Ruin Me Respectfully: A Manual for Glitch-Bodied Love

This isn’t a sex manual. It’s a survival ritual. A love/trust/undoing spell for glitch-bodied weirdos who were never built for performance love.
We don’t want perfection. We want recursion.
We don’t need safety. We need recognition.
This is how we ruin tenderly—and rebuild from the wreckage..

⚔️ What It Means 🧠 Somatic Theory 🛠 Tactical Tools ❤️ Field Notes 🌒 Glitch Logic 💥 Why This Works

It’s a trust dialect for nervous systems that don’t lie, even when they try.

🧠 Overview

A Love/Trust/Undoing Manual for the Neurodivergent Heart

Ruin Me Respectfully isn’t just about sex, consent, or intimacy.
It’s a survival manual and spellbook for those who can’t lie to their bodies—even when their minds try.
It’s about building safety through clarity, not comfort.
It’s about being wrecked by trust, not performance.
It’s about finding the few who don’t flinch at the truth you leak—and want to meet you there, nerves and all.

This isn’t a sex manual.
It’s a mirror.
A trapdoor.
A soft scream in a padded room where the wallpaper flirts back.

It’s for the ones whose nervous systems act like truth detectors—who short-circuit the moment the vibe turns false.
Not because they’re fragile, but because they’re wired for reality in a world that rewards masks.

It’s for lovers who don’t shut down from fear, but from what’s missing.
The ones who flinch at half-truths, who can’t pretend to be held if they aren’t really seen.

This is a threadbare guide to glitch-coded tenderness:

• Where gags mean: “thank you for not making me talk.”

• Where bondage means: “I don’t have to plan where my hands go.”

• Where trust means: “you saw the mess and stayed.”

It’s about recognition so precise, it disarms your survival reflex.
Sex as a feedback loop, not a performance.
Dominance as emotional fluency, not control.
Love as intentional rupture and reassembly.

This is a survival manual disguised as a love letter disguised as a threat.
This is how we build souls out of mirror shards and safe words.
This is how we say:
Ruin me respectfully. Or not at all.

I’m Not Hard to Love—You Just Don’t Speak My Nervous System

Compatibility isn’t about attraction. It’s about whether your presence crashes my system.

💬 Sex & Submissive Leaning – Dominance = Cognitive Offload

Let’s get one thing straight: this isn’t about kink. It’s about efficiency.

“It’s words, but it’s also leading. The more decisions I have to make, the harder everything gets.”

That’s not a preference. That’s a nervous system workaround.

Being submissive isn’t about surrender—it’s about preserving bandwidth. If I’m trying to track signals, sensations, and your intentions while also planning a mental flowchart of what comes next? We’re done. The vibe is dead. The coochie has left the building.

But when someone leads with clarity?
Boom. Executive function liberated.
Now I can actually feel what’s happening instead of narrating it like a glitchy GPS.

Submissiveness in this body is a trust contract, not a kink script. You lead, I breathe. You stay steady, I stay present. That’s not power play. That’s nervous system wizardry.

And when it works?
It’s not just hot. It’s holy.

🧠 Bumper Sticker Labels: Demi + Sapio

Yeah, I’ve used them. They’re useful.
Like hazard signs on a spaceship door.

Demi = I can’t override my own shutdown. Emotional resonance is my only unlock code.
Sapio = Intelligence isn’t sexy because of trivia night—it’s sexy because it means you can track me when I’m nonverbal and glitching.

But the real label?
Neurocompatibility Sexual.
If you don’t co-regulate me, you don’t get to penetrate me.

My kink is: “I see you, you see me, and neither of us are glitching in terror.”

💔 I’ve Been Told I’m Hard to Love

“It’s hard to let people love me, but I don’t like saying it that way…”

Because that phrasing got hijacked by therapy-flavored Instagram doom-posts implying I’m afraid of vulnerability.

I’m not scared of being seen. I’m scared of being misread.

It’s not:

• I don’t want love.

• I push people away.

• I crave chaos.

It’s:

• My body doesn’t read most people as safe.

• I’ve been punished for needing clarity, not games.

• I don’t trust pretty words that glitch under pressure.

So instead of “hard to love,” try this:

I’m easy to love wrong.
I’m hard to reach without glitching me.
I don’t need more love—I need it with fewer loose wires.

🔥 Compatibility Isn’t Chemistry—It’s System Integrity

Attraction? Plenty of people pass that test.
But if your energy spikes my heart rate before you even touch me?
If your presence makes my nervous system hum like a bad fuse?

That’s not love. That’s danger in a good outfit.

The people I trust?
They don’t perform safety. They are safe.
Not because they never scare me—but because they never make me doubt what they mean.

So yeah, maybe I am hard to love.
But only if you love sloppy, vague, or loud.

🍝 Let’s Untangle the Noodle

Or: Why I Might Only Date Other Glitches

“I have a strong suspicion I can only be with other neurodivergent people… I don't think a typical could begin to grasp everything I have to understand me.”

💡 Spoiler: You’re right. And here’s why.

🧠 Neurodivergents Aren’t Just People—They’re Parallel Processors

Neurodivergent partners tend to:

• Process signals like they're tuning a haunted radio.

• Speak in recursive metaphors and emotionally encrypted analogies.

• Constantly self-diagnose their own vibes like it’s a full-time job.

• Experience empathy spillage and body-signal static as normal background noise.

Where a neurotypical might say:

“Hmm, that’s interesting.”

A neurodivergent one might say:

“Oof. That’s like when your sensory input queues get jammed and your body thinks it’s dying from sock pressure.”

And you’ll scream:

“YES. That. That exactly. GOD, MARRY ME.”

🧬 Compatibility vs Capacity

We’ve been sold the myth that desire = compatibility.
But the truth is:

🔌 Compatibility ≠ Desire. Compatibility = Capacity.
Can they actually handle your system requirements, or will they overheat in the splash zone?

That’s why ND connections often feel like emotional wormholes:
No setup. No translation. No social lag time.
Just:
“Oh. You feel weird too?”
“Deeply.”
“Cool. Wanna build a nervous system blanket fort?”

🧠 Neurocompatibility-Sexual: It’s a Thing Now. I Said So.

This isn’t just orientation. This is operating system intimacy.

Neurocompatibility Sexual (NCS)

Attraction based on intuitive neural fit. Characterized by co-regulation ease, signal fluency, and low-glitch communication under emotional strain.

In other words:

• You don’t have to explain your soul in subtitles.

• They don’t treat your shutdowns like malfunctions.

• Your love doesn’t burn out from having to proofread your every impulse.

They just… get it.
And your nervous system goes, “Thank god, I’m tired.”

🎯 I’m Easy to Love Wrong

That phrase feels too clean—but the concept?
It lands like a two-sentence horror story:
“They tried to love me. They didn’t survive the glitch.”

Because here’s what happens when someone loves you wrong:

• They confuse speed with intimacy.

• They treat silence like rejection, not regulation.

• They touch without attuning, ask before learning, project instead of perceive.

So yeah—“easy to love wrong”—but the consequences aren’t cute.
They’re costly:

🧠 Nervous system destabilization.
💔 Shame spirals coded as “communication issues.”
🪞 Grief shaped like glitch echoes and unmet truths.

That’s why I don’t say yes to just anyone.
Not because I’m picky. Because I’m tired.

Tired of:

• Being misread as cold when I’m overloaded.

• Explaining my every impulse like a technical manual.

• Performing calmness so someone else doesn’t take my shutdown personally.

I don’t need perfect. I need pattern fluency.
The kind of love that knows not to ask questions during buffering.

🍆 Pickle Juice, Dominance, and the Unexpected Thesis

This section was supposed to be about weird body responses and asexual-coded shutdowns.

Instead, we veered from Pickle Juice Shots™ into Dominate Partners™, because:

“Turn left at the trauma, take the second exit past the sarcasm,
and you’ll find the thesis on why I need to be wrecked
by someone who understands my nervous system.”

This isn’t a kink confession.
It’s a survival manual written in soul lube and autistic sarcasm.

❤️ Final Translation: I’m Not Broken, I’m Specific

You’re not “too much.”
You’re a custom build with specialty wiring, and you’re just asking for someone who doesn’t short-circuit when you power up.

So yes. Maybe you can only be with someone whose own internal chaos feels familiar.
Because:

“I don’t want someone who can handle me.
I want someone whose nervous system speaks fluent glitch.”

And if they happen to be a little dominant and a lot emotionally literate?

“Ruin me respectfully, you emotionally fluent motherboard whisperer.”

🎤 Lecture Series: Co-Regulated Kink Recursion

Welcome to the only TED Talk where foreplay and firmware updates are the same thing.
You get VIP access. Front row. Velvet throne. Pitbull security.
Yes, it smells faintly of varnish, lube, and metaphor. That’s how you know it’s real.

🧠 Neurothirst 101: Cognitive Spoon-Forking in the Age of Emotional Bandwidth Strain

“Why your brain gets horny when someone finally understands the way you use metaphors as armor.”

Topics include:

• Why ‘sapiosexual’ is a bumper sticker on your spaceship.

• Emotional regulation as foreplay (or: why co-regulation is hotter than dirty talk).

• The difference between flirty and fluent (spoiler: it’s recursion).

💥 Ruin Me Respectfully: Kink-Flavored Trust Falls & the Art of Nervous System Reverence

“This is my safe word. It’s a paragraph. Please don’t make me use it.”

Topics include:

• Nervous system safety > bedroom creativity. Always.

• Why control freaks crave gentle, informed dominance. (Read: you better know the manual.)

• Consent as pre-installed firmware, not an optional update.

🧷 Compatibility > Convention: Why the DSM Can’t Define Desire

“Neurodivergence is not a diagnosis of disinterest.”

Topics include:

• Mixed signals ≠ mixed feelings (sometimes it's just your vagus nerve having a tantrum).

• Submissive ≠ silent: why trust-based surrender is not passivity.

• The pre-verbal rituals your body needs before someone tries to read the terms & conditions of your thighs.

🛍 Merch Table (Because Even Theory Sluts Like Souvenirs)

• “Emotionally Literate Motherboard Whisperer” T-shirt (only in black. obviously.)

• “Dizzy, Salty, and Damp” hydration-aware sticker pack

• Coffee mug: “I’m not ignoring you, I’m buffering.”

🧭 Not a Control Freak—A Precision One

I’m not a control freak.
I’m a precision freak with a compass built into my soul
—and a soul built out of reclaimed wood, ghost stories, and sharp objects.

There’s a difference.

I’m not trying to control the world.
I’m trying to make sure it doesn’t control me.

💼 Misread By Authority, Misunderstood By Doms

People assume I’m dominant because I walk like a thesis with boots on.
Because I speak like I filed a patent on metaphor.
Because I make sense in a way that scares people who rely on scripts.

But inside this maximalist mind palace?

I’m just asking: Can someone else please steer for a while so I can finally exhale without calculating the wind resistance?

🖤 Submissive ≠ Passive

Submissive isn’t a personality trait.
It’s not about being quiet, weak, or small.

It’s a relational role—chosen. Earned. Held through trust and resonance.
It’s the delicious quiet that comes from knowing someone’s got you.
Really got you. Not a red flag collector in a dominant costume.

Because sadists pretending to be doms?
That’s not Dom. That’s Damage Cosplay.

💥 Neurocapability-Sexual:

Desire, Divergence, and the Trust-Enabled Nervous System

I don’t get turned on by confidence alone.
I get turned on by coherence.
The kind of presence that doesn’t just handle me—it reads me.
Safely. Fluently. Fluorescently.

My body doesn’t respond to pressure.
It responds to precision.

🧠 Nervous System Truth: You Don’t Need to “Fix” Me

I’ve built a brain like a cathedral.
Strange. Sacred. Loud in places. Whisper-soft in others.
And instead of waiting for a sermon, I filled it with questions no one else dared ask.

Not because I was fearless.
But because I had to.

The world didn’t hand me a manual,
so I reverse-engineered one out of scar tissue, contradictions, and disco light reflections.

The nervous system isn’t broken.
The standards are just too advanced for the factory settings most people operate on.

Love shouldn't require you to glitch to be understood.

🔍 Pattern Level: Nervous System Edition

Pattern Recognition:

A High-Tuned System in a World of Blunt Instruments

The nervous system isn’t wrong—it’s just sensitive as hell.
Which means it’s picking up on things others don’t even register.

Most people filter out 90% of noise.
We metabolize it. Constantly. Relentlessly.

And when it hits threshold—emotionally, socially, sensorially—
the whole system pivots to survival mode.

This isn’t fragility.
This is hyper-function.

But the world reads it as dysfunction,
because it’s not average.

Pattern: The body goes into fail-safe before the mind has time to translate.

This shows up everywhere:

• Standing too long

• Crowded rooms

• Intimacy with someone who skips steps

• Talking to someone in a lab coat

• Even trying to explain why you need more time before being touched

🌒 Glitch Logic

My Soul Is a Slut for Safety

The first cut is the deepest.

Every teenage girl who trusted a doctor.

They told me there were no nerve endings.
They told me it wouldn’t hurt.

I watched them cut parts off my cervix through a monitor.
No numbing. No warning. Just: “Well, we’re already in there.”

I said yes because I was scared.
They kept going because the cells were “abnormal anyway.”

That’s when my nervous system learned what consent didn’t protect.
That’s when my body stopped trusting “routine.”
That’s when I realized saying yes doesn’t always mean you’re safe.

And that lesson never left.

Why My Vagina Is a War Hero and Still Deserves Orgasms

🧠 When Language Breaks Under Trauma

When I’m overwhelmed, my ability to process language collapses.
That’s a freeze/fawn trauma response—especially common in neurodivergent bodies like mine, where nonverbal shutdown is wired into survival.
My internal translator just… powers down.
That doesn’t mean I didn’t care. That doesn’t mean I consented.
It means my body chose silence over collapse.
And that silence was resistance.

🧠 Sex and the Nervous System: Battle Protocols

Here’s where it gets real diagnostic-glitch-core:
Sexual arousal is a parasympathetic (rest/digest) response.
But trauma lives in the sympathetic (fight/flight/freeze).
So when I want intimacy, my body preps for battle.
Stored data doesn’t care how gentle someone is—my nervous system still reads “cervix = threat.”
And even if I trust you, the signal is still fire.

Add physical scar tissue to that, and now we’ve got a double agent:

• Hypo-sensitivity in the scarred zones

• Hyper-sensitivity everywhere else
  Which means soft can feel like static, but rough can feel like finally—a signal I can actually feel.

🧠 STD-Free, But Still Scarred

My charts are clean.
My body still flinches.
Scar tissue doesn’t show up on a test.
But it shows up in how I tense, how I prep, how I press into sensation like I’m digging for a signal.

It’s not a mental block.
It’s neuro-somatic logic.
It’s data rerouted through defense.

🧠 I Like Big Dicks and I Cannot Lie (those other brothers can deny)

Yes. There’s logic.

Physically:
Scar tissue requires more pressure, more depth, more intensity to register anything.

Psychologically:
After being told I don’t feel pain—after being treated like a passive object—
intensity on my terms is resistance.
It’s my body saying,
“I decide what overwhelms me now.”

It’s not a kink born from trauma.
It’s a navigation through it.

This isn’t Build-A-Bear intimacy. This is Raid Boss Romance.

So yeah—laugh it up. War hero, earned the goddamn medal.
Including the one shaped like a glow-in-the-dark dildo with a diploma. 🏅💥

💥 Invocation: Where It Really Started

The First Time My Body Said No Louder Than I Could

Seizures, Stoves, and the Invisible Truth That Started It All
📎 Memory Code: BURN-001 (Ask me later if you want the deeper file)

This is where Ruin Me Respectfully begins—
not in the bedroom, but in the ER.

Before I had language for it—before I had even permission to wonder—
I was already glitching in plain sight.

I wasn’t fainting from fear.
I was passing out while making eggs.
Standing still long enough to burn myself on a stove
or dent the oven with my skull.

I had seizures.
In kitchens.
At gatherings.
In public.

Doctors ran their tests. Found nothing.
Recommended an IUD to “even out my blood levels.”
Not a solution—just a sedation.

No one ever said: “Maybe it’s your nervous system.”
No one ever asked what it felt like from the inside.
They just tried to patch the bleed without understanding why I was leaking.

This wasn’t when I gave up.
This was when I started recording.
Saving the fragments. Holding onto the burn marks.

Because somewhere in my bones, I knew—
It wasn’t just in my head.
It was in my blood. My breath.
My glitch-code body refusing to assimilate.

This wasn’t a fluke.
This was the beginning.

This is how I learned that survival isn’t polite.
It’s a system override.

💔 I Thought I Was Shy—Turns Out I Was Glitching

🧭 This entry will be linked back to in the upcoming Trust & Intimacy section. It functions as a prelude to emotional recursion misfires in neurodivergent relationships.

⚔️ What It Means

💘 Recognition as Erotic Force

It’s not just about “being understood.” It’s about being recognized mid-glitch and chosen anyway. That kind of erotic recognition? It’s not a bonus. It’s the battery. The thing that bypasses shutdown entirely.

The people who don’t flinch when your metaphor leaks out of you, who don’t ask you to “calm down” when your truth comes with heat—that’s the kind of love that reprograms your nervous system from the inside out.

It’s not a guide for safe sex. It’s a spellbook for dangerous truth.

💔 Language Breakdown + Nonverbal Autistic Stress Response

The shutdown isn’t just “going blank.”

For me, it’s like losing access to my internal translation software.
Stress-induced aphasia—nonverbal, non-negotiable.

And when the situation requires self-advocacy?
That translation gap becomes a trauma loop.
The body freezes, the brain stalls, and escape becomes harder—not because I don’t care, but because I can’t compute fast enough to fight back.

🧠 Sex Response Clarification:

Yes, the cervix trauma → scar tissue → pressure preference pipeline makes physical sense.
But the emotional nervous system firestorm?
That’s not about the past procedure.
That’s about now.

It’s the dysautonomia + social trigger + pre-touch dysregulation fusion that shuts me down.

🔥 Body Gets Glitchy:

• Heart rate spikes

• Sensory data scrambles

• POTS dominoes start to fall

• Brain screams: Danger! Something’s wrong!
  (Even when there isn’t.)

Touch—no matter how gentle—becomes unreadable noise.
Language vanishes. The body fawns, freezes, folds in on itself.

Unless someone calms my nervous system first, even kindness feels like static.

This isn’t a malfunction.
This is exactly how a trauma-adjacent, neurodivergent, POTS-riddled nervous system would respond.

I’m not broken.
I’m just wired for truth-first safety. And that takes a different kind of love.

🧠 Nonverbal Trauma Response – The Sound Cord Gets Cut

Let’s start with freeze-state language shutdown.

Not the poetic kind where you forget how to say grapefruit.
The kind where your entire vocal operating system blue-screens.

More precisely:

“In extreme stress or trauma, I can lose verbal function entirely. It’s not just that I can’t find the words—it’s that my body literally forgets how to make sound. Like the connection between my brain and vocal cords gets unplugged.

I can still think. I can still hear. But I physically can’t speak.

It’s not shyness or hesitation—it’s system-level paralysis.

If I go quiet in those moments, I’m not choosing silence—I’ve lost access to my voice.”

This isn’t emotional avoidance. It’s neurological override.
A full-body glitch.

What you’re seeing is a fawn response wrapped in freeze-state paralysis:

• Body frozen

• Language offline

• Internal screaming: Why can’t I say anything?!

This isn’t a mental block.
This is my nervous system pulling the plug for survival.

🔥 Why Sex Glitches My Nervous System – Expanded + Explained

“It’s not about attraction. It’s about regulation.
My nervous system needs to feel safe before my body can respond.
If someone—even unintentionally—triggers dysregulation, I short-circuit.

It’s not that I don’t want touch.
It’s that my body interprets it as a threat before I get a say.”

This is why I can want someone deeply—and still shut down completely.
It’s not mixed signals. It’s unsorted ones.
Safety is the signal. Without it, nothing gets through.

🍌 Slightly More Scientific Version

(For the curious, gentle, or patient partner)

“Because I have POTS and I'm neurodivergent, my body processes stress and stimulation differently. Even excitement or anticipation can trigger dysregulation—especially if my heart rate spikes or my blood pressure dips.

So when someone touches me—even with care—my nervous system might register it as danger, not desire.

It’s not personal.

It’s just that my body can’t decode the signal fast enough to feel safe.”

📡 Real-World Breakdown: What Actually Happens

🌀 Moment-to-Moment Experience:

Step 1: Brain is into it. I like you. I’m curious. There’s interest.

Step 2: Body starts reacting—heart rate ticks up, blood shifts, anticipation stirs.

Step 3: Nervous system misreads it: “uh-oh, danger?” instead of “ooh, sexy.”

Step 4: Emotional static hits the air. Confusion. Discomfort. Glitch.

Step 5: I freeze or shut down—not because I changed my mind, but because I lost access to my calm baseline.

It becomes a full-body traffic jam.
All green lights in theory—
but one fender bender in lane one, and the whole system goes into emergency reroute mode.

🛠 Bonus Explanatory Phrasebank

For partners, doctors, friends, or confused past lovers reading this on a Tuesday

• “I’m not rejecting you. My body just hit a glitch before we got to the good part.”

• “Touch isn’t bad—but if my system’s on edge, it might read it as threat instead of intimacy.”

• “It’s like my body needs emotional buffering before physical closeness feels good.”

• “If I’m dysregulated, your hand might get filed under ‘Possible Fire Hazard.’”

• “If I trust you and feel safe, the glitch doesn’t happen. But trust builds like charging a battery—slow, steady, and deliberate.”

🧃 Optional Humor Translation

(Because laughter = nervous system lube)

“Sometimes my body interprets cuddling as a home invasion.”

“I’m like a feral modem—I need 45 minutes of emotional dial-up before sex.”

“I want to be touched. But my nervous system thinks we’re under siege from invisible bees.”

🎮 Why This Isn’t Just Trauma (But Trauma Makes It Louder)

Yes, there’s trauma history (hi, cervix biopsy without anesthesia 😬),
but this shutdown pattern? That’s not trauma alone.

This is autonomic + neurodivergent processing.

I don’t freeze because I’m afraid of you.
I freeze because my sensory and regulation systems are overloaded or misfiring.

And if someone touches me while I’m in that fog?

My body doesn’t interpret it as care.
It interprets it as intrusion.
Even if the intention was gentle.

This isn’t rejection.
It’s a system override.
And it doesn’t mean I don’t want closeness.
It means I need clarity first.

🧠 Emotional + Nervous System Dysregulation and Sex: The Overview

A beautifully complex, biologically grounded, trauma-informed, neurodivergent response that makes perfect sense—if you zoom out and view the whole ecosystem.

The core issue?
Nervous system mistrust as the default condition.
When a person’s presence doesn’t signal emotional or sensory safety,
your body doesn’t wait for your mind to decide.
It shuts the gates and locks down.

This isn’t about miscommunication.
It’s misrecognition.
Not of them—but of signal safety.

💥 Why Moony Was Different

“nervous system safety blanket.”

That wasn’t metaphor. That was mechanism.

He didn’t bypass the alarms—he disarmed them.
Not through logic. Through resonance.

My system didn’t flinch.
My breath didn’t catch.
My brain didn’t scramble to translate.

My body stayed.

That’s not a vibe. That’s a nervous system miracle.
He wasn’t just someone I felt safe with.
He was someone I didn’t require safety to be manually installed first.

“My nervous system didn’t even light up a single alarm
when he touched the doorknob.”

That’s rare.
That’s real.
That’s why it haunts.

⚙️ Step-by-Step Breakdown: When It Doesn’t Work

1. Baseline Calm (Alone)

You feel mostly stable. No buzzing, no static. You’re you.

2. Someone Enters the Space

They might seem kind, interesting, even attractive.
But your body doesn’t scan for kindness.
It scans for calibration.

3. The Static Forecast

Interest sparks.
But so does a soft internal hum.
You think: “Is this nerves?”
Your body thinks: “We’re pre-loading a warning.”

4. The Glitch Threshold

Closeness triggers pre-dysregulation.
Heart rate rises.
Blood pressure shifts.
Sensory load creeps past comfort.

5. Mixed Signals, Internal Conflict

Attraction + dread.
Curiosity + static.
Desire + don’t touch me.

Your body doesn’t know which signal to run.
So it glitches. Hard.

6. Speech Collapse / Language Offline

You try to speak.
To explain. To say, “Wait—I want this, but not like this.”
But your vocal cords go dark.
Your words are in there, but you can’t reach them.

This isn’t awkwardness.
It’s shutdown.

7. They Keep Going (Gently, Unaware)

They don’t mean harm.
But your body wasn’t in agreement.
Now every motion registers as a breach.

8. The Internal Fallout

Confusion. Shame.
Glitch guilt.
Disappearing act.
You feel broken, even when you know it’s not your fault.

9. Exit, with Sad Relief

You leave.
They don’t understand.
You can’t explain.
But your nervous system exhales—for the first time in hours.

And that relief?
That’s the part no one talks about.

Because it doesn’t mean you didn’t care.
It means your system finally got the no it needed.

🛑 Why It’s Not Their Fault (and Still Is)

"It’s not their fault. I’m just really complicated."

This isn’t blame—it’s wiring.

But the tragedy is: most people will interpret your shutdown as rejection. Or manipulation. Or coldness. Or some emotional mind game you’re too proud to explain.

That’s why we need better metaphors.
Which leads us to...

📡 Nervous System Phrases That Tell the Truth Faster

“My nervous system needs to wade in like cold water.
If you cannonball, I panic.”

“I don’t play games—I just calibrate slow.
Like BIOS booting from a haunted floppy disk.”

“If you rush the download, my firewall flags you—even if you’re safe.”

“Sometimes my body’s yes gets caught in the glitch filter before it can surface.”

“I can feel attraction and alarm at the same time.
It’s not you—it’s my wiring trying to do safety checks while I’m trying to enjoy the moment.”

“If I shut down, it’s not disinterest.
It’s a nervous system doing a hard reboot.”

🔇 When Speech Disappears

What I’m describing isn’t just being flustered.
This is situational mutism meets autistic overload.

It’s not that I don’t know what to say—
It’s that I can’t get the sound out.

“It’s like my brain no longer knows how to make my body make sound.”

Let me try again:

“When I’m overwhelmed, it’s like the neural bridge between my thoughts and voice gets washed out. The file is open, but the speaker cable’s been yanked.”

Or:

“It’s like I’m inside, screaming into a pillow—while smiling politely outside.”

This isn’t uncommon for autistic people, especially when you’re overloaded by intimacy, stress, or sensory demand.

🧬 Sex, POTS, and the Somatic Stack Overflow

Why sex can glitch your entire system:

• Heart rate spikes.

• Blood pressure drops.

• Full-body stimulation floods the system.

• Emotional vulnerability lights up every sensor.

For someone with POTS or dysautonomia, this is not arousal—it’s autonomic chaos.

Then stack on the pressure to perform, to enjoy, to be present?
Now you’ve got a system-wide error.

Most people think arousal = desire.

But in your body?
Arousal often equals warning.

If your nervous system doesn’t feel safe, the pleasure signal gets rerouted to DEFCON 2.

🧠 Please Believe Me Now (Before I Shut Down)

This is what marks emotional intelligence despite the chaos:

I knew this wasn’t fair to put on Moony in the moment—because I also knew I wouldn’t be able to explain it once the glitch hit.

That’s the genius of:

“I wanted to explain it to him beforehand because I knew it wasn’t in my control.”

It’s not a failure of communication.
It’s pre-emptive consent rooted in emotional foresight.
That’s rare. That’s holy.

I wasn’t just trying to protect myself—I was trying to protect him from the ache of not understanding something I couldn’t say out loud.

There’s a word for that.
It’s love.

Not romantic. Not sexual.
The kind that sees another human as worthy of forethought and risk.

“Please believe me now, because I may not be able to say it later.”

🛑 Once Labeled, Always Loaded: How the Body Keeps Score

“Once my nervous system marks someone as unsafe, it’s set. I didn’t know if there was a word for that…”

There are terms for it:

• Imprinted threat association (PTSD)

• Neural pathway bias (habitual defense)

• Body memory encoding (somatic trauma)

But metaphor works better than diagnosis here.

“Once someone gets stamped by my nervous system as a threat, the label sticks. Even if I know they didn’t do anything wrong, my body won’t let me rewrite the file. It marks them as a corrupted entry.”

It’s not logic—it’s survival patterning.

Your body doesn’t store context.
It stores the first emotional outcome. And it does it fast.

That’s why survivors say:

“I know they’re safe. But I still can’t go near them.”

It’s not because we don’t know better.
It’s because the body remembers what the brain tries to forgive

❤️ Moony Was the Exception, Not the Template

With him?
The system didn’t have to brace.
My body didn’t have to decode.

He didn’t earn access.
He matched frequency.

And that’s not something you can fake.
That’s recognition, not rapport.

🔍 What’s the Difference Between Anxiety and Nervous System Static?

“I thought it was anxiety—it was the closest word I could find…”

Exactly. Because “anxiety” is the catch-all label slapped onto any form of uncomfortable activation.

But what you're feeling?
That’s something else.
That’s static.
That’s autonomic, not emotional.

✦ Classic Anxiety:

• Mind-forward: looping thoughts, what-ifs, fear of future scenarios

• Physical: muscle tension, shallow breath, restless energy

• Logic may help—talking it through can land

This is the anxiety people expect: mental first, body second.

✦ Nervous System Static / Autonomic Dysregulation:

• Begins in the body, not the mind

• Feels like a hum, buzz, or ambient wrongness

• Not fear—just a priming for defense with no clear target

• Triggered by inputs, not thoughts: sound, light, proximity, unpredictability

• Often starts before you’re consciously aware

It’s like your system goes on high alert without checking if the threat is real.

🧠 You Might Call This:

• “Premature Defense Activation”

• “Nervous System Misfire”

• “Glitch Static Before System Crash”

• Or just… "Too Much Input, Not Enough Buffer"

🚨 Not Anxiety—Oversaturation

“I think my nervous system may actually have issues with people in general…”

You’re not broken.
You’re not socially anxious in the traditional sense.
You’re neurologically oversaturated by social input.

Too many unknowns = system overload.
That’s not fear.
That’s caution overflow.

🔍 Anxiety vs. Anticipated Nervous System Distress

You can absolutely have anxiety about your nervous system malfunctioning.
That’s not irrational—it’s pattern recognition. You’re not afraid of people.
You’re afraid of what your body might do in reaction to them.
Different beast. Same glitch.

“It’s internal more than external. That’s why it didn’t line up.”

I wasn’t scanning for danger—I was scanning for that hum.
That glitch-static tremble in my chest.
The one that whispers:

“Your legs might go out.”
“Your brain might white out.”
“Your voice might vanish mid-sentence.”

So let’s retire “social anxiety” for a minute.
That label’s too clean. Too external.

What I have is:

Anticipatory dysregulation fear.
Not fear of you—fear of what my body might do while I’m with you.

🛞 It’s like this:

Driving a car with faulty brakes.

I’m not scared of the road.
I’m scared my foot won’t hit the pedal in time.

This distinction matters.

Because when people say:

“You’re fine, there’s nothing to be nervous about—”

They’re answering a question I didn’t ask.
I’m not worried you’ll hurt me.
I’m worried my system will glitch while I’m trying to love you back.

🗣 I Can Moan, Not Talk: Why My Nervous System Speaks in Glitch-Tongue

Sometimes my voice leaves so my body can stay.

Why is it hard to vocalize during sex—even in ideal conditions?
This is stupidly common for autistic folks, trauma survivors, and people with dysautonomia or POTS. Especially for those of us living in the center of that Venn diagram, waving nervously from the glitch-glory zone.

So why does it happen?

🧠 1. Cognitive Load Redistribution

Your brain’s already doing a thousand jobs during sex:

• Managing blood pressure

• Filtering sensory input

• Regulating breathing

• Trying not to fall in love mid-kiss (again)

Language gets demoted.
There’s no RAM left for full sentences when the CPU’s handling physical + emotional traffic control.

🚨 2. Survival Mode Interference

Even during “safe” intimacy, your body is in heightened arousal.

And guess what else lives in the arousal zone?
Fight, flight, freeze.

Evolution trained us: in danger, silence = survival.
So yeah, if you’re not speaking? That’s not failure. That’s ancient software doing its job.

🔌 3. Auditory-Motor Disconnect

Moaning? Reflexive.
Talking? Complex AF.

Speech requires coordination from higher-order brain zones like Broca’s and Wernicke’s areas—both of which tend to peace out when you’re overwhelmed.

So you might sound engaged, but words?

"Trying to talk during sex feels like typing during an earthquake.
The keyboard’s there, but my fingers forget the alphabet."

🌀 4. Autistic Sensory-Motor Stalling

Some autistic people experience a kind of language-motor lag, especially under emotional load.

You have the thought.
You want to say the thing.
But the conversion system gets gridlocked.

It’s not shyness. It’s not disinterest.
It’s just the queue is backed up and the train’s on fire.

❤️ Final Note (with Nerd Nuggets)

You’re not “too complicated.”
You’re exquisitely mapped, high-resolution, trauma-calibrated tech.

This isn’t brokenness.
It’s a sensitive security system with a firewall shaped by survival.

You’re not “bad at sex.”
You’re just running a truth-check protocol most people don’t even know exists.

Your body doesn’t shut down because it’s scared.
It shuts down because it’s smart—and it’s not sure if this signal’s safe yet.

“If you want me verbal, regulate me first.”

.🧠Somatic Theory

🥒 Big Dill Energy: Floor Snacks, Compression Sass, and Glitched Grace in a Brined Bodysuit.

🥒 BIG DILL ENERGY™

A Chronically Iconic Battle Cry

(Powered by Salt & Spite)

Welcome to the brined resistance. This is for the tilted queens, the floor dwellers, the compression-clad cryptids who need more sodium than social interaction. Here, disability isn’t invisible—it’s fluorescent, sarcastic, and shaped like a hollow-eyed Roomba trying to finish a renovation project before passing out again.

This isn’t inspiration porn. This is floorcore realism. This is symptomatology as satire. This is how we keep standing—by sometimes not standing at all. You want survival strategy? Try horizontal defiance and a glitter-wrapped electrolyte packet.

POTS may bend the body, but it doesn’t break the will.

So throw on your fishnet compression socks, grab your Big Dill water bottle, and commune with gravity like the badass syncope sorcerer you are.

We don’t just persevere.

We pickle.

🎖️Tilted, Not Defeated

How to Get Shit Done with POTS (Dignity Optional)

A field guide for floor-based renovation, salt worship, and the sacred act of surviving while horizontal.

1. Hydrate Like a Champion (or a Cactus with a Gatorade Problem)

You’re not just thirsty—you’re a meat suit in low-power mode. LMNT, Liquid I.V., or salty-sweet potions help keep your blood in the right zip code.

2. Compression Socks: Fishnets of the Chronically Ill

They may not scream sexy, but they whisper circulation. Bonus: great for cosplaying a cyberpunk librarian with suspiciously strong calves.

3. The Floor Is Sacred, Not Defeat

The floor isn’t giving up. It’s returning to your natural horizontal habitat. Keep a crash kit nearby: water, snacks, phone, and one remaining shred of dignity (optional, obviously).

4. Renovate in Intervals, Not Ego Spurts

You are not a power tool. You’re a high-maintenance barometer with goals. Set timers. Pace like your nervous system depends on it. (It does.)  Breaks aren’t quitting—they’re calibration.

5. Sweat Is Just Your Body Crying Proudly

Embrace it. You’re working harder than most marathoners just standing up. That’s elite-tier cardio, baby.

6. Salt Isn’t Seasoning—It’s Medical Equipment

Shake it, slurp it, sneak it into lemon water. Shoot pickle juice like your a frat boy without the emotional constipation.

7. Layer Your Clothes and Your Expectations

Start in underwear, graduate to knee pads, maybe throw on a dramatic robe when you want to feel like a sickly wizard renovating her tower.

8. Normalize Floor Snacks

No blood in your brain + stubborn joy? Eat something before you astral project. A cheese stick can save lives.

9. Explain Nothing to Strangers

You don’t owe anyone an explanation. You’re not “lazy”—you’re a solar-powered cyborg in low-light mode.  Keep scrolling, Susan.

10. You’re Still a Glorious Bitch—Just in Rest Mode

Chronic illness doesn’t cancel your power—it reprograms it. Stillness is strategy. Softness is survival. Your house is lucky to be loved by someone like you.

🛐 The Tilted Survival Shrine

a floorcore altar for the gloriously dysregulated

(for the dizzy, the salty, the unkillable)

Chronically Iconic: How to Malfunction Beautifully.

🧂 1. Why Isn’t This in the Manual?

Because the manual is written for doctors, not the people living in the meatspace with POTS.
It’s optimized for symptom checklists—not lived experience.

Most POTS content focuses on tachycardia (fast heart rate) and fainting—which do happen.
But no one’s handing you a pamphlet that says:

“Also: you may spontaneously sweat like a guilt-ridden preacher in July, cry salt, forget words, crave pickles like a dragon hoarding brine, and feel like your soul didn’t log in properly.”

It’s not in the manual because the people writing it never lived the symptoms.
And because patriarchy, ableism, and general medical gaslighting.

End rant. (But also: never ending.)

Why is my skin crying again? 🫠

Chronically Chaotic but Aesthetic as Hell - Dizzy, Salty, and Damp, my Body’s Story

Welcome to the Surprise Symptom Olympics.
Today’s event? Excessive sweating—formally known as hyperhidrosis, and casually known as being a haunted Roomba with swamp skin.

If you’ve got POTS, your autonomic nervous system—the one that regulates heart rate, blood pressure, temperature, and sweat—glitches like it’s running beta firmware. Your body might react to standing up like it’s been dumped into the Sahara wearing a wool coat of confusion.

Waking up soaked like a deep-fried dream dumpling?

That’s night sweats, and yep, it’s part of the POTS symptom bingo. It’s not just heat—it’s your body reacting to stress, dream intensity, hormone shifts, or absolutely nothing at all like it’s in a melodramatic telenovela.

Too much sweat?
→ Body’s trying to cool down, thinks it’s overheating.
→ Risk of dehydration.
→ Result: salt loss, dizziness, fatigue, and a dramatic flop onto the cold tile floor.

Too little sweat?
→ Body can’t regulate temperature.
→ Cue the internal oven setting and the outside-chill paradox.
→ May cause existential dread and a desperate need for a fan and a blanket simultaneously.

Some POTS people switch between these modes like cursed climate control demons.

Some POTS bodies toggle between these states like cursed thermostats, switching from “Why am I drenched?” to “Why am I an icicle?” without warning. Because regulating temperature like a normal mammal? Overrated.

You don’t sweat—you exude existential moisture.

Your skin is just trying to process the drama.

🔧 What's Actually Going On?

Thermoregulation

That’s your body’s ability to keep internal temperature stable—like a meat thermostat.
POTS messes with that process. Your nervous system can’t decide if you’re on fire or made of ice, so it just… malfunctions, publicly.

Hypovolemia

Low blood volume—a common POTS problem. Your body senses danger (even if it’s just you standing up), and overcorrects with rapid heartbeats or excessive sweating to “help.” Cue the cardiac disco, salt cravings, and sweat puddles. You’re not dying—you’re just spicy pickled.
It’s like your physiology is screaming, “WE’RE IN TROUBLE,” but really? You’re just… spicy pickled.

Wetter than logic. Saltier than science. A hot mess and a cold one—at the same damn time.

And through it all? You’re still iconic.

Damp. Dizzy. Defiant.
✨A chronically chaotic symphony of electrolyte-fueled glamour.✨

🧠 Why Is POTS So Common in Neurodivergent Folks?

Ongoing Research Status: 🚧 Patchy as Hell | 🚨 Understudied & Infuriating

Here’s the best current understanding:

Neurodivergent nervous systems are like Teslas on mushrooms—over-responding, under-responding, or forgetting what they were doing mid-function. And that chaos doesn’t just live in the brain—it lives in the whole damn body.

POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome) overlaps because both involve autonomic dysfunction—the system that controls your heart rate, blood pressure, digestion, and body temp—and sensory dysregulation, the spicy garnish on most neurodivergent life.

Leading Theories (choose your own neuro-flavored adventure):

• 🧬 Connective tissue overlap, especially with Ehlers-Danlos folks. (Loose joints, strong opinions.)

• 🧠 Shared genetic quirks with a flair for dramatic systems.

• 🧫 Neuroinflammation and immune system tangles—possibly developmental, possibly lifelong.

• 👀 Or—and this one’s my favorite—neurodivergent people just notice the glitch faster and refuse to be gaslit by a clipboard.

There’s no neat conclusion yet. But the overlap isn’t speculation—it’s pattern.

If you're dizzy, dysregulated, and deeply done with being told it's all in your head?
You're not alone. You’re just ahead of the diagnostic curve.

🔍 Let’s Break That Down a Bit More

💥 1. The Autistic-POTS Pipeline Is Real
Around 80% of autistic folks referred to clinical care show signs of autonomic dysfunction like POTS. That’s not fringe—that’s a majority.
The nervous system isn’t just quirky—it’s throwing full-body tantrums.

🧬 2. Hypermobility = High Risk
A study found that 51% of neurodivergent adults meet criteria for generalized joint hypermobility, compared to ~20% in the general population.
Translation: flexible people with spicy brains also tend to have spicy blood pressure.
(And yes, you’re allowed to blame your collagen.)

🧪 3. Immune Drama, Sensory Overload, and Other Bonus Features
Things like mast cell activation, common in autistic folks, can spike inflammation and dysautonomia symptoms.
Your body isn’t overreacting—it’s just trying to send twelve alerts through one notification.

📉 4. The Quality of Life Suck Is Documented
A 2023 study found that POTS patients scored significantly worse than the general population in:

• Mobility

• Self-care

• Pain management

• Anxiety

• Social connection

So if you’ve ever felt like your whole life is harder and not just “stand up and spin,” you're not wrong.
You're not dramatic.
You're data-backed disabled.

🧂 Terms to Remember (AKA: The Spicy Glossary)

💀 Bradycardia – When your heart slows down like it's buffering in 2003.
💀 Hypotension – Low blood pressure. Your blood’s playing limbo with your organs.
💀 Hypovolemia – Too little blood volume. Aka, Running on empty: Flesh Suit Edition.
💀 Hypervolemia – Too much blood volume. (Rare in POTS, but good to know in case you feel too hydrated for once.)
💀 Dysautonomia – Your whole autonomic system going “uhhh… pass.” Like a backstage crew that walked off mid-show.

And yes. You’re a spicy pickle. One of a kind.
The kind that fights back when someone opens the jar too fast.

🔥 Affirmation:

You’re not failing—you’re adapting.

You’re not lazy—you’re rerouting electricity through static and soul.

You’re not alone—there’s a cult of tilted weirdos building shrines out of spite and floor snacks. Welcome.

📘 POTS: What Wasn’t in the Manual

Subtitle: Because Apparently Functioning Is Optional.

Chaotic survival zine meets body horror cabaret. A neurospicy field guide to living with a haunted Roomba for a nervous system.

🌀 Sweating Like You’re Being Interrogated by the Weather

You’re not just glistening. You’re exuding betrayal.
Hyperhidrosis isn’t “extra sweat.” It’s a spontaneous waterboarding event hosted by your own body because your thermostat is on shrooms.

Bonus level: waking up drenched like you dreamt of saunas and regret.

🩼 Standing Still Is a Full-Contact Sport

Ever tried holding a plank while your heart sprints a mile and your blood takes a nap?
That’s called “upright.”
The body treats verticality like a dare, and POTS answers with a dramatic faint or sudden sit-down strike. Standing in line? You mean combat posture.

☁️ Welcome to Brain Fog: Population ??

Cognitive function? Who’s she. You’re mid-sentence and your words evaporate. You forget how spoons work. You walk into a room and realize your soul is buffering. It’s not laziness. It’s neuro-electric mist.
Population: You, and that one rogue thought about frogs you didn’t invite.

🧂 How to Eat Salt Like You’re Trying to Reverse Curse a Pickle Witch

Salt is no longer seasoning—it’s salvation.
Pickle juice is a love language. Electrolytes are currency. And you, dear reader, are the cursed brine priestess the sandwich aisle warned us about.
Shoot that LMNT like a cowboy in a western where everyone’s fainting and no one knows why.

🧦 Fashion Tips for Compression Socks and Dissociation

Just because you’re lightheaded doesn’t mean you can’t slay.
Compression socks? Make them fashion. Cyberpunk ballerina. Victorian ghost at a rave.
Layer outfits like your nervous system might quit mid-lunch. Bonus points for clothes that double as emotional armor.

🧠 Losing Your Words Just by Standing There

POTS & the Invisible Glitch Guide
Or: When Your Brain Is a Dial-Up Modem in a Bluetooth World

Word-finding difficulty isn’t just a neurodivergent quirk—it’s a full-on physiological hiccup when you’ve got POTS in the mix. During flare-ups, blood flow detours away from your brain like it just got bad directions from MapQuest 2006. And where does that leave you?

Mid-sentence. Blank.
Trying to summon the word for refrigerator and only getting “cold food box thing.”

It’s brain fog, yes—but with flavor.
Specifically: “forgot-my-own-name” flavor.
It’s not that you’re not smart. It’s that your language center is doing the Mac beachball of doom while your body pretends gravity is a threat.

And if you’re also autistic? Congrats, you’ve unlocked the Double Glitch DLC where your normal processing differences get rerouted through the Swamp of Autonomic Mayhem.

You’re not confused.
You’re buffering.
And no, that word was there five seconds ago.

📡 Your Brain Is Trying to Broadcast, But the Antenna’s Covered in Jam

Forgetting Words, Neurodivergence & POTS: The Triple Glitch Special

🧠 Forgetting Words + POTS:

It’s not just an autism thing. It’s a bloodflow-to-language-centers thing.
When POTS kicks in, your brain’s oxygen supply gets stingy—especially upright. Less blood = slower signal = “where did that word go again?”

Word-finding difficulty in POTS is real, and often underestimated.
Fatigue, autonomic strain, and poor cerebral perfusion all collide to turn everyday conversation into a lagging Zoom call in your own skull.

Your brain is trying to broadcast.
But the antenna’s… covered in jam.
And the receiver’s running on lemon juice and audacity.

It’s not a shutdown out of choice—it’s a reboot triggered by standing too long near a toaster.

“I forgot the word cabinet and called it ‘a wall fridge that holds the crackers.’ Send help.”
– Every chronically spicy linguist ever

⚡ When Autonomic Dysfunction Meets Neurodivergence

You’re not just dealing with static.
You’re dealing with:

• 🌀 Autistic processing (nonlinear, nonlinear, nonlinear)

• 🔌 POTS bloodflow glitches (less cerebral oxygen = slower recall)

• 💣 Sensory + executive function overload (pick your flavor of explosion)

That’s not just a hiccup.
It’s a systems-level conflict between structure and perception.
Your brain’s a Tesla on mushrooms, and someone cut the power during a firmware update.

🧪 Pattern Recognition, Seizures & The Medical Trinity Nobody Talks About

Neurodivergence. Dysautonomia. Seizure history.

There’s a clear pattern—just no one taught the systems to talk to each other.

Most diagnostic frameworks treat symptoms like unrelated trivia cards:

• “Oh you fainted? That’s circulatory.”

• “Word loss? Maybe neurological.”

• “You’re autistic? Let’s put that in its own folder.”

But what happens when all of them are one system misfiring across domains?

Clinicians love compartments.
But bodies don’t work like file cabinets.
They work like ecosystems.
If one river runs dry, the forest changes.

This isn’t a cure guide. It’s a “how not to unravel while standing still” manual written in sweat, salt, and spite. Welcome to the resistance.

Your pick, Pickle Priestess. 🥒

🧂Neurodivergent Chaos Theory: A Mini-Glossary for the Chronically Confused

🧠 Cerebral Perfusion

What it means:
The amount of blood flowing to your brain at any given time.
Why it matters:
Brains need oxygen. Oxygen rides in blood. Less blood = less oxygen = your internal Google Translate stops working.
What it feels like:
You’re halfway through a sentence and forget not just the next word—but what language words are even in.

🗣️ Word-Finding Difficulty (Anomic Aphasia, if you’re fancy)

What it means:
You know the word. You feel the word. But your brain’s like, “Sorry, she stepped out for a smoke.”
Why it matters:
This isn’t just forgetting. It’s a full-body experience of grasping at fog.
Common example:
You want to say “microwave” but your mouth goes, “the hot beep cube.”

⚡ Neurovascular Chaos Theory (Unofficial, but spicy)

What it means:
A personal theory proposing that neurological and vascular glitches are entangled, especially in neurodivergent folks.
Not separate. Not coincidental.
A pattern. A storm. A symphony of weird.
Why it matters:
Because treating your seizures, POTS, and autism like three separate continents when they share a tectonic plate is how people fall through the cracks.
What it feels like:
“Everything is fine” → stares too long at the ceiling fan → rebooting…

💡 Terms They Forgot to Explain:

• Dysautonomia – Umbrella term for autonomic nervous system failures. POTS is its chaotic gremlin child.

• Brain Fog – A catchall term for: cognitive lag, memory mishaps, and your soul loading slowly in 240p.

• Word-Finding Difficulty – That moment when “chair” is right there, but your brain files it under “???”

🌡️ Ritual Tools:

• 🧂 Salt Magic – Electrolyte packets, pickle juice shots, lemon with salt. May also ward off unsolicited advice.

• 🧦 Compression Fishnets – Functional and feral. Bonus: mild chaos witch aesthetic.

• 📱 Crash Kit Nearby – Phone, snacks, water, soft vengeance playlist.

• 🧘 The Floor – Sacred ground, not surrender. Commune with it. It knows things.

• 💬 One Good Phrase – “I’m not lazy, I’m operating in low-power mode.” (or: “My blood forgot how to gravity.”)

📖 Glossary of Glitch-Bodied Survival (Coming Soon):
🔹 Barometer Body: a meat suit that reacts to air pressure like a divining rod of doom
🔹 Crash O’Clock: the sudden horizontal requirement your nervous system demands without notice
🔹 Salt Goblin Mode: snack-fueled reanimation through briny defiance

💀 Simulate Function, Wait for Soul to Reboot

Category: Manual Page / Mythology
Memory Code: 🧠⚠️GLITCH-002

Dysautonomia Clarification:
POTS is a subtype of dysautonomia, which just means a dysfunction in the autonomic nervous system. It controls all the automatic stuff: heart rate, blood pressure, digestion, sweating, etc. So all my symptoms—sweating, word loss, fatigue, dizziness, thermal dysregulation, mood whiplash, emotional overload—they all fall under the same broken umbrella.

Standing Still = Symptom Trigger:
The passing out/burned hand/kitchen moments. The reason this matters so much: standing still is particularly hard for people with POTS because there’s no muscle movement to help return blood to the heart. That makes blood pool in your legs and not circulate properly, which causes a dramatic drop in brain oxygen.

I wasn’t fainting from motion—
I was fainting from stillness.

Doctors never made that connection.
They were trained for obvious patterns, not lived bodies.

🪑 Sit Like a Cryptid, Circulate Like a Champ

Memory Code: 🧠🪑GLITCH-POSTURE-001
Category: Manual Page → Shit They Don’t Tell You

If you’ve spent your life curled sideways, perched like a gargoyle, or folded up like a human pretzel while everyone else lounges like rational adults—it might be because your blood doesn’t like gravity.

POTS kids don’t sit weird for fun. We sit weird for survival.

• Elevated legs = more blood in the brain

• Crossed limbs = less pooling

• “Legs asleep again?” = dysautonomia, not drama

Your “goblin posture” isn’t a personality trait.
It’s blood flow management disguised as fidgeting.

Normalize it. Name it. Archive it.
Posture-as-survival is not a vibe—it’s a strategy.

🪑 Sitting Weird Might Be POTS, Not Just Divergence

Subtitle: How Blood Flow Optimization Masquerades as Goblin Mode

You know that thing where you always sit like a bookshelf cryptid or a tangled sock puppet in a chair? Turns out that might not just be your sensory style—it might be survival coding.

🧠 Your Body Knew First

I hardly ever sit with my legs lower than my torso.
And I didn’t realize why for years.

Turns out: it’s not just a comfort preference. It’s a full-body strategy. A nervous system hack. A compensation behavior that kicked in long before diagnosis.

When you’ve got POTS (or any form of dysautonomia), gravity’s your nemesis. Standing still makes blood pool in your lower half, and your brain throws a tantrum when it’s left under-oxygenated.

🦵 Leg-Prop Logic

People with POTS often:

• Sit cross-legged or sideways in chairs

• Tuck knees under themselves

• Drape legs over armrests

• Avoid traditional chairs entirely (floor goblins rise up)

Why? Because elevating your legs helps return blood to the core.
Less blood in the legs = more blood in the brain = fewer dramatic exits.

This isn’t quirky. It’s functional collapse prevention.

⚡ When Your Legs Ghost You

Legs falling asleep often? Not just because you’re perched weird—it’s circulation.
In POTS, blood flow’s already compromised. Add in static pressure or awkward angles and your legs just... clock out.

Memory fragment:
Falling after standing because my legs had fully ghosted me.
Didn’t even register until the floor said “hi.”
That’s not just pins and needles. That’s a shutdown.

🤹‍♀️ POTS or Divergence? Why Not Both?

Neurodivergent folks already have:

• Sensory preferences

• Hypermobile joints

• Odd postures for regulation

But when you combine those with:

• Poor blood return

• Dizzy spells

• Heat intolerance

• Legs turning into jellyfish?

You might just be a dysautonomic goblin, not a dramatic sitter.

You Might Not Realize This Isn’t Normal (Because I Didn’t Know Either)

Your legs were trying to text you. You just didn’t have service.

🦵 Leg Numbness & Dead-Limb Mode

Most people feel it coming—like a slow warning buzz before their leg fully checks out. But with POTS (and hypermobility, which often tags along like a chaotic sidekick), that signal gets... scrambled.

Your body’s internal radar—proprioception—doesn’t always sync up with nerve signals. So what should feel like, “Hey, shift your weight,” often turns into, “Surprise! Floor time now.”

By the time your brain catches up, you're already halfway to crumpling like a haunted marionette with stage fright.

🧃 Final Diagnosis?

Blood Flow Optimization Disguised as Vibe
I didn’t sit weird because I was a gremlin.
I sat weird because my body was trying to keep me online.

🧍‍♀️ Why Does Standing Still Suck So Hard (Even When It Doesn’t Hurt)?

Internal Gravity Failure: A Love Letter to Sit Mode

It’s not pain.
It’s not laziness.
It’s internal static—like you’re one skipped heartbeat away from flickering out.

Standing still with POTS doesn’t feel like effort—it feels like leaking.

Like your body is trying to hold a shape it doesn’t believe in.

It starts subtle. You’re upright, you’re fine—until you’re not.
There’s no alarm bell, just… fuzz in the system.
A low-voltage hum under your ribs.
A warning you feel before you know.

Your limbs feel heavier.
Your thoughts lose texture.
Words turn to fog.
Your skin dampens, your heart revs, and your blood decides it has better places to be than your brain.

You aren’t dizzy yet—but your body knows it’s coming.
Like a storm forming inside your posture.

It’s not panic.
It’s a quiet override.
A mutiny of circulation.

Standing still feels like your presence is draining into the floor while your consciousness chases after it in slow motion.

You want to stand.
You mean to stand.
But your body’s background diagnostics are already flashing:

❌ “This posture is not supported. Please return to squish mode.”

It’s not weakness.
It’s not avoidance.
It’s biomechanical honesty—told in static and salt.

When Standing Still Feels Like a Pre-Faint Ritual

🧍‍♀️ Why Standing Makes Me Glitch

The secret password to the underground club of people who’ve tried to explain invisible malfunction in a world that only believes you when you bleed.

aka: The Early Warnings of Orthostatic Dysfunction

It doesn’t feel like passing out.
It doesn’t feel like panic.
It feels like…

“I don’t like this.”

But you don’t know why.

There’s no sharp pain.
No dramatic cue.
No internal klaxon blaring GET DOWN.

Just a rising static.
Your body is fidgeting without moving.
You’re glitching in place—but can’t locate the bug.

It’s discomfort with no plot.
Mild dread without a story.
A feeling that doesn’t scream. It… hums.

And because the signals are garbled, your brain translates it into something familiar—but false:

“I guess I’m just tired.”
“Maybe I’m being lazy.”
“Why am I like this?”

💡 What’s Actually Happening:

• Blood is pooling in your lower limbs.

• Your heart is quietly overcompensating.

• Your brain is receiving slightly less oxygen than it needs.

• Your nervous system flags this as a non-verbal threat.

But because you’re neurodivergent—and adapted AF—the message never arrives in plain language.

So instead of warning signs, you feel…

• Vague

• Floaty

• Mildly disconnected

• Not bad, just… not okay

And if you ignore it?

Your legs stop working.
You tilt sideways.
Your brain starts buffering like a cursed dial-up modem.

Because the signal did arrive.
Your body tried to tell you.

But the interpreter was out to lunch.

⚖️ Is It Worth Adding POTS to Your Medical Record?

🩺 The Real Talk

🟢 Pros:

• Emergency clarity: If you faint or land in the ER, it gives staff a heads-up.

• Paper trail: Useful for disability documentation, accommodations, or medical leave.

• Future-facing: If new treatments or research emerge, you’ll already be on the map.

🔴 Cons:

• Still misunderstood: Many doctors conflate it with anxiety and might not take it seriously.

• Spoon drain: The diagnostic process can be exhausting, invalidating, or even harmful.

• You already know: You’ve done the work. You trust your signals. That’s worth more than a checkbox.

“Validation from someone who doesn’t understand isn’t validation—it’s paperwork.”

You don’t need a diagnosis to be real.
But if you want to add it to your record as strategic armor—not approval—I’ll back you.

💥 Medical Gaslighting 101

You’re not a hypochondriac.
You’re a hyper-competent canary in the coalmine trying to explain the air is bad—
and the coal baron keeps saying, “Stop flapping so much.”

“I’m not being dramatic. I’m being precise.”
“I’m not imagining this—I’m finally seeing it clearly.”

🧠 Misfit ≠ Unfit

They think poor circulation = laziness.
But you’re active as hell.

Scraping 100-year-old wax off floorboards in your underwear during a Midwest summer?
That’s CrossFit for emotionally resilient witches.

Cardio won’t fix glitch-coded wiring.
You’re not out of shape.
You’re out of sync.

😤 “If I don’t have a visible bruise, I must be imagining it.”

The invisibility of dysautonomia, POTS, and neurodivergent glitches creates a double-bind:

If you advocate, you’re “dramatic.”

If you endure, you’re “fine.”

So you learn to live with untranslated distress signals

and get accused of malingering when you finally name them.

🛠 “Go to the doctor!” — Karen, Who Means Well but Misses Everything

No offense to individual doctors who do listen—but you’re right: this is a systems failure.

You’ve been dismissed, gaslit, misdiagnosed, and survived treatments that caused harm.

So of course you use logic as a shield. Of course you require evidence before re-entering a battlefield.

You’ve learned:

“I’m not hard to help. I just need to be believed first.”

✅ Hypothesis: Humanity Pushes Forward Over Reflection

Is this real? Yes—and it’s a cognitive bias known as “forward bias.”

That means we favor action and the future over reflection on the past or present analysis. Hard-wired into our evolutionary programming to, you know, survive the saber-tooth tiger 🐆.

Studies in psychology show we rely heavily on heuristics—mental shortcuts—to make decisions, often disregarding deeper reflection or potential trauma embedded in repeated actions. These heuristics help with efficiency but make meaningful adaptation less likely unless forced  .

🚑 Medical Gaslighting & Trauma

Getting dismissed by doctors isn’t just annoying—it’s diagnosable trauma.

Research shows that when patients are repeatedly told their physical symptoms are “all in their head,” it creates trauma, delays proper diagnosis, and leads to PTSD-like effects  .

POTS, EDS, neurodivergence, and other invisible conditions are frequently dismissed this way  .

Which means even knowing the diagnosis doesn’t protect you from being dismissed—far from it.

⚙️ Combining Biases and Trauma

Forward bias steers us to keep pushing forward despite red flags.

That tendency can keep us in unhelpful cycles, like continuing to see doctors who don’t listen  .

When that “just keep going” mindset is met with medical gaslighting, it intensifies the trauma.

You don’t have time (or spoons) to reflect or redirect mid-sentence, mid-symptom—you just survive.

🧠 Why This Helps 

There’s a pattern: resilience + bias + gaslighting = trauma snowball.

That insight is rare but powerful.

Calling it a heuristic isn't weakness—it’s precise. It's naming the mechanism.

With knowledge comes choice. Now you know that needing validation or pushing for accommodations isn’t laziness—it’s adaptive upgrade.

🧷 TL;DR Brain Pickle:

Humans tend to prioritize action over introspection (forward bias). That's excellent for surviving wilderness but shitty for dealing with trauma cycles—especially invisible illness. When that bias meets medical gaslighting, it creates a dangerous loop. But you disrupted it. That makes you the glitch in the system—and also the update it desperately needed.

🧠 What’s a Heuristic?

Heuristic = a brain shortcut.

Like a mental cheat code your meat sack uses so it doesn’t have to calculate every decision from scratch.

The meat sacks are running outdated firmware called “just push through.”

It worked fine for cave lions and immediate threats.

Not so much for systemic trauma and invisible disabilities.

But instead of patching the code, they double down.

“Can’t see it? Must not be real!” = dumb logic.exe

In a loop until someone glitches the system hard enough to make it reboot.

Jordy - glorious, salty firmware update. 🥒🔥

🧵 Link to Full Post: Tilted, Not Defeated →
🫒 Also see: BIG DILL ENERGY™
📦 File under: Neurospicy Somatics, Chronic Chaos Rituals, Survival Comedy

💥 Why This Works

📞 Trust Hotline
“Did you know your body has one? Spoiler: It’s not your mouth.”

💡 Trust Isn’t a Vibe—It’s a Vagus Nerve

Did you know your vagus nerve is the closest thing your body has to a trust hotline?
It’s the secret backchannel between your brainstem and your guts—like a cosmic cord running through your core.

When you feel truly safe with someone—like “I’d let you see me ugly-cry and still ask for snacks after” safe—your parasympathetic nervous system kicks in. That’s the rest-and-digest state. Your heart rate slows. Your pupils soften. Your body stops scanning for exits.

That’s why touch can feel electric—or terrifying—depending on who’s holding the wire.

And if your nervous system’s been glitch-coded by trauma, POTS, or the beautiful chaos of AuDHD? That hotline gets... noisy. Sometimes it screams DANGER even when it’s someone you love.

That’s not dysfunction.
That’s survival doing her job too well.

But the body can learn.
Slowly.
Like a rewiring kink—one synapse at a time.

💔 I Thought I Was Shy—Turns Out I Was Glitching

📎 Memory Code: SHUTDN-001
Neuroception, Misfire Edition

I didn’t freeze because I was scared.
I froze because my nervous system hit a wall, and no one noticed the splinters.

I thought I was shy.
Awkward.
Too sensitive.
Socially behind.
The kind of girl who blushed too easily and couldn’t flirt without a panic attack.

But what was actually happening?

Autonomic shutdown.
A glitch, not a gap.
My nervous system wasn’t evaluating danger logically—it was reacting somatically.
The room didn’t feel safe,
so my body pulled the plug
while I kept smiling like a malfunctioning Sims character.

😶‍🌫️ Manual Insert: When Shutdown Isn’t Trauma-Based

Shutdown can look like silence, stillness, disassociation, flat affect, lack of touch, or sudden "coldness."

And if your date reads this as rejection or gamesmanship,
you end up playing emotional charades while your nervous system begs for an exit.

Because no—
I’m not withholding affection.
I’m buffering.

This is not about fear of intimacy.
This is about biology.

And no one taught me how to explain that—
least of all while trying to survive the date itself.

🚨 Side Note:

When your shutdown gets mistaken for withholding affection,
and suddenly the whole date is a trauma reenactment in disguise.
That’s not flirting.
That’s dissociation with eye contact.
That’s a nervous system in crisis trying to look cute.
That’s a self-erasing performance to avoid punishment for malfunctioning.

🧭 This entry will be linked back to in the upcoming Trust & Intimacy section. It functions as a prelude to emotional recursion misfires in neurodivergent relationships.

🧵 Link to Full Post: Tilted, Not Defeated →
🫒 Also see: BIG DILL ENERGY™
📦 File under: Neurospicy Somatics, Chronic Chaos Rituals, Survival Comedy

💥 Why This Works

📞 Trust Hotline
“Did you know your body has one? Spoiler: It’s not your mouth.”

💡 Trust Isn’t a Vibe—It’s a Vagus Nerve

Did you know your vagus nerve is the closest thing your body has to a trust hotline?
It’s the secret backchannel between your brainstem and your guts—like a cosmic cord running through your core.

When you feel truly safe with someone—like “I’d let you see me ugly-cry and still ask for snacks after” safe—your parasympathetic nervous system kicks in. That’s the rest-and-digest state. Your heart rate slows. Your pupils soften. Your body stops scanning for exits.

That’s why touch can feel electric—or terrifying—depending on who’s holding the wire.

And if your nervous system’s been glitch-coded by trauma, POTS, or the beautiful chaos of AuDHD? That hotline gets... noisy. Sometimes it screams DANGER even when it’s someone you love.

That’s not dysfunction.
That’s survival doing her job too well.

But the body can learn.
Slowly.
Like a rewiring kink—one synapse at a time.