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<title>Neurodiversity (ROOPHLOCH 2019) - Archive - MayVaneDay Studios</title>
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<meta name="author" content="Vane Vander">
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<h1>Neurodiversity (ROOPHLOCH 2019)</h1>
<p>published: 2019-09-05</p>
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<p>Call this <a href="https://web.archive.org/web/20240815152817/http://portal.mozz.us/gopher/zaibatsu.circumlunar.space/0/~solderpunk/phlog/announcing-roophloch-2019.txt">ROOPHLOCH</a>, or something like it, for I sit here alone in my backyard on a humid and buggy day. The world is almost imperceptibly different today than it was yesterday. <a href="https://web.archive.org/web/20200407182959/https://www.msn.com/en-us/entertainment/gaming/sans-from-undertale-joins-smash-bros-ultimate-as-a-mii-fighter-costume/ar-AAGOro2">Sans is in Smash</a>, and school has started (which makes the house more quiet than I can handle), and apparently I've started lifting every day. An alternate timeline where everything is not quite right, and yet a little bit better every day.</p>
<p>Yesterday, while sitting in the same spot under a tree and pretending there wasn't a Direct going on, I read an article titled <a href="https://archive.md/https://spectator.us/dangers-neurodiversity-cure-autism/">"The Dangers of 'Neurodiversity'"</a>, which struck a particular nerve. In the article, the author points out that, despite the neurodiversity movement's insistence that autistic people are not disabled but "differently abled", it is the fact that he is autistic and not his environment which has gotten him fired from jobs for behavior problems over twenty times and severely impacted his social and motor skills. The main crux of his argument is that the existence of "high-functioning" autistic people does not and should not prevent a search for the cure to autism, and that identity politics actively harms "low-functioning" autistic people whose disability greatly impacts their ability to function in mainstream society.</p>
<p>I have mixed feelings about this. In my elementary school years, I was pathologized, constantly pulled out of classes and locked in a room where I would have to do kindergarten-level reading to a school official who didn't give a damn about whether I was bored or frustrated with the banality of the work she gave me. Cards with pictures of simple nouns, like "apple", and the word underneath, made to read each one - yes! I know it's an apple! When the cards ran out, I was forced to go into "gifted education", where, instead of getting to make rubber band cars and catapults with the rest of my grade in science class, I and several other kids cramped ourselves into a repurposed storage closet and analyzed short shories at the behest of an underpaid teacher - and never received any academic rewards, like better grades, for doing so. The IEP which was supposed to protect me and help me grow into a productive member of society just like my peers only isolated me from them. If the issue is a lack of socializing, why would you separate a child from the peers they were supposed to be socializing with?</p>
<p>Given the existence of a cure, my parents almost certainly would have given doctors permission to irrevocably alter my brain chemistry without my consent, essentially killing one child in exchange for a lower-maintenance replacement.</p>
<p>Which future do you choose? One where the very essence of your soul is up for your parents to mold and replace at will like a computer, or one where the fact of the world being designed around a mindset that is fundamentally exhausting for you to mask yourself as for extended periods of time threatens to essentially condemn you to the golden cage of your parents' care for eternity?</p>
<p>One might look at a child who "soils themselves, wreak havoc, and breaks things", as the article puts it, a child who will grow up into an adult who does those very same things, and agree that this child needs a cure. "Low-functioning" individuals who might want a cure often cannot advocate for themselves because of the very same disability they need cured, which leads to a strange sort of confirmation bias. But how "low-functioning" is too low? Should a "high-functioning" person who might have a few quirks but otherwise can take care of themselves and live a fulfilling life be forced to take a cure at the behest of their employer?</p>
<p>Who gets to draw that line? The parents? The State? The disabled individuals themselves?</p>
<p><i>Where</i> do we draw the line?</p>
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<title>Sign of Life - Archive - MayVaneDay Studios</title>
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<h1>Sign of Life</h1>
<p>published: 2019-09-29</p>
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<p>I feel as though I am waking up after a long sleep. Cradled by the undercurrents- not a sudden and fierce unleashing of power, like Ceuta bursting out from her tomb, but something more subdued, more silent. A trawl through the tombs instead, torch in amnesic hand, shards of memories slowly bubbling back to the surface as my eyes gaze on the carvings on the ancient hallways I pass by. Times past, long since passed, times where <a href="../../../flashfiction/e/erin.html">I sang in the sun and rolled in the grass. Times where the words flowed from my fingers as gracefully as a spider building its web.</a> But now everything is covered in webs, gray as silk, sparkling in the sparse flickering light.</p>
<p><em>Returning home, are you? I never thought I’d see the day...</em></p>
<p><em>Welcome home, Vane Vander.</em></p>
<p>I feel as though, in the vast wilderness of my being, some part of me has died in order to survive. The forest has been razed, burnt to the ground. And although I know it will grow back, and it will bloom in abundance as it once did in full defiance of all I have gone through, it will never grow back the same.</p>
<p>I have scorched myself in the flame of my passion, and now, instead of the overgrown bush that reached in a million directions and tangled itself in its intricacies, I am the little sprout poking its head out from the ashes, free to see the sun through the frames of the tree branches sans leaves lost in the blaze.</p>
<p>One can only grow up from here.</p>
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<p><a href="../../../books/tyia.epub" title="Three Years In Absentia, a premonition ignored">And now I stand at the precipice of yet another fleeing</a>, but this time, I am not seeking refuge: I have my own server, my own website, my own domain. I have backdoors (in the "way out" sense, not the "security hole" sense) in ZeroNet and Tor and I2P. I am not dependent on the goodwill of anyone anymore, except for those who I have paid for their services, and they care little what I do so long as they receive their pennies at the end of the day.</p>
<p>Any time I join a community, it always ends up in my being abused in one way or another. Whether from full-blown psychological warfare to a six-page essay in response to a throwaway comment to the common "it's just banter, bro", it always happens. Always it's one rotten apple that's allowed to fester, spoiling the whole bunch.</p>
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<p>Community, as an ideal, stands in opposition to individuality, because it requires in the reining in of the unique for a supposed greater whole. I recognize no greater whole to whom I am willing to give such power, so I have no interest in community.</p>
<p>- Apio Ludd, <i>I Want Friends, Not Community</i></p>
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<p>So I come to the mouth of the tomb. The air of the world kisses my face for the first time in what feels like forever. The sky is overcast. It is slightly chilly out, the start of October, the true end of summer. The unshaven hairs on my arms stand up a little, and I smile at the thought that, even if I don’t quite remember what to do from here on out, some part of me knows.</p>
<p>Some part of me will always know, I guess.</p>
<p>I ascend the last few stairs and step out of the cave. A familiar song fills my ears, or perhaps "bundle of melodic noises" would be a better description, for it carries no discernable melody. And yet, if any one of the noises were to disappear, the whole thing would fall apart.</p>
<p>It sings of something lurking beneath the surface. Something from days forgotten redicovered anew.</p>
<p>A friend, a lover.</p>
<p>A poet, a brother.</p>
<p>Long live Vane Vander, indeed.</p>
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<p align=right>CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 &copy; Vane Vander</p>
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