Funkonovo/Allison's autism Blog

When I was in Middle School, it felt like the emotional (and sometimes physical) equivalent of the weeping and gnashing of teeth in Hades. Each day was a nightmare and fight to survive. The only thing that gave me a reason to wake up in the morning was my closet and jewelry box. I didn’t think much about it, but I was expressing my creativity and offering my unique perspective of the world through fashion. My parents were wonderfully supportive of my unique choices influenced by Blossom, Beverly Hills 90210 and Nickelodeon’s Clarissa Explains it All (Melissa Joan Hart WAS Clarissa in my opinion). The early years of the 20th century’s last decade were bold, colorful and fun. I couldn’t understand why so many of my bland, NT peers weren’t into dressing like this: “Clarissa Explains It All” Nickelodeon 1991-1994 The layers. The patterns, the mixing and matching. The funky accessories. I wore my ensembles like armour, protecting me from those vile beige and yellow cinder block w

The following are a few insights I (sometimes painfully) picked up along the journey of 2018. Not to “info dump” or converse in even a half socially acceptable way with just anyone. Trusting just anyone with tons of information can make trouble for you. That person could relay things you entrusted to them in private in order to hurt you. Being vulnerable is only good if you can trust the person you are engaged with. And if you are being vulnerable with someone you trust, let them say their peace. It’s OK to let the other person (who you know is in the wrong) be right. Continuing to argue with someone who is toxic makes things worse. God and you know who’s right. If the other person admits their wrong, accept their apology even though it might seem second nature. When God asks you to let go of something, He means it. Letting go, especially when it is a passionate obsession is heartbreaking. I tried to explain and reason with God many times about this passion, and He waited,

I have heard that autistic people do something called "scripting". It is a coping strategy that one can use in the proper context in response to something someone says. I had never thought about this, but I've done it over the course of my life. I've used mainly lines from movies such as.Forrest Gump, which still remains my favorite movie 24 years on. Recently, I've added vocabulary from one of my favorite TV shows, The Goldbergs. If my sibling tries to trick  me into believing something is true (in a good way), my response might be "Yeah, that's not a thing." I pull from movies like Office Space as well. I am told I do a good impression of Milton Wadams demanding his stapler. Knowing the proper time in which to script is something I've learned to refine over time. I learn by repetition, so binge watching a TV show or watching a movie several times in a row helps me to learn the situations and conversations and how to contextualize.  Sometim

These are the times that don't happen very often, at least not on a weekly basis. My sister took me to a recreation center that had paddle boats for rent. We spent three blissful hours going around a lake that used to be a gravel quarry. It was quiet and the sun's power was tempered by giant, puffy pillar clouds. It was peace that both of us needed after having a very stressful week.

The light spectrum ranging from Ultraviolet (invisible to the naked eye) to visible to Infared (also invisible to the naked eye).  Google Image Search I'm going to go out on a limb here. This "What's your superpower?" question has become quite popular. "What superpower do you wish you had?" One response by some autistic adults has been "Autism is my superpower." I cringe, because I, being autistic, see my autism as anything but. I am disgusted by how there is little tolerance for a middle ground or common sense these days. I suppose if you went to college, are gainfully employed, don't have SPD so severe you can't go out into public without help, are married and even have kids, you will view your autism through mostly rose colored glasses. I say mostly, because I DON'T want to undermine the fact you do struggle to do what non-autistic people do with less or no effort each day. If you drive, own a home, have friends, lov

The author, a white woman with brown hair with pained expression CW: Mention of meltdowns, law enforcement, suicide, the criminal justice system This is going to be a difficult post for me to write, because it will trigger memories of guilt, shame and "if onlys". It isn't my intention to dwell on these negative feelings. I wish to present the facts accurately, without self pity or blame-shifting. I have mentioned before that my autistic meltdowns became more frequent and (yes, I must use the v-word) violent in my mid teens. For me, a meltdown occurs when: 1. I am physically and emotionally drained. 2. I am startled by a trigger sound (a shrill scream or a car horn or explosion) 3. Having to socially interact already bearing #1 and #2. I have always been a take-charge person, impulsive by nature. My parents knew since my infancy that something wasn't right (and no, that isn't a put-down, it is a clinical observation about my neurology based on obse

A Polaroid with light leaks and fade. Misconceptions and stigma associated (conceptual photography) "You're pretty high functioning," you say, shaking my hand (I can do handshakes), I realize you probably want to make me feel good about myself. Your image of an autistic person might be of someone non-verbal, perhaps in a wheelchair, whose focus is elsewhere. You are correct-in part. A very small part. I'm sure you have heard that autism is a spectrum. You've been made aware of autism, but you don't have a complete picture. Your concept is like a bad photograph where only part of the film got exposed and the rest is light leaks of yellow and red. It isn't your fault. You aren't  autistic. What you likely know about autism mostly comes from the media, which often relies on doomsday scenarios  filled with no light at the end of the story's tunnel. "You seem pretty normal to me." In the here and now. In this room, one of my f

 Caption: A burned out, white autistic woman  Content Warning: Mention of suicide and depression. Please don't read this if you are upset by these topics and/or are in a bad place mentally. I'm not the kind of autistic person that has friends (plural). I'm the autistic person, long out of high school who sits home all day with TV as company. I'm not the autistic adult thriving on social media, a place where I have been bullied by both autistic and allistic (non autistic) people. I am the autistic person without a tribe. There is no real place of personal acceptance for me. I'm the autistic person who has high support needs without having an IQ below 70. I'm the autistic person who rocks or performs some kind of stim constantly to alleviate high anxiety. I'm not that thriving autistic adult who has some kind of community support while attending college and/or interviewing for or working a job. I'm not that autistic Millennial you read so much

Picture: Lundholm organ-Pixabay At six months of fetal development, my mom noticed that I would violently kick in the womb when she played certain songs on the organ. My dad watched me leaping around in her stomach.  It was a disturbing and confusing moment for both of them. They hadn't seen anything like this before. Autism is a neurodevelopmental disorder whose traits show up often before 2 years of age. I was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome for the first time in 1998. I was diagnosed with AS, mainly because I spoke early and scored 110 on my IQ test. It is interesting to note that I didn't walk unassisted until 18 months old, was only interested in the shadows the low, incandescent chandiler lights made on the living room ceiling at 3 weeks of age instead of my parents or screamed, sometimes for up to a half an hour after the wind blew a door shut on the opposite end of the house. I had intrusive, upsetting thoughts of harming myself or others go

Beyond broken: photograph of a window with broken panes double exposured with barren trees against a gray sky. Credit: Allison M. Kramer Content Warning: Abandonment, ableism and suicide, mental illness, trauma On my last blog site, I wrote about having a friendship with my boss (which failed due to allistic behavior and my official ending of that friendship via a handwritten note). I've written about how making and maintaining friendships is nearly impossible, because others don't enjoy spending time around someone who can't go most public places (resturants, movie theaters) due to sensory overload.  I actually had a few friends for a few years in middle school and high school. They were the initiators. One girl commented on how spicy the pizza in the cafeteria was. After commenting on the cafeteria food, I asked if we could be friends. She introduced me to another girl who in turn, introduced me to another friend. Unfortunately, there was socio-economic inequal

Purple and red were the colors I chose the day the classical music played through an old, slightly warped and scratchy sounding record player. Peaks and valleys gave way to holes in the paper made by too much pressure from my hands. Us six-year-olds were asked to draw how we "saw" the music. Sight wasn't the first sense that came to mind. It was my hearing. I used the crayons to illustrate the stabbing pain I felt physically in my ears that wound up in my shutting down, hands over my ears and face down on the desk, near tears. I had a kind first grade teacher who had something many other teachers lacked: common sense. She genuinely cared for her students. Noting my condition, she asked to see my paper. "Oh my!" she said, asking for the paper. She later called my parents, not to complain, but to tell them that something was wrong and that she was concerned. The matter wasn't discussed further. I wasn't blamed or shamed by my teacher or parents. If

Some people do collect autographs. Some do it for fun, some do it for money. I am someone who only contacts someone I admire, and for their persoanality, not just their talent or physical attributes. If a celebrity finds it too stressful to accomodate autograph seekers, it is totally understandable. When they mock the very people who help keep them famous, then they cross a line and deserve to be called out. I made a list of celebrities who don't sign autographs, because I don't want there to be any hyper-emotional people like me out there who get their hopes crushed writing or tweeting a celebrity. To those who consider autograph seekers "sad": They are the same people who make and keep you rich and famous. They may be going through a rough time in life. You don't need to make things worse by behaving like a douchebag. You were once a "nobody", too. Chances are YOU longed for someone's John Hancock of whom YOU admired. If autographing/ta