Let me set the scene: I’m lying in a glorified metal coffin while a machine screams at me in robot Morse code. The tech says, “Just relax.”  

I say, “I’m neurodivergent.”  

They say, “It’ll be over soon.”  

And that’s when I realize I’m about to be emotionally waterboarded by sound waves and fluorescent lighting while being told I’m “too sensitive.”

Here’s the thing: I’m not being dramatic. I’m being accurate.  

I have sensory processing issues. Loud noises feel like violence. Bright lights feel like betrayal. And being told to “just breathe through it” while my nervous system is throwing a rave in my spine? That’s not helpful—it’s gaslighting with a side of condescension.

I asked for headphones.  

I asked for a blanket.  

I asked for literally any accommodation that might make this experience less like a sensory death match.  

And what did I get?  A pair of ratty headphones that worked about as well as a screen door on a submarine, and a thin blanket that wouldn’t have done anything if I was cold let alone trying to stave off a panic attack and a whole lot of judgement.

Because apparently, advocating for yourself in a medical setting makes you “difficult.”  

Not the machine that sounds like a demon trying to fuck a microwave.  

Not the tech who treats your panic like a personality flaw.  

You. You’re the problem—for daring to say, “Hey, this is hell and I’d like not to dissociate today.”

So yeah, I’m loud. I’m sensitive. I’m “challenging.”  

But I’m also right.  

And if you think I’m going to stop advocating for myself just because it makes your job mildly inconvenient, you’ve clearly never met someone who’s been emotionally steamrolled by a thousand fluorescent-lit appointments.

I’m not asking for luxury. I’m asking for basic humanity.  

And if that’s too much, maybe the problem isn’t me—it’s the system that thinks trauma responses are optional.

Split happens. Sensory overload happens louder.  

And self-advocacy? That’s not a phase. It’s survival.Split Happens, but I happen louder!