I think it’s B.O.!

Open Letter to the tiki torch carriers in North Carolina:

I woke up this morning and (eventually) checked my Twitter feed.  Oh.  A demonstration in North Carolina by angry, privileged, and misled individuals carrying tiki torches.  You’re upset because despite having an entire nation specifically designed to give you a better shot at everything in life, you’re still not thriving.  It’s not enough you’ve never experienced life surrounded by hateful people who despise you for existing.  You don’t even know what it’s like to face life without every possible advantage at your disposal.  You can’t imagine it.  It’s much easier to ignore these facts, and pretend to be the victim, instead, eh?

It’s also simpler to waste your life than live it to it’s fullest.  Privilege is an advantage, but it doesn’t live your life for you.  It doesn’t guarantee you will be on top of everyone else.  It doesn’t automatically make you awesome.  You still have to get off your lazy ass and build your life with effort, which is what truthfully has you so upset.  It’s unfortunate you didn’t focus on making yourself into someone you can love, and instead chose to concentrate on hating everyone else.  Every single one who carried their tiki torch around the church, while spewing racial slurs and saluting a dead, meth addicted loser, has publicly announced you are a miserable piece of shit.

That was precisely the message you delivered.  Nobody saw you, and thought, “Hey!  This person has factual information to share with the world!”  We looked at you and were disgusted.  What a pathetic tiki tantrum by spoiled brats who haven’t figured out how to adult yet.  We don’t pity your invented woes.  We know your cause is bullshit.  We are aware you’re merely proving yourself one of the poor fools who fell for (weak) propaganda because it was easy and didn’t take any effort.  You just want to be a terrorist without consequence, and this group will take anyone with white skin.  Finally, you get to fit in without effort or policing your poorly formed personality.  How sad.

Barrack Obama was President of the United States of America for eight years.  He has brown skin.  Obama overcame every single obstacle that stood in his way.  Not one of you tiki torch carrying fuckwads has even faced a single one of the barriers he conquered.  Instead, you’re bent on creating more barriers to ensure such an incredible achievement never happens again.  Even with all the privilege and advantages, in this beautiful country where you automatically have a far better shot at life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,  merely for existing, you’re still losers.  That’s so fucking pathetic it’s hard to believe it’s even possible.  Holy shit.

The worst part is the why.  Why are you so miserable and pathetic?  The answer is simple.  You chose this.  You looked at all the opportunities America has to offer you, and said, “Nah, that all sounds like hard work.  Instead, I’m just going to make it harder for everyone else, and then pout over not being treated as if I’m valued, when all I have to offer is hate and destruction.”  On second thought, I do pity you.  If I see you on the street with your bug repelling torch, I’ll hug you.  I can’t imagine how awful it feels to be you.  Besides, you’re alive, which entitles you to my consideration.  You don’t even need skin for me to consider you and your feelings.  But if you strike me, my return will end you, so don’t.  Take the hug or don’t.  It’s yours to accept or reject.

Instead of choosing to be hateful, you can always change your mind and embrace all of America in her glory.  Together, we’re amazing.  I’d rather you were part of our greatness because I  suspect you have something inside you that makes you one of a kind.  Not part of some angry group looking foolish.  Just you, alone, without all the fake baggage.  Oh, there you are!  I can see you better when you’re not pretending to be a psychopath.  I don’t even believe you hate other Americans.  I think you’re angry and frustrated.  You’ve accepted a lot of bullshit as true and decided to go with it because you know you can get away with it, (now.)

I’m hoping you figure out this path leads to a dark empty place.  Many have traveled it, but none of them are still around to share.  You’ve chosen the team that will lose every single time, regardless of how much money and KGB bots feeding the effort.  In the end, love and life always win.  They’re the point, silly.  So think again about who you want to anchor yourself to, and why.  Do you want to spend the rest of your life angry and miserable?  Many have chosen to do this.  We have diseases named after them.  I hope you decide you want far more.  I hope you opt to be honest.  The hate is your thing.  I don’t hate you.  If I did, I wouldn’t bother writing this.

I love you for being alive.  I’m angry you’ve chosen misery because I know it’s a choice.  Nobody is forcing you to go down this road.  You’re truly only hurting yourself.  Don’t do that.  Life is hard enough without sabotaging it.  You know what’s right and wrong.  You’re free to choose.  Just remember, every choice has consequences.  You’re probably going to get away with terrorizing North Carolinians last night because of your white privilege.  Nobody is shocked by this because we live in a nation that doesn’t treat everyone equally.  We hate it.  We fight it.  We do whatever we can do legally to try and even the playing field.  We don’t show up and terrorize you, though.  We treat you better than you deserve, and you make us beg just to exist.

I hope you think about what kind of future you want for yourself, and make better choices.  Your white skin isn’t necessarily going to protect you forever, so please work on building yourself into a decent individual.  Nobody can do it but you.

Sincerely,

Alison

Serenity Now!

One of my stitches came out today.  It grossed me out, but I’m glad I didn’t swallow it.  The pain is tolerable without pain medication now.  The swelling has also gone down quite a bit.  I’m proud of my body for healing so well.  I feel like a healing ninja.  I’m re-reading the Stormlight Archive books in anticipation of a new installment being published.  But I found out that the next book by Brandon Sanderson will be in a different series.  Oh well, It’s another one I’ll enjoy reading in a week or so.  He does very well with releasing new novels.  Most of my other favorite authors have a much longer time scale between releases.  I’m fine with waiting.  I just hope they don’t die before they finish.  But even when that happened with the epic series by Robert Jordan, it was finished using his notes by Brandon Sanderson.  I really like the Wheel of Time series, so I’m glad it was completed.

I enjoyed re-reading The Pickwick Papers recently.  It’s one of my favorites by Dickens.  He was like the Bernie Sanders of that era through his novels.  I wish Ayn Rand would have studied Dickens’ books, not only for their messages, but also for a good example of how to deliver it without being painfully redundant.  I think she could have been a much better writer if she put as much effort into her story telling as she did into her propaganda.  I still read The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged every so often.  Objectivism is exaggerated far beyond what reality can support, but it still has a few valid points.  I deeply regret that her emotional intelligence was overshadowed so much by her intellect.  That lack of balance held back her true potential.  When I see people living today who still regard Objectivism as a viable philosophy, I shake my head in sadness.  It’s become a magnet for insecure pseudo-intellectuals.  I always hope they outgrow it.

The characters in the Stormlight Archive challenge me in ways I haven’t clearly defined yet.  The child within me wants my hero to be clear and pure.  The older, more sophisticated part of me wants to have to think in order to recognize them.  To see through the layers of believable shortcomings and flaws, and discover the hero inside.  Brandon Sanderson presents neither.  His heroes are different.  They may seem flawed, but after more data and thought, I find myself adjusting my assumptions and definitions of what makes a hero.  It’s an enlightening process.  It’s probably why I love his novels so much.  They require a bit of personal growth in order to get from them all that you can.  I suspect this is part of why Charles Dickens was and is so beloved as a novelist.  It’s also where Ayn Rand failed.  I wanted John Galt to be a hero.  Instead, he turned out to be a prick.  Howard Roark was an asshole.  We admired their accomplishments and talents, but that’s not enough.  A hero has to be more.  A hero has to inspire us to be better human beings.  John Galt and Howard Roark inspired us to be self absorbed assholes.  Pseudo-intellectuals embrace this because it was intelligently presented, and they think it makes them elite, when in reality, it exposes them as pathetic.

I see it as a filter.  I don’t put forth effort in relating to people who are pro-objectivists.  It allows me to pay attention to those who aren’t driven by fear.  Life is too short to bother with converting assholes.  Plenty of fish, and all that.

No

I’m so shaky today.  It’s raining/snowing really hard, and wind is blowing so hard it sounds like thunder.  Okay, this is probably why I’m shaky.  Loud noises that I can’t predict mess me up.  I didn’t sleep at all last night.  I lay in bed and listened to Evanescence, The Open Door on repeat for 3 hours.  I love every LP by Evanescence, and they get better with every release.  But something about The Open Door really reaches me.

I don’t have the words to explain it.  I just know that sometimes, I have to listen to it in a pitch black room with my best (Grado) headphones on full volume.  I don’t dance to it.  I stim to it.  My cat lays across my lap as I rock back and forth to the music.  Slowly, the tension I didn’t realize I was holding loosens.  I stop clenching my jaw.  And tears start to fall.  The tears that I held in all day as I forced myself to exist in this world.  I cry because I miss my family members who have passed.  My parents, my brother, and my little sister.  I know I’m capable of surviving without them, but it’s hard sometimes.

I miss having people in my world who I could trust to care about my existence without my having to do anything for them, or give anything to them, or be anything other than who I am.  I miss being protective of my little sister, and doing anything I could to make sure she was safe and happy.  I never realized how important that was to me before she died.  It was when I could assert the fact that I was 13 months older than her, and felt a deep sense of responsibility for her.  In so many other ways, she was the big sister.  She was my opposite.  She was so outgoing, comfortable to the point of being flirtatious with strangers, loud, and flamboyant.

When I was in fifth grade and she was in fourth, she saw me standing in a corner of the school building facing the wall during recess.  I was crying, because the teacher I had that year hated me, and I was aware of it.  She asked me what was wrong, and I told her my teacher hates me.  She marched into the building, dragging me by my hand behind her, and went into my classroom.  She went up to my teacher, and told her off, loudly.  I was shocked.  I froze.  Heather told my teacher that she had to like me because I was her student.  She said it like it was a well known law.  She was furious, and threatened to tell our mom if she didn’t start liking me.

My teacher just stared at us.  I can’t imagine what she was thinking.  We went back outside until recess was over.  I remember thinking that Heather was going to get in trouble.  She didn’t.  We never talked about it until the next year when she got the same teacher.  She pre-hated her on my behalf, and I loved her for it.  Elementary school was the closest thing to torture that I’ve ever experienced.  I didn’t have any skills to cope with it at the time, and it still to this day can cause me to wake up in tears from a nightmare.

I hate how things that happened in the past can still haunt my present.  I hate that they haunt my sleep, when I’m most vulnerable.  I’ve been practicing lucid dreaming, but I’m not yet to the point where I can completely prevent nightmares.  I’ve had some success though.  I’m absolutely getting more sleep.  That makes a big difference, especially when working.  I think I need to figure out a way to stop working on coding projects before they are completed, and continue the next day.  It’s good to be able to complete them so much faster than my peers, but I think it’s taking a toll on me.  Marathon coding sessions broken up by Twitter flyby’s and bathroom breaks are taking their toll on me.

I’ve always struggled with not having a natural off switch.  I’ll continue doing a task until my body demands I stop,  I’m interrupted, or it’s completed.  I’ve completed 1000 piece jigsaw puzzles in one sitting on more occasions than I’d like to admit.  My cat has gotten really good at interrupting me.  I hate to say that it was probably necessary for her survival.  I get so focused on what I’m doing that I ignore everything else.  She’ll jump up on my desk and lay across my arms while meowing loudly.  I always go through a quick second of rage at the interruption, and then I look down at her, and she’s so beautiful and sweet that it dissipates immediately.  I pick her up and cuddle her while I get her the treat she wanted, or refill her water dishes.

In the morning at around 4:30-5:00, she’ll literally lead me to the kitchen to fill her food bowl.  I have poor coordination when I first wake up, but I manage to follow her down the hall to the kitchen.  I give her a scoop of dry food and a spoonful of wet food.  It’s funny, because she’ll stand in front of her food container, then her bowl, then the fridge, then her bowl, then she starts eating.  She purrs loudly while she does this which is so cute.  After she eats, she goes back to bed until afternoon.  She starts by getting under the blanket on my bed.  Then when I make the bed, she gets into her cat bed underneath my bed.

She’s slightly better at keeping track of time than I am.  I suspect it’s because of her metabolism.  I’ve had her for 3 years now.  I’m worried about moving her to Denver.  She’s only ridden in a car when I brought her home initially.  Her veterinarian is down the street, and it’s easier to put her in the soft carrier and walk there than cope with her crying in the car.  I don’t know if it would be better to take my time and drive her there in increments, or to fly and just get it over with.  Either way, she’s going to cry, I just know it.

I know I should be practicing with her in the car, but there’s no way I’m going to do something that I know will upset her just to get her used to being upset.  I think I’m going to get my nephew to drive us while I hold her.  If we divide the drive into 2 days, I think she’d manage.  I could put a litter in my trunk and lower one seat so she had access to it.  I’ll do some research and see what others have done when it’s closer to that time.  If she doesn’t go, I don’t go.  It’s not negotiable.

Things have changed yet again with plans.  I lost a friend who was going to occupy one of the units in the building with her family.  At first, I was upset about it.  But now, I can see that it’s for the best.  It wasn’t a good idea in the first place.  Once I recognized that, I’ve been able to muster a little excitement for the future.  I’m mostly excited that I’ll have a home that is tailored to me and my needs.  I won’t be as independent, but that doesn’t bother me.  I’d rather have help from someone who understands, than struggle all the time.  I’m so tired of struggling.

I’m going to  take a vacation from work effective immediately.  I’m not going to let this state of overwhelmed sadness spiral into anything worse.  I’m going to take this time to do the things that make me feel joy.  I’m going to go back to making music and art.  I’m going to create things purely for the sake of creating.  I’m going to express feelings I don’t know how to put into words in order to release them into the universe and outside of myself.  I’m going to banish mean people from my world.  I’m going to stop forcing myself to pass as a neurotypical person.  I’m autistic.  It’s not something I’m willing to suffocate in an effort to make others feel more comfortable any longer.  I’m done with that.

I’ve learned an important lesson in the last few months.  Just because another person is autistic, doesn’t mean they are a good person.  Or that I should go out of my way to be kind to them, when it’s not reciprocated.  Or go out of my way to support them, when they ignore me.  I don’t deserve to be pushed aside.  I don’t deserve to be treated unkindly.  I don’t deserve to be disregarded and ignored.  I don’t owe anyone anything.  I will no longer tolerate it from anyone.  It’s wrong to treat a human being as if they are an annoyance, or invisible.  I don’t do this to people, and I won’t allow others to do it to me, and remain in my life.  Being disabled is not a free pass to treat other people like shit.

I was taught to respect everyone, and treat everyone just as I would like to be treated.  Well, I tried that, and I’m rejecting it.  From now on, I’m going to continue to treat people well, but I’m also going to observe how they treat me back.  If they mistreat me, I will cease to acknowledge their existence.  I’m done being nice to assholes.  Life is too long to put up with bullshit.  Life is too short to pretend it doesn’t hurt when someone mistreats me.  Life is too real to live it without fighting for my right to experience joy.   I don’t show it, but I’m a fighter to my core.  I will fight for my rights with a fierceness that will make my enemies flee in terror.  I’ve been fighting to exist for my entire life, and I’m really fucking good at it.