i am more than a diagnosis

it’s not about that i know how to do laundry. it’s that when i was four i knew how to fold clothes; small hands working alongside my mother, while my older brother sat and played with his toys. it’s that i know what kind of detergent works but my father guesses. it’s that in my freshman year of college i had a line of boys who needed me to show them how to use the machine. it’s that the first door they knocked on belonged to me. it’s that they expected me to know.

it’s not that i know how to cook. it’s that the biggest christmas present i got was a little plastic kitchenette i never used except to climb on. it’s that my brother used it more, his hands ghosting over pink buttons and yellow dials. it’s that when my work needs cake for a birthday, they turn to me. i get it from costco. i don’t even like cooking. a boy burns popcorn in the dorm microwave and laughs. a week later, i do the same thing, and he snorts at me, “just crossed you off my wife list.” it’s that i had heard something like this so many times before that i laughed, too.

it’s not that i don’t love being feminine. it’s that i came home with bruises from trying to be a trick rider on my bike and heard the word “tomboy,” felt my little mouth say, “but i’m not a boy, i’m a girl”. it’s that they laughed. it’s that until i was sitting in my pretty dress and smiling with a big pretty smile and blinking my big pretty eyes, i wasn’t given back the title “girl”. it’s that until i wore makeup and styled my hair i was bullied; it’s that when i don’t wear makeup i’m a slob, that my mental health diagnosis hangs on the hook of being dressed up. it’s that my therapist sees me returning to bright red lipstick and tells me i am looking happier and i have to explain that i am more sad than i have ever been. it’s that i dress myself in as many layers as i can every time i ride a train because it’s better to be laughed at than harassed. 

it’s not that i know how to clean, it’s that my brother’s chores were outside where i wanted to be, and mine were inside. it’s that i would have weeded the garden better than he did if they had just let me. it’s that i am put in charge of fixing other’s messes, expected to comply without complaint.

it’s not that i can’t open the jar. it’s that you ask my brother first every time. it’s that i am pushed into docile positions, trained to believe that my body when it’s strong and healthy is ugly, trained into being less, weaker. it’s that the jar is also science, is also engineering, is also every job, every opportunity. it’s that you laugh faster when he tells a joke, that you take him seriously but wave off me, that when he raises his voice he’s assertive but when i do i’m hysterical. the jar is getting into a car with a stranger as a driver and wondering if this is our last ride. the jar is knowing that if something happens to us, it’s our fault. 

it’s that i’m weak and i don’t know if it’s because i just am or i was trained to be. it’s that we need to sit pretty with our pretty smiles and our pretty words trapped pretty and silent in our throats, our hands restless but pretty when idle, our bodies vessels for nothing but a future white dress. it’s that we are taught someone else needs to open the jar for us.

here’s the secret: run metal lids under hot water, they’ll expand faster than the glass they’re around. here’s the secret: when you keep us under hot water, we do more than boil. we expand over our edges. and we learn how to open our mouths, our claws, our screams hanging in kites over cities. just give me a chance. give me a chance when i am four when i am seven when i am twenty-three. i promise i can be amazing. give me the jar. i’ll show you something.

What gets me about the anti self-DX crowd is the consistent argument that the professionals spend years learning about this stuff, which is why they know more.

Except… they don’t.

Do you really think that every doctor spends years learning about every single disease, disorder, or whatever? They would literally never graduate. Ask any psych student how much time they spent actually learning about something like autism. Like, the actual number of concrete hours they spent studying autism.

I promise you by the time I am done with my psych degree, I will have spent way, way, more time on understanding autism on my own then I ever did in class, and that’s if I take a class specifically for developmental disorder. And way, way, way, more time understanding my autism in particular than I ever did learning about it in school.

on self-diagnosing

when i was about 14, i went to a mental health service and was diagnosed with major depression and generalized anxiety disorder. i got put on antidepressants that didn’t work and went to a few therapists that didn’t help me. my parents wasted hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars getting me treated for disorders that were not my true problem.

when i was 21, i went through the hardest break-up of my life. i went to a counselor who didn’t diagnose me at all - she talked to me like she didn’t care what my mental health issues were and that’s when i realized it doesn’t matter what your diagnosis is, as long as you’re getting treated for the problems that lie in front of you.

last year, when i was 21/22, i experienced a few bpd episodes. on new years, i got someone i was barely friends with to drive me over 30 minutes to my ex’s house to punch him in the face over something stupid. i couldn’t believe how manic it made me feel - i felt totally on top of the world. until the next day where the guilt swallowed me alive and i was stuck in yet another bout of depression. a couple months later, i found myself breaking down in the college stairwell over drama with another boy, calling my parents and telling them i was going to kill myself after he blocked me. they had to come pick me up because they didn’t think i would be okay if i drove.

i didn’t understand what was up with these symptoms. why did all of my depression stem from my relationships? why did i want to fling myself off of a bridge after the smallest disagreement? i was more than depressed - i was angry. i was so, so angry. for as long as i can remember, i’d cycle through the worst emotions followed by mania followed by the worst emotions. but it happened so fast, i could barely remember it by the time i got a chance to tell anyone.

i got back into therapy, into medication. i got put on a different antidepressant. i told my doctor, “you don’t understand. i have bouts of anger. do you have anything for that?” she prescribed me an anxiety medication for panic attacks.

the point is doctors do what they can to treat you. they don’t know what is going to help. they’re stumbling around blindly until they find something that works. they don’t truly know what’s going on in your head. they try to diagnose you on your first appointment at a mental health service and if you don’t portray all of your symptoms perfectly, you WILL get an incorrect diagnosis.

i never did my own research. i fed into the lie that psychiatrists/psychologists will do anything in their power to give you a correct diagnosis. i never self-diagnosed until i heard about bpd. luckily, i was already going to a psychiatrist when i heard about it, so i brought it up to him. he said, “huh, yeah, you’re probably right. that does sound like your symptoms” and prescribed me an anti-psychotic. still no diagnosis.

let me reiterate: i could have been getting the help i needed for YEARS, and i didn’t, because though i went through quite a few therapists and psychiatrists, none of them could figure out my diagnosis. it took the couple of “bpd freak-outs” i had for someone to take me seriously. for someone to finally say, “you have a lot of bipolar symptoms…” still not the right diagnosis, but it was getting closer, at least. if i didn’t have those freak-outs, i can guarantee you i still wouldn’t even have a “huh, yeah.” because in the world of psychiatrists (and a lot of times people who are anti self-diagnosis), your symptoms don’t matter until you have the worst possible symptoms, until your symptoms are outward, and that’s unfair and ridiculous.

so this is where the line gets blurred. to those who are anti self-diagnosis: am i allowed to say i have bpd because my psychiatrist told me i did but didn’t officially diagnose me? i ultimately stopped going to a psychiatrist and therapy because i spent another thousand dollars (out of my own pocket this time) to diagnose myself and i didn’t agree with the medication i was on. should i go back for one appointment just to satisfy your need for me to be officially diagnosed?

thinking back on the counselor i had when i was 21, i realized that the diagnosis doesn’t matter. but nobody takes you seriously unless you have a diagnosis and this is what’s wrong, not the fact that people self-diagnose. maybe if people took the symptoms seriously, people wouldn’t find the need to self-diagnose. maybe if mental illness wasn’t this exclusive club, people would feel more comfortable talking about their symptoms, even if they’re less drastic than yours are.

the point is this: somebody self-diagnosing doesn’t affect you. the only reason people knock people for self-diagnosing is because they want to feel powerful and elite. congratulations - you have an official diagnosis. i have three if you count adhd. but my most important number four diagnosis is being left untreated and tumblr has helped me get though a lot of my bpd-related issues and to that, i am thankful. because the resources are always going to be more important than the diagnosis and i am happy that those who self-diagnose are getting the resources they need.

Sexism in the medical field is a real issue. Especially for teenage girls. 

As a teenager I suffered with terrible chronic pain. Whenever I went to the doctor I was mocked and belittled. I was told that there was nothing wrong with me. Some doctors even said I was hysterical. I was told my pain was related to my periods or going through puberty. I was also told I probably had mental health problems and my pain was psychosomatic. Eventually I was referred to specialists who also refused to give me I diagnosis, who didn’t carry out the proper checks, who didn’t even do all the routine tests and scans. I was also referred to mental health specialists despite not having mental health issues at the time. They also refused to believe my chronic pain was real and made out that I was a teenager acting out and trying to manipulate people or trying to find a way of not going to school. It turns out I had undiagnosed eds and fibromyalgia which was not diagnosed until I was referred to adult health services at the age of 17/18. I have also recently discovered that I have permanent damage to my ankles and knees because of untreated sprains and dislocations. My overall chronic pain and my conditions is worse than they would’ve been if I had got the help I needed at a younger age.

My younger brother also started to suffer chronic pain similar to mine at the same age I did. He went to the doctor who agreed there was something wrong and he was instantly referred to the same specialists that I was. They carried out all the tests and scans. He was later diagnosed with eds and the doctor agreed that it was genetic. He was given treatment and physio and thanks to his early diagnosis and help he received he is able to lead a normal life. I am so grateful that he didn’t have to go through what I went through. I wouldn’t have been able to cope with watching my brother go through what I went through but it got me thinking, why was I, a teenage girl, called hysterical, mentally ill and told that my symptoms weren’t real or as not bad as I said but my brother was instantly believed and taken seriously? why is a teenage boy’s pain taken more seriously than a teenage girl’s?

 My undiagnosed mother was later diagnosed too after explaining that both her children had been undiagnosed.  She also had pain and other issues for years but was never given a diagnosis. She was even told she couldn’t be in that much pain as she had given birth to two children. My father on the other hand was referred to specialists and diagnosed and treated for his heath issues. 

Based on my experiences with my family it is clear that a man’s pain is taken more seriously than a woman’s. it doesn’t matter how old you are or what your circumstances are, if you are a woman you will be discriminated against by the medical system.

Project Paperclip

I have watched Winter Soldier three times this week, and I was watching this scene when the idea of this fic occured to me. Of course, maybe the idea behind it is wrong. It is based on my own theory.

If you have any feedback, please let me know! I hope you enjoy!




You pulled up to Steve’s old military camp in silence. Nat was baffled, you knew, by the possibility that such an advanced program, which had bested even her, had originated from such an unlikely place. Steve was wading through his memories of the camp, of a time before Captain America. A time when life was simple.

You were worried. There had to be a reason you were led here, and it couldn’t be good. You were overcome by this feeling that as bad as things were now, they were going to get much worse. You stayed silent, choosing not to worry the others more than necessary, and followed closely behind Steve, hand hovering above your gun, anxiously waiting for someone to jump out at you.

Nat wandered for a bit, searching out any signals that would assist in finding the source of the data that had nearly cost Fury his life. She called out that there was absolutely nothing. No heat signatures, no waves. She began to theorise about what could have happened. You didn’t understand much of what she said.

But Steve seemed to have noticed something, and strode towards a cold, angular, concrete building.

“Steve?” You asked, still following behind him.

“Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within five hundred yards from the barracks,” Steve began. “This building is in the wrong place.” With absolutely no effort, he used the rim of his shield to smash the padlock off of the door, and the three of you ventured inside.

Your mouth dropped open. There was a SHIELD insignia upon the wall, and office furniture, long forgotten, littered the dusty room.

“This is SHIELD,” Nat uttered.

“Maybe where it started,” Steve replied.

Entering a smaller room to the side, your eyes were drawn to three photographs that hung in broken frames on the wall. Howard, Peggy and Colonel Phillips smiled down at you.

“There’s Stark’s father,” Nat pointed out.

“Howard,” you elaborated with a fond smile.

“Who’s the girl?” Nat asked. Your eyes moved from Peggy’s beautiful face to Steve. His jaw clenched slightly, and instead of replying, he turned to investigate the room.

“Agent Peggy Carter,” you said gently. Nat nodded her understanding, but before she could say anything else, you heard Steve’s voice.

“If you’re already working in a secret office…” he said, pushing aside a heavy looking bookshelf, “why do you need to hide the elevator?”

The two of you walked to where Steve was standing and studied the elevator. The doors were quite old, and there was a keypad next to them. Nat pulled her device out of her pocket again, and held it up the keypad. It determined the passcode, and she pressed the numbers in sequence. The doors slid open. You glanced nervously at Steve, took a deep breath, and stepped into the elevator. It didn’t lurch, or give any indication of collapsing, so you relaxed, and the others got on with you. There was only one button. You pressed it.

When the doors opened again, you were staring into a dark space. It was cold, and seemed to be quite large. Stepping out of the elevator, the lights turned on. There must have been some sort of movement sensor.

At the opposite end of the room sat several large computer monitors, and behind that, an endless sea of databanks. You looked to Natasha, and saw her shaking her head.

“This can’t be the data-point, this technology is ancient…” she confirmed your thoughts, but as she moved closer, she noticed a USB port. Even you could tell how out of place it seemed. She placed the USB into the port, and then there was a cacophany of whirring, as the databanks began to roll, and the old computer flashed to life.

The words Initiate System? blinked on the screen. You and Steve were both well and truly out of your depth, so you deferred to Nat. This was one of her specialties after all.

“Y-E-S, spells yes,” Nat smiled as she typed. You could tell despite everything, she was genuinely enjoying having a puzzle to solve. Her level of intelligence was unrivaled by most. “Shall we play a game?” Nat laughed as she waited for the computer to process her input. “It’s from a movie that…”

“Yeah, we saw it,” Steve remarked dryly.

Before that conversation could progress any further, a familiar voice rang out, reverberating around the cavernous room. You recognised it immediately. It was just one of the voices that haunted you in your nightmares.

Rogers, Steven. Born, 1918. Barnes, (Y/N). Formerly (Y/L/N), (Y/N). Born, 1918. Married, 1939. Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna. Born, 1984.

“It’s some kind of a recording,” Nat breathed, impressed by the technology, as a small camera focused on each of you, one at a time.

I am not a recording, Fräulein. I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945, but I am. The screen flashed an image, and your fear was confirmed. You were being addressed by Dr. Arnim Zola. The man who stole your husband from you. Your fists balled at your sides.

“Do you know this thing?” Nat asked, looking between the two of you. This time it was your turn to offer no answer, as you continued to stare at the face on the screen, now not a photograph but a digital face. The camera seemed to pause on you and observe you longer than the others. You hated that you couldn’t feel him. He was there, but he was just a machine. He had no emotions.

“Arnim Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull. He’s been dead for years,” Steve explained for Nat’s sake. He was confused, but you barely noticed.

First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive. In 1972 I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body, my mind, however, that was worth saving on two hundred thousand feet of data banks. You are standing in my brain.

“How did you get here?” Steve asked angrily.


You began to feel sick.

“It was Operation Paperclip after World War II,” Nat elaborated. “SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic values.”


Zola continued. They thought I could help their cause. I also helped my own.

The camera observed as you swayed, light headed.

“HYDRA died with the Red Skull,” Steve spoke with conviction.

Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.

“Prove it.”

Accessing archive.

A flurry of images appeared on the screen. Zola told his story. But you couldn’t concentrate. It felt like you were underwater. Everything was fuzzy, voices were far away, and you couldn’t breathe.

Zola was the only member of Hydra that had been captured by the American military that didn’t immediately pop a cyanide capsule. He had entered custody without a fuss, and from what you had been told, he was mostly cooperative.

The intel about him being on the train had been so easy for you to procure. The train route so readily available. Steve had told you that there were Hydra agents on board that attacked Bucky and himself, but less than he thought there would have been.

Zola wanted to get captured. He wanted to be taken into custody, and prove his worth. He wanted SHIELD to need him. To rely on him. A parasite from within could do much more damage than someone on the outside ever could. He made sure Hydra would survive, undetectable until it was too late.

Bucky had died. He died trying to protect America. The world. He died. For this?

He died.

Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA’s new world order will arise. We won, Captain, Barnes. Your deaths amount to the same as your lives; a zero sum.

You walked up to the monitor that was displaying Zola’s face, and before anyone could reach out to stop you, you punched it with all your might. You showed no indication that your bleeding knuckles caused you any pain.

“(Y/N),” Steve said softly, walking up behind you.

As I was saying… Zola interrupted, face popping up on one of the smaller screens. What’s on this drive? Project Insight requires insight. So I wrote an algorithm.

“What kind of algorithm? What does it do?” Nat asked, watching Steve pull you away from the monitor gingerly. She was enjoying the puzzle a lot less now.

The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it.

The doors that you had entered the room from, the only doors that you were aware of, began to close. Steve turned from you, and threw his shield at them in order to avoid being trapped, but it was too late.

“Steve, we’ve got a bogey. ETA 30 seconds,” Nat said with carefully constructed calm.

“Who sent it?” Steve asked.


Admit it, it’s better this way. We’re all three of us…out of time.

Steve looked around desperately, and found a grate in the floor. He let go of your hand, and pried the cover off. Nat jumped in. You were torn between finding protection and just accepting what was coming, when Steve pulled you in with him, covering the three of you with his shield.

There was a loud explosion, and the building began to collapse. You were buffeted by concrete and debri, and the resulting fire made it difficult to breath. In order to protect you and Nat, Steve was slightly exposed. You hoped desperately that his Super Soldier Serum would help him. You closed your eyes.

When you next opened them, you were in a car. You were dazed, but you knew that it wasn’t the one that you had driven to New Jersey in. Something was wrapped around your hand tightly, and your ribs ached. Your ears were ringing, but soon you were able to make out two voices. Steve and Nat. They were alive.

“We should go to Stark. He’s closer,” Steve argued.

“We can’t Steve, you know that,” Nat countered. “They’ll expect that. Hell, they might’ve already visited him looking for us. I don’t know if we have anywhere we can go!”

“Sam Wilson…” you piped up. Your throat was dry and sore. Smoke inhalation.

“(Y/N), thank God,” Steve sighed in relief. You felt him calm ever so slightly in knowing that you were awake. You felt the same from Nat.

“Sam Wilson?” She asked.

“We were talking to him a while ago, when you picked us up for the Lumerian Star mission,” you continued, sitting up and clicking your seat belt on. You winced when the belt brushed across your ribs.

“How will we find him?” Nat pondered.

“The old fashioned way,” Steve replied.

A long drive, and a flick through the Washington phone book later, you found him. Steve parked the car a block away, so it wouldn’t cause any problems, and you all walked, injured and exhausted, the rest of the way.

Just as you had hoped, he had taken you into his home without hesitation. “Not everyone,” he had said when Nat told him everyone you knew was trying to kill you.

Nat showered first, while you waited with Steve.

“(Y/N),” he hesitantly began. “What happened back there?”

You thought for a moment, before deciding against telling him about your realisation.

“I didn’t like what he was saying,” you lied. It would be better if he didn’t know. He already had too much to carry on his shoulders. He didn’t need to know.

“Are you sure that’s it? You don’t normally react that way… unless something really upsets you.”

“I’m sorry I lost control…”

“Don’t apologise. I was about two seconds away from doing the same. But brash reactions are not something you’re generally known for… you hurt your hand.”

“It’s fine Steve. I’ll clean it thoroughly in the shower, and bandage it afterwards. It’ll be fine.”

Nat walked back into the room from the bathroom, and sat on the bed next to you, drying her hair.

“You go (Y/N). I’ll go after you,” Steve offered.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, and you accepted his offer gratefully. You needed to be alone for a little while, to process everything that you had learned that day.

You cried in the shower. When you got out, you dried off, and wrapped your hand. The gash on your ribs would need attention too, but it was too difficult for you to manage alone.

You forced yourself to focus on something, anything, else. Luckily the awkward energy that you had felt surrounding Steve and Nat would provide a nice distraction for you. You had to force yourself to be OK, for Steve.

You took a deep breath, braced yourself, and rejoined Steve and Nat. Steve went to take his shower, and Nat went to find a drink in Sam’s kitchen. Alone again, you concentrated on Steve. And waited for him to come back into the room.


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Misdiagnosis is Murder

When my parents first told me that I was diagnosed as a narcissist (a misdiagnosis for what was actually Autism) right before they adopted me, it hit me like a freight train I never saw coming.
I never saw myself that way – Manipulative. Selfish. Toxic.


And it broke me to my bones to realize that’s what they thought I was.

And I ugly cried for five hours straight, knees hugged tight to my chest, rocking back and forth and whispering between gasps and sobs,

“I’m not a bad person.”
“I’m not a bad person.”
“I’m not a bad person.”

Let’s get one thing straight:
//Gender Bias Is A Bitch//

Because I was AFAB, born into an ableist society that ignorantly believes Autism is more prevalent in boys than girls, my Autistic symptoms were misclassified under a diagnosis that literally ripped apart any chances I had of being seen, heard, listened to, believed.

Misdiagnosis for an autistic person can be Incredibly detrimental to their sense of self and steamroll their entire identity.

Medical professionals need to get TF informed, because an offhand “best approximation” simply isn’t good enough.
It’s destructive in ways many people will never, ever understand.

If you are Autistic and were misdiagnosed (and therefore invalidated), I want you to know that I know how you feel, and I am so, so sorry.

I love you. I see you. I accept you,
And you are every bit as beautiful as the universe we live in.

nessaelanesse  asked:

Hey, I'm really sorry to bother you and I hope I'm not out of line but I just read your newest post about your stomach and I'm curious... Do you have any idea what's wrong? See, I've got something similar and for the last year and a half I've been living on rice, chicken and the few veggies that don't make me sick. I've lost a third of my original weight, but all the doctors I've gone too have no idea what's wrong! Which is why I'm asking. I hope I'm not out of line and I wish you the best day!!

Not a damn clue. My diagnosis currently ranges from “you’re overweight try losing weight” (no longer valid since I dropped fucking 20lbs in a month and likely wasn’t valid for most of my symptoms to begin with) it’s “just” IBS (a chronic condition unto itself which too few people including doctors seem to realize and dismiss as non life impacting simply because it’s “common”) leaky gut caused by allergies (previously thought to be celiac but repeatedly tested negative for) chronic GERD (somewhat more under control than it was to the point when I am off my meds which worsened the other symptoms) vocal chord dysfunction (previously misdiagnosed as asthma which before that was misdiagnosed as purely anxiety when in fact the reason I was panicking was because I couldn’t breathe) “it’s just anxiety” (which yes I have anxiety, but I’ve realized a LOT of it was being caused by allergies causing a near constant adrenaline response so that was fun. Nice to know I was on sedatives as a teenager because no one bothered to listen to me when I said eating XYZ hurt), hormonal problems (despite my hormones always being “normal”), and last but not least “I mean, it could be fibromyalgia or an autoimmune disease, your symptoms are kind of hard to pin down”. That latter part being a direct quote from a doctor. 

I’ve also had severe issues with my teeth, which since I have switched to a holistic dentist, have largely been resolved. (Still in pain, but every time he does something my health bounces up a notch so it’s a process I’ll be working with him toward fixing over the next few years. He even suspects I might have been getting mercury poisoning from some seriously dangerously over the limit leaking amalgam fillings I got in my early teens. He’s also the only dentist willing to remove my root canal teeth because they’ve never fully healed.)

So. Yea. I have some of my own possible theories that it might be SIBO which many doctors here in the US seem reluctant to even admit is a real thing (my current dr certainly doesn’t and will not test for it despite it being an easy culture test to do) and some possible genetic fuckery/immune system bullshit. Both my parents are extremely ill people with very similar issues, my dad even has an autoimmune disease he doesn’t care enough to even remember the name of so I can’t just narrow the field and test directly for that. Thanks dad.

The difference between me and them is I am actively trying to get a diagnosis and claw some semblance of health/sanity back before I turn into a hermit resigned to dying young. 

A big thing for me seems to be allergies/intolerances which have sprung up in the last few years. (Rice is the first thing doctors recommend for eating “plain” food but it’s actually a huge trigger food for a LOT of people) Eating only organic seems to have helped (suggesting a preservative allergy, which my allergist just kind of said “I believe you, but there’s no reliable test for it so just…don’t eat them”) 

Which is where you find me at now, two years down the rabbit hole of trying to get an accurate diagnosis. As for asking questions, it’s entirely okay to ask questions. I’ve pretty much wound up documenting my chronic health issues because a) it was helping me to keep track of things and then b) my blog got popular due to shenanigans and then a bunch of other people started going “HEY ME TOO” and we’ve created a sort of exhausted support group for each other and also c) the number of people who message me on a daily basis to tell me it helps them to know they are not alone is just…I’ve cried twice today at some of the messages I’ve gotten, and at the time of typing this it’s not even noon. 

I do not mind being public with any of this because gods help me if someone can figure out some small puzzle piece of their life from me falling apart then in some small way it will be worth it. Cause I know what that feeling is like. And I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Chronic health issues are so incredibly isolating.

So yea…next step I’m off to see a natruopathic/functional medicine doctor (yes I made sure they are licensed physicians and not just crazy hippies) in the hopes that she might have some answers for me, or is at least willing to listen to me, which uh, yeah, the more you refuse to accept suffering to be your way of life, many doctor’s don’t seem to appreciate. I had my GI doctor tell me I shouldn’t google my symptoms and just accept the fact that the meds he prescribed for the chronic GERD would dissolve my intestines which, hahahahah, ha. No. I do not accept that. Not even a little bit.

anonymous asked:

Sometimes I feel like I am not really autistic. Like I am faking it. I was professionally diagnosed a while back and it made me happy, getting the diagnosis. I don't know, does anyone else feel this way?

My friend, I don’t think there’s a single more universal feeling than the one you’ve just described. While it is possible (albeit relatively rare) to get misdiagnosed, it’s far more likely that you’ve been taught an ignorant neurotypical’s viewpoint of what autism “should” look like and you’re not meeting those expectations. It may help you to look over the actual criteria for autism as self-affirmation: DSM Criteria // Autistic-Made Criteria

-Brother Cat

About Us - Mod Snail

Hello, I am Snail and I am very pleased to be joining the scriptautistic team. 

I am based in the UK, use he/him pronouns, and am relatively uncomfortable doing introduction posts (!)

I had a late diagnosis of ASD, as in childhood many of my symptoms were interpreted as a trauma response, and I developed PTSD as an adolescent. I was only diagnosed as having ASD after recovering from PTSD. 

Sensory-wise, I am sensitive to noise and touch, and I am poor at judging if I am hungry, cold, tired, etc. Noise, touch, and social situations all precipitate shut-down, where I lose the ability to communicate and can do little more than lie down and vague out. It usually takes a few hours before I am able to start thinking again.

As well as knowing about my own experiences of autism, I have worked with teenagers and adults with ASD and other disabilities. I have a very good knowledge of the UK education system and how schools deal with both diagnosed and undiagnosed autistic students. My knowledge base for education is primarily of secondary aged students (ages 11-18), but I do also know about students in primary school and university. I have also worked with adults who need greater levels of support, but with adults I know more about individual experiences rather than overall policy; with young people I know about policy and have worked with students with a wide range of abilities (neurotypical and not, able-bodied and not). 

One of my special interests is autism, particularly the overlap in symptoms of ASD and trauma. I love researching and collecting information, so answering your questions is ideal for me - I either get to infodump about one of my favourite subjects, or I get to research AND infodump. 

I look forward to getting to answer your questions 🐌

- Mod Snail

Finally got a diagnosis and, while I’m happy to have a name for my pain, I have to say I am guilty of being one of those people that thought IBS was just a minor thing. I used to think it was just an upset stomach here and there mixed with screwy bowel problems, but no, it’s some hardcore stuff! Mine has reached a 10 on the pain scale on more than one occasion and has had me bedridden for days at a time. It’s no joke and I’m so sorry to everyone with this that I ever thought otherwise!

anonymous asked:

tuafw your country is pretty advanced but psychologically it's way behind, so there's no resources for autistic women and how differently it manifests and you are about to open a youtube channel to discuss these things but since you have no diagnosis you feel like that would be more than inappropriate. I'm sure I am autistic, but I also know there's ALWAYS a margin of error, so how can I ever be sure, even with professional input, since they're bound to what I tell them and they're also human.

anonymous asked:

Hello. Can you please give me a simplified list on szpd symptoms bc I got most of them but am still not sure so if I actually got it or no. thanks

I don’t think there’s any simpler list than DSM-V has, tbh. You can find it on wiki about szpd. Quote:

It is characterized by at least four of the following criteria:

  • Emotional coldness, detachment or reduced affect.
  • Limited capacity to express either positive or negative emotions towards others.
  • Consistent preference for solitary activities.
  • Very few, if any, close friends or personal relationship, and a lack of desire for such.
  • Indifference to either praise or criticism.
  • Little interest in having sexual experiences with another person (taking age into account).
  • Taking pleasure in few, if any, activities.
  • Indifference to social norms and conventions.
  • Preoccupation with fantasy and introspection.

Main point, in my subjective and non-professional opinion, would be the very concept of dealing with all/any of those by withdrawing from society by your own choice. I.e. if being affected by those traits was enough to affect your life in a way that made you want to avoid people, to have no desire to interact with them (and not out of fear of rejection, anxiety or anything like that), then it is possible that you have szpd. Otherwise you might have just schizoid personality without corresponding disorder.

Of course, it’s not that simple and each of those can vary in its intensity, can be permanent or not so much, etc. All of that would matter if you want actual diagnosis — it’s probably best to visit some pro psych. 

anonymous asked:

school recently had a scare in which a rumor was spread about a boy who threatened to shoot up the school. the reason I'm asking is that the dean released a statement stating that he is autistic. I never thought that aggression like that could stem from autism, but I believe the administration see it as the student body isolating a student who behaves differently yet he has a kill list with specific student names and is aggressive towards others. could this be his autism or something else?

This is not autism. While autistic people may seem aggressive during a meltdown, we are not any more likely to be violent than anyone else. In fact, we are far, far more likely to be victims of violence than to be perpetrators.

It was completely inappropriate for your school to release that information. A school should never be releasing a students diagnosis. I can’t even state clearly how outraged I am that your  school handled things this way.

The idea that autistic people are inherently more violent is based on a case study of an individual autistic person (who they later found had other things going on besides autism). However, this inaccurate “study” has been cited whenever a school shooting happens. The media likes to speculate that a shooter was autistic (or mentally ill), however, this is just pure ableism.

Did you know over 50% of people shot by police are disabled? Many of them are autistic or otherwise neurodivergent. We have rampant ableism in our society that is killing autistic people and other disabled people and yet we are still blamed whenever a mass shooting happens regardless of the facts of the case.

For the boy in your school, it is more likely that torment by his peers drove him to a place where he wanted to kill people. It’s not due to his autism but rather how others have treated him for being autistic. This is very different. This boy is not to blame but rather every student in your school who has been cruel to him. Every bully. Every person who teased him or mocked him. This is what leads to violence; seeing no escape to the torment.

TL;DR: Autism does NOT make us inherently more violent. However, bullying people of any neurotype makes the person being bullied more likely to lash out in some way (not always violence).


Diagnosis Story (This is long guys)

My symptoms were TEXTBOOK. Extreme fatigue, extreme thirst, frequent (like, basically fractions of a second from peeing your pants in public level) urination, sunken foggy (drug addict) looking eyes, extreme and sudden weight loss (about 15 lbs in two weeks), constant bottomless-pit hunger, fuzzy vision, and even (TMI?) a yeast infection. But because I wasn’t a child or teenager I was misdiagnosed. 

As I waited for the results in my doctor’s office I literally heard the nurses in the hallway laughing at my blood glucose number. (Which tbh, now that I’ve been diabetic for a bit… weren’t even that high.) The doctor came in and told me I was diabetic. When I started to cry he patted me on the head and said “Cheer up.” He gave me a blood glucose meter, a pamphlet, and told me to see him in two weeks. I was in shock, so I didn’t ask any questions. I just left. I called my mom crying and when she asked if I was type one or type two I realized the doctor hadn’t even told me. I had to dig up the paperwork between tears and look. The sheet said type two.

Over the next week and a half I continued to fade away. The doctor had put me on medication for the wrong disease and blood pressure medication. I didn’t have high blood pressure. So now, in addition to all of my other symptoms, I had to suffer through low blood pressure and was constantly dizzy. I called him frequently asking me for help because I couldn’t get my blood sugar below 300 or 400, I was dizzy, and I was still losing weight. He offered very little help. Out of desperation I had completely stopped eating carbs. (Fruit, breads, cereals, grains, sugars, starches, certain veggies…) I didn’t know what to do, nothing was working and I only continued to feel worse.

My mom flew to Oregon and began to battle on my behalf. It was clear I had been misdiagnosed, but to try and fight for yourself when your body is literally shutting down feels beyond impossible. How can you possibly fight through the medical bureaucracy when you can barely get out of bed in the morning? Thank god for moms. She fought with my GP to get a referral to a specialist, and then proceeded to hound their office daily until they found a way to fit me in. Sometime during this second week post misdiagnosis I felt weird enough that I finally decided to go to the ER. They told me I had been misdiagnosed (DUH) but didn’t want to give me insulin because “they didn’t want to send me too far in the other direction” and sent me home. THEY SENT A TYPE ONE DIABETIC HOME WITH NO INSULIN, NO EDUCATION, AND NO ACCESS TO INSULIN. It would still be days before I could get to my endocrinologist’s office.

One of the first things my endocrinologist said to me was “I am so sorry this happened to you. As you learned, being type one you will ALWAYS be treated like a type two, and you’re going to HAVE to be comfortable advocating for yourself.” Truer words have never been spoken. I have spent every doctor’s appointment (not to mention more than one social occasion) since diagnosis having to validate not only that I know my own condition, but that it is in fact type one diabetes. This has run the gamut from nurses and GPs, to ophthalmologists and dermatologists. All because I was diagnosed as an adult. It’s exhausting. (Anne Peter’s an MD who works with JDRF estimates about 30% of new type one diagnosis are in adults. This is not an insignificant number. Yet time and time again I am second guessed by doctors who assume I’m simply confused. I thought my story was unique, but I have heard countless like it. Many ending worse than my own… in hospitalizations or near losses of life. THIS MUST CHANGE.)

After a diabetes crash course at OHSU I was told “You can do your first injection here, or in your car but you can’t leave this hospital before you do it.” Being an anxious control freak I opted for my car… where I sat for an hour trying to get up the nerve to stab myself with a needle. Guys, this is VERY counter intuitive to all of your natural instincts. Also I’m a massive baby. My mom offered to do it, but I obviously (hi, again… control freak) couldn’t let her. We landed on some weird half-and-half where I held the insulin pen, but she forced my hand down so I couldn’t flinch away at the last second. Sometimes you just need moms.  

And then I went home and got on with my life.

I had lost all of the muscle and health I had worked so hard far. I had lost my relationship to food. I had lost a lot of security and spontaneity. I had lost my sense of self. I had to relearn how to eat, and how to think. I had to relearn how I related and reacted in the world. The symptoms of diabetes affect your personality and there’s just nothing you can do to truly get the old you back, not really. I’ve regained the muscle, the relationship with food (mostly), I’ve developed a new relationship with my body, the world, and how my life just is now. I spent a long time pretending I was fine when inside I felt like I was completely isolated. How on earth can you possibly express these cosmic life changing feelings and experiences when you barely grasp what is happening yourself? Those who have never gone through a similar experience just can’t really comprehend it. I adore my friends and family, and they did their best (and who can blame them for not understanding?) but the bungled attempts at “cheering you up” or “commiserating” often only lead to feeling more frustrated and alone. I learned to cope and for a long time just would pretend I was fine because it was so much easier than trying to explain something they would never understand  (and I wasn’t sure how to verbalize anyway.) It took me a long time to get back to where I had been socially. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be exactly where I was.

On the bright side I’ve found an AMAZING community. I have met some of the most brilliant, passionate, tough, inspiring, hilarious, and loving people anyone could hope to be friends with. I still have bad days but for the most part I’ve found my way out of the big, dark, trap-filled pit that diagnosis threw me into. I can’t thank the DOC (Diabetic Online Community) and the few IRL friends I’ve made for helping me along the way. I’m a stronger person now. I don’t know who I would be right now had this not happened… but I’m finally getting comfortable with the new me and that’s been kind of beautiful in its own way.

anonymous asked:

Hi! I'm not trying to sound like a dick or anything, but the "actually-" tag was meant specifically for neurodivergent or mentally ill people. Unless an asexual person is also neurodivergent/mentally ill, it's really rude for them to post in any "actually-" tag. Those tags aren't for asexuals to use. I'm not trying to invalidate or silence asexuals-you all are 100% valid and deserve to be accepted-I just wanted to let you know that the "actuallyasexual" tag is problematic.


I respectfully disagree. 

The “#actually asexual” tag was meant for asexual people to use, regardless if they were neurodivergent and/or mentally ill. The tag was suggested in order to avoid harassment and abuse that was occurring at the time. 

The use of “#actually autistic” predates “#actually asexual,” but not by much. The usage of “#actually asexual” also predates the usage of other “#actually-” tags used by various groups of mentally ill people.

Its usage was also proposed by an autistic person. Again, this was proposed because of frequent abusive content being posted in our community tags. This wasn’t an act of stealing from the neurodivergent community. 

We have since had to find other tags after being driven out of the #actually asexual tag, by discourse blogs who claim that usage of a term that was proposed by an autistic person to protect us from abuse is now “ableist.” 

The problematic issue with the #actually asexual tag that has not been addressed by “discourse” is the fact that elitist people within the asexual community had hijacked the term to alienate a-spec folks. 

However, the tag was always intended for usage for all a-spec people. 


Furthermore, the term “actually [insert identity]” has been used in discussion amongst various communities over time. Contextually, it is meant to separate one’s self from stereotypical and/or problematic discussion of one’s identity. 

For example, saying “I’m actually asexual” in response to someone who is not asexual trying to redefine asexuality in a distorted manner in order to hurt asexual people isn’t being “ableist.” 

The word “actually” is explicitly used for emphasis in a given context, and it’s not problematic to use it. It is a useful tool for communication, and as a community it has been useful as a tag to actually avoid ableist posts against asexual people. 

The idea that it’s inherently problematic or ableist is a stretch for me, and this assumes that I am neurotypical and/or mentally “healthy.” I don’t have a diagnosis yet but I am an obsessive compulsive person currently in therapy. 

I do not wish to discuss my mental health any more than that, and I don’t think asexual people who use the “actually asexual” tag should be interrogated in regards to their mental health in order to justify their use of the tag. 

The neurodivergent community has played a huge role in the development of the asexual community. It is only until recently that I’ve seen any objection to the tag “#actually asexual,” which has its roots in anti asexual discourse. 

As much as I’ve seen autistic and allistic people object to the tag’s usage, I have also seen a good number of autistic and allistic people promote usage of the tag. I don’t know how the person who originated the tag feels about it now, but…

…I haven’t seen a solid argument against the usage of the tag beyond accusations of ableism for using similar language that the autistic community uses. That just doesn’t make sense to me from a linguistic perspective. 

So, I’m sorry but so far I can’t support your argument. It may not be your intention, but this argument has been used to invalidate and silence asexual people who have been trying to avoid abusive rhetoric. 

Saxophone Boy- Taehyung(m)

Originally posted by kths

(m)- mature | word count: 4400 | BFF!Tae | <33

You don’t need a written label to read between the lines..

reqs: can you do one with taehyung where you’re taking a really long time in the shower, he comes in and you’re pleasuring yourself? (+) Smut/fluff with daddy v? (+) Hey I was wondering can request a taehyung X best friend smut pleaseeee

a/n: finally another tae smut!!! it’s been a long time cumming so please enjoy:)

One more minute. He thinks with growing agitation, just one more and I’m barging in to see what the hell is taking her so long. At this point it’d been a half hour since he walked through the door, and an extra fifteen since you said you were going to take a “quick” shower before he arrived. So forty five minutes, forty-five minutes is how long you’d been in there, forty five minutes of wasting water on that tiny little body of yours.

Taehyung paces the small expanse of your living room, already having queued up the anime and snacks for the moment you were ready. But as those moments turned into long minutes his mind had started to wander from itself, maybe you drowned. Maybe you hit your head or maybe a mermaid had swam up from the drain and kidnapped you. Maybe you just came up with other plans and didn’t want to see him…

But that couldn’t be true, the two of you were two peas in a pod, best friends, you always wanted to see him and he always wanted to see you. That’s just how things are even though they didn’t always feel that way.

Sometimes, when your hand wandered a little too low when you were rubbing his stomach, or your shirt was a little too thin for the cold weather, the idea of more than friends would emerge from within his thoughts. But after being together, and only in one way for so long, how could he ever admit that he dreamt about the way you sounded late at night? Or that whenever he ate something sweet he thought about how you smelt… how you would taste…

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Can you please give me some information on autistic people who adopt/want to adopt kids? I want to get professionally diagnosed because i really need accommodations but i also want to adopt at least one kid one day and i'm worried if i am professionally diagnosed i won't be able to, especially because i want to adopt another autistic child. Is there any information you can share with me and/or link me to so i can figure out what i want to do?

I am glad you asked this, because, at least in the US, getting a clinical diagnoses does hurt your ability to gain custody, retain custody, and to adopt.

If you do not need explicit accommodations at work or school, do not get a clinical diagnosis. If you can get informal accommodations without getting a clinical diagnosis, that is fine. If adopting is more important to you than accommodations, do not get a clinical diagnosis.

The American Bar Association in discussing custody rights of disabled people with a disabling psychiatric diagnosis provides the following information:

Parents with disabilities are the only distinct community of Americans who must struggle to retain—or even gain in some situations—custody of their children. Removal rates where parents have a psychiatric disability have been found to be as high as 70 percent to 80 percent; where the parent has an intellectual disability, 40 percent to 80 percent. In families where the parental disability is physical, 13 percent have reported discriminatory treatment in custody cases. Parents who are deaf or blind report extremely high rates of child removal and loss of parental rights. Parents with disabilities are more likely to lose custody of their children after divorce, have more difficulty in accessing reproductive health care, and face significant barriers to adopting children.

To be clear, these statistics are about custody cases, not specifically about adoption. And that’s super important, because adoption is a little easier. But they often do ask for medical history, and withholding medical information in that case… well, I’m assuming you can see how that would back fire.

Basically, when you’re “mentally ill” - which I know does not describe autism, but that is how it is treated by the courts - everything works against you.

If you do need accommodations, you are going to have to decide if it is worth fighting to prove that you are a capable, responsible person that is equipped to handle a child, because you may have to go to extreme lengths to prove that you are.

- Sam

( ok so for anyone who knew I was sick these past 3 weeks now, I did finally go to the hospital and it turns out there was a lot more at work than just some disease I had caught. Full diagnosis for me is large ( unpassable ) kidney stones ( x2 ), obstruction of right ureter and infection and inflammation of right kidney, sepsis, E.coli infection, and severe dehydration ( likely from the sepsis and infection combo ) 

I’ve been through my first surgery already this past Friday, and am scheduled for my second procedure this Thursday. I’m currently on heavy duty antibiotics and pain killers but I’m still in a lot of abdominal discomfort so I’ve had to take some extra acetaminophen on top of things, which I did make sure I can have without it interacting with the percs I’m already on. 

Got a long road ahead of me still, and I’m not looking forward to the bill at the end of all of this but it was an emergency status when I got admitted so it’s not like waiting on treatment was optional. For context, I’ve already been violently ill from the infection having been at a critical level since the first of the month…. I may post another update later this week, keep me in your thoughts! Til then, my posting may be kinda spotty while I’m healing, because I’ve been exhausted from all of this, but I will try to be online regardless since I’m home at the moment and do have access to the web. )

Introduction: Consultant Os

Hi. I’m Os your newest consultant. I’m 23 and my pronouns are she/her/hers. I also use they/them but I may not know you’re talking about me.

I’m an agender aplatonic aroace who mods two a-spec blogs, and is comfortable helping answer your a-spec related questions. I’m also autistic so my collection of all things with the letter A is already quite sizeable, and while there is more to my sense of gender than just being autistic, I do identify as autigender.

I am self diagnosed as autistic and have the support of my doctors in my self-diagnosis. I was (mis)diagnosed with ADHD when I was 4, and then self-undiagnosed myself with it after doing indepth research. I also have an older brother who is also autistic and who was diagnosed at the same time.

Other things I can consult with as they relate to being autistic are mental and physical illnesses. I have PTSD with dissociative symptoms, Bipolar II, an unspecified anxiety disorder along with specific phobias to needles, blood/injury/surgery, body hair, and spiders. Physical illness wise, I have migraines, a blood-pressure regulation/fainting problem, and “we don’t know the cause” joint pain.

In addition to being partially face-blind, having visual problems that may or may not be related to visual processing disorder, and auditory processing disorder, I have hearing loss/am hard of hearing and have a number of physical problems related to the inner ear. I also spend most of my time semi-verbal and frequently go non-verbal, as such I do know some ASL and am decent at lip reading. My go to AAC is the Emergency Chat app on my phone.

Due to my disabilities I entered college late and had to drop out of university during my junior year. I don’t currently live on my own, but I do drive and am a manager at a local sandwich shop where I have worked for two years. I’ve had previous jobs as a cashier, camp counselor, and daycare worker.

On a non “topics I can consult on” note, my special interests mainly revolve around science and writing. I also have red dwarf SI’s in sharks, owls, and dinosaurs. Feel free to ask me about any of them, tag me, send me a message or ask @owlsofstarlight.

Here to help, Consultant Os.

I am too sensitive. it is too easy to hurt me. my skin is too thin. I’m tired all the time. 

diagnosis a. means that every normal task and activity takes slightly more energy out of me than it would out of a healthy person. 

diagnosis b. means I have a lot less energy to start with than a healthy person. 

diagnosis c. means I burn a lot of energy on background noise, like an unnecessary program running on an overtaxed laptop. 

it’s a stupid combination.