I really don’t think people who aren’t Autistic or who don’t struggle with sensory issues understand that when it comes to certain stimuli, those things provoke actual feelings of pain, nausea, disgust, discomfort, etc for people that are Autistic/have sensory processing disorder.
Take “picky eating.” I was labelled a “picky eater” even as a little toddler. I couldn’t eat sauce, tomatoes, or have my food touching other foods. People said stuff like “She’ll grow out of it” or “She’ll eat it if she’s actually hungry” or “Tastebuds change; she’ll like it when she’s older!"
But the fact was, if it was a food I couldn’t eat, I literally couldn’t eat it. I’d try to eat lasagna and start crying, and gagging, and I’d have to spit it out. Guess what? I didn’t "eat when I was hungry” if it was one of those foods, I just didn’t eat. This was especially an issue when I started going to school and daycare (I eventually got a note from my doctors that detailed my Autism diagnosis and sensory problems, so that the local kids center would provide me with alternative meals. They treated it the same way they did with kids with allergies, basically.)
Also, I didn’t “grow out of it.” I still cannot eat tomatos, sauces, and most mixed food dishes. Because I just can’t even make my mouth chew and swallow without gagging and spitting the food out. Just a couple months ago I went to grab some chicken wraps from the local taco place, and I asked specifically that they hold the sauce. But they didn’t, so when I took a bite I got a mouthful of pain and chucked it right into my napkin (gross, I know. I’m making a point here though.)
So when Autistic people, or anyone with a sensory processing related disorder, tells you that they cannot handle something-whether that means being touched, wearing certain clothes, being around noise, or eating certain foods-remember what I just said. That’s how it feels, when people willfully ignore our reminders and warnings about our stimuli and triggers. That’s what you’re doing when you touch someone when they tell you it hurts them, or make them wear that suit or outfit, or put sauce on their food when they politely ask you not to. Granted, overload is different and presents differently in everyone, but bottom line-you’re choosing to disrespect someone’s boundaries, and their medical issues, and you are hurting them when you force certain stimuli on them after they’ve asked you to stop. Just respect people, and don’t shame people for not being able to handle or do the same stuff other people can.
The fact that Louis is in his hometown, I keep thinking about when Louis was on X-factor and made it big with 1D he kept saying fame doesn’t happen to people in Donny. And now he’s putting his hometown front and center for a music video and highlighting local kid actors to help THEIR future aspirations as well and giving them a chance at fame too
I just…this man is amazing and I want to world to see how incredible he is
I had purchased my first home in a slightly lower class area of town, which is pretty close to an even lower class area of town. (Think slightly ghetto a mile from absolute trailer trash.) I know most of my immediate neighbors, since most of them are pretty loud and I’d rather be friendly with them than have them be my enemy.
Some local kid likes to go around collecting trash in his free time. A real nice kid, does it for really no reason. Whenever I see him, I usually get him a drink, lemonade or soda so he can stay hydrated. (California is hot.) Sometimes I give him a few dollars, I offer the kid $30 a month to mow my lawn 2x a month. So, kid has a gig for small, but consistent income.
The kid takes a lot of pride in his work. He mows the lawn, pulls weeds, moves rocks out of the driveway, and just makes my place look extra nice, even though I don’t even ask him to do any extra work. This guy is great.
This goes on for a few years, kid is now a senior in highschool. Family is not doing so great, dad just lost his main source of income, and mom had accumulated debt which put a lot of stress on their failing marriage. Mom was abusive verbally and sometimes physically to both the kid, and the Father. But the kid keeps on walking, doing work, volunteering and being a real happy, up beat dude.
Despite his troubles at home, the kid starts buying lawn decorations. Mostly small, little gnomes, some decorative rocks, and bird bath, and he decorates my yard. It looks amazing, but I knew he must have spent a lot of his own money on that. I try to reimburse him, and he denies. He won’t take it. I know he needs a car, and I was about to get a newer one for myself, so I gave my mine for free. It really was the least I could do for this guy for everything he has done for me.
A few weeks later, a drunk driver T bones the kid, and he dies on the scene. I was devastated, his parents were devastated, and they soon after got a divorce.
They were fighting over who gets what, and the father discovers that the mother had a drug addiction she had been hiding. Straight out of left field. She wants everything they had, and she lawyers up to fight the battle. Due to the debt the mother had accumulated on the father’s bank account, he had really no money. And nobody knew where she got her money from. As sad as it is, it’s not my affair. Until she sent me a letter claiming that the yard decorations are rightfully hers, and that she will take them “or else”. Now, this is a problem.
I get it, you lost your only child. You’re in a lot of pain as a parent. But you were never a good parent to him. I was closer to him than you, by a long shot. So, I had a meeting with the father, and told him not to worry about the court costs. I decided I was going to fund him in court.
Long story short about their divorce battle, but he wins, and gets to keep everything, and even gets a restraining order on her. He then files for credit card fraud, and puts all the debt on her.
I heard from the father that she was recently arrested for driving while drunk, and was search and has a decent stash of meth on her. She is currently awaiting trial for that, while the father is living a life now relatively stress free. And I got to keep my lawn decorations. RIP Johnathan. You are missed.
What if, when Petunia Dursley found a little boy on her front doorstep, she took him in? Not into the cupboard under the stairs, not into a twisted childhood of tarnished worth and neglect–what if she took him in?
Petunia was jealous, selfish and vicious. We will not pretend she wasn’t. She looked at that boy on her doorstep and thought about her Dudders, barely a month older than this boy. She looked at his eyes and her stomach turned over and over. (Severus Snape saved Harry’s life for his eyes. Let’s have Petunia save it despite them).
Let’s tell a story where Petunia Dursley found a baby boy on her doorstep and hated his eyes–she hated them. She took him in and fed him and changed him and got him his shots, and she hated his eyes up until the day she looked at the boy and saw her nephew, not her sister’s shadow. When Harry was two and Vernon Dursley bought Dudley a toy car and Harry a fast food meal with a toy with parts he could choke on Petunia packed her things and got a divorce.
Harry grew up small and skinny, with knobbly knees and the unruly hair he got from his father. He got cornered behind the dumpsters and in the restrooms, got blood on the jumpers Petunia had found, half-price, at the hand-me-down store. He was still chosen last for sports. But Dudley got blood on his sweaters, too, the ones Petunia had found at the hand-me-down store, half price, because that was all a single mother working two secretary jobs could afford for her two boys, even with Vernon’s grudging child support.
They beat Harry for being small and they laughed at Dudley for being big, and slow, and dumb. Students jeered at him and teachers called Dudley out in class, smirked over his backwards letters.
Harry helped him with his homework, snapped out razored wit in classrooms when bullies decided to make Dudley the butt of anything; Harry cornered Dudley in their tiny cramped kitchen and called him smart, and clever, and ‘better ‘n all those jerks anyway’ on the days Dudley believed it least.
Dudley walked Harry to school and back, to his advanced classes and past the dumpsters, and grinned, big and slow and not dumb at all, at anyone who tried to mess with them.
But was that how Petunia got the news? Her husband complained about owls and staring cats all day long and in the morning Petunia found a little tyke on her doorsep. This was how the wizarding world chose to give the awful news to Lily Potter’s big sister: a letter, tucked in beside a baby boy with her sister’s eyes.
There were no Potters left. Petunia was the one who had to arrange the funeral. She had them both buried in Godric’s Hollow. Lily had chosen her world and Petunia wouldn’t steal her from it, not even in death. The wizarding world had gotten her sister killed; they could stand in that cold little wizard town and mourn by the old stone.
(Petunia would curl up with a big mug of hot tea and a little bit of vodka, when her boys were safely asleep, and toast her sister’s vanished ghost. Her nephew called her ‘Tune’ not 'Tuney,’ and it only broke her heart some days.
Before Harry was even three, she would look at his green eyes tracking a flight of geese or blinking mischieviously back at her and she would not think 'you have your mother’s eyes.’
A wise old man had left a little boy on her doorstep with her sister’s eyes. Petunia raised a young man who had eyes of his very own).
Petunia snapped and burnt the eggs at breakfast. She worked too hard and knew all the neighbors’ worst secrets. Her bedtime stories didn’t quite teach the morals growing boys ought to learn: be suspicious, be wary; someone is probably out to get you. You owe no one your kindness. Knowledge is power and let no one know you have it. If you get can get away with it, then the rule is probably meant for breaking.
Harry grew up loved. Petunia still ran when the letters came. This was her nephew, and this world, this letter, these eyes, had killed her sister. When Hagrid came and knocked down the door of some poor roadside motel, Petunia stood in front of both her boys, shaking. When Hagrid offered Harry a squashed birthday cake with big, kind, clumsy hands, he reminded Harry more than anything of his cousin.
His aunt was still shaking but Harry, eleven years and eight minutes old, decided that any world that had people like his big cousin in it couldn’t be all bad. “I want to go,” Harry told his aunt and he promised to come home.
A timeline where asshole teacher doesn’t exist, local rich kid gets professional help, Frank opens a petshop, Rachel is alive, Warren stops global warming and nothing hurts *ugly sobbing in the corner*
For anyone who has parents who say that being gay isn’t natural or that biology always involves heterosexuality: I do research on a yeast that causes meningitis and one of the key things about is that it has the option to mate with the same-sex yeast and same-sex mating offers greater genetic variation and more often than not, ensures a longer lifespan.