“Treacherous Thing” by Ego Likeness

A new video by one of my favorite bands.


To my childhood psychiatrist:

[I still have not sent this. Oddly, writing it was enough. Plus, I really don’t give a shit what this bitch has to say to me. She’s useless.]

When I was nineteen or twenty – well before hitting my first road blocks with college – I had a high GPA and was doing well. I went home for a weekend. I was in the kitchen with mom, who decided that she didn’t want to make dinner plans with her friend that weekend. She was going to call and let them know she was busy.

I wasn’t paying too much attention, until I heard her say this:

“Oh, Ren is having a real meltdown, I have to go to Philadelphia this weekend.”
My mother fabricated a meltdown to get out of dinner. She couldn’t have said she had other plans, or that she wasn’t feeling well – she had to martyr herself. Over one dinner. While I was sitting in her kitchen in NJ.

When I got upset, mom first acted as though it was funny, then started with the “mea culpas” and only resorted to saying “I’m sorry” after I wouldn’t let it go.

My mother has never had a particular moral issue with lying, until she gets caught.

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Possible Triggers: References to abuse, self-harm, suicidal ideation, lawyers.

“It’s not necessary to, say, explain how the clock works…”

I laughed. “Um, my autistic friends and I would disagree with that…” The lawyer chuckles along with and says he’s had Asperger clients before. (let’s all roll our eyes, synchronized!)

Less than ten minutes later, I asked him how long disability appeal rulings take, and he launched into some nonsense about how, if it’s the judge he thinks it is, it takes “longer” — without a baseline of what “not longer” is. Eventually, after I bit my tongue for two minutes because I wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to explain the workings of a clock for me, he gave me an answer that I interpreted as, “A few weeks to a couple months.” Sometimes you know what the ruling is going to be just from how the hearing goes, but the official ruling takes more time.

The whole meeting with him on Wednesday ran like that. It was one of the most frustrating experiences I’ve ever had; he was completely unclear about what he was looking for in my answers. At one point he seems to be asking for quantifiable information, of which there is very little in a mental health/Asperger’s syndrome case, and other times he insisted he was looking for experiences. When I would try to explain my experiences, he felt that I wasn’t focused enough but couldn’t ask me more focused questions. He also kept more or less complaining about the fact that I wasn’t explaining how these issues affect my work performance. The truth of it is, my job performance was not particularly affected. I ruin everything else about my life first.

Finally, I looked at him and said, “I was ready to commit suicide when I left my last job.” Nothing.

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Price Check on the Autistic, Please

“You know, ” I told mom over dinner, “Any kid I have is possibly going to be autistic.”

Mom leaned forward, smiled conspiratorially, and replied: “Do me a favor, Ren. Adopt.”

I was so stunned by the casual way she said this, as though it were something I should have internalized by now, that I didn’t point out that she had adopted, and still got an autistic kid. Not long after that I was told that it wouldn’t be the worst thing if I never had kids.  I’m pretty sure my older brother was never told that, though his story on that front is equally fucked up. It’s just not mine to tell, even with a pseudonym.

More recently, a friend of Morgan’s who is known to run his mouth without his brain heard something about autism and stated “I don’t understand why we keep broken people around.” Morgan stared at him for a minute while I glared at Morgan.

“You do realize Ren is autistic,” Morgan said. Some degree of backpedaling later, I was no longer fitting under that heading. Still, his opinions of things ranging from autism to transgender issues are still cause for me to want to shove a beer in his mouth so he doesn’t start talking.

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Quick Thought: Science. Ur doing it wrong.

I ‘m arguing with insomnia tonight. I’ve been on a low-level anxiety kick since my sister responded to a link I sent her hours earlier. I should have realized that there was a chance the link might haunt me later in the day by sending it to someone three time zones and a wonky sleep schedule away, but I don’t always think these things through.

As much as I would like to comment further on this — scratch that. I really don’t. If you can’t reason your way through why this is a bad idea, there is just no hope for you.

This article describes procedures that are flat-out abuse; take care with reading it if you may find it triggering.

Bleaching away what ails you

Autism One, whose organizers claim that their conference is “all about the science,” featured a talk by a woman whose preferred form of therapy, besides hyperbaric oxygen, is to subject autistic children to industrial bleach in the deluded belief that she can “recover” autism with it. Rivera runs a clinic in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico that she calls AutismO2 Clinica Hyperbarica. If her website is any indication, Rivera gives autistic children MMS by mouth and by enema. (Yes, she subjects autistic children to bleach enemas.)

Chelation, chemical castration – – why do autistic people need to suffer so fucking outrageously before anyone notices? Is it because many of them are too young or non-verbal to stand up for themselves?