Close to brain dead…

I have suspected my brain is heading to severe damage. This is by no means this is being light hearted. Between the damages occurring at the end of the 20th Century, the injustice from that time; to the chaos that was during COVID, getting COVID, and continued mix of sheltering in place and being quarantined during the infection; and the lack of a near term outcome has put a lethal mix going forward. I already was damaged prior to March of 2020, the pre, present and post pandemic situation has made my situation at no point of recovery.

I am afraid I am going to die with my brain exploding internally from all the stress and anxiety that has went skyfold 2 years ago and suspecting it could be another 2 years of uncertainty and lack of stability, and responsibility being pushed solely on me.

I am so angry… I ask myself why I have to be on the receiving end yet again? Why can I not function? Why is everyone around me appears to me to be inpatient and I choose to be who I am?

Autism is not a choice.

Life is not a choice.

Hierarchal children do not ask to be born.

Satan: please take this soul way, I am at a loss now.

 

Lacking Emotional Regulation (Surrounding People)

I am not allowed to be sad, not because of my autism, because it’s too-much for the people in my life.

I do not like to be depressed either, but sadly since my late teens, I have not been allowed the chance to emote properly. The highest range is happiness, and the lowest range is mildly sad. If I have long face, that sends triggers to the mama-bear who feels a need to “fix” the problem to make her feel better. Because the old woman cannot distance herself from the lower thresholds of emotion, I cannot be sad. And if I am sad, she becomes sad.

So sadly, I have been stoic for the last two years in an unique way. I am gracefully being happy while so much shit has been falling to the fan behind me. My mother prides on a quote from a no-name author with zero credentials of “Your only happy if you have the happiest child”, some random BS like that. And being the only child, just makes that pressure even worse, and the mother who can’t sympathize with the autistic child, I mean hierarchal autistic child, doesn’t get it and she refuses to understand.

I know i have a survival rate of 2 years if SHTF, but it has not been tested for a really bad recession (of which I had been calling since 2019) to follow a pandemic. I do not care how my mother wants to spin a version of reality, I want to be able to feel the way I need to feel, and my mother wants to project arrogance (masqueraded as “pride” – of everything’s chill.) At this point the ol woman is acting like a notorious abusive man.

The inability to have proper emotional control has made the situation inherently worse than like any child of any age, to have the self trademarked feelings of present events. To dismiss and project, is basically gaslighting. And if my mother is wondering why my contact has been limited, to even in some instances no-contact while living 24x7x365 for the last couple of years, her brused ego has gotten in the way for me to process the emotions I want to process.

I do not sense any level of recovery anytime soon. I think the best days of my life have passed by me by pure maternal politics and unreasonable control over autonomy and the only way to grieve is silence. Then she wonders why I am so quiet, but the moment I start talking, she goes back to the projection, unhealthy optimism and poor feedback when it comes to empathy.

As my mother would say (and I never use this personally) I cannot win.

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The Intentionally Imperfect Job Market/Carreers

When I was at the mall more than a month ago, on the same day I went livid on social media because this was what I felt was a contributing factor of the events that day; I felt pressured to check out as the sales associates I felt assumed because I was a guy, I was trying to go in and out.

The place was the local American Eagle Outfitters. The following Tuesday, I returned the pair of shorts because I was so disgusted by the feelings of the sales associates, just kinda wanted me out kinda thing. Obviously I didn’t want to do it the same day, and I was going to politely tell off my experience the Thursday before, but on that Tuesday the sales associate didn’t even know how to properly do the return process on their touch based Point of Sale system.

I started to realize that I wonder if employers are intentionally hiring the worse people in the name of “profits”, but the more snootier you are the more you’re going to sell. As I previously mentioned, I applied for a retail position, and the company was actually AEO. The actual store I was applying for was really cringey in recent weeks. When I went there recently, spotted the typical cute girls I try to socialize with (or in fact network), regardless, a guy literally was swooping in pass me to the girl of interest and it was like they were dating at work.

I see this crap and say to myself, OK I may had been too wordy in the resume, and cover letter and hobbled a little bit in the interview and put crazy four hour increment  schedules; but what I see is apparent typical people in jobs they don’t even give a flying crap about – and getting paid for it while I am just slightly below the typical people normal of acceptance and I feel it’s a harder obstacle.

It goes back to the core issue of where are the good people? Where are the nice, professional and bubbly people that drives customers in? Why are they all to themselves amongst the sales associates? 

AEO knows what’s on my mind (as the minifig newsie)

https://twitter.com/MinifigNewsguy/status/1538913369150955522

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The “12 year” hope

When Steve Jobs passed away in 2011 at the age of 56; one could consider his childhood and his early adult years were not so great. His first run at Apple Computer was troubling, so was NeXT, then a near death experience (business wise) with Pixar.

When Apple acquired NeXT in 1997, and sequentially Steve Jobs backdooring himself into the C-suite once again; it was really roughly 12 years he had probably best years of his life; since the cancer predates to aprox 2009.

For me, the “12 years” was probably at the start of my life. When all hell broke in late 1999, just months before my 13th, one could say that even with an asterisk attached to it, I don’t see any significant hope in any recovery back to what was “normal” back then, since I am not a kid anymore and my life has progressively gotten worse since the pandemic and now in mid 2022, a pending recession and the political blame-game I was kinda prepping for as far back as 2019, being a guy who used to follow the markets tick-by-tick.

I guess it’s safe to say, my lifecycle is inverted from what Steve Jobs had. Which really makes things pretty sad when you think about it.

Happy Fucking Father’s Day…

After a situation in March of 2019, when my paternal family came for a “surprise” visit for my birthday along with my paternal grandmother… little would the rest of the family know about that surprise.

That also includes two half-sisters who had no idea they even had a half-brother. Not to mention these are adult siblings. Well into adults.

My cousin who used’a live the next town over, had posted this on Father’s Day 2020 on her Facebook. While I was no longer Facebook-friends with her; I saw this on her timeline…

She tags a boatload of Uncles and my father as one (redacted for the purposes of this site.) Even cousins acting like father figures. Her biological father is an apparent technophobe (guess Uncle Michael should’ve used a Macintosh instead.) that’s why there’s no mention of him in this post.

What do I have? Boston TV anchormen of the 80s and 90s? Yeah. My life is more shallow than a 20 year old. Most of my family in cousins are much younger than me leaving me to be the oldest grandchild of my Bachiyan, Japanese for grandmother.

Between March of 2019 and June of 2020, I was blaming myself for causing a ruckus on Facebook when my aunt and Bachiyan arrived for my birthday. But once I realized how my father didn’t tell the adult half-sisters, I started to realize something very telling…

I do not exist at all to him. That I am a dead fetus that should’ve occurred to begin with. And if I was born a female, perhaps the outcome would look more like the screengrab shown above from my female cousin! It was at that point I realized, there would be a different outcome if I was born a female. 

Excuse me while I continue to find someone whose got a great father-figure I long to have…

The legacy of the “label”…

While it was 28 years ago I was diagnosed with a now outdated diagnosis from the previous version of the DSM…

In the last few years, my legacy was written when it was told to me just over 22 years ago. The PDD-NOS diagnosis is really a definition of unable to do anything. It was then I was delegitimized. It was then my condition would then turn my situation into feeling inadequate…incompetent…feeling or causing despair about something… oh wait did I use my Dictionary.app and find the definition of “hopeless”? For fuck sakes alive… I thought I was being some cultist thinking all of this was some bad dream I was living the life!

Well regardless, for many who were 80s babies (like me – totally forgotten and non existent to society) – being told you had PDD-NOS in the 90s was like getting the death sentence. It’s not even close to melodrama…

In 2019, the political pollster, Frank Luntz told Frontline in a raw interview the following

“And everyone who speaks in that language that dismisses a community or dismisses somebody else, we are not just trashing them. We are dehumanizing them; we are delegitimizing them. And when you get that far, that you have no right to exist, that you have nothing to contribute to society, when we make that decision, that there is no recovering; there is no coming back, because you cease to exist. And that is where we are right now. And it scares the shit out of me because you can’t show me a time when democracy recovered.”

Frank Luntz, on the division of the US recorded in late 2019, click on the link to see this in context.

But again I must be some cultist who just is on the web too many hours a day, acting unruly with a parent that has allowed his kid to (in some ways) to mess around and not have to deal with accountability of which, kids (adults or children) have to screw around to learn risk and I have had my share of paying for responsibility… in some ways a lot more than for others that should take some responsibility and be accountable for their in-actions.

Of course, I can’t control the other’s not respond of course, I don’t need that speel again.

There’s a reason why I go-silent. Because I lost it at trying to telegraph how I feel and how others just want to really shut me up. As much as I feel that my mother should burry me, on one hand, I would feel worse for my gram and by Bachiyan (my paternal grandmother)… at least in that context I should be burying them, but in the last several years I have felt very, very distraught, and there is no point to go back to my childhood where it seemed I didn’t have to worry about my reputation and constantly check on my social capital every few minutes.

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Steven Talks to His Younger Self…

If I were to look at a picture of the younger me prior to 1999… I would say this:

Steven. Don’t make tell you I told you so… but all your present dreams will not happen. You’ll be entering into hell. You know… the thing that’s opposite from heaven and rhymes with bell? It’s best to stop dreaming your life when you hit 16, 18 or 21. It will not be as dreamy and as ideal as you think…

And this is what brought me to An Alleged AutisticA Puzzling View on Relationships and 2020:Hopeless Autistic. If only I stopped believing in myself then, maybe I wouldn’t been so angry later.

#OutspokenAutistic (December 15th, 2021)

In mid December of last year, I decided to roll my camera and speak raw for 20 minutes just crying for action as I see my peers (and worse myself) getting screwed with a really abusive culture no one is willing to call out. Why did I record this? Because I think the trigger was a conflict with my mother. Second in mid December 2021, I saw two tech YouTubers one that’s Dave’s Garage, and another who didn’t know what Boardmaker was. The third YouTuber is a female vintage Macintosh content creator, that had the undertones of a typical Londonderry-girl.

I was also feeling severely degraded, that I felt I should rename the vlobs, the Outspoken Autistic.

This is the community I want to build, the average autistics who have been silenced to obey the horrible moral corruption.

Let Down by Liz [Plank], part 2

A continuation of “What Did a ‘Feminist That Loves Men’ Do to You Personally?”

January/February 2022: Methodology of Communicating to Ms. Plank (Do. Not. Screw. This. Up!)

There wasn’t just a high awareness of who I was reaching out to. Her Airplane Mode Substack is less of social media (allegedly because she posts screengrabs of her social media); and posting positive stuff, for loving men, she trashes some, but she spills her guts as if she’s not a public figure and asks her subscribers to pay her $50 a year may I quote directly…

“If you follow me on social media, then I would appreciate it if you could make my work possible by subscribing of the media it’s my main source of income and subscribing is the best way to support my work and help me make sure I can pay my insurance premium every month so that I can keep taking the ADHD medication that allows me to keep writing this newsletter which pays for the ADHD medication.” [From Ms. Plank’s about page on her Substack.]

I will not label strangers, but I cannot confirm for sure if she has ADHD, I am assuming she’s typical unless something is verifiable. My mother told me to be careful sending money to strangers (even for public figures), and by not paying you cannot comment of any posts or see the post on Stacy London – who drives me nutso since her stupid TV series What Not to Wear aired when I was in high school. The Karen before there was a Karen… damn those GenXers. Again, the only way to get to her attention is to call out not call-in.

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