Spectrumpunk Emojis & Text

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 8 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! By the next week, Plankton's completely recovered from the wisdom teeth ordeal. And Chip's now ready to attend the new school. The first day of school is a flurry of nerves and excitement. Chip puts on his best smile, his backpack bulging with supplies. Plankton's in the kitchen, his usual self, rambling about his latest invention. Karen's voice floats from the hallway. "Remember, Chip. If you see someone who's different, don't stare or make fun. Just be kind." Chip nods before heading out the door. At school, Chip notices a boy in his class, Timmy, who flaps his hands and makes noises during storytime. Chip feels a pang of recognition—his dad does that too when he's excited. He watches as Timmy's classmates giggle, whispering behind their hands. Chip's heart squeezes with a mix of empathy and sorrow. He approaches Timmy at lunch. "Hi," he says, his voice tentative. Timmy looks up, his eyes wide. "You're new," Timmy says, his voice high-pitched. "Yes," Chip replies with a small smile. "My name's Chip." Timmy bobs his head, his hands still moving. "What's wrong with your hands?" Chip asks, his voice soft. Timmy looks down, his cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude," Chip adds quickly. But Timmy smiles, showing a gap in his teeth. "It's okay," he says. "I have autism." Chip's eyes widen, his mind racing back to his dad's stims. "It's just how I show I'm happy." Timmy's words resonate with Chip, and he feels a sudden connection. "My dad has autism too," he confides. Timmy's eyes light up. "Really?" He asks, his movements ceasing for a moment. "Yeah," Chip says, taking a seat next to Timmy. "Sometimes it's hard, but he's pretty cool. But it's also really tough for him." Timmy nods, his hands resuming their gentle flapping. "It's not easy," he says. "But us autistics are like superheroes, you know? Our brains just work a bit differently." Chip can't help but smile at the analogy. "Yeah," he says, "like you guys have special powers." Timmy's face lights up. "Exactly!" He exclaims. "And sometimes, our powers can be really helpful. Like, I'm really good at math and remembering stuff." He beams with pride. Chip feels a twinge of understanding, remembering his dad's obsession with the Krabby Patty formula. "My dad's good at inventions," he says. "But sometimes, his brain can get really, really overwhelmed." Timmy nods. "Some days, my head does too," he says. The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. Chip and Timmy quickly exchange numbers, promising to talk more. As Chip heads to his next class, his mind is a whirlwind. He's always known his dad was different, but seeing someone his age with the same challenges brings a new perspective. In the classroom, he can't concentrate. Plankton's words echo in his mind: "I'm not enough. I'll never be enough." He feels guilty for his earlier frustrations, for not understanding the depth of his dad's struggle. During recess, Chip finds Timmy alone. Timmy's eyes scan the playground, his hands still. "You okay?" Chip asks. Timmy looks up. "Yes. Hey you know what helps me?" Timmy asks, his voice hopeful. "I make fun of my autism, like it's a superpower. It makes me feel better when people laugh with me." Chip looks confused. "How do you mean?" Timmy grins. "I pretend my flapping hands are like wings, or my loud noises are like sonic booms. It makes the other kids laugh, and it helps me feel like I made them happy. And one called me 'Stimmy' instead of 'Timmy' which is okay, because it's a part of me! I also like it when people ask me about it. It makes me feel seen. Make it like a game, or something.." Timmy says. Chip thinks about this, his heart racing. He's never considered turning his dad's stims into something fun or cool. It's always been a thing to just ignore. But now, seeing Timmy's joy, he wonders if maybe there's another way. He makes a mental note to ask his dad about his favorite superheroes, thinking maybe they can find a way to make his stims more like superpowers. Timmy smiles. "For my birthday I got this book.. I've another copy!" Timmy says, interrupting himself as he gives Chip a book. "It's a fictional story about a guy like me, but he's got superpowers because of his autism. Maybe your dad will like it." Chip looks at the book titled "AUSOME AUsomeness" and smiles, his curiosity piqued. "Thanks, Timmy," he says, tucking it into his bag. "I'll show it to him." Timmy nods, his eyes bright with excitement. "You know, sometimes when I feel sad or overwhelmed, I just pretend I'm that hero. It helps me." Chip nods, his mind racing with ideas. He's never seen autism as a superpower before. Could this be a way to help his dad feel more like the hero he's always been to him? When Chip gets home, he finds Plankton in the living room. He sets his bag down by the couch as he greets his dad, and Karen, who's in the kitchen. "Hi, Mom; Hi, Dad!" Plankton's eye lights up at the sight of him. "How was school?" He asks, curious as to how Chip's first day went. "It was ok," Chip says, his mind still racing with thoughts of Timmy and his own father's autism. "I met a kid like you, Dad." Plankton's face falls slightly. "What do you mean?" He asks. "I mean," Chip starts, his voice shaky. "He had what you... I'll just show you the book!" He pulls out "AUSOME AUsomeness" from his bag, handing it to Plankton with excitement. Plankton looks at the cover, his eye narrowing as he opens it. "See, Dad?" Chip says, pointing to a part where the character uses his hand flapping to take flight. "It's like you w---" But Plankton's face is a mask of anger and hurt. "What's wrong?" Chip asks, his heart racing. Plankton slams the book shut. "Don't you dare," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't you dare patronize me, Chip." He stands up, his hands shaking. "I'm not some comic book character to be made fun of or turned into a joke!" His voice echoes through the house, the pain in it palpable. Karen rushes in, alarmed by the sudden outburst. "Plankton, what's wrong?" She asks, her eyes darting between the two. "This," Plankton says, waving the book. "This is what you think of me?" The anger in his voice is sharp. "How could you, Chip?" He asks, his voice trembling. "How could you think I'd want to be seen like some unrealistically childish hero?" The room is tense, the air thick with emotions. Karen's eyes dart between her husband and son, trying to gauge the situation. Chip's face falls, the joy from his new friendship with Timmy dissipating. Timmy's autistic and loved it, so why doesn't Chip's autistic father.. "I'm sorry," he stammers, his voice small. "I just thought...it might help." But Plankton's anger doesn't waver. "You thought turning me into a caricature would make it better?" He asks, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Is that what you think of me?" Chip's eyes fill with tears as he watches his dad's pain unfold. "Dad, I don't underst--" "No," Plankton cuts him off. "You DON'T understand. You think it's fun to play pretend with something that's a daily struggle for me?" His voice breaks. "You think making it a game will just make it go away?" He throws the book across the room, where it hits the wall with a thud. Chip's eyes follow the book, his heart sinking. He didn't mean to make his dad feel this way. "But a new friend of mine said--" "I don't care what some stranger said!" Plankton interrupts, his voice rising. "This is my life, Chip! My struggle!" His hands are shaking as he clutches the back of the couch. Karen steps in. "Let's talk this out," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "We're all on the sa-" "No!" Plankton snaps, cutting her off. He turns to Chip, his eye boring into his son's. "You think my autism is a game? You think I can just pretend it's a superpower and poof, everything's fine?" His voice cracks with each word. "You don't get it. You don't get what it's like to have a brain that fights you every second of every day." His hands are in fists now, his knuckles white. Chip feels like he's been punched in the gut. "Dad, please," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to...I don't know, make it better. Make you feel...happy." Plankton sits back down, his shoulders slumped. "Happy?" Plankton repeats. "You think making a joke out of it makes me happy?" Chip feels like he's walking on eggshells. "No, Dad," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just...wanted to share something that made us feel better." He looks down at his own hands, which are now trembling. "I just want you to be happy too."

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.

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!

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💙 Most kids with ASD are either hypersensitive or hyposensitive to stimuli like noises, lights, touch, etc. If someone has Autism and/or PTSD, he/she may be more prone to sensory overload and startle more easily. That means there’s not much information about how typical treatment methods can or should be adjusted for patients with ASD. According to this article, a nurse could… Offer home-based services Use more visual aids, such as gradient scales to describe degrees of emotion Keep appointment times regular and predictable as much as possible Provide sensory toys or allow children to bring their own Emphasize the possibility of a “happy ending” after trauma―​“this correlates well with the documented effectiveness of social stories, narratives and role-playing in therapy involving individuals with ASD” Be mindful of how often society dismisses the emotions of autistic people Involve other trusted caregivers …and more. Essentially, the therapist should keep the child’s unique strengths and limitations in mind at each step and be open to flexibility. Remember to… Not take behavior personally Be willing to listen without pressuring him/her to talk Identify possible triggers and help him/her avoid them Remain calm and understanding when he/she is emotional Let him/her make age-appropriate choices so he/she feels in control of his/her life Be patient 💙

😷 Before beginning trauma-focused therapy it is important to stabilise the individual with emotional coping strategies and creating feelings of safety. Support strategies that have been found to be helpful in the general population include: mindfulness and grounding in the present moment creating feelings of safety (for example an object/picture that symbolises safety) sensory soothing Autistic people may require: a greater number of sessions a longer or shorter duration to each session regular breaks. 😷

😷 Treatments should be appropriately adapted for autistic people and their individual needs. (Rumball et al. 2020) and Kerns et al. (2022) suggest a number of other events that autistic people found traumatic: abandonment by/loss of a loved one (for example a family member, pet or support staff) sensory experiences (for example fire alarms) transitions and change (for example school transitions, routine changes with the seasons, unpredictability in day to day life) social difficulties and confusion (for example difficulties interpreting social cues, misunderstandings and conflicts) events related to one’s own mental health difficulties (for example psychotic experiences). Autistic people may also be more likely to find these experiences traumatic due to autistic characteristics such as: sensory sensitivities communication and social interaction differences distress around changes to routines distress if prevented from taking part in repetitive and restricted behaviours such as stimming. Some theories suggest that other factors associated with being autistic, may mean an increased risk of developing or maintaining PTSD symptoms But just because symptoms aren’t crippling doesn’t mean you're not affected. 😷

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

Here are some idioms that use the word "chip": Chip on your shoulder An informal expression that means someone feels inferior or believes they've been treated unfairly. For example, "You will never make friends if you go around with a chip on your shoulder". Chip off the old block A person who resembles one parent in appearance or behavior. For example, "His son is just a chip off the old block". Chip in To contribute money, time, or advice to a cause or fund. For example, "Every member of the team chipped in to help pay for the coach's surgery". Cash in your chips To sell something, such as investments, to raise money. It can also be used as slang to mean to die. Bargaining chip Something that can be used to gain an advantage when trying to make a deal or an agreement. For example, "The workers used the threat of a strike as a bargaining chip in their negotiations". Blue chip A term that comes from poker, where chips used in gambling have different colors to represent different dollar amounts. A blue chip is typically the one with the highest value. call in (one's) chipscall in your chipscash (one's) chips incash incash in (one's) chipscash in chipscash in one's chipscash in your chipscheap as chipschipchip (away) at (something)chip and dipchip atchip awaychip buttychip inchip in for (something)chip in on (something)chip in with (something)chip in with (something) for (something)chip offchip off the old blockchip off the old block, achip on one's shoulderchip on one's shoulder, to have achip on shoulderchip shotchip upchipschips and dipchips are down, thechips with everythingcow chipcow chipsget a chip on (one's) shoulderhand in (one's) chipshas had its chipshave a chip on (one's) shoulderhave a chip on your shoulderhave had (one's) chipshave had your chipsin the chipsin the moneylet the chips fall (where they may)let the chips fall where they maymint chocolate chippass in (one's) chipspiss on (someone's) chipsput a chip on (one's) shoulderput all (of) (one's) chips on the tablespit chipsthe chips are downwhen the chips are down "All that and a bag of chips"---this phrase is usually a slam against someone who is conceited or arrogant. Perhaps the phrase originates in the concept of completeness; a meal complete with a "bag of chips".Aug 11, 2014

Why autistic people are like cats: - We are highly sensitive. - We don't like loud or sudden noises. - We are easily spooked and startled. - Especially because we are zoning out, like, all the time. - We love to be held and touched and petted and cuddled bUT ONLY IF IT WAS OUR IDEA! - We're picky eaters. - Easily distracted. - Solitary creatures. - Takes us a while to warm up to people and be comfortable around them. - Our idea of being "social" is just hanging around the vicinity or in the same room as other people but not necessarily interacting with them. - We are finicky, particular, meticulous creatures of habit and we have a comfort zone we will defend with our lives. - If we deem you worthy, you will be allowed into our comfort zone. - Gaining our love and trust is super rewarding because it is not easily done. Be flattered. - If you touch us unexpectedly we will flinch or jump. - We are awesome predators and get super intense about stuff one nickname for the ADHD gene is "the hunter gene") - We are cute and lovable and have a lot of personality. - Many autistic children love to feel enclosed and secure and so love secret hiding places and cubby holes (i.e., "if I fits, I sits") - We sometimes appear to freak out at nothing and scamper away for no reason but really it's because we can hear things you can't and some sounds bother us. - Because we have such hyper-sensitive senses, any snuggles you give us will be a million times more rewarding for you because you'll know and appreciate just how intensely we're enjoying them. - Please give us food or we will boop your nose in your sleep.

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

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

ℑ𝔪 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣. 💀

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

"disabilities aren't aesthetic" Yes, but you don't need to say this under the posts of disabled people showing off cute mobility aids, decorated med organisers, a cute bed set up, the art piece that represents their disabilities, etc. Whether theyre your fellow disabled folk or especially so if you're able-bodied/neurotypical, allow disabled people freedom of expression and the little joys they can. People cope with their disabilites in diverse ways, and sometimes that means you will see a disabled person romanticizing their life, or making their aids aesthetic. Someone existing and expressing themselves, making their lives more comfortable and enjoyable, should not be seen as ”glorifying” anything. I’m not telling anyone to go make themselves disabled, nobody should take their health for granted.

Info tips for practitioners w/ autism and/or sensitivities First, thank you for caring. Not trying to question your expertise in health. Now, Autism is a spectrum. It’s not something one can turn off. It’s not a choice. Most of us are not trying to be demanding. If any thing, we’re afraid of being seen as childish, picky, high maintenance, bossy, rude, etc. We can easily get overwhelmed. We want to compromise with you. If we ask for another nurse to do something or if we know we cannot handle a procedure without certain accommodations, it’s not personally attacking against you. You have the power to provide the care and provide us any options; individuals know their own personal tolerance and needs. We do not ever want to start arguments. We do not want to inconvenience you over something, as we do not feel entitled. Having sensitivities not by choice, as it is more than inconvenience but also painful. We always feel when you do your best. We’re both human, autistic or not. It is not a choice.

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

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

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

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

“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

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

"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.

For Employers w/ disabled workers If a person who has a disability wants to work they might have difficulty getting jobs. There are different types of disabilities to varying degrees. First, inform them the expectations of the job. Make sure they know how to do the job as you train. Give warnings (and explain why behind the warning) before resorting to termination, as some people might not under stand what they did wrong. Even if the disability is confidential, explain to coworkers not to give the employee a hard time, without divulging. Don’t touch the employee or their belongings (including any mobility aids) without asking them first. Allow the employee extra time if necessary so as to not overwhelm them. Monitor the surroundings to make sure no harassment takes place, possible barriers to accessibility, etc. Try not to get frustrated if they do something differently than what others might do, such as note reminders, etc.

What’s disabilities? Being disabled can have various meanings. Physical disabilities are usually more visible. Even so, it might not be readily apparent. One individual can have more than one disability. But it’s not by choice, even in an elective amputation, mental disorders, ptsd vía warfare, etc. Some disabilities are more invisible, if internal or having to do with mentality. No matter what disability, it’s important to not have unreachable standards whilst at the same time not be patronising. Some disabilities are from congenital, meaning they were born with it or had their whole life. Some disabilities are acquired later in life such as an external injury they got.

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

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

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

💙 An Autism Specific Care Plan helps families give hospital staff important information. It tells them how to communicate and interact with the child and keep them safe. Families who use Autism Specific Care Plans feel happier with their care and feel that health care providers are better at working with their child or teen with autism. Hospitals and emergency rooms can also think about making changes to help patients with autism. Small changes can all help lower anxiety for kids and adults with autism. Some of these changes include keeping wait times short, creating a calm space, and playing a movie in the waiting area. Making sure parents are part of all medical care and treated as experts on their child can help both families and staff. Finally, hospital staff can try communicating in the way the patient prefers (talking vs. typing, etc.). 💙

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⡤⠶⠖⠒⠒⠶⢤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠶⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠳⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⠤⣦⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠶⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢤⣤⣤⠤⠤⠶⠖⠚⠛⠉⠉⠀⣸⡏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠶⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⣰⡿⢿⡆⠀⢸⣿⢦⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡿⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢞⣫⣭⣭⣉⡙⢿⣄⠘⣿⣄⠀⣿⡶⢛⣉⣉⡙⠳⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡝⣧⠈⠻⣦⡸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣄⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⡤⠤⠤⠶⠶⠒⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢹⣧⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣻⡇⠀⠀⠺⣯⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠹⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⡆⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣾⠟⠀⢸⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢡⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠻⢦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠋⢿⣆⡛⠿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢋⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠻⢦⣍⣉⣉⣭⡶⠛⣽⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⢦⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠀⠀⣈⠛⠶⠤⠤⠴⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠄⠒⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⠞⠋ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢳⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣄⡓⠄⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠶⠋⠉⠛⠒⠒⠒⠚⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢳⡶⠶⠤⢤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⠤⠤⠶⠖⠚⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⢶⣆⠀⢀⣾⠇⠀⠀⢠⡿⠚⠛⣾⠛⠋⠉⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣟⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⠴⠶⠛⠋⠁⢸⡟⣠⡾⠃⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠇⠀⠀⢀⣟⢦⡀⠀⠀⠸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⣇⠈⣲⡄⠀⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠶⢤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣈⣇⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⠶⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⣶⣦⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠒⢰⠆⠀⠐⠃⢒⠐⠂⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 3 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton's mouth feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, his tongue thick. He tries to form words. "Ma...ma..." he whispers, his voice a slur. Karen's eyes light up at the sound. "You're ok," she says, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "You had your teeth out. You might feel funny for a little while." He looks at Karen, his eye searching hers. "Wh...wh...whath?" he stammers, his speech jumbled. Karen leans closer, her smile reassuring. "Your wisdom teeth, Plankton. They took them out so you won't have any trouble with them later." But the words don't make sense to him, his brain still fuzzy from the anesthesia. He tries to speak again. "Wi...wis...wis..." he stammers. Karen nods. "Wisdom teeth," Karen repeats slowly. "They're out now. You're all done!" The words swirl in Plankton's head, not quite making sense. He feels his mouth, the cottony feeling replaced by the pressure of gauze. He giggles. "My moufs fweel funmy," he says, his words slurred. Karen laughs softly. "It's because of the surgery, sweetie. Your mouth is healing." She coos. "I fink I sownd funny," he says, his eye glinting with mirth. The nurse returns, checking his vitals. "How are you feeling?" she asks. Plankton looks up, his eye glassy. "Wibidy wobidy," he slurs, his speech a mess of sounds and syllables. Karen can't help but laugh, despite the situation. "You're doing great," she says with love for his confused silliness. The nurse chuckles, too. "It's the anesthesia," she explains. "It'll wear off soon." His gaze darts to his own fingers. "Wook at my fingews," he says to Karen, his speech slurred from the anesthesia. Karen nods, smiling. "Oh yeah?" Plankton nods, his cognitive abilities still under the fog. "Yeth," he slurs, trying to sit up. "Take it easy," she says. "You're still woozy." The room feels like it's spinning as Plankton tries to sit up, his brain struggling to keep up with his body's movements. "Wha...?" he mumbles, his gaze unfocused. But Plankton's curiosity wins out. He reaches up to touch a finger to his mouth, feeling the thickness of the gauze. "Fingews," he repeats, his voice still slurred. Karen laughs with affection. "It's ok honey," she says. "You're doing great." Plankton looks around the room, his eye still unfocused. "Wheh...wheah awe we?" he mumbles. The nurse explains patiently, "You're in the recovery room at the dentist's office. You just had your wisdom teeth removed." But the words don't quite register, and he nods slowly, his mind racing with confusion and curiosity with wonder, taking in the world as if seeing it for the first time. The colors, the shapes, the sounds—everything is fresh and new. He looks at his hands as if it's an alien appendage. "Wook ath dis," he says to Karen, his voice a mix of amazement and bewilderment. His fingers spread wide, then close into a fist, then open again. "Wook whath I can do!" Karen swells with love. It's like watching him discover the world anew, like a baby seeing his own hands for the first time. She can't help but smile at his innocent fascination. The nurse nods at Karen. "You can take him home now. Just make sure he rests and takes it easy." Karen nods, her smile never leaving her screen. She helps Plankton up. "Hi," he says, his voice a slurred mumble. As they make their way to the car, Plankton's steps are unsteady, his body still fighting the remnants of the anesthesia. He looks around with wonderment, as if seeing the world in a new light. "Mowah?" he asks, pointing to the sky. Karen laughs gently. "It's the sun, honey. It's ok." Plankton nods, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle of his reality. "We're gonna pick up Chip from the park. He's with Hanna.." "Chip...Chip, Chip," he repeats, the word rolling off his tongue. The car ride is a blur of sounds and sensations that Plankton tries to filter out. He leans his head against the cool window, watching the world pass by in a haze. Karen keeps glancing back at him in the rearview mirror, amusement etched on her face. "You ok?" she asks. Plankton nods, his eye heavy. "Tiwed," he murmurs. "Try not to fall asleep," she says. "Because we're almost there." His eye drifts to the passing scenery. Trees whiz by. He counts the telephone poles, his slurred voice mumbling the numbers. "One, two, free, four..." "Almost there," Karen says. Plankton nods, his hand finding the seatbelt buckle, tracing its edges. "Five, sis, seb..." But alas, Plankton's efforts to stay alert are in vain. His lid flutters and his head nods. "Plankton, keep your eye open," Karen says, her voice a gentle reminder. But his body has other plans, succumbing to the sedative's embrace. "Wake up, Plankton," Karen says, a hint of laughter in her tone. She knows he can't help it. His slumber is deep, his snores a soft echo in the car. She watches him in the mirror, his face relaxed in sleep. It's a rare sight. Plankton's normally alert and active demeanor is replaced by a peaceful stillness that fills the car. The surgery was a success, yet the anesthesia has taken its toll. Karen pulls into the parking lot of the park, the sun casting a warm glow. "Wakey, wakey," she sings. Plankton's snores hitch, but his eye stays shut. She opens the car door and the chilly air fills the car, carrying with it the laughter of children playing. "Plankton," she calls, her voice gentle but firm. He stirs, his body protesting the interruption. "Chip?" he mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep. Karen laughs softly. "Yes, we're here to get Chip. Time to wake up." She reaches over and squeezes his hand. His eye blinks open, the pupil dilating as he takes in his surroundings. "Wha...?" he mumbles, his brain still fighting the anesthesia. Hanna and Chip look up as their car approaches. "What happened?" Chip asks as he gets in the car. Karen starts to answer, but Plankton's slurred interjection stops her. "Dey hook my teefs!" he says, his words a jumble. Chip's eyes widen. "He had his wisdom teeth out," Karen explains. Hanna looks at Plankton, her expression one of concern. "How are you feeling?" she asks. "Wibidy wobidy," he slurs. "Buh I dunno." Karen smiles. "So, we went to the dentist," she says, waving bye to Hanna. "They had to take his wisdom teeth out." Chip looks confused. "What does that mean, Mom?" He asks Karen. "Well Chip, your dad had some teeth that were gonna cause problems, so they took them out," Karen starts. "But the medicine they gave him makes him feel funny. It's like when you have a sleepover and wake up groggy." Chip nods. "What medicine?" He continues. Plankton tries to answer, but his speech is still slurred. "Dey gabe me sumpin' to sleep," he mumbles, his eye half-closed. "It's called anesthesia," Karen says, her voice calm and steady. "It's what helps people not feel pain during surgery." Chip nods, watching his dad with a mix of curiosity and concern. "But it makes him a bit loopy," Karen adds as they pull away. "Chip," Plankton starts. "Whath thad?" "It's my hand, Dad," Chip answers, confused. "Chip's hamv?" Plankton persists, his mind still fuzzy. Karen chuckles, seeing his curiosity piqued. "Chip's hamv?" Plankton repeats, his speech still slurred. Chip holds up his hand. "It's just a hand, Dad," he says. Karen laughs. "It's his hand, Plankton. It's ok. You're just a bit loopy." "Wook ath the clows," Plankton says, lazily pointing at the clouds. Karen smiles. "They're just clouds," she says. Plankton giggles, his eye glazed with a childlike wonder. Karen knows this phase won't last, but she cherishes it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

🧠ᵗᶤʳᵉᵈ ᵇʳᴬᶤᶰ 🧠

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

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

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

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.

✍︎ 𝑹𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 ✯ ᴛᴏᴘɪᴄs 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 |✯| 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 ✯𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅/𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅/𝑬𝑻𝑪 𝑇𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐 𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝓡𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝑎 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝑳𝑮𝑩𝑻𝑸+ 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 ✯𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝑑𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 ✯𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝ℎ𝑦𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑡ℎ 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐞.𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝐷𝑟𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝐴𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑦, 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦, 𝑇𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑𝑦 '𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬' ✯𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉, 𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝐵𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧 ✯𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐴𝑛𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟𝐬 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐶ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑐ℎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑡 ✯𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐈𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝙲𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙘, 𝙫𝙖𝙭𝙭𝙚𝙙 𝙙𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗒𝗇𝖺𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗒𝗅𝖾 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲/𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 ✯𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐼𝑓 𝑟 𝑏𝑎𝑑𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑗𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑖𝑓 𝑜𝑘𝑎𝑦

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

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ii (Autistic Author) Chip's eyes fill with tears, and he looks away, trying to hide his emotions. "I just want to understand," he says, his voice small. "I don't need to explain myself to you," he snaps, his eye cold and distant. But Chip is undeterred. He's seen his mother's gentle touch work wonders on his father during his seizures, so he decides to try it. He reaches out and places a small hand on Plankton's shoulder. "It's ok, Dad," he whispers. "You can tell me." Plankton flinches at the touch, his antennae stiffening. "I said it's not your business," he repeats, his voice a low growl. Karen can see the internal struggle playing out on his face, the effort it takes to maintain his anger when all he really wants is to retreat into safety. "Plankton," Karen says softly, placing her hand over Chip's. "It's ok." Her voice is a gentle reminder of the love that exists between them all, a love that has grown and adapted to Plankton's condition over the years. But anger in Plankton's eye doesn't fade. He stares at his son, his jaw tight, his antennae quivering with barely restrained frustration. Karen can feel the tension in his arm, the way his muscles are taut under her touch. "It's ok," she repeats, her voice a soothing balm. "Chip just wants to understand." But Plankton's anger doesn't dissipate. He sits there, his eye still cold and distant, his body rigid with tension. "I don't need to justify myself," he says, his voice a knife slicing through the air. Karen's heart sinks further. This was not how she had hoped the conversation would go. "Dad," Chip starts, his voice trembling. "I just want to know why-" "I SAID it's not your business," Plankton barks, his eye flashing. Plankton's anger is a storm that needs to pass before they can talk it out, and Karen doesn't want to force the issue here. Karen nods at Chip, signaling for him to give his father space. With a sad smile, she stands up and takes the frisbee from his hand. "Why don't you go play for a little while?" she suggests, her voice gentle. "Give Dad and me some time to talk." Chip nods, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. He takes a few steps away before turning back to look at his dad. "I'm here if you need me," he says, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice. Then he runs off, the frisbee clutched tightly in his hand. Plankton's anger lingers like a fog around him, thick and heavy. Karen can see it in the way he sits, his shoulders hunched and his antennae flat against his head. She knows he needs a moment to compose himself, to come down from overstimulation. The silence stretches between them, taut with unspoken words and fear. Plankton's gaze follows Chip as he disappears into the playground, the frisbee a small beacon of hope in his hand. Karen waits, her heart aching for the pain she knows her son is feeling, the pain she feels herself. When Plankton's breathing finally starts to slow, she decides to break the silence. "It's okay, Plankton," she says softly. "Chip just doesn't understand." Karen sighs, her eyes filled with a mix of love and sadness. "You're just wired differently. And Chip loves you for who you are." Plankton shakes his head, his antennae still flat against his skull. "He doesn't know like." Karen's eyes never leave his face, her expression a mask of patience and love. "You're right," she says. "He doesn't know. But that doesn't mean he doesn't love you. He's just scared. And confused. We all are sometimes." Plankton's jaw tightens, and he looks away, not meeting her gaze. "I don't need his pity party," he mutters. Karen sits next to him, her hand resting on his knee. "It's not pity, Plankton. It's just love and curiosity. He wants to know so he can help, so he can be there for you." Plankton stays silent, his eye on the distant playground where Chip is trying to fit in with the other kids. The anger is still there, a palpable presence that makes the air around them feel charged. "I know you're mad," Karen says, her voice calm and soothing. "But you know we can't keep this from him forever. He's growing up, and he needs to understand." Plankton's eye still on Chip, but the anger is slowly fading, replaced by a heavy sadness. "I don't want him to tell I'm a monster," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. Karen's heart breaks a little more. "You're not a monster," she says firmly. "You're a wonderful father, Plankton. And Chip loves you. He just doesn't understand." Plankton's gaze finally shifts to her, his eye glistening. "I don't know how to handle this," he admits, his voice strained. "I don't know how to explain it to him. I don't even understand it half the time." Karen reaches up and places a hand on his cheek, turning his face to hers. "You don't have to explain it all at once," she says gently. "We'll do it together, ok?" Plankton nods, his expression still taut with tension. He takes a deep breath and finally relaxes a bit, his antennae rising slightly. "Ok," he murmurs. Karen stands up, her hand still on his shoulder, and together, they walk over to the playground to collect Chip. His eyes light up when he sees them approaching, and he runs over, the frisbee abandoned in his excitement. "Dad, are you ok?" he asks, throwing his arms around Plankton. Plankton stiffens and gasps as Chip embraces him in a hug. Karen's heart clenches at the sight, knowing how much her husband despises sudden physical contact. "Come on, let's go home," she says gently, her hand on Chip's shoulder guiding him away from Plankton. The walk home is quiet, each step punctuated by the thump of Chip's sneakers against the pavement. Karen's on her husband, his shoulders slumped and his gaze cast downward. As they enter the house, the familiar creaks and groans of the floorboards welcome them home. Plankton heads straight for his workshop, the place where he finds solace in the chaos of the world. Chip trails behind, his eyes glued to his father's retreating back. "Dad?" he calls out tentatively. Plankton pauses, his antennae drooping slightly, but doesn't turn around. Karen can see the turmoil in her son's eyes, the unanswered questions weighing him down. "Why don't you go to your room, Chip?" she suggests softly. "I'll talk to Dad." With a nod, Chip heads upstairs, his footsteps echoing through the house. Karen watches him go before turning to Plankton. "Let's go sit down," she says, leading him into the living room. She knows he'll need some time to recover from the onslaught of emotions that come with it. In the dim light of the room, Plankton slumps into the worn armchair, his eye avoiding hers. Karen takes a seat on the couch opposite him, her hands folded in her lap. "We need to talk about this," she says gently. "You can't just push Chip away when something like this happens." He's silent for a long moment, his antennae twitching nervously. "I know," he says finally, his voice gruff. "It's just... I don't know how to deal with it. With him seeing me like that." Karen's heart goes out to him. She knows the fear that comes with the unknown, the fear of being judged, of losing the ones you love because they don't understand. She takes a deep breath and speaks softly. "You don't have to deal with it alone, Plankton. We're a family. We're in this together." Plankton doesn't respond immediately, his gaze still fixed on the floor. But slowly, his antennae start to rise, a sign that he's listening, that he's starting to come out of his shell. Karen waits, giving him the space he needs. Finally, he looks up, his eye meeting hers. "I've always tried to be a good father," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "You are," Karen reassures. "You're the best father Chip could ask for." Plankton nods, his antennae relaxing slightly. "But I don't know how to explain it to him," he says, his voice tight. "I don't want him to..." "To what?" Karen prompts, her tone gentle. "I don't want him to think of me as... less than," Plankton murmurs, his gaze flickering towards the stairs where Chip had disappeared. "To gawk, nor to prompt.." Karen crosses the room and takes his hand, her touch a comforting presence. "He doesn't think that," she says firmly. "He just wants to know so he can help. And so he doesn't have to be scared." Plankton sighs, his shoulders slumping further. "I know," he admits. "But it's hard, Karen." Karen nods, her grip on his hand tightening. "I know it is, but we can't keep this from him forever. He's going to have questions, and he deserves answers. I’ll let him back now." With a deep breath, Plankton nods.

abled people: can you do the thing?? disabled people: … technically yes BUT it would hurt l/ruin my day/trigger a flare/exhaust me/be a fall risk/make me more sick AND THEN I would have to spend a day in bed/increase my dosage/cancel all my other plans/spend a week recovering afterwards abled people: … but you CAN do it

Is Wednesday Addams Autistic? The question of Wednesday Addams neurotypicality has been going around the internet since the series was released. I have gathered some points asto whether she is actually autistic. To begin, she shows ahypersen sitivity towards colour as her mother says, "she is allergic to colour" and Wednesday's response to being asked what happens she says, "I break out into hives and then the flesh peels off my bones*". She also dislikes touch (like hugging), which is very usual for autistic people, either because of sen sory reasons or discomfort. It did take the whole season for her to be okay with hugging Enid. Hyper/hypo sensitivity - the over or under-responsiveness towards certain sensory stimuli is very common in autism and most autistic people experience both - in extreme cases being overwhelmed due to sensory differences or overstimulation can lead to meltdowns; what Wednesday explained happens to her may not be the typical behaviour of an autistic meltdown (rocking, crying, hitting etc.) so can we still consider this autistic? She is afictional character after all but let us continue to analyse her and figure it out. The next thing she does which may be considered autistic is dedicating one hour a day to her novel. Now, why is this autistic? A strict adherence to rules and being set in patterns is atypical trait of ASD, often people on the spectrum prefer to have routines so that they know what is going to happen. There is a comfort in doing things in a fixed pattern. Individuals with ASD even show reduced cognitive flexibility which is whythere is such difficultyin changing patterns, as well as it being overwhelming. To move on, Wednesday has very fixed interests and knows them with great depth, she showsthis with her knowledge in foren sie pathology and plants - she masters her skills - and as she says about herself, "I know I'm stubborn, single minded and obsessive", sheis stubborn so gets a task complete, she is single minded so very set in her ways and obsessive which in autistic people, obsessions can be a way to cope and feel less stressed about one's surroundings Most autistic people have fixated interests of abnormal intensity, is this the case with Wednesday Addams or is she just smart? As we all know, a level of social awkwardness comes with having autism, let us talk about Wednesday's social behaviour. Firstly, she doesn't show much body language when talking to anyone and has somewhat abnormalities of eye contact; she doesn't blink for long periods and or doesn't have much emotion in her eyes which can make it hard for other peopleto interpret her emotions, along with alack of facial expressions and speaking in a monotonous tone -which is usual of typical autistics. Secondly, when she does feel emotion while talking to someone (upset or other) she seems to mask in that moment while trying to compute her emotions, she has a difficulty

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS i (Autistic Author) Karen went to the park. Her husband, Plankton, sat by her. Karen glanced over and saw the soft smile on his face, a smile that had greeted her every morning for the past twenty-five or so years. The park was alive with laughter, the distant sound of a ball bouncing off the pavement and the occasional squawk from a seagull. Plankton's eye were closed, his breathing slow and steady. He was enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun on his face. Suddenly, their adopted son Chip burst into their peaceful scene, his cheeks flushed from running. He was holding a frisbee that had strayed from its intended path, and he called out to them with the enthusiasm of a young boy who had discovered something wonderful. "Look what I found!" he exclaimed, oblivious to the delicate moment he was interrupting. Plankton jolts. Karen's notices her husband's sudden movement. His eye open wide, and he stares into the distance unseeing, unblinking. She knows the signs all too well. Plankton is having one of his shutdowns. But Chip's dart between the frisbee and his parents, sensing something amiss. "Dad?" Chip says, tentatively. Karen jumps up and grabs Plankton's arm, gently squeezing to bring him back. "It's ok, honey," she whispers, her voice steady. Chip's smile fades as he sees his father's unresponsive state. He drops the frisbee, forgotten in his grip, and takes a cautious step closer. "What's happening?" he asks, his voice cracking. Plankton's body remains eerily still, like a statue. The only indication that he's alive is the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Karen's eyes dart around the area, checking if anyone has noticed. She doesn't want to draw unwanted attention. "It's ok, Dad's just taking a little break," she murmurs, setting the frisbee aside. He's never seen these before, nor knows the drill. Chip takes in Plankton's unblinking gaze. Karen feels a pang of guilt for keeping this part of Plankton's condition hidden from their kid. But it's a dance they've been performing for years, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy amidst Plankton's condition. Karen focuses solely on Plankton, willing him to come back to her. She feels the warmth of his hand under hers, but there's no response, no squeeze, no recognition of her touch. Karen's gaze is fixed on her husband's face, searching for any hint of life, any flicker of consciousness. She whispers his name, a soft mantra, trying to anchor him to reality. But Chip doesn't understand. His eyes are wide, full of fear and confusion as he watches his dad frozen in place. "What's a 'little break'?" he asks, voice trembling. Karen's heart tightens; she's always shielded Chip, hoping to spare him the worry and fear. "It's like when you zone out," she explains gently, hoping to relate it to something he might have experienced. "Remember when you were playing video games and I had to call you for dinner three times before you heard me?" Chip nods slowly, still glued to Plankton's unmoving form. "It's like that," Karen continues, "But for Dad, it happens without warning." Chip nods again, trying to process this new information. He's always known his dad was different, but seeing him like this is something he's never had to face before. He takes a deep breath and tries to hold back his tears, not wanting to scare Plankton when he wakes up. "What do we do?" he whispers, his voice shaky. Karen squeezes Plankton's hand gently, never leaving his face. "Just wait," she instructs Chip calmly. "These usually don't last long. But if you need to, you can tell anyone who asks that he's okay, just deep in thought." Chip nods, trying to mimic his mother's calm demeanor, but his eyes betray his anxiety. He's never seen his dad like this, never knew that these moments of stillness were a part of him. Plankton's condition, a form of autism, can leave him with anger issues and overload. Karen feels the weight of the secret they've kept from Chip all these years. Plankton's autistic neurodivergence had always been a part of their lives, but they had shielded their son from the full extent of it. They had hoped he would understand when he was older, but now the moment had come unplanned, and she wasn't sure if ready. "Why does Dad zone out?" Chip asks, his voice small. Karen sighs, deciding it's time for the truth. She sits down next to Plankton, keeping her hand on his arm. "Dad has something called 'neurodivergence', Chip. It's like his brain works differently than ours. Sometimes it helps him see the world in amazing ways, but it can also be hard for him. These little breaks are his brain's way of processing." Chip stares at her, trying to grasp the concept. "So, he's not just ignoring us?" "No, sweetie," Karen says. "He's not ignoring us. It's like his brain needs a time-out, like when you play for to long and your phone heats up and/or dies, but will still work eventually." The wind picks up, rustling through the leaves above them, and a chill runs down Chip's spine. He nods slowly, watching his dad's chest rise and fall in the silence. It's strange to see someone so still, so quiet, yet so obviously alive. "But why haven't you told me before?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's eyes well up with tears she quickly blinks away. "We wanted to protect you," she admits. "I didn't want you to be scared and he doesn’t want you to think of him differently." "But it's okay to think differently," Chip argues, his voice growing stronger. "Dad's always been there for me, even if he doesn't hug me a lot." Karen smiles sadly, stroking Plankton's arm. "It's not just about thinking differently, Chip. It's about how his brain processes things. Sometimes, too much sensory input can overwhelm him. That's why he might seem distant or not as affectionate as other dads. It's not because he doesn't like you," she reassures him. "It's because hugging or loud noises can be really intense for him." Chip's eyes widen with understanding. "So, that's why he doesn't like it when I jump on him?" "Yes," Karen nods. "But it doesn't mean he loves you any less. He just shows it in his own way. Like when he spends hours helping you build that Lego castle, or when he makes those amazing sea creature sculptures that you love so much." Chip's shoulders slump, and he sits down on the bench beside his mother, staring at his dad with a newfound curiosity. "Does he know I know now?" "I don't think so, honey," Karen says, her voice still low and soothing. "These episodes usually last just a few minutes. It's like he's somewhere else, but he'll come back to us." The park's sounds swirl around them, muffled by the tension that has settled in the air. Karen watches Plankton's expression, waiting for the telltale twitch of his antennae that signals his return to the present. Finally, Plankton blinks and looks at Karen, his gaze momentarily unfocused before recognition floods back into his eye. He looks around, startled by his surroundings, and then at Chip, who is staring at him. "What happened?" Plankton asks, his voice groggy. Karen releases a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "You had one of your zoning-out moments," she says, her voice calm and gentle. Plankton looks at her, then at Chip, who is watching him with a mix of curiosity and fear. "I did?" Plankton's antennae twitch, and he rubs his head. "Yes," Karen says, her hand still on his arm. "Chip found a frisbee, remember?" Plankton's gaze shifts to the frisbee lying forgotten on the ground, then back to his son. He nods slowly, piecing the moments before together. "Ah," he murmurs, a hint of embarrassment crossing his face. Chip's curiosity outweighs his fear as he looks at his father. "Can I ask?" he asks tentatively. Karen nods, her heart swelling with pride at his bravery. "Of course, Chip." Chip looks at his dad, filled with questions. "Why’d you zone out?" he asks, his voice still hushed. "It's none of your business Chip," Plankton snaps, his eye flashing with a sudden fury that takes both Karen and Chip aback. His voice is harsh, the words cutting through the stillness of the park. Karen's heart sinks as she sees the hurt on Chip's face. Plankton's anger, a common side effect of his overload, surfaces without warning. She knows he doesn't mean it, but the sting is real for their son.

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

See both the person and the disability. On one hand, not seeing the person may lead you to introduce them as "my autistic friend," stereotype them, or treat them like a child. On the other, refusing to acknowledge the disability and not accommodating their needs is also unhelpful. Strike a balance by treating their differences as natural, and overall unremarkable. Be clear about how you feel and what you want. Autistic people may not pick up hints or cues, so it's best to directly state your feelings. This helps eliminate confusion on both ends, and that way if the autistic person has upset you, they have the opportunity to make amends and learn from it. Warning: In most cases, people with autism are unable to cope when under pressure, so don't pressure them. Ask questions about how you can be accommodating and helpful. Get insight on how to relate to this person by talking with them about what it is like for them in particular to live as an autistic person. You may find that they want to share and can tell you lots of useful information that will help you to relate to them better. When applying this information, be sure to consider your autistic loved one as an individual, and remember that each step won't always apply to each person.

The following link https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-018-05112-1 if read it shows Hans Asperger’s involvement w/ Nasi propaganda promoting problematic ideals calling autistics as psychopaths and deemed unfit in

There is no one-size-fits-all approach for autism Understand that every autistic person is different. Tailor treatment to the individual's needs. For example, one autistic person may have excellent self-care skills and above-average school performance, but need sensory integration therapy and social skills training. Another might be highly social but unable to care for herself and in need of counseling for depression.

Please don't touch me or stand too close. I have an Autistic Spectrum Condition. I process sensations differently. Sometimes I Can't cope with touch or physical contact. 4 ways to manage autism, anxiety and sensory overload Choose sensory-friendly events and places Choose sensory- friendly features • Fewer lights • Less background music • Noise blocking headphones • Calming rooms • Weighted blanket Make sensory experience shorter Reduce sensory experience • Take breaks from busy, noisy and bright places • Noise blocking headphones • Sunglasses For example, a child who has difficulty with the feeling of clothing and thus has difficulty getting dressed shows hypersensitivity. As a result, that child can experience sensory overload from clothing. It is also important to know that a toddler refusing to get dressed because they are exerting their independence or would rather play or do something else is not a child experiencing sensory overload. That is not hypersensitivity. That is normal for toddlers. So choose sensory-friendly providers or products. In particular, that helps people whose anxiety is made worse by what they experience from their senses. Hollander, E., & Burchi, E. (2018). Anxiety in Autism Spectrum Disorder. Anxiety & Depression Association of America

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NEURODIVERSITY Neurodiversity is the concept that insta: anthonymakessomeart differences in brain development, such as "Neurodivergent" is used to describe people who have different, or atypical, autism and adhd, are natural differences brain development, while "neurotypical" that should be accepted, like differences is used to describe people who have in hair texture or eye color. typical brain development. They are different, but equally deserving of acceptance and respect! The concept of naturally diverse brains is important to neurodivergent people because not only does it encourage acceptance from other people, but it encourages us to accept ourselves. It helps us to see that even though we are different, there is nothing wrong with us. It can also help neurodivergent people get the support they need, since accepting that everyone's brain functions differently means accepting that everyone needs help in different areas.

Children with autism exhibit a higher general and anxietʏ, due to altered sensory sensibilities. Autism or autistic disorder is a severe developmental disability that is characterised by an impairment in mutual social interactions, communication skills, and repetitive patterns of behaviours. They can also show an increased sensitivity to sounds, light, odours, and colours. The attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) was the most common disorder associated with the autistic group (71%) and the epilepsy with the control group (52%) (P < 0.089) It's important for the clinicians to know how to manage these affecting patıents in developmental age, ensuring an adequate and minimally invasive management using a prompt approach, when possible. So, a good communication can help to establish trust and build needed cooperation throughout the visit and treatment. All patıents in developmental age, especially with health disorders, need experienced doctors who know how to face promptly tr4uma under general anaesthesia, if possible. Moreover, a parent-reported questionnaire method would also help overcome this deficiency, provided that the parents remember all past tr4uma events of their children. Respondents often cited conflict between understanding the additional needs for successful treatment of autistic patıents and a lack of resources to implement support strategies. Despite this, some were positive about making the necessary modifications to support autistic patıents. Professionals should adapt their practises to meet the needs of their autistic patıents. Autism is a developmental condition associated with social communication difficulties, and the presence of rigid, repetitive behaviours and atypical sensory sensitivities. As such, the nature of procedures and the treatment environment may prove a particularly challenging area for individuals on the autistic spectrum. In particular, sensory atypicalities may pose a barrier to treatment. Many autistic individuals are hypersensitive to a multitude of stimuli such as bright lights, noise and touch. Further autism-specific challenges include communication difficulties between practitioner and patient, which has been reported to be a key element in failed or unpleasant visits for autistic adults. Given the bidirectional nature of communication, the practitioner clearly plays a crucial role in overcoming this area of challenge. Autistic people have reported significant difficulties in accessing adequate care. Five main themes emerged from these responses: (1) understanding individual needs, (2) the key role of communication, (3) the value of autism specific techniques; (4) a conflict between needs and resources and (5) positive and rewarding work. To ensure successful treatment, the individual needs of each patient needs to be taken into consideration, as it affects each client differently. Given the variability in needs and preferences of autistic people, an overreliance on personal experiences may lead to professionals offering 'one-size-fits-all' accommodations, consequently producing more discomfort for the patıents. It was encouraging, however, to see a number of respondents in the current study flag up an understanding of this individuality, and the need for a tailored approach. Indeed, a considerable number of respondents reported not being aware of any techniques available to reduce possible discomfort in autistic patıents. Autism (congenital or acquired) and symptoms are not a chøice.

Best Practices for Encouraging Special Interests in Children with Autism What Helps • Encouraging conversation about interest • Paying attention to non-verbal cues • Engaging in activity about interest • Allowing children to keep objects related to interest • Taking note of circumstances that promote calmness • Using interest as motivation for desired behaviors What Hurts • Treating the interest like it's boring • Ignoring non-verbal cues or gestures • Disengaging from the conversation • Forcing a discussion unrelated to the interest • Demanding that children think about other subjects • Leveraging interest as punishment

autistic-reptile love languages of autistics: • sending them posts/pictures related to their special interest them • talking to them while you're both looking in another direction so there's no pressure to make eye contact • making/buying them their same food • determining their happy stims and anxious stims so you know how they're feeling • specifying when you're being sarcastic/joking • sitting in the same room together in silence while you both do your own thing • prompting them to info dump (and listening) • • having extra earplugs/sunglasses/other sensory aids for them when they forget

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

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

💙 PFA TIPS: PAIN MANAGEMENT AND AUTISM By Alizah Patterson, MD, Pediatric Resident, PL-3 , The Herman & Walter Samuelson Children’s Hospital at Sinai Download a printable version of “Pain Management and Autism “ Sensory stimulation can be perceived very differently in people with autism spectrum disorder. It is common for children to be averse to certain types of taste, texture, and flavors. How they perceive pain, however, is not very well understood. Some people believe that people with autism may have a decreased sense of pain, but pain can manifest in different ways. Identifying and managing pain can be challenging for both healthcare providers and parents. Methods to assess pain Assessing pain in children can often be a challenge for providers and parents. For older children, the number pain scale is typically used with 0 representing no pain and 10 being the worst pain imaginable. The faces pain scale allows children to choose a face – images range from happy to crying – that shows how their pain is making them feel. For children who are nonverbal, the FLACC score is often utilized. This method looks at Facial expression, Leg positioning, Activity level, Crying and Consolability. This pain scale requires more time but can reliably assess pain responses in neurotypical individuals. People with ASD or intellectual disability, or any type of cognitive impairment may express pain in other ways and may require a customized FLACC scale. This would incorporate individualized pain behaviors which is more reliable in detecting pain in individuals with cognitive impairment. Again, this would require additional time and understanding of the scale. Research on autism and pain Not much research has been done on the topic of autism and pain, partly due to the challenges of assessing pain in children with communication difficulty and partly due to the common belief that people with autism have decreased sensitivity to pain or a high pain threshold. Studies conducted with people with high-functioning ASD tend to use a pain scale of 0-10. On this scale, patients tend to respond with lower numbers, but other methods of rating pain have shown varying results. Some studies have used observations of providers or parents, which also tended to show decreased sensitivity to pain in children with autism. Other studies have challenged the idea that people with autism experience less pain. These studies found that pain is expressed differently among those with autism. One study comparing children with autism, children with intellectual disabilities, and neurotypical children showed that both behavioral changes and physiologic changes (i.e. heart rate) were higher with pain, but face scores did not vary among the groups. Some case studies have found that when asked their pain score, verbal individuals with ASD respond with low scores, but when asked how much discomfort they have, the score tends to be higher. How does pain manifest in children with autism? Children with ASD may not express pain in typical ways – crying, moaning, or withdrawing from a painful stimulus – and therefore may often be labeled as less sensitive to pain. Several case studies have shown that though children may not show these typical signs or may not react to pain in the moment, they still have physiologic reactions and behavioral reactions. Even with no obvious reaction to a painful stimulus, they may start breathing fast or their heart rate may increase. They may have increased stimming behaviors, aggression, or anxiety after the painful incident. Individuals with ASD also tend to show behavior changes for longer after the painful incident than neurotypical children or children with intellectual disabilities. When assessing for pain in a nonverbal child with ASD, close attention should be paid to increased aggression, self-injurious behaviors, stimming, or any behavior that is not typical for that child. If they are acting unlike themselves, look for a possible source of discomfort or pain that may be present or was present in the near past. In a more verbal child, asking if they have pain or if something hurts may not accurately reflect what they are feeling. Using words such as “discomfort”, “uncomfortable”, or “anxiety” may better approximate the level of pain they are in. What can I do about my child’s pain? If a source of pain can be identified, treating that pain is of utmost importance. Treatment would be the same as for any other child—analgesics such as Tylenol or ibuprofen, ice, or heat (if tolerated), and rest. Parents and providers should be wary of hidden injuries that the patient may not be able to communicate about, such as a fracture or insect bite. If the source of pain cannot be identified or you are unsure of the severity of the injury/illness, always err on the side of caution and have a physician assess your child. They should do a full skin exam to look for scratches, bites, rashes, or other injuries. If an injury is suspected to a limb, x-rays may be needed to rule out a fracture. If no clear injury or illness can be identified, parents and providers should look for other possible medical causes for the behavior changes, like abdominal pain, headache, or urinary tract infection. For pain management during painful or stress-inducing medical procedures, like a blood draw, there are several techniques that can be used. Non-pharmacologic (medication) methods are preferred. Every child may respond differently to these techniques, so some trial and error may be necessary to determine the best method for your child. • Distraction: If your child has a preferred activity, engaging them in this activity during the procedure may significantly reduce their focus on pain. This could include watching a show, blowing bubbles, deep breaths, playing with a toy, or calming movements such as a parent rocking them. • Sensory distractions: There are several items that can be used to distract a child’s senses from the painful stimulus. A vibrating device or ice placed on the area of a blood draw or lumbar puncture can reduce the pain signal sent to the brain. • Topical pain control: There are a few topical medications that can be used to reduce pain sensation. A cooling spray at the site of the procedure is quick and easy. A numbing gel or cream can also be applied 20-30 minutes prior to the procedure, which has been shown to be an effective way to manage pain during IV sticks. However, this has not been shown to reduce anxiety or fear during procedures. • Deep pressure: Firm pressure, through squeezing or a tight hug, has been shown to significantly decrease anxiety and stress in individuals with autism. This method can also be used during medical procedures to decrease discomfort. Every child is different though, so deep pressure may be too much sensory stimulation for some. Medications can also be used to control pain, as well as anxiety, during medical procedures. Pre-medication with acetaminophen or ibuprofen may be helpful in reducing pain. For extremely painful procedures, an opioid may also be reasonable, per a physician’s assessment. Anti-anxiety medications may be helpful in reducing not only anxiety but also pain as they are typically slightly sedating. If you feel it is right for your child, discuss these options with your physician. When it comes to pain management in autism, remember these key points: • Always rule out pain when atypical behaviors occur or when certain behaviors increase. • Children are all different, whether in how their pain manifests or in what strategies work best to control their pain. • There are lots of non-medication options to help manage pain and anxiety during medical procedures. 💙

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If feasible, other tests the patient fears might be performed while the patient is sedated. For example, before or after dental work, vaccines could be administered, blood could be drawn, and gynaecology or other physical exams could be done. This practise requires coordination and communication among providers. 💙 https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3708482/

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

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𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 9 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton stands up and storms off to the bedroom, his steps heavy. The door slams shut behind him, the finality of it echoing through the house. Chip's eyes fill with tears, and he sinks to the floor, feeling like he's failed his dad. Karen sighs. "Chip," she says, her voice soft as she sits beside him. "Your dad's just really sensitive about his autism." She takes his hand. "You have to remember, it's not just something he can turn on or off." Chip nods, feeling small. He didn't mean to upset his dad. He just wanted to help, like Timmy had helped him. He thinks back to their lunchtime chat, Timmy's hands flapping freely as he talked about his 'superpowers'. It had made his dad's stims seem less like a 'problem' and more like something unique, something to celebrate. But now, Chip isn't so sure. He looks up at Karen, his eyes wet. "But Mom," he says, his voice cracking. "Today at school, I met a kid named Timmy. He said he's autistic, and gave me this book. He said this book makes him feel like a superhero. He told me the book made him feel seen, understood." Karen nods, listening intently as Chip speaks. "And I thought...maybe it could help Dad feel the same way," Chip continues, his voice trailing off. Karen's gaze softens. "You had good intentions, Chip," she says, squeezing his hand. "But everyone's different, even those with autism. What might help one person might not be the same for another. It's like a fingerprint—each one is unique." "But Timmy said it helps him," Chip argues, his voice small. Karen nods. "And that's wonderful for Timmy," she says. "But your dad's experience is his own. He's not as comfortable with it as Timmy might be. Autism is like a mosaic, Chip. Each piece is different, and they all come together to make a unique picture." She pauses, searching his eyes. "You can't always assume what works for one will work for another." Chip wipes his screen with the back of his hand, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. He didn't mean to make his dad feel worse. He just wanted to share something positive. "What do we do?" He asks, his voice cracking. Karen takes a deep breath. "We need to talk to him," she says. "We need to tell him that we love him exactly as he is, without conditions." She stands. They approach the bedroom door, Karen's hand on the knob. "But remember," she whispers to Chip. "He's fragile right now. We have to be gentle." They step inside, the room dimly lit. Plankton's lying on the bed, his back to them, his body still. Chip's heart squeezes. This isn't the invincible scientist he's always known. This is his dad, a man who's been hurt by misunderstanding. Karen clears her throat. "Plankton, we need to talk." Plankton doesn't move. "I'm sorry, Karen," he says, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I just don't have the energy for this right now." Chip's heart aches. He's never seen his dad so defeated. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to say. "Dad," he starts, his voice soft. "I'm sorry." Plankton's body tenses but doesn't turn around. "I didn't mean to make fun of you or make light of your autism. I just wanted to show you that someone else out there is just li—" "I don't want to be like someone else," Plankton says, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I just want to be me." Chip swallows hard, his eyes prickling with tears. "But Dad," he says, "you are like someone else. You're like my new friend. His name's Timmy, an-" "I don't know or care WHO Timmy is," Plankton cuts in, his voice sharp. "I'm Plankton." He rolls over to face them, his eye red. "I'm not a kid playing pretend. I'm a grown man trying to navigate a world that's always two steps ahead of me." Chip feels his heart crack. He'd never thought of it that way. "But what if you could see it as a strength?" He asks, his voice hopeful. "What if instead of trying to keep up, you could be the one setting the p-" "Setting the pace?" Plankton's voice is bitter. "How can I set the pace when I can't even keep up?" His words hang in the air, each one a sharp reminder of his daily battles. Chip feels his throat constrict. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice breaking. "I just wanted to help, like, you see my friend Tim-" "I don't need to be compared to a child's book! And what does 'Timmy' have to do wi-" "It's not just a book, Dad," Chip says, his voice firm. "It's about understanding that autism isn't a flaw or a joke, it's just...part of who you are. And Timmy, he's like a superhero because he's found a way to turn his challenge into strengths, on account of he has autis–" But Plankton cuts him off with a sharp laugh. "A strength?" He asks, his voice laced with sarcasm. "What strength? My inability to not get overwhelmed by sounds and lights? My inability to read people's faces?" He sits up, his frustration palpable. "Don't you get it, Chip? This isn't something I can just 'turn on' or 'turn off'. It's my reality, my every day. And Timmy...Timmy might be fine with playing games about his, but I'm NOT." His voice is heavy with pain. Chip's heart feels like it's in his throat. He's never seen his dad like this, so raw and exposed. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Plankton's words hang in the air like a challenge, demanding to be heard. "Dad," he finally says, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry if I made it seem like a joke. I just...I just wanted to show you that you're not alone." He holds up the book, his hands shaking. "Timmy's not alone either. And neither are you." He takes a deep breath. "Maybe we could find our own way to make your autism feel like a su—" But Plankton's had enough. He stands, his small frame trembling with frustration. "I don't need your pity, Chip," he says, his voice sharp. "I need you to understand that this isn't some game. This is my life!" With a sudden burst of strength, Plankton snatches the book from Chip's hands. Chip's eyes widen in shock, watching his dad's anger manifest physically as he tears the pages one by one. "This is not who I am!" Plankton says, his voice shaking with each ripping sound. "I'm not a character for you to relate to or feel good about!" Karen stands there, frozen, her hand covering her mouth in shock as Plankton throws the book across the room. The silence that follows is deafening. Chip's screen is wet with tears, his chest tight. He's never seen his dad this way before— so raw and so hurt. He swallows hard, trying to find the right words. "Dad, I--" But Plankton holds up his hand. "Just...just go," he says, his voice hoarse. Chip picks up the torn book on his way out.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 6 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton's mouth moves, but the words come out as a jumble. "Purple...dog...car... no, not a car," he says, his expression vacant. Chip swallows hard, not knowing how to respond to the senseless words. Karen watches from the sidelines, her eyes filled with understanding and love. This is her Plankton—her quirky, lovable husband, whose brain operates on a different frequency. She sees the fear in Chip's screen and knows he's scared, but she also knows that understanding is key. "It's ok, Dad," Chip whispers, his voice trembling. Plankton's hands move erratically, as if trying to capture invisible objects. "Yellow...box... closed...open," he mumbles. Chip listens, his heart racing. "Dad, can you hear me?" he whispers. Plankton's hand darts out, flailing through the air. "Butterfly," he says, his voice a mix of wonder and frustration. "There are no butterflies here," Chip says. Karen smiles reassuringly. "It's ok. Let's just be with him." Plankton's words continue. "Plankton," Plankton murmurs, "the world is spinning—no, it's just me spinning." He laughs, his eye unfocused. Chip swallows a lump in his throat. "Dad," Chip whispers, "are you seeing things?" Karen sighs, knowing this is a way his brain copes with pain and overstimulation. "Sometimes his thoughts come out all mixed up," she says, her voice a gentle explanation. "It's like his brain's way of telling stories when it's overwhelmed." "Ball...bounce...high," Plankton murmurs, his hand mimicking the action of throwing an invisible object. "No, Dad," Chip says, trying to keep his voice soothing. "No bouncing here." He looks to Karen for guidance. "It's alright," she says, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "Just talk to him calmly. It's his way of making sense of things." Chip nods, his voice barely above a breath. "Ball," he repeats back to his father, trying to enter his world. Plankton's eye snaps to him, a spark of recognition lighting his gaze. "Yes," he murmurs. "Ball...bounce." Karen watches them, her heart swelling with pride. Chip is learning, adapting. He's becoming a bridge between the worlds of the neurotypical and neurodivergent. "Red ball," Plankton says, his hand rising and falling as if tossing a non-existent sphere. "No, blue ball," he corrects, the words tumbling out in a rush. Chip nods, playing along. "You're playing catch, Dad?" he asks, his voice softer now. Plankton's gaze flickers to him, confused. "Catch," he whispers, his hand moving in slow arcs. "But it's not a ball," Chip says, his voice filled with gentle persuasion. "It's just a game you're playing in your head.." Plankton's hand stops, his gaze locking onto Chip, a hint of irritation flitting across his features. "What?" Plankton asks, his voice disoriented as his surroundings finally come back to him. Chip swallows, unsure of what to say. He wants to help, but feels frustrated by his dad's behavior. "You know, Dad, when you talk like that, it's hard to understand," he says, his voice carrying a touch of exasperation. "You're not really playing catch, are you?" Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his movements stilling. "It's not real to anyone else!" Chip exclaims, his voice louder than he intended. Karen gives him a sharp look, a reminder to keep his voice down. "Chip," she says, her tone a mixture of warning and patience. "You know his autism makes things different for him." But Chip's thinking of the fidget toy, of the way his dad snatched it from him. He feels a surge of anger, a feeling he's not used to having towards his dad. "I know, but why does he have to be like this?" Chip asks, his voice a mix of frustration and hurt. "Why can't he just be normal?" Karen's gaze softens. "Chip, everyone's normal is different. Your dad's brain just works in a unique way. It's not wrong, just di-" "But it's annoying!" Chip interrupts, his voice cracking. "Everything's always about his needs!" Plankton's hand, which had been still, starts to twitch again. Karen sighs. "It's not about needs, it's about his comfort, Chip. And right now, he--" "But what about my comfort?" Chip retorts, his voice loud in the quiet room. "What about when he yells or throws things or gets upset because of tiny stuff?" He's close to tears, his emotions a tangled knot. "Dad, everything's not about you," he says, not meaning to sound harsh. But the words hang in the air like accusations. "Everyone has to deal with things," he continues. "Why can't you? You don't really have it that bad. Do you honestly think your wife, my mother, actually enjoys all of this? I can't even play with my friends because you get too overwhelmed! And for what? Because someone might laugh too loud or because the TV's on too high? Do you know how embarrassing it is to have to leave because you can't handle a science fair?" Karen's face falls. She's heard Chip's frustrations before, but never so raw and out in the open. Plankton's eye darts around the room, his mind racing to understand. He's missed the context, but the anger in Chip's voice is clear. "Chip," she starts, her voice steady. "Your dad's brain is just wired differently. It's not his fault." But Chip's on a roll. "I know, I know," he says, his frustration mounting. "But it's like he doesn't even try to get better. Why can't he just ignore it like everyone else? Why can't we take him to a doctor who can fix him?" Plankton's hand stutters to a stop, his gaze focusing on Chip with a mix of hurt and confusion. "Fix me?" he repeats, his voice tiny. "What do you mean?" "I don't know," Chip says, his shoulders slumping. "Just... make it so you're not always in pain or scared or...weird." He can't look at his dad, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "Living like this, with all your autistic stuff, it's just..." He trails off, his voice cracking. "It's not worth it." Plankton's hand starts to shake. "W-what?" He asks, his voice shaky. Karen's heart breaks for him, for the hurt that's clearly etched on his face. "Chip," she starts, but his words cut her off. "It's like you don't even see us," Chip says, his voice filled with pain. "You're in your own world, and we're just here, trying to figure out how to help you." Plankton's expression is a mask of confusion and sadness. "Did my mom marry you before or after she found out you're autistic?" Chip asks, his voice sharp with accusation. Karen's eyes widen in shock. "Chip!" She says, her voice firm. "That's not how we talk about it. And I knew before.." But Chip's hurt, has turned to anger, and he's not listening. "But it's true!" Chip insists, his voice rising. "You always have to be in charge, Dad, always have to have it your way. It's like you don't even see us!" Plankton's face pales, the words stinging like bees. "Chip, please," Karen interjects, her voice pleading. But Chip can't stop, the frustration of years boiling over. "Why can't you just be like everyone else? Why do you always have to be so difficult?" Plankton's hand drops to his side, his eye filling with sadness. "I'm sor—" Karen steps in, her voice firm. "Chip, that's enough. Your dad is doing his best." But Chip's anger is like a storm, unyielding. "Best? What about our best? What about us? It's always about you, Dad!" Plankton's face contorts, the pain in his heart as sharp as the pain in his mouth. "Dad, we don't need you," Chip says, his words a knife to Plankton's soul. "Chip," Karen says, her voice sharp. "You need to go to your room. Now." She points to the door, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sadness. Chip's shoulders slump, but he doesn't argue, retreating to his room. Plankton's gaze follows him, his mind reeling. He's heard the frustration before, but never so bluntly. Karen sighs, exhaustion etching lines on her face. "I know it's hard, babe," she says, stroking Plankton's swollen cheek. "But Chip's just trying to underst--" But Plankton shakes his head, his voice a whisper. "No, no. He's right," he says, his eye brimming with unshed tears. "I'm the one who's always in the way." He pulls his hand away, his gaze dropping to his lap. Karen's eyes are filled with a mix of anger and despair. "Don't say that," she whispers fiercely. "You're not a burden." But Plankton's thoughts are racing, his stims abandoned. "Look at what I've done," he says, his voice breaking. "I've made you leave things, I've made him hate me." Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "He doesn't hate you," she insists, her voice firm.

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

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🌈

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⠀⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣶⠶⠿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣧⣤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠻⠿⣶⣿⡇⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡿⠷⠶⣶⣤⣤⣀⣀⡹⣷⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻⠿⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⡉⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⢾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠟⠹⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠶⢦⣄⣠⣤⡤⠴⠶⠟⠋⠁⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡏⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠶⠞⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠲⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣼⡇⠀⢿⣶⣄⣤⣴⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢟⣭⣶⣶⣽⣿⣄⠈⢿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⢠⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⡷⠦⣿⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠈⠛⠶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡇⠀⠀⢻⣍⡛⠛⣹⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⢦⣤⢀⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⡤⠶⠚⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣦⠀⠻⠿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⢉⣾⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠞⠛⢁⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠻⢿⣍⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠈⠻⠶⠦⠤⠶⠾⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠾⠉⠙⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⣰⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⡴⠶⠚⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣈⠉⣻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⣽⠛⠉⠉⠉⢉⣧⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⣩⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⠀⢠⡟⢀⡞⠛⠋⠉⣏⢣⡀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⠀⠀⢀⡿⠁⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡶⠟⣿⢀⡿⠁⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⢧⡆⠹⢄⢸⡆⠀⠀⢀⣴⠿⢿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡇⠀⠀⢺⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣤⣤⠶⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⢹⡟⠁⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢻⠀⡸⠃⢻⣤⣾⠋⠁⠀⠈⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡇⠀⠀⠸⣆⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠈⠁⠀⠘⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣀⠙⠻⠿⢿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠻⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⢷⣶⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡴⠟⢻⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻⠛⠻⠿⠿⠛⣿⠏⠉⠉⢡⣿⠿⣿⡗⠲⠶⠶⠶⢲⣶⠿⣿⠁⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣧⣠⣴⡿⠋⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠋⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠃⠀⠀⣿⣀⣠⣴⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠛⠟⠛⠙⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢻

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

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.

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

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

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 17 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "I-I just want to understand," Krabs says, his voice quavering. "I've never...I mean, I thought you were just being...you know, you." He fumbles for words, feeling the weight of his ignorance. "But now I see you're more than just a nuisance." But Plankton doesn't react, lost in his sensory cocoon. Karen watches the interaction with a sad smile. "Plankton, Krabs is trying to reach out to you," she says gently. "He wants to be a part of your world." Plankton's grip on the octopus doesn't loosen, but his eye moves from the toy to Krabs, then back again. He's used to being misunderstood, his autism often a source of frustration and isolation. But now, here's his enemy, trying to understand? Krabs clears his throat, his eyes searching Plankton's face for any sign of acknowledgment. "What...what do you say when you repeat those words?" He asks, his voice careful, tentative. "Is there a pattern, or...?" He's desperate for a clue, a way to enter Plankton's world. Plankton's eye narrows, his body tensing. "It's not for you," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He clutches the octopus even tighter, as if it's the only thing keeping him tethered to his own reality. Krabs leans back, his claws clutching at his chest. "I just want to help," he says, his voice earnest. "I've hurt you so many times, and I don't want to do it again." Plankton's gaze remains on his octopus, but his posture relaxes slightly. It's clear he hears Krabs, even if he doesn't respond. Karen smiles softly, recognizing the sincerity in Krabs' voice. It's a start, a tentative step towards understanding. Mr. Krabs watches him, his claws still hovering over the sensory box. "Plankton," he starts, his voice soft and cautious. "I know I've been a...well, not a good friend. But I want to be better." He selects a fidget spinner from the box, twirling it slowly. "Can you tell me what this does?" But Plankton doesn't answer. "I don't mean to pry," he says, his voice sincere. "But I can't help but wonder, Plankton. What's it like?" He twirls the fidget spinner again, his gaze never leaving Plankton. "To be...different?" Plankton's eye flickers to Krabs, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it seems like he might speak. But then he shakes his head, his words lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts. "Echo...echolal... lal...la..." Krabs sets the fidget spinner down, his heart sinking. He doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know how to bridge this gap. But he's determined to try. "What about the noises you make?" He asks, his voice gentle. "They're not just sounds, are th-" But Plankton cuts him off, his voice sharp. "It's not for you to use or to understand." There's a challenge in his tone, a barrier that Krabs feels he can't cross. He pauses, his gaze shifting to Karen. Her eyes are understanding, but firm. "Let him be, Krabs," she says. "This is his way of coping. It's not for us to interrupt." Krabs nods, his claws dropping to his sides. "I just want to help," he murmurs, his voice low. "To be there fo—" But Plankton's gaze is still on the octopus, his voice distant. "It's not for you to understand," he says, his tone final. "It's mine." Krabs' eyes fill with a newfound respect. He's always been so focused on his own gain, on his own needs, that he's never truly considered Plankton's perspective. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to..." He trails off, not knowing what to say. Karen nods, her hand resting on Plankton's shoulder. "It's ok," she says, her voice a soothing balm. "We're all learning." Krabs sighs, his eyes never leaving Plankton's distant gaze, when Plankton starts to vocally stim. "Hmms.." "What's that you're doing?" Krabs interrupts. Karen's eyes widen, and she quickly intervenes. "It's Plankton's way of self-regulating. It's important for him to do this without interruptions. His stims are personal, and it's not our place to question them," Karen explains, her voice firm yet understanding. Krabs nods, his eyes still on Plankton's fidgeting fingers. "I just want to...connect," he whispers, his voice filled with longing. Karen nods, her expression softening. "I know, but when he's like this, it's best to let him be." She looks at Krabs, her eyes filled with understanding. "But there are other ways to connect, if you're truly willing to listen." Krabs leans in, his eyes bright with curiosity. Plankton's eye droops. "Just...be...quiet." Krabs nods, his claws still. The room is a cocoon of silence, save for the distant hum of Bikini Bottom. Plankton's hands still, and Karen knows he's getting exhausted. Plankton's head leans into her side, his antennae drooping. "I'm tired," he murmurs, his voice a tiny echo of its usual pitch. Karen wraps her arm around him, his body fitting into the comfortable curve of her embrace. "It's ok," she whispers, stroking his back. Plankton's eyelid flutters closed, his breathing deepening into the rhythm of sleep. His body relaxes against hers, his trust in her unspoken but palpable. She's his safe haven, the one who gets him in a way no one else does. Karen presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. His grip on the octopus loosens, the plush tentacles now lying limp in his hand. Krabs watches, his heart aching for the enemy he's come to care for. He can't help but feel like he's intruding on a sacred moment, one that's been building for years of missed understandings and hurtful words. As Plankton's breathing deepens into sleep, Karen whispers to Krabs, "You've tried to connect today. That's more than he's ever had from anyone outside this family." Krabs nods, his gaze still on the sleeping Plankton. "But I want to do more," he insists. "I want to be...I don't know, a...friend?" Karen looks at him, surprise and hope mingling in her expression. "That's a big step, Krabs," she says. "But if you're really willing to learn, to be patient and respectful, then maybe we can start there." Krabs nods, his heart swelling with a newfound determination. "I'll do anything," he says. Karen smiles, her screen shining with gratitude. "Then listen," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "Plankton's autism isn't a puzzle to solve or a challenge to overcome. It's just part of who he is." She strokes Plankton's antennae gently. "And his stims, his words—they're his way of saying 'I'm here, and I need you to be here with me.'" Krabs nods, his understanding growing. He watches as Karen carefully moves Plankton's head to his pillow, his body now fully relaxed in sleep as she tucks him in. The plush octopus is still in his hand. "Just be present," she repeats. "Learn to listen without judgment, to see his world without trying to change it." Krabs nods, his expression earnest. It's a concept that seems so simple, yet so profound. He's always been about the endgame, the victory. But here, in this small, dimly-lit room, he sees the true prize: connection. Krabs watches as Karen pulls the covers up to Plankton's chin, his eye still closed as he snuggles into the bed. Krabs' mind races with thoughts. Autistic Plankton. It's a revelation that shakes him to his very core, challenging every assumption he's ever had about his enemy. He's not just a nuisance anymore; he's a friend in pain, trying to navigate a world that doesn't always make sense. He looks at Plankton's sleeping form, the soft rise and fall of his chest, and feels a pang of regret for all the times he's laughed at or dismissed his behaviors. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I never knew." Plankton's only response is a soft snore, oblivious to the monumental shift happening in the room. Krabs sits back in the chair, his thoughts racing. How many times has he misunderstood, how many jokes at Plankton's expense were at the cost of his pain? It's a stark contrast to the loud, chaotic world of the Krusty Krab. He watches the rise and fall of Plankton's chest, the soft snores that punctuate the silence. There's a peace to him, a vulnerability that he's never seen before. It's humbling, frightening even, to think about the depth of emotions and experiences that Plankton has kept hidden beneath his bravado. Krabs' gaze moves to Karen, who's sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand resting on Plankton's. Her expression is a mix of love and protectiveness, a fierce motherly instinct that makes his own heart ache. He clears his throat, his claws awkwardly fidgeting. "What about the seizures?" He asks, his voice hushed. "What can I do if he has one?" Karen looks at him, her eyes filled with appreciation. "You've already done the most important thing," she says, her voice soothing. "You've recognized his needs and are willing to learn." Krabs nods, his mind whirling with questions. He's never felt so out of his depth, but the desire to be there for Plankton is stronger than any treasure he's ever pursued. He watches the soft rise and fall of Plankton's chest, his snores a comforting background to their hushed conversation. Karen reaches out, her hand gently covering Krabs' claw. "If he has a seizure, stay calm," she instructs. "Make sure he's safe, nothing around to hurt him. And talk to him softly, let him know you're there." Krabs nods, his gaze never leaving Plankton. He doesn't know what it's like to navigate a world where even the most mundane experiences can be overwhelming, where words can be a shield and a prison. But he wants to know. He wants to be a person who can offer comfort, who can make Plankton feel less alone.

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

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

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 5 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Karen sits on the bed, her presence a comforting weight. "Would you like me to stay?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton nods, his body still tight with pain. He closes his eye, his mind racing with the discomfort. He tries to focus on his breath, in and out, in and out. But the throb in his mouth is a constant reminder of agony that threatens to overwhelm. Then, Plankton starts to talk to himself to self-soothe. "It's safe," he whispers. "Can water's just fine." Karen watches him, knowing this is a way of regaining control, his mind trying to find peace in order to rest. She knows that the pain, the sensory assault, the confusion—it's all too much. But she also knows that he has the willpower to push through. "Was do it" Plankton whispers to himself. "I told him but he didn't listen," he murmurs, his thoughts racing with the memory of the fidget toy. "It's my fault," he adds. "Not my place to correct him, do not touch." His words are a jumble of regret and frustration. "It's okay," Plankton says again. "The healing safe. It's just a feeling." He repeats this mantra, his breath evening out. Karen can see the tension in his shoulders easing, his grip on the ice pack loosening as his body relaxes. "You're doing great," Karen whispers. "Just rest." And with that, Plankton's body gives in to the call of sleep, his breaths trailing off into soft snores. Karen watches her husband with a mix of love and sadness. Chip lingers by the door, his curiosity piqued. He wonders if his dad's autism is the reason behind it. With tentative steps, Chip enters the room. Karen takes his hand in hers, and he follows her out of the room and in to the hallway. "Mom," he starts, his voice barely a whisper. "Why is Dad autistic?" Karen looks down at him, her expression thoughtful. "Well, Chip," she says, her voice soft. "Your dad was born that way." Chip nods. "But w---" "Autism is something that develops in the brain before birth," Karen continues. "It's like how some people are right-handed and others are left-handed. It's just how his brain is wired." Chip looks at her with a frown. "But why did Dad...?" "Why did it happen?" Karen finishes his question. She takes a deep breath, preparing to explain. "You see, sometimes during pregnancy or childbirth, something small can change you. When his mom was giving birth, his brain might have gotten a little squeezed and then not enough oxygen. It's just the way his brain grew because of that, that's all." Chip nods slowly, trying to understand. "So as dad was being born..." "Yes," Karen says, her voice soothing. "His brain was forming its connections, and that little squeeze changed the way his brain makes those connections. It's like if you're building a Lego castle and one piece gets bent. It doesn't mean the castle can't be amazing, it's just a tiny part of it that's a bit different." Chip looks up at his mom, his eyes wide. "But does that mean I could be like Dad if I squ--" "No, Chip," she says, cutting off his words gently. "It's not that simple. Autism is just nothing you can catch or change, and it's not something you need to be afraid of." Chip nods, his gaze still fixed on her. "But why does he get so upset sometimes?" Karen sighs. "Because the world can be a very overwhelming place for him, Chip. His brain picks up on every little thing— sounds, smells, sights—it's all so intense. And sometimes, those things get too much, and his brain can't keep up. It's like when you're playing a video game and the screen is flashing too fast—it's hard to focus." "But why does he get mad?" Chip persists. Karen kneels down to look him in the eye. "It's not that he's mad, honey. It's just his way of dealing with it. Imagine if you had a headache and someone was shining a bright light in your face—you'd want them to stop, right? It's like that, but with anything." Chip nods, understanding dawning. "So, when the fidget was making noise, it was like a headache for Dad?" Karen smiles. "Exactly. And when he tells you something is too much, it's not that he's upset with you—it's his brain telling him he needs a break." Plankton's snores from the bedroom remind them of the present. "Let's let Dad rest," Karen says, steering Chip towards his own room. "But what about his teeth?" Chip asks, his voice laced with worry. Karen's smile is reassuring. "They'll feel better soon, and we'll have to be extra gentle with him. No loud noises, no surprises. Ok?" Chip nods. In the quiet of the living room, Karen and Chip begin to set up a recovery area for Plankton—a space free from the chaos that could easily overwhelm his fragile state. They gather his favorite pillows, a soft blanket, and dim the lights. Chip wants to make sure his dad feels safe. On the coffee table, they lay out a tray with a glass of water. Karen knows that it's important not to startle Plankton, that he might need help getting up without disturbing his mouth. "Let's go to see him." Karen says. As they enter the bedroom, Plankton's snores have subsided into a gentle rhythm. Chip tiptoes over, his eyes wide. He's seen his dad tired before, but this is different. He looks smaller, somehow, more vulnerable. Gently, he touches his dad's arm.. Plankton's eye snaps open, his body jerking upright. The movement sends a shock of pain through his mouth. "Agh!" he yelps, his hands shooting up to clutch his cheeks. Chip jumps back, his eyes wide with alarm. "Dad!" He says loudly. But now Plankton's even more overwhelmed, and Karen notices his somewhat distant gaze. "Chip, remember what we talked about," Karen whispers. "Use a quiet voice." Chip nods and speaks more softly. "Dad, are you ok?" Plankton blinks, his mind racing. "Dad?" Chip tries again, his voice barely a murmur. Plankton's breath hitches. "It's me, Chip! You're home. You had surgery. Remembe---" But Plankton's eye darts around the room, his mind a swirling vortex of pain and disorientation as Chip talks to fast. Karen quickly moves to his side, her touch grounding him. "It's ok," she whispers. "You're safe. You're home." And then, he starts to talk to himself. "No...no...no...yes...yes...yes," he murmurs. Karen knows that he's retreated due to the overwhelm. It's happened before, where he's seemingly on autopilot. "Water's okay, can't talk right now," Plankton whispers to the empty space. His eye darts back to Chip, then to the ceiling. "No, no, no," he says again, his voice getting quieter. Karen's heart aches, seeing her husband so lost in his own head. She's seen this before—his autism taking control when the world was too much to handle. Chip however doesn't really understand. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice shaky. Plankton doesn't respond, his eye locked on the ceiling fan spinning above them. "It's ok," Karen says, her voice a soft reminder. "Sometimes his brain is on backup." She strokes his arm gently, knowing his semiconscious state isn't abnormal for him, as Plankton's monologue continues. "Need to count...one...two... three..." His voice trails off. Chip watches. "Is he ok?" He asks, his voice trembling. Karen nods. "This is his way of dealing with things," she whispers. "Let's just give him some time." Plankton's eye darts between them, his mouth forming words without thought. "Red...blue...green," he says, as if naming colors he's seeing in the air. "Big...small...far... near." Karen knows he's not really seeing anything, his mind a kaleidoscope of sensory input that's difficult to process. "Why?" Plankton asks no one in particular. "Will it be the one? It's just a feeling," he murmurs, trying to convince himself. Karen understands it's his brain's attempt to organize the overwhelming stimuli, but Chip looks on with a mix of concern and confusion. "It's ok," Chip whispers, his hand hovering over his dad's. He wants to help, but doesn't know how. Karen smiles at him, nodding. "You can talk to him, buddy. Just keep it low." Chip nods and sits on the edge of the bed. "Hey Dad," Chip says, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's eye flips over to him, but he doesn't seem to see him. "It's me, Chip. We're here," Chip says, trying to provide comfort.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 2 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Hanna leaned forward, her screen studying Plankton. "How can I he--" "Space," Karen said, cutting Hanna off gently. "Give him space. Sometimes, that's what he needs most." Hanna nods, leaning back. Chip watched his dad with a newfound understanding of his father's struggles. He felt a tug of guilt for not seeing it sooner, for not knowing how to support him. But he also felt a sense of awe at his mom's patience and knowledge. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of Plankton's rocking. Karen watched him, her eyes full of love and concern. She knew his brain was a maze of thoughts and sensations, trying to make sense of a world that was often too much. Hanna, now more cautious, observed from a distance, trying to understand the complexities of autism. She felt a newfound respect for Karen and the unspoken strength she had to navigate this life with her husband. "I'm sorry," Plankton finally managed to say, his voice still shaky. Karen looked over at him, seeing the turmoil in his eye. "You don't have to—" But her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and recognized the text from Plankton's dentist for a dental appointment to get his x-ray. "Hanna, I hate to ask," Karen started, looking apologetic. "But could you possibly keep an eye on Chip for a bit?" Hanna looked from Plankton to Karen. "Of course!" she said without a second thought. "What's going on?" Karen sighs. "I'll keep you updated, but Plankton needs to get x- rays at the dentist..." Plankton's eye snapped back to focus at the mention of dentists. Dentist visits had always been a challenge. But Karen was already thinking ahead. "It's ok honey," she soothed. "We'll make sure they know about yo--" She turned to Plankton to see an oncoming absence seizure. "Plankton, it's ok," she cooed, but it was too late. The world around him faded into a blur of lights and sounds, his body frozen in a state of overwhelm. Hanna watched, horrified, as Plankton's eye is now unblinking, his body unmoving. Hanna was still, gaze fixed on Plankton, fear etched on her screen. She'd never seen anything like this before. But Karen was in action, her movements swift and practiced. She knew exactly what to do. "You're ok, Plankton. You're just having an absence. It'll be over soon." Chip watched, his own fear mirroring Hanna's. But there was something else there, too: understanding. He knew his mom was right, that his dad would come back to them. The seizure passed, and Plankton blinked back to reality. "Let's get to this appointment." Karen says, helping him stand. When Karen arrives with Plankton to the dentist's office, the receptionist smiles brightly. "Hi, Mr. Plankton," she says, her voice chirpy and cheerful. Plankton flinches at the noise, his eye darting around the room, taking in every detail, every sound. The waiting room was a minefield of sensory assaults: the ticking clock, the humming of the lights, the rustle of magazines. Karen squeezes his hand gently, a silent reminder that she's there, that he's not alone. When they call his name, Plankton's grip tightens. The smell of antiseptic and the sight of the chair sends a tremor through his body. But Karen guides him through the door. In the sterile room, the dental hygienist is kind. "Hello, I'm Dr. Marla," she says, her voice measured and calm. "We're gonna take some pictures of your teeth, okay?" Plankton nods, his eye wide with anxiety. "Okay," he whispers. Karen squeezes his hand reassuringly, nodding at Dr. Marla. "He's nervous," she says quietly as he rocks in a stim. "But he'll be okay." The chair is cold and hard, but Plankton doesn't notice. He's too busy focusing on his breathing, counting the tiles on the ceiling. Karen stays close, whispering calming phrases. "In and out, honey. You've got this." His rocking slows. Dr. Marla moves with a practiced grace, her eyes watchful and understanding. "Open wide," she instructs, and Plankton obeys. The x-ray is over quickly, and Dr. Marla gently removes the tray. "Good job," she says, her voice soothing. Plankton's eye flutters as he tries to refocus on the room around him. But the calm is shattered when Dr. Marla delivers the news: "Mr. Plankton, you're going to need your wisdom teeth removed today." Plankton's eye widens, his breath catches. "Now?" he stammers, his voice squeaking with fear. Karen nods solemnly. "It's preventative, honey. It'll be easier now than waiting for them to cause problems later." Plankton's heart races as the words sink in. Surgery. Now. His brain spirals into overload. He feels Karen's calming hand on his shoulder, but it's not enough. The world around him feels like it's closing in, the sounds too loud, the lights too bright. "Breathe," Karen whispers. The room becomes a blur of masked faces and shiny instruments. Plankton's body tenses, his stims fading into the background as fear takes over. Karen remains a constant presence, talking him through the process. "They're going to put you to sleep, Plankton," she explains. "You won't feel a thing." The anesthesiologist enters the room, a gentle giant with a calming smile. "I'm Dr. Smith. I'll be taking care of y—" But Plankton's gone into overdrive, his body trembling with the intensity of his fear. "He's autistic," Karen interjects quickly. "He needs extra care. He's sensitive to sensory stimulation." Dr. Marla nods. The anesthesiologist, Dr. Smith, takes a step back, his face a picture of understanding. "It's ok," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "We'll make this as comfortable as possible for you." Karen nods gratefully. "Plankton has a hard time with sudden changes. Can you tell us what's going to happen?" Dr. Smith nods. "We'll start with a topical numbing agent, then move to a sedative. It'll help keep him asleep during the procedure." The anesthetic cream is cold against Plankton's gums and his arm, where the IV will eventually be. "It's just a tickle," Karen says, trying to soothe his nerves. Plankton nods, his body stiff as a board. He's already in fight or flight mode, his brain unable to process. The mask is placed over his face, and he inhales the sweet smell of nitrous oxide. "Breathe deep," Karen coos, her hand on his. Plankton's eye widens at first, then slowly glazed over as the gas takes hold. The room seems to spin around him, but it's a comforting, soothing spin. The lights dim, the sounds become muffled, and the sharp edges of the world soften. He feels himself being lifted into the chair, his body weightless. Karen's voice is the last thing he hears before everything disappears. Karen texts Hanna. "I'm letting you know, Plankton's getting a tiny operation to remove his wisdom teeth." Karen texts. When the surgery finishes, Plankton is still asleep with Karen holding his limp hand. The dental staff is extra careful not to startle his sensitive system. They wheel him into recovery, his chest rising and falling evenly with the rhythm of sleep. Karen watches him closely, their bond stronger than ever. Hanna's text lights up her phone screen. "How's everything?" Hanna asks. "He's in recovery," Karen replies in the text. Meanwhile, Hanna and Chip are at the park, trying to pass the time. Chip throws a frisbee to Hanna. As the frisbee arcs through the air, he thinks about his dad. He wishes he could be there, but he knows that his mom's calmness is what Plankton needs right now. He wonders how the surgery went, if his dad is ok. Now, the dentist turns to Karen. "The anesthesia will wear off soon. He'll wake up groggy, but he'll be ok." Karen nods, squeezing Plankton's hand as they remove the IV. "His mouth has been numbed, and he might act a bit loopy when he first wakes up." As the anesthesia wears off, Plankton stirs, his eye blinking open. "Hi, honey," Karen says softly. "It's over."

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

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."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 4 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton's words come out in a slurry mess, and Karen understands he's trying to share his thoughts with them. "Cwouds...hampy clows. Wheah's the moo...moo? Moo...moom," he mumbles. "Wha...whath's that?" he asks, his eye searching the sky for something that's not there. Karen's laughter fills the car, lightening the mood. "It's just the sun, sweetie," she says. Chip looks at his dad with a mix of amusement and concern. "You ok?" he asks, his voice tentative. Plankton nods, his smile little more than a twitch of his lips as drool starts to form at the corner of his mouth. "Mom," Chip says, his voice tinged with concern. "He's fine, Chip. It's just the medicine wearing off." Karen answers as they pull up into the garage, Plankton's speech still slurred. "Wheath we gothin?" Plankton mumbles. "We're going inside, sweetie," Karen says, helping him out of the car. His legs feel like jelly, his body moving in slow motion as they make their way into the house. The lights seem too bright, the noises too loud. "Mom," Chip whispers, his eyes wide. "Is he ok?" "He's fine," she whispers back, her voice a gentle reminder of their earlier conversation. "This is normal after anesthesia." Inside, Plankton leans heavily on Karen, his eye half-closed. "Bed," he mumbles. Karen nods, guiding him towards the bedroom. "Come on, honey," she says, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. "Let's get you to bed." The bed feels heavenly under his weight, the covers a warm embrace. Plankton sighs contentedly, his body melting into the softness. His mind is a whirlwind of sensations, but the comfort of the bed grounds him. Karen watches him. The slurred speech and confusion are a stark contrast to his usual sharp and focused self. But she knows this is just the medicine wearing off. Gently, she starts to remove the gauze from his mouth. Plankton's eye opens a crack, his pupil wide with uncertainty. "It's ok," she whispers, her voice soothing. "Let's get this out of here." "Mm-hmm," he murmurs. The gauze is sticky and uncomfortable, but he trusts her. Karen's hands are careful, her movements precise as she works to free his mouth from the confines of the cotton. Plankton winces, his mouth feeling dull and tender. The room tilts slightly as he closes his eye, his body surrendering to the exhaustion that follows surgery. "Now, would you like some i---" But Plankton's already snoring softly, lost to the world. Karen's laughter fills the space between them. She knew he'd be sore later though, not to mention his autistic sensitivities to managing pain.. The next morning, Plankton wakes with a sore mouth and the anesthesia gone. He manages to open his eye. The room is a blur of light and shadow, his gums pounding with a dull throb. His jaw feels achy, his tongue swollen and uncooperative. He tries to sit up as Karen greets him. "How are you feeling, honey?" "Wisdom teeth?" he asks, his memory a haze. Karen smiles. "Yes, sweetie. You had surgery yesterday. Everything went fine." Plankton nods slowly, his eye searching hers for reassurance as Chip comes in to check on his dad. "Hey, Dad," Chip says, his voice soft. "How's the mouth?" Plankton's eye twitches. "Hurt," he manages, his words muffled by the swollen tissue. Karen brings Plankton ice packs. She knows his sensory sensitivities, and how this disruption can overwhelm him. "Thanks, love," he says, his voice a rasp. Karen knew that Plankton's autism means recovery will be more challenging, his senses heightened. "You have to stay calm," Karen instructs Chip, "He needs a quiet environment to heal." Chip nods as he sits on the bed next to Plankton. Plankton's eye opens slightly as the cold ice presses against his cheek. The chill runs through him, a stark relief against the heat of his swollen gums. "It's ok," Karen whispers, her voice a balm to his pain. "It'll help with the swelling." He nods, his hand gripping the ice pack tightly. The room is too bright, the sounds too sharp. His mind craves the familiar comfort of his routines, his stims, but his body won't cooperate. Karen notices his distress, her hand gentle as it brushes his forehead. "You need some space, Plankton?" she asks, reading his cues. He nods, his breath coming in shallow pants. She nods and goes to sit on her bed adjacent to his own. Yet Karen sees the struggle play out across his features with the effort to keep calm, his body tight with tension. Chip, still sitting by his dad, wants to help. He starts to fiddle with his fidget toy, the soft click-clack of the gears echoing in the silence. Plankton's eye snaps open, his gaze drawn to the movement. "Chip, stop," he mumbles, his voice a mixture of pain and irritation. But Chip, eager to distract his father from his own discomfort, doesn't hear the edge in Plankton's voice. The clicking grows faster, each movement a blur of colors and shapes. Plankton's heart starts to race, his body tensing. "Chip," he says more firmly this time. But Chip's fingers dance on the fidget, his eyes focused on his task. The noise and visual assault are too much for Plankton's sensitive system. His face contorts. "Chip, please," Plankton whispers, his voice strained. Chip finally looks up, his expression one of innocent curiosity. "What, Dad? I--" But he doesn't get to finish his sentence. Plankton's hand snatches the fidget toy, his movements jerky. The room seems to shrink, the air thick with tension. Chip's eyes widen, realizing his mistake. "Dad, I'm sor—" But Plankton's agitation has reached a peak. He thrusts the fidget toy away. The plastic clatters on the floor, a jolting sound that pierces the silence. "Too...much," he manages to get out, his voice strained. Chip's cheeks flush with embarrassment and guilt. He didn't mean to upset his father. He just wanted to help. "Sorry," Chip whispers, picking up the toy, which only makes Plankton's anger spike further. The sudden movement of Chip's hand, the sharp sound of the fidget— it's like a storm in his mind. "No!" Plankton yells, his voice raw. Chip freezes, his heart racing. "Dad," he starts, his voice shaky. "I didn't mean..." But Plankton's already flailing, trying to push away the chaos that's invaded his space. Karen quickly moves to intervene. "Chip," she says, her voice firm yet calm. "Remember what we talked about." Chip nods, understanding dawning on his face. He'd forgotten the rules of their world, the delicate balance that keeps Plankton's sanity intact. He'd wanted to help, but instead, he'd added to the storm raging within his dad. She takes the fidget toy from Chip, placing it on the nightstand. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his eye darting around the room. He's lost in his own head, the pain making it difficult to focus. "It's ok," Karen soothes, her touch gentle on his arm. "Let's dim the lights and make it quieter." She pulls the shades closed, the harsh daylight retreating to a soft glow. Chip nods, his expression solemn. "I'll go to my room," he says, his voice small. Plankton's gaze meets his son's, a silent apology passing between them. "Thanks, buddy," he says, his voice a gruff whisper.

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

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 7 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "Chip's just trying to understand. And so are you." But Plankton can't find the words, the weight of his son's accusations crushing him. He swipes at a tear that's managed to escape, his shoulders heaving. "I just want to be normal," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "To not be a disappointment." Karen's eyes are filled with love and sadness as she shakes her head. "You could never be a disappointment to me, Plankton. You're perfect just the way you are." But he stands up, turning away from her. "No, I'm not," he says, his back to her. "Look at what I've done. I've ruined our lives." His voice is thick with emotion. "I've made Chip resentful, and I've made you...sacrifice so much." Karen moves to his side, placing a hand on his arm. "You haven't ruined anything," she insists. "You're a wonderful husband, an—" "Don't," he snaps, turning to face her, the pain in his eyes like a physical force. "Don't lie to me. You deserve better than this. Better than a husband who can't even sit through a simple family outing without falling apart." His voice cracks, the weight of his words heavy in the quiet room. "You deserve someone who can give you a normal life!" Karen's eyes fill with determined love. "You are what makes our life normal, Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "Our life is special because of you. And as for Chip, he's just confused. He'll understand when he's older." But Plankton shakes his head, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, stifling a cry as he leaves their bedroom. He moves through the house, his bare feet silent on the cool floor, his thoughts a cacophony of doubt and self-loathing. His mind replays Chip's words over and over as he opens the back door, to the backyard. The porch creaks under his weight, his eye unfocused. Meanwhile, Karen goes in to Chip's bedroom. "Chip," she says, her voice soft but firm. "You need to apologize to your dad." He looks up, his eyes swollen from crying. "But I just want him to get better," he whispers, his voice small. "I don't like seeing him hurt." Karen sighs, sitting on the edge of his bed. "I know, sweetie. But your dad can't get 'better' from being autistic. It's not a sickness." She takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "What your dad needs is for us to understand him, to make things easier for him. And for us to be patient when things are hard." Chip sniffs, wiping at his nose. "But it's not fair," he says, his voice a mix of anger and sadness. "Why does he get to be different?" Karen's eyes fill with compassion. "Because he is, Chip. And that's ok. We're all different, in our own ways. That's what makes us unique." She pauses, looking at him with a gentle expression. "But it's also what makes us a family." Plankton sits in the backyard. The stars twinkle above, their indifferent beauty a contrast to the tumult in his heart. He's heard the whispers before, the way people look at him—his inability to fit in, his strange behaviors. He's always known he was different. But to hear it from Chip...it's like a punch to the gut. His mind races, trying to make sense of it all. The world feels like a puzzle he can never solve, no matter how much he wants to. He's tried to be better, to do better, to be the husband and father his family deserves. But it's always just out of reach, like the elusive Krabby Patty formula he's chased for years. He looks down at his hands, still trembling slightly. In the quiet of the night, his stims come back, a comforting rhythm that soothes his frayed nerves. He starts to rock slightly, back and forth, his eye unfocused. It's a habit he's had since he was young, a way to calm the storm in his head. It's his brain's way of telling him he's safe, even when the world feels like it's closing in. He doesn't realize he's speaking until the words spill out. "I'm not enough," he whispers to the night. "I'll never be enough.." Back in the house, Karen holds Chip tight, her heart heavy with the weight of their conversation. She knows his frustrations are born out of love, but she also knows how much Chip's words sting Plankton. She needs to fix this, to mend the fracture in their family's foundation. "Come on, buddy," she says, wiping Chip's tears away. "Let's talk to your dad. He needs to hear you're sorry." Chip nods, his eyes red and swollen. Karen leads him to the back door, where they find Plankton, his gaze lost as he shivers uncontrollably. "Dad?" Chip says. Plankton's head snaps up, his eye wide with surprise. "What?" He says, his voice thick with pain. "I'm sorry," Chip whispers, his body trembling. "I didn't mean those things." Karen's gaze is firm, her voice steady. "We need to talk, Plankton," she says. "Both of you." She leads them back inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the chill outside. Plankton allows himself to be guided, his mind a whirlwind. In the living room, they sit, a tapestry of emotions. Karen starts, her voice measured. "Chip, your dad doesn't mean to make things difficult. His brain just interprets the world differently." Chip looks up, his eyes wet. "But why can't he just try?" He asks, his voice desperate. "Why can't he just be normal?" Plankton flinches, his gaze dropping to the floor. Karen sighs, her hand wrapped around Plankton's. "Chip," she starts gently. "You know autism isn't a choice. Your dad's brain is different. It's like asking someone to change their eye color." Chip frowns, his young mind struggling to comprehend. "But why can't he just ignore it?" He asks, his voice small. Plankton looks up, his eye filled with a mix of anger and sadness. "Because it's not ignorable," he says, his voice firm. "It's like you're asking one to ignore breathing." The room falls silent, the gravity of his words sinking in. "It's always there, affecting how he sees, hears, feels." Chip's expression softens, a glimmer of understanding dawning. "Your dad does his best every day. And so do we, to support him. It's not about changing for him, Chip," she says. "It's about meeting him where he is. When someone's in a wheelchair, you don't tell them to climb the stairs. You build a ramp." Plankton nods slightly, his gaze still on the floor. "Autism is like that," Karen continues. "It's part of who he is, and we love him for all of him."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 10 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! The house feels eerily quiet without Plankton's usual rambling. Chip sits in his room, his thoughts racing. He didn't mean to make his dad feel patronized or pitied. He just wanted to share something that had brought joy. He opens the book to where Plankton had torn it. The pages are jagged, but the message isn't lost. 'AUSOME AUsomeness'. It dawns on him how wrong he was to assume his dad's experience mirrored Timmy's. Autism isn't a one-size-fits-all, and he'd hurt his own father by not seeing him as an individual. Chip lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his mistake pressing down on him. He thinks about his dad's seizures, his stims, and the pain in his eye. What if he'd made his dad feel even more alone? The next day at school, Chip goes up to Timmy, his heart heavy. "Hey," he says, his voice low. "My dad, he saw the book I showed him, and he didn't like it." Timmy looks at him, his eyes full of concern. "Oh no, why?" He asks. Chip takes a deep breath. "He said it felt like I was making fun of him," he admits. "And I didn't mean to." Timmy nods, his hands still. "Everyone's different," he says. "Some of us can laugh about it, and some of us can't." He pauses. "But you tried, Chip. That's what matters." Chip nods, feeling a tiny bit better. Maybe he couldn't make his dad feel like a superhero, but at least he'd tried. "Hey Timmy, can you come over after school?" Chip asks. Timmy's eyes lit up. "Sure," he says. So after school Timmy follows Chip to his house. When they arrive, Karen greets them with a warm smile. "You must be Timmy," she says, shaking his hand. "I've heard so much about you." Timmy smiles shyly. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Plankton." They walk into the living room where Plankton is sitting, his gaze on the floor. Chip feels his heart race as Timmy enters. "Dad," Chip says, his voice shaky. "This is Timmy." Plankton looks up, his eye narrowing slightly. Timmy takes the lead, his hands flapping slightly as he speaks. "Hi, Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "Chip told me you're like me." Plankton looks between the two of them, his expression unreadable. "How so?" Plankton challenges. Timmy takes a deep breath, his eyes darting to Chip for support. "Well," he starts, "we're both autistic." Plankton's gaze sharpens, his posture stiffening. Timmy looks at his own hands, which are still flapping slightly. "It means my brain works differently," he says, his voice steady. "But that's not all bad. It's like having a superpower, sometimes." He smiles, his eyes finding Chip's. "Like, I'm really good at math, and I can remember things other people forget. What's your autistic powers, Mr. Plankton?" Plankton's eye widens. No one's ever asked him that before. "I...I don't know," he says slowly, his voice unsure and flustered. Timmy nods. "Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here," he says, his voice gentle. "It's not always easy, but it's not always bad either." He sits down next to Plankton, his hands now still. Karen watches from the kitchen with hope. Maybe Timmy could show Plankton that his autism isn't something to be ashamed of, but something that makes him uniquely him. Plankton's eye flickers towards Timmy, and for a moment, Chip sees a glimpse of curiosity. "I'm an inventor," he says, his voice still guarded. "I can create things that no one else can." Timmy nods, his face serious. "That's awesome," he says. "My superpower is that I never forget a face once I've seen it. It's pretty useful when you've got a memory like a steel trap." The two of them sit in silence for a few moments, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. Then, Timmy speaks up again. "You know, Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "Sometimes, it's good to have someone else who gets it." He looks at his own hands, which have started flapping again. "Someone who won't stare or judge." Plankton looks at Timmy, his expression unreadable. Sensing an opening, Karen interjects, her voice soft. "Plankton, maybe talking to Timmy could help. You've always said you felt lonely in your own world, maybe he can shine some li-" "I don't need a support group," Plankton snaps, but his tone lacks its usual bite. "I need my family to understand me." His gaze meets Chip's, and the hurt in his eye is unmistakable. Timmy nods, his hands still in his lap. "I get that," he says, his voice calm. "But sometimes, it's nice to know you're not the only one with superpowers, you kn-" "Don't," Plankton cuts him off, his voice sharp. "Don't call it that." But Timmy isn't deterred. "Okay," he says, his tone respectful. "But yo-" "I'm not a child, Timmy," Plankton says, his voice strained. "I don't need to be told bedtime stories to make me feel better about my condition." Chip feels his chest tighten as he watches his dad's reaction. Timmy's eyes are filled with understanding. "It's not a bedtime story, Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice calm. "It's a way to see th-" "I said DON'T," Plankton's voice rises, his frustration evident. Chip feels his stomach drop. This isn't going well. But Timmy doesn't back down. "But Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "You're not just a scientist, you're a person too. And people need to feel seen, understood, and valued. Maybe this book isn't for you, but it's for others like us-" "Like us?" Plankton repeats, his voice cold. "Don't you dare lump me in with you, young man. My autism is not a game or a gimmick. It's a part of me, yes, but it's not something to be used to make my son feel better about himself." Timmy's face falls, but his voice remains steady. "I'm sorry if it came across that way," he says. "That wasn't my intent." Karen steps in, trying to defuse the situation. "Plankton, maybe we're all just tr-" But Plankton cuts her off. "I'm tired of being the lesson," he says, his voice shaking. "I'm tired of being someone's 'project'. I'm not your science experiment because in the real world, people don't get it." He turns to Chip. "And you, thinking you can just fix me with a book? Some people don't get a happy ending, Chip." The anger in his voice makes Chip flinch. Timmy looks from Plankton to Chip, his eyes wide. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble," he says, his voice small. "I just...I just thought maybe we could learn from each other." Plankton's gaze remains on the floor. "Life's not that simple," he says, his voice weary. "You think a book can change how people see me?" He shakes his head, his frustration palpable. "Why don't we all just put on capes and pretend we're superheroes?" The sarcasm stings, but Chip knows he's not mad at Timmy. He's mad at the world, at the unfairness of it all. Timmy's hands start to flap again, his body responding to the tension in the room. "Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "I know it's not easy. But sometimes, finding someone who gets it ca--" "GETS IT?" Plankton's voice echoes through the room. "You might have autism, like I do, but we're not the same!" He slams his fist down on the table, the force of it making the china rattle. "You don't know what it's like for me! When I was in school, teachers tied my hands to my chair to make me stop flapping! Do you have any idea how tha-" "Plankton!" Karen gasps with shocked surprise. She never heard of that before. "You never talked about that," she says, her voice trembling as she approaches him, her hands reaching out in a comforting gesture. Plankton's eye meets hers, and for a moment, the anger seems to drain from his face, replaced by a deep sadness. But he's not done. "That was almost child's play compared to the time when a teacher had explained to the class that I was 'lesser', and that, because of my autism, I wasn't capable of living a 'worthwhile' life and also deserved to be institutionalized, since I was just a drain on society," Plankton says, his voice trembling with rage. Timmy's hands stop moving altogether, his eyes wide with horror. "That's terrible," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "But Mr. Plankton, you have so much to offer. You're smart and you have a son that loves yo-" "Don't," Plankton says, his voice a warning. "Don't you dare try to erase my pain with your childish optimism." Timmy's eyes fill with understanding, his hands falling still. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice low. "I know it's not the same for everyone. But sometimes, finding strength in the way we're different can help." He looks down at his hands, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to share that wi-" But Plankton's had enough. He stands, his body rigid. "I don't need a pep talk," he says. "I need you to see me as I am." He walks away.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 11 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! The room feels like it's shrunk, the air thick with unspoken words. Chip's chest tightens, his eyes stinging. He'd never wanted to make his dad feel like this. Timmy looks at him, his expression full of sympathy. "It's okay," he says, his voice soothing. "He's just scared." They sit in silence for a while, the only sound the steady ticking of the clock on the mantel. Chip's mind is racing, trying to piece together what went wrong. How could something that brought Timmy so much joy cause so much pain for his dad? Timmy breaks the silence, his voice soft. "Sometimes, it's hard for people to accept help," he says. "Especially when it feels like you're trying to change them." He looks at Chip, his eyes understanding. "But you can't make anyone feel something they're not ready to." Chip nods, feeling a lump form in his throat. "But what do we do now?" He asks, desperation lacing his voice. Timmy shrugs. "Let's go apologize.." They find Plankton sitting on his bed in the bedroom. Chip's heart raced as they approached. "Dad," he starts, his voice shaking. "Timmy and I, we just want to say we're sorry." Plankton looks up, his eye twitching slightly. "You can't fix me." Timmy nods as Karen comes in. "But we can still be there for you," he says, his voice earnest. "And maybe, we can learn together." Plankton's gaze meets Timmy's, his expression unreadable. But before anyone can say another word, Plankton's body shifts. Suddenly, his eye glazed over, and he starts to rock back and forth, his hands flapping rapidly. "Dad?" Chip asks, his voice filled with fear; but Karen understands. "It's okay," Karen says. "It's one of his seizures." Timmy's eyes widen, his hands stilling in mid-air. "What's happening?" He asks. Karen explains in a calm, steady voice. "It's called a non-motor seizure. Sometimes it's just his brain doing its own thing. We have to be quiet and let it pass. This isn't the first time." Chip watches as Plankton's body rocks back and forth, his eye unfocused. He feels a rush of fear and helplessness. This is his dad, his hero, reduced to this by something he can't control. Timmy nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton. Karen quickly moves to Plankton's side. "Remember, Chip," she whispers, her voice calm. "Just let it run its course. It's like a storm passing through." Chip nods, his eyes glued to his dad's trembling form. Timmy sits silently beside them, his hands still in his lap as Plankton's seizure unfolds. His rocking becomes more pronounced, his breathing shallow and rapid. Karen holds his hand, her expression a mask of concern. "It's okay, sweetie," she murmurs. "You're sa-" But Plankton's body jolts, his eye rolling back in his head. Chip watches his dad's autistic behavior take over in a way he's never seen before. Timmy's eyes are wide with shock. "Is he okay?" He whispers to Karen. She nods. "It'll be over soon," she promises. "It's just part of his autism." The minutes drag on, each second feeling like an eternity. Plankton's seizure subsides, his body finally still. His breathing evens out, and the color starts to return to his cheeks. Chip feels a weight lift from his chest. "It's over," Karen whispers, her hand still gripping Plankton's. Timmy looks at Chip, his eyes full of unspoken questions. Plankton slowly opens his eye. Timmy's eyes are full of concern. "Are you okay, Mr. Plankton?" But Plankton doesn't answer. He's staring at something on the wall, something only he can see. His hand reaches out, flapping slightly, as if trying to grab onto an invisible thought. But Karen's been through this before. She knows what to do. She whispers to Timmy, "It's okay. This is just his brain's way of handling too much input." Timmy nods, his eyes glued to Plankton. As Plankton's body slowly relaxes, his voice starts, a string of words that don't quite make sense. "The... the...the...spoons," Plankton says, his voice distant. Chip and Timmy exchange confused glances. Karen squeezes Plankton's hand. "It's okay, baby," she whispers. "You're okay." Plankton's eye moved around the room, his hands flapping slightly. "The... the...the...spoons," he repeats. Karen's face relaxes into understanding. "Echolalia," she whispers to Chip and Timmy. "It's a way his brain reboots after a seizure." Timmy nods, his gaze still on Plankton. "I know about that," he says. "It's like my brain's playing back a tape of everything that's happened, trying to make sense of it." Plankton's voice gradually gains clarity. "The spoons...they...they're..." Chip watches, his heart in his throat, as his dad's hand still flutters in the air, his eye unfocused. "It's a sensory thing," Karen says, keeping her voice low. "Sometimes, his brain gets overwhelmed." Plankton's voice grows stronger, the words more random. "The...the...did," he says, his hand moving in patterns that seem to have a rhythm only he can understand. "They were...were...were..." Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's, her gaze full of patience and love. "Just breathe, baby," she says, her voice soothing. "Take your time.." Timmy watches, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "What's he saying?" He whispers. "It's okay," Karen reassures both Timmy and Chip. "It's just his brain trying to find it's bearings. Just let him find his way back." Plankton's words become more nonsensical, his hand still moving through the air as his voice cracks. "They...they were...were..." His eye flickers, and he swallows hard. "They were always...always..." Timmy's eyes never leave Plankton's, his gaze filled with understanding and compassion. He's been here before, in his own way. His hands start to move slightly again, as if he's trying to connect with Plankton's thoughts. "It's okay," he whispers. "You don't have to push." But Plankton's voice doesn't listen. "They were always...always... were...were...pats," he says, his hand moving in a pattern that makes no sense to him. Chip feels his heart break for his dad. This isn't the first time he's seen a seizure, but every time, it's like watching a piece of Plankton get taken away, leaving behind a man who's lost in his own world. Timmy, though, seems to understand. He reaches out his own hand, mirroring Plankton's movements. "It's okay," he says again. "We're here for yo-" But Plankton isn't listening. "They were always...were...pats," he repeats, his voice getting louder. "They were always pats!" He starts to chuckle. "Pats, pats, pats!" His hand hits the bed. Karen smiles sadly. "Plankton, I see you," she says, her voice a whisper. "You'll come back to us." Chip watches, his heart racing. Timmy's eyes are wide with understanding. He's seen this before in himself. "It's okay," he says, his voice calm. "You can come back whenever you're ready." Plankton's hand still flaps. "I'm here, Mr. Plankton," Timmy says. "You're not al—" But Plankton's voice rose in pitch. "The...tck...tck..." He's ticcing now, Chip realized. Each syllable punctuated with a sharp, staccato twitch of his face. "Tck...tck...tck..." Karen's grip on Plankton's hand tightens slightly, her eyes full of love and understanding. "You're okay," she murmurs, her voice steady. "Just let it out. It's okay." Karen turns to them. "This helps him," she whispers. "It's like...like releasing pressure." Timmy nods, his own hands still in his lap. "I get tics too," he says, his voice barely audible. "But not like that." He looks at Chip. "Sometimes it's ju—" But then, with a blink, Plankton comes back to himself. He looks around the room, confused. "What...what happened?" He asks, his voice slurred. Karen smiles gently. "You had a seizure, sweetie," she says. "But you're okay now."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 12 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Timmy watches him, his expression a mix of empathy and curiosity. "Is that normal?" He asks, his voice soft. Karen nods. "It's part of his autism," she says. "And his seizures. Sometimes his brain just needs a moment to recalibrate." Plankton looks at Timmy, his eye searching. "Do you...do you ever feel like that?" He asks, his voice tentative. Timmy nods. "Sometimes," he admits. "But not like that. My tics are more... predictable." He shows them his hands, which have started to move again. "It's like...like a little dance my brain does." The room feels a little less heavy as Plankton's tics slow, his hand coming to rest. "It's okay," Timmy says, his voice gentle. "We're here." Plankton nods, his gaze flitting around the room before settling on Chip. "I'm sorry," he says, embarrassed. "You don't have to apologize," Karen says, stroking his arm. "It's just part of who you are." But Plankton's eye is still on Chip, his expression uncertain. "I don't want you to be scared of me," he says. Timmy looks from Plankton to Chip, his eyes thoughtful. "You know," he says, "I used to think my tics were something to hide. Something wrong with me." He pauses. "But then I realized, they're just how my brain works. And sometimes, they're even pretty cool." He grins, his hands moving in a complex pattern. "Like, if I flap just right, I can make things fall over." He laughs, his eyes sparkling. Chip can't help but smile at Timmy's candidness. Plankton, though, remains silent. Timmy's words hang in the air, a gentle reminder that autism isn't just about the struggles, but the unique quirks that make them who they are. Chip's mind whirls with the weight of his dad's apology. "You don't have to be sorry for being you," Chip says finally, his voice shaking. Plankton looks at him, his expression unreadable. "But I don't want you to be afraid," he says. "I don't want you to think I'm a monster." Timmy's smile fades. "You're not," he says firmly. "You're my friend's dad. And you're a person, just like me." Karen nods, her screen shiny with unshed tears. "He's right, Plankton," she says. "You're more than just your autism." But Plankton's gaze remains fixed on Chip. "I just want you to understand," he says. "I'm not like everyone else." Chip swallows hard, his throat tight. "I do," he whispers. "I see you." Timmy then shifts. "I've to go, but I'll see you at school, Chip!" Timmy leaves, and Chip moves closer to his dad. "Dad," he says, his voice quiet. "I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid f-for you." Plankton's eye blinks, his hand stopping momentarily. "You don't have to hide from me," Chip continues. "Your tics, your stims, your seizures...they're just part of who you are." The next day, Timmy goes to the Krusty Krab to get himself a Krabby Patty. Mr. Krabs, the owner of the Krusty Krab restaurant, sees Timmy waving his hands. Mr. Krabs, a burly red crab known for his love for money and quick temper, doesn't understand Timmy's behavior. "What's the ruckus for?" He barks. Timmy's eyes dart around, his hands flapping faster. "I-I-I'm just...just..." He stammers, his words tangling in his mouth. Mr. Krabs raises an eyebrow. "Ye okay, kid?" He asks, his tone gruff but concerned. Timmy nods, his hands still moving. "I'm just excited," he says, his voice quick. "I-I-I like Krabby Patties." Mr. Krabs' expression shifts. "What's wi-" "I have autism," Timmy says, his voice clear. "It makes me flap and talk fast when I'm excited." Mr. Krabs looks confused, his claws paused mid-air. "A- uh...what's that?" He asks, his usual gruffness replaced by curiosity. Timmy takes a deep breath. "It's like my brain works different," he explains. "Some things are hard for me, but I see things others might miss. It's a type of...neuro-diversity. My grandma has it as well, and they think I've inherited it. It can manifest in different ways, being why it's called Autistic Spectrum. I've always been this way! There's no 'cure' but I'm proud of who I am. Autism is classified as a disability, yet it's also a gift, really. And sorry for rambling on, sir.." Mr. Krabs nods thoughtfully. "So, what exactly is the autism spectrum? And what type of disability is it?" He asks Timmy. Timmy smiles, happy to explain. "The autism spectrum is like a rainbow of brains," he says. "Some people are at one end and others are at the other, and everyone's different. It's like we're all unique snowflakes, but with brains instead of snow." He pauses, then continues. "It means we process things differently. Some of us have challenges with social interactions or sensory overload.." Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his claws still. "So, it's like, sometimes you see a Krabby Patty and it's just so good you can't help but wave your hands?" He asks, his eyes twinkling with the beginnings of understanding. Timmy laughs, his hands stopping for a moment. "Sort of," he says. "But it's more than just being happy. Sometimes it's hard to communicate or deal with too much noise or touch." Mr. Krabs looks concerned. "What do ye mean?" Timmy takes a deep breath, his hands starting to flap again. "Well, if it's too loud or too bright, or if someone touches me in a way that feels weird, my brain gets overwhelmed. It's like my brain is a computer and it's trying to run too many programs at once. It can be really tough." Mr. Krabs' expression softens. "I had no idea," he says. "But you're still a good kid." Timmy nods, his smile genuine. "And it's okay to ask questions," he adds. "That's how we learn. And as for communicating, it can be hard for an autistic person to find the right words, but it doesn't mean we don't have anything important to say. But misunderstandings can happen because of it. And the big emotions can come out in ways that seem unexpected. So my flapping is a way to communicate my joy. And it's important to let us express ourselves without judgment." Mr. Krabs looks down at his claws, realizing their potential for harm. "I'm sorry if I made ye uncomfortable, Timmy," he says, his voice low. "I didn't mean to. I just...I don't think I've ever really talked to someone with autism before." Timmy's hands still. "It's okay," he says. "Lots of people don't know what it's like. That's why it's important to tell them. And it can be hard to tell, because everyone's experience is so different." Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes thoughtful. "I see," he says. "So, what can I do to make your dining experience here today more comfortable? I want to make sure you're happy." Timmy's smile grows. "Well, thank you, Mr. Krabs," he says. "Could I maybe sit in a quieter corner?" He suggests. "And maybe I could have my Krabby Patty without the pickles?" Mr. Krabs' eyes widen. "Of course, Timmy," he says, snapping his claws. "I'll get that taken care of right away." He turns to his staff. "Ye heard the boy!" He barks. "Give Timmy a VIP seat and get him his Krabby Patty, no pickles, and make it snappy!" The employees jump into action, and within moments, Timmy is seated in a quiet corner of the restaurant, his Krabby Patty steaming on the table in front of him. Mr. Krabs sits down opposite him. "So, tell me more about this autism thing," he says, his eyes genuinely curious. "How does it affect folks?" Timmy takes a bite of his sandwich, savoring the taste. "Well," he says thoughtfully, his chewing slowing down. "It's like we see the world through a different lens. Some of us have super senses—like I can hear the fryer sizzling from across the room, and noise can hurt my ears—but others might not notice at all." Mr. Krabs leans in with interest. "And what about stimming?" He asks. "Is that what you call it when you wave your hands around?" Timmy nods, swallowing his food. "Yes," he says. "Stimming is self-stimulating behavior. It helps us focus and deal with the sensory input. Like, when I'm excited about something, I flap. That's just my own way of stimming. But not all autistic people do." Mr. Krabs nods, his claw tapping the table. "And what about social stuff?" He asks. Timmy thinks for a moment. "Some of us find it hard to read social cues," he says. "It's like everyone's playing a game of charades, and we don't know the rules. And some people might not like to be touched, or they might not understand jokes right away. But that doesn't mean we don't have feelings or want to be friends." Mr. Krabs considers this, his eyes thoughtful. "So, it's like each one of ye has a secret handshake, but it's not really a handshake at all?" Timmy grins. "Exactly!" He says. "Everyone's got their own way of saying hello. And it's okay if we don't always get it right. What's important is trying to understand each other." Mr. Krabs nods slowly. "I see," he says. "I wanna make sure that everyone who comes here feels welcome. I mean, all the autistic folks." Timmy's eyes lit up. "Thank you," he says. "That means a lot!"

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 13 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Mr. Krabs calls over his top chef, SpongeBob. "SpongeBob!" He yells. "We're going to start an 'Autism Awareness Day' at the Krusty Krab!" Sponge Bob's eyes widen in excitement. "Oh, Mr. Krabs that's so nice! Wait, when did you figure out I have it?" Sponge Bob's revelation silences the room for a moment. Timmy looks at him with a new found respect. "You do?" He asks. "Yeah, I was diagnosed when I was a kid," SpongeBob says, his eyes shyly looking down at his spatula. "But for me, I can have a hard time telling when people are sad or angry. But I also feel like it's what makes me so good at my job. I've memorized the entire employee handbook!" He laughs. "I haven't met anyone that I know of, other than you now Timmy, who's autistic though." Mr. Krabs nods, his gaze thoughtful. "I had no idea," he says. "But you know what? That's a strength. And from now on, we're going to make the Krusty Krab a place where everyone feels welcome, especially our autistic friends. I'd no idea, Sponge Bob! But if ye ever feel like ye need to talk, me office is always open!" The next day, Mr. Krabs announces to the town that the Krusty Krab will be hosting an Autism Awareness Day, where the menu will have additions to cater to the sensory needs of autistic customers. The news spreads fast, and soon, families with autistic children are lining up outside the restaurant. So after Chip left for school, Plankton sneaks a peek at the rival restaurant. Krabs is outside, chatting with Sponge Bob, who's now wearing a neon badge that reads 'Autism Awareness Champion'. Plankton watches, his antennae twitching with confusion. He's not used to seeing his enemy being... nice? "Karen, do you see Krabs? The guy who's stepped on me is calling himself a friend to autistics! I don't know whether to laugh or cry.." Plankton says. Karen nods, her gaze following Plankton's. "Well, he doesn't know yo--" "I know," Plankton cuts in, his voice tight. "But it's still...it's just..." He can't find the words. "It's just weird. I'm sneaking over there." And without waiting for Karen's response, Plankton bolts. His tiny legs carry him quickly, his eye locked on Krabs. He decides to eavesdrop. Krabs is speaking to a mother with a young boy. "Your son is welcome here," he says. "I promise we'll do our best to accommodate him." She smiles gratefully. Plankton watches, his heart racing. Krabs, the man who has caused him so much grief, is now advocating for the very thing he's struggled with his entire life. It's unsettling. He sees Krabs gently guide a nonverbal child away from the noise and bustle of the kitchen. Inside, there's a quiet play area with fidget toys and weighted blankets. The menu now includes sensory-friendly options, and the staff is wearing pins with the same message as SpongeBob's badge. "Autism Awareness Champion." Plankton's mind whirs. He made sure Krabs never found out about his autism, so he can perhaps act like he also belongs, and watch Krabs hypocrisy when he taunts his secretly autistic enemy! Plankton chuckles as he goes to the register when Krabs spots him. "What are ye doing here?" Mr. Krabs barks. "Plankton, you know you're not welcome!" Plankton's antennae twitch, trying to hide the urge to smirk. "Gimme a patty," Plankton says, his voice deliberately casual. Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow. "I don't think so," he says, his tone cold. "You're just here to steal me formular!" Plankton's antennae twitch in annoyance, but he plays along. "No, Mr. Krabs," he says, his voice measured. "I just came for a bite to eat. Thought I'd support your...new initiative." His voice is heavy with sarcasm, but Mr. Krabs misses the cue. "Initiative?" He snaps his claws. "It's not just an initiative, it's about respect! Understanding! We're making this p-" "Yeah, right," Plankton says, forcing a smirk. "As if yo--" "Plankton, how many times do I have to tell ye?" Mr. Krabs sighs, his eyes flashing with frustration. "You're not welcome here; never will you get to taste the Krabby Patty!" But Plankton's mind is racing. He can't believe what he's seeing. Mr. Krabs, the man who's always dismissed his differences, now embracing autism? It's like a twisted joke that he's not in on. He watches as Krabs helps another child, this one with a headset to block out the noise. The sight makes him feel both angry and...envious? So he stayed stubbornly firm, wanting to see how far this can go. Mr. Krabs crosses his arms. "I'm just trying to do the right thing. I have a friend," he says. "Someone special. And I've learned that everyone deserves to be seen for who they are." Plankton's eye widens slightly, but he keeps his poker face. "Is that so?" He says. "Well, I des-" "But you," Mr. Krabs says, his voice hard. "You're just here to cause trouble." Plankton feels a pang of frustration. How could Krabs be so blind to his own hypocrisy? "Krabs, you don't kno—" But Mr. Krabs won't let him finish. "No, Plankton," he says. "You don't get to play this game with me today. This isn't about you. It's about autistics, who deserve a place where they can be themselves without worry." Plankton's smirk fades, his eye darting around the room, seeing the smiling faces of the customers. "I am a-" "You're just here to steal my recipe!" Mr. Krabs roars, cutting Plankton off. "I'm not stupid like you, and I'm not gonna let the likes of you ruin this for everyone else.." The claws come down, hard and sharp, pinching Plankton's arm. He yelps in pain, his eye widening. The room goes blurry around the edges as he feels the sting, the pain. Mr. Krabs' face is a mask of fury, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Get out," he says, his voice cold. "You're not welcome here." But Plankton is frozen, his body trembling with the sudden flare of pain. He tries to pull away, his voice a mix of surprise and anger. "What are you doing?" He stammers. "You're hurt-" Mr. Krabs' grip tightens, his claws digging into Plankton's skin. "I said, get out," he repeats, his voice like steel. "You're not welcome here." Plankton feels his cheeks burning with humiliation and rage. How dare this crustacean, who has never understood him, claim to be an ally to his kind? He wrenches his arm free, rubbing the red marks. But then Mr. Krabs' fist comes down, connecting with Plankton's already hurt arm. The pain is sudden and intense, like a bolt of lightning shooting through his body. Plankton's legs give out, and his vision swims, but his body won't respond. He can feel the overwhelm started happening in his brain, a sensation he's felt many times before. It's like the world is spinning around him, but he's stuck in place. He's gonna have a generalized non-motor seizure, and he knows it. The customers gasp, and Mr. Krabs' eyes widen. "What's going on?" He yells, his voice echoing in Plankton's ears. The world goes quiet, and Plankton can feel his body twitching, his muscles spasming in response to the electrical storm in his brain. Another seizure, another complete loss of control. He hits the floor, his body convulsing. He tries to call out for help, but the only thing that comes out is a garbled mess of sounds, his mouth not quite forming the words he needs. His vision flickers, going in and out like a broken neon sign. He can hear voices around him, but they're muted. Spongebob rushes over, his eyes wide. "Mr. Krabs, what's wrong with him?" He asks. Mr. Krabs is frozen, his fists still clenched. "I don't know," he says, his voice tight. "I just hurt his arm..." One of the customer's eyes widen with realization. "It's a seizure," she says. Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his spatula dropping to the floor with a clatter. "Mr. Krabs, we have to help him! I'll get a first aid kit!" He yells, his voice shaking. The mother with the flapping child kneels beside Plankton, her face a mask of understanding. "I've seen this happen before. It can happen to some autistic people, as a result of stress or sensory overload." She says, as Sponge Bob returns with the first aid kit. The mother sighs, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "I've seen it happen to my son," she says gently. "It's part of his autism. It's called a non-epileptic seizure. It's not to dangerous, yet it can be scary for him." Mr. Krabs stammers; "I didn't know," he says, his voice small. "I just..." His gaze drops to the floor, as he finally realizes that Plankton is a part of the community he's supposed to be championing. The room is a blur of movement around Plankton as the staff and customers scramble to help, but all he can focus on is the pain in his arm, the embarrassment. Sponge Bob returns with a first aid kit, eyes wide with concern as he goes to bandage the arm. "Here, let me help," he says, his touch is surprisingly comforting as he carefully wraps the bandage around the injured area. Plankton can feel the warmth of his compassion through the cotton material. The mother nods. "It's just his way of dealing with it all. Sometimes, their bodies just...react." She pauses, her gaze flicking to Mr. Krabs, who is still standing frozen with shock. "But it's not always like this. Sometimes, they just need extra understanding." Mr. Krabs stammers, his gaze falling to Plankton's twitching form. "He's... autistic, too." "Yes, he's having a non- epileptic seizure," the mother says gently. "It's something that can happen to some autistics when overwhelmed." Mr. Krabs watches, his claws trembling slightly. "I'm so sorry, Plankton," he says, his voice filled with genuine regret. "I didn't know Plankton, can ye hear me?" Plankton's body gradually stills, the storm in his brain passing. His eye flutters open, and he looks up to see Mr. Krabs and Sponge Bob hovering above him, the mother still beside him.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 14 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "Plankton, are you ok?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice trembling. Plankton blinks slowly, the world swimming into focus. He feels...exposed. Vulnerable. He hates that. But he nods, his voice a whisper. "I-I-I-I…think s-so?" Mr. Krabs looms over them, his expression a mixture of shock and regret. "I didn't know," he says again, his voice cracking. "I had no ide-" "Please" Plankton says, his voice hoarse. He doesn't have the energy to be angry anymore. His body feels like it's made of jelly, and his arm throbs where Mr. Krabs' claw had been. But he understands now. Mr. Krabs is trying, in his own way, to make things right. And maybe, just maybe, Plankton can show his enemy what it means to be an ally. Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes shiny. "I promise," he says. "I'll do better. For you, for all of you." Plankton looks up at his enemy. Mr. Krabs looks down at his own hands, now trembling. "I'm sorry, Plankton," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't underst--" But Plankton cuts him off, his tiny body pushing itself up onto his elbows. "You don't get it," he says, his voice shaking with anger. "You think you can just throw around words like 'respect' and 'understanding' and pretend to care about autism? After all you've done to me?" His words hang in the air like accusations, sharp and painful. Mr. Krabs looks at him, his eyes softening slightly. "Plankton, I-I didn't know," he stammers. "I just...I just want to help. I don't want to fight anymore." But Plankton's not having it. He glares up at him, his tiny fists balled. "Help?" He spits out the word. "You think this is helping? You think excluding me from your 'Autism Awareness' shindig makes you a champion?" His voice is hoarse from the seizure, but the anger in it is clear. "Well you're wrong, Krabs. You're not helping anyone by ignoring me!" Mr. Krabs' expression falls, his claws dropping to his sides. "I-I didn't know," he repeats, his voice now just a whisper. "I didn't know ye were autisti-" But Plankton isn't listening. With a grunt, he pulls himself to his feet, the pain in his arm fading to a dull throb. "You don't know anything," he says, his voice shaking. "You think you can just throw a party and call yourself an ally? It's not about you, Krabs." He turns to leave, his legs unsteady, but his determination firm. He's had enough of the Krusty Krab's insincere attention. He doesn't need his pity or their half-hearted attempts at inclusivity. He just needs to get out of there, away from the prying eyes and the whispers of concern. Walking home, Plankton's mind whirs with thoughts of Mr. Krabs' ignorance and his own fury. He's used to the taunts and the jokes, but this...this was different. This was supposed to be a place where autistic people were celebrated, not a stage for someone to play the hero. The irony isn't lost on him—his enemy, the man who has belittled him for years, now claiming to stand up for his community. When Plankton comes back, Karen greets him as usual. "Hey, Plankton," she says. But her smile falters when she sees his expression. "What happened?" Plankton shakes his head, his eye downcast. "It's...nothing," he mumbles, his voice tight. He can't bring himself to tell her about the seizure, about Mr. Krabs' finding out. But Karen's not so easily fooled. She takes one look at his bandaged arm and the haunted look in his eye and knows something's off. "What happened?" She asks again, her tone gentle but insistent. Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. "Mr. Krabs," he says, his voice tight. "He...he found out." Karen's eyes widen in understanding. "And?" She prompts gently as he removes his bandages. Plankton's arm is a mess of red marks and bruises, a stark testament to Krabs' mistaken anger. "And he said he's sorry," Plankton says, his voice still tight with emotion. "He said he wants to help." But there's a bitter edge to his words that tells Karen all she needs to know about how Plankton really feels. She nods, her expression thoughtful. "Well, maybe this could be a good thing," she says. "Maybe it'll help him understand. Maybe it'll make things better between you two." But Plankton's not so optimistic. "Or maybe," he says, his voice a mix of anger and disappointment. "Maybe he'll just use it against me." Karen's expression softens, and she reaches out to gently pat his antennae. "Plankton," she says. "You can't control how others react. But you can control how you respond." Plankton sighs, his body slumping into the chair. He knows she's right, but it's hard to let go of the anger. He thinks back to the way Krabs' claws felt on his arm, the way his vision had swirled and his body had betrayed him. He's used to hiding his autism, keeping it a secret from those who wouldn't understand. But now, his deepest, most vulnerable part has been laid bare before his enemy. He shakes his head. "I don't know, Karen," he says, his voice small. "I just...I can't trust him." Karen nods, her gaze understanding. "I get it," she says. "But maybe, just maybe, he's trying to be better." Plankton stays silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor. He's not used to this, to feeling so exposed. He's spent his entire life hiding his autism from everyone, especially Krabs. And now, it's out there. His enemy knows his deepest vulnerability. With a sigh, he pushes himself up from the chair and heads to the bedroom, the solace of his small, controlled space. The doors clicks shut behind him, blocking out the sounds of Karen's kitchen and the distant laughter of passing fish. In the quiet, Plankton begins to stim. He rocks back and forth, his eye unfocused. The bedroom is a haven, his personal space filled with comforting items that help soothe his senses. He picks up his favorite fidget toy, the tiny plastic pieces clicking together in a rhythm that matches the beating of his heart. The repetitive motion calms him, centers him, as he tries to process the day's events. "Echo...echolal...lal...lal...la," Plankton murmurs to himself, his voice low and soothing. It's a word he heard earlier, a word that now holds a new meaning for him. He rolls it around his mouth, feeling the shape of it, the sound of it. It's a part of him now, a piece of his identity that he's still trying to understand.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 15 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! That same evening, Karen finds Krabs at the door. "What do you want?" She asks, her voice cool. But there's a desperation in his eyes that she's never seen before. "I-I want to talk to Plankton," he stammers. "I need to...apologize." Karen raises an eyebrow, surprise flickering across her screen. "What makes you think he'll want to talk to you?" Mr. Krabs' expression falls, his claws twitching nervously. "I know I've hurt him," he says, his voice cracking. "But I want to make it right." So he follows Karen in. Plankton sits in his room, his fidget toy clicking rhythmically. "Palilal...pali... lal...lal," he murmurs to the quiet space, as Karen and Krabs enter. The room's soft light highlights the intensity of his focus, his antennae twitching slightly with each word. Krabs watches him, his eyes filled with concern and curiosity. "What's going on, Plankton?" He asks. Plankton starts, his rhythm disrupted. He looks up, his face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "It's nothing," he says, his voice sharp. But Karen steps in, placing a gentle hand on Krabs' arm. "It's called echolalia," she explains softly. "It's a way for him to cope, to repeat words that have meaning to him. It's part of his autism." Krabs nods slowly, his expression still tinged with uncertainty. "I see," he says. "But I still need to apologize." Karen sighs, looking from Plankton to Krabs. "Fine," she says. "But you need to understand that Plankton's been through a lot today. Cut him some slack." Krabs nods again, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I'm so sorry," he says, his voice quiet. "I had no idea that you were...going through this." Plankton's eye narrows, his grip on the fidget toy tightening. "What do you want, Krabs?" He asks, his voice low. "An award for finally noticing?" He snaps before turning his focus back to the fidget. Krabs steps closer, his movement slow and deliberate. "No, Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "I want to make amends. To learn. To do better." But Plankton seems to ignore him. "Echo...echolal...lal...la," Plankton whispers, his gaze fixed on the fidget toy. The words come out in a soft, soothing rhythm, a secret language that only he understands. Krabs watches, his heart heavy. He's hurt Plankton before, but never has seen this. The room is silent, the only noise the faint click of the plastic pieces in Plankton's hand. Krabs takes a deep breath, trying to find the words to bridge the gap that's formed between them. "I didn't know," he says, his voice tentative. "I never knew you...you had autism." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye snapping up to meet Krabs' but he looks back down at his fidget toy, the rhythm of his murmurs increasing. "Echo...echolal...lal...la." Krabs fidgets, unsure of what to say. He's never seen Plankton like this before—so lost in his own world, so vulnerable. It's a stark contrast to the usual bravado and sarcasm that Plankton wields like a shield. "What does it mean?" He asks, his voice tentative. Plankton doesn't answer, the clicking of his fidget toy the only sound in the room. Krabs watches, his heart heavy with regret. He's always seen Plankton as a nuisance, someone to be defeated and humiliated. But now, he's just a small, hurt creature trying to make sense of a world that doesn't always make sense to him. "Uh, what about your arm Plankton?" "Echo...echolal...lal...la," Plankton repeats, his eye fixed on the fidget toy. The words roll off his tongue yet Krabs doesn't understand. Krabs' confusion grows as Plankton's murmurs fill the silence. It's a strange, almost hypnotic sound, a secret conversation that excludes everyone else. "What are you saying, Plankton?" He asks, his voice soft, tentative. But Plankton doesn't look up, lost in his own world of repetition and comfort. The words echo in the silence, a testament to his internal turmoil. "Echo... echolal...lal...la," he whispers, the fidget toy still clicking away. It's a self-soothing mechanism, a way to calm the storm in his brain. Krabs watches, his own mind racing. He's seen Plankton's quirks before, but this is something different. He's seen the anger, the sarcasm, the endless schemes. But this...this is Plankton's true self, raw and exposed. It's a side of him that no one ever gets to see other than Karen. The words keep coming, a stream of nonsense that seems to calm Plankton's racing thoughts. "Echo...echolal... lal...la," he murmurs, the rhythm never changing. Mr. Krabs feels like an intruder, watching a private moment he wasn't meant to see. Karen sighs, her hand moving to rest on Plankton's shoulder. "It's okay, honey," she says. But Plankton's focus is elsewhere, his eye glazed over. Krabs watches, his heart aching for the enemy he's hurt so many times. He's never seen this side of Plankton—the vulnerable, scared side that's now laid bare before him. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice trembling. "I didn't know." Plankton's murmurs continue, his fidget toy a blur of motion in his hand. "Echo...echolal... lal...la." The words come faster now, a staccato beat of his thoughts. It's as if he's talking in code, a language that only he can understand. Mr. Krabs feels like an outsider, a clumsy giant in a delicate world of patterns and repetition. Karen's hand on his shoulder doesn't move, a silent offer of comfort that Plankton doesn't seem to notice. "It's ok," she repeats, her voice calm and steady. "You're safe here." Plankton's murmurs become louder, the words tripping over each other. "Echo...echolal...lal... la...echolal...lal...la..." His grip on the fidget toy tightens, his body rocking slightly on his bed. Mr. Krabs' heart clenches at the sight, his mind racing with questions and concerns. He's never seen Plankton like this—so lost in his own thoughts, so detached from the world around him. It's as if his mind has retreated into itself, seeking refuge from the pain and confusion. The words are a lifeline, a way to find comfort in the chaos. Krabs watches, his own mind racing. What does it mean? What has he done to make Plankton feel this way? He knows he's hurt him before, but this is different. This is deeper, more profound. It's not just about stealing a secret formula or winning a contest. This is personal. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. What can he say to make this right? He's never faced a challenge like this, one that can't be solved with money or brawn. This requires understanding, empathy, and a willingness to learn. Krabs' eyes fill with tears as he watches Plankton's silent conversation with his fidget toy. "I-I just didn't know," he stammers. "I'll...I'll do better. I promise." But Plankton is lost in his own world, the words coming faster and faster. "Echo... echolal...lal...la...echolal... lal...la..." His voice rises in pitch, a frantic symphony of his inner thoughts. Karen's hand tightens on his shoulder, but Plankton seems oblivious to her touch. Krabs feels a pang of sorrow, his heart aching for the tiny creature in front of him. He's hurt him, and he's not sure how to fix it. "Plankton," he tries again, his voice gentler this time. "I'm here." But Plankton's world is one of repeating patterns and sounds, a place where the pain of the outside world can't reach him. "Echo...echolal...lal...la," he murmurs, the words tumbling out in a rush. It's a self-soothing mantra, a way to regain control in a world that feels out of control. Krabs' claws clench and unclench at his sides, his heart racing. He wants to help, but doesn't know how. He's always been so focused on the material, on winning, on defeating Plankton that he's never stopped to consider what's going on beneath the surface. He's never seen Plankton like this—so lost, so desperate. Krabs decides to try and connect. He clears his throat. "Plankton, what are you saying?" His voice is gentle, tentative, a stark contrast to the usual bluster. Plankton's murmurs don't cease, the words tumbling out like a stream of consciousness that makes no sense to anyone but him. "Echo...echolal...lal... la...echo...echolal..." Karen's grip on his shoulder tightens slightly, but she doesn't interrupt. She knows this is his way of coping, his method of navigating the storm in his mind. But Krabs is an outsider to this world, a blunt instrument in a place that requires finesse. But Krabs still wants to ask. "What does it mean, Plankton?" He ventures, his voice soft. "What are you trying to tell me?" He pleads, wanting to be welcomed into the autistic life he doesn't understand. But Plankton's words are for himself, a cocoon of comfort in the face of his enemy's curiosity. "Echo...echolal... lal...la...palilal...lal...la..." The words tumble out in a pattern that makes sense only to his own brain, a dance of self-expression in the chaos.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 16 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Krabs watches, his claws opening and closing in frustration. He wants to help, but he doesn't know how to enter Plankton's inner sanctum. He feels like an intruder, a rudimentary creature in a realm of complex thought patterns. "Please, Plankton," he begs. "Tell me what you need." He leans closer to Plankton. Plankton's eye closed, his voice a soft whisper. "Echo...echolal... lal...la...palilal...lal...la..." The words roll off his tongue, a soothing incantation that seems to calm his racing thoughts. Krabs leans in closer, trying to make out the meaning in the nonsensical string of syllables. He's never heard Plankton talk like this before—his words a mesmerizing tapestry of echoes and repetitions. It's as if he's speaking in a secret code, one that only he can decode. The phrases come faster now, a stream of consciousness that's both fascinating and eerie. "Echo...echolal...lal...la... Palilal...lal...la...echolal..." Krabs watches, his own thoughts a jumble of confusion and regret. He's seen Plankton's quirks before, the repetitive movements and the occasional strange sounds, but he's never seen this intensity, this complete retreat into his own world. It's as if Plankton is trying to build a fortress around himself, one that keeps the pain of the outside world at bay. So, he tries to make his way in. "Palilal...lal...la...echolal..." The words keep coming, each one a puzzle piece that Krabs tries to fit into the larger picture. He looks to Karen, his eyes pleading for guidance. Karen's expression is a mix of concern and understanding. "It's ok, Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "You don't have to explain." But Krabs can't let it go. He needs to know, to understand what he's done to his enemy that has brought him to this state. "What are you sa-" But Plankton throws the fidget across the room, the plastic pieces clattering against the wall; yet his eye remains glazed. Karen steps forward, her hand lifting to cup his cheek. "It's ok, sweetie," she says, her voice calm. "You don't have to talk if you don't want." She knows his stims, his silent mantras, are his way of navigating a world that often feels too loud, too bright, too confusing. She's been his anchor for so long, his interpreter of a language that others don't always understand. Krabs' eyes widen at the sudden outburst, his heart pounding in his chest. He's accustomed to Plankton's usual theatrics, but this is different. This is raw, this is real. He can see the pain etched into every line of Plankton's face, every twitch of his antennae. "What should I do?" He whispers to Karen, his voice desperate. Karen's gaze doesn't leave Plankton's face. She knows that his stims are a way to find peace in the chaos, a language that only she can understand. "Just give him space," she says, her voice a soothing balm. "He'll come back to us when he's ready." With that, Karen goes to the bedside drawer where the box of sensory items is kept. It's a treasure trove of textures and sounds, a collection that Plankton has amassed over the years to help him navigate the often-overwhelming world. She opens it with care, her eyes scanning the various fidgets and toys, each one holding a special place in Plankton's heart. She puts the box on his bed like an offering. "Here, sweetie," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Use something if it helps." Mr. Krabs watches, his eyes widening at the array of items. He's never seen anything like it—so many strange, wonderful things that seem to make no sense. Yet, they are a comfort to Plankton, a way to make sense of the world. He can't help but be curious, his eyes darting from one item to the next. What could these simple objects mean to his enemy? He reaches out a tentative claw, picking up a soft, squeezable ball. It feels strange in his grip, unlike anything he's ever held. "What does this do?" He asks, his voice a mix of wonder and ignorance. Plankton doesn't respond, his eye widening at the sight of Krabs taking his precious items without asking. Karen intervenes, her hand covering Krabs' claw. "These are for Plankton," she says, firm but gentle. "They're his tools for coping. Please, let him choose." Krabs withdraws his claw, his curiosity piqued but respectful. He watches as Plankton's eye flits from one item to the next. "Echo...echolal...lal...la... Palilal...lal...la...echo..." Plankton's murmurs slow, his breathing evening out. He reaches for a plush octopus from the sensory box, its tentacles a jumble of textures. He squeezes it tightly, the softness grounding him. "What...what is that?" Krabs asks, nodding towards the octopus. Karen smiles, a hint of pride in her voice. "It's a comfort object," she explains. "It has different textures to soothe his senses when things get too much." She watches as Plankton's fingers trace over the fabric, each a lifeline back to reality. "Everyone on the spectrum has their own way of dealing with overwhelm." Krabs holds his hand out to Plankton, palm up. "May I?" He asks, his voice hopeful. Plankton's murmurs fade, his breathing steady. He looks up, his eye meeting Krabs' with a hint of wariness before going back to his octopus without an answer. Krabs' heart skips a beat, his claws hovering over the box. He's desperate to connect, to show Plankton that he cares. He picks up a smooth, polished stone, rolling it between his fingers. "What's this one fo—" But Plankton's antennae snap up, his gaze sharp and fierce. "MINE!" He snatches the stone from Krabs' grasp, his voice a whipcrack of protectiveness. The room holds its breath, the tension palpable as Krabs' hand retreats, his eyes wide. Karen sighs, stepping between them. "Krabs," she says, her voice firm but kind. "These items are personal to Plankton. They help him regulate his senses. Please respect his space and his things." Krabs nods, his eyes never leaving the plush octopus Plankton clutches tightly. "I'm just trying to understand," he says, his voice thick with emotion. Plankton's grip on the octopus doesn't loosen, but his murmurs have ceased. The room is silent except for the sound of his shallow breathing. Krabs swallows hard, trying to find the right words. "What can I do?" He asks, his voice cracking. "How can I help?" Karen looks at him, her screen filled with a mix of pity and frustration. "Just be there," she says, her voice firm. "Don't try to fix him. Just be present. That's what he needs." Krabs nods, his eyes still on Plankton. He doesn't know what that means, but he's willing to try. He sits down on the bed, his movements careful not to startle him. Plankton's grip on the octopus doesn't waver, but his eye flickers towards Krabs. It's a tiny gesture, but it's enough to give him hope.

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS iii (Autistic Author) With a deep breath, Plankton nods. Karen heads upstairs and returns with Chip, his eyes wide and hopeful. She sits beside Plankton, her arm around him, offering silent support. Chip takes a seat on the floor, his legs folded under him as he stares up at his dad. "Don’t just stare at me like that!" Plankton yells, his voice echoing through the small room, causing Chip to flinch. Karen's grip on his hand tightens, a silent plea for patience. Chip's eyes fill with tears as he looks up at his father, not understanding why he's being yelled at. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I just wanted to know if you're ok." Karen's heart breaks as she sees the hurt on her son's face. She turns to Plankton, her voice firm but gentle. "Plankton, we need to talk to him. He's scared, and he loves you." Plankton's eye softens at the sight of his son's tears. He takes a deep breath, visibly fighting the urge to retreat into his anger. "Okay," he murmurs. "Okay." Karen squeezes his hand, her silent support a lifeline. She looks at Chip, her eyes filled with love and hope. "You remember when we talked about how everyone is different, and some people have challenges that others don't?" Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his father's face. "Well, Dad has something called neurodivergence," Karen begins, her voice calm and steady. "It means his brain works differently than ours. Sometimes it's like he needs a little break, to reboot." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "But why does he get so mad?" he asks, his voice small but earnest. Plankton's antennae quiver with irritation. "Why do you think," he snaps. "You just don't know when to leave me alone." Chip's eyes widen, his bottom lip trembling as he tries to hold back his tears. "I just want to understand," he says, his voice shaking. But Plankton's anger is a storm that doesn't easily pass. "I don't have to justify myself to you," he snaps, his antennae quivering with agitation. "So, don't ask me about it again." Chip's eyes well up with tears, his voice small and trembling. "But, Dad..." Karen's heart breaks at the sight of their son's pain, but she knows that Plankton's anger is a defense mechanism, a way for him to cope with his fear and confusion. She tries to interject, but Plankton beats her to it. “Well guess what Chip, the world doesn’t revolve around your curiosity,” Plankton snaps, his antennae standing tall with indignation. “Some things are just private, ok? Just like how I don’t ask you why you think you’re entitled!” Chip cries. “But that’s not fair to me, I…” Plankton's face contorts with annoyance, his antennae twitching erratically. “Fair? Life’s not fair, kid. Get used to it. You think you’re perfect? Maybe you should go live in a sitcom where everything’s wrapped up with a neat bow at the end of the day.” Karen winces at the harshness of Plankton’s words, but she knows her husband’s bark is worse than his bite. He’s hurting, and his defense is to lash out. She opens her mouth to speak, but Chip beats her to it. "Father," Chip says, his voice shaky but determined. "I’m trying..." "Oh, I know you're trying," Plankton says with a sneer, his antennae waving in the air like he's swatting at an invisible fly. "But you're trying to make this about you. You wanna try something? Well how about you try to start understanding that sometimes people need space, huh? Maybe then you'd get it." Karen sighs, her eyes never leaving Chip's face. "Plankton, please," she says, her voice a gentle reprimand. But Plankton's on a roll, his words coming out in a rush of bitterness and pain. "You want me to sugarcoat it for you, son? Tell it's all rainbows and sunshine?" His antennae are a blur of agitation as he stands up. "You wanna know what it's like? Imagine the world's loudest, brightest, most obnoxious parade happening in your head all day, every day. And you can't turn it off, no matter how much you want to. That's what it's like for me. So, don't you dare make it about your feelings, Chip!" Karen's chest tightens, her eyes flickering between her husband and son. She knows Plankton's frustration is a product of his condition, but the words are harsh, and the sting is real. "You know what, Chip?" Plankton continues, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Why don't you go live in a world where everyone is just like you? A perfect little bubble where everyone thinks the same, feels the same, and Neptune forbid, doesn't 'zone out'." He makes air quotes with his fingers, his antennae still twitching with agitation. Chip's eyes are red-rimmed, his cheeks wet with tears, but his voice is steady. "But Dad, I just want to know why you get like this. I want to help.." Plankton's sarcasm turns to a cold, hard edge. "Help? What can you do, huh? You think a pat on the back and a 'good job, Dad' is going to make everything ok? News flash, kiddo, it doesn't work like that, so stop acting like you know anything!" With that, Plankton storms out of the room in frustration. The door to his bedroom slams shut with a resounding thud, leaving Karen and Chip in the quiet wake of his anger. Karen pulls Chip into a tight embrace, feeling his small body shake with sobs, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Chip, honey," she says, her voice soft and warm as she strokes his back. "Daddy's condition isn't something he chose. It's called Autism." Chip looks up at her with wide, questioning eyes. "What's that?" "It's a way his brain is," Karen says, her voice gentle and calm. "It's something he's had since he was born. It makes it harder for him to deal with certain things, like noise and touch. And sometimes, it's like his brain goes on a little vacation without him knowing it." Chip looks up at her with a frown. "But why didn't you tell me sooner?" Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes misting over. "Because we wanted to protect you, and we didn't want you to see him differently," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Plankton was diagnosed after we'd already fallen in love. We didn't want to define him, or for you to think of him as anything less than the amazing person he can be when happy." Chip sniffs, his grip on her tightening. "But why does he get so mad?" Karen's gaze follows Plankton's retreating form, her heart heavy with the weight of their conversation. "His condition can make him feel overwhelmed," she explains, her voice gentle. "Sometimes, it's hard for him to control his emotions. When that happens, he says things. It's not necessarily you personally, honey, it's about him trying to deal with his own frustrations." Chip pulls back from the embrace. "But why doesn't he like to be touched by me, but meanwhile hugs you the same way I tried to?" he asks, his eyes searching hers for answers. Karen takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain something so complex to a young mind. "Daddy's love is different, Chip," she says, her voice gentle. "He shows it in his own way. When I know he's had a hard day, I don't just come up and hug him. I look for signs, like if he's been more quiet than usual, or if his antennae are drooping. That's how I know he might need a hug or just some space." Chip's frown deepens. "But how do you know…" "I've learned to read him," Karen says, her voice filled with understanding. "When he needs a hug," she adds with a sad smile, "his eye gets this soft look, like he's asking for it without saying the words." Chip nods, trying to process this new information. "But what about me?" he asks, his voice small. "How do I know?" Karen sighs. "When he's about to get irritated," she begins, "it can be like he's bracing for something. That's a way I can tell." Chip nods, his curiosity piqued. "How does his face look?" Karen takes a moment, her eyes reflecting on her years of experience. "When Daddy's about to get irritated," she says, "his eye tends to narrow, just a bit." Chip looks confused. "But why does he have only one eye?" he asks, his voice innocent and curious. "It's a condition called cyclopia, which runs in his family."

⡆⠀⠀⠙⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠾⠋⠉⣀⡴⠞⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠆⢀⡜⠁⣀⡴⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣆⠀⠀⠈⠀⠰⠀⣀⣴⡾⠏⠁⣀⡴⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠆⢠⣮⣠⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠋⣀⣴⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠀⠟⠉⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣷⡒⠀⠀⠀⠹⢾⡋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⠶⠶⠚⠉⠉⠉⠛⠶⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣁⣤⡴⠶⠒⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⠶⠞⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠶⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⣠⡾⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣟⣡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⡤⠤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠳⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⡸⢫⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⣴⣿⣭⣾⣿⣿⣷⣦⣍⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣄⣰⠛⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⣃⣴⠟⣩⣤⣤⣤⣌⠛⣦⡹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⢣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡟⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠘⡇⠻⣧⡀⠀⠀⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠤⠖⠋⢹⡿⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⠈⠙⠳⢤⣿⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⢰⡏⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠴⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⢹⣄⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⢰⡿⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠞⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠹⣦⣉⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⣁⣴⠿⠁⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⡿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣷⣿⣆⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢏⣴⠟⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠿⣆⠀⠀⠉⠛⠒⠒⠒⠒⠚⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣆⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠙⠳⠦⣭⣉⣩⠶⠿⠉⠀⣶⠞⠉⣿⠀⠀⠹⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⠙⢳⡶⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⡤⠶⠶⠒⠋⠉⠉⠉⠛⠶⢦⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣦⡀⠀ ⢦⣴⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡤⠶⠶⠚⠋⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠛⠓⠲⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠾⠿⣆ ⣶⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⠶⠶⠶⣶⠶⠶⠾⢷⣦⣀⣀⣀⣴⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼ ⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡿ ⣏⣀⣤⣤⣤⠶⠖⠛⠛⠋⠹⣇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣄⣀⣤⣤⡤⠴⠖⠚⠛⠋⢻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠋⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⠁⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡄⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⣠⣤⡤⠴⠶⠛⢛⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣛⡁⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⠏⣸⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⣸⡏⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠙⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⠟⠋⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⢿ ⣟⣣⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡟⡀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⣻⣿⣿⠃⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡼⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⣾⠃⢀⣤⡾⠋⣼⣿⣿⡟⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⡀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⡿⠿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⢺⣿⡀⠀⠻⣿⣿⡇⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠙⢿⣄⠀⠀⣼⠃⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣷⣤⡀⠀⢠⣾⣿ ⣧⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣤⡟⠈⠁⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣧⡂⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⡶⠾⠿⠿⠛⠻⢿⣶⣿⠏⠙ ⠁⠈⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠓⠶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⡋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⢀⣾⡏⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠖⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⣷⣶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀ ⠀⠀⢀⣀⣴⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣏⡌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉

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

🅃🄾🅄🅁🄴🅃🅃🄴 🅂🅈🄽🄳🅁🄾🄼🄴 𝚃𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝙰 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚜𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚖 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜.