Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="AspieringHuman" data-source="post: 315" data-attributes="member: 70">Thank you NDSA for your encouragement, and for giving us a platform to speak our minds and share our experiences!Super Freak [ATTACH]55[/ATTACH]Middle school was a grueling three years. The first year was the hardest. I learned if I could just stay quiet, and mind my own business that I could pass as normal and go mostly undetected by my peers. Barring my knock off Bass shoes, my thrift store jeans, and my frizzy brunette hair, I fit in well enough to not get picked on as much as some of the other kids. It also helped that my older brother was known for beating kids up if they so much looked at him the wrong way. No one wanted to face him, so they left me alone.Alone. I felt alone. I had a few friends but they were slowly moving away. Either physically to another state or another group of friends. Sixth grade was the worst. I observed all the other kids socializing and having fun, but I ended up sitting alone at lunch and keeping my head down to go unnoticed.It was just to much pressure for me to even walk down the hall. There were tons of people, a cacophony of kids and teachers talking back and forth to one another, not to mention the loud voice in my head asking me why this was so difficult and why I was so weird. I couldn’t wait to get to class. At least in class, the pressure to fit in was off of me because the teacher was now the center of attention.The First Day I realized the thrift store was for cool people…I use to dread going clothes shopping because that meant we were going to the Alabama Thrift Store. I remember wanting mom to park close to the door in case a person from school drove by and saw me going into the store. What would they think? Would this give them fuel for their covert bullying of me at school? Just some poor girl who wears someone else’s old clothes! Writing this just brings back the ugly stares of some of the most beautiful girls in my class. Their stares were unbearable at times.The next year something happened. One day I was walking down the hall and I noticed a group of kids I had never noticed before. I was mesmerized by them. One of the girls had bright pink in her hair another guy had green, and they all had on black leather jackets some with spikes. I was intrigued and automatically fell in love. If these older kids could stand out from the rest of the herd and survive, so could I. I was so tired of trying to fit in by having the right brand of jeans and shoes. My mom could barely afford food, much less clothes from the mall. I always ended up getting the cheap, used knock offs that made me feel inferior to my peers, it was time for a change.We pulled up to the thrift store and I thought “fuck those assholes, I’m doing my own thing now.” For the first time, the thrift store was my oyster. It was the early nineties, and there was an ocean of vintage jeans, shirts, dresses, and shoes for me to construct my style. I was in costume heaven. I bought genuine bell-bottoms, button-up vintage blouses, old soccer jersey’s, bright blue velvet pants, and my favorite, a pair of high heel tennis shoes. No longer would I be constrained to ugly brown suede shoes and tapered jeans that “had” to be tight rolled. That was for the preppies and the yuppies, and they could have it. I was not trying to fit into that cookie mold, only to be rejected, any longer. A new me was being born!The next week I constructed my first original outfit and was nervous and proud. I had no idea what this would mean for me when I walked down the crowded hallway at school. My heart pounded with anticipation. I strutted in with confidence wanting someone to say something to me. I got tons of recognition from many of my school teachers, blank stares from the rich popular kids and smirks from others. One of the popular guys from the football team called out “Super Freak”, and I felt my confidence rise. I took this as a badge of honor. I thought, “Hey I like that”!Super Freak is right! This new identity freed me from the confines of the neuro-normative idea of who I was “supposed” to be, what I was “suppose” to look like, how I was “suppose” to respond. My peers had already made it quite clear to me that I was not normal so why try. If you can’t fit in, be grateful! It’s an empowering gift just waiting to be revealed!I continued to create my path and style. It was one of my favorite things to do. I would go to the thrift store regularly to see what I could find. Someone else’s trash was now my treasure trove. A few years later the big box stores in the mall started selling bell bottoms and flared jeans, and all the rich popular kids were wearing them. It was then that they validated my style and even wanted to now be a part of my crowd.It’s funny how this Super Freak helped transform a whole student body by expressing herself and doing her own thing. You be you, no matter what anyone else thinks. It may take years, but the unique seeds you plant will eventually bear fruit! And even if they don’t you will have the gift of self-love and empowerment! That, in my opinion, is priceless.“To shine your brightest light is to be who you truly are.”― Roy T. BennettWritten by <a href="https://twitter.com/AspieringHuman" target="_blank">@AspieringHuman</a> <a href="https://auteuredreality.wordpress.com/2020/02/28/example-post/" target="_blank">@auteuredreality/wordpress</a>I am a neurodivergent autistic adult, on a mission to educate neurotypicals about my alter-reality, and how neuronormativity is exhausting and crippling at times.</blockquote>

Verification