funny

The Attic

Some people have stairs leading to their attic. Some people don’t even have an attic. Then there are some people, like my parents, who had a ladder leading up to the attic.

The attic; a strange, foreign land of trinkets from years past, balls of tangled Christmas lights, and deadly creatures. My childhood fascination with such a space overwhelmed me. In the rare moments when the attic door was opened and the ladder would reveal itself, my insides tingled anxiously. It was as if I was staring into the vast reaches of outer space; the universe in all its complexity and mystery lay just beyond the top of the ladder. Green slime oozed from the edges of the attic, surely an indication of some other-worldly experience.

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I was enamored with the attic. It was terrifying and amazing; it was terrifazing. Amazifying? Whatever. My youthful spirit longed to know of its secrets.

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Soon enough, that fated day arrived when I would experience the attic. Dad needed to retrieve something in a box up there, and I saw my golden opportunity. This is it, I thought to myself, this is your moment.

With my emotional security blanket (which I named Star) tied firmly around my neck like a cape, I began to ascend the ladder.

How I thought it was:

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How it really was:

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As the wind began to pick up, I tightened Star around me and secured my grip on the ladder. Nearly at the top, there was no telling what awaited me. The anticipation was overwhelming.

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Alas! I had reached the surface to discover a world of boxes filled with junk I didn’t really care about, yet I was overjoyed to explore this new, vast wilderness.

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After what seemed like only a few minutes (probably because it only was a few minutes), I heard the call of my parents from the world below. It was time to descend the ladder and bid farewell to the new world.  As I crept near the opening from which I came, it occurred to me exactly how high up I was. The task ahead required me to turn and go down the ladder. Thanks to my sensory problem, this seemingly simple action became my equivalent of bungy jumping off the empire state building into a pit of blood-thirsty wolves.

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With this revelation began a true anxiety meltdown in the four foot high space on the attic. No amount of coaxing or words of reassurance from my family below were alleviating my overwhelming panic. The prospect of having to go backwards down the ladder was truly disturbing and frightening to me. As an adult looking back on the situation, I agree with my childhood self for getting upset. This was a totally rational situation to meltdown over.

It was during mid-crisis in the attic when I realized that the attic was a slightly creepy place to be. Looking around, it became clear to me that there was plenty of potential for evil creatures to jump out of the darkness and swallow me whole. Above me, giant nails protruded through the ceiling, as if a monster was clawing at the house trying to get me. (I later realized these were nails which held the shingles in place.) But things got worse. The beams supporting the roof were covered in some sort of gross, sticky brown substance. A Christmas tree loomed in the corner, ready to attack me with holiday cheer. An old toy doll …well, let’s just say she was the new bride of Chuckie.

I wrapped my blanket, Star, around my head like a veil. It was my only ally and source of protection in this strange and dangerous land.

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The minutes passed as my family failed to convince me to climb back down the ladder. I became a incoherent blob. As far as I was concerned, I was never coming down. This would be where I’d spend the rest of my sorry little life. My fate hit me like a ton of bricks.

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Suddenly, Dad appeared at the top of the ladder. Again, I assured him I would not be making the descent back to the mortal world. He managed to convince me to hold onto him and close my eyes. He held me and climbed down the ladder; it was the scariest 3 seconds of my young life. I felt like Carol Anne as she was sucked away from the demons of the underworld in that movie, Poltergeist. I can’t believe we made it down alive. To be able to live among my earth family yet again was such a relief.

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To this day, climbing any kind of ladder disorients my body and mind. The fear takes me back to that fated day in the attic. Will I ever be able to conquer this body-ladder coordination conundrum? Only time will tell.

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Also, F.U. to my sensory problems. Struggling to stand on a basic 2-step ladder is super embarrassing and mildly inconvenient.

xo kelly

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NEWSFLASH: Adults have SPD too

This post contains information that NEEDS to be said. Warning: the following may cause epiphany, sudden awakening of the soul, and Oprah’s “ah-ha” moment. Proceed with caution.

Approximately 93% – I just calculated that statistic in my mind – of all information on sensory issues, both in print and online, are geared towards children.

For a while, that knowledge left me feeling like this:

NOT SURE IF FRY

One of the main reasons I started this blog was due to the near absence of information and resources for adults with SPD on the web or in books. The only exception to this would be a few blogs, and Sharon Heller’s Too Loud, Too Bright, Too Fast, Too Tight, which has become the bible for sensory-plagued adults. Unfortunately, SPD adults often find ourselves reading sensory books geared towards children, and attempting to relate the information to our adult lives. It can be awkward.

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Like many neurological disorders, sensory processing disorder does not go away with time.

A fun fact is that according to many medical “professionals,” children with sensory processing disorder just learn to live with their problems, or they simply grow out of the disorder.

At age 13, many people – including myself – were turned away from occupational therapists for the sole reason that we were too old to be treated for our sensory issues.

I remember asking my mom, with confusion, “What’s the difference if I’m 12 or 13? I still have the same disorder. I still need help for this.” Momsy didn’t know what to say, and she couldn’t have known.

Here is what I know: growing out of something is for clothing. People grow out of sweaters. People do not usually grow out of neurological conditions. They manage it and – in the case of SPD –  learn ways to live within their specific limitations. SPD can regulated with various therapies (occupational, physical, or psychological), but there is no cure for it just yet. However, this leaves us SPD adults with many problems.

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It leaves us feeling a strange sense of being “unwelcome.” Adults are not the target group, if you will, for awareness and research. SPD adults are very much ignored and neglected by the medical community. We often feel a sense of guilt for even asking for/seeking out help from professionals. We are given this look when we mention SPD to our doctors:

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This is not Hogwarts, my friends. SPD cannot be sent away with the flick of a wand, nor does it magically vanish when we turn 18. It is not fair or right that adults with neurological conditions such as sensory processing disorder are left in the dark simply because they are adults.

As an adult with SPD, I can assure you that my sensory problems are here to stay (for now). I’ve overcome many of my sensory struggles from my childhood – yes. However, newer and more overwhelming challenges have reared their ugly faces into my life as an adult with this condition.

Due to the belief that SPD is a disorder of childhood – WHICH WE GENIUSES KNOW TO BE FALSEanother belief now exists that there are no adults with SPD at all. Because of this idea that adults don’t have SPD, it is not recognized by our society, and therefore, we cannot get help or respect.

SO WHERE ARE ALL THE ADULTS WITH SPD?

I’ll tell you where they are. They are struggling to find their place in a world that doesn’t work with their sensory system.  Without acknowledgement from our community regarding this conundrum, we find ourselves turned off by the world.

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Moral of the story is this:

Adults with SPD are out there.  We are here! (Well, not really. We are actually trying to avoid the entire world while simultaneously being part of the entire world. It’s a tad complicated.)
Spread awareness and educate your fellow human beans that, in fact, adults with neurological condition DO exist. We need your compassion and respect in order to overcome our challenges.

xo kelly

The Big Band-Aid Calamity

A few months ago, I was cutting some mat board to put with a framed drawing. Tragically, I lost my grip on the mat knife and accidentally sliced my left index finger.  I grabbed my finger tightly and ran to the bathroom where, luckily for me, Momsy was there to assist me with my new wound.

The minute I released my hand on my finger, blood began to pour. It was like a horror movie, (if that horror movie was about Momsy and I standing in the bathroom, and I was just saying “ow, ow, ow”). TERRIFYING.

We wrapped it up quickly as a dull throb slowly began to overtake my whole hand. I’m lucky to be alive, honestly.

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After a while, we re-wrapped the large cut with proper bandages and gauze. It wasn’t until this moment that I realized the doom which I now faced.

The new bandage monstrosity on my tiny finger was a huge sensory turnoff. I mean, HUGE.

I couldn’t for the life of me stop sensing the bandages on my finger. It wasn’t the pain, which was slightly annoying, rather, the heap of gauze, tape, and other junk piled onto my finger tip was like an assault on my entire sensory system. I’m not kidding you when I say that the illustration below displays the actual bandage to finger ratio:

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Two days passed and still, the bandage predicament consumed my thoughts and will to live. My family informed me that I have been walking around the entire time with my finger stuck out awkwardly. Humiliated and moody, I told them that I had no idea that I was doing that, and further, I couldn’t seem to control it. I’d try to push it down into normal finger position, but it would pop right back up like a jack-in-the-box.

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A week passed, and still my ugly finger wound was relentless in its quest to destroy me via sensory tactile WARFARE.

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As a child, I had similar reactions to things like denim, tags in clothing, or socks that became awkwardly bunched in my shoe. I referred to the sock problem as a “coo-eee.” All were the cause of extreme distress. Parents with sensory kids, I know you feel me right now.

As an adult, I’ve managed to conquer the denim thing, but the same cannot be said for the clothing tags and sock cooees. Sensory adults, I know you feel me right now.

The giant band-aid was merely the tip of the iceberg, so to speak. If I was having a bad sensory day, my band-aid finger was sure to put me over the edge.

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Thankfully, because the world is merciful, I was upgraded to a single band-aid after two weeks. I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Perhaps there was hope after all!

One morning, that glorious day had arrived where I needed no band-aid whatsoever. My finger was free! And so was I.

All that remains now is a scar on my finger tip – the memory of a harrowing three-week period of sensory insanity. I will never again underestimate the mental anguish that a bandage can cause. More importantly, my finger returned to its resting position, and life went on. My tiny scar and I became very close.

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xo kelly

 

 

How Harry Potter saved my mental health

Ok, so maybe Harry Potter didn’t really save my mental health. He saved the ENTIRE WORLD from Lord Voldemort. All Hell broke loose at the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry claimed victory, (even though Hermione did ALL the work but that’s not the point I’m trying to make). Since the beginning of the end, AKA middle school, the Harry Potter series has had a tremendous influence in my life.

Potthead Puberty

I read the books on the school bus every morning as a distraction from the impending doom and anxiety that awaited me at my destination.

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I read during study hall.

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*Except for that one year, where my study hall teacher was the wife of Satan…

damn kids!

I read on the ride back home.

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It was middle school that taught me that the majority of other people my age were severely lacking in moral fiber, rational thinking, and general intellect. These are not qualities that a young girl needs during a time of mental and emotional turmoil. My peers were alien to me, and so, I sealed myself shut within the pages of the HP books; a safe and comforting place to be.

One of the Gang

Soon, the films were created. Amazingly, I was the same age as the actors playing the main characters: Harry, Ron and Hermione. When they were eleven years of age and starting their first term at Hogwarts, I was nearly eleven myself. What a coincidence, I thought to myself, it’s like I was supposed to be at Hogwarts too.

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As my neurological crap grew increasingly more devastating, I propelled myself into the world of wizardry and witchcraft. No human bodily malfunction could bring me down me, I WAS A WITCH IN TRAINING. There was bound to be some spell to alleviate all this junk happening in my life.

I clung to the ridiculous and impossible chance that I would receive my letter to Hogwarts. I fantasized about the day I would look out my window and spot a doofy owl hurling itself towards my house, a tiny white envelope clutched tightly in it’s possession. I would retrieve the letter containing my acceptance, and my life problems would simply vanish. My salvation and mental health were dependent solely upon my acceptance to Hogwarts.

GOODBYELIFEPROBLEMS

My letter never came.

I started high school in September, trying to retain a sense of normalcy despite the fact that everything was not normal. My anxiety, depression, and sensory processing disorder reached a record high score on the “How Much Does Your Life Suck Right Now” meter. I was brought to doctors and therapists of all kinds, and in return, I received puzzled expressions or bottles of pills that made everything worse.  But I still had Harry Potter.

At the end of my freshman year I was pulled out of school because I was so ill. During that summer, I painted murals all over my walls – my own art therapy. Sprawled across one wall, monumental and extraordinary, was my rendering of Hogwarts Castle. Above it was a portrait of Harry surrounded by his name. In my little miserable world, it was breathtaking and comforting.

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PERFECTION

*Note: The mural truly looked like this. It was ginormous and super awesomesauce.

The years grudgingly went by….

The one constant in my life was Harry’s journey. During the deep, unrelenting surges of depression, anxiety, anger, and isolation, the wizarding world was my safe haven – an alternative reality. Granted, things were not super great in Harry’s world either. Lord Voldemort was trying to kill him, and he was trying to kill Lord Voldemort; it was not all butterbeer and chocolate frogs, if you know what I mean.

But the idea of it all – the story from start to finish – carried me away.

Here I am, 24 years alive, and still awaiting my Hogwarts letter. Santa bought me a fake one for Christmas a few years ago – was he seriously foolish enough to think I’d fall for that crapsauce? Would YOU fall for this?? (note: the fuzzy yellow caterpillar was not included in the original letter. I drew it there to cover my address. I don’t need internet hooligans knowing where I live).

(click to view bigger):

new hogwarts letter

I do not want to identify myself as a muggle (non-magic folk), for that would delete my rich, inner fantasy life that keeps me afloat in moments of suffering. I am the owner of a wand – with a tip that lights up when the wand is waved. I have a Hogwarts cloak, Gryffindor scarf and hat, Harry Potter quiz book, a 200 lb Harry Potter encyclopedia of sorts, Harry Bobble head, Snape action figure, and a million more things which you don’t probably give a crap about.

Dementors and Depression

By engulfing myself into the wizarding world, my numerous illnesses morph into Dementors; soul-sucking, happiness-destroying, butt-ugly creatures. Dementors cannot be killed, only kept at bay until they die from natural causes, or from crashing into the night bus.

Either way, you must use the Patronus Charm to protect yourself from the Dementor’s kiss of death (it’s as delightful as it sounds). The Patronus Charm is conjured by concentrating intensely on your happiest memory while stating the words, Expecto Patronum. Your wand should release a glowing animal figure which will defend you from the Dementors.  Expecto Patronum can be roughly translated from Latin to mean “I await a protector.”

“Ok Kelly, that’s real fascinating, but how does this all relate to depression?” -You

“GIVE ME A MINUTE, WOULD YOU? THIS IS COMPLICATED MATERIAL!” -Me

 

The author of Harry Potter, JK Rowling has confirmed that she created the Dementors after her own experience with depression. She stated: “Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them”.

expecto patronum

The story of Harry Potter has given me unrelenting strength when facing situations that I was certain would be my demise. When curled into a blobby ball of emptiness, it is the thought of the antics of Fred and George that bring a stupid smile to my face. It is Hermione being a general badass. It is Ron dancing awkwardly with Professor McGonagal. It is Severus Snape, dashing around down the castle halls with his cloak billowing behind him like a majestic, dark stallion. It is Harry, doing…ugh…whatever it is that Harry does.

 

In conclusion, I’d like to amend my original statement to this: Harry Potter did save my mental health. Thanks, Harry…cough…cough..Hermione.

xo kelly

 

 

Personal Hell: Visiting a psychiatrist

When I’m being treated by a psychiatrist, I imagine I’m on the popular television show, Jeopardy. It goes like this:

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Throughout my twenty-four years of existence, I’ve had a heaping amount of visits to doctors of all kinds in an attempt to manage my numerous life issues – my sensory processing disorder being at the forefront.

I believe psychiatric/psychological help is imperative when dealing with physical illness. So darn it all, I’ve got to pull on my big girl panties and get stuff done, no matter how miserable it is to visit a psychiatrist.

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I never enjoy going to see a psychiatrist. If I had $5 for every bizarre session with a psychiatrist, I could probably afford to go to medical school, become a psychiatrist, and THERAPEUTIZE myself.

——————————–

As usual, I just made up another word: therapeutize.

Definition: Therapeutize: to use therapeutic techniques.

In a sentence: “I’m going through a tough time with my wife, if I could only therapeutize my marriage back to where it used to be, we’d be happy again.”

——————————-

Psychiatrists never seem to pick good locations for their offices. Unfortunately for me, these locations are sensory UNFRIENDLY. I’m uncertain whether or not these locations are chosen on purpose.

One psychiatrist had the office lights so bright, I almost couldn’t open my eyes. That was a fun visit.

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Another had a million winding stairs up to the office, like one of those M.C. Escher paintings. I felt like I could die at any moment whilst making my way to the top. Additionally, it was nearby a train station, so periodically, the train would blare its horn and I would feel my lungs give out from the intensity of the sound. I’d grip the staircase railing, waiting for death.

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Some psychiatrists have leather couches to sit on. I don’t know about you, but my body doesn’t understand leather. It’s shiny, and rubbery. My body actually hates me when I sit on leathery surfaces, as I find myself sliding right off and into a pathetic puddle on the floor.

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Some psychiatrists don’t understand my sensory needs at all, which is both humorous and sadly ironic. For example, everything they do is often very noisy, including speaking. It’s not done intentionally, but most of them are so oblivious that they don’t even notice how sensory unfriendly they are. Even if I tell them directly about the nature of my issues, all psychiatrists seem to live in their own psychiatric bubble. Must be nice there…

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well times up

Even WORSE is when I’m in the middle of an appointment, and I REALIZE the absurdity of what is happening. I want to explode with rage and hurl various sized fruits at the ignorant person in front of me. Problem is, I never remember to bring the fruit with me.

so anxiety

fascinating

why yes i am

wow congrats

thank you darling

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Still, the most difficult part of all of these psychiatric visits is when I have to think critically about myself and answer endless complicated questions.

How do you feel? How are you feeling? Describe that process? Can you give me an example of a time when your SPD did this or that and why it made you behave in this or that manner? The severity of anxiety and depression dissociative tendencies increases or decreases when compounded with the negative associations of certain stimuli with which you are negatively associated on the grounds ohfds  hfds hjbdnjcfnd sun43uhu nfjdnsf

My brain, now reduced to a mushy potato, replies:

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When it’s all over, I have an overwhelming urge to fill a void in my delicate psyche (created by psychiatrists poking at it too much). There is only one remedy for this kind of destruction:

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xo kelly

p.s. Please send all cake to me, I will stuff it into my psyche void. Thank you.

 

 

I am the Navajo Warrior

Somewhere in the woods behind my house lives an entire pack of coyotes. I know this because every now and then, they will all begin to shriek and yelp together for a minute or two. The sound of it is rather disturbing, and it usually happens in the middle of the night.

One night, I woke to the sound of the coyotes howling, except this time, they were louder than ever before. In fact, they sounded as if they were right outside my house. They went on forever, until suddenly, I saw a light flick on outside my window. Instantly, the entire pack was silenced. The light remained on for another minute, then went off. No more sounds were heard for the rest of the night.

The next morning I jumped out of bed eagerly (which is not normal for me, because getting out of bed is my most hated activity). I ran to my sister in the room next to mine, hoping she too heard the commotion last night.

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Next, I quickly searched for Momsy. Surely she must have heard the wild noises in the night! She hears everything.

 

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On the brink of completely losing it, I texted my dad.

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(Yes, I  still have one of those awesomesauce flip phones with a keyboard, built in 2007 or something.)

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When I got Dad’s reply, I was overjoyed! DAD HEARD THEM TOO.

Then he sent another text:

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What a fantastical idea!

I was already wearing my striped pajamas, so I quickly threw on some heavy duty neon teal socks, then my boots, my poofy coat, a polka dot scarf, old blue mittens, and of course, my owl hat. I contemplated putting some sort of helmet on my head, either a metal pot or pasta strainer, but I opted out and risked head injury. The wilderness called me, and I was prepared.

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I stepped outside into the cool morning and marched through the snow towards my garden. I peeked around like a ninja and scanned the trees and snow banks, looking for evidence of the wild dogs. It was quiet and still. The trees loomed over my head, watching me.

I  hunted for tracks in the snow, or anything to give me a clue! Suddenly, I spotted some faint tracks and a brown blob just ahead of me.

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To my frustration, it was just the paw prints and old turd of my dog Sam.

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Sam was outside on the deck, glaring at me. He poked his pudgy face through the deck railings.

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After the incident of false hope, it was then that I noticed that I had forgotten to grab a golf club for protection. Instantly, I was vulnerable; a snack waiting to be devoured. I tried to imagine the scenario if the coyotes appeared. It went two ways:

Option 1, I beg for mercy and convince the coyotes that I am not worth their efforts because I would be a pointless snack.

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Option 2, I summon my inner wilderness warrior and become the leader of the pack.

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After a while of searching, there was no sign of the pack of coyotes anywhere. I returned inside, a little TREMENDOUSLY disappointed.

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I texted my dad, and told him I found zero evidence. I also casually mentioned that I went out there without any weapons. I told him I was a warrior of nature, essentially.

This was our actual conversation, I copied it directly from my phone:

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At the end of the day, it was only my dad and I that heard the coyotes. We have yet to purchase night vision goggles, as they are more expensive than either of us realized. Still, my quest to track down the coyotes will never cease. When I hear their calls in the darkness, I stealthily peer out the corner of my window and hope to catch a glimpse of the scruffy dogs of the wild.

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Are YOU a wilderness warrior? Have you had an extreme run-in with nature?! Comment below and join me in my quest to become keeper of the wilderness! Together, we can save the animals.

xo kelly

 

 

 

If Disney Princesses Had SPD/ASD

In all Disney movies, the “Disney princess” faces various, complicated obstacles. However, I cannot think of a single princess that has faced a real-life disability or disease. Then I thought, what if Disney Princesses had Sensory Processing Disorder? What if they were on the autistic spectrum?

The following is my prediction of what Disney princesses (and their stories) would be like if they had SPD/ASD.

(Also, for the first time ever, I did not draw any original illustrations for this post. Instead, I added my own bits to Disney pictures. I hope you enjoy it anyway.)

 

Cinderella

Ok, I’m skipping right to the part in the story where Cinderella goes to the Ball. Logically, if Cinderella had sensory issues, this would never work. Sure she could give it a good effort, but in the end, a meltdown is likely to ensue. No sensory sensitive princess leaves untouched after a large royal gathering.

We all know how that ends.

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Belle

The most glaring problem here is the fact that Belle is in a relationship with an unstable beast. Belle would find herself overstimulated, unsupported and for lack of a better word, really turned-off by the beast’s intense personality.

Additionally, there is ABSOLUTELY NO WAY that Belle could have soared around the library on that freaking bookshelf ladder.

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Pocahontas

While she does live in the peacefulness of nature, Pocahontas would most likely not be flinging herself over waterfalls and just around the river bend. Hello! This is too much to ask of any sensory sensitive princess’s motor skills.

Not to mention, she has to deal with a bunch of gun-wielding maniacs who want to destroy the Earth and Grandmother Willow. Talk about stress! Better hope a girl’s got some sensory tools in that longhouse of hers.

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Merida & Rapunzel

All I can say is: HAIR.

I’m still adjusting to my shoulder length hair after years of having short hair. Of course, Merida and Rapunzel may find their excessive hair very soothing, but to imagine having the hair of either of these ladies is beyond my comprehension. The only exception would be that scene where Rapunzel wraps herself tightly in her hair after rolling down a hill. She’s got her own personal deep pressure device.

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Jasmine

When I look at Jasmine, the first thing that pops into my mind are those ginormous earrings. Alright, so she’s royalty and gold earrings are traditional attire for your basic princess, still, Jasmine appears to have two heavy triangular-shaped fruits hanging by her face, smacking into her whenever she turns her head too quickly. The sensation of those ALONE would be enough to make any princess lose it.

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Jasmine is lucky however, because she has a large tiger friend to provide her with lots of sensory tactile relief. I need a large animal to squish me and stuff.

 

Ariel

This one’s pretty obvious: SHELL BRA.

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No further comments.

 

Mulan

I’ll admit that I’m kinda biased here because Mulan is my most favorite Disney Princess. Not only did she sneak her way into the Chinese military, but she defeated the vicious Huns and saved an entire country with some uncoordinated soldiers, the Eddie Murphy dragon, and a cricket.

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If Mulan had sensory issues, China would have been overtaken by the Huns and everything would be terrible. Yes I said it.  She’s trying to save an entire country – I’m certain she would have no time to take sensory breaks. Even if she survived the military training, I do not think her sensory stamina would hold out for that entire duration. I’m talking about that scene where she shoots the rocket into the mountain and causes an avalanche, miraculously survives, and then goes to the city to fight the Huns with her gang of loonies. AND WINS.

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The Emperor’s chaotic celebration ALONE would be a solid nope.

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Dory

Technically Dory is not a princess. She is a blue fish who helped Marlin find his son. I’m including her in my list because, from my observations, Dory might have sensory/autism issues. We know that Dory has complications with short term memory, but aside from that, she’s got quirks much like those with sensory problems or autism.

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Although she is friendly, she struggles with social situations, including lack of awareness of danger. Dory enjoys things like talking to whales and bouncing off jelly fish. I can only conclude Dory is a sensory-seeker. She is very sensitive, as she spends much of her time comforting others and generally being optimistic about the state of things even if the world looks bleak. She is a curious adventurer, and despite her peculiar behavior, Nemo would never have been found without Dory’s help. Perhaps things would have gone a bit smoother if Dory had brushed her fins with a sensory brush that morning.

 

Elsa

Unlike our favorite fish Dory, I imagine Elsa is a sensory-avoider. I almost hate to include Elsa because she has become the “celebrity” Disney princess. She has made this list, however, because Elsa displays the closest thing to what a princess would be like if she had SPD/ASD.

Although Elsa has learned to control her ice powers, her behavior and life has been drastically shaped by her condition. The same thing can be said for those of us impacted by SPD/ASD.

Elsa’s parents responded to the difficulty of their child by locking her in her room. Obviously, this was never a good idea. Elsa grew isolated and depressed.

After having a meltdown in front of basically the entire town, she ran away into the snowy mountains and built herself a fortress of ice. In the sensory world, this would be similar to you coming home after an overstimulating trip to Target and building a couch fort with blankets and pillows, and trapping yourself in the safety of the sensory-controlled space surrounded by all your favorite fidgets.

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It is only until Elsa learns how to channel and manage her ice powers does her life improve. She becomes Queen, sends the bad guys home, and restores order to Arendelle. Similarly, when those of us with SPD/ASD learn to manage our various issues, we could become royals, defeat bad guys, and restore order to an entire Kingdom.

Or, we could just manage basic life skills and that would be a big freakin’ achievement too. 

I may not be a Disney princess, and neither may you, but I like to dream that one day Disney will create an animated film about a princess (or prince!) with Sensory Processing Disorder or Autism. Not only will this character be most awesomesauce in every possible way, but the film will accurately portray the reality of these disorders. It will surpass Frozen and The Lion King in profits, and become the most beloved Disney film of all time ever in the history of mankind. No, my expectations are not too high. DISNEY CAN MAKE IT HAPPEN.

 

There you have it.

Are you (or your child) a wannabe Disney hero with SPD/ASD or something else? Tell to me in the comments and maybe Disney will see it and make a film about you.

 

xo kelly

My dog doesn’t love me

The following post strays from the theme of my usual posts, but I know you’ll read it anyway…especially if you love animals. If you don’t, well, what the heck is wrong with you?

 

This is my dog Sam:

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He’s a bona fide oddity.

Sam is an 11 year-old shih-tzu/cavalier mix, and due to several unfortunate circumstances, he has lost several body parts over the years. Most notably, his left eye. (Yes, he is the perfect pirate doggy.)

Sam is also missing a toe, and a salivary gland. He’s covered in an alarming amount of moles and warts, but luckily he’s very furry. His one leg is crooked, and has been for a long time. According to the vet, nothing is wrong with it.

However, my dog’s bizarre list of physical flaws can not compare to his glowing personality.

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I am not ashamed to say that my dog is a self-serving, stubborn, morally corrupt, annoying creature. From the start, Sam has never loved me. He simply uses me for his own personal gains.

Taking him for walks consists of being pulled around mercilessly. If I want to change direction, I have to take a battle stance and face off until he gives into my will. But usually, he drags me to wherever he desires, with no consideration for my life.

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If he’s not on a leash, I have to watch him or else he’ll take advantage of the invisible boundaries which have been established over his 11 years of life. He clearly knows what they are, yet he doesn’t give a flying crap about them.

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I am the person who gives Sam a bath. Sam smells similar to a frito – like the chip – but one that you would absolutely never eat. During the bath, he will slowly try to make his way just out of my reach, as if I don’t see him leaving. I spend the majority of my time pulling him back. He applies a variety of methods to get away from me.

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After I scrub the frito out of him, I have to dry him. While he’ll willingly sit on a small bench, he does not like the hair dryer for long periods of time. He resorts to a desperate crotch escape:

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Sam’s biggest peeve is food. Sam is perhaps the only dog you will ever meet who turns away from freshly cooked steak. Every meal for Sam is a chore for the rest of us, as he refuses to eat even the most extravagantly prepared dishes.

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Eventually, after shoving a piece of food into his mouth, he realizes that he has to eat – to, you know, survive – and finally, he eats. Slowly.

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While I am Sam’s least favorite member of the family, he’ll willingly grace me with his presence from time to time. Again, these moments are only meant to serve or satisfy him in some way, like when he’s trying to get a better view of the television.

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One of his favorite things to do is to slap my door with his paw as if to knock before entering. I’ll open the door to let him in, but he quickly wants to go back out. And so on, and so on.

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*2 seconds later*

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*REPEAT FOR 3 HOURS OR UNTIL SANITY IS LOST*

Other times, he’ll hang out with me in my bedroom or in my art room while I paint. I get fooled into believing that he’s suddenly taken a liking to me. I should know better. As many dog owners know, when a dog comes and goes quickly from a room, it is for one reason.

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The poisonous gases released from the bowels of my dog are so putrid, I feel as though I am drowning in liquid death. Is my dog trying to end my life? YOU DECIDE:

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Sam also isn’t the brightest pup around, although he does put forth a valiant effort to guard his precious property. Regrettably, anything on his left side goes unseen – literally, due to lack of eye.

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Here is an actual picture of Sam staring at walls, one of his more common activities:

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Here is an actual picture of Sam selfishly eyeing our birthday cake. Yes, you heard that right, “our cake,” as in, we have the same freakin’ birthday:

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Here’s an actual picture of Sam sitting smugly on a mattress, knowing that while the sheets are being washed, his stinkiness will penetrate the mattress fibers permanently.

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Amazingly, on a rare occasion, Sam does reach out to me to express his gratitude and love. Considering the fact that I shower him with affection and care 24/7, it’s nice to receive it back. I mean, he is pretty adorable.

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“hahahah just kidding!” -Sam

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I hope, dear reader, that your animal friend loves you unconditionally. Unless, of course, you’ve got a dog like Sam.

 

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oxox kelly

 

 

Successful Mall Girl is Successful

Once upon a time, like last week, I went to the mall to do some shopping. 

(All of my SPD friends can get up off the floor now, as I’m certain all of you must have fallen out of your chairs with the sentence you just read).

But fear not, bloggy friends! Not only did I go to the mall, but I went BY MYSELF, and….

I LIVED TO BLOG ABOUT IT.

Is this a miracle? You could say that.

Is this a product of my fearless badassery and warrior-like approach to my entire life? Mostly.

Is this a freaky incident that I tried to savor as much as possible because it was so unbelievable. Yes.

 

Ladies and Gentlemen, it is time to recollect my astounding mall experience.

First, I had to make it through the parking lot. An SPD’er in a parking lot is usually a recipe for disaster. One horn, one beep – we are done. When I strolled through the lot, bracing myself against the painful NY coldness, I was like prey being hunted by my predator. Yet as I passed car after car, nothing happened. I hauled open the heavy doors of Dick’s Sporting Goods and threw myself inside. Awesomesauce, I thought.

Once inside, I tried to pretend like I was a very capable young woman on a shopping adventure. I also knew it was important for an SPD’er such as myself to review my body awareness – am I walking straight? Do I look like I’m dying? Do I appear as if I’m in need of psychiatric help? If YES, then it’s time to find the nearest exit. It’s a simple evaluation process:

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Luckily, I was fine. Everything checked out.

Being inside the mall is one thing, but then you must have to deal with the specific environment of each store WTIHIN the mall. I began my journey at the ever-sexy Victoria’s Secret.

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I was anxious. What if something happened inside? I was alone! Also, oh yea, I HAVE SPD.

Amazingly, the only bad thing that happened inside Victoria’s Secret was a shattered sense of self-esteem and general uncomfortableness.

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After Victoria’s Secret, I did everything that a good little SPD human was supposed to do. I avoided candle stores. I stayed away from the food court. I dodged screaming children. However, I did do something bad….

I WENT INTO HOT TOPIC.

For those of you who don’t know, Hot Topic is a scary-looking store on the outside with lots of interesting things on the inside: Harry Potter, Frozen, Walking Dead, Disney Princesses, Adventure Time, music, earrings, magic, delight, etc.

The music in Hot Topic usually is overwhelmingly loud and as much as I love the merchandise, this place kills my SPD.

BUT AGAIN, I MARCHED OUT COMPLETELY UNTOUCHED. ANOTHER MIRACLE.

What’s happening??! I thought to myself. I should do MORE stuff!

So what did I do?

I GOT A PRETZEL AND SOME LEMONADE.

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I sat on a bench, enjoyed my salty pretzel and sweet lemonade. I chuckled at the funny array of people, myself included. I felt so blessed to be doing all of it. At the same time, I remained vigilant for my top enemy.

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I somehow managed to survive the encounter, so I kept going.

Through Hallmark, Macy’s, and the cheesy leather goods emporium, I frollicked like the very normal shopper that I was so desperately trying to be.

It was surreal; it was exciting; and dare I say, enjoyable?

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THE FINALE

One of my greatest foes in life has to be escalators. In fact, the very first post I made on this blog was about escalators. This is the level of seriousness I’m talking about here.

Due to my perfect record so far that day, in addition to my overwhelming desire to be a complete BEAST, I marched towards the great escalators, and then I stood before them as one would do if they were about to destroy their enemy.

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Escalator was all like:

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And I was all like:

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AND THEN I WAS LIKE:

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Then it was over.

No traumatic escalator experience. I mean, I held on for dear life and looked so awkward that I could’ve out-awkwarded anyone in a 10 mile radius. BUT WHO CARES….I DID IT.

While it wasn’t a perfect time at the mall, it also wasn’t a complete disaster. More importantly, I went ALONE. I had nobody to fall back on if necessary, but I did it anyway. The successfulness of this day was in the very fact that I conquered my anxieties by going to the mall by myself while experiencing anxiety, and being ok with the unease.

I’m not sure why the sensory gods blessed me with a nice trip to the mall, but they did. I left on Cloud 9, wherever that is. Probably near here:

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xo kelly

Also, I was only there for about 2 hours. This post makes it sound like I was there for 10 hours. Just wanted to let you all know…I’m pretty beast, but I’m not 10 hours beast.

 

What the heck is ASMR?

Here’s a fun fact: As a 7 year old, I would stand dangerously close to the stove to get a view of my mom stirring dinner. If she was stirring sauce into pasta, well, I found the gentle sound so amazing, I was nearly euphoric.

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You’re probably thinking, this isn’t normal. I thought Kelly wrote a blog about weird things happening to normal people. 

Luckily for me, I discovered just a few years ago that my intense craving for watching people do seemingly normal things – like stirring pasta – was more than just being weird. It had a name.

I was all like:

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ASMR is an acronym for a long, fancy-sounding set of words: Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response

Let’s break this thing down:

Autonomous: self-determining; free; independent

Sensory: relating to the senses; information received by the senses

Meridian: possibly relating to the Chinese term for energy pathways and flow in the body

Response: the body’s reaction to sensory input

 

ASMR is roughly defined as the soothing, tingling, relaxing sensation that most often occurs in the head as a response to specific sensory input.

(AKA, I watch my mom stir pasta and I become insanely relaxed and my brain tingles nicely).

Now you’re thinking, I don’t know Kelly, this is still very strange. I’ve never experienced this before. It seems so vague. Brain tingles…what? Are you kidding me?

Alas! It IS vague.

After my research, I came up with a list of many common triggers for ASMR:

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One of the most common trigger sources for ASMR happens to be ALMIGHTY OVERLORD BOB ROSS.

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Chances are, you’ve watched Bob Ross create a beautiful landscape painting via public television. You were captured by his ability to create tiny details with a giant brush. The sound of his voice was like tiny cherubs massaging your eardrums. The little swooshing noises of the paint were delicious and perfect. You felt relaxed, maybe even dazed. For most people, this is the closest thing to ASMR.

Unless of course, you are like me and thousands like me, who feel all tingly and mushy in our brains by simply watching a man from India give another man a haircut; or by listening to a woman from Florida playing with marbles; or listening to a bald guy from Poland whisper as he talks about his mineral collection .

To an outsider, the act of watching an ASMR video appears beyond creepy. Most ASMR videos are done in whispers, and everything is very slow and surreal. Like, here’s me watching 45 minutes of a old woman whispering while she mixes paint and plays with brushes:

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I used to care about how strange it was, and I felt a bit embarrassed, but guess what…. NOT ANYMORE.

Watching an ASMR video is as if you were sitting on a cupcake, surrounded by a giant rainbow while dozens of cats lay around being cute.  It is the ultimate stress release.

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Of course, this feeling only comes if your brain/body can experience ASMR, otherwise, the videos will produce little to no results.

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ASMR is known for alleviating numerous mental and physical health issues. The most common reasons people turn to ASMR are: sleep disorders, anxiety/stress, and depression.

Unfortunately, ASMR is mostly unheard of. Research into it is few and far between. Honestly, I can understand this because it’s not a problem/disorder/disease. Why bother spending time researching random brain tingles after watching Bob Ross when there are, oh, you know, A MILLION MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO RESEARCH.

I don’t know about the future of ASMR. I was surprised to find it even had a name and that there were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of ASMR youtube videos for us dedicated “fans.’

Even if I feel less odd knowing it’s a “thing.”….my sister will be there for me:

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There you have it – ASMR. Are YOU an ASMR junkie? Have you heard of or experienced this before? Let me know in the comments!

xo kelly