Disclaimer: this is going to be a little all over the place because I haven’t fully processed a lot of what I’m speaking about here. I hope it’s at least a bit coherent.
There’s a real disconnect from others when you grow up with a neurodivergence, even if you aren’t diagnosed in your childhood years. It’s like everyone else but you got a key to the house, and you’ve been pretending to be in there with them. If they knew you’ve been outside the whole time, would they let you in? Did they already know something you didn’t?
It was always ableism, even if your classmates didn’t know. Even if you didn’t know.
There’s no grand revelation in saying that autism is a struggle sometimes, or a lot of the time. It’s one of the most baseline understandings that autistic individuals have about themselves, whether it be from an internal source or an external one. So, no, I don’t think I’m breaking any ground by asserting that existing while autistic can be difficult.
That being said...I don’t hate having autism - it’s an integral part of who I am as a person, and suddenly being without it would strip away too much of my being. I do, however, hate how autism is regarded by the greater population. If autism could be understood and accommodated within institutions of power and the general population, living with autism wouldn’t be nearly as difficult. The same should be clear for any disability or adversity - accommodation and understanding are the two most important factors in ensuring the disabled are cared for.
In school, I went to the nurse’s office a lot for panic attacks. Once a week at least, I think. Looking back, I wonder how many of those were panic attacks, and how many were meltdowns because of sensory overload. Was there a meaningful difference at the time? Maybe not. The school’s nurse would have me lie down and breathe deeply, then leave to go back to her own business. Sometimes she’d bring me a water bottle. Most of the time, they’d ask if I wanted to go home. Usually I’d say yes, and my mom would wear her annoyance clear as day. She didn’t always let me come home, and would insist I finished the school day as I sat panicking, shaking, crying. I didn’t fully blame her. I know part of her wondered if I was faking my anxiety to get out of school, and though that hurt deeply, I know that’s where many of her reactions stemmed from.
She and a psychiatrist gave me sugar pills to see how I responded to them. They were sweet, a bit minty. I was instructed to let 2 pills melt on my tongue every 2 hours. I knew I was given a placebo, thus I felt no effect from the pills, and was told I could stop taking them. A few weeks later, I was prescribed Citalopram. My mental health struggles and general oddities have always seemed like the greatest burden to the people around me (until I moved in with my then-girlfriend and now-fiancée at 18), and this shaped my view of myself. I felt too needy, too shy, too quiet, too sensitive, took up too much space, cost too much money. As a child, I wished for nothing more than to just be alone. Left to my own devices, so no one would have to deal with me, and I wouldn’t have to deal with them dealing with me.
I wasn’t diagnosed until I was 22, but I’ve experienced ableism all my life. It was in every dismissal of my mental illness, every person who mocked me for being quiet, being sensitive, being too attached to my plush toys - it was everywhere, and I was so saturated in it that it stained my clothes red all the way into my adulthood. My parents threw the word “retard” around with ease, for everyone or everything they thought was dumb; I never liked the word, but I’m sure I used it at some point, considering how prevalent it was in my youth. The sharp knife of hearing them use the word even after my diagnosis is something that still stings.
I can’t think of my parents as malicious. My mind won’t let me - I don’t believe that they ever were. But I’m allowed to reflect on how their ignorance and lack of proper care have affected me, and sculpted the way I see my own needs and feelings. I’ve had to pay for a lot of therapy to undo my childhood, and I don’t think I’m even halfway there yet.
(a comment from the author: if you liked this article, consider sending in a tip! helps pay my bills and feed my cats <3 )
About the Creator
Cat Bog
I’m an autistic, lesbian writer with a penchant for short, engaging essays on mental health and neurodiversity, as well as LGBT short stories, and poetry.
The secret journey to regaining emotional stability
Do you feel that the anxious and avoidant types both seem to be strong and independent, but in fact they are sensitive and fragile. They often fall into emotions because of small things and start to be anxious and avoidant? If anxious and avoidant types want to change these, what they actually need is to compensate for their missing parts and heal their injured parts. In this issue, we will teach the avoidant and anxious types how to cultivate themselves again, making their emotions more stable, more rational in relationships, and at the same time gaining the ability to actively output emotional value. If anxious and avoidant types want to overcome the sensitive and fragile parts of themselves and obtain stable emotions, they need not only cognitive adjustments, but also need to heal the traumatized parts of themselves and compensate for the regretful parts of themselves. For example, the regret of the avoidant type is that they have not been paid serious attention to and have never truly rebelled. Therefore, the avoidant type will not fight for their own needs in many situations, resulting in uncomfortable situations and relationships, and they are always running away and wandering. The trauma of the anxious type is that they are trapped in unstable relationships and have been hurt by the instability in intimate relationships. The slightest fluctuation will make the anxious type feel nervous and anxious. Therefore, anxious and avoidant types are inherently fragile, sensitive, and unstable. In summary, these reasons are that something is missing during the growth stage, or they have suffered some trauma, so if you want to solve these problems, this is the time. Compensate when you need to compensate, heal when you need to heal, exercise when you need to exercise, just treat yourself as a child and raise yourself again. If the avoidant and anxious types re-train themselves, what kind of growth can they gain? First of all, emotions will become more and more stable. For example, you can be aware of your emotions at the first time, avoid emotions from affecting your thoughts and judgments, and learn to regulate your emotions. Secondly, you can truly understand yourself and know your real needs and fears. In the process of re-nurturing yourself, you can clearly understand your needs and fears, that is, you can know why you are attracted to a certain person, why you behave like this, and then you can better understand what you need.
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Hall of mirrors
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