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is coming. That means giving = . -autistic…

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A look at sensory friendly movie innovations autistic Autism Friendly Cinema

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If you have ever told an autistic child “quiet hands.” Fuck you, you piece of shit.

anonymous asked:

I've always had problems with types of clothes. I couldn't wear jeans until 6th grade, I didn't wear log sleeved shirts until 4th and I still can barely wear socks with seams. My fav phase of clothes I went through was from about 2nd or 3rd grade to 5th grade, I only wore yoga pants and tshirts. Similarly, during the summer between 6th and 7th I only wore basketball shorts and graphic tees!

I’m supposed to read a book that touches on the experience of fatherhood this month, and an autistic friend suggested “The Curious Incident of The Dog in The Night-Time”. Ya know, the one about the aspie boy.

I’m looking at the back of the book now and…

…I’m sort of sceptical.

Will attempt to review when I’m done. Apart from this one friend, I haven’t heard much positive feedback from the community on this one.

Instead of trying to teach autistic people to act neurotypical…

Can we help teach them coping strategies so they can live productive lives without constant fear of a meltdown or sensory overload. Or give them resources so that they, or someone else whom they trust, can advocate for them to get the resources they need. Maybe?

Elsa on Autistic Pride Day

Image: Elsa during the “Let It Go” song, with her arms spread wide and an excited proud look on her face.

Text: I don’t care, what they’re going to say! / I’m proud of who I ammm! / On Autistic Pride Day and everyday

(This post was a request! Thank you Naomi!

This is also the second post today. I’ve only posted one a day so far, but it’s Autistic Pride Day!!)

Comfort objects and trauma

Trigger warning for traumatic experiences and mentions of torture and abuse

I’ve been through a lot of traumatic experiences in my life but I wanted to talk specifically about comfort objects.

So, I always had comfort objects since I was a baby. They were mostly plushies as they’re a special interest.

My earliest was a red Clifford the Dog plushie that I loved with all my heart. He was everything for me. I had to take him literally everywhere or I would get angry and uncomfortable very fast.

He started to get very old and was falling apart as plushies usually do. I loved him even without an eye and with a very floppy body.

One day my parents decided he was trash. They decided to throw him away and replace him with a “better”, yellow one.

I was devastated. I cried and cried all night long. The yellow one didn’t feel right. He was wrong, different, he wasn’t MY Clifford.

I was forced to stay with that one for a long time. My parents never found a red one like the one I had again. But they found a very similar model that was dark blue, and it was more comforting than the yellow, but still not perfect.

It never felt right.

I got gradually more and more defensive. I started to hide my comfort objects and worry about then 24/7. In school, I would get small little meltdowns where I had to rush to the bathroom and rock and bite my hands for a solid 15 minutes so I would stop panicking because I had very intrusive thoughts.

What if I get home and he isn’t there anymore? What if I never see him again? What if he gets destroyed?

I experienced these sensations with all my comfort objects. My current one is a husky plushie named Tsume. He is my everything. I’ve had him for more than one year now, he was a gift from my caregiver and I got attached to him since the first time we hugged.

(Image description: Tsume, a white and grey siberian husky dog plush animal, is in a sitting position looking away from the camera. He is wearing a blue collar with white polka dots and a small dark blue tie in the center and also a blue bracelet around his left leg. Around Tsume body is Cão’s legs; he is wearing black pants with white details in the right knee. End of description.)

I treat Tsume like he is alive. Everyone in my house already commented how alive he looks, like he is a real dog. I buy him collars and clothes and accessories from the pets section every time I go out. For me, he really is alive.

When I’m having a specially bad day with lots of intrusive thoughts it’s hell to leave the house and not take him. I think of a hundred ways that he could get hurt. I couldn’t handle that, I would break down completely. It would be so, so bad.

One day I almost didn’t leave the house because I was worrying that my house could get on fire (don’t ask me why, that never happened with me before and the houses in my country aren’t easily inflammable) and he would get burned inside. I was almost having a meltdown because he could be gone.

I frequently have nightmares where he is taken away from me, gets lost, destroyed or something similar. Honestly, these are the worst and I wake up in an instant, very intense meltdown.

I need him with me so I can sleep. Only the thought of sleeping without him makes me panic. Not a “that would be unpleasant” panic, but a “that would be horrible and I would cry all night if that would happen”.

My comfort object is my everything. He is my safe spot, my home, my consistency in a world where everything is too much.

He is my family, my best friend, protector. My fierce companion for life. He is my guardian, the one that never makes me sad, the one that’s always there for me.

He is my everything.

Having to deal with a forced separation from my comfort object traumatized me to the point where I developed intrusive thoughts and would make strategies to keep them safe. It was abusive and it impacted me so much that even now, almost 15 years later, I’m still having nightmares of that day.

Taking away comfort objects is abusive. It’s wrong. Forcing an autistic person to break a bond that strong feels like torture. And I’m not even exaggerating.

Comfort objects are more than just objects for us. They’re extremely important. They’re our everything. Taking them away is not fine.

Do not… I repeat, do not EVER take away, destroy or mess with an autistic person’s comfort object.

They’re more important than you may think.

(okay to reblog!)

Autistic! Judy Hopps Headcanons

Originally posted by hammytotherescue

1. Judy is an Adult-Baby/Age Regressor who loves baby toys and diapers, but hates being called “childish” 

2. She hates wearing pants due to sensory issues, but is forced to wear them as a family tradition.

3. Her favorite stims include jumping, cheering, smiling, and moving her arms around.

4. She doesn’t always make eye contact but knows when it’s socially appropriate to look at another person when they’re talking to her.

Tomorrow, I’m finally going to meet the specialists who are supposed to diagnose me. Deep breaths. It’s incredibly distressing. I’m worried about so many things and some of them are quite the opposite.

I guess the one I’m worrying the most about is their perception of my autistic traits. I’m afraid they might see not enough of them, but also too much. Like, that they might think that I’m trying too hard to get a diagnosis. And it’s not that.

I’m going to be awfully stressed. I can’t predict my own behavior. I might start to chew on my chewing necklace or stim wildly or find myself being barely able to talk. Or, on the contrary, everything will be repressed until the end, until they can’t see me anymore. They’ll think I don’t display any autistic behavior.

Sigh… On one hand, I have waited for this to happen for so long. On the other hand, I’m totally anxious. I know that I’m autistic. My therapist is convinced too, my mom finally accepts it, but if these guys decide that they think I’m not, it’s going to be a lot harder to get any accommodations. 

We’ll see how it goes. I mean, the two tests I filled are both saying that I’m autistic. The mom of an autistic teenager almost immediately recognized her son’s traits in me, which she told me when I talked about my autism. I’m sure of who I am. I just have to show them that, truthfully, sincerely. My whole me. 

So... I hear that Autistic Pride Day is today.

I am Autistic (diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome as a child), so color me interested!

Here is a jingle to celebrate all things Autism and how awesome we are as people!

We are Autistic!

Inspired by: I am Murloc - By Blizzard’s very own rock band, Level 70 Elite Tauren Chieftain (old name, the current one escapes me) -

Keep reading

Window to Your World #2

When Thaïs arrived home, her dad seemed to have just woken up, opening the front door slowly like a bear coming out of hibernation.

“Hello sweetheart, nice day at school?”

“Dad, your hair looks like an old, abandoned nest!”

“Ah… alright. Thank you for that.” He smiled at the elderly lady waiting by the door. “Thanks so much for picking her up. Thaïs, did you say thank you?”

“Thanks!” She shouted, kicking off her shoes and running down the hallway and into the living room. A second later, the brash sounds of children’s cartoons could be heard.

“I’ll uh, I’ll let you get back to… you know.. thanks again, yeah?” He gave the old woman an embarrassed smile before closing the door.

In the living room, Thaïs was sprawled out on the sofa, legs propped up on a pile of pillows and her head over the edge of the sofa, so that her body was more upside down than right side up. This was how she watched her cartoons when she came home from school. This angle added a little interest to the episodes she had already seen multiple times - reruns seemed to be the norm on these channels. She wasn’t too fussed about following the meagre plot, prefering the visual stimuli and the often hilarious sound effects. Between episodes, the channel showed mindless adverts, and she always had her snack during the first break. Milk and a slice of marble cake.

“Ten more minutes and then it’s homework time, OK?”

She peeled off the layer of marzipan from her cake slice, saving it for last.

“I don’t have homework today.”

“Well, I’d like to work a bit on your reading. Your teacher lent us that really nice book with the animal tales, we can read it together.”

“Sorry, no can do! Maybe next time?” Thaïs was gripping her slice of cake so tightly, it was being reduced to crumbs in her fist.

“Honey, that script isn’t going to work on me. Look, we don’t need to read for long, just ten or fifteen minutes, and then you can go play.”

“Play what?”

Her father sighed, and she knew it meant she had had a moment. She wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but she had heard the lady at the clinic talking about these moments with her dad. They were not good, and they made grown ups sad or mad. She thought it best to change the topic.

“I almost punched Reese today, but I didn’t”, she said.

“I… OK… Well, good! Well done. I’m glad you controlled yourself.”

“He kept whistling. It was so annoying! I told him to stop, and he did it again. I was about to ram my fist in his face but then I heard a siren so I had to cover my ears. So I couldn’t use my hands, see?”

“I see. Well, I hope that if you ever feel like hitting him again, you can remember that moment and stop yourself. Maybe pretend you hear a siren.”

“Pretend sirens don’t hurt my ears.”

“No, I guess not…” He sighed again, and added quietly, “I guess we need to work on it.”

Originally posted by various-cartoon-awesomeness