The Return To Innocence

Hello from the LJ user formerly known as BrightRoseFox.
Due to a complex thingy involving problems with emails and such, I have changed my LJ name, my yahoo name, and my gmail name.
Everything is now BrightLotusMoon.
If you know me well enough, you know why I am now BrightLotusMoon.
So, yeah. Just FYI.

Also.
Dear Lovelies:
Not only am I feeling so much better, I truly believe I am worth everything that people say I am. I've been getting messages, emails, phone calls, and comments from friends who have told me what I mean to them. I've been amazed and heartened and lifted and joyous.
I may be a moonlight witch, but I can't access the magic of the moon without accessing the magic of the sun. And the moon is always there, her power full constantly.
I feel bright and powerful and in full bloom, like a great lotus blossom beneath the full moon.
♥

Okay, first thing:

Bad day bad day. Brain misfires, pain everywhere, spasticity, OCD episode, distractions, hypersensitivities, gut issues. I will say, however, that probiotics and omega-3 supplements of specific kinds are actually doing good things to my brain. It's not really evident in any of my outward behavior, but I can absolutely feel something going on.
Dear neuroweird science students: Is impulse control mainly frontal lobe? I have a Thinky Thing I'm thinking about, but I need medical professionals and medical students to confirm. I know of Things that can help me personally and specifically, but I need to make sure I'll be doing it properly. Also, this means staring slackjawed at my MRI photos and calling my neurologist.

***

Unrelated, copied from Facebook.

Well, this person said what I was thinking.
https://www.facebook.com/thautcast/posts/830987393625539?fref=nf&pnref=story
My personal need for disability labels is personal. My need to be able to relate to people via stories and fiction. So many people have told me things like how they "don't see disability" (sorry, I have to laugh at that) and don't see labels... and that's cool. Really. That's fine. But that is not how I see the world and that is not how I view myself. Being able to say, "Yeah, I'm disabled, and these are the medical issues I have" is indescribably relieving, even powerful; it gives me a power to choose and know my own self in a very intense way that I honestly can't describe.
My disabilities are not really eccentricities or special powers; they are painful and they will get worse as I age - and I'm talking about the comorbid, co-occuring, associated syndromes and symptoms. Eccentricity? Gift? Er. Yaaa...aay? I mean, sometimes my seizures cause wicked euphoric hallucinations when I close my eyes? That's... fun? And I suppose having severe anxiety and ADHD-PI and OCD and SPD could be my mind working out itself and it's environmental relationship?
So, um, so far I'm not seeing eccentric quirks and gifts. But I don't see myself the way someone who thinks that way would see me. I've met disabled people who say they aren't disabled, and a part of me marvels at the cognitive dissonance, a part of me wonders if they're completely rejecting the medical model of disability, a part of me wonders what they do when symptoms and syndromes kick them around and act truly disabling. I say nothing to them because I know it's their thing. The only time I'd want to try to sway them is if they want to spread their belief that disabilities are not disabilities, because that can become harmful and dangerous to the social model. As Stella Young said, no amount of smiling at a staircase will turn it into a ramp. So, as much as someone refuses the disability label, I really need them to consider it beyond their beliefs.

I'm just saying. We all have very different ways of talking about, discussing, portraying, coding, and having disabilities. I'm just glad that right now, I am able to very very openly discuss mine the way I want without being punished for it. And so should others, particularly those who think differently than I do. That's what makes discussion.

***

Also? I find it funny that so many people are like "OMG aliens, what if aliens come here, wouldn't it be amazing, we should learn alien languages, I bet they don't even communicate like we do, so we should be open to new communicative experiences!"
And then they're all like "WTF autistic people you're so weird we don't want you weirding us up we don't like you why can't you be normal like us!"
And I'm all, "*throws hands up* WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM US, YOU JERKS!"

***

I am having A LOT of thinky thoughts on why people reject the term disability in favor of eccentricity, quirk, gift. Not just abled folk but people with mental illness like bipolar or schizophrenia. I am still determined to wrap my mind around visibly physically disabled folk, like with cerebral palsy, who say they aren't disabled. It fascinates me because that view is so so alien to me. As long as the conversation is civil if course.

***

http://thebodyisnotanapology.com/magazine/just-try/
http://webcast.ucdavis.edu/llnd/467b5ad7?channelId=0abfe11894d742c7b159a535058c09ce&channelListId&mediaId=29f030d8c24a4b718c1c2936187278b8

***

I don't do Twitter. But lots of my friends do. Fuck Autism Speaks. I'm not pushing anyone to do the #Notmssing thing. But I do believe it is vital to send Autism Speaks the crucial message that autism is not a "thieving disease to be eradicated" because IT IS OUR BRAINS. WE are autism. We are born with a different operating system that doesn't really comply with the standard. People laugh about meeting alien cultures with other ways of communication, and yet we are right here, a metaphor, and they not only turn away from us, they actively seek to erase us. So. No. Bad Autism Speaks. No. Stop it. Nobody is missing. We are right here. We are staring right at you, angry and sad. We have been here all along. We have been speaking out all along. You just haven't listened.

Also, hells no we're not ready to meet any alien cultures. Not if we keep trying to erase members of our own.



***
http://webcast.ucdavis.edu/llnd/467b5ad7?channelId=0abfe11894d742c7b159a535058c09ce&channelListId&mediaId=29f030d8c24a4b718c1c2936187278b8
(Nick Walker is awesome)
Autism as a neurocognitive variance. Indeed. It's a disability because it hinders how we interact with life all the time. But there is nothing wrong with us. It's just a rewiring of our brains before birth or at birth.
Like, with me. I was born a fetus. I was a 26-week-old fetus when I was "officially born". My developing brain didn't have time to pick and choose. It just grabbed whatever it could, crammed stuff in, got a random shiny new operating system that was able to work around all the dead white matter, and figured it was good enough because I still needed to finish growing into being a baby, you know? Like, "Fuck it, we'll deal with this brain damage later, just keep the body going, okay? Move it move it move it avoid the gaps in the dead parts, come over this way, this construction project is gonna take a few more months than planned, so we don't have time for sick days, guys. What's that OS? It looks kind of tangled. That's fine, it's shiny, build it in, hook it up, whatever. Hey! I told you guys to avoid the dead zones! Awww daaamn, somebody get a new team over there please? No workman's comp here, this is preterm, okay? Just go go go..."
And that's where I got my brain.
So, dear allistic and neuro-typical assholes who question my right to exist, who insist that kids like me are missing, stolen, lost, forever silent: Fuck off. My brain worked hard to be itself, and just because my OS isn't yours doesn't make me lesser.

Sooo, you know how I've been chatting with my neurologist a ton, and also with my psychologist? Neither woman has spoken to the other. But they both recently gave me the same diagnosis.
(Now, I need to stress that I am perfectly aware of the "Stop relying on so many diagnosis labels, it's just medical stuff, what does it matter, why do you care, why do you think people would care" cliche that has been poked at me by, well, many healthsplainers and people who just want me to stop talking so much about my medical history, future, and present. And yeah, I get that. But guess what, I don't care.)
The neurologist was kind of relaxed about it at first, and after I left her office I didn't really consider it. Not until that one session with the psychologist, when she looked at me with tears in her eyes.
It's just that the neurologist used one term, and the psychologist used a different term.
And I would love words from those who are there. Because fuck it, it does matter.
http://www.psyweb.com/articles/depression/chronic-stress-disorder

Well, then. That was the second time someone contacted me and said, "I read your blog and I'm worried because you sound so crazy. It's no big deal if some stranger died. It doesn't affect you. Why are you so sad?"
And I truly don't think that my answer of "It's my blog; I'm venting my thoughts. It's nothing you haven't seen before." was placating.
Like... um. Hi. Have you met me? I'm verbose. I'm also mentally ill. Between verbosity and illness, I love to ramble on about life, mind, the universe. To read something I write and automatically conclude that I am "high levels of crazy" is insulting. Thanks, readers. I love you too.
It's basically the same attitude as "Well, maybe Autism Speaks wants to eradicate autistic brains and never bothers to actually help with services for autistic people, but have they hurt you, personally? Why do you fight against them? They're probably doing good things."
It makes my brain hurt. So much. Mainly because ignorance up the ass.

No, I'm not making my journal friends-only. I'm happy to show, publicly, that I know what people think. And that I know how irritating they can be. And how very little they know about who I am. Sucks to be them.
But yeah, I talk about mental illness and how deeply that sort of thing affects me. I use words that might not appear "rational" or "worldly" or "down to earth."
I'm skeptical to a degree, but I'm about thisclose to moving away from the skeptic movement entirely. It's full of assholes.

Okay, so the above post on my Facebook has been getting a lot of awesome replies, and I wanted to share it here so people could see what I mean. I'm gonna copy the post itself here. If people's comments show, please don't bug the people.

Here is what I wrote:

So, fellow adult autists: Can we talk about autism comorbid conditions? When explaining the more annoying aspects of having an autistic brainworld to health professionals, the genuinely curious, and people who want to learn more, I've started talking more about autism's comorbidity. Because I have talked so much at length about cerebral palsy's comorbid conditions - which, in fact, can intersect with autistic comorbidities.

Also I ask all this since cerebral palsy is the result of static brain damage; ie periventrucular leukomalacia, which is closely related to, even can be a type of neonatal hypoxic-ischaemic encephalopathy. Cerebral palsy is technically a result of static non-progressive collective brain injury. So cerebral palsy itself stays as static damage, while its many comorbidities march on progressively, causing widespread chronic pain, a sort of premature organ aging ahead of chronological aging, bone and joint debilitation, muscle atrophy, etc - generally beginning in the late twenties, peaking in the mid thirties, and slowly moving forward through our lives.
CP alone is ugly and worrisome, but most research is so focused on children that older adult patients tend to be ignored. It's only recently that adults with cerebral palsy, specifically spastic CP, have been studied. Our systems are... I don't know the right phrase. Degrading? Slipping? Damaging? Certainly debilitating and disabling. As we hit our thirties, many of us do get worse. There has been a giant amount of self-denial in the CP community. It brings up a rallying cry of "I'm strong! I can fight this disease!" except strength isn't the point, you can't fight, and it's not a disease. It's a disability, and it's personal to each individual.

See, I'm spastic and ataxic hemiplegic, but mild enough that I've gotten "But you don't look disabled!" all my life. Even when my left side goes through classic flexion, internal shoulder rotation, toe walking, all very obviously (you see, it doesn't stay like that all the time, hence the mildness. But when it doesn it's obvious enough to get "What's wrong with your arm? Why are you limping so much? Were you in an accident?" comments.
However, the chronic illnesses that developed in my youth that we all ignored because we figured "it was just from CP" have gotten so much worse in my now 35 years. I am in a lot of fibromyalgia communities, for example.

Now! Since autism's comorbid conditions include anxiety disorders, sensory processing disorders, neurological disorders like ADHD and OCD, mental illnesses, epilepsy and seizures, visual problems, spatial problems, depth perception problems, I want to cross-check them with cerebral palsy's comorbids, which include... all of those, plus pain, joint issues, nerve issues, muscle pains, skin conditions.

But fellow autists, please correct me if I am wrong on things. I need to figure out how many of my comorbids are specifically connected to autism so I can sort them all out, charting and making patterns and checking them against the comorbids from cerebral palsy. What are other autism comorbids?
Also, I don't like saying things like "autism symptoms" since this is how I am wired from birth. Like cerebral palsy. So I've been saying "comorbid condition symptoms". Does anyone else do this?

So, I had a fascinating dream last night that was at best a "Lost Girl" fanfic and at worst a bizarre fantasy wish fulfillment. I, myself, as I am, was a Light Fae with naturally indigo hair and eyes, whose skin gained a pale purple tint while my powers were in use. I was a healer, for myself and others; I could even pull someone from the brink of death, although it weakened me. Conversely, I could also cause extreme pain and injury to the point of death. I also had inborn herbal medical knowledge and strong empathic powers that were both receptive and projective, which I used to soothe the wounded. Weirdly enough, dark purple butterfly wings would magically erupt from my shoulders while I worked and then would vanish - and I was actually able to hover and glide. Trick called my kind "airmeds" - which, in the canon universe, made sense, as they already have lokis and serkets, which are singular names of deities (Loki, Norse god of mischief, Serket, an Egyptian goddess of minor healing). Airmed is a Tuatha De Danann, a goddess of healing and resurrection.
Digressing: I have a sense that the writers may take advantage of using individual gods as Fae species. I actually love that about the Lost Girl universe. Being a singular god would be even more powerful. Makes me really wonder if the Wanderer is a god himself.
Returning to the dream: Bo and I became lovers for a bit, as I found her chi and powers fascinating, and we would feed on each other during sex. It appeared that I was immune to Bo's succubus blood, that if she bled on me I would not become enamored or obsessed (ie, Ryan the loki). I also slept with Hale a few times, and having a siren and an empath together was rather hilarious. Interestingly enough, Kenzi didn't mind.
I became useful when Kenzi was attacked by a wolf shifter that Dyson had to kill. The fact that I was unable to heal my own brain injury fascinated both Trick and Evony, as well as the Una Mens. The dream started fading as Bo and Kenzi invited me to crash with them for a while while I was being hunted, since an active airmed with an healing-resistant brain injury was extremely rare and highly sought-after for medical experiments. I mean, if the wounds I healed were severe enough, I would break down sobbing and spasming, have a seizure, and then become near-catatonic for several minutes. That's not a good thing for a Fae desperately needed in battle.
There was a point where I expressed specific distaste with Doctor Lauren. I still don't like her much. Bo and Dyson should really keep acting on their love for each other. I know Dyson is 1500 years old and patient, but really. And then there is Tamsin. Mmm, Tamsin.

I believe the main reason I had such a dream with such a highly specific original character was because I was researching the healing abilities of the indigo plant as well as the transformative mythology of the butterfly. Still... fascinating. I didn't feel like a Mary Sue. Considering that "Lost Girl" is filled to the brim with potential Mary Sue characters both in canon and in fanfiction, I imagine my character's Faeness rated low.

Because I'm always the fucked up, mentally bizarre, clumsy, twitchy screwy fool who never gets it right, and even when I try to make it better I do such a poor job it needs to be fixed again and again. Some people call it cute and endearing, some people call it stupid self absorbed insanity. I keep trying. I don't even know. I'm tired of people telling me what I should do just because they want me to. Advice and suggestions are awesome. Pushy preachy sanctimony is awful. And even if I don't do it the way people want me to, at least I'm doing it the best ways I know how.

My best beloved cat is ashes in a box because I waited too long; my floors are never clean enough; I watch the same television shows and movies and read the same books over and over for pure comfort and joy; my memory is disintegrating and the only reason I remember anything specific is because I cheat; I want my friends to be okay with each other; I want to talk about things that confuse and fascinate me which include my disabilities; I collect current My Little Pony toys; I just want people to realize that my autism has a name and they can use it without assuming I'm begging for attention, same thing with my aging cerebral palsy and fibromyalgia; I want people to stop insisting I do yoga and to stop insisting I quit eating wheat or dairy when I don't need to, I can't go vegan, I hate tofu and my body can't handle it, I can exercise all on my own;my drugs, supplements, and therapy sessions are working exactly as well as they should be and I twitch when any of them are attacked by people who don't understand; sometimes I actually do physically feel like an old woman and it is absolutely not ever because I am somehow conjuring it or desiring with magical thinking like in that book about law of attraction with pure belief, and if someone really thinks that kind of awful thing about me, then they seriously need to realize that I do not think like them and never will, and they cannot change that.
I am just me, and as I grow and change it will be me, myself, with bits and pieces of suggestions that I will keep and discard as I grow.

I have no fucking clue what made me write this out. Frustration, upset, irritation.
Feel free to pick it apart or ignore it. Just don't trash my medications or doctors, because in that aspect I am doing just fine. Just... this isn't even "vague posting" or "cryptic posting"... I just needed to release something. Social media like this may not be the best place, but by gods, I have so many people on my feed and friend list who understand and are in a similar place. This is for them.

Seizure happened in the kitchen. Jupiter meowed and rubbed against me while I crouched. Adam came in and gently lay me on the floor. My eyes were open and blank. Adam touched my face and reached for my mind, and I spasmed and gasped and blinked. I asked why I was on the floor. Adam helped me up and stood me against the large freezer. My memory is swirling. Alicia is holding me. Earlier, Adam said he told his boss, a fellow animal lover, that he needed an extra day to care for his wife. I rolled my eyes and said that was not necessary; that I was fine. Never mind. It was so dark and so white equally braided as order and chaos magics. I was spinning at ninety-nine percent light speed and thirty-five miles an hour. The world was elsewhere. A few seconds lasted a thousand years. Adam suggested I go upstairs and rest. Jupiter is suggesting a cuddle. I am thinking coffee and clonazepam and baclofen. I am made of light and love and pure order-chaos magic in its simplest form. I can give myself the right strength. May be that I can regenerate. As brightly and intensely as a Time Lord. I always shine enough for everyone.

I randomly swam through my bedroom closet and found some house slippers and coats. I wish I had waited until my neck and skull muscles had relaxed and loosened enough, but oh well. Winter coats! I almost curled up in the closet for a nap. The thing about OCD (true and evil, not the icky "fake tee hee OCD") is that I know I am insane and that I need to help myself, but the compulsions just keep slamming me down. Which means I need to do this bit by bit. Minute by minute literally. Coat. Purse. Shoe. Matching shoe. Large black trash bag for charity. You know how it is. Even the panic moments. And then the ADD SHINY. I think the biggest bone of contention between me and my spouse is my extreme messiness. I admit it. But oh, that closet is comfy, and I essentially know where things are. After I flop like a child in a ball pit. Stimming! Oh my gods. It's stimming! What. I. Didn't even. Huh.
Should... should I... can I call myself autistic? Officially? Or should I keep calling myself borderline autistic? I don't knoooow. I don't care what people think, that's not the point. The word "hypochondriac" just makes me laugh and wave my hand in a Feh Motion.
Oh, the coats. The sweet comfortable winter coats. And hangers! I found hangers! I shall obsessively put the two things together all over the house, because I spaz ridiculously in winter and the Raynaud's Disease is sheer torture.
I am flapping and hopping from one foot to the other and making "Whee" sounds because I am organizing in a Joanna fashion. Oh my gods, I really am on the spectrum. How did I not know? This changes absolutely nothing on the outside. Inside my mind, though... Wonderland has opened a whole new portal.
So, an autistic friend asked me, "Does the word Autistic feel right? Cuz I sure as shit am not going to tell someone they 'aren't autistic enough' to ID as Autistic. And it's a culture, not just a dx. And I could have written this. Especially the compulsive going through the closet god I have no business doing this my body is saying HA HA FUCK YOU thing."
And I replied, cautiously, "...yeah, the word Autistic feels right. Yeah. And the culture thing also feels right. I think the only reason I've been hesitating is because everyone who knows me knows I already have so many medical issues that this is just one more issue to put on my doctor list - and some people might accuse me of "collecting medical conditions like stamps" to which I take annoyed offense. Not my fault my brain is screwy. I have Things in my brain. It is important to know what All The Things are. I've given up on the closet so far. Like, truly, NOPE. But it is still there, waiting to love me. So yeah."

Yeah, I'm happy. I've had some friends from CP groups, epilepsy groups, autism groups, and fibromyalgia groups inform me that my consistent posting about what I go through is helping them learn more and more about themselves. It turns out that I am becoming a role model. People are thrilled to see that I am so open, honest, willing to reach out and connect and share what I know.

-"You make me feel better when I worry about what is happening to me."
-"I love talking with you because you don't care about all the horrible stuff, you just want to know who I am."
-"Thank you for accepting me and talking to me. You're one of the few online people I feel like I can chat with and not feel rejected."
-"I'm so amazed and impressed by you. You are devastatingly intelligent and beautiful, you never let your disabilities completely overwhelm you, and you are able to reach out and ask for help when things get rough. You inspire me to be a better person."
-"You are so genuine and open. You really want to help people. You don't want to play a character on the internet. You're so refreshing and generous."
-"You have this strength that I've never seen. You can be in insane amounts of pain that would bring any man to his knees and you smile and raise your head and you keep going. You never lie - you say how you feel but you also temper all that pain and hell with beautiful, positive things."
-"You're one of my favorite disability advocates. You're like an idol. You don't hold back. You have almost two dozen medical conditions, and you are happy to talk about them, and you also know when to tone it down. You don't give a fuck when someone is angry at you. I want to do the same thing. Keep being you."
-"I love your power. I love your voice. I love your entire mind. I love how you approach every new medical issue with grace and understanding. I love that you can joke and laugh even when you are sobbing and struggling through the worst of depression and panic. I love that you refuse to project false positivity that you don't let true negativity destroy you. You shine like a beacon in the night. You, as a spiritual being, are extraordinary. You, as a disabled human, are beyond extraordinary."

And here is the funny thing: I do not believe in myself. I do not feel beautiful or inspirational or intelligent or confident. I KNOW all of this. I am very rational. I know, intellectually, that all these things are true. But emotionally, I am shy and scared and worried and upset and not at all confident, and I don't like myself enough to believe. I don't fish for compliments, because on an emotional level I don't want to cry, "Tell me I'm pretty! Tell me I'm awesome!" I know I'm pretty, and I know I'm awesome. But feeling it and believing it is another level of comprehension. You know? You know.