Note: This is part of a project I've been working on for school. It's about autistic representation in the media, and this is the action that I'm doing for said project. There is another story I made, but it's fanfiction involving a fan character of mine for DC Comics called The Kitsune of Gotham. It mentions even heavier subject matters than this story.

Trigger/Content Warnings: Domestic abuse, physical abuse, verbal abuse, domestic violence, bullying, ableism, mentioned alcohol abuse, mentioned drug abuse.

Ever since I was a child, I've always known that I was weird. I was bullied constantly for it in school along with my brother Seth. Even in kindergarten, we would be called names, pushed around, punched, kicked, and had our hair pulled. The teachers did nothing. All they'd say is, "Just act normal, and they won't bully you." And they even had anti-bullying events and posters. How ironic, given how they turned the other cheek to my brother and me being bullied relentlessly.

They would often tell Seth and I to tell our parents, but they probably didn't know that the abuse continued at home. When one of us told our father, typically he's drunk or high off some kind of illegal drug. He'd tell us we deserved it for being mistakes, that we were ‌punching bags for those around us, and things like that. He'd never help us, like a deadbeat except that they're the one giving you shelter and the bare minimum of the things needed to survive. To think that the state allowed him to keep custody of us after our mother died is appalling.

Whenever we did something like stim, talk about something we were interested in, or anything else that Seth and I eventually found out were autistic traits, we were criticized harshly by our father. And a little less harshly by our teachers. Classmates would ask why we were acting weird or strange, and we would have no answer.

He forced us from a young age to do all the chores in the house. Cleaning up all the empty alcohol bottles and cans, cooking all the food, doing homework with no help at all, and even things that children shouldn't even be doing. When we said we couldn't do something he demanded us to do, he'd berate us and threaten to hit us with an empty liquor bottle. When we were too overwhelmed to continue chores, he'd yell and punch and kick until we were curled up in a ball, sobbing in pain. Then he'd pull us upright by our hair and order us to finish the chores.

Seth was the one who got the physical beatings most often. He only endured it because he didn't want to see me all beaten up. He's come to school with black eyes and bruises all over himself often. We got ostracized because of that. And ‌the fact that we wore ill-fitting clothes that looked like we picked them from a dumpster. Nobody wants to be around the freaks who couldn't afford some decent clothes.

This continued on for years, and in middle school it only got worse.

When I hit puberty, it didn't get any better. I wasn't allowed to go to the store and buy pads or tampons since my father considered it a waste of money. I was often forced to bleed through my clothes or use toilet paper and tissues. I'd sometimes go to the nurse at school to get pads, because I had no at home. I was sometimes mocked for that by my classmates. There were a few who gave me a pad or tampon because I didn't have any.

It was in middle school that some of my classmates showed concern about me or my brother. Some would come up to me and ask if I was doing okay, others would tell the teacher, but most of them didn't care. There were times they sent us to the guidance counselor, but we'd lie and tell her everything was alright at home. Nothing was alright in the slightest.

We knew something was wrong with us. We internalized the abuse that was brought our way. Seth and I thought ‌we were burdens on society, just a waste of oxygen and space.

It was when Seth told our father to leave him alone to do homework that something happened. He started by screaming at him loud enough for the neighbors to hear, then ran into the kitchen to grab a knife. The man tried to stab my brother many times. He caused a deep cut in the side of his torso. I screeched in horror. My brother was screaming out in pain, and our father was yelling out the r-slur like no tomorrow.

It caused so much attention that someone called both the police and paramedics. They came in when father stabbed Seth. They had to both restrain and taze him to put him in handcuffs. They rushed Seth into the ambulance, and I refused to leave him. I had to be by his side. He was the only person in my life that I could trust. The paramedics let me stay by his side, and when they had to do some kind of procedure at the hospital. I had to wait in the waiting room.

One of the people in the waiting room, I believe she was a mom, came up to me to ask if everything was okay. She knew I was stressed out. The bright lights of the hospital were draining me, and I cried. I couldn't even speak for a while, I was too drained from everything that was happening. She hugged me for what felt like hours, giving me tissues to help me wipe my tears. When a nurse came to tell me that Seth was okay, the kind lady noticed me perk up.

"Sounds like your brother's doing well," the lady looked at me, smiling in a way nobody has smiled at me before. "Go on, I'm sure he needs you now more than ever." I nodded at her in thanks, and I followed the nurse to where my brother was.

When I saw him in the hospital bed, with all those machines hooked up to him, I rushed to his side. I was so overwhelmed with relief that he was okay. I was confident he'd be dead, and I'd be all alone. One of the police officers was in the room too. They needed an explanation about what had happened several hours prior. I wasn't able to tell him anything at first. I was too overwhelmed with both my surroundings and how hungry and thirsty I was. Crying for hours is quite a way to get dehydrated.

He was so kind to me and asked the nurse if he could grab me a snack and something to drink. He was gone for a bit, but returned with a bag of pretzels and a bottle of water. He waited for me to finish my food, and asked me if I was ready for him to ask questions. When I said yes, he started asking the questions while writing down my answers.

My brother and I ended up staying in the hospital for a bit. The officer that asked me the questions came by the next day with some clothes for me to change into. The officers investigating the house noticed how dirty and worn down my brother and I's clothes were. One of them went out of their way to go to a thrift store to buy us some decent clothes. It wasn't much, but given how I used to live with only the bare minimum, it meant the world to me.

A social worker came by to get me a mental health evaluation, and also to get me evaluated for being autistic. The social worker was autistic too, and when she first saw me she had a feeling that I was autistic.

She was right. They diagnosed me as autistic, along with possibly having an executive dysfunction disorder. And most definitely PTSD. She found all the resources she could from books to magazines, doing everything she could to help both me and my brother.

I read the books and magazines religiously. I found out that the things that my classmates made fun of me for were natural aspects of autism. Sensory issues, anxiety, shutdowns and meltdowns, special interests, and other things. I found out that there were people like me for the first time in my life. I thought something was wrong with me for so long that I never thought that it wasn't. I never thought that there were people in this world who are like my brother and I.

When the hospital released my brother, we found out that the social worker who helped me requested to take my brother and I in. She and her husband, who we later found out was the one who was in the hospital the day they brought us in, wanted to help us. It was weird; they were in their late 20s, a little over a decade our seniors. But they cared so much for us ‌they wanted to take us in. At first they fostered us, but only a month in they asked us if we wanted them to adopt us.

They noticed how joyful we were days after they took us in. Our classmates noticed, and so did our teachers. Some of them didn't even recognize us the day we came back. It was that drastic. Seth was noticing his interest in music, and for me it was sewing which piqued my interest. Our new dad had an old guitar that he still had, but never really used, along with some guitar picks. He found some video tutorials on the basics, and Seth gained his special interest in making music.

We're still traumatized from our past. If we were in a different city, if the social worker didn't want to foster us, if our father actually killed Seth, our lives wouldn't have turned out this way. Because of that, my brother and I are grateful to those who helped us. They made sure that we got out of that situation, and helped us accept ourselves and learn what it means to be autistic.

After Seth and I graduated from high school, we worked odd jobs for quite a while. I mostly worked in retail, which I don't want to do again, and he did performances to get some extra cash. Life in the city drained us. It made me experience burnout for months, not even picking up a needle and thread. Seth didn't experience burnout at the same degree, but playing the same old songs everyday tired him.

I was a little reluctant to decide on moving. Seth was extremely reluctant. Part of it was that most of the ways he gets his income is through performing. For me, it was because I don't want to travel all the way to a client's house to measure them. Dad helped Seth make a channel on a video sharing website where he could post videos of his music. He also helped me create a form for customers to submit their measurements, so I don't have to go all the way to them to measure them.

We had to do quite a lot of things before deciding to move, especially since I had to complete all the orders I currently had and deliver them. After that was done, Seth and I packed our things and moved to Magnolia Town.

It's been a few years since we moved, and we wouldn't have had it any other way. They accept us, and there are other people in Magnolia Town who are autistic or have ADHD. I befriended Millie. She works at the library and enjoys knitting. Sometimes, she goes to Seth and I's house to knit while I'm sewing clothes for clients. I befriended some ‌others in town, but Millie's the one I'm the closest to.

Seth‌ befriended Leslie. He works at the bakery with his parents and sometimes brings us stuff from there if they didn't sell it that day. His little sister, Dawn, likes to hang by our house sometimes to listen to Seth play his guitar.

One of the people we're both friends with is Kory. He enjoys exercising and playing video games. Sometimes has periods where he gets hyper fixated on something. When we first moved in, he helped us bring our stuff to our side of the duplex. He and another person named Jule lived on the other side. Kory's in the city with his sister right now because he's recovering from top surgery, but he seems to do ‌well.

There are various other people in town who we've befriended, even the mayor is close to us. There's two of the older townsfolk who are very kind to us, Mr. and Mrs. Blackthorne. They live, well, lived, on the farm a few minutes from town. They've always been kind, even in their old age. Over the past few years, they haven't been able to farm as much as they used to, so they're moving away.

They aren't abandoning the farm, though. They told the rest of us in town that their granddaughter took over the farm. She's going to move in before spring begins. They told us ‌they were going to retire and move into a neighborhood where there are plenty of other seniors. All they asked was that we help them pack up their things for when they were going to move.

Leslie, Seth, and I were the main ones helping with packing up their things. This was before Kory went to the city for his top surgery, he helped ‌with the heavier stuff when he was in town. When he left, the mayor and her husband took over for him.

When Seth and I were getting overwhelmed with sensory inputs, Mr. and Mrs. Blackthorne insisted on us stepping outside to take a break. They made sure we weren't forcing ourselves beyond our limits, and making sure we were doing alright.

They moved out two days back, and tomorrow their granddaughter is moving in. I hope ‌she is accepting of my brother and I, maybe she's neurodivergent as well! Until then, I'll have to prepare myself for when tomorrow arrives.