The report concluded that I had Autism Spectrum Disorder. I had waited for what felt like forever to hear those words.
Why were they calling now? This was not a good a time. I answered the call and the woman said she was calling from the assessment clinic and wanted to inform me that my report was ready. I felt the blood rush from my legs to my head. I was walking through a busy street in my hometown, having just steppedThe woman asked if I would like to know the outcome over the phone. Before I could think, and in complete disregard to the hundreds of people that surrounded me, I said yes.
It was there I learned to mask, and I don’t think I’d be here today if I hadn’t. I’d come home from school exhausted and emotionally-charged. It passed as normal teenage behavior, chaotic and turbulent. My grades went from being excellent — top of my class — to below average and failing. I didn’t have the energy to excel academically anymore; I was too busy learning how to fit in, and it was something that challenged me more than anything I’d ever tried before.
I was told I was neurotic, aggressive, crazy, cold and difficult. I was failing on an epic scale. I look back at that time in my life and wish someone like me had reached out, as I think things would have been very different. My parents have always given me the best support and advice, but when things got too much at 15, they sent me to a therapist. She was nice, but she couldn’t crack me. I told her what she wanted to hear because it felt pointless telling her how I really felt.
In 2008, we welcomed our son, and I soon isolated myself from the world completely. I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and OCD. I received more therapy, but it didn’t work out, and things continued to get worse. Medication was the next step, but it meant I spent most of my early twenties feeling like a zombie: numb, but aware of the pain of existing. After a few years, I stopped taking them and lied to myself that I was better now. I just couldn’t take the numbness anymore.
I didn’t like change, experienced sensory issues such as refusing to be touched unless it was to hug and kiss my children. My husband had to give me warning of an incoming hug. Loud noises startled me; bright lights sent pain rushing into my head, leaving me unable to focus. Being around people left me feeling drained and hungover afterwards. I couldn’t make friends easily either, and certainly could not maintain a friendship well.
I told him how many times I’d broken down in public over someone brushing past me, loud noises, or my fears of people looking at me. How I felt deep emotional pain for others, even strangers, and how I’d fixate on how I could help them. The intrusive thoughts that crippled me mentally, the ones that I was too ashamed to speak of.I told him how I would mimic behavior, study body language, and how I would mask. I told him how masking was exhausting but I had to do it to survive.
The next step before my assessment was to approach my close family and my best friend about a possible diagnosis. These were my safe people, but with no certainty of how they’d react, it was a risk. I trusted them — and for me, trust didn’t come easily. It was a daunting experience, but they were all extremely supportive and agreed it would make sense if I were to be diagnosed.
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