Category Archives: Autism/Aspergers
I was nervous about getting my autism spectrum disorder (ASD) diagnosis. What if I didn’t have an ASD at all? what then? But what if I do? Maybe I don’t want that. Maybe I just want to be normal, or at least to believe it. Is it really worth it? What will change in my life after I know?
It was a lot of money for a two-day long analysis. Is two days enough to really evaluate me? It was a LOT of money to spend on a half-assed diagnosis. But my psychologist had good reviews. She specializes in autism, including adults with autism. The latter is a difficult qualification to find. She must know a thing or two.
It would be a few years between first contacting the psychologist and actually going in for an evaluation. I was initially a 2 hour drive away and stressed at the prospect of all that driving plus a long time spent in the office. I finally made the appointment when I lived a little closer, but it was still nearly an hour drive and into the heart of downtown Denver. City driving gives me more anxiety than long distance driving.
But I had to know. I was tired of my assumed ASD being used against me by friends and family when convenient and brushed aside when not. If anyone was going to use it as a weapon, it better at least be a valid one. And then, maybe, I’d feel more confident defending myself because I knew what exactly I was defending.
I found it difficult to behave naturally during the evaluation. I was worried about any of my natural traits coming across as forced or deliberate, even though they weren’t. I didn’t want her to think I was trying one way or another. As a result, I was hyper aware of every little thing I did. By the second day I was worried that I tried so hard to not come across as autistic, that the results would be skewed the other way. But oh well. I trusted that she could see through all that. By the end, I had the impression she wasn’t going to diagnose me with an ASD. We spent so much time discussing traits I had that didn’t quite line up, more so than time spent discussing the ones that did. And yet, her final assessment was, yes, I am definitely on the spectrum. I have what would have been labeled Aspergers before it was lumped into the larger ASD diagnosis.
I felt relieved when it was over. I had the words on paper to serve as evidence of my feat. I was so proud of myself, I did it. I survived the city, and the unfamiliar environment. And I survived it twice! I am not good with multiple big events happening too close in proximity. I need a lot of down time between activities outside the home that aren’t part of my usual routine. But I was a real trooper this time.
After the novelty wore off, life went back to normal. Only, now when my ASD is used against me, I can’t reply with “you don’t know that.” But, hey, on the bright side (I thought), when people give me grief about not fitting in with standard social customs, my excuses won’t be taken so personally. Maybe this will improve my relationships, maybe now I can start making real friends. I can say I don’t feel up to going out for multiple invites in a row and it won’t be perceived as rude. Now I can decline hugs without hurting people’s feelings. Now I can say something makes me uncomfortable and people will take me seriously. Unfortunately, none of this is the case. Others only acknowledge my ASD when they can use it as an insult. Otherwise, it is the same invisible disability it was before my diagnosis.
—Please, don’t make that sound —Oh, OK sorry
—Don’t touch me there. —Ok
—this aesthetic makes me uncomfortable —*shrug*
Some time later:
—I said I don’t like that, please, don’t —OK
and later again:
—Why wont you listen!! Stop, please! —woah! Chill out! Jeez. Wait, you were being serious?? I didn’t know it was such a big deal…
Yes, it’s a big deal. These aren’t petty complaints or preferences. I get surges of adrenaline when I see or feel certain things. To make matters worse, I have mirror-touch synesthesia. I’m really not messing around when I say something bothers me. It really IS a big deal. Why won’t anyone take me seriously?
And yet, I know why. I don’t look like anything is wrong with me. I’m not physically handicapped, I don’t have the physical traits that show themselves in conjunction with other mental disorders, I don’t act particularly unusual in most settings. People expect that I can control my mind the way they expect people with depression to do the same. —Just get over it! Mind over matter…
I wish I could. Sometimes I can manage better than others. My spiritual practices have been helping immensely. Especially meditation and breathing techniques. I haven’t had a serious meltdown in several years. I have a pretty good idea of what I can handle and what I cannot, so I plan my days accordingly. But I don’t always have control over my surroundings. And I can’t just get over it.
My friends try to understand. But I don’t think they really do. I still hurt feelings. I know they are human and that theoretical understanding of my situation doesn’t change how my actions affect them. I wish it didn’t have to be like this. All I can do is spread awareness. Perhaps if enough of us share our experiences, the rest of the world will believe that they are indeed real.
I need to rant for a bit. I try not to do so too often, but I’m just so frustrated and someone has to know.
I got a part time job. Nothing glamorous and it pays barely anything, but it’s something to bring in a few extra bucks while my husband is looking for a better job.
Anyway, I needed to get some appropriate clothing to wear for work, so I went shopping. I hate shopping. Especially clothing shopping. I don’t mind window shopping or some non-clothing shopping. It’s easier to bear if I’m with people – but sometimes that too can add to my stress. Malls are the worst for me. I like them for a short while. I like the small gift shops and fun trinkets all around, but I hate the non-stop social interaction. Clothing stores are the worst – sales people talking to me the minute I walk in. Ugh, I can’t take it! Go away, don’t talk to me. **Please,** people. I try not to make eye contact. I make wide arcs around every sales person, but they come after me anyway. Apparently Aspies aren’t the only ones who misses social queues :/. I can usually handle about three, maybe four (on a good day) clothing store interactions. After this, I tend to become visibly stressed. I am a passive person for the most part and don’t like to stir up trouble, but when I’m at my social-interaction limit, my responses can become curt and sometimes rude. I don’t mean to be rude. I’ve been known to return to a store before leaving the mall to apologize to anyone I might have been so with.
For some reason, malls give me the most trouble. I can put on the neurotypical act for a long time in many other settings. I have been praised for having the best customer service skills in most of my jobs. I’m not even kidding. I’ve had people ask for me by name because I’m the “friendly one.” Something about the mall just puts me on a borderline meltdown mode as soon as I walk in.
When my husband is with me, he keeps the sales people away whenever he can. However, he doesn’t mind being rude right away. He’s not a terribly friendly person to people outside his own circle. He is rude because he just doesn’t like people. The people aren’t my problem. I love people and I hate it when I do anything to offend someone I don’t know. I am not annoyed at the salespeople so much as stressed around them. I start panicking and I can easily get a headache within 15 minutes if pressured into too much conversation.
I prepare myself in advance for trips to the mall. I get plenty of rest the night before. I don’t do anything else stressful before leaving. On a good day, I can make it into all of the clothing shops provided the conversations are limited to a quick “hi, how are you?” If they keep talking after my “fine, thank you,” my anxiety sets in.
At the mall today, I went to Maurices first. The salesperson there wouldn’t leave me alone! It was the creepiest thing! She started with the customary “how are you?” and the conversation progresses as follows:
me: “I’m good, thanks”
her: “did you work to day?”
me: (I freeze up as I struggle to make sense of a question out of the usual context – does she think I work there?) I hesitantly answer, “no,” and try to ignore her.
her: “Oh, so you got the day off!?”
me: (feeling really out of my element. I didn’t practice for this. It’s not the usual small talk. what do I do??) I nod and give a half nervous smile. What business is it of hers anyway if I worked, if I even work at all? seriously, what was her deal???
her: “oh fun, so you are here to shop till you drop?!”
me: “uh, i guess. but I really don’t like shopping” she gives me a concerned “oh?” and I say, “I don’t like a lot of things that most people like, but I have to shop sometimes.” A stupid reply, really, but I had no idea what to say and I wanted to figure out how to get away from this situation without coming across as rude. I walk away from her again and avoid eye contact. She notices me look at a table of jeggings.
her: “so you’re here looking for something particular then?? some jeggings”
me: “no, I’m just looking,” I say as I hurry to the other end of the store. Another stupid reply considering my previous comment about not liking to shop – but again, what business is it of hers?
I stalled before most of my replies, really confused about how to answer. I’m pretty sure the panic was showing on my face by my final reply, but I made my way to the exit before she could say anything else.
So, wonderful, I was in the mall not even 10 minutes and already stressed. Fan-freaking-tastic.
Perhaps we should move on now to *why* I was even in the mall. There are other places to buy clothing. The mall isn’t even close by – it’s a 30min drive. It certainly wasn’t my first choice. My first choice was the Kohl’s that is a couple blocks away from me. A large, mostly quiet store, close to home – perfect! I don’t need anything fancy, just some black pants. Any black pants. All my black pants are jeggings. In that entire store, and trust me, I went through every single folded pile and rack of black pants, there was only ONE size 2 in the women’s section. ONE. Ugh, no surprise really. I shop in the juniors department a lot. I don’t mind most of the time, but at 33, I should really be able to shop with the rest of the grown-ups. I don’t like low rise jeans, and though I can usually find something that works for me in the juniors, it takes ~a lot~ of trying on because nothing is consistent in junior’s sizing. The pants might be made for people of my general size, but not for a fully grown woman’s hip and butt. Usually, if I can find size 2 in the adult women’s department, it will fit. More dependable, yet so much harder to find. And for heavens sake, I am an adult! Sometimes I want adult fashions, especially for work. Yes, I know there are young-adult shops for the early 20s crowd. That’s why I ended up going to the mall. But in the average department store, I can shop in the tween/teen section or not at all, pretty much. I didn’t go in there with a mind to be picky. Honestly, I was desperate enough to take ANYthing that fit. There was plenty of “my size” in the junior’s department, but the fit was off as it so often is unless I can find high rise pants. I found one nice pair of pants in the juniors department that I loved. Only one like it. Turns out it’s not a brand they sell. It was an erroneous return and I couldn’t keep it 😦
I went home with the only pair of size 2 for grown-ups in the entire store. A tacky pair of straight leg pants with a hem slightly too short for me. As I picked them up off the shelf, I gazed at the pictures above of adult women who are probably a size 0 modeling the pants that seem to begin, for the most part at sizes 4 or 8 in the store. What in the world is up with that? I remember some time ago being in a store and asking if a particular item came in size 2 and they said yes, but they don’t stock size 2, so it’s order-only.
So many of my more voluptuous acquaintances lament that I am so lucky because shopping must be easy. Oh people. The grass is not greener anywhere else. Really, it isn’t.
Well, so, I suffered a trip to the mall. I found plenty of skinny jeans and jeggings. Most non skinny black pants are either excessively dressy or don’t exist. Why do all the bootcut and flare style pants only come in blue denim these days? But, believe it or not, I found the most perfect pair of black flare bottom pants. I love them so much, you have NO idea. And, they were the only pair left in the store. I could have bought at least twenty size 4s and a store full of size 13s, but there was only one size 2. 😦 They were on clearance and the cashier said they are probably discontinued. I went online and found them, also on clearance, though not as cheap as in-store. It said “only a few left!” when I clicked on my size. I added four to my online cart and paid for them. Now I’m hoping I don’t get the dreaded “we cancelled your order” email I get when online inventory isn’t up to date. I really really hope I get my order. Please, everyone, hope for me too! I don’t want to go to the mall again . (´;︵;`)
As an Aspie in the grown-up academic world, maintaining a professional demeanor at all times is important. Indeed, this is important as an adult in any situation. Having a (mostly) invisible “disability” (for lack of a better term at the moment), I can’t expect understanding from the world outside my closest family and social contacts.
I am usually comfortable with blending in for a limited time in most situations. But sensory overload is still a difficult one for me to handle out in the wild.
My most sensitive sense is my sense of smell. If something smells off, no matter how slight, I immediately lose a good bit of my ability to function. My focus is lost and I quickly get a headache from trying to maintain my cool. Add to this even one more sensory annoyance and the day might as well be done for me.
The feeling of drafts or wind blowing on me from certain angles is one of my bigger sensory triggers. I often find myself making a scene in restaurants playing musical chairs (and tables) to find a spot out of the way of drafts. I don’t mind wind blowing on me if it comes at me straight on, but I don’t like isolated bursts of air or off-center drafts. I especially can’t stand the feeling of people breathing on me. I can’t even stand feeling my own breath on my arm. I have to keep my arms under the covers at night or arrange myself awkwardly to avoid breathing on myself. I also have to rearrange my husband from time to time, :p
Today, there was a terrible smell in one of my classes. It may have been a person. I don’t know. It was one of those smells that most people wouldn’t notice, but it stands out like a sore stinky thumb to me. While attempting to casually redirect my gaze to find a better source of air, the professor asks students who don’t have a book to look on with someone.
…. If I might go off on a a tangent here. This is a HUGE pet peeve of mine. Seriously, huge. I know it may sound rude, but I feel how I feel. It is not my fault or my problem if a lazy unprepared student doesn’t bring their text to class. In some classes, not bringing your text costs grade points. In others, the professors are more lenient. If I forget my text, I’ll be grateful not to lose points and leave it at that. I don’t like being intimidated into sharing my book. It’s like forced charity. It’s peachy keen if some generous student feels like sharing, but I shouldn’t have to feel obliged. It’s not just a principle of the matter thing. I have good reasons. For one, I like to actively write in the margins of my text and underline while in class – sharing with the person next to me makes this difficult. I also may have notes already in my text that I don’t necessarily want to share with some random person. It is MY personal property and I should be allowed to treat it as private if need be. Besides that, there are Aspie related complications – which brings me back to the original topic here…
The student next to me asks if she can look on in my text. Of course I say yes, do I really have a choice? Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I say no. So, while I am already under stress from the funky smell floating around, I have to sit at an awkward angle, with another person well too far into my personal space. Then, queue the breathing on my arm. I was just sitting there, holding my book out for her to see better than I could see it, holding my breath, panicking on the inside over the stream of tepid air hitting my arm thinking over and over again “it will be over soon, it will be over soon.” And do you think that I remember anything the prof. was saying at this time? My own classroom experience suffered because another student failed to come to class prepared.
Fortunately, we didn’t have to browse the text for long, so my situation returned to dealing with only the funky smell. Even though I had been surviving the smell well enough in the beginning, the anxiety caused by that short bout of text-sharing remained long after it was over and continued to interfere with my learning. To anyone looking, I may have looked a little tense, but none too worse for the wear. Then we all leave, no one having the slightest clue that anything so traumatic transpired during class.
Not everyday is so bad, but these sort of things happen often enough to be a problem. Everyone has stressful days, but it’s something else to be stressed and to be unable to talk about it lest I come across as crazy. My stresses have to remain indefinitely hidden for the sake of maintaining an NT public image. And for all my efforts, I never really know exactly how I am coming across to people most of the time. I like to assume that if they aren’t looking at me funny, I must be doing alright.
I watch Girl Meets World. I’m not the only adult who does. It has a huge fan following of adults nostalgic for the old Boy Meets World. But, I have to admit that I watch kid-TV all the time, mostly Disney (#^^#)
Anyway, last night, an episode dealing with Aspergers aired. I was hoping they wouldn’t make a complete mess of things. I had a little bit of hope and some anxiety. All in all, it wasn’t bad. It addressed a few problematic pop-culture representations, but it also re-enforced others.
The character Farkle (Stuart Minkus’ son from BMW) is suspected to have an ASD. He is a genius character with some social idiosyncrasies. He fits the hollywood Aspie stereotype of genius, a little weird, but popular enough non the less. By the end of the episode, we learn that he doesn’t have an ASD after all. I like the message that being a little “weird” doesn’t necessarily indicate autism, nor does being a genius.
I am also really pleased that a female character (Isadora Smackle, who has a crush on Farkle) was revealed to have Aspergers. Females Aspies are terribly underrepresented on television and in general, so that’s progress right there.
But here is where a noted a problem. Smackle’s character has overly exaggerated Aspie traits. I know there are some Aspies that may act like her, but for the most part, I think her character was dramatized as is often necessary for character representations. We have seen Smackle before, but she has not been a regular. In order to cover something like Aspergers, and make a point in such a short time, her traits had to be exaggerated. She was so “obviously” autistic, that even Maya and Riley, who had not even heard of Aspergers before, recognized her as having it after reading a list of symptoms.
This isn’t the worse thing Disney could have done, but it increases an issue I run into as a female Aspie, that being the comment “But you don’t seem autistic to me!” As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, it is not all that unusual for a female Aspie to blend in better than a male. This isn’t always the case, and there are certainly Smackle’s in real life – but it’s an assumed stereotype that makes communicating my own situation more difficult.
In the interest of countering pop-culture, let me share with you my favorite Aspie-related youtube video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5fTBM_3sdwE
Smackle ends up becoming a semi-regular character on the show and her autistic traits become a lot more nuanced. I was really happy to with her character development. It’s a shame the show was cancelled after only three seasons.
Asperger’s wasn’t well known when I was growing up, but even if it was, it’s possible that I would have remained undiagnosed.
Aspie females tend to be better than males at blending in and mimicking proper behaviors. But this skill takes time to develop. As a young child, I freely and unashamedly displayed autistic behaviors. Nevertheless, these behaviors were not as show-stopping as they would have been had I been a boy. More often than not, young female Aspies obsess over topics appropriate for their age and gender, wheres the boys tend to pick out more eccentric interests. Also, so I have read, boys will be more aggressive when stressed.
As far as parents are concerned, if you maintain good grades and don’t cause them undo stress, they are likely to accept all manner of quirks without being too terribly concerned. The only thing they were ever concerned about was my lack of social skills. But these, they thought, they could handle without outside help.
So what does a female Aspie’s childhood look like? Again, we are all different, but perhaps some common threads can be found.
Let’s start at the beginning.
Before my own conscious memory begins, one of my parents favorite stories to tell is about me and dryer sheets. You know those obnoxiously-fragrant and chemical-laden sheets some people like to stick in the dryer with their clothes? Apparently, as a baby, I wasn’t so offended by them. Perhaps I played with used ones, I don’t know. Anyhow, I used to entertain myself for a long time tearing these sheets up into tiny bits and arranging the pieces neatly on the floor. I didn’t eat them. I didn’t hide them all over the house. No, I just lined them up meticulously on the carpet. I’m pretty sure my parents considered my ability to self-entertain without wrecking the house to be a miracle rather than a reason to worry.
And so, much of my childhood progressed like this. I’d find something to hyper focus on for long hours and leave my parents alone. For a while, it was watching the color portion of The Wizard of Oz over and over and over again. In fact, today, my mother laughs at herself for not considering this to be a strange thing. In hindsight, she and my father agree that I was one strange kid.
When I wasn’t watching The Wizard of Oz, I was on my rocking horse.
It was similar to this one:
My mother probably has pictures, but I can’t find one that looks exactly like it online. It was a spring rocking horse that made sounds, but I don’t think I had batteries in it very often.
I rode this thing obsessively. For hours. Until I got too big for it and it broke. I think my parents got me a replacement once, but finally, they had to tell me to say good bye to rocking horses. This was sad. Very very sad.
So what next? I recall that My Little Ponies came next. Yep, I loved My Little ponies. I hated playing with other people though. By now, my parents began encouraging me to get out more and play with other kids. Ugh, I hated being told to go outside or to meet the new neighbors. But most of all, I hated playing imaginative games with toys or dolls with them. My father sometimes tried to play ponies with me. I was never amused. He’d do stupid things, like put a nasty old boot of his on the floor and say it’s a monster attacking. This made me so mad!! Incidentally, my youngest sister appreciates my father’s play style and she actually begged him to play with her all the time. Too bad she wasn’t born sooner to distract him from bothering me. lol. But it wasn’t so bad. My father was usually too busy with work to interfere often. When left to my own, I preferred to arrange my ponies into a static scene and stare at them for a long time, complimenting myself for a job well done, sometimes even imagining up the things they were doing, but not moving them around.
I had barbies too, but I never liked them as much as my ponies. The most attention the barbies got was getting dressed up and arranged on the stair-case shelves in my closet. Sometimes, I would rearrange them, or redress them, but their only purpose was to remain in an orderly way. I suppose you could say that of the ponies too, but there was more imaginative process that went into their arrangements – and they weren’t sentenced to long periods in the closet.
Eventually, I outgrew ponies. I never outgrew love of collecting them, but arranging them into elaborate scenes on the floor lost its appeal. So I found something else to occupy myself with and that was Michael Jackson.
An aside here: notice that none of my interests were peculiar, only obsessive. Becoming a fangirl too wasn’t particularly strange either, until you look into the exact nature of my fan-girling
I had identified as a fan of MJ since the age of four, when my grandmother introduced me to him via MTV. She always had MTV on at her house and I was always at her house.
But it wasn’t until I was 9 that the obsession began. I collected anything and everything even remotely related to the King of Pop. Books, documentaries, tabloids, cassette tapes. I kept a journal to collect trivia about him and eventually, I’m pretty sure that I knew more about him than he did himself. Most of my family probably ended up knowing more than they cared too because this is all I talked about. I’m not kidding. I even sometimes bothered people outside my family with it because I thought it to be a suitable ice breaker in awkward social situations.
I bought a fedora. I wore it to school everyday. Fortunately, MJ was still popular enough that I avoided too much bullying for it, but there was still a bit of mockery here and there.
That about covers my most significant obsessions as a child, but there were an assortment of lesser interests and quirks as well. I can’t even remember them all, but my parents tell me sometimes.
I remember loving to trace my hand and spend the greater portion of an afternoon filling it in with tiny dots. I used to pretend that it was armageddon or some terrible event and all the little dot people needed to get onto the hand-shaped spaceship if they wanted to live. When the space began to fill up, I got nervous for my countless dot-friends. I felt relieved for each one that found a space.
I also read a lot. I’d read until it got dark and I’d be too involved in the book to get up and turn on the light. My parents would usually show up to turn the light on for me. I carried a book around with me everywhere and insisted on reading at the dinner table even if I was told not to. I could read before I started school having been mostly self-taught. My mother tells me I used to come to her and ask her what a letter was from time to time (I don’t really remember this).
In school, I excelled in everything except social studies. I hated social studies. I didn’t do bad, but I wasn’t a teachers pet the way I always had been in math class. My parents tried to have me skipped a grade on more than one occasion, but the school didn’t allow it because of my lacking social skills and common sense. Apparently, I took a test on which I did well in every category except common sense. I don’t remember this test. My fourth grade class was a mixed 4/5th classroom and my teacher allowed me to skip the 4th grade math textbook. Unfortunately, the school didn’t allow me access to 6th grade math the next year so I did 5th grade math again. I finally got to skip a grade after I was homeschool for one year. I skipped 8th grade.
I could probably write a short novel on all my childhood characteristics, but I think you get the idea. I didn’t cause anyone trouble and my interests were in the normal-sphere besides being obsessive. Only my social skills were lacking. And, boy were they ever. I came across as pretty rude at times. I am embarrassed to think of some of the things I did and said as a kid. But at the time, I had no clue that I was being inappropriate. One odd social moment isn’t too embarrassing to share: My mother was late dropping me off to preschool one day. The kids were already sitting in a circle singing a song. I walked to the circle as if I knew exactly what I was doing, sat in the middle, and didn’t sing. My mother asked me about this and I told her that I was supposed to sit there because the kids were singing to me. haha. After all, at the time, I fully believed that I was a fairy princess, so why wouldn’t they be singing to me?
On that note, I’ll end this post here. 🙂
In the past, I have been hesitant to admit that I have an ASD. Despite that diagnoses for it have been going up in recent years, it is still misunderstood and riddled with negative stereotypes. Aspergers (now diagnosed as part of the larger spectrum rather than its own thing) is popularly associated with sociopathic behaviors. At best, NTs pass it off as an imaginary condition. If I’m not a sociopath, I’m just looking for an excuse for poor social etiquette, apparently.
I grew up with no idea that I may be autistic. Besides being a very strange little girl, I kept out of trouble. My brother stole the show back in the day for his hyperactivity and poor grades. He was diagnosed ADHD and received all sorts of special assistance and medication. Meanwhile, I spent most of my childhood in my room, engaged in peculiar activities, but generally staying out of notorious limelight. Sometimes, my parents would reprimand me for staying in my room too often or I would get in trouble for being rude to other kids. But Aspergers wasn’t well known at the time, and being a bit strange isn’t as much a burden to parents as unleashing Dennis-the-Menace stye havoc all over the place.
Believe it or not, my brother grew up to be the most mellow guy you’d ever meet. I’d hardly believe he was the same person if I didn’t know better. As for myself, I began to amass more attention the older I got. Being strange as a kid can be passed off as a phase, but into adulthood, it loses its appeal as a cute-curiosity. Once my family learned of the existence of Aspergers, they suggested I, as well as a few male members of my family, including my brother, might have it. I considered the possibility, but it didn’t change anything. I carried on about my life, certain that there was still time to “grow out of” my issues. However, as I tried to enter the professional world, my quirks got in the way. More than one person asked me upfront if I’m an Aspie. I was also told that “my type” wasn’t wanted in the teacher training program that I was in at the time.
These armchair diagnoses are peculiar considering that most people I have told since my diagnosis are shocked to find out. They tell me they would have never guessed. Of course, I really like to believe that I have overcome many of my previous social obstacles.
I eventually took myself to have a psychological evaluation because I finally just wanted to know. During my evaluation, I got the impression that I wasn’t going to get an ASD diagnosis. In fact, I was entirely expecting an OCD, anxiety, and/or sensory processing disorder diagnoses instead. But nope. She said I am definitely on the spectrum. I also received a separate diagnoses for anxiety, but she said everything I suspected was OCD is really part of my ASD.
Well, so, now what? Does this mean that I can let go of all my progress and learned behaviors in order to have a free-for-all autistic experience? Of course not! It means only that I understand myself better as I continue on my journey to self-improvement. Sure, some aspects of life may be more difficult for me than an NT, but that doesn’t excuse me from anything.
And just so we are especially clear, I’m not a sociopath. An evil genius, yes. But my plans to take over the world are morally sound (more or less 😉 ) and don’t involve violence.