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Ask an Autistic: Q&A with Linn

When I tell people that I’m autistic, a lot of questions come up. Sometimes it has to do with how I personally experience being autistic, other times it’s about autism in general. For this week’s post I decided to collect questions from those around me and answer them in a public format. Disclaimer: for questions that focus on my specific background, please remember that I’m just one autistic person; we’re all unique in our own ways.

TW: Mentions of Autism $peaks, suppression treatment/therapy/cure, and prevention/pregnancy screening

Q: What causes autism? Is it genetic?

A: While there is no confirmed cause of autism, heredity is one of the stronger possibilities. There has been a strong prevalence of autism found in families such as my own; certain traits have been observed and noticed in my dad and paternal grandmother since I was diagnosed as a child. Research on the heritability of autism has been conducted, but no gene nor genetic mutation have been specifically detected.

Q: How have ESAs helped?

A: Having Greg and Charles (my two guinea pigs) has been extremely helpful when it comes to needing to talk about something that is on my mind. I have a tendency to stay up extremely late and often times there are few people for me to talk to even online. The boys are always with me and – since they don’t sleep a lot either – are always available to hear my thoughts. Although they can’t speak back, it’s a relief to know that I a) won’t be judged or misunderstood, and b) don’t need to properly articulate myself and can speak freely.

Q: Why do some autistics have chew toys and squishy things all the time?

A: Those objects are used to satisfy a need for sensory output. Due to the high sensitivity that many autistic people experience, they take in a lot from the world around them and need to process it through an action called stimming. Stimming can take many forms, including flapping, rocking, fiddling with hands, and playing with objects. Toys like fidget spinners were initially designed for autistic folx and others with similar output needs so that they can process the inputs.

Q: Which sounds are most painful/annoying?

A: Hand dryers, fire alarms, fluorescent lights, hair being pulled out of the roots (it’s really quiet but still piercing), toilets flushing, ice being scraped off, gunshots, fireworks, and vacuum cleaners.

Q: Which senses are most affected?

A: All my senses are affected, yet it’s most severe for my hearing, sight, and smell. The aversion to scent was a lot stronger when I was a kid, but I still experience discomfort when I walk through perfume sections in stores or am around particularly strong-smelling food. My sensitivity to light usually results in me sitting in unlit rooms for longer than what would be expected, wearing sunglasses outside even when there’s an overcast, and sometimes avoiding going outside altogether.

Q: Is there a possibility for pregnancy screening?

A: The idea of pregnancy screening for autism is a rather slippery slope. Personally, I think it could be helpful in learning the probability of a child being autistic before they are born so that they can be supported and aided in their social and sensory integration early on, making their lives more comfortable as well as becoming more understanding of themselves. However, many people who want to screen for autism during pregnancy wish to do so not because they want to help their children but because they want to prevent their child from or abort the fetus if they’re found to be autistic. This is often the focus of research for hate/neurotypical-run groups like Autism $peaks, making it harder for actual autistic people to raise and explore their inquiries. Until the core goal is pulled away from prevention and placed on support, I don’t wish to promote that form of technology.

Q: What is the most difficult part of talking to strangers?

A: The biggest problem is trying to make an impression. Something a lot of autistic people do when they are socializing (especially with neurotypicals) is masking, in which they make efforts to disguise their autistic traits. When I’m talking to someone for the first time I tend to put on the mask because I want them to perceive me as “normal.” Communicating with people in general takes a bit of multitasking for me (another post for another day), so putting up a wall between me and them is an added expense of energy that can make the conversation exhausting. When it’s all mixed together, it can cause a great deal of anxiety for me; on top of draining my social battery, talking to strangers amps up my nerves and makes for what can be a highly miserable situation.

Q: Why are some autistics more “normal” than others?

A: It’s not that certain autistic people are more or less “normal,” it’s a factor of their ability to mask and the severity of symptoms. There are a wide range of traits autistic people can display, including social/communication irregularities and repetitive behaviors, all of which have their own spectra. For example, some autistic people struggle with motor skills and require assistance like wheelchairs, while others do not struggle with mobility. Here’s a comparison of how we’ve looked at the autism spectrum in the past and how it really should be viewed:

Image result for autism circle spectrum

Autism comes with many different “flavors,” and each flavor has its own strength of taste.

Q:* My nephew (ze/zir/zem) has Asperger’s and is nearly 30 years old.  Ze is transitioning and is Polyamorous. I would like to be supportive of zir as well as my sister…. Bonding over fashion, hairstyles and make-up has drawn them even closer and my sister accepts and is supportive of zir, who lives with her. I’m on the opposite coast and haven’t been as close as I’d like because her kids largely grew up living far away. I’m a lesbian and my wife seems to have more interests in common with zer, or at least did the last we got together.  I love zir, who has such a gentle spirit and sharp mind. 

What can I do to be supportive from a distance beyond the typical birthday and holiday gifts?  At times ze has gotten depressed…. I worry about zir…. do you have any special insight to share?

*This question has been edited to maintain topic focus and save space.

A: I’m very glad that ze has such a strong support system and accepting family.  Being an autistic trans person myself, I know how important that is for overall well-being.  
I’m not sure what style of communication ze most appreciates, but finding out and keeping in touch with zem in such a way could be very helpful.  Just knowing that you’re there (albeit not physically) can be very comforting, and setting it within zir realm of amenity will make zem feel more at ease.  As far as communicating goes, asking zem about zir hobbies and special interests will show zem that you value zem and zir thoughts.  Of course, be sure to ask zem if there is anything ze would especially benefit from; even if ze doesn’t have something in mind, ze’ll know that you care about zem. 

Q: What therapies do you consider important?

A: When seeking out therapy for managing symptoms of autism, I think it’s important not to seek out ones that will try to suppress and change natural expressions like stimming, such as applied behavioral analysis (ABA). Occupational therapy (OT) and speech therapy (ST) that work to lesson the barriers between autistic people and the world around them through learning coping skills for anxiety and sensory overload are very important, as well as physical therapy (PT) for those that have limitations with their motor skills. As a kid, I was enrolled in all three and they tremendously helped me with my ability to manage the “frictions” (as I like to refer to them as) I have in mainstream society. The main thing to remember when it comes to any therapy or treatment is support, not suppress.

Q: Can it be treated with medication like ADHD? 

A: There’s really no medication specifically meant to treat autism, although doctors can prescribe meds to treat certain symptoms such as seizures and anxiety. Risperidone, a medication used to decrease irritability and mood swings, is the only medication officially approved by the FDA for autism spectrum disorder. However, it should be noted that autism in itself is not a disease that needs to be treated or cured, which brings me to my final question.

Q: What is a common stigma for autism?

A: There are a large handful of stigmas I could talk about, but the one that bothers me the most is that autism is a tragedy. Over and over again I see autism mom blogs that tear their children apart and paint them as burdens they’ve been suffered to carry. Imagine how that makes autistic people feel, let alone the children who will later read what their parents have written about them. Being autistic doesn’t make us less or defected; we’re simply different. This stigma not only perpetuates the negative social perspective on autistic people but it also prevents people from seeking diagnoses that could allow parents of and autistic folx to gain more insight about, and find ways to advocate for and support themselves. It also makes it so much harder for autistic people to be treated with respect and understanding by those they encounter during their daily lives, such as cashiers, doctors, teachers, and coworkers. All we want is to be accepted by others for our authentic, autistic selves.


If you ever have any other questions about me or autism, please feel free to send them my way. I’m always happy to share information and build on people’s understanding.

Thank you and have a grade-A day!

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Upcoming Blog Post: How YOU Can Help!

For my next post I would like to answer questions people have about autism and/or how it’s affected my life. If you would like to submit a question, please drop a comment on this post or email me at nhsmonty@gmail.com. I don’t consider any question to be stupid or too weird; throw them my way!


Thank you and have a grade-A day!

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A Year in Reflection

As my 22nd birthday approaches, I want to think about something a psychic told me at the Union Bash event on campus during the past school year. I had recently experienced a great deal of heartache and I was looking for some hope or advice. I’m not super open-minded to psychics but I’m not entirely closed off. While I was with her, she told me that I would have three major victories in love during the year. I wasn’t exactly sure what to make of her prediction, but since that night I have experienced those three victories, which I have broken down into three lessons that themed my 21st year.

1. You can’t (properly) love someone without loving yourself.

Back in 2016 I started dating my first (and to-date only) boyfriend Sam; when he broke up with me just three months later, he said it was because he didn’t love me as he had originally attested. About a month later I was visiting a friend of mine, and she asked if I had lost myself while falling in love with him. I said that it wasn’t so much that as it was that he thought so many wonderful things about me that I neglected to think those things about myself.

Just in answering that question I had scratched the surface of one of my biggest mental complexes, which started at my former church. To put it in so few words, the pastor got it into my head that having any sense of pride in myself aligned me with a sinful lifestyle. I took it to the extreme and avoided having anything that could be remotely seen as pride, including self-esteem. If I even had the slightest hint of, “Hey, I’m good at this,” I’d push it down and keep it within until someone else said the same thing. I felt that I needed others to justify any positive notions in order to believe they weren’t a misconception. If I didn’t get an A on a paper, I was bad at writing. If no one complimented my drawing, I wasn’t a good artist. Since I wasn’t very social when I was young not too many people commented on me as a person or my looks, so those took the hardest hit from my toxic mindset. Therefore, as time went on, I felt more driven to find a romantic partner who would fill that capacity for me.

And that’s why every romantic pursuit I ever encountered prior to learning this first lesson was deemed to fail. While a partner should have nice thoughts about you and make you feel good about yourself, it’s not their role to be your self-esteem. Putting that responsibility on them is unhealthy and – if the relationship ends – destructive. When Sam left, he took my sense of self-worth with him and left me with nothing. It was hard to pick up my pieces when so many of them had never existed. You need to have not just an idea but a firm belief in who you are before you invite someone to become part of your life. You can’t love someone without being whole.

A few months after my visit with the psychic I was sitting in a bar and thinking about how certain people didn’t like me. By not having their approval I felt rotten and unworthy of love. But then I remembered something my grandpa had said to me: “If you’re ever worried about what other people are thinking or saying about you, go to the mirror, look the person you see in the eyes, and ask them, ‘What do you think?'” And I realized it didn’t really matter what those other people thought about me. I’m the only person I’ll ever have to be with for every waking moment of my life, so shouldn’t I be more concerned with my opinion of myself than with anyone else’s? I could feel myself strengthening within as I shed off the dead skin of dependency I’d been wearing for over a decade and began to grow into a self-affirming, caring human being. Obviously the journey towards self-love didn’t come to a conclusion that night, but it was the beginning of better-footed one.

2. Don’t be scared to give love to those around you.

The biggest reason I’ve had for not reaching out to someone I cared for was I was scared of being rejected, something to which a lot of people can relate. By opening up your heart you open yourself up to the possibility of being hurt, and the pain can feel unbearable at times. I never thought I’d experience this with an animal, but here I am.

My symptoms of anxiety, depression, and autism were becoming difficult to deal with – especially late at night – and an emotional support animal soon became an appropriate option for me. I adopted Greg, my first guinea pig, in late December of 2018. After only a week or so with him we were thick as thieves. He was someone I could talk to when I had no one or wanted to speak to someone I knew wouldn’t judge me. On days when I didn’t want to get out of bed, the need to feed him or clean out his cage pushed me to get up. He was a bright ray of sunshine no matter what kind of day I was having. I thought he was just about to turn three when I got him, so I was excited to have him with me as I got myself started as a full-fledged adult.

However, as of late, I’ve realized that won’t be the case. After nearly two months of vet appointments, it’s been confirmed that Greg is likely seven and a half years old (life expectancy of a guinea pig is four to eight years) and has osteodystrophy, satin syndrome (rapid overgrowth of teeth), and possibly kidney disease. Were it not for his high energy levels and appetite for the Critical Care, his prospects would be rather tragic. After learning about all this, I’ve felt angry and crushed. Why would this sweet, amazing creature be put in my life just to be stolen away from me? I lost my second pig Oliver a few weeks before everything happened with Greg; it felt like a large knife was hacking into an already-open would. I just wanted to carry Greg around with me everywhere I went and hold him close for as long as possible. One morning I found myself talking about having pets with my therapist and how I was beginning to think it was a masochistic undertaking because of how short their lives can be.

But when the question of whether I would take this all back was pressed, I said no with sure confidence. I knew that if I had been told upon adopting Greg that he would die within the next year or so and had several health deficiencies, I still would have taken him. Even though this has all been difficult to process and the thought of losing him tears my heart, I’m so happy that I can be his last pet parent and make his sunset years his best. I can see the joy and mutual affection in his eyes when he’s scurrying behind me around my room. In turn he’s teaching me that giving love is always worth it, no matter the outcome.

3. Indulge your little passions.

It’s really easy for life to become a meaningless blob if you don’t look for some joy within it. I love school but just sitting at a desk and continuously reading the assigned material and writing for the specific task can lead to a great deal of monotony. Just having one or two small pleasures can make the difference.

This past spring semester was by far the most difficult I’ve experienced in the past four years of college. I was taking eighteen credits, which counted for seven classes including five upper-level courses. For one of those classes I did practicum hours at a local middle school three hours a day twice a week for three and a half weeks. I was also working an on-campus job and completing my application materials for student teaching. Any moment that wasn’t spent plowing through homework seemed to be wasted. I felt like I was developing tunnel vision and the only thing in sight was the end of the semester.

But as finals week came to a close, I started breathing again. I’d put on Netflix and paint, either with my fingers or with brushes. My poetry notebooks started getting pulled off the shelf again and filled with my ideas. I actually left my room to go to concerts.

One of those nights in particular my favorite local band Moon Dogs was playing and it was the first time they played “Dreams.” The song pulled deeply at my soul and seemed to put me in a whole other universe. I’ve always had an affinity for music (it’s one of my top stims) and that song was a refreshing reminder of the importance of simply enjoying the things we love.

How have I applied that to my life? I pre-plan concerts and shows into my schedule to break up the day-to-day sludge. Every once in a while I get a bottle of wine and listen to peaceful music while I have a drink. I started this blog to give me another outlet for my writing. Through giving in to these little acts of diverting from my responsibilities, I can remember all the beautiful parts of life and love every inch of it.

Conclusion

When I visited that psychic last year, I wasn’t expecting any huge revelations. But after the roller coaster of a year I’ve had, I feel the true impact of what she said. Succeeding in love is so much more than finding a partner; it’s about finding yourself, courage, and joy, and I’ve certainly discovered those things. What will the next year bring? There’s no telling, yet whatever comes my way I know I have enough love to conquer it all.


Thank you and have a grade-A day!

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Identity-First Language: Owning and Being Ourselves

During the first week of my Principle Practices of Inclusive Teaching course, the instructor handed out an article about person-first language written by someone she described as the expert on the subject. A subtle feeling of dread pooled in my stomach as I started leafing through the article. For the most part, it made sense: you shouldn’t blindly refer to people as “disabled,” you should say “a person with *specific condition*.” However, the autistic community has different opinions about this, and I decided to make our voice heard in the class. I raised my hand and explained that while person-first language is a good rule-of-thumb when working with any student who has an exceptionality, it’s important to ask the student how they themselves want themselves to be referred. I clarified that I myself am a student with an exceptionality and that I and others like me prefer identity-first language. When I finished speaking, the instructor looked slightly uncomfortable and almost standoffish, like she couldn’t fathom one of her students openly disagreeing by her self-proclaimed expert (who I’ll mention doesn’t have an exceptionality themselves but is instead the parent of a child with such qualities). She thanked me for my addition and reminded everyone that it’s important to get to know their students with exceptionalities and their families. But in that moment I think she – as well as my fellow students and I, for that matter – missed the significant key factors in the reasoning for identity-first language.

Before I proceed, I want to comment that some people in the autism community do prefer person-first language and their preferences should be respected. We’re not all the same and that includes our opinions.

Autonomy

One of the hardest parts of being autistic or of any minority group is finding space to make our voices heard. Even in places or at events where the focus is advocacy for people with exceptionalities, a lot of the time the floor is handed over not to autistic people but to neurotypical parents, doctors and specialists, and groups like Autism $peaks. It is neither thought that we have the ability to speak for ourselves nor that what we have to say is worth consideration. While parents and doctors may have important testimonies, shouldn’t we be given the opportunity to talk on our own behalves? This plays further into the infantilization of autistic people, in which we are treated like children who can’t support ourselves in any capacity. When I contributed my experiences as an autistic person against those of an “expert,” my instructor didn’t want to place my own perspectives (plus those of the spoken-for group) over those of someone who is neurotypical. During that class period and as the semester went on, I felt like I lost a sense of agency to those who didn’t have the same experiences or understanding of the subject simply because they observed autism rather than were autistic. Using identity-first language gives a sense of ownership over who we are and the narrative we write and live.

Diversity is Not a Disease

When children are diagnosed with autism, it’s often seen as a tragedy. People will say “I’m so sorry” to the parents, and some doctors will recommend harmful therapies to stop autistic behaviors. Through childhood and adulthood, when these folx open up about being autistic to others, they’ll hear things like, “But you don’t look autistic/disabled/r*tarded,” “We’re all just a little autistic,” and “Don’t worry, no one could ever tell!” among other hurtful phrases NTs think are actually helpful or comforting. In essence, autism is portrayed as a crippling disability, but it’s really not.

Autism is defined as a neurodevelopmental condition that features traits such as alternative forms of or difficulty with communication and social interaction, repetitive behaviors and thoughts, and differences in sensory intake. It’s really a variation in the development of the brain, like how some people are shorter and some people are taller. At its core, autism isn’t a problem; it’s a form of diversity. However, the struggles autistic people uniquely deal with arise from the friction between the processing in our brain and the world around us. We don’t share the same social nuances as neurotypical people, so communicating with others becomes an issue. Our eyes and ears are more sensitive to lights and sounds, so being in – for instance – a large, crowded mall is highly uncomfortable. To calm ourselves we need to stim, an action that doesn’t always look “normal” to NTs. Rather than portrayed as a neurodivergence, autism has been studied and reported as an affliction, which in turn has demonized it to the public. As Dr. Temple Grandin said it, being autistic is simply “different, not less.” Referring to ourselves as autistic strikes out the idea that autism is a defect and respects us as a sui generis facet of society.

It’s Who We Are

To put it simply, we prefer identity-first language because being autistic is a substantial part of our identity. It affects everything about us from our behavior to our perception of the world. When I need to express my feelings to someone and I can’t find the right words, I use my hands and facial expressions to illustrate the emotion as best I can. I’m efficient at my job because I can easily stick to a routine but have difficulty with multitasking for the same reason. I find heat and strong humidity agitating, yet being in a shower, bath, or pool calms me down more than anything I know. Not acknowledging that I’m autistic would leave out a considerable measure of my existence. We can’t be divided from our autism, and why should we have to be to be human?

Conclusion

When I testified on behalf of my community that day in class, I wasn’t trying to suggest disrespecting people with exceptionalities is ever okay. I was reminding everyone that we are our own people and have thoughts and opinions of our own. We were born different and that should be okay. We’re proud of who we are and we’ll shout it from the rooftops, starting by affirming it in our speech. I know who I am better than anyone else, and I’m autistic.


Thank you and have a grade-A day!

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My (Current) Top 10 Favorite Songs

Whenever someone asks me what my favorite song is, I immediately forget every song I’ve ever heard in my life. So, in order to try to cement the list down, here is a list of my ten favorite songs. In the post title it clarifies that these are my favorites at this point in time, as they may change in the future.

10. “Cigarette Daydreams” by Cage the Elephant

The melody is really sweet and charming, and the lyrics are earnest and raw while still remaining polished. I haven’t listened to a whole lot from Cage the Elephant but it contrasts in sound from the heavier pieces I’ve heard.

9. “Somebody to Love” by Queen

This obviously wasn’t the first Queen song I’d ever heard, but it was the first I would fall in love with. It was featured in the 2004 movie Ella Enchanted and sang by Anne Hathaway; the movie stole my heart and so did the song. Flash forward fifteen years and I still can’t get Freddie Mercury’s vocals out of my head. Along with the smooth guitar work from Dr. Brian May and easy rhythm, it’s a song I fall into every time I hear it.

8. “Rich Girl” by Hall and Oates

This song is a classic bop. It’s a 70’s feel-good song (in my opinion) and it’s one of my favorites to play in the car while I’m driving. It always makes me feel like I’m in a John Hughes movie.

7. “Heartbreaker” by Led Zeppelin

The guitar riff in this song is pure gold. It’s heavy, easy paced, and matched well with the other band members. The additional “Livin’ Lovin’ Maid” attached to the end in some versions always sweetens the deal.

6. “Rope” by Foo Fighters

From the composition of this song to the directing of the music video, Dave Grohl is a genius. All the instruments come together and create a fantastically unique sound, especially with the four different guitars. Long story short, it slaps pretty hard.

5. “Colors” by Halsey

Halsey is a goddess with a pen, and this song is a shining example of that. I resonated so much with the imagery of the lyrics and could sense her emotions in the vocals. My sister and I saw her at Summerfest in 2018 and – had I not been as dehydrated as I was – I probably would have cried.

4. “Dreams” by Moon Dogs

Of all the songs on this list, this is the most recent I’ve heard as well as the only one where I personally know the band. When I first heard this song, I felt like it was reaching into my soul and grabbing its heart. The energy coming from the music rolls off the hands of the band members and spreads out like fog over a lake. Somehow I heard this song in a past life, I know it.

3. “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac

There are a lot of emotions attached to this song. The soothing melody always calms me down and makes me feel like I’m slowly drifting in a pool of water. It’s also the song I played when saying goodbye to Oliver at the vet; he loved Fleetwood Mac as much as I do. There will never come a time when I don’t think of him when I hear “Landslide.”

2. “Over the Rainbow” from The Wizard of Oz

Part of being autistic is having hyperfixations or obsessions. When I was about three or four, I was obsessed with The Wizard of Oz, and in a way this song became a part of me. It’s always driven me to strive for something brighter and better regardless of where I am at the moment. I have the last three words “Why can’t I?” tattooed on my left bicep as a reminder.

1. “Everlong” by Foo Fighters

Although I’ve only been listening to this song for a little over a year, it’s been so impacting to my life. I’ve felt love, pain, joy, sorrow, and all four at once at different times when hearing it, yet it remains untainted by bad memories. The meaning behind the lyrics has a flavor that shakes me to my core and the musical foundation encompasses my very being. The acoustic version – while having a softer musical tone – drives me to tears nearly every time I hear it.


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Greg: An Ongoing Mystery

Those of you who know me well or have read “The O.G. Team” (https://linnjmonty.wordpress.com/2019/07/08/the-o-g-team/?fbclid=IwAR0rNDAHKhUTtnwfE0B_OznM_df94fRjpn1aQZqtU5rgtIz2vHuQHg8fK60) know that Greg is my first and oldest guinea pig. What you may not be aware of is the amount of confusion and uncertainty that has surrounded him since I first got him. It started when my cousins – who I adopted Greg from – thought he was a boy and later realized he might be a girl. His male status was later confirmed by a veterinarian, as the conclusions of his other anomalies would be made.

Thin Piggy

Back in May I got a new pen for Greg. He had previously been living in a travel-sized small animal cage, and I wanted to give him the recommended seven square feet. The new habitat was a MidWest Guinea Habitat, complete with a divider in the middle that I used to split his eating and pooping area from a cozier fleece section. He seemed to like it but didn’t utilize the space as much as I would have imagined. Later on Oliver was added and I put the divider ramp up to keep them separated (with the intent to train them to live together in the shared space), and Greg seemed okay. However, he stopped eating.

When I first got him, he was zealous about carrots. He’d eat around five or six each day along with the occasional pieces of spinach and lettuce. But while he was living in his half of the pen, he wouldn’t eat them. I tried giving them to him in pieces, but the only veggies he would touch were spinach and it was without excitement. It was like he had lost his appetite. As a result, his poop got softer and irregular; I tried syringing water into his mouth but didn’t know what else I could do. It seemed hopeless.

Greg himself gave me an idea of how to fix the problem. While trying to think of any other solution, it came to me that when I gave Greg time to run around my room, he would often go back to his old cage. He would sniff around it and sometimes try to climb back inside. I wondered if he was depressed from having been moved from the cage he had lived in since my cousins got him in 2017. So I set his cage back up, put Greg inside, and gave him some spinach. He immediately went for the food with a greater amount of energy. I thought that this was the answer to the problem and expected everything to be fine from then on.

But it didn’t go like that. After a while he wouldn’t even eat spinach, and he struggled with getting onto the upper level where his pellets were kept. I knew that enough was enough and I made an appointment with the vet. While there, they weighed him and noted that in the roughly three months between vet visits he had lost an alarming 80 grams. The vet cut his lower incisors to see if it was inhibiting his ability to eat, injected him with a dose of Vitamin C, and recommended that he be given vitamin drops in his water. I brought him home but nothing changed. Before I could contact the vet, however, she called and suggested taking him to a different animal hospital that had more experience with exotic pets. I was able to get an appointment for the following week.

During that next visit (and the one that followed it) we got some answers. The new vet examined his mouth and saw that his molars had grown well over his tongue, preventing him from eating his regular solid foods. There was a procedure to fix them, but his weight loss (he had lost another 20 grams since visiting the previous vet) made her weary. She gave me a packet of Critical Care, a powdered food to be mixed with water and bottle fed, and instructed me to feed him two teaspoons of the mixture four times a day to try to get him a little more healthy. For two days before his teeth were to be cut, I and some friends who babysat him fed Greg the Critical Care. He absolutely loved it and would try to pull the bottle away for himself. It was as if he knew he was sick and needed to drink it to get better.

The procedure went well and, according to the nurses and vets, he starting mowing down pellets and hay as soon as he woke up. They expected him to make a full recovery and asked to see him again in a couple weeks. It felt like the struggle was finally over.

Age is Not Just a Number

When Greg was at the vet and had his teeth examined, he also had an x-ray taken. The pictures revealed – to everyone’s shock – heavy calcification on the bones as well as arthritis. The vet said that these conditions were highly unlikely (if not improbable) for a three-year-old guinea pig. She sent them to a cavy specialist and he agreed with her thoughts. She prescribed some pain killers to ease his pain and I moved his food bowl down from the upper level so he wouldn’t have to climb up to get his pellets. While there’s no way to definitely tell his age, the vet estimated him to be at least five years old. This wouldn’t be as impacting if it wasn’t for the fact that guinea pigs only live for around four to eight years. Knowing that he doesn’t have as much time as I originally thought he did hurts greatly, but I now cherish every moment I spend with him a little more.


Right now, Greg is still resigned from eating veggies. I hope that he’s just uncertain of his ability to eat and will soon go at them again. Yet if he doesn’t resume eating again, I’ll have to schedule him for another appointment and keep looking for answers. Until then, he’ll receive lots of love and encouragement to heal.

Thank you for reading and have a grade-A day!

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“Not Racist” vs. Anti Racism and Why It Matters

As conflicts in politics and moral values escalate in our country, terminology and meaning are becoming more important than ever. The prefix “anti” is a common one that has risen most recently, and how it differs from “non,” “not,” or simply the opposite of whatever its following term is uncertain to many people. Anti racist is a phrase I’ve seen often in the past few weeks, so I’ll be discussing the differences in “not racist” and “anti racism” and why it’s important to be “anti.” I will acknowledge that, as I am a white person, I have a limited scope on the racism and its history in the United States as well as the world; if anyone with a wider, deeper viewpoint can add to or correct this, their perspective would be much appreciated.

What is “Not Racist”?

The definition is pretty simple: not having conscious prejudices against people of differing color, nationality, or ethnicity. Whether you’re genuinely welcoming to POCs in your business or you don’t participate in white nationalist rallies because you disagree with their beliefs, it’s easy to not be racist. However, “easy” is where the problem in being simply “not racist” lies. You can decide to not tell someone wearing a hat with a Confederate flag on it that you like their hat or you can quietly shake your head at racial slurs you hear at the store, but by not standing up against these views, you’re allowing them to perpetuate. Albert Einstein once said, “The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing.” Regardless of your own morals, being silent or indifferent gives racists a platform for the views. This is where anti racism comes in to place.

What is Anti Racism?

While “not racist” is a passive role in the fight for racial equality, anti racism is more active. It means taking your beliefs that racism is unjust and sharing them with others. In the same way that “not racist” can take many forms, so can anti racism. While most people think of punching Nazis or counterprotesting, other examples include working with or for organizations that fight for equality, explaining to people who use slurs and derogatory phrases that their vocabulary is hurtful, and finding ways to provide POCs with space to share their own stories and points of view. Holding yourself accountable for racist behavior (even ones that were accidental) and taking time to learn how to be an ally are also active ways to be anti racist. Even asking POCs who you are close to how you can help them is a conscious step in the right direction. “Not racist” is a mindset, but anti racist is a process and habit; it takes time to learn and apply to your regular life but – once it’s started – can have great affects on you and those around you.

Conclusion

What did we learn today? “Not racist” is passive while anti racism is active. It’s a difference between believing in and fighting for racial equality. You can sit back and say nothing, or stand up and defend others. How can you be anti racist today?

Thank you for reading and have a grade-A day!

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The Pains and Joys of the Circle of Life

Two weeks ago I wrote about my two guinea pigs Greg and Oliver. Unfortunately, on July 16th (a little more than a week later), I came home from work to find that Oliver had passed away. While it is uncertain at this time why he died, it may have been stress induced by a fire alarm we had had earlier in the day in my resident hall that forced us to sit outside in 86 degree heat for about an hour. Regardless of the reason, I was absolutely devastated. Guinea pigs usually live to be 4-8 years old and Oliver was only a little over a year in age; I thought I had a lot more time with him. But in reality, not everyone is so lucky.

My sister Rachelle and my mom came to my res hall, packed up Greg and some of my things, and took me to my mom’s house. I cried that whole night while holding Greg and spent most of Wednesday just numbly slumped on the couch. After some consideration, I decided to have him cremated so that I wouldn’t have to worry about visiting a grave site in the future. Our local animal hospital was able to get us in that day to receive Oliver and begin the process.


When we got to the hospital, I wanted to be the one to carry Oliver into the building. He was in a shoe box; I was surprised by how heavy it was with him in it. I literally felt the gravity of the situation in my hands. We stood in the waiting room for a few minutes listening to some dogs bark. Their voices vibrated against Oliver’s box and for one moment I briefly hoped that he had come back. But I knew it wasn’t possible, and once we were sitting in the private room sitting on the old church pew it all sank in. He was really gone. And I was about to hand him over forever.

The engraving was chosen, the cost was paid, and the nurse stepped out to give us time to say our last goodbyes. Mom asked if I wanted to write something on the shoe box, but the whole box was black except for a white chevron on the top. There wasn’t enough room on that box for everything I wanted to say to him. How much I loved him, how sorry I was that he had died under my wing, how much joy he gave me in the short time he was with me. So I said, “No,” and my mom wrote, “Thank you for being a good friend” in the chevron. Remembering Oliver’s love for Fleetwood Mac, we played “Landslide” and silently cried. The nurse came back and asked if we wanted more time. I wanted all the time in the world, but we knew that we were never going to be ready. She walked us to the exit and took Oliver from me. My last words to him were, “Goodbye, cookie face.”


I got a message from Oliver’s previous owner sending her condolences as well as asking if I would want to adopt his son. I was touched by the gesture and said yes. While I knew the hole in my heart Oliver left couldn’t be filled, having a new friend seemed important for healing for both me and for Greg. A few days later on July 21st – nearly a month after I had gotten Oliver – I picked up his little son. Oliver’s name had always reminded me of the Victorian classic Oliver Twist, so I named his baby Charles Pigkens. We went home and, although Greg wasn’t exactly happy to see another boy competing for food, the two seemed to get along well. I’m not sure if Greg can recognize that Charles is his nephew, but he’s (literally) taking the baby under his care.


Big things tend to come in small packages. Little six week old Charles is honoring his father’s memory with his youthful spirit and bringing new light with his unique personality. Of course he’ll grow bigger, but so will my love for him.

Thank you for reading and have a grade-A day!

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10 Favorite Albums

I can regurgitate this from my 2018 Facebook timeline, right?

Music has been a huge part of my life since I was a little kid. I was highly obsessed with The Wizard of Oz and had all the songs memorized. Last year a lot of people started sharing their top ten albums over the course of ten days and invited other people to follow suit. Naturally, I hopped on board, and here are the albums I shared.

1. Greatest Hits by Foo Fighters (2009)

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I had already known a very small handful of the songs prior to buying the album, but the entire tracklist quickly enveloped my heart. “The Pretender” reminded me of better times, and “Best of You” was incredibly resonant of the emotions I had had throughout the past six months. I had already fallen in love with “Everlong” but the acoustic version was such a contrast from the original and showed a very different side of the same message, and I was unprepared for how gently it shook me. 

2. American Idiot by Green Day (2004)

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I’ve always been impressed with how American Idiot was created from scratch after the master tapes for a different album they were originally recording was stolen. The story this album tells is so intricate and well-written and even inspired a rock musical. I listened to it on repeat for almost an entire summer and it always reminds me of the memories I had during that time.

3. Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey (2017)

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Something I enjoy about this album is the peculiar diversity of style in the songs. While they’re all pop/R&B, some songs are more experimental than others. Each song carries a strong message about love and relationships, yet there is never a repetition of story. Last June I saw her perform at Summerfest in Milwaukee and (had I not been so dehydrated) I probably would have cried.

4. Nevermind by Nirvana (1991)

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Nothing needs to be said for this album. 

5. Californication by Red Hot Chili Peppers

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This album was really enhanced with the return of John Frusciante to the Chili Peppers. The songs covered a variety of themes, but the rendition of addiction in “Scar Tissue” and “Otherside” really stuck with me. It really highlighted the individual battles the band members faced and overcame in order to continue their love for music. I especially appreciated the music after reading Anthony Kiedis’ autobiography Scar Tissue in which he details his life, music career, and drug addiction. Both the album and the book are worth your time.

6. AM by Arctic Monkeys

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The contrasting mellow and hard rock sounds on this album flow beautifully together. At times it’s very rockabilly and other times it’s borderline psychedelic, creating a groove of its own. It’s also really good on vinyl; I recommend listening to it in that format if you get the chance. 

7. Across the Universe (Music from the Motion Picture) [Deluxe Edition] (2007)

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The movie’s reinterpretation of the Beatles brought new vivacity to the music. It manipulated them in a way that not only told the story of the movie but also stays true to the music of the 1960s. The songs ranged from fun to somber to places in between, creating a well-rounded artistic experience.

8. Blow Your Pants Off by Jimmy Fallon (2012)

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Jimmy Fallon’s comedy and musical talents combined on this hilarious album. Whether it’s his impressions/covers, duets, or originals, they never fail to make me laugh. And what can compete with “Balls In Your Mouth”?

9. 1 by The Beatles (2000)

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This album highlights some of the best songs the Beatles released. Following in order of their release, you can get a glimpse at the development of their musical style, careers, and lives when listening. 1 was a great introduction of the Beatles for me when I was younger and I deeply treasure it. 

10. Blurryface by Twenty One Pilots

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Somehow, while covering very dark subjects in the majority of the songs on this album, TØP made several of those songs cheery in sound. Rather than just write all their songs sad thematically and musically, they gave way to moments of hope and joy, as many people experience when dealing with the previously mentioned dark subjects. 


What do you think of these albums? Great or garbage? Drop a comment below to tell me about it.

Thank you for reading and have a grade-A day!

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The O.G. Team

Oliver and Greg, my two good boys.

This is probably an obvious statement, but having pets creates a unique sense of joy in our lives. Whether you have a pet, more than one, used to have pets, or simply enjoy your friends’ and family’s pets, it’s a recognizable happiness. So today I’m going to talk about my own slices of happiness: my guinea pigs Greg and Oliver.

Greg

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Biography:

Gregory Pen is a three-year-old American guinea pig and I celebrate his birthday on February 9th. He has grey and white fur (I think the fancy term is “silver dutch”) and big brown eyes. He was originally my cousins’ and was confused as a girl for a while, but, because they had multiple pets, they chose to rehome him so he could have a more comfortable life. I had never considered having a guinea pig, but my cousins reached out to my mom while I was in the works of getting an emotional support animal (ESA). She sent me a picture of him and my first thought was, “He’s so big!” In reality, he’s pretty average, but I’d always thought guinea pigs were just a bit bigger than gerbils. But regardless of his size, I said yes. Greg became mine on December 22nd last year and I quickly fell in love with him. He was perfect cuddling size, the sound of his munching on veggies was delightful, and I couldn’t (and still can’t) get over his happy little smile. As I bonded closer to him and my last semester of classes rolled forward, he became my rock. Talking aloud to myself was something I had always done, but having someone to talk to – even if he couldn’t talk back – was fantastic. My first night away from him was uncomfortable; I could really feel a hole in the room. He’s truly a big part of my stability.

Likes and Dislikes:

Likes:
  • Being pet under the chin
  • Climbing onto my shoulders
  • Rick and Morty
  • Craisins
  • Music by The Beatles
Dislikes:
  • Living in a large cage (he likes his travel cage better!)
  • Having his butt pet
  • Fire alarms
  • Strawberries

Nicknames:

  • Fluff potato
  • Honey bun/bear
  • Whisker biscuit
  • Cuddle muffin
  • Chitter bug
  • My sweet baby/love

Benefits:

Greg is pretty docile in nature and loves to snuggle. He’ll melt into my lap or chest, thus melting my heart. He’s also fine with just curling up next to me on his own blanket while we watch Netflix. Being able to cuddle with him when I’m really upset or have had a long day is something I’ll never take for granted.

Oliver

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Biography:

Oliver Lane is a year old (his birthday is celebrated on May 12th) and is an Abyssinian. That means that his body is covered in little crests of fur called rosettes and he’s quite energetic! He has dark brown fur with some patches of blonde around his face and little black eyes. His previous owner adopted him from a local animal shelter (under the impression that he was a girl) and was soon shocked to find that he had impregnated one of her other pigs. We connected through Craigslist after I had been approved to get a second pig so Greg could have a companion (in other words, an ESA for my ESA) and I got Oliver on June 22nd, exactly six months after Greg. When I introduced them to each other, they weren’t too thrilled; Greg had never seen another guinea pig since he was a youngster, and Oliver went straight to humping him. Flash forward two weeks later and, although they still get grumpy with each other every now and then, they’re pretty good buddies.

Likes and Dislikes:

Likes:
  • Ignoring the food he already has and begging for more
  • Music by Fleetwood Mac
  • Getting the zoomies
  • Taking up the entire large cage for himself
  • Laying under his water bottle
Dislikes:
  • Cuddling
  • Being fed second
  • Having his fur brushed
  • Trash bags being opened

Nicknames:

  • Sneaky little butt
  • Cookie face
  • Fluffer hug
  • Pointer
  • Muncheroon

Benefits:

As well as giving Greg someone to spend time with, Oliver always puts a smile on my face. He can run around the room or up and down and back up the ramp in his cage to make me giggle, climb up on the walls of his cage, or popcorn from his own excitement. Being around Oliver will either cheer me up or make me even happier than I already was.


I love my piggies more than words can describe. I’m so lucky to have them and I hope they feel the same about me. A palm reader once told me that I was going to have two boys and should get a minivan in the future, but I think the pet stroller that’s currently in the mail makes a lot more sense.

Thank you for reading and have a grade-A day!

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The 10 Things I Wish People Knew About Autism

There are so many things about autism spectrum disorder (ASD) that I would love to share with neurotypicals, but here are the top ten.

  1. ASD is an umbrella term. It covers a variety of related disorders, including autism, Asperger’s Syndrome (which is what I have), Child Disintegrative Disorder, and Pervasive Developmental Disorder-Not Otherwise Specified (PDD-NOS). While they’re all different, they share some symptoms such as restrictive behaviors and issues with social skills.
  2. It’s not deadly. I say this because I was denied life insurance because of my Asperger’s Syndrome. You know, because I might antisocial myself to death.
  3. People with ASD are very sensitive to their surroundings. For those of you who have seen Man of Steel: remember that scene where young Clark Kent locks himself in a closet at school because he’s too overwhelmed by the world (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BRfpZD2ggx0)? That’s kind of what it’s like at times. No, we don’t have x-ray vision, but sometimes it feels that way. This is called sensory input overload, and to deal with this, autistic people do something called “stimming.” This can involve flapping, rocking, head-banging, and playing with objects. The popular toy Fidget Spinners were actually designed as a socially-acceptable form of stimming; although they’ve now been reduced to a meme so I’ll just have to stick with chewing on my tongue.
  4. Not all of us can count cards. In the movie Rain Man, Dustin Hoffman portrays an autistic savant who can count hundreds of objects in a matter of seconds. Although savant syndrome has been linked to ASD, not every person with ASD has savant abilities. A girl in my high school asked me once if I could count sticks; I hadn’t seen the movie at the time so you can imagine my confusion.
  5. Routine is VERY important to autistic people. Changes in schedule and conflicts with habits can be very stressful to us, so please make as few as possible. If this is unavoidable, please let us know ahead of time so we can prepare ourselves and be understanding that we may not react to the news well.
  6. We are capable of love. I’ve cried into enough tubs of ice cream to know that.
  7. VACCINES DO NOT CAUSE AUTISM. The study saying so has been proven false numerous times, and the author of that study Andrew Wakefield has been stripped of his medical license. He’s not even a doctor anymore! I didn’t get Asperger’s Syndrome from my measles vaccine. Do you know what I did get from my measles vaccine? Not measles! And the ability to rant about anti-vaxxers because I didn’t die from an avoidable childhood illness.
  8. When you’ve met an autistic person, you’ve met just one autistic person. We’re not all the same; we all have different abilities and degrees of symptoms. You can’t meet autism, and I don’t really know how you would do that anyway.
  9. Every now and then an autistic person will experience a meltdown. A meltdown is when the sensory input becomes too much for someone to handle and they actually lose control of their behavior. If you’re with someone while they’re having a meltdown, give them time and space while they try to calm down. You can ask if they’re okay, but don’t expect an answer right away. And please don’t compare meltdowns to temper tantrums. Temper tantrums are when children are being overly fussy; meltdowns feel like you’re crumbling from the inside.
  10. Please be patient with us. This world wasn’t designed for autistic people, and we’re doing our best to get through it.

If you want to know anything more about autism, please drop a comment or follow my blog for more posts about autism. Thank you and have a grade-A day!

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My Bi-line

The long-winded story of figuring out that I’m not straight.

Today is the four year anniversary of the U.S. Supreme Court’s ruling to legalize gay marriage in all fifty states, which came about in a 5-4 decision in Obergefell v. Hodges. Since then, millions of folx in the LGBTQ+ community have married and celebrated their well-deserved right. The ruling came before I realized I was bisexual, but it was still a memorable moment in my life; one of those events where you remember where you were and what you were doing when you heard the news. So, to celebrate the anniversary, I’ll chronicle the events in my life that led to me coming out to myself as well as others.

Fall 2003

I can’t quite remember why my first grade class was in the computer lab, but I believe it was one of the first times I went on the Internet. It had only been launched to the public twelve years before and was still extremely new to me. As I clicked into Internet Explorer and the default page opened, an ad for a swimsuit magazine loaded onto the side of the page. And I’m not sure exactly how my six-year-old brain phrased it or even conceptualized it, but I was attracted to this swimsuit model.

But then I moved onto looking up dinosaurs or leaves or whatever and didn’t think about it again.

October 2010

At this point in eighth grade I’d had multiple crushes on boys but not on really any girls at my school. But, as I started to go through puberty and sexually mature, I found myself having more thoughts about girls in general. I was confused and uncertain about what this meant and I refused to talk to anyone about it. The church I attended at that time was incredibly conservative and stood against being gay; I don’t recall them ever declaring it a sin, but they heavily pushed the idea of men and women marrying each other and their coordinating gender roles. Because of that, I told myself, “You can’t think about doing it with a girl; you’re only ever going to do it with your husband.” I was even more unsettled when I had daydreams about being with a girl as a guy, but that’s a whole other story.

I was at a slumber party with a group of friends I’d been absorbed into, and I’d broken off from the main group with a girl who had just moved to our school. We were talking about dating and relationships, and she confided in me that she was bisexual. I’d knew what the word meant, and I felt a twinge inside me when I heard her say it. Like there was something inside me reaching out to say, “Me too!”

I didn’t say that or even talk about the thoughts I’d been having. But because I still had the desire to share some secret of mine, I just told her that I still slept with my baby blanket and we moved on to discussing her boyfriend.

Fall 2014

I was starting my senior year in high school. By this time I’d still only had crushes on boys, had pretty well repressed my bisexual thoughts, and lost the majority of my close friends. In the mornings before classes started I would sit in the commons area with whoever I ran into – my sister, some pals from drama or choir, or guys who didn’t mind me listening to their conversations about Minecraft. And every now and then I would look across the room and see this one girl two years below me. We’ll call her Zoe.

I wasn’t sure what it was about Zoe that I liked. We had never spoken or even met, but she was gorgeous. I never gawked at her or anything like that, but I would glance over at Zoe while she sat with her friends and giggled and chatted. She was my first girl crush.

There were a lot of reasons why I never tried to talk to her. My church’s engraved heteronormativity (as well as my school’s), my social anxiety, the fact that she had a boyfriend. But the biggest one was that I still couldn’t confirm with myself that I was bi. I didn’t think there was a shame in being gay. A few of my relatives and friends were gay and – even with the things my church and other religious leaders preached – I didn’t think it was wrong. But since I didn’t know Zoe, I told myself, “You don’t have an actual crush on her, just let it go.” So I moved on with scholarship and college applications and – as you can probably tell from the every other event in this timeline – pretended that nothing was going on.

Spring 2017

During my sophomore year of college, I took Safe Zone training as part of my Multicultural Education course. I was really excited for it; I already considered myself an ally but wanted the additional information. I was also questioning my sexuality with actual conviction and open-mindedness, so I hoped it would guide me in the right direction. During the training, I and the other attendees learned the different terms and phrases in the LGBTQ+ alphabet, how to help those in the community, and resources we could utilize. But it was the Gender Unicorn that helped me.

If you haven’t seen the Gender Unicorn, you can find it at http://www.transstudent.org/gender/. It was designed by Landyn Pan and Anna Moore, and it describes the differences in biological sex, gender identity, gender expression, and sexual orientation. While going through sexual orientation, our training leader explained that there is a difference between romantic/emotional attraction and sexual attraction and that you can have different types of attraction for different genders. And for the first time in my life, it all clicked with me. I’m bisexual, I thought, just a different type of bisexual. Later I figured out I could refer to myself as heteroromantic bisexual, and I was elated to finally have a label for what I was feeling.

May 30th, 2018

A year after coming out to myself, I came out on Instagram and Facebook. It was a fairly minor post: a picture of a small bisexual flag next to a pin made of pink, purple, and blue puzzle pieces with the caption, “I had a pink, purple, and blue puzzle piece pin when I was a kid: I guess I should have taken that as a hint.” The last half of the caption was pretty ironic, considering how many hints had actually smacked me in the face throughout my life. I had started attending a new church that was incredibly accepting and I felt free to think about to who I was attracted. By then I’d become more familiar with transgender and nonbinary folx, and came to the conclusion that I was fully bisexual. I’d also learned about pansexuality, but I still identified as bi because, while I could be attracted to women, I was mostly attracted to men and nonbinary people. My coming out moment was rather quiet but it still made me happy. I finally knew who I was and could declare it.


My journey towards discovering my sexuality was long and dodged but raises a call for education and acceptance. Had I been given more information about sexual orientations like the Gender Unicorn, I would have recognized what I was feeling a whole lot sooner than I did. The communities I was growing up in didn’t want us to consider the idea that we were gay and all but outright condemned it, making it nearly impossible for me to explore my sexual identity. I’m so grateful for the expanding fountains of knowledge that are now available for those questioning their identity, and to the accepting people in my life who welcome me as I am.

Happy Pride Month and have a grade-A day!

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The Nights I Almost Killed Myself

Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts.

I’ve suffered from depression for the last four years, which was re-specified as “chronic depression” in August last year. Mixed with situational anxiety, there have been several downs in my life, but none quite like the one I’ve been experiencing recently. To say that the past month has been a struggle would be an understatement. Rejection letters from jobs, broken relationships, and car, family, and health troubles riddled the first two weeks and sent my mental health spiraling. There was a calm after the storm, which you’d think would have brought a turn-around but just the opposite occurred. With no job to go to and all my close friends busy, I sat in my room alone with my thoughts. And everything got worse.

Pain, frustration, sadness, and shame poured through me and painted my thoughts in dark colors. “You’re worthless.” “You’re unlovable.” “You’ll never do anything right.” “No one cares about you.”

“You’d be better off dead.”

There were two nights that my brain grabbed onto that last phrase and nearly dragged me under.

Tuesday June 4th:

Late that evening I laid on my bed (as I had been doing for most of the day) and stared up at the ceiling. There is a pipe for the sprinkler system water running across the width of my room. Between the top of the pipe and the ceiling is about three inches of open space. Just enough space for a rope.

As I gazed up at the pipe, I kept thinking about using something – bed sheets, a necktie, the waist band for my bathrobe – to string myself up. No one would know, and there was no telling how long it would be until someone realized I was gone. In my mind, I figured it would take a few days.

And for that reason I didn’t do it.

Greg, my ESA, was sitting in his habitat while all of this was unfolding in my head. Unaware of the plans I was making for myself, he started yelling for a carrot. I looked over at him and realized that if I ended my life now and nobody knew, Greg could be alone with no one to care for him, possibly for days if my negative suspicions were true. I couldn’t do that to him.

I got off my bed and picked Greg up. Cradling him to my chest, I sat back down and, while crying, whispered, “I wouldn’t do that you, baby. I’m so sorry.”


I thought that that was the end of it, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. For the next week and a half, I still had suicidal impulses but they were the same casual urges I’d had before, such as, “What if I drove across the yellow line and into oncoming traffic?” and “Would I die if I jumped from a second floor window?” I’ve heard this referred to as “L’appel du vide” or “the call of the void,” and didn’t worry too much when they continued after my very real encounter with plans to die. My mistake.

Saturday June 15th:

I went out to my favorite bar after visiting my mom. There was a DJ and a table for the local women’s health center, and I was in an okay mood when I got there. But as more people arrived, I found myself alone at the bar. A bunch of friends came in but they all had plans with their other friends and didn’t say too much to me except for one or two folx who stopped by and said hi. It sounds cliche, but I felt completely isolated in a room full of people. I had a few shots in a dumb attempt to numb the pain I was feeling, but – as alcohol does – the hopelessness only grew. The same thoughts from the other night began to swarm in my brain like hornets. The tears flowed from my eyes while I sat in my chair. Normally when I cry I don’t want anyone around, but in that maybe two hours I sat and wept, I wanted nothing more than to have someone hold me. I thought, “Maybe I should do it now.”

I considered several different ways to end my life. I won’t list the methods but each one sounded more plausible than the last, and it didn’t take long before I felt like I had some steady plans. There was no Greg to pull me out of my thoughts. My mind had become a deep trench at the bottom of the ocean and I was sinking down into it. For a brief while, I was resolved to kill myself.


Unbeknownst to them, the bartenders led me away from the edge. Each of them made an effort to support me and try to lift my spirits, even if I just laughed for a couple seconds. I kept thinking about going home to be alone, but with every time they reached out, I was persuaded to stay longer. If I went home in my condition, I was going to hurt myself. And slowly but surely, I didn’t want to do that.

When they asked me what was wrong, I had a surprisingly hard time telling them that I was having suicidal thoughts. In the last year that I’d known and befriended them, we’d all made jokes about hating life and wanting to die without batting an eye, but when I really wanted to take my own life, it was a difficult confession. I didn’t like admitting that I had a serious problem, albeit my past advocacy for ending the stigma around mental illness. For whatever reason, I wanted to deal with it myself and not have to involve others. But I realized that night that getting away from a harmful element of yourself on your own is one of the most difficult – and in some instances impossible – feats to accomplish.

So I started being honest. I told the bartenders. I told a friend who had come later in the night. I told my sister, my pastor, my mom, and another friend. Saying it all out loud was the real start to getting help, which is why I’m now sharing it here.


Earlier today I went up to my new job to fill out some paperwork. I received a gift bag with some goodies to welcome me to “our family” as my manager would later phrase it, and she told me that if there was anything ever wrong, I could go to her. As she showed me around the store, I thought to myself, “Huh. Maybe it really does get better.”

If you are experiencing suicidal thoughts or emotional distress, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. You can also visit their website https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ for more information.

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Welcome!

Why am I doing this?

Always be a first-rate version of yourself instead of a second-rate version of someone else.

— Judy Garland

Those of you who know me know that I really enjoy writing. It’s a passion I’ve had since middle school and a skill I’ve been developing for several years. I haven’t done a whole lot of blogging (outside of Tumblr) but started doing daily Facebook posts for Autism Acceptance Month back in April. A handful of friends suggested I start a blog with similar topics to my posts and I thought it was a great idea. So, after months of procrastinating, I finally made it.

What will I be writing about? A lot, I guess. Being autistic, my life in general, poetry, education, mental health, being queer and trans, and really anything that coats my goat. It’s going to be an outlet for me that I hope brings some joy to my life as well as all of yours. I’m going to try to post at least once a week, so we’ll see how that goes.

I’m looking forward to what this blog will bring and how you all will react to it. Click the “follow” button below to receive notifications of my future posts.

Thank you and have a grade-A day!

The Intermingling Between My Depression and Faith

If you’ve read some of my posts before (particularly those centered around my personal life), you know that I’ve struggled with mental health for some time. I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression when I was seventeen, but I likely developed those illnesses in the beginning of middle school. Several aspects of my life have been touched by my depression, but one that has recently took the hardest impact is my faith. This is something I’ve been reluctant to talk about, but I don’t want to paint this as something to be embarrassed about or ashamed of. And perhaps I’m not as alone in this as I think I am.

I was raised in a Christian home; we didn’t go to church every Sunday but throughout my childhood the importance of God and believing in Jesus was highlighted. There were a handful of vacation Bible schools, youth groups, and other organizations I attended; I accepted God at eight years old when I was at AWANA (Approved Workmen Are Not Ashamed), and a second time when I was a freshman in high school. I was confirmed when I was thirteen, but in the years that followed, I started to feel insufficient in my faith.

In my late teens, I heard from many different “Christians” to whom I looked up that you shouldn’t have mental illnesses or difficulties if you have a strong faith and make devoted efforts in your walk with God. I compared myself to others my age who participated heavily in their churches and bragged about their faith on social media, and they didn’t seem to struggle with their mental health; I wondered if I truly wasn’t doing enough for God and was somehow suffering because of it. I threw myself into reading chapters of the Bible each night and completed pages in a workbook with each one, wrote my prayers in a journal and followed the format recommended by Christian authors and instructional guides, and preached the word of God to anyone who cared to listen. At face value I was probably a model Christian. But inside I still felt empty and depressed. After a while I finally thought, Maybe this has nothing to do with how I show my faith. Instead of trying to “be more Christian,” I started going to therapy. I found friends who empathized with me and didn’t belittle my mental illnesses. My doctor – after I was “upgraded” to chronic depression – prescribed me antidepressants that helped my overall moods. I even found a new church with a more healing and caring approach. After a while I didn’t see myself as a failure and even felt my faith grow. Depression was still something I had to manage but as far as my life as a Christian went, I felt whole.

In recent months, however, I’ve felt my faith start to drop. As described in one of my past blog posts, I had a spree of negative events occur at the beginning of the summer. The world seemed to be crumbling around me and the negative thoughts swarmed like a cloud of wasps. I used the different techniques I’d learned in therapy to combat my mind, but every calamity seemed to be followed by two more. Each blow made life seem a little more out of control. One day in particular I spoke to a close friend who told me that she had been hurt by someone we both knew. The moment I got off the phone with her I began to sob and cried out to God, “How much more can I take?” I’ve always heard the phrase “God doesn’t give you more than you can take,” but I was starting to believe that was just something nice people liked to tell themselves.

I’m not sure if it was at that point in time but it wasn’t too long afterwards that I realized I couldn’t feel God’s presence the same way I had before. When I prayed, it felt as meaningless as constructing a grocery list in my head. I’d look out at a sunset or lake, and where I used to see the work of God I just saw nature. Even the usual songs didn’t touch my soul when I sang with the worship band. No matter how much I keep going through the motions, I can’t grasp onto that feeling. I’d heard that Mother Teresa had a similar lapse for nearly fifty years of her life, but I haven’t been too assured that that’s my case.

This is currently where the story stops. I haven’t rediscovered that presence or fully overcome the bout of depression I’ve been battling since the beginning of summer. It feels like a dark storm has blinded me to the light I used to see, and now I’m wondering if the light I saw before was even real. I don’t want to completely give up my faith because in some ways it feels like the only thing I’ve yet to lose.


Thank you and have a grade-A day!

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