the corridor, each step echoing in the silence. "But why does Dad get so upset?" Chip asked, his voice still shaky. "Is it becau…" "His emotions can be intense," Karen explained, her voice gentle. "It's part of his autism, Chip. Sometimes, things that seem small to us can feel really big to him." She paused, her gaze distant as she searched for the right words. "Imagine if someone kept turning the lights on and off while you were trying to read a book. It's like that for him, but with sounds, and feelings." Chip frowned, trying to comprehend. "But why does he get so mad at me?" His voice was small, filled with a sadness that tugged at Karen's heart. Karen sighed, her eyes full of empathy. "Your dad's brain works differently, honey," she said, her tone soft. "Sometimes things can be overwhelming for him. And when he's overwhelmed, his feelings can get really big, like a wave that crashes down and covers everything." She paused, considering her words carefully. "It's not because he doesn't love you. It's just how he deals with things." Chip nodded slowly, his eyes still red and swollen from crying. "But why does he freeze up?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's like he's not even there." Karen's gaze softened, her hand still on his shoulder. "Sometimes, his brain gets too full, and he ends up having an absence seizure, where he just sort of... goes away for a bit. It's like his brain is taking a quick vacation," she said, trying to make it relatable for Chip. "But he's always right here." Chip looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and fear. "But why does he do that?" he whispered. "Is he okay?" Karen's hand squeezed his shoulder, her eyes full of warmth. "It's a part of his autism, sweetie," she said, her voice soft. "When things get too much, his brain automatically just... takes a break. It's not something he does on purpose, it's just his body's way of coping." "But it scares me," Chip admitted, his voice shaking slightly. "It feels like he's gone." Karen nodded, her eyes brimming with understanding. "I know it's scary, honey," she said, her voice soothing. "But it's important to remember that it's just his brain taking a little break. It doesn't mean he doesn't love you or isn't there for you." "But how do I know when it's going to happen?" Chip's voice was filled with a desperate need to understand, to control the chaos his father's condition had brought into his life. Karen took a deep breath, her eyes full of compassion. "You can't always know, Chip," she said gently. "But you can learn to recognize the signs." Her hand slid down to his, giving it a comforting squeeze. "When he starts getting upset, or if you see him getting overwhelmed, that's when you know he might need some space or a quiet moment to regroup." "But why does he hate hugs?" Chip's question hung in the air, filled with the innocence of a child seeking understanding. Karen took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "It's not that he hates hugs, Chip," she said, her voice gentle. "It's just that sometimes, certain textures or pressures can be really overwhelming for him. It's like if someone was tickling you non-stop, even when you asked them to stop—it would drive you crazy, right?" Chip thought about it, nodding slowly. "But I don't get it," he said. "Why can't he just get used to it? I've seen you hug..." "It's not that simple," Karen interrupted gently. "I know you don't understand, but hugs can be really difficult for your dad. His body can't always make sense of the sensation, and it can feel like too much all at once." Chip frowned, his eyes searching hers for answers. "But both of you hug each other," he pointed out. "Why.." "It's different for me," Karen said, her voice soft. "Your dad's senses are like a radio that's always tuned in too loud. Sometimes, when we hug, it's like turning the volume down just enough for him to handle it." Her smile was sad but patient. "It's taken us years to figure out what works for us, Chip. Everyone's different, even with autism." Chip nodded, trying to understand. "But what do I do when he doesn't want to hug?" he asked, his voice tentative. "What if I just want to show him I love him?" Karen's eyes searched his, seeing the raw emotion beneath the surface. "You can show him in other ways," she said, smiling gently. "Words, or just sitting near him, or even just being patient with him when he's having a tough time." Chip considered this, his brow furrowed in thought. "But I want to make him happy," he said, his voice earnest. "How do I do that?" Karen's smile was sad, but understood. "You do that by loving him, Chip," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "By accepting him for who he is and not trying to change him. By being patient when he needs space, and by being there when he's ready for company. He does enjoy helping you with your experiments, doesn't he?" Chip nodded, remembering the times his dad had been most engaged and happy. "Yeah," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "He's the best at science." Karen's smile grew a little wider at this. "That's because his brain works differently," she said. "Sometimes, the way he processes information can make certain things easier for him to understand and enjoy." "But what if I don't know what to do?" Chip's voice was filled with a desperate need for guidance. "What if I make him upset?" Karen looked into her son's worried eyes and took a deep breath. "You'll learn, Chip. We all do. Your dad has his own ways of communicating, even if they're not always verbal. Sometimes, it's just about paying attention." "What do you mean?" Chip's eyes searched hers. Karen took a moment before answering, her gaze drifting to a spot over his head. "Look for the little things, Chip," she said, her voice thoughtful. "Like how his antennas move, or the way his eye looks. Sometimes, his body will tell you more than his words can. I know when he's happy because his antennas perk up and his eye twinkles." Chip watched her intently, his mind racing with questions. "What about when he's sad?" he asked, his voice small. Karen's gaze softened, her thumb gently stroking the back of his hand. "When he's sad, his antennas drop down," she said. Chip nodded, his eyes studying her intently. "And when he's mad?" Karen's expression grew more serious. "When he's angry, his antennas might go stiff and his brow can get really rigid," she explained. "It's his way of saying 'I'm overwhelmed, and I need you to back off.'" Chip nodded slowly, taking it all in. "And when do you know how he'd like to accept a hug?" Karen looked thoughtful. "Well, his body language will give you clues," she said. "If his antennas are relaxed and pointing slightly towards you, it might mean he's open to one. But always ask, okay?" Chip nodded, feeling a bit more hopeful. "How do I tell if he's uncomfortable with touch?" he asked, his eyes wide with concern. Karen squeezed his hand. "Look for the signs," she said. "If his body stiffens or his antennas pull back, it's usually a clue that he's not enjoying it." She smiled softly. "But remember, everyone's different, even within the spectrum. What works for one person with autism might not work for your dad." Chip nodded, his eyes wide with understanding. "Okay," he said, his voice small. "But what different types of touch..." "It's all about sensory input," Karen said, cutting him off gently. "Some textures and sensations might feel like sandpaper to him, while others might be soothing. It's a delicate balance, and it's different for everyone. But for your dad, he often prefers gentle, predictable touches. Like a soft touch on the arm. But he tends to dislike sudden hugs or pats on the back, or a squeeze of the shoulder." Her eyes searched Chip's, looking for any signs of doubt or confusion. "But always ask before you touch him," she added. "It's important to respect his boundaries." Chip nodded, his mind racing. "But what if he doesn't say anything?" he asked. "How will I know?" Karen sighed, her eyes reflecting the years of experience. "That's the tough part, Chip," she admitted. "Sometimes, your dad can't find the words. But if you pay close attention, you'll see the signs." "Signs?" Chip's voice was filled with uncertainty. Karen nodded solemnly. "When he starts to get overwhelmed, his body will show it," she said. "His antennas might jerk, or his eye might dart around the room. Sometimes, he'll repeat words or phrases over and over, like he's trying to find the right one to express how he feels."

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY vii (By NeuroFabulous) Chip listened intently, his heart heavy with the realization that his father's world was so much more complex than he had ever imagined. "What do I do..." "When you see those signs," Karen said, her voice filled with patience and love, "you need to give him space. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is just be there for him, without expecting anything in return." Chip nodded, his eyes still swollen with tears. "But what if he needs help?" he asked, his voice small. Karen's expression was a mix of love and concern. "If he's having a seizure, it's important to keep him safe," she said, her tone serious. "Make sure there's nothing around that he could hurt himself on, and don't try to move him unless he's in danger." She paused, taking a deep breath. "And never put anything in his mouth. It can be really scary to watch, but he'll come out of it, I promise." "How will I know if it's a seizure?" Chip's voice was shaky, fear gripping him. Karen took a deep breath, her expression turning serious. "If he just stops talking or moving suddenly, and his eye glazes over, it's probably a seizure," she said, her voice calm and measured. "Sometimes he'll stare off into space, or his body might get really stiff for a moment." She paused, squeezing his hand. "But remember, his brain is just taking a little vacation, okay? And if he convulses or starts to fall, you have to catch him and guide him to the floor safely. It's really important that he doesn't get hurt." Chip's eyes were wide with fear, but he nodded, determined to be there for his dad. "What if..." "If it's a bigger seizure," Karen said, her tone gentle but firm, "you'll know. His whole body might shake, and he could fall to the floor." Her grip on his hand tightened. "If that happens, you need to stay calm. Alert me, and make sure he's in a safe place where he won't hurt himself." With a nod, Chip tried to absorb the information, his stomach churning with a mix of fear and determination. He didn't want his dad to go through that alone. "Okay," he murmured. Karen gave his hand a final squeeze before releasing it. "Why don't we check on him?" she suggested, her voice tentative. "Let's see if he's ready to talk." They approached the bedroom. "Remember, sweetie," she whispered. "Let him set the pace." The door was ajar, letting a sliver of light spill into the hallway. Through it, Chip could see his father, still sitting on the edge of the bed, his antennas slumped in defeat. The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of his father's shallow breaths. Karen knocked gently, her voice soft. "Plankton?" There was a moment of silence before they heard a sniffle. "Come in," Plankton's voice was barely audible. Karen pushed the door open, letting Chip step in first. Plankton's single eye was red and swollen from crying, and he was clutching a worn pillow to his chest while rocking in place. Karen's heart ached at the sight of her husband's distress, but she knew better than to rush in. Instead, she gave Chip a gentle nod, encouraging him to go first. Chip took a tentative step forward, his eyes on Plankton's small frame. He had never seen his dad so vulnerable before, his usual bravado and strength nowhere to be found. Plankton looked up at him, his eye searching, his antennas drooping. For a moment, the room was so quiet that Chip could hear his own heart pounding in his chest. With a deep breath, he moved closer, his heart racing. He knew he had to fix this, to somehow make it right. "Dad," he began, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it." Plankton's gaze was unreadable, his antennas lying flat against his head. "You don't get it," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You'll never get it." The words stung Chip, but he knew his dad wasn't mad at him. It was frustration, a feeling Plankton struggled to express without it coming out as anger. He took another step closer, his eyes locking with Plankton's. "I want to," he said, his voice earnest. "I want to understand you, Dad." Plankton's antennas twitched, a small sign that he had heard, that he was processing the words.