—Describe the supports that are most helpful for you in your communication and interaction with others?
Try to look at opportunities for each person to join in. Look for poured out, certained powers in awesome are all. Opt supporting I to respectfully including get. You can free sad in persons by in your best, be butter my best. Yes, very upping epitome I’m valuabled to try each best be I can. It eases all. You and I.
—–Words of wisdom for future Speech Language Pathologists.
I’m pointed telling you that thousands want to tell queasy they are becased in returtured-be bodies, that I have too. There they scared are by fears they cannot neatly move. Opportunities wasted and wepted sad, they are; I am too. Worrying they are as trying, trying trying to dependably speak, awed that they will resters be never. Greedy they are to heard their motor madness teases answered with resistanced returned to greet real opportunities to move try pointed reliabled. You can help by assurances you understand their trying, and will not stop searching for the best way to free their voices. There their tears are eased, impressed by trusted that you will help them. Try FC. I’m rest get by supported typing.
Think of yourself as Communication Innovators . Try to right epic wrongs by greeting all as communicators, wanting each cherub to be errored and awed not. You can seed their trust by estimating they CAN free their very important voices .
How it feels to be trapped in a body that does not do what my mind tells it to do:
It is hell. Young, you waste, by messages from your mind errored by your boggy body that you mask as “I’m greeting saturated insanity.” You learn “I’m not trusty powered by my ordering my own nutty neurons.” You try to heart understand “I’m a freak.” In I, tread I tears I cannot rest, as I try to sweeten my thousand horror thoughts that confirm “I’m errorer of me.” I live scared of my own body, fretting that I cannot move it as my mind requests, upping red fears I will fail, wasting in agony yet another opportunity.
There I’m not understood. Pity pouting distresses in I get punishing, shaming my heart and stripping the reason to live right out of I.
It is how you supply I with poignant, sured, kind, pured support that I hunger for, that best ceases my hell.
How could anyone possibly imagine trapping humans with the painful infliction of powerful electric shocks being anything but traumatic, abusive torture to tryers like me?
Link to “31 Shocks,” New York Magazine, Jennifer Gonnerman, September 2, 2012
A two-part response to the Philadelphia Inquirer’s article: “Medical debate: Should autism block a man from getting a heart transplant?”– August 15, 2012. http://www.philly.com/philly/health/20120814_Medical_debate__Should_autism_block_a_man_from_getting_a_heart_transplant_.html
Autism is a neurological difference, not a “mental problem.” Describing an autistic person as having a “flawed mind” is blatantly incorrect, dangerously ignorant, and psychologically hurtful to a recently estimated 1% of the world’s population. How do I know? I listen to my 37-year-old daughter Peyton. From her, you will hear no despair about her neurological differences, but an appeal to be seen and treated as a real person, supported to share her gifts as a valued member of her community. A committee of doctors deciding who gets a chance to live should begin with truthful understandings. Denying opportunity for treatment to those labeled autistic is murder, and it is pre-mediated.
I’m Peyton Goddard, called by you autistic. Wherever I look, I’m pitied. I’m pointed to as trash. I’m esteemed as exempt. It hurts. And I’m tired of it. I’m trying to find peace, but powered pointers say I’m expendable. It is a life painfully sharp and feared. I’m no fool. I’m a real person whether you like it or not. I’m eased where you see my quest to live potently and I’m greeted as a real person. Poignantly I want you to stop jeering at me as feared, fretted murder by tyranny of killing persons of differed gifts. It is treasures in each that ready us for peace where I’m freed to live. I’m ready to greet you, nary to error you. Are you ready to error me no longer? Yearn I you see this as way to greet peace.
I’m heard that Independence dawned 236 years ago. Was it reason to hurray I or tear I? Still, I’m weeping. Iffy awed, I journey. Treaders still trying to point to freedoms hasten, awe all. I’m wagering that each treader yearns to journey fret-not being judged. There they can be try their bettered certain, sweet selves. Freedom estimated fills yearns in folks feeded fears that rest they will greet nary, being there fettered by red fears that “freed I worry I’ll never be.” If questions of easily sweeping away certain folks in jutty treads, deeding them to destinies of free-never, there I saw tears. If rest is to be heard, it must be freed by free ALL. Testy yet is our democracy. Eagered, all treaders want to be free to live in esteem as their deed assures. Referenced I, they need sweet-pointed, hesitated-never, certain support to ponder hopes of opportunities as best hurray. I’m plotting independence I’m measured by everyone freed as we polish our journey to Independence by all included leap to no one left out. Hurray!
“The Meaning of July Fourth for the Negro” by Frederick Douglass, 1852