Autism & Child Abuse: Both for April. Oh IRONY.

[Trigger warning: fairly graphic description of physical, emotional, sexual abuse.]

April is "let's make autistics hate themselves!" month. It's also child abuse awareness month, though you don't hear much about that. They talk all about the devastation wreaked by autism, but you barely hear anything at all about child abuse. That's fucked up, in case you were wondering.

There have been a couple murders of disabled people recently, murders by family, and the general caregiver reaction seems to be to pull into little self congratulatory circles and say that it can't be true, it must be an aberration, they and no one they know would do that. Parents of autistic kids are fucking saints.

Let me tell you, that is not the case. My parents are not saints, and my story is middle of the road based on what a lot of autistic people I know have said to me. Parents of autistic kids want us to shut up and not say this, they want to erase our stories, but that does no one any good. Trying to erase our experiences helps no one, even if it does make parents feel better for a few days. Don't dare step that close to abuse apologism, it is not acceptable.

Now I am going to tell you about some of the things my parents did when I was growing up. And yes, if you empathize with them I absolutely believe you are a horrible person.

So let's start with a brief description of my family structure, because it's kind of effed up: I have a mother, and my half-siblings' dad is on my birth certificate. They got divorced, I have a stepmom via my not-really-dad, and am on my second or third stepdad on my dad's side. Annnnd I have a biological father. Annnnnd a lot of siblings. Got all that?

We'll start by talking about when I was young. Both my mom and not-really-dad were spankers, by which I mean "kid, you have pissed me off and I am going to vent my spleen on your bony little ass," and, in my mom's case "also your face because your ass is really fucking bony." Offenses that got me hit until their hands hurt include such awful things as flapping, not being able to stop giggling, zoning out (both of which can be manifestations of seizure activity), arguing, and not understanding a statement or direction. That's right, these people were hitting a kid with language comprehension delays for not comprehending language. And I do mean hitting. Hard. Bruise leaving. I got a black eye and a cut across my cheek once from my mom; I was about 6 or so. The offense? Freaking out because shampoo got in my eye.

As things got more stressful and they divorced, these people got worse. My mother would absolutely lose her shit and hit me for no reason. She would scream and scream and scream at me, usually while I was stuck in the car with her. Then when I covered my ears or cried, she'd hit me and pull my hair. She did this once and then chased me around with a camera to try to get pictures of the ensuing meltdown, threatening to send them to everyone in school.

Go read that again. That's emotional abuse on top of physical. Contrary to what Autism Speaks thinks is a fucking awesome idea, triggering meltdowns intentionally to document it to show people is fucking emotional abuse.

But this was a thing she did frequently. She'd be pissed off about one thing or another, looking for a fight, and I wasn't exactly in tune enough to avoid her. Unlike my siblings I didn't have friends whose houses I could vanish to for days at a time, so I was stuck with her. She'd want a fight and she'd pick and pick, she'd file her nails in my ears-this is not a sound I can tolerate on the same bus as me, much less right next to my ears-and she'd start calling me disrespectful and yelling and demanding an explanation when I covered my ears. No explanation was ever ok, and she'd keep yelling and yelling until I lost my shit, then she'd keep yelling. Or she'd touch me and it'd startle me and that'd be the most offensive thing in the world, again with the yelling. Or she'd try to have a conversation, but it'd be about why I didn't have friends or couldn't be normal or wasn't girlier or whatever. Then no matter what my answer had a "tone" or my face had a "snotty expression." Nothing I could do was right.

Regardless of the method she used, the result was always a meltdown that would.not.end. She wouldn't back off no matter how I asked, & I wasn't big enough or strong enough to shut the door & keep it closed until I was about 14. She'd keep yelling and poking and trying to argue until I was completely nonverbal, biting myself, and too exhausted to keep crying. Then she'd try to hug me and all I wanted was for her to go. away. but she wouldn't. And she'd tell me it was love and she just wanted to "help me".

A favorite technique during the meltdown provocation procedure was to throw absolutely terrifying threats on top of the sensory poking and the demanding the impossible. The first time she threatened to have me put in foster care I was 7 years old. I believe it was over leaving the room because she was smoking and filing her nails (which she told me she loved more than me when I was 13), but that could be inaccurate. So many minor offenses got this treatment. As I got older she started threatening to have me locked up in a mental ward. I am deathly, deathly terrified of confinement and always have been. My mental images of both foster care and mental hospitals come from a combination of my mother's words and Lifetime television, which did not help the abject terror-and abject terror is not exactly conducive to calming down. My mother later leveraged this fear by instigating meltdowns intentionally-she always did love that game-and then calling police saying she was afraid of me. Now is a possibly relevant time to mention that when I last saw her, she had 4 inches and at least 50 pounds on me. Physically imposing, I am not, and lashing out at people who are not directly touching me is not a thing I ever did.

Ok, so now an interlude to talk about my not-really-dad and his new wife. I still went to visitation over there because we have the same last name and, to his credit, he was pretty awesome until he got remarried. His new wife resented the hell out me though-I still don't know why, really; it's not my fault the guy signed the birth certificate knowing damn well I'm not his.

My not-exactly-stepmom has really delicate little feelings. I have never been the most tactful of souls, and frankly, a grown woman allowing an 11 year old to upset her enough to storm upstairs until said 11 year old apologizes is not the most mature of things. The unpredictability & unreasonably high standards for knowing what would set her off were one thing.

The not allowing me to eat and dragging me antiquing is quite another. I'm not talking "not allowing junky snacks". I'm talking "over 24 hours without food." I'm talking "if you were that hungry you would have apologized for hurting Diane's feelings." It does not work that way. Trying to starve an apology out of a 12 year old is unacceptable. I had a seizure in the antique store-one of very few tonic clonics I've had aside from The Year Of The Seizure. I woke up to being yelled at for being an attention seeking little hobag. Again, I was TWELVE.

Shortly after that her son stuck spitballs on my bedroom door and he blamed me (which makes no sense) so I had to sit in the living room an entire weekend, except breaks every 6 hours to go to the bathroom. Not long after that I hurt her feelings again and she threw a corncob and a glass of wine at me. Another few weeks, and her son was spreading awful shit about me around the neighborhood, he denied it, and then I was again relegated to a chair in the livingroom for...I don't even know what the offense was. Just that apparently there was one.

The last time I went over there I was 14 years old. Stepmonster's sister and nephews were in town. A stepbrother, a nephew, a sister and I were down in the basement by the computer. My stepbrother told my stepcousin (well, semistep people but whatever) that it was really fun to see how far my arm would twist behind my back-this is nothing that I ever let anyone do, ever. So my semistepcousin twisted it, I said nonostopstop, and my semistepbrother told him to twist it further. My arm popped out of my socket.

All the way out of the socket.

Like any child who thinks their parents aren't utter sacks of shit would do, I ran upstairs, arm flopping, totally screaming-I have a high pain threshold, but dislocations that don't immediately reduce hurt like hell. My semistepmother and her sister started yelling at me for being a big baby and making a scene.

My arm was hanging entirely out of its socket. A scene was utterly appropriate.

I begged my not really dad to take me to the hospital to get it fixed. He refused. I begged him to take me home. Again, he refused. I walked 15 miles from his house to my mom's house, in the rain, on the highway, with my dominant arm out of socket.

My mother couldn't take me to the doctor until the next day because she was already drunk. To this day it has some laxity beyond what my other Ehlers-Danlosy joints have.

Now we're back to mom's house. As you may recall, my mom was a hitter. Most people who hit their kids stop when their children get big, strong, and/or bold enough to hit back. But not my mother!

The first time I fought back, I was maybe 12. I didn't even do anything that violent back; she was going to slap me for something and I caught her arm. This is the day I got my first dent in my skull. She was so enraged that I caught her arm that she threw me at my bed-at that point there was nearly a 100 pound weight difference-and jumped on top of me. She banged my head into the metal bedframe multiple times and punched me repeatedly. This is the first time I feared for my life at the hands of my mother.

About that time my stepdad started sexually abusing me as well. He had always been a yeller, which terrified me, but there is no terror like a giant coming to the night to try to make you respect him by using his penis as a weapon. I still have the knife I used to defend myself under my pillow, & carry three physical scars...one for screaming, one for fighting, one for biting.

He wasn't above physical intimidation in broad daylight either. On my 16th birthday I had to jump out the window to get to school because he had his 250 pounds planted against my door, keeping me inside, because I wouldn't bring up my laundry before school started. That was the day I knew my mom knew he was sexually abusing me-she said she did not want to hear anything bad about him unless he was stark naked about to rape me. And then I knew she knew.

But back to my mother. As I got older, and stronger, she wanted me weak. She had always given my siblings lunch money, but I had to earn mine through babysitting. Rarely did I eat school lunch from about 13 on; the option of taking a lunch doesn't work when there's nothing to take. My gymnastics coaches and some teachers took to feeding me, because I drop weight very quickly indeed. By this point most of my siblings were living with their dad or in their own places, so they didn't suffer the no-food-but-Hot-Pockets years.

My mother continued to pick fights, and continued to get physical. She learned restraint for work and thought it was a great idea to pick a fight with me to practice. Let me tell you first hand, it is impossible to breathe. Those are not safe techniques. They are completely not conducive to calming the fuck down. Putting your teenage daughter in a baskethold and dislocating both her shoulders in the process is abuse. Pulling handfuls of her hair out is abuse. Digging a knee into her back is abuse. I feared for my life from the time I was 12 on because of how unpredictable and how physical my mother was willing to be, and over things like sensory issues.

They terrorized me physically, emotionally, and sexually, all while telling me they loved me. They used systems, including the medical and law enforcement systems, to keep me in a state of constant terror. There are other things that aren't on here, there are details I cannot deal with writing out.

Do not dare tell me that parents cannot be monsters. I lived with monsters. I am not a monster for making you think about it. They are monsters for doing it, and anyone who tries to excuse it is as well.

Do not erase my story. Don't fucking dare say this shit doesn't happen. It happens every day.

The words said for George.

My angry post was for me. Not for anyone else.

But this was what I wrote for George. It is, after all, about him. Kathryn Hedges graciously read it for me at the vigil in California:

I hate writing for murdered people. It does no good. They're still dead, and people always try to make what I say all about themselves & then they get all mad and hateful at me. But it isn't about them. And it isn't about me, either. It's about the person who is dead but shouldn't be.

This time, it's about George, a pleasant 22 year old man who will never see 23. Before George, it was Katie. It was Christopher. It was Ulysses. It was 100s of autistics before them, know and unknown to me.

These murders are not mercy killings. They are murders, and I am 100% confident in saying that no parent who truly loves their child can kill them. Love does not work that way.

Those of you who are not autistic may be inclined to sympathize with George's murderer. Maybe what you know about autism is tragedy-and-terror style awareness, all about devastation and loss. Maybe you know her, maybe you liked her. Maybe she was your neighbour. Maybe you can't wrap your head around the reality that you had coffee with a murderer. Maybe trying to find mitigating factors makes it easier to integrate that you know someone who killed her son.

Those of you who are autistic are probably feeling more like what I feel-saddened that yet another of our number was killed. Maybe, like me, you are disgusted at the race to exonerate the murderer in the media. And, if you are like me, you are terrified that everyone is blaming lack of services, stress, everything but “HIS MOTHER SHOT HIM” for George's death.

I hate writing for murdered people. Again and again and again I have to defend the very right of the victim to be treated as a human being in all reports, for his very personhood and the personhood of myself and those I hold dear. This stuff shouldn't need saying. My outrage should be the norm, not the exception.

The tragedy here is not autism. The tragedy here is that George, like countless autistics before him, was murdered. The tragedy is that people feel more for his killer than they do for him.

Guest Post-To The Parents Of Newly Diagnosed Kids

A friend of mine, pseudonym of Gen Eric, wrote this. It's great & wholly unedited, except for some HTML fixin'. Enjoy.

Your child is probably between the ages of two and five, possibly older (even much older) and possibly (though unlikely) younger. Your child was probably developing just like any typical child until slowly, and almost without explanation, things seemed to take an unusual turn. Maybe they lost speech, or eye contact, or just started doing “unusual” things like stacking or lining objects. Frantically you run for a medical professional, who looks your child over, does some tests, takes you into a room, and tells you a word you’ve been conditioned since childhood to fear.

Autism. (DUNN DUNN DUNN, DUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Your heart sinks. Your dreams of college graduation and grandchildren seemingly fly out the window. This professional probably fills your head with images of someone who will never relate to the world, never get a job, never live independently. Running to the Internet, all you seem to find is tales of financial ruin and broken families. You sink into a deep depression and desperation. How can this child, who was so normal only a month ago, suddenly “vanish” into this “void?” Obviously they just got sick, or trapped, and it’s your job to rescue them.

Now that all that unpleasant business is out of the way, I only have two things to say to you: welcome, and don’t be afraid.

Welcome to a fascinating new adventure with your child. Welcome to learning more about yourself than you ever thought possible. Welcome to a true autistic community that is ready to accept you with open arms.

Don’t be afraid, because autism is nothing to be afraid of. The media has been filling your mind with “autiephobia” since before you can remember. The autism industry is no better, and is actually much worse. They need to keep you afraid so you’ll buy every pill, potion, and behavioral “treatment” they offer, in classic medicine-show style. They need to keep you afraid so you’ll keep donating, keep walking to bring in donations; if you don’t, where will they get their exorbitant salaries? If you give in to the fear, it will consume you and your child. If you stand up to the fear, it will eventually back down.

I call this an adventure, but remember, it’s not an adventure that ends with a normal or “recovered” child. Your child could regain speech, get mainstreamed, succeed in college and work, marry, and have children, or none of those things, or any combination thereof; but no matter what they’ll still be autistic, every bit as autistic as they were the day they were diagnosed. There is no such thing as a “cure,” and there is no normal child who got sick or trapped in some autistic shell. The only thing the “cure” industry does is to give you a stone to make your soup, then sit back and declare victory when your child naturally develops.

It’s true that with behavioral “therapy” (animal training), your child may learn to look, and act, normal, but they won’t be. All they’ll be is an autistic person who is afraid, or ashamed, to be an autistic person, and loaded with a host of mental baggage. They may even harbor a deep resentment towards you, which is the last thing any parent could want. Your child is unique, and will always experience the world as an autistic person, and that’s not a bad thing.

The autism industry tries to paint neurodiversity and autistic self-advocacy as some kind of anti-parent cabal of “high functioning” “aspies,” who instinctively hate you for trying to cure your horribly ill child. The truth is that neurodiversity activists are as unique as autistic people themselves. Most of us are autistic, but not all. Some of us have an autistic child or other family member, some are romantically involved with an autistic person, and some of us got into neurodiversity through an autistic friend. Some of us are labeled “high functioning,” some of us are labeled “low functioning,” and some of us have been cycled through labels like some people cycle through hairstyles. We also have something meaningful and wonderful to offer you.

What neurodiversity offers you as a parent is the hope for a world where your child will be accepted on their own terms. Neurodiversity offers a chance to fight for what your child really needs, access and respect, as an autistic person. The neurodiversity movement values your child for their individual strengths and offers understanding for individual weaknesses. Believe it or not, we’re the ones really fighting for your child. We welcome NT allies and we hope you’ll join us in our fight.

We’re vehemently anti-cure (no autism, no me), but we’re not anti-progress. We know that every autistic person will develop differently, but we all develop. None of us are the same person at thirty that we were at five. Your child won’t be the same person at thirty as they are at five. And why would we, or they, be? Are you?

So welcome, I hope, to the neurodiversity community. I hope reading this has helped you calm your fears and prepare for your upcoming adventure.

LOUD. HANDS.

Now it's my turn to tell you about this really awesome project spearheaded by Julia and ASAN.

So, I want you to watch this video:



You totally want to donate to this awesome project now, right? I know you do! So Here is the Loud Hands Project IndiGoGo page!.

Now I'm gunna tell you a little story.

Way back in the days of AOL being a viable ISP, I was a teenager on the autism spectrum. As I was learning more about the world, and more about the words that had been used to describe me & justify poor treatment, I found the internet. You can find a community about anything on the internet-even AOL.

I had been told my whole life that I was broken, just like the autistics in the Loud Hands Project video. I mean, seriously, I cried like a baby the first time I watched this, because...it is so true. They never stopped trying to fix me either.

But I came to the conclusion on my own, when I was about 15, that I am not broken. Am I different? Yep. Disabled? You bet. But that doesn't make me broken.

At age 16 I started posting on autism message boards. In all my teenage arrogance, I was sure that these other people-almost entirely parents-would be all happy to know me & delighted to know that I'm not broken.

No. No they were not. Not at all. Not even a little. It was harsh, being all alone with the conviction that my brain is beautiful, that who I am is who I am supposed to be, that I am not damaged goods. When you hear from all over that you aren't ok because of how you are wired, it's hard to keep connected to that fundamental truth: you are ok.

As a teenager I was fighting alone, and it's always been the kind of fight I can't win-the fight to be seen as a whole, complete human being exactly as I am.

But I'm not alone anymore. We are not alone anymore. We may not yet be winning, but I am no longer losing alone.

And we need the Loud Hands Project so that the next teenage autistic kid who comes to the conclusion that she isn't broken, that everyone else's perceptions of her are what is wrong, has a community. So that she knows that there are people out here who embrace her beautiful brain and her loud hands.

See? Told you you wanted to donate.

The IndieGoGo site is taking donations until the very end of March 15. We've already met the initial goal, which means the anthology-the book that hypothetical autistic kid up there can find & know she isn't alone-is a go. There are other plans for more funds, as spelled out on the Onward & Upward page on the Loud Hands Project tumblr.

If you wish to contribute writing, here are some sumbission guidelines!

Find LHP on Facebook and Twitter!

More nifty goodies, including a script for sharing LHP, blog badges, and updates can be found on the Loud Hands Project tumblr.

We need this. It is time for our hands to be loud.

Autistics Speaking Day: For the People Who Speak With Me

This is sort of about allies, but not exactly.

This Autistics Speaking Day, I want to give a shout-out to the people who stand with me while I speak. The word ally works, ish, but that's not their primary role in my world.

They're my friends.

A lot of allies have that ally mentality, where they have chosen a just cause to do right in the world. And good for them-we need people who see the concept and are like "yeah, I'm all for that concept!" and spread the meme. People who speak truth to power in a general sense are a good thing.

But that's not the same thing.

A friend, at least a friend of mine, they have a choice. They'll have to probably make it pretty early in knowing me, because there's a lot of anti autistic and other ableist bigotry that I see every day, & I point it out (and this is why I am always SO. DAMN. TIRED). I see it, I call it, and then they have a choice:

They can minimize, justify, otherwise derail.

Or they can choose to be a decent human being.

As soon as someone starts saying "it isn't that bad" or "you're too sensitive", they have chosen to not be my friend. The ones who choose to be my friend, they consider things and come to a conclusion that ableism or anti autistic bigotry or strobing a light in my face or whatever isn't ok.

And they stand with me. Not like in the abstract "making things uncomfortable for disabled people isn't ok" way (and seriously, keep doing that), but in a bigger way.

In a "that is wrong and unacceptable and don't ever do it again and fuck you straight to hell for doing that shit to my friend" kind of way.

People can be attached to an idea. People are downright fierce about their attachments to people.

And for friends-at least the kind of friends I have-it is personal. Doing something bigoted isn't throwing some vague oppressive vibe into the air; doing something bigoted is directly hurting a real person with real characteristics besides being disabled. You aren't just shitting on "the disabled" when you do that, you aren't just excluding some vague potential people when you don't make things accessible-you are engaging in behavior that makes someone, a real someone, actually in someone's monkeysphere, uncomfortable or unsafe.

It's not really a 'thing' to speak for or on behalf of one's friends, so people doing stuff like leaving a persistently ableist pizza place for good isn't doing a deed for the disabled-it's "FUCK YOU! STOP HURTING MY FRIEND". There's a difference. If someone talks to an ally about how to, say, make people like me understand that they are just concerned about my safety in a rock climbing class, the instinctual response isn't necessarily going to be a condescending "she's right there. Tell her". It's just a different mindset.

So yeah. You want to be a fucking amazing ally? Don't become my ally. Don't work on behalf of me and my community. Become my friend and channel your inner fierce loyalty. It does way more good in my day to day life.

Besides, I am freaking awesome.

(oh, and my friends are pretty ok too).

Being Autistic Is...

In the style of What Epilepsy Is. Like that piece, this one is more about how other people react to autism than what autism itself causes. I'd think that'd be apparent, but one never knows.

Being autistic is being judged.
Being autistic is being yelled at for existing.
Being autistic is being subjected to verbal, physical and emotional abuse for existing.
Being autistic is being at high risk of being killed for existing.
Being autistic is knowing damn well that anyone who hurts or kills you will get away with it.
Being autistic is knowing that the person who hurts or kills you will be a folk hero.
Being autistic is being looked on as a tragedy.
Being autistic is teachers doing everything they can think of, legal and illegal, to make you not their problem.
Being autistic is people being scared of you.
Being autistic is people being scared of you when they haven't even met you.
Being autistic is being looked on as an emergency.
Being autistic is being told that your way of seeing the world is objectively wrong.
Being autistic is being told you have no empathy.
Being autistic is being told that by people who make no effort to see things your way.
Being autistic is being told that your very existence is a danger to you and to others.
Being autistic is being called a burden.
Being autistic is knowing you aren't going to get acceptable medical care.
Being autistic is being assumed incapable of having friends.
Being autistic is people talking to your friends instead of you.
Being autistic is people assuming you are incapable of understanding things.
Being autistic is people hoping you are incapable of understanding things so they can justify excluding you.
Being autistic is people excluding you anyway, because 'autism' is reason enough.
Being autistic is fearing for your job when people find out.
Being autistic is being erased-no one is like you in the media.
Being autistic is people disbelieving you are what you are because there are no autistic adults in the media.
Being autistic is having both your strengths and your weaknesses weaponized against you.
Being autistic is having to qualify everything you say as only applying to you.
Being autistic is doing exactly that, and still having people attack you for 'assuming you speak for [my] child."
Being autistic is doing exactly that and people still demanding you play universal translator.
Being autistic is those same people yelling at you when you tell them something they don't want to hear.
Being autistic is having very personal details of your life demanded of you.
Being autistic is being called 'tantrumming' when you don't answer said invasive questions.
Being autistic is giving 95-97% in every social interaction.
Being autistic is knowing that others resent giving even 3%.
Being autistic is every socialization problem being your fault, for you are the broken one.
Being autistic is knowing that the bullying you are subject to is socially sanctioned and celebrated.
Being autistic is knowing that your successes are resented.
Being autistic is charities that are supposed to help you trying to eliminate you.
Being autistic is being physically attacked at those charities' events for daring to show up.
Being autistic is being assumed to be the aggressor in those and any other situation.
Being autistic is having quack cures constantly shoved down your throat.
Being autistic is knowing that no one wants a child or friend like you.
Being autistic is knowing that if you point out how society treats you, people are going to challenge your anti cure status as disingenuous.
Being autistic is knowing that if you demand equal treatment, people will challenge your support needs.
Being autistic is knowing there is no way to win anything, ever.
Being autistic is fighting to be seen as an actual person.
Being autistic is knowing that fight will not be won in your lifetime.
Being autistic is fighting that fight anyway.

Be aware of THIS

This was my 2008 Autism Awareness Month post.

Ah April, the true cruelest month, at least if you are autistic or sympathetic towards autistics and what we really think. "Autism Awareness Month", they call it. Awareness of what? It seems more and more to be awareness that many parents feel cheated because they didn't get the typical or supertypical child they feel they so richly deserved, a month of awareness of how the PARENTS feel they suffer, a month of awareness of all the things they are putting the child through to put themselves out of their misery. Quackery awareness month, even, but of course no one will come out and call a spade an effing shovel because autistic people don't count in this society. That's right, it's a f*ing shovel.

With that in mind in this vomitous puzzle piece bedecked month, here are some things to keep in mind if you intend to "do something for awareness" or are bombarded by people who are (or are asking you why you aren't):

1. "Awareness" is not the same thing as information. I can get 10,000 people to wear a puzzle ribbon pretty easily but that doesn't mean they know a blessed thing about autism. "Awareness" is crap.

2. "Awareness" is a vague goal, in addition to being crap. Awareness of what? Awareness of what autism IS? No, no one exactly knows and that's too much like information. Awareness that adults need services too? No, we don't look cute on their posters. Awareness that autism is more than just people smearing shit and banging their heads? No, that makes us sound too much like people. Awareness that many parents think that ohnoesvaxxeenzeetbabeez and they need to follow their GooglePhD protocol to rescue them and need YOUR MONEY to do it? That particular faction shouts the loudest. Note how few autistic people are served by "awareness".

3. Please be AWARE that autistic people are just that, PEOPLE. We don't need the dehumanization that nearly invariably comes with the "human interest" stories. Even if we don't talk, we can hear and pick up on the attitude that exudes from these pieces.

4. Please also be AWARE that we are AWARE of autism year round, and thus don't necessarily feel the need to do more than we do every day-namely, being ourselves. Conversely, if other people happen to notice us being ourselves more during April, that isn't necessarily us "acting out", but so called awareness making people more aware or self conscious or whatever. The rest of the world can suck it up and deal.

5. Consider that we may not want to read every article on autism, go to every (or even ANY) autism event, or watch every program. See dehumanizing, above. This holds especially true for anti cure folks and those of us who have more than had our fill of the dehumanizing vomitous pity party garbage.

6. Be AWARE of not just the "valiant struggling parents", but also the children and adults who are doing well, the ones who aren't doing well, and the ones who are doing what THEY consider well and are happy.

7. Be especially AWARE of the autistics who's parents, caregivers, and others bought into their own self pity and have done terrible, often irreversible things to them. NEVER EVER forget those who are no longer with us, for the crime of being autistic.

I really hate Autism Awareness Month. For my part, I will be being myself and perhaps breaking out a couple of my more pointed neurodiversity shirts. That's about it. I don't do big bursts of awareness.

Alternative Autism Awareness

This is a repost from April 2006. It's one of the first blog posts I ever wrote ever.

Autism Awareness Month?

Or is it "Fundraise for cash to get rid of autistics month"? Anyone who isn't AWARE by now lives under a rock. So. What do we do about it?

I propose an alternative way of celebrating. Forget the fundraisers. NAAR, CAN, DAN!, MOMA, AutismWeeps, all those organizations can piss off. Let's make people REALLY aware of autism.

When April rolls around, I make a point of stimming in public. A LOT. Not hiding the lack of eye contact. Wearing shirts that I made myself and the one I have from ANI that have autism-positive wording. I've been known to make people "talk" to me in writing. Sensory simulations for NTs, done well, will make them aware all right, but it's important to emphasize that it's the world's turn to change, not ours. We've adapted to their world since the beginning.

If I could get the gig, I'd talk to school kids about autism and how it isn't bad, just different. Get them while they're young. Teaching autistics about their unique brains is another one I want to do on a larger scale. We need more "unique", "talented", "what a great kid!" and less "emergency," "epidemic," "tsunami" language.

The most important thing isn't getting rid of the ghastly puzzle ribbon (though I sure wish we could!). It is making people aware of what we are good at, as a group and individually, instead of just where our weak spots are. Educating people that being autistic is OK. Even being nonverbal is OK (alternative communication anyone?). Teaching them that cure isn't the answer, but instead meeting us halfway. Teaching them that abuse isn't necessary to for us to learn skills.

We don't need Autism Awareness Month. We need Autism EDUCATION Month. Educating educators, parents, other professionals, random kids and adults in public, and educating OURSELVES. This is what we should be doing. If only the big organizations could see it...

Loving Lamposts

"He knows he used to have autism and that makes him sad."

This statement in the documentary Loving Lampposts has been haunting me. It is among the most tragic sentiments I've ever heard. My heart aches for that child-not because he 'had' autism, but because who he is is seen as shameful. His brother was described as "having some of the same thought processes as autistic children...but if anything, he's gifted."

And attitudes like that, attitudes that autism is a horrorshow and we're all doomed to utter incompetence, is why Loving Lammposts gets happy flappies from me.

Why?

This documentary leaps in where angels fear to tread: Todd Drezner interviewed people on all fronts of the autism wars. He talked to Jenny McCarthy. He talked to people selling quack treatments. He talked to cure-oriented parents buying those treatments. He talked to true believers in the vaccine hypothesis. He talked to scientists, experts, and 'experts.' He talked to acceptance-focused parents. And he talked to autistics.

Representing all factions in the often heated discussion about autism is no easy task. How can it be, when one group is convinced another is malignantly misguided, and another is convinced that their opposition wants their kids to fester, and more people are convinced an autistic isn't an autistic if they have an opinion on autism? It's hard enough to wrap your head around the idea-now try presenting all viewpoints in a respectful manner in a fairly short documentary. Yeah, like that's possible.

Except apparently it is, because Loving Lampposts is exactly that. Everyone has their say. Even we have our say, which doesn't happen in the autism world much.

Through interviews, Drezner put human faces to all the views on autism. That's something that gets lost in the heat around autism-that everyone involved is a human. The parents who are frantic to fix their 'broken' kid are human. Those kids? Also human. The parents who are striving not to fix but understand? So human that I wanted to reach out and give some hugs. And their children? And the autistic adults? Three dimensional really real people.

I've been anticipating this documentary since I met the production crew at AutCom in 2007. It was worth the wait-I've been recommending it to everyone who wants to know about the autistic community, the autism communities, and their relationships to each other.

Loving Lampposts is a slice of getting it that exceeded my expectations. A++, would watch again (and again...and again...and again).

I'm on your kid's side too

No, really, I am. That's why I do what I do. The harsh reality is that your kid is going to grow up to be more like me than like you, no matter what you do to change that.

There are a few ways of dealing with this. One is to ignore it & to devalue what we do with any or all of the tactics out of Derailing For Dummies. One is to insist that your child will be like you through some cure. When this inevitably doesn't happen, the legacy of failure will haunt your child forever. Or, you can accept this truth & work with autistic advocates.

Our idea of the future we want for your kids-and for ours, and for ourselves- isn't what you seem to think. I'm all for helping your child's sensory issues, helping him develop job skills, giving her an easily recognized mode of communication. None of this things seeks to change who we fundamentally are.

What I fight for is a world where your child is seen as whole as she is, not as a mistake or sick or broken. I am fighting for a world where the tragedy model of autism is a think of the past, where inflammatory terms such as "autism tsunami" are seen in the same light as racial slurs. I'm fighting for a world where people are accepted and expected to be the best them they can be, instead of pruned into a false normalcy.

That is what I want for your child. THat is what I want for all people. So yes, I am on your child's side. For his sake, I hope you are too.