Status Updates From Conversations with Monsters

It’s kinda scary to read a book with your own thoughts and feelings staring back at you!

If I am a monster, I hope you don't hate me for it. It is, at the time of writing, the best descriptor I can use to describe how I feel. I don't think all monsters are bad, or wrong, I think a lot of them are just misunderstood. And I feel that a lot, misunderstood. I think I told you that.

I do not remember where this name came from, except that I stole my surname from ol' Edgar Allan, because I wanted to imagine one of my books sitting beside his one day. I admit I did not understand book categorization, I have yet to write anything even remotely similar to his works, and I doubt I ever will, but it was a nice dream, and a little bit of motivation when I needed it most.

I wrote, because that was what I knew how to do, I queried agents and publishers, but the world was so uncertain that the publishing world was more cautious than ever before, and my writing is at best niche, at worst unmarketable. I wrote and abandoned so many books, so many poems, another memoir, just thousands and thousands of words left without a home because of this weird fluke of a virus.

I was booted from the system when they told me there was nothing more they could do for me, which was a shocking statement given the lack of care I'd received at that point.

If there is a spectrum imposed by neurotypical people, it is closer to TOO AuTISTIC and NOT AuTISTIC ENOugH. It's hardly a spectrum at all, much closer to a binary. It's funny that we're the ones who are supposed to have black and white thinking, and yet we exist in the shades of grey that neurotypicals do not allow us to operate in.

I don't see autism as the monster. I see the abuse doled out to autistic people in the form of electric shocks and conversion therapy as more monstrous than anything we could ever do.

I wrote my life out in short little chapters and I called it How to Be Autistic, and I never read it again, because I had peeled my skin and shown you the delicate organs inside, and that was scary. Sometimes, late at night, I like to think about how many copies of that book I have sold, and then I can really freak myself out.

Surprisingly got NetGalley approval on this one just today, even though it is already published. I thought my request had been ignored. Really enjoyed the author's How to Be Autistic from a few years ago, so am very interested in this new one.

“I feel like a feral animal that is being forced to play with the other dogs”

felt