AUTISM

My care team and I have all agreed that Moderate Autism has a much stronger impact on my life than any of my other conditions. Perhaps the other stuff stems from Autism? That’s what my Dad theorized, anyways.

Everything started when I was a baby. My babysitter at the time, an older woman with some silly mannerisms, told my Dad that she suspected Autism in me. Due to his lack of knowledge on the condition, he just assumed I was a bit awkward and that I would outgrow the traits. For some context, my dad grew up with dyslexia and minor learning disability, both of which he’d outgrown in a similar manner.

I knew something was very wrong with me even since I was a kid. Bullies always targeted me, nobody wanted me on their teams for team games/activities, I could never socialize properly, other kids picked on me for things like lack of eye contact and whining a lot. I felt different-almost alien. I wanted to feel connected to others, but nobody wanted to connect with me. I could never keep friends for longer than a few months at the very most.

Teachers and daycare workers also deeply misunderstood me. They interpreted my inability to understand verbal and written instructions as me being a “smart alek”; they had several talks with my family about my perceived disobedience. They perceived my stims and lack of social awareness as me being “rude” and “disruptive”; one teacher wrote me up nearly everyday. They saw my inability to properly complete homework and other assignments as me being “lazy” and unwilling.

Due to these assumptions, the teachers and daycare workers would often stick me in a corner with a stack of papers in front of me; a personal little “study hall” while all of these other students around me got to participate in fun classroom and outdoor activities.

As I said, I always knew something was wrong with me. I could never understand why I struggled so much with everything that all of these students around me completed with so much ease. Whenever I look back, I could never understand why everybody called me every other name-every other label-under the sun except for “disabled”. It should have been extremely clear (especially with the study hall incidents). A top psychiatrist that my dad took me to had even agreed that my Autism should have been extremely obvious to both my father and others around me. The endless onslaught of ignorance and prejudice hurt my self esteem more than words could describe.

As a result of the treatment, I retreated into my inner world. I fell deeper and deeper into my obsession with Pokemon. Almost every recess, I’d sit alone in a field and pretend I was a Pokemon (usually in Mystery Dungeon settings) or my favorite trainers like May or Iris. I often envisioned myself interacting with sort of imaginary friend-like characters around me. Looking back, I feel nostalgia for my vivid imagination, but not for the lack of connection I felt at the time. My deep obsession with Pokemon would last for nearly a decade. Nothing else mattered to me.

After having suffered from so much loneliness, I became attention seeking. As I said on my Bipolar page, this was when my hypomanic and socially inappropriate behaviors began to really set in. Due to my lack of social awareness, I never understood that this behavior isolated me more than not. I wanted to be funny since I knew that was what would garner the most attention. Nobody liked it, though. They told me that I was unfunny and often found me annoying or offputting.

While kids treated me poorly in elementary, the abuse truly began in middle school. People often targeted me due to my naive and gullible nature, particularly my inability to catch on to sarcasm or malicious intention. One girl would tell me that boys liked me, trick me into flirting with them (which was very socially awkward and creeped them out) because they were apparently preparing to ask me out, and then just laughed about it with her friends behind my back. I walked in on it at some point. A guy in my art class shouted to me that I was a “failed abortion”. Another guy asked if I was “special ed” (to which I said no because I was undiagnosed and not receiving services at the time). I understand that this specific situation wasn’t cruel, but it shows how people viewed me.

After middle school, I started to fail miserably in high school. I could never complete assignments on time and, much like before, I could only work if I had somebody hovering over my shoulder 24/7. Everything became a thousand times harder and teachers were so busy that they could never really offer as much assistance as I needed. At the time, I had a math teacher who really hated me for my perceived “laziness”.

At this time, I happened to come across some information about Asperger’s online. I resonated a lot with the description and desperately wanted to be tested. Over the next few weeks, several psychiatrists and therapists would pull me out of class to put me through various forms of tests. Some of these assessments were papers I’d fill out. Others tested my ability (or lack thereof) to understand sarcasm and metaphors.

The school psychiatrist who began my tests eventually called my dad and told him that they had diagnosed me with Autism. Documentation revealed that I had Moderate Autism (Level 2). He did not receive the news well and acted angry and distant from me over the next year or so. Him and my sister accused me of faking the condition over and over again. It did a number on my self esteem, but I knew deep down that the doctors were right.

After the school psychiatrists diagnosed me, doctors from my care consortium wanted to confirm it. About eight different doctors interviewed my dad and I. By the end of the meeting, they agreed that I did, indeed, have Moderate Autism.

Following my diagnosis, the aforementioned math teacher started crying and gave me a hug. I could tell that she felt terrible about her previous assumptions. After that, my dad transferred me to a different school where I would receive assistance, therapy, speech therapy, and other services through an IEP.

While enrolled in IEP, I made connections with everybody else there. I really loved it. Even though I sometimes had a complicated relationship with the head of the program (since I was always in trouble), I ended up loving everybody.

The COVID 19 lockdowns cut our time short. To this day, it breaks my heart because, for a very long time, I never had anything like it since. In college, the only accommodations I received were test and due date extensions. These accommodations never really helped in the long run, though. I really needed assistance with the work itself.

I struggled so badly with college courses that I could never handle a full load. Each semester, I would drop almost all (if not all) of my classes because I couldn’t keep up. I tried-I really did. I tried the same precalculus class twice in a row. I really wanted to be a “Woman in Stem”. I just couldn’t do it, though. I would be up until one to three in the morning just working my butt off. Even then, I could still never complete anything on time.

I underwent the same cycle of dropping class after class for about two-ish more years(?). My dad always put so much pressure on me to just be “productive”. I couldn’t do it.

Eventually, everything came to an end. If you know me, you’d know that I previously worked as an English tutor. After three years of successfully maintaining this job, the heads implemented a new policy; a full load of classes would be required to keep the job.

While I had the opportunity to drop the job before this semester came about, I decided not to. I really wanted to have hope that something within me would fire up and that I could do it, but I couldn’t. I struggled so much to perceive the instructions and content of one class alone. I couldn’t handle four… Well, three-the only accommodations for disabled workers was that we were allowed to take one less class. Total fucking insanity.

Eventually, things caught up to me. I had to drop everything-my classes and job-once the last day to drop with a “W” came about. I was devastated. I loved my job. It was my passion, my social outlet, my identity. My supervisors all adored me and everybody was so friendly to me. But all of that is gone. Now I’m just an unemployed college dropout.

Following this loss, I underwent a very dark period. I spent much of this period feeling bitter, particularly toward other Autistic people. I envied those who had benefits or grew up with them. I only ever had an IEP that the pandemic cut short-I grieve it everyday. I know that it’s such an ugly way to feel, but I couldn’t help myself. I never took this out on anybody, but it ate (and sometimes still eats) me alive.

Despite my ugly feelings, not all is lost. My dad and care team (therapist, psychiatrist, and case manager) are all working to get me social security benefits, join my county’s benefits and assistance center, and more. I have been attending a local Autism group where I have been making some more friends and putting myself out there. :)

Things are generally looking up for me right now. Even if I’m a nobody now, at least we’re getting somewhere.