Autistics Speaking Day 2015: Appliances Talk

I don’t have any great topic to talk about that I’m up for assembling today, so I’m going to write a bit about some of the household appliances that are important in my life, and ones that are helping me live a better life.

Last weekend, my Oster Kitchen Center (which is a stand mixer that can change out parts to be a food processor, or a blender, or…) died. Specifically, the motor burned out.  This mixer has been an important part of my life for the past few years, and I have a strong emotional attachment to it. It was the perfect mixer- two bowl sizes, including a huge one, set so that it can mix even the smallest amounts of egg in the bottom. Able to handle dough and meringue, it was a great treasure for me, a dear friend.

The Oster came from my mother for my birthday a few years ago. She’d gotten it from a yard sale barely used- the woman’s grandmother had given it to her for her wedding 20 years before and it had mainly sat in a cupboard for most of that time as the woman wasn’t a wiz in the kitchen. My mom picked it up for something like $30; a good mixer with a dough-tolerant motor today is several hundred dollars, and that’s without the attachments. (Turns out that kitchenaide considers making bread for your family once a week is “commercial level of use” according to the reviewers who have reached out to their customer service on the more recent models.)

I formed a strong emotional attachment to the Oster. It was a friend to me. Just seeing it in the kitchen and knowing I’d be using it over the weekend would give me a smiling feeling. They say  that autistics might form “inappropriate” emotional attachments to objects but not people. I say it depends on the objects and the people- if the people in your life don’t know you well or don’t accept you but your object is predictable, then of course you will have stronger attachments to objects than people. I have a number of decent people in my life who try to get me that I have an attachment to, but there are also objects that are my “friends,” that I have bonded to emotionally.

The Oster and I were making meringues all last weekend. We were practicing them- my mother is gluten free, and I wanted to try using meringues for her birthday on the 27th. (Happy 50th birthday to my mom, BTW.) And then Monday I started on our final product: cute lids for the custard pies that would spell out “50” over two pies. On the second custard of 4, the mixer stopped halfway through adding the air to the egg whites. I tried the breaker box. I tried unplugging and plugging back in. I even tested the outlet. But it was the Oster’s Motor.

A close up of a pink meringue in a bowl under a mixer

I was devastated. I kept on with making the pies without the meringue, but I kept crying any time I stopped for more than a few seconds. I’m still grieving the Oster, if I’m honest, but a lot of people don’t understand that. The next day my mother let me borrow her standing mixer, but it’s not the same. the beaters don’t reach the bottom of the bowl so you can’t let it take care of things while it beats stuff. it’s harder to add things to. It’s just not the same as the Oster. And it’s not built for the level of baking I use to sooth myself.

I love baking. I love the experimenting and the building of it. I enjoy testing and developing my skills, and the Oster let me do that at a level that matched me. I might only bake on the weekends barring special occasions, but I bake a LOT on those weekends. I make my own bread, I make cakes, I make pies, I try new techniques. Now… I don’t know. It’s more economical for me to get a bread machine and a mid range mixer than a mixer that can handle bread dough regularly. I’m wary though. It will never replace the Oster for me. It won’t be the same. My heart is sick just searching. (And that doesn’t add in the food processor, which I’ll also need to replace since I use it. I have another blender, though.) Rest in machine heaven, my friend. I miss you every time I step into the kitchen.

A white Oster Kitchen Center with the Mixer part attached

The other appliance I’m going to talk about today is my Panda Washer/spin dryer.

I currently live in a second floor apartment. My joints and balance are screwy, so I walk with a cane so that when I fatigue I don’t turn my knees or ankles. I can’t carry large objects up and down the stairs very well or very consistently. Since there’s no laundry in my apartment, I’d also need a way to get laundry to and from my place to the laundromat.

Realistically this meant paying my brother to do laundry for me when it was convenient for him. He tries hard, but I couldn’t exactly be sure I’d have enough clean clothes to get me through if I had to travel. I’d periodically end up having to do laundry in my bathtub, let the laundry drip dry inside of the shower curtains, and hang the laundry all over my place. While not a huge deal to have the laundry hanging around, sometimes for a week before being dry, it’s hard to do laundry by hand.

Then a little apartment washer came through my social media feed. While a little bit pricier than I typically spend on things, it was a small fraction of the cost of a full sized washer, and it had a spin dryer. I ended up talking to my payee person and had him arrange things so I could have enough spending money the next month to purchase one.

My model is a Panda Small Compact Portable Washing Machine (6-7lbs Capacity) with Spin Dryer.  It’s more work than your typical washer but it’s a life saver. Here are the steps I follow:

  1. Making sure that the drain hose is in the sink and the drain switch is set to wash, fill the tub with the fill hose. The fill hose attaches to the sink faucet on one end, and drapes into the wash bin in the other. The fill time is about 5 minutes?
  2. Add a TINY amount of laundry soap. I’m serious, it needs hardly any.
  3. Close the lid and set the timer to the appropriate cycle length. The longest is 15 minutes, and I usually just set it to that to be certain, though it could be as low as three minutes for undergarments.
  4. When the cycle is done, switch the drain switch to drain. This takes about 5 minutes. You can optionally wring the clothes or if you have only one garment in there (like I usually do) you can throw it in the spinner while the wash tub is draining.
  5. Wipe down the wash tub, clean the lint trap and re-secure it, switch the drain switch to wash, and fill the tub again.
  6. Close the lid and set the timer to the appropriate length of time for your rinse cycle. When it’s over, double check that there aren’t suds. If there are you’ve added a little too much soap to the wash cycle and it will need another rinse. If so, repeat steps 4-6 until there aren’t suds.
  7. Drain the wash tub, and put a garment at a time, two max, in the spinner. It will spin out a lot of the water, so you’ll have something that is just damp and can be hung any where without worry. I have washing and spun something one day and been able to wear it the next.  The longest spin cycle is 5 minutes. Make sure that the load is balanced. If it is, after it is up to speed it will be very quiet. If it continues to shake, the load is unbalanced and you need to re-position it.
  8. Hang the spun clothes on hangers someplace where it can dry. There will probably be lint involved, so if you are wearing them to work or other important places, invest in a lint roller?

It is a lot of steps, but it’s a thousand times better than hand washing everything and now that my laundry is caught up, I have less of a stressor. It also is helpful for autistic reasons. I can wear literally the same dress every other day and have it be clean, instead of buying two of the same dress on sale. I can wear exactly whichever of my clothes I want when I want.

If you have easy access to a regular washer/dryer, you probably won’t understand the sheer relief I have right now. (You should probably keep with those if you have access to them- the amount of work involved can be overwhelming for people used to modern washer/dryers.) It is amazing.

small white panda washer next to my bathroom sink. It fits easily into the space and the drain hose points into the sink. The lids are closed and you can see the dials.

The down side is that I can’t wash my blankets in it. It’s not big enough for the spinner to fit the whole blankets. But it can handle individual sheets and all of my towels, and all of my dresses that can be washed in a washer. Another issue is that the drainage hose can seep a little, but it’s not enough to be a huge issue- I just have a towel there that I change out periodically and it’s fine, but buying a washer mat would also work.

You also need to keep a dish towel nearby to wipe down the lid and control panel in between tub fulls. I don’t actually count this as a downside, but some people might. The reason is that the control panel needs to be kept dry.  I had a week where the spinner timer was on the fritz because it got wet, but as soon as it dried out it was as good as new.

I also run a whites or empty cycle with bleach once a week to keep it clean and mold free. I let them soak overnight in the bleach.

So that’s the Panda washer. It has really helped me with my stress levels by making one major task less overwhelming and less unpredictable.

a red circle cross out symbol, crossed out by the same symbol facing the opposite direction in a spectrum of colors, with the words “Autistics Speaking Day 2015 participant”

Read other Autistics Speaking Day 2015 posts! Or submit your own Autistics Speaking Day 2015 post!

Why I Reject Autism Speaks

A couple of months ago, my brother sent me a text. Did I  want to go to the Autism walk with him and Em?

I did a quick google and found, as I had suspected, that the benefactor was Autism Speaks, and I responded in the negative. I also did my quick bullet points of reasons not to support them- not even the in depth version, just the elevator speech version. I also did another focusing on their media presence. Here’s a transcript:

Me: They promote a tragedy model of autism and act like the desire to murder your kid is understandable to have? Also they refuse to have any autistic people at all on their board and the one guy who was on their advisory quit because they didn’t listen to anything he told them. Only 4% of their budget goes to families. Most of the money doesn’t make it back to the communities it comes out of. Instead it goes to their media machine.

Wil: I see that’s lame as hell we were going to go but not anymore that’s way messed up.

Me: Next [time] you are on YouTube google Autism Every Day to see a mom talk about wanting [to] drive herself and her kid off a bridge IN FRONT OF SAID KID and not doing so because of her non-autistic child. Or the I Am Autism one where they took film from families not telling them that the voice over would be about autism destroying families. ❤ [heart emoji] Thanks for listening!

Wil: Yeah I’ll check ’em out thanks for the info. We were gonna take her parent’s car and go ‘n bring you along but after hearing all that we were both like nooooope.

This was one of the LEAST difficult attempts at educating people, and I didn’t even have to drop in too much detail.

I didn’t have to talk about their allowing the JRC to advertise at their events. The JRC uses painful skin shocks on students with disabilities. It deprives children of food as punishment for even small behaviors. It has been called a human rights violation by the UN’s torture investigator.

As for the guy who left their advisory: He posted an open letter when he left.  (He might still retain hope that they could reform, but I don’t.) It was the science advisory, by the way- not the board. I have seen some people thinking that it was the board, but it wasn’t- there’s never been an autistic on their actual board.

While I mentioned that only 4% (really less than) of their budget goes to helping autistics and our families, I didn’t go into details about how they spend more on catering. I didn’t note that “fundraising” makes up 25% of their budget, and Advertising and similar “awareness” another 30%.

I didn’t note that the research they fund goes towards eliminating people like me. I didn’t mention the prenatal testing research that they’ve supported, or how if they find a successful test it will eliminate people like me before we are born. (Similar tests for people with Down Syndrome? 9/10 times, the parents become convinced to abort the fetus, often due to misinformation about Down Syndrome.) I didn’t mention that their research projects don’t take privacy of autistics seriously. It doesn’t take the idea of autistics giving informed consent seriously either. Only between 1-2% of their research funding goes towards quality of life related research that would help autistics today.

I have a strong belief of “Nothing about us, without us.” And that alone would be enough for me to reject Autism Speaks. But the way that they treat us, the way that they treat hating us, pitying us, and getting rid of us? The way that they manipulate our families? That really does seal my rejection of them.


 

Please check out the #BoycottAutismSpeaks flashblog for other people’s reasons to oppose Autism Speaks.

Here’s the most recent letter from ASAN to Autism Speak’s Sponsors about why they should drop their support.

Here’s GoldenHeartedRose’s Master Post about Autism Speaks.

Here’s the stuff AutisticHoya has written about Autism Speaks.

Here’s my older post about rejecting Autism Speaks, “Why I’m Not Blue.

#DearMe (For International Women’s Day 2015)

Today was International Women’s Day!  On Youtube, they’ve been doing a campaign for it called #DearMe. In this campaign, you make a video letter to your younger self. A lot of the big vloggers did it, and some encouraged others to do it. (You can also submit a gif.) About the time I discovered this, Thrive contacted me about doing something similar for their Letters to Thrive project.  That settled it for me- I was doing a #DearMe video.

I’ve embedded the video below, and the script I worked from below that. The video is captioned- if it’s not showing the captions, click through to watch on youtube. The text at the end of the video is from Laura Hershey’s You Get Proud By Practicing.

Dear Me, By which I mean young me,

A couple of things. Number 1: You are disabled. This is not a dirty word and isn’t shameful. In addition to being someone with mental health disabilities (which you’ve already owned, go you!) you are Autistic. I know at this point in your life, you still get very very upset any time staff bring it up. It is okay- this isn’t shameful either.

Also, your joints aren’t supposed to bend that way (It’s called hypermobility, and means you can get hurt easier) and the random pains you have will eventually get the name “fibro.” Neither are because of your weight or malingering, despite what Rick told you. By the time you hit my age, you will use a cane- which contrary to what you think, is super badass and femme- and a service dog, who makes your life a LOT easier to navigate.

Number 2: Don’t follow a boy to school. Trust me on this. Instead look for schools that might offer you a scholarship, and possibly ones that have a history of social justice or disability studies. Speaking of scholarships, keep applying for those- I know it feels like you’ve applied for tons but keep at it. You’ll need them.

Get accomodations from disability services. You need them, and they exist so that people like you can focus on actually learning. I know you are still going through your “I am crazy, but JUST FINE. This is FINE.” phase, but it isn’t and REALLY isn’t worth it.

History will become a hobby for you, and that is ok. (Also when you get a moment google “Anthropology.” You’re welcome.)

Number 3: You will eventually become someone who loves policy meetings. You know those things mom help you get invites to about mental health? That’s going to be more the direction that your career goes, not academia. And that is okay. You know that drive to see justice and equality? That passion will become the driving force in your work and in your life.

The internet will be really important as well. You already know this- you had it open things up for you already, and you now have things called, “friends.” It can do that and more for others, too. Don’t give up or get discouraged when people act like it is a waste of time. As you know now, it isn’t, and it will eventually make up about 80% of your work.

You will eventually find words for what was done to you, and it will make things better for others.

Number 4: Don’t let yourself make your sense of self worth be about your smarts or being perfect if you can. I know that Rick made it seem like if you messed up, even a tiny bit, that you would get locked away. That if it wasn’t for your smarts, that you would already be locked up. He was wrong, and you were right. You. Were. Right. You are worth it, you are valuable, and you are wonderful just by being you.

Shown on Screen:

Remember, you weren’t the one
Who made you ashamed,
But you are the one
Who can make you proud.
Just practice,
Practice until you get proud, and once you are proud,
Keep practicing so you won’t forget.
You get proud
By practicing.

You Get Proud By Practicing, by Laura Hershey

3/8/15, International Women’s Day

Guest Post: Morénike Onaiwu on Why the Autistic PoC Anthology is Important

Today I’ve invited Morénike Onaiwu to write about the importance of the Autism and Race Anthology that Autism Women’s Network is fundraising to put out with Lydia Brown (aka Autistic Hoya.) While I do find the anthology incredibly important myself and could sit here and type up a ton about representation, I feel that it is important to carry the principles that having an anthology about Autistic PoC be written by Autistic PoC exemplifies into how I help promote it. So aside from signal booting about it on my social media, I’m pleased to welcome Morénike to be the first guest post ever on this blog. 


 

A family shot of a woman with two young children sitting piled together on an indoor hammock.

Morénike and her two children.

 

Though I was obviously “born this way,” on paper, I’ve only been “officially” Autistic for under a year. What now seem to me like obvious signs of being on the spectrum were always explained away as “something else.” For adult Autistic women, such experiences are not uncommon. However, I strongly believe that it is not just my gender that contributed to my being “missed” for over three decades. I am certain it is at least partially due to my color as well. You see, I am a black woman – and growing up, autism simply didn’t “look” like me.

My name is Morénike, and I am a board member of the Autism Women’s Network (AWN) as well as an Autistic advocate and parent (of Autistic and non-Autistic children). I’m honored to appear as a guest blogger today to post about a topic that’s very important to me – and that I believe should be important to you. Though I am somewhat of a newbie to Autistic advocacy, my interest and commitment are sincere. But regardless of who I am, this issue is one that I hope you will be willing to lend your support to.

There is a quite a bit more understanding of autism in 2014 than there was in the ’80’s when I was a child. However, one thing that hasn’t changed much is that neither the public “face” not “voice” of autism is reflective of the diversity of Autistic people, whom do not all have the same skin tone as Temple Grandin or the child actor from “Parenthood.” Autistics of all hues are working to increase the solidarity of various groups within our community and to amplify the voices of those of us who are less represented, so things are gradually improving. But change takes time. In the large, multicultural city where I live, I can still easily pick my two Autistic children out in a crowd when we attend local autism events; clearly there’s still much more to be done.

Fortunately, an exciting Autism Women’s Network (AWN) project is underway that will highlight the voices of Autistic people of color. Edited by another AWN board member, Lydia Brown (a talented Autistic writer and blogger), the project – an Autism and Race Anthology – will fill a much-needed void and will help to make the discourse surrounding autism more inclusive of racialized individuals. I cannot emphasize enough how significant this project is. However, to make this anthology a reality, we need help!!! YOUR help. Here’s how you can make this anthology a reality:

  • Signal boost this project. Tweet about it! Post about it on your blogs, on tumblr, on Facebook, on other social media venues. We need to spread the word far and wide.
  • Donate. A little money can go a long way. AWN is committed to making the anthology accessible, so it will need to be created in various types of media formats. To do this, funds are required. Only about a third of the money that is needed has been raised. We really need more! Please donate, and also share widely to encourage those that you know to also help with a donation!
  • Submit! We heavily encourage any person of color who identifies as Autistic to contribute to the anthology. Submissions are being accepted from now through the month of November, and acceptable formats include poetry, narrative, and more.

Please visit the link below to get more detailed information about the anthology and how you can help. Thank you!

Donate via the Autism and Race IndieGoGo.

Check out the submission guidelines for the anthology and consider submitting.

Today and Yesterday (This is Autism)

Today, Monday November 18th is the “This is Autism” flash blog. From the official website for the This is Autism Flashblog on Monday, Nov. 18, 2013:

Tell us what “This is Autism” means to you. You can write a paragraph or a blog post, contribute a poem or a video, make a comic or a graphic. Use your imagination. Let’s tell the world what autism is in the words and works of autistic people and those who love and support them.

I personally have a hard time writing for flash blogs- the timeline means I inevitably feel like what I can churn out in the time span isn’t polished enough, or put in order enough. Sometimes I just end up spitting something out (like today) and moving on, but more often I sadly watch the time span of the flash drift by while I grope about the time soup for words. While it’s true that some days something clicks and the words come out fitting together like some sort of expert Tetris player is winning a tournament in my head, most of the time spitting out the “articulate” is a long, time and energy consuming process. On the worst days, it’s like putting together a blank jig saw with relatively uniform pieces. It can be done, but it’s time consuming and when a deadline is added the soothing rhythm of the process is lost.

Time soup is probably the best description of how I experience time- I know it’s swirling by, but unless I have anchor points the rate or even the order I’ve past the memory ingredients is a bit fuzzy. In high school, I collected wall calendars. When asked to draw a dream art studio in art class, there was a wall filled with calendars hanging in rows. Having that reminder that there’s meaning to that chaos was helpful. Now, though, I don’t have any wall calendars. I don’t even have a (functioning) wall clock. Though there’s an antique clock on my mantle, I often forget to wind it as it has a function of reminding me of the past, of history, rather than of actually telling me where I am in my own story.

Instead I remember things by attaching them to documentable events, ones that I can either do math for (I graduated HS in 2006, so since x happened in 9th grade and it was spring, it was 2003.) or that I can research (We saw Titanic in the theater the week grandpa Logsdon was buried, but it was after the new year, so he died in 1998 since Titanic came out 19th December 1997.) I can’t always locate my memories within the timeline in a timely fashion, so I look for another memory that I can locate in a hurry. But there are some things, some events, some orders that I can remember that have very little actual use.

While I’m physically capable of numerous things self care wise (though as my physical health alters, that number fluctuates) my difficulties with time mean that I can’t identify if it’s time for y task to happen. I also will look at a room, and be unable to identify what task comes next out of this larger picture of this room needs cleaned. Unlike words, visually ordering jigsaws or physical objects doesn’t translate to real world situations. The process of planning out all the steps and then motor planning those steps enough to put into action just aren’t able to set- a bit like jello that refuses to set before you need to leave. Sometimes it works enough to get something done, but more often I end up with a sad, soupy mess.

But this is why I get help- my sister is being paid to clean my house; someone in an office somewhere schedules my transportation and hotel for an event; a friend walks with me after a hard day so that I don’t forget my purpose, or so that I don’t forget that there’s a purpose to the lit up man on the sign across the street. It is why I can see the networks of people I’m building up around me, crystallizes relationship webs- like frost making them visible in the early morning. It reminds me of the last time my best friend called me to work out a problem of his, the last time I texted him because I couldn’t figure out my emotions and it helped.

I might not know how long ago it was, but I can build off of the memory of brushing someone’s hair, the beautiful meditative process of granting that tiny help in the eye of executive chaos. It reminds me, too, of another friend’s iron revealing imagined patterns as I ironed on office carpets, and of that friend and I sharing a moment full of leaves granting peace as time hurtled forward. Or of writing back and forth with a parent, using the well of my memories to help improve their child’s life. Of exchanging the same words over and over, back and forth in an echolalic loop that bubbles up with meaning that we don’t explicitly voice- relationship. Of sharing a moment where words are meaningless, and in behavior dwells our meaning.

Of community, built together in ways that without connections able to be built alike we wouldn’t have access to. Of community that we own, rather than attempting to purchase access to through the blood and tears of normalization. Of community that doesn’t demand indistinguishability- just acceptance. Of community, that feels the same stings and can sometimes come together in many bits and pieces to make a bigger response than any one behavior alone.

This may be relatively stream of consciousness, and it certainly didn’t go where I thought it would, but it came to a valid point- that the community we form when we accept our autistic selves, when we value the autistic selves of each other, is one of the most powerful forces of autism. It is building, not destruction, defining our autism. And together it makes us powerful.

 

A red square with white and pink text, saying

The official logo of the “This is Autism” flash blog.

I Was One of the Scary Kids

Content note: ableism, stigmatization of Autistics and other PWDs, the Sandy Hook shooting

I didn’t want to write about the shootings at all. I knew a number of people (who I’ll link to throughout this post) and organizations would be posting and writing, working to counter the inevitable stigma fail that would happen. I even was keeping to commenting on the links of people I care about, people who I know and who I want to have these sorts of discussions with. Then, it happened. I’ll leave the critiques of the post gawker promoted to others, but I feel obligated to make a comment about some of the assumptions it is based on and promotes.

That comment starts with a declaration: I was one of those scary kids.

It’s not some great proud thing to say. It’s a truth, a truth that when I reveal it makes people behave differently. Admitting that you were a “scary kid” means that people heighten their bar of behavior for you even more than a simple disability disclosure does. It makes even normal responses to threatening situations take on a sinister light to others. Telling someone to back off goes from angry to a threat. Pushing away someone who feels entitled to your body becomes violence rather than defense from it.

It makes people suspicious. It makes people question your ability to accurately report crime, abuse, or health concerns. When you are a former scary kid and let people know, they don’t want to hire you in meaningful positions — or sometimes at all — they don’t want you living in their buildings, and they don’t want you learning at their schools. Your opportunities are curtailed. You are told all the things you will never do.

All of these are true of having certain disabilities to begin with, but when you add in a confession of having been one of those scary kids it is heightened.

I was a scary kid. It makes me sad, but only because I actually don’t like scaring people, though I often can’t tell.

Before the age of 14, I was the sort of child that service providers recommend parents to place in a residential setting — that is, juvenile mental health institutions. Parents were — and are sometimes still — encouraged to relinquish them to the state, who would willingly pay for this kind of care. My mother fought it, and demanded community based services and the training my providers needed to provide it. But she was pressured the entire time, and when I was reviewing her records last year I found boxes of pamphlets and packets that she was given to encourage my placement in those settings.

I also found her private journals about our lives at that time. These were journals she might only ever show excerpts from to a therapist, but were meant to be private accounts. It was scary for her. I cried when I read them, because it was horrible to realize that I had made my mother feel so horrible and hadn’t known. I had not realized that anyone would have interpreted my behavior in a truly scary way, that they wouldn’t see the same causes that I was reacting to.  But she was terrified in those pages — the ones she never meant for anyone but herself to read. Even in her advocacy work, she wouldn’t say that certain events were from my life, just that they had happened to “a young person” she knows. Even the things that she was terrified about.

In the pages of that private journal, she talks about the times I would charge at or by her. To me, I was desperately trying to escape a scary situation for me. To her, it was a charging at. I would throw things, and at the time didn’t have the impulse control to find soft things in a safe space. I never aimed at people, but to her I just had really bad aim. I screamed, and I said things that made little sense — I was scared and angry and frustrated that I couldn’t articulate it. These were seen as threats. When I was put in a scary situation, I would flail and push to try to get out of it — and these were seen as violence. When she left on trips, I was taken with her because she was worried what would happen if I was left with a babysitter.

Most of the episodes she chronicled for her private memory keeping were ones that she never saw the cause for. So many start with, “I came home from work, and Savannah…” It took me until into my twenties to be able to articulate what happened before — that her second husband had provoked responses and behaviors. How he would tell me I was fat, lazy, and that I would never be competent. How he would threaten me with sending me away.  How he did any one of a number of things that would set off my behaviors. There’s no coincidence that the behaviors dramatically decreased a year after he left- at 14, I even was off medication.

Not all the behaviors were triggered by him — some of them were reactions that I didn’t know how to handle internally. Some of them were because of how my internal state from incorrect prescriptions made things harder to deal with. Some of them were from being unable to handle fear, frustration, and change internally. Change was a big trigger for me, and set off the start of my fear responses. I just didn’t have the skills to handle those states. I would go on to develop them, but I didn’t have them yet.

For me, those times were scary because of the outside world, because of confusion at people’s responses, and because of people using my being a “scary kid” as a weapon. To her, I was scary and she didn’t know and couldn’t predict fully why. She understands it now — time, observation of me growing up and learning, my finally being able to properly articulate what was happening for me in those times.

My mother doesn’t regret keeping it private, between her and her private journal or her therapist. Today she was at  a consumer and family advisory for our behavioral health managed care organization (BHMCO). They read that gawker article, and my mother was appalled. She has scary stories about me, but the idea of sharing them in a way that associated them publicly with me was a horrifying violation of privacy and good sense to her. She was struck by the negativity of the piece, of the author. And she noticed how it relies on and perpetuates stigma, and jumps to conclusions.

Having been one of those scary kids is scary.

It’s not scary in and of itself. What made it scary to have been one is what people assume based on it — and what they assume when you don’t disclose.

I’ve had people try to justify things from the JRC’s electric shocks to denying someone an integrated learning environment, to defend seclusion/restraint to “therapy” induced injuries and even deaths using my fellow former scary kids as their reasons. The kids with “significant disabilities.” The ways that other people saw my behaviors — things I didn’t know at the time- are the same things I hear from people trying to justify violence and isolation towards kids and adults with disabilities.

They also project forward to futures that are inaccurate, contributing to the problems that us scary kids face when we grow up. They say we will become criminals, or will commit violent crime, that we will be a danger to society. That we are “sleeper agents” of mass murder. They say that of course people who have had such and such a diagnosis, especially when you are also a scary kid, will do certain things or will never do other things. That we couldn’t successfully ever live on our own, that we’ll never graduate, never hold a job for long, will never have successful, healthy relationships. That we are doomed. And while not all scary kids have mental health disabilities (and not all kids with MHDs are scary kids), those who have developmental disorders with the right behaviors are lumped in.

When I- and others who are autistic, have Mental Health Disabilities, or both — talk back with truth, we are denied. When we talk about how having xyz diagnosis doesn’t mean we will do stuff, when we point out that we aren’t mass murderers, we are shut down. When we talk about how yes, mental health reform is important but that it shouldn’t come out of stigma, coercion  and false equivalence, we are told that we are calling other scary kids lost causes. When we point out that we don’t have enough information, we are dismissed. When we disclose, we are called too close to the issue. Even when our mothers join us.

In reality, only 5% — or 1 in 20 — of those in jail for violent offenses entered jail with a diagnosable condition. The other 95% did not present as diagnosable on entry. Most of those with diagnosable conditions are there on non-violent and drug offenses, including a number of which are a symptom of a lack of supports rather than their conditions themselves. Some estimates place the rate of Mental Illness at 50% of the inmate population, and yet only a very small percentage are there for violent crimes.

In reality, these impressions of us make us targets of crimes. People with “Serious Mental Illnesses” are more than twice as likely to be a victim of a violent crime. We are targeted for sexual assault, particularly if we are or are seen as women. We are likely to feel stuck in abusive relationships, or to have people use our diagnostic status as justification for abuse. And that is just the violent crimes  — we are astronomically more likely to be victims of personal theft, and 4 times more likely to be victims of property theft.

In reality, the stigma and stereotypes that people are promoting mean discrimination in employment, in housing, even in healthcare and courts. It means having people turning their backs on friendships and relationships when they find out, even if you are relatively stable now, even if you have the supports that make it irrelevant. It means people leaving if you have a setback that they would stand by someone without your diagnostic history for.

It is facing stigma, or hiding from it, sometimes at great cost. I certainly made a lot of poor choices based on trying to hide having been a scary kid, even when I wasn’t hiding having Mental Health Disabilities.

Being a Scary Kid isn’t certain doom.

They told my mother and I that I would never graduate high school and I’d never get into college. Some speculated I’d need to live in a group home or a more intense, and that I’d never live on my own. Some thought I’d get sucked into crime based on my psych history alone. Some said I’d off myself before I turned 18, 21, or 25.

I graduated high school — my siblings, the non-scary kids, dropped out and either have or are working on their GEDs. I even aced a number of classes, and other than my last semester (which was sucked up in depression) was pretty much tops. I’ve had some unsuccessful attempts to live on my own in the past, but those had to do with daily living skills more than being scary. Right now I’m living relatively successfully on my own, even if it did follow a period of homelessness. I did get into college easily, even if I had to drop out for a mix of financial and ADL deficit reasons. I’ve never been in jail.

I celebrated my 25th birthday in August. I am alive, and though my health isn’t the best I am surviving and working towards my own personal wellness.

I have little in common with the things they assumed. My scary is now just the normal stigma that any of us, autistic, with mental health disabilities, or both, face. I do struggle, but not in the ways that were assumed when I was a scary kid.

Being a scary kid is just that — having behaviors that scare people when you are a kid. It doesn’t mean you have a particular diagnosis or neurotype. It isn’t predictive of being a mass murderer or anything else- heck, a lot of the people who are mass murderers, diagnosed with something or not, didn’t reach the heights of being “scary kids” when they were younger. Not scary the way I was, or others were.

When I point out to try not to link scary kids to criminal violence, particularly of the mass murder sort, I’m not saying that services and supports aren’t needed. I’m saying that they would be even if we never had a massive violent event. I’m saying none of us are doomed, if only we combat stigma and prejudice at every chance, be it ableism, racism, or classism that we are talking about.

When I tell you no, I mean that none of us are lost causes.

Payment

[Content: Abuse, ableism]

I don’t want younger Autistics to learn some of the skills I have- or, at least, not the way I learned them.

Let me explain- it’s not that I’m against someone deciding to learn a new skill that they want or need to learn to achieve things that they want. I’m not against teaching a kid of any neurology new things as they explore their world. But there are some things that aren’t worth the trauma- the long term emotional damage- of how they are taught. Or, at least, of how they are taught to Autistics.

Recently, I was teaching a friend how to do dishes. Step by step, gently, with examples and tips. Feel as you wash- if you feel any grease or food bits, it’s not clean yet and you need to keep scrubbing. Later, I paused in the middle of pouring myself some water. You know, that’s not how I learned to do dishes. I learned it traumatically.

My mother was working when we first had “big” solo chores. We rotated chores between all three siblings. My mother’s second husband, whose death I talked about in my last post, was the adult on hand for chores. He herded me into the kitchen, and told me to do the dishes.

It wasn’t “casual” ableism that he used then. It was fierce and directed. He loomed over me when I said I didn’t know how, and used it as “proof” that I wasn’t really smart- the only alternative had to be that I was lazy. So I tried doing the dishes while he went off to do his thing. I pondered on the fact that there’s cross cultural archetypes of Cinderella while I tried. When I finished, I would declare it with relief.

He would loom again, and wave the dishes in my face. He would tell me I was obviously trying to get out of doing my fair share, because they weren’t done right. And so I did them again, over and over. I think I threw up a couple of times at first- I hate the oily texture at the bottom of the sink when people fail to scrape their plates, and the smell of used dish water. Letting the water run was not allowed if Rick was watching, so the smell and oilyness of the first rinse was there, while the soap bubbles waited in the second sink for a rinse. Not even gloves were an option- instead, I was to learn to deal with the sensory assault that was my “fair share” of keeping the household.

I believe he enjoyed his use of humiliation. His combination of verbal and physical intimidation was effective in eventually teaching me basic skills like this, the very technical skills that are the building blocks of independent living skills. The process was repeated with a lot of skills and “skills”. Vaccuming and laundry went hand in hand with passing, with not looking “crazy” and not echoing “nonsense”.

The Wise man doesn’t speak what he knows. And I wanted to be wise, because according to Rick, no one would believe I was competent.

It was better when my mother was home, but there would be little reminders that would just seem stern without the context that happened when she was at work. But the repetitive enforcement of my lack of skills, of how bad I was at covering, at passing, was just as destructive if not more than the times he loomed over me. The same things I observe being used to teach kids with similar behaviors today were the hardest part.

When the inevitable meltdown happened, it seemed, from the notes she took, unprompted or triggered by things that were relatively innocuous. That’s not to say I wasn’t easily triggered before, but they were always specific things, things she could figure out.

Rick had been gone for more than 5 years before I could articulate half of what happened to me. It was two more before I could do it well enough to get it across to my mother how much she had missed.

The damage done in the name of teaching me skills isn’t worth the skills. It isn’t worth the years of self hate, the years of denying myself the services and supports I needed in order to prove his tirades wrong. It isn’t worth the nightmares I still have of his eyes when enduring forced eye contact.

Look me in the eyes. If I let you grab my chin and point it somewhere- especially at a face- you know I trust you.

You want to talk about how hard it will be for your son? How you just want your daughter to get married some day? Stop. Stop thinking about your own wishes, your own images of how your kid’s life will go. Look at the skills they show interest in. Find what they are personally ready for, instead of what some book says is “developmentally appropriate.” Let them build their own image of what success is.

Because the trauma of forcing someone into a schedule they aren’t ready for? Of forcing unneeded skills? Of removing non-harmful but socially difficult coping skills? Of holding up your own wishes and ideals as the goal?

Isn’t worth the trauma.

The Hard Things

Often, but especially this month, there tends to be a false equivalency that gets promoted- that Neurodiversity advocates ignore the hard things, or that we don’t experience the hard things. From there, self-advocates are told that we can’t speak to the lives of other, usually younger, Autistics.  Obviously this is false. The hard things are a part of our lives, are a core part of them.

On the 18th of March, I had to go to Baltimore. To manage airports, I have a pretty set script that I follow in order to make sure that I make it through the airport and flights. Usually it works fairly well, and if I get confused I let a security person know I”m Autistic and it typically works out. The first time I went through security by myself, I had a TSA agent walk me through the security point step by step. (I have a soft spot for Pittsburgh, PA’s TSA agents as they’ve treated me fairly well. I can’t speak for anyone else’s experiences though.) I’ve had people let me be or give me appropriate instructions when I’ve lost words. Mostly I have decent experiences. Not as peaceful as trains, but decent.

Except this time I flew southwest, and their gate check process is different. Instead of picking your bag up at the gate, they put it through to the carousel in bag claim, and instead count it as a late bag check. A bit nerve wracking as I rarely if ever do a regular bag check. But this wasn’t the hard part. Nor was sitting on the floor next to the assigned baggage carousel for an hour. (I took video of myself rocking there, and it is edited in with other video on my youtube channel.) But by the time I got through what my bag looked like, I couldn’t verbalize words any longer. The words went away. Thankfully the BWI Southwest baggage customer service acted like it wasn’t unusual at all for someone to get out a netbook and start typing instead of talking. I also had to get help getting on the van- which was directly across the room- to the hotel.

That evening, I had to leave dinner because I couldn’t sit upright any more. My brain was completely done, and I poured coffee on the table because I could no longer judge where my cup was in space. The next morning, I couldn’t get out of bed because I had no clean clothes. The very thought of putting on dirty clothes Shut me down for hours. Thankfully, the thing I was at was Developmental Disability centered, so the organizers were understanding, ordered me lunch, managed dealin with the airline and hotel, and the person I was supposed to facilitate with took over my duties. (Thank you Nachama!)

And this is only a mildly hard “day.”

Even the tiny Hard things add up. Loud noises making me need to hide, camera flashes leaving me utterly disoriented, the wrong smells, colors, and textures- the little hard things could make me have issues where I would normally have none or even where I’d normally excel. I curl up in a ball in a grocery store because I don’t know the practical steps rather than economic difference between using credit and debit. I sit on floors in airports for hours because I can’t figure out the steps to get to my hotel. I get C-Diff or MRSA because I can’t remember when to clean. I pee myself because I hear the wrong noise and become scared. I can’t tell until the last moment that I need the restroom, and then I better get running before I forget or lose control.

A thousand tiny hard things.

I had to live off campus because I didn’t understand paperwork for housing and couldn’t figure out that I needed help. I had to drop out of school and became house bound for 6 months because I didn’t understand or know how to ask for help with school tuition or paperwork. I watched my carefully laid goals collapse, and can’t do anything beyond repress and hide when people I know graduate or talk about completing midterms. I lose my ability to conceptualize my goals after having plans go awry.

A thousand hard things.

Becoming homeless for a thousand tiny reasons. Being unable to navigate the housing system, and having to rely almost entirely on my Intensive Case Manager to even fill out the forms let alone deal with the people. Having difficulty with a form because I want to answer truthfully but have no idea how much people have spent buying me toilet paper- and then crying, pacing, yelling the same phrase repeatedly and staring at blank walls. Hiding in my 3 year old niece’s closet because I can’t calm myself, can’t process my environment further to get away from what is bothering me. Being trapped in town because I can’t speak that day and I need to find a way out.

Hard things.

Knowing something is wrong, large or small, and not having the words for it for 5 years. Being told I’m articulate when I can’t get my basic needs across to be met. Trying to report abuse, and not having the words to articulate it yet- then having my call dismissed because of my disabilities and inability to articulate it. Pressing myself into walls or running into them full stop because the pressure is soothing and I can’t get my world to stop- and then being treated poorly for daring to do so. Being put through unneeded procedures because my self soothing behaviors look scary to others, and echoing (oh echolalia!) their words back when they ask why I do them- Is it because of self hate, self loathing? Do you want to die?- because I don’t have the words yet to tell them how it really feels in my head.

Life is full of hard things.

But the hard things don’t make that life less worthy. It doesn’t make it okay to deny accessibility. It doesn’t mean you can’t adjust a little- and often to mutual benefit- to make the world more navigable to us.

The Hard Things don’t take the joy out of it. It doesn’t make the self soothing activities less self soothing. It doesn’t take the joy of observing the infinite diversity of our world within even human neurology- a joy that we can share, if we are willing, despite having infinitely diverse faiths or even having none at all. It doesn’t make my niece’s bringing me my stuffed cat less an act of love. That my former cat, ‘baka, was my service animal that I needed to help me self regulate doesn’t make my affection- nor even my grief at her passing- less deep.

The Hard Things, though, mean that you will look at them and say:

I don’t want that for my kid.

That is not safe.

That is too strange to do in public.

If you’d only “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” and get over it, the hard things wouldn’t be hard.

Your tears and meltdowns prove my point of your incompetence/that you will always be a child.

instead of finding a way to make the hard things livable. Instead of accepting that I need help today even if I didn’t yesterday. That I am an adult who is able to make my own choices- even when they are bad ones. That the reason it’s so strange is because of repression. That there are ways to make this all safe. That risk is a part of being human.

That there is joy in being one’s self.

Written for Autism Acceptance Day and Month. Many Thanks to Paula Durbin-Westby for originating Autism Acceptance Day and all the effort she has put into this event- please go check out some of the other posts she’s collected. Thanks also to Emily T for her sharp editorial eye.

There Are No Words.

I wish I could say something new about George Hodgins.

I wish there were words to really express
what a tragedy his death is,
and the deaths of other Autistics,
other People with Disabilities.

There aren’t words.

Just as there aren’t words to express
what horror and tragedy
the Murder of Trayvon Martin
Who was Black, but not Autistic
or of Stephon Watts, who was black
and Autistic and scared, holding a
butter knife, or the murder of
Ernest Vassell last fall for
holding a toy gun while Black
and Autistic. (Or the arrests
of Neli Latson, and of his mother
for calling people on racism.)
This is what has been done to
Young Black Men in this country.
To Young Black PwD.

There aren’t words.

There aren’t words for
the horror of  baby Rylan
Rochester
, age 6 months,
whose mother thought he
might be Autistic after working
At a hospital serving Autistics
and so she smothered him.

There can’t be words.

There can’t be words for
The grief, anger, and fear
of living in a world where
Hate, fear, bigotry, and
complex social mythologies
Let people make excuses
for murder. Lets them empower
Blais after her sentance, or
air Latimer’s vitrol while
blocking dissenting comments.

All I can do is show you other words,
and hope they can be enough.

_____

In memory of George:

Kassiane at Radical Neurodivergence’s You keep killing us, and I am PISSED and The words said for George.

Autcast’s Why I No Longer Support the Autism Society of America

Lydia at Autistic Hoya’s Letter to the Parents of Autistic Children and Not human anymore – Is this what “ally” means?

Amanda at You Need A Cat’s Another murder. Please no.

Weird Law’s When perfection is deadly

Shannon Des Roches Rosa for BlogHer’s My Autistic Son’s Life: Not Less Valuable

Brenda at Mama Be Good’s Perpetuating the Stereotype: Autism, Parenting, & Murder

Other links of relevance:

Krip-Hop Nation’s Broken Bodies Pbp: Police Brutality & Profiling Mixtape and Where Is Hope? Documentary

In Memory of Stephon, Justice for Stephon Watts.

Not Dead Yet

Second Thoughts

Disability Rights Education and Defense Fund on Assisted Suicide

Please comment to add more links on these issues.

_____

March 30th and on, Vigils for People with Disabilities Murdered by Relatives and Caregivers are happening under the direction of ASAN. These are cross disability events. The current list of vigils is at the above link, and if you absolutely can’t find a way to get to a vigil in person, I’ll be hosting the virtual vigil via tiny chat for those who are in rural areas or are housebound. (After all we are people too, even when our disabilities keep us in our homes or we live in the country.) But please, try to get to or organize a vigil in person if at all possible!

Quiet No More- The Loud Hands Project

“Remember, you weren’t the one / who made you ashamed, / but you are the one / who can make you proud.”  – Laura Hershey, You Get Proud By Practicing

I think a lot of the people who read my blog are also people who have read Quiet Hands by Julia Bascom. (I actually already linked to it in my own Rocking (and Flapping) at a 1000 Revolutions a Minute.) If you haven’t yet, please go do so either now or after you’ve finished reading this post. Julia got a massive response, as Quiet Hands went viral. It became very obvious that it was describing an experience that a lot of us have either experienced or have observed, sometimes unaware of the emotional and communicative consequences.

One of the devastating effects of the phenomena that Quiet Hands describes is how it silences Autistic communication. For many of us- and particularly those of us with verbal communication difficulties- our hands are our primary communicative tool1. We stim with our hands, we supplement our language with gestures and pantomime, we use languages like ASL with our hands, we type with our hands, and even utilize AAC devices with them. Things we do with our hands is how we connect with one another- even if that community building isn’t recognized by others. So when our hands are stilled, we are silenced and isolated.

What, with this context, does having “Loud Hands” mean? Obviously it would have to embody the opposite of- and possibly counter to- the silencing described above.

The Loud Hands Project (which is being run as a project of ASAN) demonstrates a pretty good idea of what it could mean to have Loud Hands. The project description defines Loud Hands as “autism acceptance, neurodiversity, Autistic pride, community, and culture, disability rights and resistance, and resilience.” Essentially, efforts that work counter to the silencing and discrediting that comes with a culture that denies Autistics the ability to communicate in ways that are natural to us.

The Loud Hands Project (LHP) is planning on being a transmedia project, spearheaded by Julia Bascom. The current focus is on putting together a written anthology that will serve basically as a foundation document. Submission guidelines/call for submissions for the written anthology went live on January 8th. They include a number of prompts on what it means to be Autistic and aspects of Autistic culture, but they welcome submissions that aren’t answering the prompts while still reflecting “questions about neurodiversity, Autistic pride and culture, disability rights and resistance, and resilience (known collectively as having loud hands.)”

From there, the plan is to focus on multiple mediums as a way of documenting and curating Autistic culture and community, particularly as related to the afore mentioned concept of what Loud Hands means. And I do mean curating- one of the stated goals is to collect and store some of the founding documents of the Autistic community.

Another major direction is looking to be video projects, starting with the trailer (more on that in a moment). I’ve noticed a lot of brain storming for future videos for the LHP media collection, but the actual non-written media submissions aren’t open yet. (Opening of those submissions is still to be determined.) They are welcoming your ideas/brainstorming for future non-written submissions though! Eventually I believe that they will join the trailer on the Loud Hands Project Youtube channel.

Fundraising efforts- LHP is using indiegogo– were launched December 26th with the video below. (You can read a visual transcription/description on tumblr or at the youtube page itself.)

In the first 24 hours, the indiegogo campaign raised over $3000- and over $6000 at the end of the first week. As of 9:30pm January 10th (when I’m composing this entry) it hit $7463 USD. Fundraising ends March 15th with a goal of $10000 USD. UPDATE:  January 14th the $10000 goal was met. They are still collecting funds though- see the bottom of this post for more on this!

You can see the support levels, along with the number of people contributing at each level, at the LHP indiegogo page. Each support level has a different corresponding “reward” for your donation, ranging from a thank you email, to PDF pre-releases of the anthology, to signed hard copies donated to libraries in your name.

I personally feel that it is a much needed project, and am totally excited about it. As such, I’ve been trying to contribute in any way I can to this effort. I wrote the Visual Transcription mentioned above, as well as designing the Blog Badges (shown below) and writing most of the how to on using them.

Blog Badge- large. A large white person is holding a sign up that says "The Loud Hands Project". Below this image, text reads "The Loud Hands Project" and "Autistic People, Speaking". Below that it reads "Watch the Video. Read About the Project. Support the Work. Visit indiegogo for more about The Loud Hands Project."

The large blog badge, which I'm using in my own side bar; 170x300 pixels

Blog Badge- Small. A large white person is holding a sign up that says "The Loud Hands Project". Below this image, text reads "The Loud Hands Project" and "Autistic People, Speaking"

A smaller Blog Badge; 170x193 pixels

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I’m also (obviously) writing this blog post, and sharing it in my networks. Right now, LHP is on Twitter as @loud_hands and there’s a Loud Hands Project facebook page as well. (If you clicked through on my original link, you’ll notice that the Loud Hands Project is on tumblr as well.)

I think another interesting feature of the campaign is how various accessibility measures have been added.

The visual transcript for the trailer was requested before the campaign went live, which is kind of a big deal- while captions are becoming more popular, visual transcriptions are not as common. After all, they are time consuming to create- more so than image descriptions- and like image descriptions can be hard for people with visual processing issues to write. But they can be a big deal for visually based messages becoming accessible for the Blind, visually impaired individuals, and those with visual processing issues.

Additionally, there has been a recognition that language processing difficulties can be a barrier in sharing stuff like this. Two days after the campaign went live, scripts for sharing LHP‘s campaign went live.

This isn’t as uncommon to be accommodated, though outright recognition that it is an accommodation is, I think, less common. More often scripts get framed as “We recognize you are a Busy Professional Person™ who doesn’t always have time to handcraft sharing emails, so here’s an example you can use!” It has become something that, when present, isn’t seen as an accommodation, which would be great if it wasn’t for the resistance that those who do need this particular thing usually get when they have to ask for it. I think that in this context, the fact that the scripts are openly recognized as having an access function as well as being given in an overwhelmingly supportive manner in response to requests is significant.

And, of course, the blog badges have image descriptions and I’m going off to caption the lyrics to the song in the trailer via Universal Subtitles tonight. (Which means they’ll be up by the time this post goes live.)

I hope you’ll join me in supporting the Loud Hands Project. I hope you’ll link it, share it, tweet it, blog it, and post it. I hope, for those who have the money for even the lowest level of support ($10) , that you’ll donate. That you’ll encourage others to donate. And, once the fundraising campaign is over, that you’ll continue to support the projects of the Loud Hands Project.

I believe that we all should have Loud Hands, and that LHP is a great way to facilitate that. Not everyone is in a position where they can go and be safe stimming in public, or writing long blog posts, or have the supports to do speeches or attend protests or go to conferences like Autreat.  But it is possible for some of us to do some of the little things- making a video or a painting, answering a mini-prompt, constructing things in our own natural languages that say, “I am here. I exist. I can be proud.” These are the core of what it means to have Loud Hands.

The big things are great. But sometimes it’s the little ones together that end up being the loudest.

1 I recognize that some of us also have mobility difficulties that make using hands in particular not something that is doable. If you can think figuratively, hands is a stand in for all the other non-verbal techniques that people use to accomplish the things we are talking about. Our hands here are not just literally our hands, but our own means of communicating. The same goes for words like “voice” and “speaking”.

UPDATE (January 16th, 2012): On January 14th The Loud Hands Project met their $10000 USD goal. That’s right, in 19 days you- the supporters- met a goal that was planned to take 80 days. Great Job!

Seeing how much our community needs LHP, and with encouragement from indiegogo, LHP is going to continue fundraising through the original March 15th deadline with benchmark goals at $15,000, $20,000, and $25,000. You can read the details on the projects at the Loud Hands Project blog, but they include more videos, more documenting of our community, more supporting Autistics pursuing community, and the launch of the website and all of the resources that will bring.

It’s exciting- exciting because we need it, and exciting because it means that we won’t have to wait for the anthology to be a success before LHP will be able to start bringing more projects to us.