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The Shield at Spencer’s: When the R-Word Hit Me in the Mall Date: July 29, 2025 Tags: Ableism, Trauma, Autistic Life, Real Stories, Survival, Gratitude Trigger Warning: This post contains references to ableist slurs, bullying, and emotional trauma. Please take care while reading. I was just trying to do what my therapist encouraged me to do—broaden my world. Go out, exist, maybe even feel a little bit normal in public. So I went to the mall, just me and my headphones, and my Nee Doh squish in hand. Nothing dramatic. Just existing in a place that has always been a sensory minefield for me. And then it happened. A group of guys walked up behind me, and one of them used that word . The R-word. The same word I was called as a kid. The word that haunted me all through school. The one that shattered my self-esteem, made me feel like a monster, made me question if I was even human. Logically, I know it’s “just a word.” But emotionally? It rips me to pieces every si...

Autistic, Exhausted, Alive: My Fight to Keep My Promise Autistic, Exhausted, Alive: My Fight to Keep My Promise Sometimes I wish I could just end it. That’s the truth, as raw as it gets. I don’t want to die—not really. But the exhaustion, the noise, the endless effort... it wears me down until the idea of not existing feels like a kind of relief. But I made a promise. I made it to my mom when I was 23 after the last time I came close. I made it to Miranda too. I told them I wouldn’t try again. And I meant it. Even when I’m at my lowest, that promise is a lifeline. Today, the noise sensitivity is brutal. The bugs outside are screeching, the white noise in my brain is up to max, and even my best coping tools—my Nee Doh, my stim toys, my earplugs—aren’t cutting it. I’ve been rubbing my feet together to try to soothe the overwhelm. Still, it builds. I wish my brain would just shut down. Funny thing is, it often does—just not when I need it to. I’ve always pu...

When Life Is Full of Square Holes but You're a Round Peg Reflection: Everything I've ever tried to do has been a challenge for me—from tying my shoes to reading to maths. It was never easy. I’ve always had to take extra time, use up more spoons, push through more frustration just to get the job done right. While others were walking through open doors, I was trying to reshape myself to fit into keyholes that were never made for me. I tried. I always tried. But when the world demands speed, neatness, sameness—it doesn’t care that my brain works differently. It doesn’t wait for me to catch up. And that pressure builds. Every little task eats a piece of energy I might not get back for days. Add all the sensory overload that stacks up throughout the day—the lights too bright, sounds too sharp, clothes too scratchy, smells too strong—and eventually it’s not just tiredness. It’s meltdown. It’s shutdown. It’s trauma, piling up like bricks on my chest. Over time, that toll becam...

Call Me Nails Posted by Caleb — Chronicles of a Quiet Fighter You know, at first, I thought it was just a passing comment. A few customers started calling me “Nails.” Not Caleb. Not even “hey, you.” Just… Nails . Because my fingernails are long. Neatly trimmed. Clean. Sometimes even polished. And apparently, that’s worth pointing out. At first, it sat weird in my chest. That sharp little sting of being seen—not in the way I want to be, but through someone else’s lens. A little too feminine for some folks. A little too polished. A little too much. But here’s the thing: I take care of my hands. I like how my nails look. They’re clean, tidy, and they feel like me . Not because they’re “girly.” Not because they’re “rebellious.” But because they’re mine . So I did what quiet fighters do. I claimed the name. Call me Nails. Not as a joke, but as a badge. Because these nails have filled parts bins and washed dishes and wiped away tears. ...

Why Ren and Chinchilla Speak to My Soul: A Love Letter to Hi Ren & Gone Girl I don’t usually open up about the music that gets under my skin and holds me when everything else feels too loud or too quiet. But Ren and Chinchilla? They’ve been my lifelines in so many ways. Their songs are raw, honest, and fierce — and they echo pieces of me I struggle to put into words. Ren’s “Hi Ren” hits me deep because it’s like listening to the chaos inside my own head being spoken out loud. As an autistic person with anxiety and depression, the fight between wanting to give up and trying to keep it together is constant. Ren voices that battle — the self-doubt, the anger, the moments where you just want to disappear. But then he flips it to hope, reminding me “you are not your pain, you are not your past, you are love.” That line feels like a lifeline on my worst days, when my brain is a storm and I’m drowning in noise. It’s the kind of honesty I don’t always find in music, and it’s why I...

When My Body Says No: An Autistic Moment in the Drive-Thru Something small happened at Zaxby’s today, but it made me realize something important about myself. I was in the drive-thru, just expecting my usual. The girl working the window wasn’t the one who handed me my drink—this time, it was a guy. I think he’s the manager or something. I’ve seen him there before, and he’s done this before too. He’s not rude or mean, but…I just don’t like him touching my stuff. It’s not all guys. Other restaurants have guy workers, and I’m fine with them. It’s him . Something about him just makes me feel off. And I finally noticed that. When he tried to hand me my drink today, I just stared at him. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared. He stared back and asked, “Are you going to take it?” Still, nothing from me. I had my autism shirt on under my work uniform (which was unbuttoned), and the girl standing beside him leaned in and whispered something in his ear. He backed off. Handed her t...

The Echo Curse: Why I Say “Shit” When Someone Says “Fuck” By Caleb P. Okay, so let’s talk about something real. You ever hear someone say “fuck” and suddenly your mouth just blurts out “shit”? No thinking, no planning—it just pops out like a reflex? Yeah. That’s me. And honestly? I think it’s kind of badass. What’s Actually Happening? I’m autistic. And my brain is a master of patterns, rhythm, and emotional energy. When someone swears—especially with strong emotion—my system picks up on the vibe and instantly wants to match it. It’s like my nervous system says: “Oh, that was intense! Matching energy now…” and boom: shit . Instant echo. No hesitation. This is a combo of: Pattern completion – My brain hears the start of a “swear sequence” and feels like it needs to finish it. Emotional mirroring – I soak up the emotion in the room and reflect it back in my own way. Verbal stimming – Saying certain words just feels good . The sharpness, the rhythm, the soun...

The Ones Who Skipped the Wall I have a hard time trusting people. Always have. It’s not just some personality quirk—it’s survival. Life taught me early that not everyone is safe, not everyone means what they say, and not everyone knows how to handle someone like me. So I built walls. Tall ones. Strong ones. Necessary ones. And yet… somehow, two people walked straight through them. They didn’t push. They didn’t force their way in. They just clicked . Like my heart recognized them before my head could overthink it. The first was Miranda . When I first met her, I was struggling bad—overwhelmed, ungrounded, drowning in the noise and pressure of everything around me. She didn’t look away. She didn’t freeze. She stepped in . She shielded me from the customers, the staff, the whole world. She grounded me when I couldn’t do it on my own. I didn’t even know what I needed. But she did. She saw something in me and protected it. That’s rare. That’s not something you forget. Then ca...

More Words Than Ever: A Day of Hope, Hurt, and Holding On Today was really weird. It’s hard to explain—really hard. I’ve talked more today than I think I’ve talked my entire life, lol. I know I was with John, and he’s one of my safe people, but even then, I usually don’t say much. Something’s shifting, I think. And I truly believe the sertraline is helping. I know it’s just Day 15, and I shouldn’t get my hopes up. But I can’t help it. If things keep going like this… who knows? I’ve even been smiling more. Jennifer noticed during our last session. And today both Xander and Ryan told me I seemed happier. I guess I do. Sometimes I wish I could just know what I’m feeling without having to think so hard about it. Alexithymia makes that so difficult. Like… yeah, I can smile and feel okay in the moment, but then later I’m left wondering, “What was that feeling? Was that happiness?” It’s frustrating not to be able to tell in real time. I want to understand myself more easily. It’s exhau...

Why I Shared My Stim Toy – And Why That’s Okay It was supposed to be a simple visit. I stopped by O’Reilly’s on my day off just to say hi to my friend Miranda. But like most things in my life, something small turned into something big inside my head. While I was there, Kenneth walked in. He’s Miranda’s boyfriend—and he’s AuDHD. As soon as he came through the door, I could tell something was off. I read it immediately in the way he moved, the way his body carried a weight most people wouldn’t notice. He was dysregulated. I just knew. Kenneth and I are buddies, and we’ve both been there—overwhelmed, out of place, overstimulated. So, I offered him my Nee Doh. He uses one at home, but he works at VW and isn’t allowed to bring stim toys into the plant with him. That sucks, honestly. So when I offered it, he took it. He needed it. No big deal to me. Five minutes later, he was calmer. Crisis averted. Miranda didn’t blink. She gets it. We’ve shared stim toys before, always with respect...

When the Sound Won’t Stop: My Sensory Survival Toolkit The world hums loud, though others rest, Each sound a weight upon my chest. But still I breathe, and still I try, With tools that help me not to cry. A blanket's hug, a beaver near, I build my calm when none is clear. If you read my last post, you know about the unwelcome summer guest outside my window—the endlessly buzzing cicada who’s been drilling into my skull with a song only I seem to hear. That post ended with a poem and a promise: to share how I cope when the world turns up the volume and my autistic brain can’t turn it back down. So here it is—my toolkit. Not one made of wrenches and screws, but of textures, sounds, comfort, and survival. Because when your sensory system runs hot all the time, you need real strategies to cool it down. 🧸 Weighted Blanket + Buc-ee = My Grounding Duo My weighted blanket is my shield. When the world is too loud, too fast, or too unpredictable, it wraps me in calm. A...

The Wild Knows Me It’s strange how a show can reach in and unlock something you didn’t know was buried so deep. I just finished The Untamed on Netflix, and it left me feeling raw—in the best way. What moved me most wasn’t just the characters or the loyalty and chosen family (though that did hit home). It was the way the wild was shown—untouched and vast, not just beautiful but free . It stirred something ancient in me, something autistic and wordless. A longing I rarely get to put into words. Watching it, I felt like the wilderness was calling to me. Not in a metaphorical sense. Literally. Like it was saying: “Come home.” For a moment, I imagined myself in Yellowstone—surrounded by mountains and sky, not needing to explain my silence, my stimming, my feelings that come too fast and too deep. There, I wouldn’t feel out of place. I’d just be . The wild wouldn’t ask questions. It wouldn’t label me. It would just accept me . There’s a kind of belonging in nature that doesn’t ...

“Hear What?” — When the World Says It’s Quiet But My Brain Says Otherwise “Why are you up so early?” my mom asked this morning, surprised to see me awake before my usual time. I stared at her, exhausted and on edge. “Don’t you hear that?” I said. She paused. “Hear what?” And just like that, I felt like I was losing my mind. Because I *did* hear something—something loud, vibrating, piercing. The never-ending song of a cicada right outside my bedroom window. A sound that might register to others as background noise, if they notice it at all. But to me? It was like a siren made of static and bone. The frequency cut through my walls, my thoughts, and my ability to rest. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t block it out. And no one else could even hear it. Being autistic means my sensory world is cranked to a volume most people don’t notice. It means I hear lights hum, electricity buzz, and insects scream. It means that while others sleep peacefully through summer sounds, I’m curled up ...

A Formal Petition to the Feathered Knights To the noble birds who once called the window outside my room home— I know we’ve had our differences. I’ve grumbled. I’ve complained. I may have even threatened to evict you with muttered curses and half-hearted shoe tosses. Your early morning chirping was not appreciated by a sleep-deprived autistic who wrestles with insomnia and a brain that refuses to shut off. But oh, how the tides have turned. For now, I find myself haunted by a new tenant: the relentless, vibrating, high-frequency Cicada of Doom . Its siren song—made with actual rib bones, by the way—is both biologically fascinating and absolutely torturous to my nervous system. Its buzz drills into my skull with the intensity of a thousand dentist tools on loop. I cannot rest. I cannot think. I cannot even scream because I’m too overstimulated to formulate words. So, to the birds: I take it all back. Your chirps, your fluttering wings, your constant nest rearranging—I would ...

This Blog Saved Me: What Autism Means to Me Now It’s been several months since I got my autism diagnosis, and honestly, I’m still learning what that truly means. Coming to terms with it hasn’t been easy. Some days, it’s a relief—finally having language for things I’ve always felt but couldn’t explain. Other days, it feels like I’m unraveling parts of myself I didn’t even realize were tangled. My friends have supported me in ways I didn’t fully recognize until now. The little check-ins, the patience, the unspoken understanding when I go quiet or need space—it all adds up. And my mom has been a huge part of this too. She’s still learning with me, but she shows up the best she can, even when things get hard. My therapist has helped the most by simply offering a space where I don’t have to mask. I can speak openly, cry without shame, stim without judgment. Just having that space to be fully me? That’s something I didn’t know I needed until I had it. But this blog— Chronicles of a Q...

When Loyalty Hurts: A Goodbye I Never Got I wasn’t prepared to lose Mikey like this. He didn’t die. He just… disappeared. Turned off his phone. Didn’t show up for work Saturday. No call. No warning. Just gone . He finally texted Sunday . Said he quit. That he’d been planning it for two weeks. But I didn’t know. Not me. Not any of us at work. The customers knew, though. Let that sink in. I thought he was one of my safe people. One of the few I could unmask around. I laid my soul bare with him—shared things I don’t tell just anyone. I don’t open up easy, and when I do, it’s not halfway. It’s all or nothing. And with Mikey, I gave it all. Now I’m sitting here, wondering why everyone I open up to eventually leaves. It’s not just sad. It’s grief. It’s confusion. It’s betrayal. And yeah—my eyes are leaking. That’s how my body processes this kind of thing. I guess it’s funny in a way. I wasn’t expecting a plot twist like this at work. But here we ...

What Are Friends and What They Mean to Me Friends, to me, are the people I trust enough to actually talk to. And when I say “talk to,” I mean really talk to —the kind of conversation that costs spoons, not just the small social talk we do to survive day-to-day life. When I open up to someone, it’s sacred. I don’t do that easily. I don’t have many friends, so when I choose to share my energy with someone, I cherish those connections deeply. Miranda is probably the closest friend I have. I rely on her—maybe more than I should—but she’s always there. She’s my protector, especially at work. Sometimes, she notices I’m spiraling before I even realize it myself. John is the wise one. His advice has carried me through some really dark times. He’s like my grounding voice. Chaz may no longer be at our store, but he still checks in. His voice has a calming effect like no one else’s. He still plays an important role in my life. Mikey is like a brother. His ADHD has him all ov...

The Calm in the Pattern: How Routines Help Me Regulate In my last post, I talked about my morning rituals—how I eat the same breakfast, take my meds at the same times, and follow a strict order before I start my day. But I wanted to go deeper into why routines matter so much to me as an autistic adult. It’s not just about liking sameness. It’s about stability . When the world feels unpredictable, overstimulating, and exhausting, my routine gives me something solid to hold onto. It’s like a roadmap that tells me: “This is what’s next. You’re safe. You’ve done this before.” Every time I follow my routine successfully, I’m building up regulation—not just keeping myself on track physically, but emotionally too. My brain knows what to expect. My body doesn’t have to stay on high alert. That makes it easier to stay calm, focused, and grounded. But when something disrupts the flow—when my breakfast is late, when someone talks to me during my med schedule, or when a task gets r...

Mourning Rituals I get up every morning to my mom bringing me my breakfast—an Egg McMuffin from McDonald's—at 7:30 a.m. I have to eat the same thing every morning or my entire day feels ruined. My morning meds start at 8:30 a.m., spaced out 30 minutes apart. I take four medications each morning, and after that, I go to the bathroom at exactly 10:45. Then I get dressed and ready for work. If I have enough time, I might even start writing a blog post like this one. Routines are important for autistic people—they ground us. But not all autistic people need routines in the same way. We’re all different. Most late-diagnosed autistic people also have ADHD. I’ve never been tested for it, but I’m pretty certain that I don’t have it. I have several friends who do, and I don’t share any of the ADHD traits they describe, but I have nearly all of the traits of autism. But back to routines—I thrive on them. They help me stay focused and organized. If my routines get interrupted, I...