#behavioral disorders

We don't think you need any specific type of emotion, feeling, or behavior to be worthy of being respected.

You don't need to feel love, sympathy, or empathy. You don't need to feel pity. You don't need to feel desire for connections, or any form of attraction.

You can make mistakes. You can hurt people sometimes. You can be "overly emotional" or on the flip side, "emotionless." You can be self-focused. You can be completely uninterested in socialization, or only interested in socializing for personal gain.

We just hope that you show kindness to others and own up to any mistakes you might make.

And even if you aren't kind, and you don't own up to mistakes, we wouldn't ever say "you don't deserve to exist."

Please never interpret any of our words as "[insert type of person] doesn't deserve to exist."

Anybody else incapable of looking at what other people make without immediately categorizing it on - better [in quality] than [what] you [make] / - lesser [in quality] than you [make] (and very rarely: - [of] similar [quality] to [what] you [make]) and feeling stuff accordingly? I love when seeing other people's stuff makes me feel inspired to do my stuff as well, but I find that only happens when the person's reality is too different from my own (specifically: they're much older than me), otherwise i WILL feel like shit for seeing someone my age or under doing better than me and I WILL feel superior/arrogant (ooh scary nasty feeling I know! Blame my brain tho!) If I'm doing something better than other people near my age or older than me. Knowing that there are people doing "worse"/"lesser" than me actually helps soothe myself when I go into a spiral about other people being better than me. I kinda hate that (except when I hate the person themselves, for being a bigot or annoying or whatnot, yeah ofc I'm better than you at [thing], you're a loser little bitch!) I wish I could be the kind, sweet, all loving person I've always wanted to appear to people, but I'm too angry for that and I'm finally beginning to accept that and adjust the ways I fight for a better world to how I am. I may never be the super sugary sweet teacher/colleague that's all fluflly and lovable, but I'll never stop fighting and organizing to make injustices stop.

I am disabled.

I have ADHD. Or at least that’s what the DSM and my diagnostic code calls it. I call it Chronic Hypersensitivity Disorder with a Healthy Dose of Executive Dysfunction.

And this week I’m going to run out of my meds.

Disabilities are not always visible. In fact, I’d go so far as to say disabilities are invisible More Often Than Not. Got PTSD? Disabled. Got sciatica? Disabled. Hard of hearing? Disabled. And we as a society spend so much time focused on visible disabilities - specifically people who use mobility aids - that it is almost impossible for us to identify the invisible things as disabilities in others......or in ourselves.

How many of you have thought, “I’m making it up.” How often do you assert “it’s not that bad, I shouldn’t be so dramatic.” I’ve done it too. My whole life. I still do. But then I check the facts.

For two years I’ve been on medication for ADHD. In that time I’ve held a steady full time job, written half of my first novel, and started graduate school. Those things are not superhuman feats. But in the five years before meds, I couldn’t manage bills, make appointments, keep my home clean, or meet deadlines. In the lifetime before meds I would throw tantums and have meltdowns on a Daily Fucking Basis, constantly overcome by the intensity of my emotions. I over-ate to feel in control, I sat still for hours, sometimes all day, fueled by executive dysfunction and self loathing, and most importantly I felt powerless to change anything about the way I interracted with the world.

That’s not *making it up*, that’s not *being a drama queen*. Those are cold, hard facts about my success in a world built for neurotypicals, in a brain poorly wired. And even after years of therapy and behavioral programs, of hard work building skills and tools to help me tackle life’s hurdles, I still resisted medication because it felt like “it wasn’t that bad” and “i don’t need a crutch”

But I do. I’m disabled, I’m not lazy or worthless or stupid - would you say that to someone who uses a wheelchair? - but I *am* disabled and my brain needs its own kind of mobility aid.

This week I’m going to run out of meds. Jury’s out on how long it’ll take to get a new prescription, but I may genuinely have to plan and execute a cross-country move without that all-too-necessary set of crutches. And I’m scared.

But what I’m not is lazy. Or worthless. Or fucking helpless. I worked really fucking hard to get this far, and if I have to limp across the finish line so be it, but I will not shame myself or ridicule mysel or allow myself for a second to think that my experience isn’t valid, isn’t real.