Sup.

reading a paper on quality of life among 45-to-70-year-olds with Down syndrome:

I lived in a room and board that failed the burrito test. (”If you’re not allowed to get up in the middle of the night to microwave a burrito, you live in an institution.”) No one stopped me from going to bed, but they did tell me I had to have my lights out by 10, and that I had to be out of the house by 10 the next morning. When I complained to my outpatient program that I needed more help than I was getting, they threatened me with board and care, where my cell phone would be taken away and I would lose contact with the outside world. My case manager sounded so damn smug, like he had caught me out, when he said, “if you’re really as helpless as you say, then you need to be in a board and care.” Like my only options were struggling to do things I couldn’t do, or surrendering my life to an institution.

I add

how about…

*someone posts selfie* wow they’re kinda attracti—

#and this is why the ‘but they looked 18/21’ excuse is such utter bullcrap#you check#you ALWAYS check#and you NEVER get to use a young person’s appearance to justify your own inappropriate behavior

When I was sixteen, my family visited Hawaii, and I had a cute new swimsuit. I was a pretty busty teen, with the vocabulary of an AP English student, and while I was out swimming, a couple of college guys started flirting with me. Nothing gross, just pleasantly casual hey-you-look-great-how-are-you-enjoying-the-beach stuff.

Fun fact, this happened to me when I was, I shit you not, twelve years old. I had a comically deep voice for my age and gender, and I was well-spoken, so I regularly got mistaken for an older girl in spite of my babyish face.