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Bad day at the office.
I am told to talk and then am not listened to.
Told that my understanding is skewed.
Even if the world screams one thing, I need to focus on the underlying meaning,
Not the bare, simple words in front of me.
Why do people say things they don't mean? That they don't hold true?
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I've never been offended when non-diagnosed people have said that around me. Why bother? Why get offended? I found no reason to take it personally. I've seen other non-OCD folks take offence on our behalf though and I find that a tad amusing. But here's an insight I've come to realise: Make a casual remark about Cancer. Here's one: "Man, John bores me to death. His jokes are cancerous." You can make such remarks all your life and yet when you hear, "John was diagnosed with cancer," you will take it seriously. Very seriously. Because you know cancer has repercussions. But OCD? It's a joke. You can look straight into your childhood friend's eyes and say, "Hey bud, I was diagnosed with OCD." and it will never be a biggie. Why? The best answer I could come up with is: It is because OCD is unimaginable to a neurotypical mind. If…
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These poems about sensory overwhelm as part of neurodivergent experience emerged after conversations and experiences with my neurodivergent son. The first one was written after a conversation with my son about why he did not like to enter temple spaces.
The second poem was written after an experience of overwhelm that occurred one evening when my son had been to a group play session in a therapy centre that included several other children. After a couple of hours, he became increasingly dysregulated, leading to a full-blown meltdown. During a conversation later that evening, he said that the room was too bright and crowded, a statement that surprised the therapist, who remarked that it was just ‘a normal tube light’ and ‘sounds of conversations in a normal tone’.
Loud sounds and weird smells / Parenting a neurodivergent child
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When I was young, and my world was literally and figuratively small, it was very easy (and the only thing you can do) to assume that it is the only thing, the correct thing, and the rest of the world must exist like this too. When I grew up living in a small cage lined with thorns, it could be terrifying and earthshaking to find that others didn’t. The fact that if you so much as sit wrong you are yelled at, or that life, your “home” and all of existence feels like a prison to you but not others is a horrible realisation. So I rebelled against it for a long time, made easier by the isolation itself. But like a really poorly made dam, once the floodgates opened, they couldn’t be shut.
Of course, the next thing I do, is try to find why. Why me and not…
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I've always known that I was a little different from other people, or whatever is considered the "norm". It was easier to navigate when I was younger because typically as a child, you're not expected to know. You're told to listen and be agreeable to those around you and sometimes, you cave in just to make life a little easier for yourself.
But as you grow older, you begin to put yourself out there in the world and figuring out how you can fit in, how much space you can take up, and how you wish to be perceived.
In college, I never felt "abnormal" because most people around me were a little different in their own ways. I could be myself and still get through it all, as long as I attended classes, submitted my work on time, and wrote exams at the end of the semester. Everything else…
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TW: Use of slurs
As a gender non-conforming (GNC) person, I am often asked, “When did you realise that you identified differently?” The question is not always asked politely. There was never an ‘Aha!’ or a ‘Eureka!’ moment in my life but rather a slow gradential acceptance of self. The vocabulary for verbalising that I am GNC came first from bullies than from my own self. The vocabulary of the bully is colourful but not necessarily in the shades of the rainbow. What I mean is, that it was always a very reductive ‘gay’ or ‘chhakka’. It is obvious that my bully will not spend much time in demistifying my gender-identity, and the closest approximation for a slur is just enough to tell you that there’s a club and I’m not in it. I often wonder, how did they arrive at these words faster than I did?
The fact that…
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This post is from a suggested group
This post is from a suggested group