forget about drugs

in sleep, drugged even. . .
couldn't hide. these thoughts find you
and eat you alive.

----------------------------------

thoughts in swarms assault the brain, leave it spent, rent from rest no matter how much it tried to get. what IS rest? the thing you do with eyes closed, or the way you feel when you wake?

i went to bed with those thoughts that don't stop, the kind you CAN only drug away if you can even do that. and i woke to them as well. were they with me all night, or just filling in the cracks of consciousness like some sooty paste?

i got a full night's sleep, 7 hours of deep sleep from which i only woke once for the bathroom, and i feel like i've been up for days. my brain is exhausted and my muscles feel as if they have some memory of it too.

i only recently began medicating my sleep. prior to that, a night like this would have left me with no sleep and i would've blamed feeling exhausted on the lack of sleep. now what do i blame it on?

there is insight about jace in this post. for me at least. insight about how someone can sleep for 12 hours and wake up exhausted, desiring more sleep. insight that goes beyond slow wave sleep, because that's only part of the equation. insight about why medications may not work. how they can make sleep happen but maybe not rest.

medications will never make the thoughts go away. they ALWAYS come back to wage their assault. most brains eventually move on and forget as they accumulate new experiences that are more gentle on the mind. THAT is what makes the thoughts go away, or at least to go away enough to move on.

PTSD sufferers can't move on and forget. and once a person's stress tolerance is worn down to nothing, almost every new experience is potentially toxic, either toxic in its own right, or as a reminder of previous toxicity, or as something that demands hope and threatens disappointment as its reward.

here is what i believe about jace: i believe he suffered traumatic experiences all his life. they may not be experiences that would've traumatized you, but you must accept that HE felt traumatized. i believe he bore that trauma as best he could and continued on, much as i myself do. i believe a lot of shit came down on him at once, including medications he never should have been given, and it broke him. and his already troubled sleep became worse, and his days became worse, and his already troubled sleep became worse, and his days became worse, and his already troubled sleep became worse. . . do you see where i'm going with this?

it's a pebble grown to stone grown to boulder and it's running away down the hill faster and bigger and this hill is big, oh it's a fucking mountain, but it DOES have an end. and none of you are going to like it. the faster and the bigger it gets, the harder it will be to catch it. so far you've all failed miserably.

you can't do it with medication. you can't wish it away. you can't make it stop with tough love. in fact, tough love is when you try to catch it and instead you stumble and give it another good push.

you don't know what to do. you want an easy answer. i'll give it to you. this boy craves your redemption. he needs a support network. and, in my opinion, he needs help trying different non-drug-based therapies until he finds one that works for resolving some of the trauma. many people with PTSD do recover, but you're all going to wait until it's too late, aren't you? keep listening to "experts" instead of doing the research for yourselves, reading about what works and what doesn't.

forget about drugs. they aren't working. he needs to get off of them. at this point, they're just another reason to commit suicide and a weapon to try and do it with.

Why Elementary Social Studies Should Include More Cultural Anthropology

First I'd like to share a quote from the first lecture in Edward Fischer's Teaching Company course Peoples and Cultures of the World. He defines cultural anthropology by describing how it differs from other disciplines:

"Anthropology sees that what gets lost in such particular perspectives, such disciplinary perspectives, is the interconnectedness of it all, of life, of the human condition. One aspect of human behavior is influenced by and influences other spheres. We know this instinctively in a way. Politics is tied to religion. Economics is tied to psychology. Biology is tied to social organization. And this is all tied together with the glue of culture. Again, this is something we intuitively recognize I think. One's religion affects the way one votes, for example. Politics affects religion, religion affects politics. I was reading, uh, not long ago actually, that church attendance is a better indication of party affiliation in the United States than income is. But anyway, this is something that we as academics can easily forget, the interrelatedness of it all, as we work away in our increasingly narrow, uh, perspectives and specialization. Thus, a basic tenant of anthropology is its holistic approach, looking at the whole of the human condition and not just one aspect. "

Through the lens of cultural anthropology, we become familiar with and learn to accept and respect differences. We learn to see patterns, make connections, find similarities in differences, and look beyond borders for answers. We learn to appreciate the complexity and interrelatedness of all systems, both cultural and biological. We learn how various communities function, and we can use that knowledge to critically examine our own communities ("communities," by the way, can be replaced in that sentence by any cultural institution).

With all of this knowledge, we can put discreet disciplines in their proper context. While it can be academically useful to study the world in discreet chunks, the world is not actually made up of hermetically sealed systems of information that function independently of other hermetically sealed systems of information.

While there ARE benefits to be gained in knowledge specialization, it is to society's detriment if we don't first prepare children with the roadmap of how it all connects, how WE all connect. And not just one year. But year after year after year. Like math. Like history. It's just as important.

I'll leave you with this: Take two minutes and imagine what kind of world we might live in if an understanding of the interconnected human condition was as immutable and well-known as the oft quoted "2+2?"

Neurodiversity: Not diverse

autistic self-advocates often use the term "neurodiversity" to demand the fair and equal treatment of those who differ from the norm. but then they use labels such as "neurotypical," "aspie," and "autie" to draw two boxes: us and them. that is anything but diverse.

there are many good discussions online that rightly attack harmful public misconceptions of AS. but in questioning what qualities truly define AS, boxes are drawn and what follows is exclusion. the difficulties in obtaining a proper adult diagnosis of AS are commonly recognized, and yet people are often accused both of self-diagnosing with AS and of not having it, and then chided for muddying up the box for everyone else (and if there are so many internet AS experts who can diagnose AS or not AS based on a few words from a stranger on the internet, then why the fuck aren't these experts in the profession?). many autistics complain of being excluded because they are different, but their strong need to fit in is creating a repetition of the same exclusionary group behavior that damaged many of them (us?) in the first place. aspies in particular, you may be damaging shadow-aspies without even realizing it.
(shadow-aspies? see review of Shadow Syndromes)

where is the spectrum??? where is the neurodiversity? truth is, there is no archetype brain. they're all as different on the inside as we look on the outside. as for what's normal, well, this world contains a true spectrum of cultural behavior systems, and different types of brains will function well in different systems. what defines the norms of any particular system is just a shared collection of cultural knowledge, and as culture changes, the norms change.

we who find ourselves living outside our culture's norms will do much better if we end all infighting and band together. when it comes to advocating for neurodiversity, let's get rid of the labels and actually BE diverse. let's embrace anyone who wants to fight the good fight, that is, the fight for recognition and for the acceptance of perceived differences. it goes way beyond neurology. take a cue from the failing leftist movement in america if you're not convinced of the dangers of self-segregation. infighting has long splintered the radical left and has been a source of misdirected energy for many hardworking radical left activists; the lack of group power leaves the radical left quite easy to marginalize, and it will do the same to the neurodiverse if we do not come together.

and remember: the women's rights movement was born from the abolitionist movement. who knows what future rights movement(s) will arise from the struggles for neurodiversity acceptance? the rewards for cooperation may not just be your own.

Addict's Almanac

Street Roots, a Portland nonprofit paper that assists the city's homeless and impoverished citizens, is running a short-term autobiographical column by Tye Doudy. The Addict's Almanac offers a thoughtful peek into the brutal lifestyle of heroin addiction and homelessness. Tye's prose is peppered with reflections that humanize America's untouchable class, reminding us that these non-entities were once people just like you and me, still are like you and me, and could be you and me. Between the past and the present, he glimpses into the future, putting truth to the junkie's lie and making self-aware forecasts that peer hopelessly further down the spiral to this lifestyle's inevitable end.

Please read the excerpt below, and then use the link to continue following his story.

August 6, 2008

"The smoky interior of the Roxy, with its smells of clove cigarettes, coffee, and greasy diner food, is an oasis. Those old familiar pulp fiction posters on the wall and the same Skinny Puppy songs playing on the jukebox. Small groups cluster at tables and in the booths. Gothic kids and punk rockers drinking the all-night coffee and chain smoking. Flamboyant gay guys sitting at the bar talking loud and looking around to see if anyone is paying attention. No one is.

I spot an associate sitting by himself at one of the small two-person tables and make my way over. His name is Joe but he goes by Ashes, and Ashes looks loaded. He barely looks up when I sit down and from the length of the ash on his smoke I can tell he was on the nod. His hooded eyes finally look up and find mine as the waiter takes my order for coffee and toast. He tucks a long strand of greasy hair behind his ear and through missing teeth tells me I look like hell. Coming from him this is truly something.

Ashes has been on the streets a long time. He was already “old” when I first hit the dope road all those years ago. Beneath his long and tattered leather jacket and his Sisters Of Mercy T-shirt his thin frame shows the wear of the longtime dope fiend. His arms are covered in homemade tattoos and scars from past abscesses. He is somewhere in his late 30s but looks a decade older. Anybody with eyes would make him for an addict. He’s about as trustworthy as a rented snake, and he is the closest thing I have to a friend at this moment.

My first question is, of course, is he holding and second, can I get him to kick down a little something. Even a rinse would set me straight and buy me some time to make a plan. No junky wants to give up any dope ever, but I have some leverage as he has no hustle and he knows I will make some money today. He supports his habit by spare changing in the transit mall. Not a sure thing, even on a good day. A real loser’s gambit. Real bottom of the food chain shit. So I get him to agree to get me well as long as I take him along on whatever scheme I cook up for the day.

In order for me to get the fix, we first have to go back to the squat he shares with some other scumbags under the Jackson Street overpass. We leave at once. Fuck the coffee and toast. It’s only a few blocks away and as we make our way to the spot, morning people are beginning their day. Office workers are emerging with their overpriced Starbucks beverages and service workers are on their way to their shitty jobs serving shitty food to shitty people.

The pedestrians avoid eye contact and keep moving. They’re not scared, just seen it all too many times. Anybody that lives or works downtown is so used to this that it’s like rain to them. Something unpleasant but inevitable, just part of the city. When we finally reach the overpass and duck down through the hole in the freeway fence the smell of shit is a shock. The whole side of the embankment is dotted with small white flags of used toilet paper marking each pile of human excrement. There are no public bathrooms open at night in this area of Portland so people do what they have to do whereever they can. No matter how many squats I’ve been in, the smell of piss and shit always takes my breath away for a moment. This is the bottom. Truly, it would be hard to fall any lower than this. Maybe dying of AIDS in a welfare hospital would be worse. Maybe."

read the rest of Addict's Almanac.

Taking a Break; Please Fill In

It is with effort that I did not title this "I Resign." With the most recent events of researching/dealing with the information about Jace's trials and tribulations among the Monsters of Medicine and the situation with Mike and Heather (no, Mike, no personal assaults here, I want peace)... I feel overwhelmed.

VictoryGrey has been posting things that this blog is about: her life struggles in this antisociety and things that Jace would have found personally meaningful.

There needs to be more. I know that the other members of this blog have complicated lives, but I used to believe in the concept of "Society" and how that was what separated us from chaos. Now I see that we live in anti-society. Chaos through self focus. If this blog means anything to the members, please, please, please contribute. I have in mind the idea of abandoning it, as mentioned before, since it does not seem to attract much more than "Jace Smacking." That's not why it was resurrected to begin with.

Lastly, go see MY blog for a little tale of society.

Foundations, building blocks and arches

A friend and I, while mulling over her youthful relationship choices, were talking about the kind of foundational experiences that she had to build on. For example, given that her father had a violent temper, if she had married the boy she was madly in love with (who had a... not violent, exactly, but... physically expressive temper), then eventually, in reaction to his temper, she probably would have had frequent flashbacks to bad childhood experiences. In other words, she didn't have the right background to enable a healthy relationship with him.

From that, I developed an analogy of personal development being like the foundation of a building...

If a lower layer of blocks is damaged, then they won't be able to hold as much weight as whole blocks. If there's a crumbled section or complete lack of blocks somewhere, then an arch can be built over that spot. But arches take more skill to build than walls and arches require sturdy anchors on both ends, so it's not always possible to make up for a lack of something.

The very bottom layer is made up of things like "was born healthy" "nursed within the first hour" "was breast fed" "had lots of physical contact" "had consistent caretakers".

And subsequent layers are made up of "patient parents" "fair and appropriate discipline" "caretaker reads to child" "healthy diet" "no abuse" "engaging teachers" "supportive schools" "kind friendships" "creative hobbies" "respectful sex" etc.

What we are able to build in our present is determined by the sturdiness of all the layers (and arches, if any) of our past.

When we see something missing in ourselves or in our lives, perhaps what we're seeing are these flaws and gaps in our foundation and missing the things that we can't manage to build for ourselves as a consequence.

Is there a way to move forward? How much does our capacity to build arches over the damaged blocks increase with life experience or decrease under the strains of life?

My secret for yours

I was browsing around on Post Secret the other day and came across a postcard that particularly hit home for me.
When I was 19 years old, my mother swallowed several bottles full of pills and ended her life.

She made several prior attempts throughout my teenage years which were less serious and more of the "cry for help" variety. Of course I didn't want her to die, and I told her as much on each of those occasions, but it wasn't that simple.

She wasn't an easy person to love. Her behavior as a parent was negligent, belligerent, inappropriate, and damaging. She was an alcoholic, she suffered physical pain, extreme loneliness, anxiety, agoraphobia, and depression, and she was my only parent. Other family members (my brothers) were rarely around, so for the most part I handled her alone. I certainly gave a shit about her, but it was often hard to show it. I couldn’t save her because she didn’t even teach me how to save myself. We fought constantly, and it is difficult to imagine ever meeting another person as unpleasant and aggravating as she was.

All of that said, my mother loved and she deserved to be loved. She wasn’t always bad, and the times when she was good, she was very good. In particular, the years she had the love of my stepfather (before his stroke), was sober, and had a network of friends were quite pleasant.

She had a shitty life, to be sure, and she needed many things to compensate for the bad experiences that drained her dry. Perhaps most, she needed kind shoulders to lean on. Instead, her friends died off like flies and there were no more lovers. She needed her family, but they were settled on the west coast and we lived so very far away on the east (thanks to threat of divorce from my father who died soon after we moved). She needed financial resources, debt forgiveness, adequate health insurance, and assistance with executive functioning. Periodic visits from my much older brothers provided only minimal assistance with money and managerial tasks. For decades, doctors kept her drugged with a medication cocktail that, well, if you’ve read up to this point, you tell me how much you think the drugs helped her.

No one that could’ve given a shit and made a real difference in her life did.

So many would argue that she made her bed and she should lie in it. But we all make mistakes. We’ve forgotten the meaning of community. My mother had none and she needed it more than most. It’s too easy for most of us to tell others the answers and then turn our backs and expect them to help themselves up with our wise words, and it’s too hard for most of us to actually invest the time to figure out what is needed and what providing role we can play.

Attention all research professsionals: I am your litterbox.

I work at one of the top universities in the country. Here's an example of some of the professionally submitted paperwork I receive from research facilities:
I had to wash my hands after touching this paperwork. I wish i could report that this wasn't a somewhat regular occurrence.

Changing the World

Early one morning, I received the following email from Jace:

From: Jace Cavacini
To: ManagerMom
Subject: my life is so fucking invisibly unfair

don't let this happen to your kids


i just woke from several hours of PTSD-type dreams. one was specifically about getting screwed by believing i was the one single person wrong in a room filled with people who had no problem. the materials given to me were wrong!

i was vindicated in the end but it cost me stress and embarrassment and i was forced to openly disclose my autism in a classroom environment after already being terribly embarrassed in front of everyone by being treated like i was just being stupid.

here i am, woken up, angry, crying silently, knowing i'm the only person who will ever know that i'm suffering this way every night, how much it hurts and that the dreams' contents reflect EXACTLY the real life experiences that MADE me have PTSD in the first place. it's all fucking INVISIBLE and no one in the outside world can appreciate it nor is there any help, support or justice to combat the damages done.

this is why i exposed my life before the world on my blog and in nowpublic.com articles and why i disclosed my autism at work. the results are why i'm tired of speaking at all.

i sought public awareness. instead i found more personal harassment and injury. insecure and bitter people looking to make other people smaller than themselves so they can feel better about themselves (like john and jefferson and anonymous cowards on comment forums).

i received punishment for exposing my differences and the truth about the people who treated me so poorly. punishment for showing just how fucked up these things have made me. punishment for not just swallowing it all silently. how dare i speak up.

along with medications encouraging me to act on suicidal impulses and other impulsive thoughts, my very existence is agony night and day and there's no way to prove it to anyone. no justice. i'm just an example of life's losers. a loser by "being dealt a shitty hand."

that's the only admission i've received from anyone, even family. "well jace, you were dealt a real shitty hand."

that admission doesn't even come close to helping me because it's just hollow words spoken by people who can't perceive the suffering i'm living because if the suffering i lived.

how am i ever supposed to heal from something the outside world never accepts or understands? what is my motivation to to even try? on the outside, it all looks to people as though i simply have to stop having a bad attitude. fuck that."

I replied to Jace with the following:

Jace,

Thank you for sharing that with me. Although I am happy to say that things in our school are much different and more supportive, it doesn't change the fact that yours was not. That is just one of the many factors that influenced you. I think it's incredibly amazing that you survived all that and can talk about it in a way that helps others see that it is the rest of us who need to change. I have changed so much since meeting you. The way I deal with my children is much different today than it was a year ago.

Last night while we were helping the kids get ready for bed, Ian suddenly became extremely angry and started punching Steve. When he didn't calm down after several thwarted throws, I gently took his hands and led him away from Steve. Then I asked, "Ian, what has made you so angry?" He said something that didn't really make sense. So I asked the question again. Once more he said something very off topic. I asked one more time, slowly and quietly. His breathing slowed and I could tell he was thinking. Finally, we were able to discern that it was the way Steve told him to go brush his teeth that had set him off. I asked if yelling and punching had made him feel better - "no" was his reply. I told him when I am angry, a warm, deep hug makes me feel better. So, he sat on the floor in my lap and we hugged. I could feel his body relax and the anger leave him. I have you to thank for showing me that Ian's outbursts require evaluation and compassion, not punishment.

Over the last several weeks, I have been involved in a very intense argument with someone who used to be a good friend. Her children and mine have been best friends for 3 years. I thought she understood us and how we do things. She does not. This has caused us to part ways as friends, although we are trying to preserve the children's relationships. This is extremely difficult. She feels all non-conformist behavior should be punished, even if the intent was not to harm others. She just doesn't get it. Hopefully, I will eventually be able to help her understand the dynamics of living in a family with autism, but I am not holding my breath. Nor will I lose sleep over it any longer. If she can't look deep enough to see those things which are invisible, to feel them with her heart and deal rationally with them, then she won't be part of our circle of friends who are able to do that.

Thank you, Jace. You are changing the world ... one person at a time.

Love,
ManagerMom

A quick notice for all public restrooms

you're not a dog,
and this isn't a lawn.
seats are for sitting,
not peeing on.

BeOSblast from the past

thanks to the wayback machine, i have resurrected this from my days as a BeOS and Computer Industry Crusader... the problem with crusading is that people lose sight of the goal and become blinded to the morality of their words and actions. so i posted this on ZetaNews (formerly BeNews, i think):

Being a Friendly Community
Posted by Jace on Friday, April 15, 2005 - 05:42
Words can hurt

Editorials are a new thing for me, here at ZetaNews. There has been talk of doing a regular article and I've been interested, but not gifted with enough time and energy - my real life has taken most of that out of me. So please bear with me for this starter article. If you only ever read one editorial from me, this is the one I would prefer you read.

This is a brief editorial about being friendly and decent to each other in the community. Including being friendly to people we may disagree with or not understand.

After reading half of the excellent YellowTAB interview transcript on IsComputerOn.com, I felt that I had to say something in public about the abuse that Bernd Korz has taken over the years from the BeOS community. (I say BeOS community, and not Zeta or Haiku, to put some distance from today's community) I felt compelled to say something, especially because of my own personal contributions to making Bernd's Zeta/YellowTAB life more difficult (with my critical commentary).

So let's get the most important part out now: Mr. Bernd Korz, I hereby make public apology for any occasion where I was rude, overtly harsh or outright nasty to you in forums, discussions, emails or anywhere else. Please accept my sincere apology for being a contributor to the antagonizing that you've had to deal with by being the "face of YellowTAB." My intent was truely never to injure or offend. That I may have done so makes me feel small and petty. Afterall, this is all just about computers and there is more to life than computers.

What made me most desire to make this apology and editorial came in two waves:

Wave one was the new kernel news. It was agony to have the confusion that we went through regarding this topic and a great relief to cut all of that confusion loose... but that agony was still only about a computer technology. I've suffered some very traumatic events in my life over the last 12 months and it has put a huge amount of perspective into my world. There are things not worth getting so upset over and technology is one of them. Here is an area in which I was personally failing.

Wave two is the terrible comments made about Bernd in relation to his car accident. There are many more rude comments out there, but this one is just the worst example I have heard. It was unkind, rude, and outright horrible. Whoever said it should know better - there has to be a limit. That kind of talk crosses the line into something truely ugly and hurtful on a personal level. This community is supposed to be about an exciting computing technology, not about making personal and hateful attacks. BeOS isn't worth that kind of abuse. It's just a thing. Something to get excited about, yes, but not something worth hurting others. Life is bigger than that.

So, I implore my audience to consider their words more carefully and hold off on clicking the "Send" and "Submit" and "Regret" buttons just a little while longer. What you are about to say... is it really neccessary or are you just venting? If you are so upset about BeOS that you would turn to attacks and cruel comments, you need to step back and get some perspective on the priorities in your life. Be nice to each other, even if you disagree with someone. Be constructive and be critical, but be kind!

I am not trying to preach. I am hoping to offer moderation and perspective. This community has been through a lot of interesting and stressful events. Some people have gone away and others have just arrived. We once prided ourselves on being better than some other communities. Better by being NICER. This was one of the compelling reasons for me to be involved. Let's not lose that element.

I will now climb down from my soapbox and return you to your regularly "fun and interesting" news. Thank you for reading.

-Jace
ZetaNews.com

buy her book, she's neat

Katie West: low self-esteem

and, as avolare on flickr,
where i "met" her

(yeah, i'd like a signed copy myself)

precious people

tOkKa.
an artist.
pay him your attention.

peace so delicate, silence so deadly

i think i just made peace with my neighbor, Dotty. i apologized for my mother's unwarranted phone call. Dotty told me her sister died recently; that she's been in a bad mood, too. Her best friend, she said.

"I've lived here too long to be nasty. I'm not a monster." i said i know. i said i wanted to make peace; she said she wants that too. i wish the same were possible for the other neighbor. but we cannot talk.

we never know each other until we talk. even then...

silence is deadly.

if only we were built as stronger creatures so that we COULD talk when we should.

i, too, am not a monster.

brief authorship for those concerned over the potential of my suicidal ideations

a couple of points to make about myself that might be useful to know:

i am aware of being rather intense and dramatic.

i also like hyperbole when telling a tale or making a joke.

when i am in my darkest moments, the same attributes are present, yet they take on a sharper and less romantic tone.

suicide?

oh yes. without anchovies, please.

i mean, c'mon, look at this fucking blog for shit's sake.

as the so-called professionals might say, i ideate. not only do i ideate, i dabble. not to be confused with the spontaneous act of jumping in front of a bus or slitting one's wrists, my dabbling involves clearly reasoning out the causes and effects of the various methodologies one might avail one's self when trying to snuff it. meet death. commit suicide.

i consider myself a rather conscientious person and, while i have evolved from my earlier views on suicide as being "stupid" and "selfish," to a more matured grasp of suicide as a potential exit from repeated torture and unbearable suffering of the mind, i maintain that offing one's self should in no way involve even the potential of risk of harm to other living beings (such as people, though there are many disgusting and horrific human beings that probably would invite my scythe if i were death incarnate, which i am not interested in being - i'd be fired and banned from this realm due to early retirement of rapists, murderers, psychopaths and sociopaths , which would likely enrage the other gods of the realm in "ye olde worlde religione").

the downside to this conscientious manner is that there are very few options available to me when i am most seriously seeking to remove life from my body as quickly as possible so as to no longer experience the side effects of mental abuse upon the brain.

people who think it's easy to commit suicide are either just clueless or insensitive assholes.

guns, explosives, and other projectiles are banned; they cannot be controlled to the level of safety which i would require of myself (or others) handling them. no matter how careful and well planned, there are always unforeseen events which might, or might not, occur.

this bit of that might have enough mass and energy to puncture that bit of this and lead to the unintended injury or death of another. "bang" and "oops" are two things i wont handle together, except as a poor textual joke which would work better as spoken verbiage.

diving in front of traffic, off of buildings and other "sudden deceleration trauma" incidents, have the same flaws: if i dove in front of the next LANTA bus that passes between my road and the GIANT grocery store, the driver might swerve to avoid hitting me and then the various minute options available in Newtonian physics (which people are usually too lazy to consider and simply refer to as "chaos") is free to run rampant. again, object "a" might unintentionally intersect with person "n," which was not my intention.

the "spectacular display" of "splat" has the extra added potential of psychological damage to the people in the environment where you've chosen to go "splat." some people like horror movies. some people do not. fewer people than those who enjoy horror movies will actually enjoy the sudden and unexpected sounds and sights of, say, your skull bursting apart on its way through a windshield into the lap of someone just trying to drive the kids to the little league game between school and dinner. now, you're not only a grossly deformed cripple in prison, but their dinner is ruined and the little league game they were going to has been canceled and will be replaced by a future ceremony for the mass deaths involved at the scene where the driver, prior to passing out from head trauma caused when the windshield and your lower jaw entered their left frontal lobe through their left eye socket, swerved the vehicle in a nervous jolt, causing it to crash into a short school bus currently emptying its load of various youthfully aged walking meat onto the sidewalk.

cutting to the chase: unless you're a total asshole, being truly conscientious of those in your environment (and beyond) will eliminate the majority of "traditional" and "easy access" methods of snuffing one's own candle (as it were).

if you happen to be totally devoid of conscience and are utterly regardless of others, well, there are options aplenty. but, as the selfish fuck that you are, you also need to consider one more risk in the plethora of suicide methodologies before diving in (mind the pun):

"what if you survive?"

they say that things can always get worse. whoever they are, they're correct. if you're not missing body parts already, would you like to survive a suicide attempt with some parts missing? i mean, if you were no longer physically able to attempt further suicide attempts (and remember, assisted suicide is still a continuous legal debate and is, i believe, currently illegal)... what next, asshat? in the mass death scenario above, when you're on trial for causing the massacre, what are your thoughts on how you will get some water down your parched throat when you have no lower jaw and no mobility below your grossly dangling and dried tongue?

i have spent considerable time on this problem (the suicide method problem, not the drinking without a lower jaw problem).

again, look at this fucking blog.

there are books, guides and websites available to people such as myself that offer to provide guidance... but relief from the seriousness of the need to die has thus far come prior to my having developed a reliable, failure proof and "safe" way of offing myself. also, several attempts that had quite a bit of gusto to them (as motivation) have already failed me (duh). i am therefore left with animal sense memories of what hours of nausea and general malaise feels like and which chemical compounds and mixtures caused those animal sense memories.

there's "one of each out there," and surely someone has a sexual fetish for it, but it generally seems to be a universal attribute of complex nervous systems (such as that in the human animal) to utterly despise puking and therefore go to great lengths to avoid repeating whatever stupidities had previously caused it. those of you who have uttered the phrase "never again" into your toilet bowls or rubbish bins will be tilting your heads fore and aft in agreement.

another attribute that i possess which is useful to know prior to interaction with me, my art or my writings is that i am verbose and can, at will, be so verbose as to use complex sentence structure, hyperbole and other techniques to brutally satirize that attribute in myself for one last little bit of punch at the end. hah.

if they could see what we look like on the inside, maybe they would stop hurting us

not just autistics.
everyone.

because everyone has some kind of hurt.

the trouble is, most people use it as an excuse to not give a damn about the next person. most people will take any opportunity to stratify the smallest collection of humans so as to float up top, while the rest suffocate beneath them.

give empathy and kindness.
sure, you might not get it in return.
actually, the way i see most people, you probably wont.

but it beats the alternative; giving cruelty will do everyone more harm than the minuscule and petty "good" you mistakenly think your cruelty will do for you.

they are you,
you are they.
divided we stand,
together we fall.

fact. not fiction.
if you have the foresight and intelligence to grasp it.

a message for h. e. w. m.

i miss the times when you were hot for me...
"snap!" you said...

i miss the times when you were open minded,
and thinking about what YOU wanted,
instead of being told who was right for you.

i suppose i only have myself to blame,
since i stopped the "natural flow"
in order to be "responsible" and respect him...

how foolish of me.

seeking the kind (can't live without 'em - ii)

when they are selfish, irresponsible and immature, they are but heartless deadly monsters with hollow words,

tearing at my flesh, my heart, as reavers, ripping me into strips of meat to be devoured...

vegetarian girl or carnivorous woman, there is no distinction; they are but beautiful and murderous predators.

somehow, there are others... different;

responsible, mature, wise, empathetic, self controlled creatures of thought and heart,

who follow through, in action, with the words which they proclaim... more than mere advertisement.

they save a part of me,

with each and every kindness given.

and i love these beautiful creatures of kindness.

it is a shame that the kind ones are so few,

and their acts of kindness are so outnumbered

by the reavers' spears, hooks, blades and arrows of selfish cruelty.

worse, still, some of the formerly kind

are made into the new selfish breed,

by suffering rape and pillaging,

giving in to the reaver within...

but, without those few loving beauties,

the true, the real, the thoughtful and the honest,

i would be dead by the hands of the beautiful...

the beautiful lying beasts.

it is for the love and the kindness i go on...

it is because of the lovers and the kind ones,

that i continue to exist.

everything dies

on an escape from sairuh's mind bending, i walked around the town, since i'd never really been there before... just in her apartment (which was cool, by the way... she had it all done up artsy and custom). i was still carrying my cell phone with me at all times and it has a shitty camera. i found this dead little lady bee. not as compelling as the bunny, for you, maybe, but still just as meaningful. these little organic machines work for their collective social health and wellbeing ... something that humans seem to be totally inept at... biting each other, breaking each others limbs off, mounting our kills over our fireplaces and beds, collecting ears, carving notches in our bed posts... all for the good of the one, the only, the self.

but even the self dies.

heros amongst us

by way of one hero's story about one of his heros... (click here)

a very cross posting

Jenn pointed me to this (thank you Jenn, my crossness has nothing to do with you)...

168 days ago, some reporter thought this was news:

"A long shadow is lifted on Asperger's in adults"

my reaction can be no other than what it is (and i also posted it on that "news" page):

You know what an obsessive AS behavior is? ME, going through all the stupid nonsense of becoming a member of this website just so i can post my response to the article, which is the following:

Freakin' no duh.

Seriously, i've been dealing with this for years now. When an article comes out and claims to shine the light on or unmask something shocking and surprising, such as "GHASP! AS in ADULTS!!" it makes me want to pound my skull into the wall, screaming obscenities at the people for whom this is some amazing discovery, ESPECIALLY the so-called "professionals."

One of my only friends, who reached out to me because i shared info about my AS openly on my (now deleted) flickr photostream, has AS, is an adult mother with two children (one of which has AS) and is married to a man who probably started out with AS but progressed to some light (or not) form of sociopathy (yes, everyone, just you wait a few decades and someone will be shouting out in a news article that they DISCOVERED, UNCOVERED, or have finally SHONE THE LIGHT ON the thing i've been telling people for years now: AS leads to being abused. Abuse leads to suffering. Suffering leads to Borderline Personality Disorder. If not treated, BPD leads to sociopathy.)

Ok, derailed that train with a massive parenthetical statement, but the point is that ... um...

again...

NO DUH!!

That friend of mine had a NEUROLOGIST toss aside her concerns about her own AS in relation to her NEUROLOGICAL problems with the phrase: "Oh, we don't worry about AS in adults..."

OF ALL THE ARROGANT, IGNORANT..... [expletive expletive expletive] THIS is a NEUROLOGIST? Autism, AS, BP, BPD, schizophrenia, ETC are ALL NEUROLOGICAL FEATURES OF THE BRAIN!!!!!!!

You want a meme? Here's a meme for you:

"Kids with AS eventually grow up to become adults with AS."

It doesn't go away any more than your left hand becomes an opera singer.

About me:

i'm 32. i was not diagnosed until it was completely too late to do more than give me something to throw at people "i was born this way, what is YOUR excuse??"

If you want a worst case scenario of not being diagnosed as a child or youth, being harassed and abused because you're "different" but not different enough to be given some saving (or killing) label, I'M YOUR CASE STUDY.

http://dysamoria.com
Caution: not for the easily offended, faint of heart, or children (but if you don't want your children to end up like this, maybe you should stop in and spend some time taking things in). Contains pain, suffering and lots of profanity... as well as art, expression, music and lots of writing about what life has been like as an ADULT with AS, who had to SELF DIAGNOSE and THEN find a doctor who was willing and knowledgeable enough to give me the official label (which was too late to save me) and who continues to suffer because of failures in society and schools that allowed a high functioning autistic to fall through the cracks and become a bleeding gash.

But, you know what? i'm also loving, empathetic to a painful degree, more sociologically skilled than most of my peers (or my parents, one of which also has AS) and extremely intelligent and wise.

i am NOT your rigid, cold, inflexible, inhumane bullet points.

Maybe i'm different from the average person with AS (no doubt, i haven't fit in with them in online groups either), but i know that there are more like me and more of us are out there looking at "you neurotypicals" as though YOU'RE the ones who are cold, lacking in empathy, unfriendly, and rigid. We should know because you've basically stomped on our necks and walked on our bruised backs for decades.

WAKE UP, people. THIS IS NOT NEWS.
THIS IS KNOWN FACT.

The problem is that it's not a popular meme, like AS in children has become. So, thank you, big slow, bulky and inflexible media, and thank you, narrow minded and institutionalized thinking professionals, for allowing so many of we FELLOW HUMAN BEINGS to slip through the cracks of this heartless society and be stomped on for so long... all while pointing at the little kiddies and saying "HELP THE CHILDREN!!" with your posters and billboards.... and never doing a single thing to help your fellow human beings when they have their human rights violated by their employers and government at the tail end of a 32 year life of overcoming and compensating and never being accommodated.

Thanks a bunch.

Back to your regularly scheduled memes....

-jace cavacini
http://dysamoria.com

EDIT/UPDATE: Comments about the article from a friend:

"Forming close friendships and dating run counter to Asperger's adults' goals, colleague Tsatsanis says; Klin says he has never known a parent with Asperger's." [Both are with Yale Developmental Disabilities Clinic, which is under the Yale CHILD Study Center.]

"Bryna Siegel, director of the Autism Clinic at the University of California-San Francisco, concurs that an Asperger's parent would be rare, and she knows of just one short-lived marriage. Recently she does more "un-diagnosing" than diagnosing, she says." [This Autism Clinic is at the CHILDREN's Center.]

YET, these are the individuals mentioned in the article:

"Marshack has about 15 patients who are either adults with Asperger's or are the SPOUSES or grown CHILDREN of them."

"Marshack, who says her late MOTHER had Asperger's..."

"Liane Holliday Willey... MARRIED MOTHER of three..."

"William Loughman... GRANDFATHER of six"

Apparently, those three researchers believe that anyone who has learned to compensate over the years must not have AS. That's like believing that a person who cannot see, yet can successfully navigate their environment must not be blind. Or a person who has the flu, but still manages to get themselves to work, must not be sick.

I think it's ironic that those three researchers seem to regard AS as a psychological problem (IF something interferes with your ability to function, THEN it's a problem) rather than as a neurological condition (oh, you are colorblind; here is how not to kill yourself at stop lights). And yet, the practicing psychologist (Marshack) seems willing to approach it as a neurological issue.

[i totally agree and continue to repeat my DUH at these "professionals"]

p.s.: my first submission attempt earned this:

Comment not posted.

Your comment contains language not suitable for our site, such as "wtf". Our goal is to keep the discussions on USATODAY.com respectful and readable by a general audience. Please edit your comments and re-submit them.

oh, for the love of...
son of a...
you prudish sack of...
GET OUT OF MY FACE.

for little tigger and Dave [EDITED]

[Apparently, Dave and John (aka "Stunned") never noticed this... especially when John "read the entire blog"]

i remember playing...

hand full of Legos, pulled from bins
hands full of potential...
... for fun creations

one long term friend [Dave]
to play Legos with me
(thanks, Dave, [insert hug])

Transformers, Lazer Tag,
climbing the rocks at "big rock park"
roaming the woods, reading comic books...
Doctor Who, Star Wars, and other descendent's of D&D...

i had more toys, back then...
more than it seems today;
today's toys are computer-driven,
maddening things with fantastic potential unrealized.

i had more fun, back then.
childishness was acceptable;
having fun only needed imagination and a toy or three.

before money...
before expectations of earning a living...
i was 15 years old, for fuck's sake.
my childhood was not yet done and

i never had enough, to begin with.

but i do remember playing...
little tigger reminds me that i remember...

reading books... science fiction... fun stuff...
expanding my knowledge and, better, my imagination...

my escapes from reality...
away from brutal truths;
life is not so hopeful...
not so rich with potential...

not as books would suggest.

naive, i am.
naive i was.
naive i will always be.

i remember playing.

riding bicycles,
the feeling of motion
wind and speed,
up the hill and down again...

running round the woods,
with homemade science fiction gadgets
guns, communicators, suspension of disbelief devices...

i remember being able to be someone else, for a while
with a friend who was willing to share that fiction...

sometimes we'd fight over details...

"i got you first"
"i have armor"
"you can't use my cybergun against me! You never used one before! You don't know how it works!!"

but those were just negotiated details
and they didn't matter so much
even when it seemed that all play had to stop.

i remember playing...
before it was eclipsed by money,
school social circles,
girls and sexuality.

little tigger can still play
Dave once said he'd still play,
if i were willing.

Doctor Who is back.
REAL
ACTUAL
Doctor Who!!

Dave and i bonded over Doctor Who
and he still remembers!
he still feels that at heart and it makes me smile.

little tigger, a new internet friend,
reminding me of what i was like...
...before i used up all i had,
trying to be Mr. Bob Normal.

trying to satisfy the impossible.

Dave, the friend who is living in mr. normal's world
who still considers me his friend and still reaches out
and who i still feel i want in my life,
because he listened.

he admitted to what he does not understand.

more than my other "friends" could ever do.
they had too much ego to admit what they don't understand
and had to lay blame at MY feet.

not Dave.
Dave listened when i asked "please."
"please Dave, the sarcasm is too much for me any more"

Dave listened.

the others did not.
downplaying.
marginalizing.
insulting.

Dave listened and tried.

i remember playing.

little tigger reminds me it should be okay at any age,
and Dave is the playmate i remember most fondly,
even when we had our troubles...

... it was something we grew from.

i am honored that little tigger shares with me.
i am honored to know that Dave still considers me his friend.
it warms my heart that he remembers us as we were.

the one hope that i had been unwilling to permanently let go of...
one of my childhood friends being strong enough to become adult without losing it all, remembering childhood, unwilling to let go the good of it.

thank you Dave, for reaching out and trying to share you life with me
and thank you little tigger, for reminding me that these things matter,

that i am not the only one who wants the simple life
the life "the normals" want to take away from us.

about my "donate" paypal button...

...it's there because i am disabled and i cannot work. There are people who are responsible for this. i've named them. They aren't going to do shit for me and i have no rights because no one is willing to fund the protection of my rights. So, fuck justice. i put up a donate button instead.

i'm embarrassed, but i am not yet finding a way to earn suitable income by selling art/music. Hell, i can't sell what i cannot make into a deliverable product, and i can't make deliverable product without suitable income. Chicken and egg. Catch-22. Oruborus. Cliche.

My debts are many. Several of my debts are my own fault (spending on art materials and studio equipment as a distraction from depression and suicidal ideation).

However, i DO own a car (there is no decent mass transit system where i live; it's lucky i am within a 2 minute walk to the Giant grocery store), and i DO own a home with a monthly mortgage. i DO need to eat, dress myself, clean myself and my home AND i have CATS to care for.

i'm not making it.

i'm getting behind.

i'm also running out of server space for my website, blog and email. i THINK i'm paid up for the next year, but i only have 100MB. It's ridiculous.

If you decide to donate:

• Don't do it unless you can afford to and are not doing so out of misguided affection or guilt by association ;-)
• If anyone wants to fund an upgrade to 300MB, go here, add up the cost per YEAR to know what i pay for a year, then use the DONATE button on my website or blog, donate whatever you feel comfortable helping with, and make a note in your donation that it is for funding a hosting upgrade.
• All other donations: please use the NOTE feature of paypal donations to indicate what you want your donation to go towards (home maintenance, water/heating/communication bills, cat care, art/music supplies, health care, etc).
• i do not want anyone to send money intended for my own personal debts. i'm not asking for a way out of my stupidity, just some help with the stuff that disability does NOT cover that it SHOULD cover (like cat care, healthcare, non-food items for daily life like TOILET FUCKING PAPER, which foodstamps does NOT cover).
• If you would like to buy an art print from me, i am trying to find out a way to set that up so it's easy. For now, if you know something of mine that you like and want to buy an art print (we're talking official art purchase here, not donations, so this is like buying art at a gallery show), let me know via email.
  

like i said, this is embarrassing, but i have no pride anyway, so fuck pride.

this is my childhood santa

(click to enlarge)

people ask me about my childhood. i usually have nothing to say. a lot of the positive childhood sensations comes from my Nana. she spoiled me well on xmas and my birthday. in later years, we conflicted because it was now adult to adult. i eventually understood her and we made peace. at her death (which i personally do not feel was peaceful, and i will never know), i again said my words of love and admiration for her presence in my life. the thing that always confounded me about Nana was that she lost her husband at such a young age and never accepted the idea of ever having another man. "I had a husband. He died." she would say forcefully when anyone would suggest she make a male acquaintance. i don't know if this is her upbringing or her heart of hearts. every year, and this i admire, respect and love about her, on xmas eve night, she would burn two candles in memory of her husband. i never met him. He died when my mother was 16. This was terrible for all involved, especially my mother who was not expected to "need a father" as much as her brother "needed his father." But every year, every xmas eve, the candles. When i asked my mother, she explained why. i was in awe. it is giving me painful tears just typing this. so i will stop. but i will add one more note: if not for the heartless bastards at KU, i would have had more fortitude to include Nana in my life before she died. this is another thing they stole from me and my family.