my cousin is autistic she bites herself every day and runs away if you come close to her. autism is fucking horrible so stop romanticizing it because it is not a pretty disorder
(Sarcasm) Uh-huh, so anon, clearly you, an allistic, know more about autism than me, an autistic person. Right, okay, so this…
Groot’s eyes went more blank. He stopped blinking. Nothing he looked at made any sense to him. A groan rattled in his throat. He sat up halfway and thrashed himself downward against the ground as hard as he could, trying to shatter the numb agony off his nerves.
“Here we go. He’s going nuclear,” Rocket kept talking, “You’re okay, Groot. Your water won’t get taken away for this. Go ahead. We’ll handle it.”
Impulses raged through Groot’s brain. He jerked his arm up and punched himself square in the face. Quill seized his elbow before he landed the second blow, unintentionally leaving his fist loose to jab his own hip instead. Gamora captured his wrist. The sick wrist, no less. Groot struggled harder as the aching and numbness fought for dominance. He bore his teeth and lunged at the obstacle between him and the thing that hurt. Gamora leaned away, losing her grip on his arm. Drax immediately grabbed his right hand, saving it from getting mangled.
“I know this is not your fault,” he said, placing a hand on Groot’s chest to try and hold him down.
But Groot’s body wanted to rebel against its pain. Like a person drowning, he kicked his legs and nearly threw everyone off him at once. Rocket narrowly avoided getting punted across the flight deck.
A trillion feelings of apology flashed through Groot’s mind while he writhed between the people trying to protect him from himself.
“Here,” Quill pushed the chew tube towards Groot’s face, “Bite this, not yourself.”
Groot clamped the chew tube in his jaws as another strong pang hit. He keened and slammed his head backwards against the metal floor until he saw stars. The jarring impact reverberated through his nerve endings. Creating his own pain on purpose overrode the distress caused by sickness. Right then he was desperate to feel something, anything, that wasn’t uncontrolled agony. Making himself hurt increased his desperation and fear, so he doubled his efforts. A vicious cycle he couldn’t break once it established itself.
The Doctor heaved himself through the TARDIS doors and staggered to the control console. He pulled the locking mechanism, which triggered the TARDIS to dematerialize. Then he pushed at the appropriate moment to rematerialize exactly five minutes after he left Clara.
Everything continued surging inward. An accelerating, inevitable collapse. He pressed his hands on the cool hexagonal console. His hearts pounded so loud he felt them in the back of his head. Blood thundered inside his ears like raging waterfalls. Knots clenched the pit of his stomach and he reached up to grab at his gray hair.
“No, no, no…”
His fingers curled against his scalp. He grimaced and mussed his hair up. The choked sob he let out was his last attempt to contain a nuclear explosion of emotion inside a box made of tissue paper.
“Doctor?” Clara muffled through the doors.
Her voice was a detonator, and she didn’t even know it. Everything he held back erupted into his nervous system. Shockwaves of terror and rage burst forth. Emotional pain became physical agony. Nothing made sense, something felt wrong and everything looked dangerous.
Fight or flight took over. The Doctor fled blindly up the nearest staircase with a strangled cry. His arm shot forward before he could stop himself. He grabbed one book off the bookshelf and flung it on the ground with all his might. Two books followed. Three more books. A sweep of his arm cleared entire shelf.
He yanked on the bookcase until the whole thing toppled with a deafening bang and scrambled over it to kick the magazine pile next to his easy chair. Magazines spilled across the floor he stomped upon. His boots almost slipped on a glossy cover when he tore down a second bookcase. Every falling book hit with satisfying thuds amidst fluttering paper.
Nothing else in reach, so he shouted wordlessly at the top of his lungs to expel the last of the rage and collapsed to sit within the ruin he created. Painful sadness rushed in like matter drawn to a newborn black hole. The ache in his throat encapsulated his whole being and he wanted nothing more than to rid himself of it.
“It’s never enough…it’s never enough,” he chanted at the wall, “Never, never enough…never enough, nev–” the tightness in his throat cut off his voice and his face contorted almost beyond recognition.
Once the tears began they seemed bottomless. He rocked back and forth, head bowed and hands upturned as if pleading. The ragged wheezing sound was his own sobs echoing off the wall in front of him. He wept so forcefully his whole body heaved. His tears fell onto his palms like warm, bitter rain.
…are the most beautiful and romantic peeks into what it’s like to be autistic. Yes, meltdowns are so romantic and sexy and fun. I’m probably not autistic enough for you because I can talk, type and my life is not meltdowns 24/7. I guess I’m being autistic wrong. (/sarcasm)
Okay, so you don’t want me to like myself because I’m autistic? Do you expect me to be ashamed of it? Do you want me to shrink myself to be less when I know I’m equal? Is that it?
Because let me tell you something, your cousin is very aware of how you feel and maybe she acts the way she does around you because she knows you see her as a problem instead of a person. You’re probably one of those caregivers who goes online onto forums to lament what a burden she is while describing her behavior incidents in humiliating detail.
Frankly, anon, your comment in my inbox comes off as dehumanizing and shameful. Every autistic person is a PERSON because they exist. They are never less valuable. They are never a list of problems. They are PEOPLE experiencing EMOTIONS.
There are good sides to autism as well as bad and I accept the bad with the good. I know what it’s like to be autistic. I know what meltdowns and self-injurious behavior feel like. You, an allistic, can’t say the same. You know what it looks like from the outside, I actually know what it feels like.
Get off your high horse and take your ableism somewhere else. I’m happy with who I am and if that bothers you then let me come be happy all over your face so you really have something to whine about.
oh my god, elliot… did you forget again? did you forget who i am? what do you mean?forget what? elliot, i need you to tell me who you think i am. what are you talking about? tell me right now. what are you saying?elliot. of course i didn’t forget. you’re darlene. you’re darlene. elliot-you’re darlene! i’m your - sister.
so we know that Cecil writes Jaws slash fiction.. BUT DOES HE POST IT ONLINE OR WRITE IT FOR HIMSELF? DOES HE HAVE A TON OF READERS BUT IS AN INCONSISTENT LIL SHIT WHO GOES MONTHS WITHOUT UPDATING I NEED ANSWERS!!!