By LabradoriteKing On Pinterest

Things I wish my body would do:

1. Knock it the fuck off. 2. See #1

I'm starting a collection

I don’t think that a lot of people know what ABA/masking “therapy” actually does to autistic children.

(ANALOGY) If you’re taking a pan out of a hot oven and it hurts your hand, you’ll scrunch your face up and go “ow!” But then someone else comes along and tells you to be quiet, and then force you to keep taking out and putting back in the pan, until you don’t react when you do it. It still hurts, of course, but you’ve been conditioned to not react whenever you are burned by the pan. You could’ve used an oven mitt or had someone else get the pan for you, or maybe just not have done it at all, but you were told for years what the “right way” to take the pan out was. And now you’ve built up callouses, and take the pan out the exact way you were trained to, unconsciously ignoring your pain. It still hurts, but you’re not supposed to do it another painless way, and instead continue to hurt, because it’s all you were taught to do.

ABA doesn’t make autistic kids’ lives easier, it makes the parents’ lives easier, because now they won’t have to listen to their child telling them that they’re in pain. Your child is upset and hurting, but it’s too “hard/stressful” for you to acknowledge and help them.

WE ARE NOT AN ANNOYANCE OR A BURDEN. WE ARE YOUR CHILDREN. WE ARE NOT A BROKEN PUZZLE THAT NEEDS TO BE PUT BACK TOGETHER.

We are people, we have thoughts and feelings, and we feel pain. But we keep it bottled up inside because showing love and care for your child is apparently too “difficult” for you.

(EDIT)

Holy shit this post blew up real quickly

Pile I   -  Friedel Anderson , 2013.

German,  b. 1954  -  

Oil on canvas , 80 x 65 cm

i need people to understand that when a person with a chronic illness talks about the fatigue that comes with it, we're not talking about the tiredness that comes from a 10 hour shift at work, we're talking about the inherent exhausting heavy malaise that hangs on your entire body like a weighted blanket from the time you wake up in the morning and doesn't get any lighter as the day goes on.

fatigue doesn't come from exertion. it's just innate- and when it does come from exertion, it's been worse than the innate fatigue that was already there in the first place, and it adds on top of it, not replaces it.

I feel like half my body needs to be soaked in ice while the other half covered in heating pads…just the issues of chronic pain ⋋_⋌

😂😂 explains my whole life...

My typical visit to an Art Store.

I’m out of canvas boards. I think to myself. 

Then follows a long, elaborate planning process. If I leave work by 6, I can rush to the art store on the way back, and still be home on time. The entire day is spent in a jittery excitement of getting my hands on those damn canvases.

It’s 6:05. I’m at the art store. Soaking in the beauty of my surroundings. I look at the canvases, and if someone observed closely, they would see me drooling. I resist picking up the largest one available, and modestly pick up what I had come for. Eight by tens. Yup, those are the ones I need. How many, you ask? As many as they’ve got in the store.

And then as I casually walk towards the billing counter, I can’t help but notice (because I’m seeking it out) the paint aisle. Didn’t I use up all my white paint!? I don’t recollect, but decide that I have, and pick up a tube. What about texture white? Yup, picked a jar. Oooh would you look at that beautiful turquoise? In the shopping basket.

As I decide that it’s time to leave, I remember that there are only a few blank pages in my travel sketchbook. Walking towards the sketchbook aisle is like opening a can of worms. I know what’s gonna happen, and yet I can’t resist it. Gotta pick up a tiny sketchbook that can fit into all of my purses. So, what do I do? I pick up an A3 watercolour block. Perfect. Oh would you look at that charcoal!? I think to myself, having never used charcoal successfully. I will now. Of course I will.

Three brushes, a painting palette and a set of pastels later, there I am, standing at the billing counter. My eyes glace at a beautiful display of writing pencils. These would be a perfect addition to the seven hundred pencils I already have. Forty five minutes later, I walk out with my bags heavier, my wallet lighter, and I’m smiling. Perfect.