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26-year-old queer bisexual autistic Bostonian from New York. Currently learning how to adult.

[zoey-trope]

Done! zoeywrites --> zoey-trope.

[wulfgendur]

hello friends, here are some new gender terms

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[likethedreamersdo]

I really like this. The description of “juxera” is the closest I’ve come to finding a gender description that feels right to me, so far.

[zoey-trope]

Blog overhaul

It's been forever, but I haven't forgotten about this blog. I'm in the middle of changing it up a bit. Previously, I had been focused on making it something I could both share with friends and show to potential employers, to spice up my resume, but I don't care about that anymore. I think I might be more likely to actually post here if that wasn't an issue. So, I'm going to stop posting original content at all on my other blog because it never gets responses and the point of this blog is to actually interact with people. I'm also going to be changing my username sometime soon, but I'm not sure what I'm changing it to yet. Anyway, hi. More later!

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A (very) Quick Update

Ever since I blogged about my sort-of ex, I've stopped dreaming about her altogether. Coincidence?

(I also told S about it, and of course she didn't remotely care or read anything into it. I knew she would be great about it, but I'm a worrier by nature.)

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This week's recipe (actually from several weeks ago; I'm pretty behind on these) is Kale, Quinoa and Avocado Salad! I cooked the kale fully, because no one likes raw kale - well, okay, I hear some people do, but I am not one of them, nor do I know any of them as far as I'm aware. It definitely cooked down more than it might have otherwise, but was still a good base for the rest of the ingredients, which sat on top. It also still worked well texturally.

I made two other important modifications: I added a can of black beans to round out the flavors a little and make it a heartier meal, and I used less than half the recommended amount of Dijon mustard. For the beans, I strained and washed them, then added them into the cooked quinoa and fully mixed the two together, heating the beans by proximity. The mustard was simply unnecessary: the lesser amount worked well, and more would've been too strong a taste for my palate. (I used one tablespoon, but I had changed the recipe to serve 6 instead of 4 - I'm not sure what the equivalent is for the original serving amount.)

I loved this salad, and so did my guests. It was fresh, colorful, all the diverse flavors came together perfectly on the tongue, and while it makes sense to call it a "salad," it's not a all a typical salad, nor a typical meal, so it felt like something special and new. I'll definitely be making it again!

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Let's Talk About Weight: Part 2

I quit Weight Watchers. I couldn't bear it. I was denying myself one of my few daily pleasures that I never have to think about. Suddenly, I was thinking about it all the time, watching myself, not necessarily changing my eating patterns but counting my points. All. The. Time. And eating wasn't fun anymore, it was something I had to tally, so that I could tell myself, "Well, I might not be eating less junk food, but at least I'm eating more vegetables, at least I'm tracking!"

I lost six pounds my first week without changing my eating habits. So I told myself I could just get away with that. Of course, that's not how it works. I immediately gained some of it back, and then I fell into a cycle of self-loathing and just general anger: I hated myself for being fat, I hated myself for trying to deprive myself of the things I loved, I hated Weight Watchers for validating the idea that there is something wrong with weighing this much and/or looking like I do, and then I went back to hating myself for being fat.

Obviously, something had to change, and since I'm the obstinate sort, that something wasn't going to be me - or the mirror.

I talked it over with my dad, among many other things. He told me that perhaps I was simply taking on too much right now, that it was okay not to try to fix everything overnight. I'm taking a lot of big steps in the right direction right now, mental health-wise, and there's only so much you can do at a time.

So I quit. I canceled my membership, stopped going to meetings, and gave up entirely on trying to be anything but the size I am. And you know what? I feel great about it. I don't regret a thing. I still look in the mirror and wish I saw something different, but I don't hate myself for it. Right now, sometimes I need to be able to give myself permission to stress-eat, because sometimes I am in intense, overwhelming, stressful situations and mindsets and the only thing that comforts me at all is some good macaroni and cheese, or a half pint of ice cream out of the carton. I don't eat like that every day. I still try to eat healthy, which is always key. But I've let go of the pressure, and I'm so much happier.

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iatrogenic replied to your post: The Ex Who Isn't an Ex

it was also a really really GOOD story! (and as far as trying to get rid of the lingering feelings, I assume you have talked to your therapist, but if you haven’t, do. <3 Also, I do not see S taking issue with it at ALL she’s too good.)

Awww, thank you! <3 I have not yet talked to my therapist about my dreams. There's been a lot else going on, and today was the first day that I woke up disturbed by it. Which is what made me decide to write it out! :) You're right about S, but for some reason I seem to be scared to tell her, anyway.

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The Ex Who Isn't an Ex

She was my first. My first everything, really, except for one: she was never my girlfriend.

Our parents have known each other forever, so we've been friends practically since we were born, though during our childhoods, she lived over the bridge in New Jersey, so we didn't see each other all that often.

Years passed this way, starting when I was eleven: we were so close, something more than friends but less than girlfriends. I thought about her sometimes, wondered, 'What if.' She always had a boyfriend, though those relationships never lasted long. Her family had moved to Vermont by the time I was fifteen or so, anyway, and I couldn't drive. But as the time went on, the 'what if' grew bigger in my mind, became its own entity. By the time we saw each other when I was twenty-one, two years after the last time we'd seen each other, it had grown so big it threatened to engulf our friendship and any joy I had in seeing her at all. There was no "more than friends" anymore; there hadn't been in a while.

I wrote a story about that experience. It was extremely cathartic, and though part of me still wished things could be different, most of me knew that they never would be, and all of me hoped that I could finally put my feelings to rest. Other than in sharing my writing, I didn't think of her much after that, not in that way. I fell in love with someone else, got my heart broken, met the love of my life, and when I thought of her at all, it was with fondness and missing, friendly love, nothing more.

We had never acknowledged what had happened between us, just continued on with our friendship as though everything was normal and always had been. But the night before my dad's wedding two years ago, after meeting my fiancee for the first time, she said to me, "I'm really happy for you. You guys seem great together. She's a lot better for you than I could ever have been."

I was taken aback: she hadn't given it a name, but she had admitted it was real. I think I nodded or smiled or maybe said thanks. It was a tiny moment, not a conversation. It was the last time we've talked, just the two of us.

And that could be that. I could tell you I would like to have the chance to talk to her about the feelings I used to have, tell her that I'm sorry I never talked to her when I could have or told her how awkward or strained I felt inside, that I would really like to be able to publish the story I wrote about us someday, but since I fabricated literally two lines of dialogue and the rest is 100% truth, I wouldn't feel okay doing it unless she read it and okayed it first. I could tell you I miss her, that she's always been a dear friend and that it doesn't matter what else may have been there or not, that my feelings about her will always be incredibly warm and loving and that I hope I see her sometime in 2014. I could tell you how glad I am that she and S get along so well, because despite not seeing her or talking to her often, she's still an important friend to me.

I could tell you all of those things, and they would all be true. But they wouldn't be the whole story, either. Because lately, I dream about her almost every night. Sometimes in the dream, S has her face. Sometimes they are the same person, merged into one. But more often than not, she and I are in a relationship and S doesn't exist, or there's some kind of complicated love triangle going on.

In last night's dream, S and I were together, but S never appeared in the dream. I was at her house for Thanksgiving and it became more and more clear that she had an expectation that she and I and S were all going to be in a relationship, but S didn't know about it and I felt caught between the two of them. I woke up before I had a chance to resolve anything, and left her-in-my-mind feeling vulnerable and alone. It was one of those dreams that feels so real that for a few minutes after you wake up, you still think the dream world is your reality.

I just don't know why I'm dreaming about her. It makes me feel guilty, though there's no reason for that. It confuses me, too. Why her? Why now? Why almost every night? Why haven't I told S yet? I have no answers. All these things I thought writing had put to rest have come back to the surface, but this time only in my subconscious. That 'what if' is somehow still there in the back of my head, even though I am committed to spending the rest of my life with someone else. So I guess the real question is, how do I get rid of it for good?

[zoey-trope]

Sometimes I play a game with myself - depression or PDD? Both affect my executive functioning abilities, or rather lack thereof. So, if I don’t know why I can’t make myself do something, but I just can’t, it’s PDD. If even the thought of it makes me cry and/or want to crawl back into bed, it’s probably depression. Probably. Not necessarily. And then there are the really tough ones: The thought of doing it makes me angry? Could be either, both, or latent parental issues. The thought of doing it makes me feel like I’m hitting my head against a wall? More likely due to PDD, but it could also be depression.

And sure, some of these things are overlapping, but I always wonder, nonetheless. It’s not necessarily either/or, and it’s not black and write. That’s just how my brain simplifies things (also PDD-related).

Those are just couple of the many little things I go through in my head every day. It’s far more complicated than anybody sees or even understands, I think. Even I am just beginning to understand the extent of how much day-to-day things overwhelm me. I still have it drilled into my head that I’m lazy, because no one understood for so long. Bit that’s not true, and I’m being literal when I say I can’t do a thing. It’s really validating to finally have a diagnosis that says that someone out there gets that.

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Open Letter to my Beloved Theater Collective in New York

[Note: I am not sending this because it's become a moot point - the show is happening and so it doesn't need to be said. Still, it's always helpful to get things off your chest.]

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Dearest [Theater members],

As most of you who know me are probably aware, I am living in Boston right now. So I cannot be a regularly active member of [Theater], though I miss you all and the theater very much. However, I do still consider myself a member and plan to be as active as I can when I am in the city and available to do so, as well as through the listserv and in other remote ways.

That said, the way that S’s show is handled at this point is a very big issue for me and potentially a deal-breaker as far as the future of my relationship with [Theater]. I would like to preface this by saying that while this may seem personal, as it is my fiancée’s show, this is truly a matter of principle for me and I would feel exactly the same regardless of whose show it was. I am also not commenting on the content of the show, but simply on the issues that have come up surrounding it.

[Theater] is a space that, in my experience, strives to show work that other theaters might not dare to show. It is a space in which artists can produce whatever their hearts desire, no matter how controversial or uncomfortable the work may be. Or at least, that is how it has been presented to me in theory. This is a major reason I am at [Theater]: these are things that are very important to me.

However, in practice I have found that over the three years I have been a member, [Theater] tends to play it safe. While I have seen and helped out on many wonderful performances over this time, almost none have been truly avant-garde and groundbreaking. This is not to impugn anyone’s work! I think many, if not most, of the shows in this space are extremely important and I am proud to be part of a theater that puts up such work.

What I am trying to say is that [Theater] does not often step out of the comfort zones of many of its members. Not many of the shows I have seen challenge us to live in our discomfort. This is something that great art should always strive for, in my opinion. If this is not something that [Theater] as a collective is willing to do and to support, I can no longer be a part of it. I recognize that people have very real concerns about safety, insurance, legality and our neighbors. But I feel that this all comes down to people’s intense discomfort. I am hopeful that we can figure out the logistical issues in a way that will satisfy everyone. But the discomfort is not something that can be easily settled, and to refuse a very active member with a lot of sweat equity a show on these grounds seems to me to be against everything [Theater] stands for.

I hope you will all come to a consensus regarding S’s show that sets the minds of those concerned at ease. I love [Theater] and I believe in us as a collective. Thank you for listening.

With love to all and much respect,

Zoey

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bb <3

hiiiiiiiii :) <3

[zoey-trope]

You're the absolute best, and I adore you. <3

Awww, this put a huge smile on my face. I adore you too! And I miss you so much. <3

[zoey-trope]

Today I found out that I would make a terrible ESL teacher.

I volunteered twice today. The first one was at the Jewish Vocational Center, teaching English to refugees. I was there for two hours and I never want to try to teach anyone anything again.

For some reason, I thought that this would be a fun thing for me to do, though I have never wanted to be a teacher or thought that I would be particularly good at it. In fact, I've always thought I'd be a terrible teacher, because I am impatient, easily frustrated and don't know how to explain things in more than one way, usually. And while I've definitely had teachers like that before, they were always the ones I hated and prayed I'd never get again. I don't want to be that person - effective, compassionate teachers are so wonderful! Why should I, knowing I can't do that, try to take the place of someone who can?

But I saw the volunteer opportunity, and I thought, Well, I'm only volunteering twice this week (not counting my MSPCA orientation on Sunday, which I'm super excited for), so I signed up. They said no experience or knowledge of other languages was required. So I'd probably be okay, right?

Each volunteer worked with one person or very small group, and I was assigned one woman who still needed to do the work packet that the rest of the class had been doing earlier in the week. I sat across from her with my own copy and we worked on it together. Or tried to. When she didn't understand what the question was asking, I tried to explain (badly), and she continued to not understand, and I continued to try to explain (badly), until I gave up and asked the leader for help. This happened multiple times. Something else that happened multiple times: she asked me what a word meant, and I didn't know how to define it. These were simple words, like "describe" and "courage." For courage, I said, "like bravery," which she also didn't know. For "describe," I told her it was like an adjective. I didn't expect her to know the word adjective, but it was literally all I could think of.

On the plus side, I think I did genuinely help with her spelling. I gently corrected her the whole way through, and she seemed to be remembering what I had told her as she wrote those words again, later on.

After two hours had passed, I left, relieved that I would never have to do that again, and I realized that I had never even asked her what country she was from. How much of a worse teacher could you possibly be?

I think that a lot of my issues here come from my PDD, but I don't know this for a fact. What I do know is that not being able to understand someone/have them understand me makes me frustrated like nothing else. Communication barriers are so difficult; I try to be compassionate and understanding about them, but I usually wind up annoyed, both at the other person and at myself. So why I thought this was remotely a good idea in the first place is beyond me.

Massive, massive respect to those of you who regularly do this, by the way. I don't know how you do it, but I admire you like crazy.

[zoey-trope]

This week's recipe is from that tumblr post with twelve different soup recipes that was going around a little while ago. I'm going to put the whole recipe here, because the way it was written in that post was a little convoluted, though the recipe itself is very simple. I've modified it here and there.

This soup is so incredibly delicious, and it is the easiest thing in the world to make. I doubled the original recipe, and the one I'm going to give you serves 8; it's a great thing to keep around for leftovers, especially as it's getting really chilly here in the northern hemisphere. Plus, the rosemary makes it that much more flavorful over time. This recipe is vegan and can easily be made gluten-free with any type of gluten-free pasta, though I don't recommend rice pasta, as it won't hold up well in broth.

Chickpea & Pasta Soup Prep time: 5 min Cook time: 20 min Serving size: 8 3 cups canned chickpeas, drained and rinsed 2 cups onions, diced 4 carrots, chopped 4 celery ribs, chopped 2 cups canned tomatoes 2 tbsp fresh rosemary 4 fresh bay leaves 1 cup small pasta (I recommend ditalini) salt pepper Put chickpeas, onions, carrots, celery, tomatoes, bay leaves, rosemary and 12 cups water in a large pot over high heat. Boil, then bring to a simmer, cooking until chickpeas are tender and celery and carrots are cooked, about 20 minutes.

At the same time the soup is cooking, boil the pasta separately. Drain pasta and add it to the rest of the soup when the soup is ready. Add salt and pepper to taste.

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citibyrd replied to your post “I never told my friends about my diagnosis.”

♥ ♥ ♥

<33333! I miss talking to you, Addie. This means a lot to me.

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I never told my friends about my diagnosis.

Well, that’s not exactly true. I told H, in hopes that it would explain my somewhat erratic behavior. I told R, because I felt safe, knowing that she could relate to an extent. And I told L, because I was with her in person and knew she’d never judge.

But most of my friends are online, and I never told them. I was terrified to say online, “I am on the autism spectrum.” I’ve seen what happens when people claim to be autistic online, no matter how true it may be. There is a lot of disbelief and/or bullying, and even though I know my friends aren’t like that, the prospect of opening myself up to that was still too hard to face.

The other piece is that I knew as soon as I told them, I’d become either “the autistic friend” or that friend who lies about her diagnosis. I know my friends well enough to trust that they won’t think so badly of me, and they know me well enough to know I’m not a liar. But I think I pass pretty well. It’s why I wasn’t accurately diagnosed until I was 25, why when I went into my psychiatrist’s office a year earlier and said, “I think I might have a mild form of autism,” she immediately dismissed it and told me what I actually had was some type of personality disorder (also not true).

And then there’s the “autistic friend” business. I want to be able to say, Hey, this is why my behavior may seem odd sometimes and why I often don’t know how to act in social situations; this is why sometimes I have to go home early because my system gets overloaded and why I don’t handle sudden changes of plans very well and why I sometimes can’t do things that seem simple to you and why school was too much for me and why I don’t know how to be an adult even more than your average twenty-something doesn’t. But I don’t want people to suddenly see me differently. I don’t want to be disabled in their eyes.

So I just never explained anything. I hid from them instead. I let myself get distracted so I didn’t have to think about telling anyone anything. And in doing so, I stopped being around on twitter. I stopped texting the few people I ever really texted to begin with. I let myself fade into the background and completely lose touch, even though I knew people cared about me and wanted to know what was going on.

So this is what’s going on: when I was at my program in Hawaii, I was given a complete psych evaluation, for at least the fourth time in my life. But this time, they found what no one else had ever been able to put their finger on: I have PDD-NOS, which (as you’ve probably figured out from the rest of this) is on the autism spectrum. Technically it doesn’t exist in the new categories of the DSM-5 and I would just be categorized as ASD, but I find the distinction important for myself. I don’t know how to explain it to you. It’s very vague because it manifests a bit differently in everyone who has it. But I have been working with an amazing doctor who specializes in ASD in all its forms, and she’s helping me to understand my brain. The more she and I talk, the more pieces fall into place that explain my experiences throughout my whole life. I have always had executive functioning impairments. I have always felt so different from everyone else, and I never knew why, and now I do and it is the biggest relief. I cried when I first talked to the doctor I’m working with, because for the first time in my life, somebody understood.

Right now, I think it’s more important to be honest about my experiences and tell my friends and anyone else reading this who I am than keep hiding and giving in to all the fear. I have a lot of support here, and this is still a learning process for me. I have a feeling it will be for a long time.

[zoey-trope]

This week's recipe is Quinoa-Stuffed Roasted Squash, as found in a calendar the staff here at the program have hanging in their office. This is a truly delicious side dish/light meal that's great for fall. The serving sizes and cooking times are all true. I wouldn't change a thing about this recipe.

While this is a wonderful dish made fresh, it does not make for good leftovers. The flavor of the sage is gone after a day or two in the fridge, and the orange peel is milder. However, because each portion is half of a squash, you don't need to have leftovers. Just make exactly the amount you want for lunch/dinner and you're good to go!