One Month On

I have how had my official autism diagnosis for a month. In that month, life has continued to change almost as rapidly as it did before I was diagnosed. My father’s cancer diagnosis has obviously changed my priorities with regard to how I spend my limited energy over the coming months. My financial situation has once more become difficult and precarious and is causing me considerable amounts of anxiety. And I have, with huge regret, realised that I cannot, at this time, continue with the maths degree that I so badly wanted to finish, so it is time to let go, to stop pushing, and to admit that I have simply run out of time and energy.

Obviously, life is still a long way from where I’d like it to be. My sleep patterns are still poor, which is not great, but they’re better than they were a few months ago. I’m now managing to leave the flat around twice a week, which is a slight improvement. When I do go out I am slightly better able to cope because I am more aware of which strategies work for me and I’m learning to give myself more recovery time afterwards.

I have now started, very slowly, to eat just a little better than I have been doing, which is no bad thing, since I saw a full-length photo of myself recently and was slightly shocked at how thin I looked. I finally weighed myself a couple of days ago and discovered that I’ve lost a stone since last summer, simply because I have felt too sick and anxious to cope with food. This is not good – I was not trying to lose weight, particularly not in that way, and I am just lucky that I was in good enough physical condition to start with that my body could cope. I am also still drinking too much alcohol in order to cope, but am starting to try to cut down just a bit in order not to do too much more damage to my physical health.

However, despite all the difficulties mentioned above, the persistent insomnia, the struggles to go out, and the continuing dysfunctional relationship with both food and alcohol, there are signs that things are improving. My husband and several friends have remarked that they perceive my underlying mental state to be improved and, even though I’m still getting some extremely sad, angry, and regretful moments, I’m starting to accept things as they are in a way that I didn’t before my formal diagnosis.

There were several people who said, before my diagnosis, that since I knew I was autistic, they knew I was autistic, and my friends and family accepted that I was autistic, there really wasn’t any necessity for me to pursue a formal diagnosis in order to understand myself. What none of these people understood, however, was my need for validation, reassurance that I hadn’t simply imagined the whole thing, and the huge huge confidence that the formal diagnosis has given me. This might not be necessary for everyone, but for me it was essential. And it really has made a massive difference to my life.

The formal diagnosis also, for me, marked the end of the old life, and the beginning of the new one. The process of discovery in the preceding months was like a sort of introduction, perhaps an overture before the curtain was raised at the beginning of the first act, or maybe the preface before the start of chapter one. My old life has been demolished, and now the process of rebuilding can begin.

There is obviously a lot of relief that the process of seeking a diagnosis is now over, and I feel, even more than previously, that my life now makes sense in a way that it never previously did. As I predicted in the last few paragraphs of Why Bother, the diagnosis has finally given me full permission to stop regarding myself as a naughty, lazy, failure of a human being. I also feel liberated from the pressure to “succeed” that has pervaded my whole life so far. There is still a long way to go and I still, frequently, feel that I am not entitled to breathe the air and that the world would be a better place without me, but I am still only a month into the new life, and there’s nearly half a century of the old one to analyse, reevaluate, and reframe.

Furthermore, I have to go through the process of mourning the life I might have had if only it had been recognised that I was autistic before I got to my mid 40s. There are still difficult topics to tackle – the mental health professionals who failed for two decades to recognise it, my childhood, the incessant, triggering, references to small children when I try to research autistic traits, and where I fit, if at all, into the autistic community (I am used to being alone and to shying away from being part of any sort of group, and discovering that there are others who experience so many of the same things as I do is, for me, somewhat disconcerting).

But one month after diagnosis there is a calm, even more so than that I felt after discovery. I strongly believe that there is a very good chance that my mental health will, eventually, be better than it has been for decades, possibly even than ever before. I am already, after just four weeks, much more confident about describing myself as autistic, and feeling that I have a right to do so. I’m also treating myself much more gently than I did previously – because now I have official permission!

I’m certain there will be yet more phases to go through, and not all will be easy, but maybe, just maybe, I will eventually rebuild a life that works. And it will be a better life than the one that officially ended four weeks ago.

Recovery Time

I’m aware that I continue to be a bit absent from this blog at the moment. I’m finding getting the energy together to post is currently a bit more challenging than it has been, and the words aren’t flowing very easily.

I’d say there were probably several reasons for this.

1. I’m trying to get out into the world a couple of times a week at the moment – every time I leave the flat it uses huge amounts of energy and I need a lot of time to recover. But sitting in the dark by myself in a very small, cramped, untidy flat for around 14 hours a day on average isn’t very exciting, so I’m doing what I can to make life a little more interesting.

2. I’m using additional energy to communicate with my family following my father’s cancer diagnosis. I’ve fixed up to meet with him in a couple of weeks and that has become a priority for me.

3. I’ve finally admitted that studying maths is not going to happen for the foreseeable future, so I’ve been spending a little energy adjusting to that too. It was evident that it had become too much for me, but it was, to an extent, keeping my adrenaline levels up.

4. After months of really terrible eating patterns I’m making more effort to eat a bit better. I’m lucky enough to have a body that is remarkably tolerant of the problems my mind causes it, but I’m also aware that looking after it a bit is important.

5. I’m trying to sort out administration and paperwork and financial type stuff at the moment. Just because I’m falling apart and autistic and so on doesn’t mean that the electricity bills and so on stop. My husband is doing an amazing job caring for me, but he is only one person and I’m trying to contribute a bit to the running of our lives when I can.

6. My autism diagnosis is starting to sink in. I still need to go through my draft report thoroughly and get my follow up appointment arranged and think about the sort of support I need and so on. But, like giving up on the maths, the immediate and urgent need to produce evidence and the stress and adrenaline of pursuing the diagnostic process is over.

So, partly I’m trying to direct some of my attention elsewhere, but partly I’ve really seriously crashed energy wise. I tried to get up at 9 this morning, got as far as having a drink, then fell asleep on the sofa until midday. The months last autumn where I didn’t sleep at all are catching up with me now, the stress of the diagnostic process has left me exhausted, and I’m still considerably burnt out and trying to recover from what has evidently been an episode of severe autistic burnout. I currently need a lot of sleep, and even more rest, and as I’m using energy and executive functioning skills to try to eat regularly I have fewer resources available for turning on the computer and making blog posts.

I’m certain this is just another phase in the process, and the exhaustion is just something I have to deal with for now. My energy levels are very variable, and at the moment there’s nothing much I can do other than go with how things are and take the time I need to do the things that are most necessary.

I suspect this is all part of it. Discovering, in my mid-40s, that I am autistic is proving to be exciting, a relief, stressful, anxiety making, completely mind blowing, and, at the moment, utterly exhausting.

I’ll leave you with a few words (below, in bold) that I typed into the iPad the other day, but which I was too tired to turn into a blog post. Just the process of turning my thoughts into words is often hard enough, but then getting the right bits of computer and so on coordinated sometimes makes things impossible. Someone once suggested I should get an app for the blog – the thought of something so difficult (that sort of thing really is difficult for me) reduced me to tears – I’m sure my way of doing things is not the best, but the energy for learning something new simply isn’t there right now – new apps and things will have to wait until I’m better. My husband will testify that new computers and phones and so on have all led to meltdowns and tears and I resist technological change really strongly – even when it’s for the better – because it causes me such huge anxiety. I usually only change anything when I’m absolutely forced to!

I should add, however, that, just over three weeks after my diagnosis, I am continuing to feel a certain sort of “better”. I can already feel that although life will always be a struggle, there is an underlying mental wellness that I haven’t known for decades, if at all. And I now feel more confident in telling people that I am autistic and feel that I believe it myself much more. The process was difficult and exhausting, but, ultimately, for me, is already proving to be worth it. Accepting that I have a lifelong condition that will always limit me is not the easiest thing that I’ve ever had to do, but refusing to accept and embrace it won’t make it go away, it’ll just make my everyday life more difficult than it already is. It will take a while to work out exactly how best to live my life and to work out how to adapt it to make it as good as it can be, but having the formal diagnosis is already making that easier for me.

Yesterday,
I was out in town.
Conversation and coffee,
Socialising and shopping.

Not very much of the above,
Admittedly,
And nothing bad or especially
Difficult.

But enough
That

Today
I am quiet at home.
Tiredness and television,
Resting and recuperating.

Need so much of the above,
Always,
Even when I have had a
Good time.

Not energy
Even
To post this
On the blog.

Absent

Aware
That I am a bit absent
At the moment.

Trying
To deal with so many things
At once.

Feeling
Quite unwell and stressed
And anxious.

Absorbing
So much big news about
So many things.

Using
So much energy constantly
Just to cope.

Needing
To remove as much pressure
As possible.

Struggling
To deal with the newness
Of so much.

Stimming
Though not as much as
I need to.

Dealing
With yet more forms
And reports.

Worrying
About some of the outcomes
Of these forms.

Attempting
To get out of the flat
Sometimes.

Resting
As much as I can because
I need to.

Finding
Life is rather exhausting
And challenging.

Wanting
To do so much more
But waiting.

Retreating
Back into the familiar
When possible.

Observing
That I’m out of my depth
Frequently.

Noticing
That my thoughts are often
Scrambled.

Intending
Still to write informative posts
About autism.

Taking
A little more time and space
Than previously.

Replenishing
Energy and thoughts and words
For a while.

Changed Life

My life is an interesting mix at the moment. I say “interesting” because one of my ways of coping with things is to be “interested” by them and to learn. Feeling emotions is, on the whole, difficult and complicated, and I’ve never received any training in how to feel things, so it confuses me somewhat. However, the education system I went through did provide me with ample training on how to learn and analyse things, so I tend to retreat into learning and analysis whenever possible. My head is wired in such a way that I have wondered all my life why school spent so much time teaching me the easy stuff (for example, mathematics), but so little teaching the difficult stuff (for example, what to do in a tea break at work). I realise now that that might be because many people don’t naturally go off and learn mathematics for fun just because it’s interesting, and most people seem to have some innate knowledge of how to cope with tea breaks and haven’t had to spend years observing other people to learn what to do and how to handle such problematic situations.

Anyway, there are two conflicting strands intertwining in my head at the moment. The shock of my father’s diagnosis (see Reactions to Diagnoses) is still very present (although now, over a week in, I am starting, slowly, to process it), and I’m beginning to work out how to adjust my life in order to spend some time with him during the next few months. I’m trying to focus on sorting out the practicalities of visits and arrangements at the moment, and my priority is to use whatever energy I can to do what I need to do in a timely manner.

But I’m also acutely aware that I currently have very limited energy. Interestingly, other things in my life have suddenly become less important. I have, for the time being, abandoned any thoughts of participating in running races. I am still very burnt out, and while I recognise how wonderful running is for me and for my health in general, what I need right now is to learn how to stop pushing myself and to rest. Coping with the overstimulation out in the world is something I’m finding difficult at the moment, and pushing myself into massive physical exertion only overtaxes my system further. I’m also having huge sensory issues with running kit, which is a different sort of fabric from my usual soft cotton t-shirts, and I cannot reliably wear such clothes at the moment without sometimes encountering waves of nausea. Furthermore, getting dressed at all is often still really challenging for me, so getting changed and changed again uses up so much energy that it’s really not a valuable use of resources. And that’s before I start on the hours of build up needed even to leave the flat at the moment! I fully intend to return to running seriously again, especially the long distances that are so fabulous, but I can easily put it on hold for now, while I recover. I need to get my energy back, work out how to deal with the crowds at races so I don’t end up crashing out of them like I did last year, and maybe I’ll ease myself back in via halves and marathons first, then return to ultras in 2018.

I’m trying to keep a bit of music going, but, for now, only familiar and relatively low pressure stuff. This time last year I was preparing to play solo Hindemith as part of a gig, and to perform a concerto in the summer, but this year I am sticking to a bit of gentle orchestral stuff and maybe a bit of fun chamber music should the opportunity arise. Nothing that requires hours of intensive practice or any great pressure – even the pressure of finding concert clothes and getting out of the flat to the gig and being surrounded by people and the sensory demands of the outside world is quite enough to cope with.

The other really difficult decision I need to make might well be forced upon me anyway soon. For years now I’ve been studying maths with the Open University. It’s been brilliant, but it’s also been a really rocky ride because my health has failed so many times over the years. Things have also changed massively with the way that the courses and degrees are organised and funded over the years, and for the last couple of years I’ve been desperately trying to finish my degree before it vanishes completely. The University have been very good, and the tutors I’ve had have been nothing short of excellent in their support, but I fear that I have now reached the end of the line. I cannot see how I can continue to work at the level I need to for the time being. Unlike running and music, however, which can be picked up when I’m better, I fear this really is the end for the maths. Had this happened 10 years ago I would simply have taken a year or so out then carried on, but that is now impossible (very long boring story to do with government funding, modules, student loans, deferrals, degree programmes and so on).

My husband is going to try to contact the OU and see whether there is anything to be salvaged (if there is, then we’ll do it), but that, in itself, is a problem because they will only speak to me and I’m not up to having the discussion right now. The problem with needing help is that in order to get help you have to be well enough to ask for help and if you’re not well enough to ask then you just slip off the radar and vanish – the same happened to me with disability benefits – I just gave up. I can’t contemplate any of it at the moment – all my energy is needed just for survival. Furthermore, any hopes that I would eventually “get better properly” and be able to use a decent maths degree (during the times I *can* work my marks are often high and might, with good health, have led to an excellent degree) to establish a good career, are now gone. The problems I have with energy levels and executive functioning and coping out in the world when surrounded by other people are the result of me being autistic and that is permanent. Just finding enough strategies to COPE at all with life is going to be a big deal – I now know that the possibility of a “successful career” is gone and that if I ever manage to work again it will have to be a very different sort of work from that I had in mind when I hoped to “recover” from whatever it was that meant I kept breaking.

So, life feels like it is changing rapidly. Priorities are altering, and the upheaval continues. My life, which, a year ago, I had been hoping to build up, has shrunk back down to something much more modest. Doing 100 mile races, performing concertos, and getting a good maths degree all seem to be in a different universe right now. My relationship with my family is in the process of changing significantly, my ambitions for life are undergoing a time of readjustment, and my entire identity has altered. I’ve moved from simply “not being very female” to actively describing myself as non-binary and I’ve discovered a world I couldn’t even have imagined existed a few months ago. It’s also still only seven months since the chain of events started that would lead me to discover, a few weeks later, that what I’d regarded as “normal” for the last 45 years was in fact “autistic”, and eventually to be diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder just 2 weeks ago today. It is all really really life-changing.

Interestingly though, two weeks after diagnosis, my husband has remarked that for all the current problems in life, he perceives an underlying wellness in me that he hasn’t seen for a very long time. For all the upheavals, and all the strife, and the current difficulties, it would seem that the process of accepting who I really am IS eventually going to lead to a better life. It has become obvious from the “facebook memories” feature that for all my external optimism about life a year ago I was already really struggling, and the signs of impending burnout were already there – the life that I was still rebuilding was unsustainable, but I just didn’t know it.

And, now I am finally emerging from the diagnostic procedure itself, then, following shortly afterwards, the news from my father, I am starting to accept my changed life in a way that I wouldn’t have done previously. The angst I felt before diagnosis (even when everyone round me was telling me that of course I was autistic and go gently on myself and so on) is starting to recede and I feel, oddly, like a “more confident autistic”. For the first time in my life I am learning to take pressure OFF myself. For the first time ever, I’m able to tell myself that my head DOES work differently from the heads of most other people and that it’s true, what I mean by “tired” is different from what many other people mean by it (not all – obviously there are those who have other chronic conditions and illnesses and so on – I’m not referring to them, but to the population as a whole, to the people who CAN go out to work every day and so on). I am learning that being autistic means that my system gets exhausted JUST BY EXISTING, and I therefore need more rest than most people do. I am allowing myself to rest more FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE, and I’m no longer forcing myself to constantly push through the bad feelings.

I’m finally letting go of the notion that I need to be all things to all people – I scroll past questions on facebook that I know I could answer, but sometimes I let someone else take the question because I know that typing a lengthy answer will tire me. I look at some of the posts and “advice” in the self-help and fitness related groups and books and I know now that this advice might work really well for neurotypical people, but that it doesn’t work for me because it doesn’t take into account that my neurology is different. Autistic people need a different version of the “self-help” manual – one that takes our neurology into account, one that recognises our differences and the extra work we need to put in in order to exist in the world and the fact that being with other people is utterly exhausting for many of us (maybe I’ll write one sometime)! I am starting to recognise that in order to stay well I have to question much of the “received wisdom” about life, and much of what I’ve learnt through the years. I need to adapt the advice, rethink the strategies, and alter my life accordingly.

And although I’d been learning lots and lots of this on my own, had disclosed my autistic status on this blog (see The Discovery) to anyone who cared to read it, being validated by a professional has, for me, given me the permission to change my life and to feel justified in doing so, which is why what happened two weeks ago today was so important. It turns out that even if the rest of the world was absolutely convinced that I was autistic and did everything they could to help and reassure me, the person who really needed convincing was me.

Go Gently…

76-2017-02-24-13-40-18The message I receive
From those who have been here
Those who have discovered
Late in life
That they are autistic

Is

That this processing will take some time
And will not always be easy.

And I need to go gently.

I am listening to these people
And I am listening well
Because they have been here
And they know
And their neurology is the same
As mine.

I said from the start
Right back in late August 2016
When the autism hypothesis (now accepted)
Was formed…

That this will happen at my pace
In my way
According to my schedule.

And everything I hear
Confirms that.

“A couple of years”
Seems to be about the time
Taken
For full processing.

And,
Of course,
I need to recover from burnout.

I know I need
To stim
A LOT.
A very very lot.
The minute I started to listen properly
To my body
That became obvious.

What I am struggling with
Is how much
I cannot do.

How much
I need to rest.

How much time I need
To spend
Alone.

I have the biggest
FOMO
Ever.

I have pared back my life
But I need to cut even more.

And life continues.
Much of it
Is not optional
And must be dealt with
Appropriately.

My emotions are confused
And unidentifiable.

My functionality is also
Very very poor.

But at least the process
Is now started.

I will emerge.

Eventually.

Still Processing

75-2017-02-24-13-42-19I’m in one of those slightly frustrated phases right now. One where my brain really wants to get on and do things and to try to sort out my life, but my mind is still very very busy processing recent events. It’s now just after midday on Friday and I feel as though I should be able to “just get on with it” now, although I’ve just calculated that it’s nearly 96 hours since I received my diagnosis, and, when I put it like that, it’s no wonder I’m still trying to take things in and trying to work everything out. And when I then remember that I’ve never been very good at processing feelings, it’s even less surprising.

My week so far has run thus:

Monday: Five hour autism assessment in an unfamiliar town, concluding with clear diagnosis that I am autistic. Drive home and sit, almost unable to move. Sleep a little. Eat a little. Drink wine.

Tuesday: Utterly exhausted. Hardly able to process. Wrapped in compression bashing myself against the sofa. Short blog post written but unable to post. Good feelings, but not ones I can articulate well. Relief. Shock. It’s real.

Wednesday: A bit more functional. Able to post on the blog and write a couple more posts in draft. Sort the house a bit. However, start to feel ill in the afternoon and completely lose speech early evening. Speech never returns all night.

Thursday: Attempt to get up at reasonable time but fail. Head won’t work properly at all. Publish one of the draft posts. Afternoon lose functionality and retreat under weighted blanket. Attempts to sort out jobs lists fail. Plan to do stuff tomorrow.

Friday: Finally make it out of bed around midday after frustrating morning in bed. Realisation that things I wanted to do today are beyond me. Just getting this far is an achievement. I also had a spell trying to establish whether I was lonely or bored – I’m not sure I can distinguish between the two.

If I stop beating myself up (not literally – though the impulse to tear chunks out of my skin is very very strong this morning and is taking a lot of energy to resist), then looking at this objectively, I see that 96 hours out from receiving an autism diagnosis at age 45, it’s actually not that surprising. I know from what I’ve read on forums and groups and in books that getting a formal diagnosis is an amazing thing, but I also know that it takes some processing, and moods can be erratic for some time afterwards until the system settles down. My brain and my learning and my reading knows all this stuff. And, I have to keep reminding myself, AUTISTIC BRAINS DO NOT LIKE CHANGE!!!!

I keep forgetting this last piece of information, and I always believed myself to be quite flexible, but when I actually started looking at the evidence it turned out not to be the case. I need a new handbag – my old one is too small (since the advent of multiple pairs of spectacles and lots of stim toys). I have a new handbag. It is very nice. I like it. It will be a very good handbag. But the notion of changing to a different sort of handbag is freaking me out. Bigtime. The new handbag has been waiting for a month so far. I am too frightened to take the stuff out of the old handbag and put it into the new one, because I know it will feel wrong for quite a long time until I get used to it. Autistic brains. Change. Don’t like.

And, of course, this is why we get so tired. Conscious brain has to be employed constantly to compensate for the strong messages coming from the autistic bit. There is the neverending internal fight between what I have always termed “brain” and “mind”. In my head, always, I have had to employ vast amounts of willpower from brain in order to overcome the evident illness (some of which now relabeled anxiety caused by autistic brain) of my mind. The terminology is a bit muddled here I know – I didn’t script this and am trying to write improvisatorily, which is rapidly turning into nonsense.

Back to the script.

What I HAD been hoping to do today was: sort out the jobs list, order a repeat prescription, send a few of the more urgent e-mails (I really need to sort my study situation with the OU because time is getting short, and if I’m to dine in College after a meeting booked for next week then I have to sign in), maybe visit my best friend (haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks and also need to catch up on meetings and assessments and collect my scarf, which I left there), call my mother (again, update on assessment, especially since she provided so much info about me age 0-4 and some beyond that too), hoover the flat (it’s at the point where if we had a visitor we’d have to provide overshoes for them to protect their shoes, but the loudness of the hoover and my sensory system’s state today probably mean that’s out), maybe do some maths (concentration nowhere near sufficient – I’m managing less than a paragraph at a time of my book on my current special interest (Chariots of Fire) at the moment), and what I really wanted to do was to go out and get a coffee and cheesecake (way too late now because the early morning quiet spell will be long finished, but I haven’t had coffee for so long), get a few jobs done (I need to go to the bank and buy one or two things), and maybe go and look at some food and see if I can get inspired to eat anything (I’m currently still on only about 1.5 meals a day, which really isn’t enough).

Of course, lined up like this, it’s obvious that someone who has had the week I’ve just had wouldn’t have a hope of doing all of that. Maybe just being able to list it here will be a start on sorting out the jobs list and trying to work out what really DOES need doing and what can wait for a while.

It’s also been on my mind all morning that I’ve still not managed to get back to proper running. This is not surprising, since I’m still very much in burnout, and the diagnostic process has taken a huge amount out of me, but it’s now looking less and less likely that I will be able to do any of the spring races I still have booked. One of my favourite marathons is unlikely to happen, and with it will go the expensive hotel room I booked last year. I don’t have the energy to do anything about it. Maybe we’ll go and stay there anyway, although at the moment the thought of going to a crowded city to watch a marathon I should have been running in just feels scary. I’d rather be on a deserted beach staring at the sea by myself. I’ve known for ages that my first hundred miler, booked for May, just isn’t possible in my current state, but saying goodbye to it is hard, and to the other marathon I had booked. Again – although I have to do this, it’s change, and again, change doesn’t sit easily with me.

So add all that to the inevitable exhaustion from Monday and it’s no wonder things are a bit rocky right now. I’m also almost climbing the walls waiting for the report from the assessment people, even though they told me clearly and straightforwardly, that it could take up to a fortnight because there was a lot of material to go through and times and so on and don’t panic. But still. I’m impatient.

And, my head is, predictably, making words in a very erratic manner. There are either too many of them (see above) or too few (see below). Writing the words below was probably my biggest achievement of yesterday! Who knows what my biggest achievement of today will be – I’ll have to see what I can manage. But I also need to keep reminding myself that the biggest thing of my life has occurred over the last 6 months and that 96 hours ago it was officially confirmed, and my head will still be processing it all for a while yet and I do need a fair bit of time just staring at a pea factory, curled up under my blanket, and rocking back and forth and so on.

I
Am
Autistic.

Three words.
Define my life.

I knew that
Before the assessment.

But

Now

It is
Real.

Knowledge.
Relief.
Validation.

But also change.

My head
Still
Processing.

I am autistic.
I am autistic.
I am autistic.

Dear head,
Got that now?

I am autistic.
I am autistic.
I am autistic.

Yes, really.

What’s odd is:

Nothing is different
And
Everything is different.

The feelings
(Various)
Strong strong strong.

Huge waves
Of emotion
Alternate rapidly
With
Numbness.

I still need
To let go
And relax

But
Too soon.

Although
Yesterday
My words gone
All evening.

Let the news
Sink in.

Absorb it.

It is big.

Take
Everything

One

Step

At

A

Time.

Autistic or Broken?

58-2017-01-21-22-05-52Yesterday, I put up a post on my Finally Knowing Me page on Facebook (feel free to like/share – it’s all public) about my levels of confidence of receiving a formal autism diagnosis. Before the first assessment I was 80% confident of getting a diagnosis, but 20% doubtful, but, since the first assessment, my confidence has plummeted and now the percentages are reversed and I’d say it was more like 20% confident and 80% doubtful.

Then there was some stuff about expectations and evidence, and how CBT taught me to use the evidence available to disprove my negative thoughts, but actually that’s a really bad idea because the evidence doesn’t disprove them, it reinforces them (there’s a whole blog post to be written about all that stuff at some point).

Something in the post triggered one of my friends to make a comment to the effect that I should remember that I wasn’t broken, but had a different way of seeing the world.

And that comment then triggered my head into realising what it is that’s so frightening about the prospect of not getting a formal autism diagnosis and being officially classed as autistic.

And it runs thus:

If I DO receive an autism diagnosis, and I do fulfil the criteria for being classed as autistic, then that diagnosis will effectively tell me that I have a different way of seeing the world. It will say to me, and to anyone else who cares to take any notice of it, that my neurology is different, that I have a different way of understanding people and communicating with them, a different way of organizing my body, a different way of perceiving light and sound and feeling and so on, and also that this difference has been there all my life (so it explains why my life has gone wrong in so many ways in the past) and that it impairs my ability to function within the bounds of “normal” society. It will also mean that certain things that have been interpreted for years as me being naughty, or picky, or a bit forthright, or disorganised, or lazy, will all now be explained by me just having a different sort of brain.

Conclusion: I am autistic.

However, if I DON’T receive an autism diagnosis, and I don’t fulfil the criteria, the reverse is true. I will not have that protective label. I will not be classed as having a different way of seeing the world. I will be considered, as I have been all my life, as a bit quirky and eccentric. Maybe I’ll manage to get a diagnosis of Sensory Processing Disorder or similar so that my sensory issues are recognised, but that will not help me when I lose my words and am unable to use the telephone. Maybe they’ll say I’m traumatised now, but not recognise my struggles as a child and I will know that I was simply really really bad while trying not to be. Maybe it’ll be back to just bipolar disorder and “ordinary” mental illness, but that won’t explain why my inertia is so high and my executive functioning is so poor. And, when I compare myself to those people who do have an autism diagnosis yet are able to hold down jobs or run homes or whatever, I will know that I can’t do those things not because my brain is different, but because I really am just a mess.

Conclusion: I am broken.

OK, it’s not quite as simple as that, because you have to factor in the fact that I am, evidently, very broken even if I am autistic, partly because I also have bipolar disorder and severe anxiety and so on, and partly because going undiagnosed and unsupported and trying to live a “normal” life for 45 years and suppressing my autistic traits has led to two major burnouts and been very damaging, especially to my mental health, which is shot to pieces. Being autistic doesn’t preclude brokenness any more than being non-autistic protects from it. And equally, there is justification for my difficulties in life as far as having mental health issues alone – my bipolar disorder is sufficiently impairing that it would probably have impacted upon my ability to work and care for myself even if autism had never entered the picture. Furthermore, it might well be that I have enough autistic traits to impact on my life significantly, even if I don’t fit the clinical definition or cannot provide enough evidence.

Add to that the imperfections of the diagnostic system, the fact that in my case it is relying on memories from many decades ago to fill in gaps about my childhood, the 40+ years I’ve been learning and masking and covering up all my difficulties and giving an Oscar-winning performance on the outside while falling apart on the inside, and it really isn’t an exact science.

But, even so, this is at the nub of the situation: if they say I am autistic then I’m not broken, but if they say I’m not autistic then I am broken.

And if I judge myself by non-autistic standards then I’m a terrible failure and my life has been a pointless disaster (but with caveats about mental illness) and I see very little hope for the future because I simply can’t work any harder or be any better than this – I am basically a broken, failed, weak human being and I always will be.

But if I judge myself by autistic standards then I’ve achieved an amazing amount and been incredibly strong throughout my life (even at great cost to my health) and I see that there really might be hope that I could live a gentler, happier life and achieve goals that are more suitable for me – in a few years’ time I could possibly be a mended, successful and strong autistic person.

And all this is swirling round my head at the moment, like some sort of primordial “soup”, out of which sentient life (or in my case, a moderately functional mind) might or might not eventually emerge. It’s almost exactly 6 months now since I had my first meltdown while away on a camping trip – 6 months ago I didn’t have even the vaguest notion that I would ever be thinking of myself as autistic, or that I’d even know a fraction of what I now know about autism, about myself, about my childhood, or about many people around me. At that point I just believed I was a bit tired and that life would carry on as normal once I got home.

So my head is trying to make sense of it all. I’m trying to work out the extent to which I’m autistic, broken, mentally ill, traumatised, and so on. I’m trying to find a health professional who will actually help me with all of these things. I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that I now identify as a non-binary autistic person. I’m trying to live through ordinary day to day life and remember to eat and so on. I’m trying not to let other aspects of my life (music, study, running and so on) fall completely by the wayside. And I’m still in the process of recovery from burnout and waiting to see exactly what level of functionality I will have once I’ve stabilised.

No wonder I get a bit wobbly from time to time.